#red dwarf x reader

[gonzo-rella]

Terrorform | Arnold Rimmer

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

Note: A lot of this fic borrows dialogue from a scene from the episode Terrorform, though I have added plenty of my own writing- as you will undoubtedly will be able to tell- to the scene as well. Regardless, credit to Rob Grant and Doug Naylor.

Relationship(s): Arnold Rimmer x gn!reader (romantic)

Summary: In order to escape from the psimoon that has been shaped by Rimmer's self-hating psyche, the rest of the Red Dwarf crew must make him feel better about himself. Lister, Kryten and Cat must pretend to like Rimmer, but you don't have to pretend.

Warnings: None! (Let me know if I need to add any)

Word count: 3.1k

(A/N: I started watching Red Dwarf less than a month ago. In this short space of time, Arnold Rimmer has become one of my top 10 favourite characters of all-time, and the show is already amongst my all-time favourites. This isn't the first Rimmer fic I started working on- the one I've posted a fair bit about- but after watching the episode 'Terrorform' I fell in love with this idea to the point that I never lost motivation for working on it. The only thing that slowed progress on it is that I've been working a lot in the past week so my time and energy has been limited. Given those factors, I'm proud of myself for getting what I think is a high-quality fic done in an uncharacteristically short space of time- just a week. For reference, the past couple of fics I've posted took me a year to get around to finishing. Anyway, this certainly won't be my last Rimmer fic. I've got three more in the works, one of which is a sequel to this one. I'm always nervous when writing for a fandom for the first time, so please let me know what you think! Even if no one ends up liking this fic or me, I'm looking forward to contributing to this fandom via reader-insert fics and I hope that my presence in this fandom and what I write for it is at the very least tolerable.)

You knitted your brows as Kryten steered you, Lister and Cat into the cockpit, leaving Rimmer alone. The door behind you slid shut, and the four of you stood, practically huddled, in front of it.

“I think I have it,” the mechanoid announced. “The real enemy is not out there. It is in Starbug with us. The real enemy is inside Mr. Rimmer's head.”

“Nice plan. So we remove his head and everything's cool, right?”

You rolled your eyes at Cat’s suggestion, which was ignored by Lister.

“No, wait a minute. That's gone right up my flagpole, that has, Kryten. I'm saluting that one.”

Cat’s face screwed up in confusion.

“What?”

“When we first drove back the beast in the cavern, it wasn't the bazookoid fire that forced him into the pit. It was when you-” Lister gestured to Kryten. “told Rimmer we wouldn't desert him.”

“Precisely,” Kryten agreed.

This whole day had already made you feel awful for Rimmer- knowing you were inside a manifestation of his mind that displayed his many points of insecurity- but Lister’s observation made it really dawn on you. When Kryten had berated Rimmer just a minute ago, calling him a ‘glob of tuberculotic sputum’ and a ‘cruddy little scud ball with all the innate lovability of an itchy verruca’, Starbug had shuddered, as though it was caught in some kind of reaction to the insults. Even when Kryten had excluded Rimmer from this group meeting, the ship had jittered. You bit your bottom lip at the implication that Rimmer really did feel every little jibe sent his way, that he noticed every moment where he wasn’t included, and the rare occasion when he was. Of course, before this whole psimoon disaster, you already knew that Rimmer deeply hated himself, but seeing it like this- experiencing it in real-time- was heartbreaking.

“So,” Lister went on. “If we can make Rimmer feel wanted, feel cared about-”

“If we can make him feel good about himself, somehow restore his self-esteem and his pride, that would automatically vanquish the self-loathing beast, or at least debilitate it long enough for us to break free of this quicksand and get off this God-forsaken psimoon.”

“How do we make him feel good?” Cat asked. “What is there about him to feel good about?”

“We've got to tell him we love him.”

Lister’s revelation caused a pit to form in your stomach, one large enough for Starbug to sink in. Thankfully, no one had picked up on your silence, nor the poorly disguised dread etched into your features. Cat wasn’t married to this idea either, but for a completely different reason to you.

“Argh, you're sick! I want no part in this depravity!”

“And, he must not suspect we are insincere,” Kryten warned. “Our lives depend on it. Ready?”

“I'll never be ready.”

With that, the door opened to reveal the pitiful image of Rimmer hunched over on a crate. You, Kryten, Cat and Lister awkwardly stepped out of the cockpit.

You didn’t want to offer Rimmer lukewarm platitudes that would give him enough of a temporary ego boost to let Starbug escape. It seemed cruel and manipulative, as though you didn’t actually care about the irreparable self-loathing that was causing the ship to sink. But, equally, the atmosphere in Starbug was too high-pressure for you to trust that you wouldn’t let all of your true feelings about him gracelessly bubble to the surface. Not only would you humiliate yourself but you would waste valuable time. You were panicked enough as it was by the prospect of potentially being dead in mere minutes, and adding the risk of confessing your genuine feelings to Rimmer in front of your friends only doubled the overwhelming stress that would make it near-impossible for you to construct a sentence that would be useful in the situation. So, the plan- as far as you were concerned- was to stay silent and let Lister and Kryten do the talking. After all, Lister had a knack for it, and Kryten was getting better at it with each passing day.

You could have a sincere chat with Rimmer about his inner turmoil later on, when you didn’t have a ten minute time limit and this many lives at stake. It would take longer than the ten minutes you had at your disposal to tackle his decades-worth of self-hatred in any meaningful way- you knew that. To your chagrin, you had to accept that the focus in this narrow window of time- which was quickly shutting- was to escape, and that Lister, Kryten and Cat would have to embellish their affection for Rimmer to achieve that end. It’s not like Rimmer did himself any favours with how he conducted himself. No one had to mean what they said; they just had to convince him that they meant it. This was slapping a plaster on a festering gunshot wound. You had to push aside how saddened you were by the fact that their false affirmations would mean so much to Rimmer. At the end of the day, your lives were more important than his feelings. 

Lister, as you had expected, was the first to speak. Rimmer turned his head to look at the four of you.

“Listen, we've been talking and the four of us have decided to stay with you and face the danger.  All for one and that, you know?”

Rimmer seemed surprised.

“Really?”

You braced yourself as Kryten went to speak.

“Sir, I'd just like to take this opportunity to say that you are a very beautiful person.”

Rimmer, understandably, appeared caught off guard by Kryten’s statement. Lister swooped back in.

“What he means is that we're all facing certain death here and I think it's about time we let each other know exactly how we feel about each other.”

You scratched your neck, a deep sense of discomfort settling in your gut. The idea of telling Rimmer how you felt about him made death seem the more appealing fate. Rimmer looked between you all incredulously. He didn’t seem suspicious of Lister and Kryten, but nevertheless he seemed unsettled by the uncharacteristic warmth he was being met with.

“You think that's a good idea?”

As Kryten and Lister took a seat either side of Rimmer, you took Cat’s lead- for once in your life- and hung back. Seeing as Lister and Kryten had this under control, there wasn’t any need for you to chime in. Thank God.

“It’s just that guys generally aren't terrific at... you know…” Lister began.

“Expressing their feelings,” Kryten cut in.

“Yeah. They kid around and insult each other and stuff,” Lister continued. “And what they really mean is... Well, they can't tell you the stuff they really mean.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” Rimmer said.

“I’m just trying to say that whatever happens here, I want you to know I really care about you.”

You thought what he’d said was nice enough and, most importantly, convincing. However, it seemed a tad much when he placed his hand on Rimmer’s knee. Rimmer looked down at Lister’s hand with surprise and confusion.

“We all do, sir,” Kryten added.

Kryten rested his hand on Rimmer’s other knee, and this time Kryten was met with a look of mild disgust. You pinched the bridge of your nose, thinking they had blown this by going overboard. But, to your surprise, Rimmer didn't protest. If anything, you took his silence to mean he was touched- literally and figuratively- by the gesture. Gestures. You breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

“It's true,” Cat said finally. “They really do care about you.”

Rimmer looked at Lister.

“Only this morning you referred to me as a cancerous polyp on the anus of humanity.”

“In an affectionate way. In a kidding around, joking, friendly, affectionate way.”

Now it was Kryten’s turn to save the day.

“Sir, what he's trying to say is that we may never get another opportunity to articulate our feelings and I, for one, would just like to take this opportunity to say that you're a splendid man, and a much respected colleague, and a- gosh darn it- damn good friend.”

He punctuated the sentence by lightly punching Rimmer in the arm. Rimmer, whose face had scrunched up in confusion and disbelief once again, flinched at the contact. 

“We're getting some lift,” Holly interrupted.

Rimmer rose to his feet, stepping away from Lister and Kryten. He was now dangerously close to you. As discreetly as possible, you took a step back.

“Wait a minute. I know why you're doing this.”

“Going down,” Holly said, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

“You're trying to make me feel guilty, aren't you? It's a transparent attempt to shame me into doing the honourable thing.”

Lister and Kryten protested in unison.

“Well, why is it then?”

Lister looked at Rimmer, and in doing so he finally noticed you standing off to the side, trying your hardest to remain unseen. You had been mindlessly rubbing your forehead with your index finger in an effort to hide your face, as though that would disguise your presence and the fact that you had contributed nothing to this whole endeavour. It was expected of Cat, but not of you. For one, you actually seemed to like Rimmer. At the very least, you didn’t dislike him as much as the rest of them. Lister shot you a pleading, unimpressed look. It caught Rimmer’s attention, and he glanced between you and Lister with a puzzled expression. Cat and Kryten were both looking at you now, too. At this point, you wouldn’t have minded sinking in the swamp. It might have been a nicer alternative, really. But, Rimmer’s gaze finally settled on you, like the rest of the crew, only his was marginally softer because he wasn’t screaming at you with his eyes like they were. It meant you had to speak. Your lives depended on it.

“I- uh…” you stammered out, heat rising to your cheeks.

So much for speaking. Maintaining eye contact with Rimmer in that moment was like having a staring contest with the sun.

“Go on,” Lister prompted. You could tell he was tense no matter how he tried to play it off. “You can say what you want. There’s no judgement here. We’re all just… being honest.”

You didn’t know quite what Lister expected you to say. You doubted he knew how you felt about Rimmer- not the full extent of it anyway. He’d have relentlessly teased you about it by now. Unfortunately, you weren’t a skilled liar or talker like him, even without the pressure you were under. So, it was tricky coming up with something that wasn’t along the lines of ‘I’m madly in love with you’ but sufficient in offering him that short-term validation that he needed- that you all needed in order to escape.

“Well, um…”

Lister looked about ready to burst, whilst you looked like you were going to be sick. He made a gesture of frustration with his hands. You just had to say something. Anything would do. So, slightly panicked and entirely clueless on how to be as direct as Lister and Kryten without making a fool of yourself, you settled on blurting out the first thing you could think of- the thing that made you realise just how attracted you were to Rimmer in the first place. It was something you hoped would give him enough validation to get you all out of here, and seeing as it was sincere you hoped he would believe it. Just, you couldn’t keep looking him in the eye if you were going to say it.

“You know, back when we had that Pleasure GELF on the ship, when I looked at her, I saw… you.”

Rimmer’s brows furrowed.

“What?”

“You were what I saw, when I saw the Pleasure GELF.”

“Really? But, that would mean… And, you said you saw-”

“Well, you didn’t see me when you looked at her and I didn’t understand why I saw you, so I thought it’d be for the best if I lied and ignored it. But, since we’ll probably die within the next ten minutes anyway, you might as well know. You deserve to die… again… knowing you’re not some loathsome, repulsive, utterly unlovable blister on the heel of humanity, or whatever Kryten said earlier.”

Rimmer was quiet for a moment before speaking again.

“I believe his exact words were-”

The ship rattled, interrupting him. You grabbed onto his arms to steady yourself. It took a few seconds for you to register that you were holding him, touching him, something you’d never thought you’d be able to do given he’d been a hologram the entire time you’d known him. You looked into his eyes, his thoughts unreadable. Conversely, it seemed obvious that you were cherishing the feeling of his solid form beneath your touch. On instinct, your gaze flickered down to his lips. It gave you an idea, one you thought through for all of two seconds.

“Can I kiss you?” you asked.

You weren’t quite sure why you had asked him that, hence the mortification that soon took over your features. Part of you was keen to justify it as a tactical move. Lister had said to make Rimmer feel wanted, and letting him know that you wanted to kiss him seemed like a surefire way to do that. He seemingly hadn’t believed the GELF anecdote, not fully, so maybe this would be enough to convince him that you weren’t lying about it- that you wanted him.

But, who were you kidding?

Lister, Kryten and Cat exchanged wide-eyed stares. They also seemed to question why on earth you had asked him to kiss you. Lister was beginning to regret calling on you to say anything. Rimmer merely shook his head, having not yet processed what you had said.

“No, I don’t think he said-”

At last, it dawned on him. His face flushed. Your cheeks were so hot that it almost hurt, as though the humiliation of asking Rimmer to kiss you wasn’t bad enough. Realising you were still clinging to him, you let go of him, not wanting to make this any more uncomfortable than it already was.

“Hang on. You… you want to kiss me?”

“Yeah. With you being a hologram and me not being one, and us maybe being about to die, this might be the only chance I’ll get. So, can I kiss you, Arnie?”

You weren’t expecting him to grant your request, as much as you hoped he would.

“I-I don’t see why not.”

He didn’t seem enthusiastic. Perhaps he was caught off guard by the question, but you decided instinctively that he didn’t want to kiss you. At least when you replayed this memory in your head over and over before going to sleep, you could tell yourself you were doing it to boost Rimmer’s self-esteem.

“You don’t have to. I just thought I’d ask-”

“You can kiss me.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel like-”

“Yes- I’m sure.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. This was really going to happen- the moment you had daydreamed about, a fantasy you had practically tortured yourself with. You nodded.

“Right. Alright.”

You stepped closer to him, so that there wasn’t much of a gap between you at all. You wouldn’t have been surprised if you were close enough that he could feel your heart beating, rapid and pounding as though it was trying to break free from your chest and touch him for itself. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Taking in a deep, trembling breath, you cupped his cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss. It took a few seconds before he decided what to do with his hands. He settled on resting them on your waist, which he lightly squeezed. You moved your lips against his almost hungrily, and Rimmer couldn’t help but do the same. 

The fervour with which you kissed him baffled your crewmates, who were torn between their morbid curiosity and their disgust at seeing Rimmer kissing someone. They winced and cringed and wondered why you had gone this far. Hugging him probably would have sufficed. And, to think you had considered it overkill for Lister and Kryten to hold his knees like that.

“Going up,” Holly announced, surprised.

Her voice startled you into pausing, but neither of you completely pulled away. Within milliseconds, you resumed. You slipped a hand onto the back of Rimmer’s head, combing your fingers through his hair. He decided to place his hands on your cheeks, running his thumbs back and forth against your cheekbones in a slow, gentle motion, as though he was relishing the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips. He had a similar impulse to you and raked his fingers through your hair. His grip on you was tight yet not too rough.

Lister, Kryten and Cat continued to stand around awkwardly and impatiently. As grateful as they were that you had managed to help the situation, now they were the ones who, on some level, wished that the ship would just sink to put an end to… this.

When you finally pulled away, you held his face in your hands and gazed into his wide eyes. He was still clinging to you, holding onto you as if for dear life. You offered him a smile, one he was too dazed to return.

The moment was interrupted by Holly yet again.

“Quick, get into the cockpit,” she urged. “There's something very strange happening out there.”

You patted his shoulder and followed the others into the cockpit. Before you knew it, you were able to take off. Relief settled over everyone; you assumed Lister, Kryten and Cat were as glad to be alive as they were that they wouldn’t have to pretend to like Rimmer anymore. And, of course, they were delighted that the pair of you had stopped kissing, even if the image- in all of its horrifying glory- had been burned into their retinas.

“So, was all of that just a means of escaping?” Rimmer said, his tone indicating a level of confidence and contentment. You assumed that it came from the fact that he must have been at least semi-convinced by everyone’s efforts, particularly yours. “You didn’t really mean any of it, did you?”

The question was for everyone, but his gaze lingered on you. Lister, Kryten and Cat exchanged a glance.

“No,” they agreed in unison.

Rimmer appeared indignant. After a moment of deliberation, you spoke.

“Well, I think you’re alright… Rimmer.”

Lister grinned.

“We all know what you think.”

[sochawrites]

Can you please do an rimmer x fem reader fluff or the episode the gun men of the apocalypse where reader and rimmer are dating.

Sure I can! And why not kind of both?

I am so, so, so sorry it took me so long to write this, it has been a very weird year and I just could not manage to put aside some time to write. I can't promise 2024 will be better, but we all can hope, no?

I hope this is at least a bit satisfactory to you, dear anon, or any of you souls, still lurking around looking for some RD content.

What do you guys say on the news about Red Dwarf: Titan? I was there when they screened the teaser trailer, if one would call it that, and honestly? I'm pretty excited!

Also happy Holidays!

Adrenaline

Arnold Rimmer x Fem!reader

None of you could help but cheer as Starbug flew away from the burning moon, escaping certain doom once again. You were slowly getting used to these situations, but near-death experiences are still near-death experiences and while you tried to focus your mind on the fact that you were alive, your body and nerves were of a different idea.

You were shaking in your seat, gripping the handles and hardly holding back the maniacal laughter of survival. You had enough adrenaline for today, it would probably be better for you to go and calm down, maybe even lay down before you start to crash.

Pulling yourself up on your shaky knees, you excused yourself and stumbled to your room, almost falling on the way out of the control room. Fortunately out of the sight of others, or so you thought. You slowly made your way up the stairs to the sleeping quarters, painfully unaware of the pair of concerned eyes watching you.

Deciding the bed would be the best place to crash onto, you crashed into a much more closer chair, back turned to the door and closed your eyes shut. You were breathing heavily and the sound of the ship was being drowned out by the buzz and thuds in your ears.

A knock caught your attention, albeit barely. "Permission to enter?", you hummed in response, knowing fully well your hologram boyfriend would not take no for an answer and not having enough strength to speak. There was a pause before Rimmer went into the room, but as soon as he did, he cautiously made his way towards you. You could only imagine him looming over you as he tapped on your shoulder.

"I brought you some water," Rimmer announced to you nonchalantly, leaving the glass beside you. You thanked him as you reached for the liquid with both of your shaking hands, but you were positive he barely heard you.

"That was quite a ride, wasn't it? The adrenaline, the thrill!" Rimmer walked around as if giving you an inspirational speech, "Although I have a feeling that for some, it may have been a bit too much, wouldn't you say so, my dear Y/N?". He turned to you with the last sentence, a playful smirk on his lip, but sympathy in his eyes.

You just threw him a look, not amused by his remark, "Yeah, well, not everyone can be as brave as the great Dan McGrew, right, Arn?".

He pouted, "Auch", and knelt down in front of you, reaching his palm to your cheeks, gently caressing. It was always a weird sensation to touch light, soft or hard, not really cold, not really warm. Leaning into his touch, you planted a kiss on his hand, a small smile tugging at the lips of both of you. "You're going to get used to all of this, eventually." Rimmer tried to reassure you, but you just shook your head.

"'Eventualy' isn't soon enough, starlight." the hologram traped your hand in his, squeezing. "It never is, but you'll be fine, I know it.".

You reached your still trembling hand to the one cradling your face, feeling the threat of tears from the stress and weariness. "How?" you whispered, "How are you so sure about this?".

"Love, have you ever seen yourself when we face the unknown? You always keep such a stone-cold face, looking so brave, so fearless! Adrenaline is a powerful muse, the tremble and tears, it's not you, it's just your body, nothing more." Rimmer was now cradling your face in both of his hands, semi-standing, looking directly into your eyes.

"It's only a matter of time until you get used to the rush and once you do…" he paused, maybe because he was searching for words, or maybe just to make his encouragement more meaningful, "You'll be braver than anyone we know."

You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around the holographic body, "Even more than Ace?". You felt him hugging you tightly "Even more than him.".

[incorrectquotesmcu]

Y/N: Come on, you have to sacrifice your life. I’m not asking you to do anything I wouldn’t do.

Steve: You? You’d sacrifice your life for the good of everyone else?

Y/N: No, I’d sacrifice YOUR life for the good of everyone else.

[paperrretro]

LIGHTSTRUCK | pt. 12

Pairing: Merlin x Reader

Word Count: 2,619 words

Warnings: None

Summary: Your father accepts a position as Prince Merlin’s magic tutor, and you are unceremoniously dragged along.

(Or, pieces of your unspectacular life in and out of the royal palace, and how a certain idiotic prince somehow gets wrapped up in it either way.)

read on quotev | read on ao3

In the corner of a restaurant, huddled at a table meant for two, you slurp up the last of the noodles and lick the grease off your lips with a satisfied sigh.

Good, authentic Carmarthenian food is hard to come by on Golden Goose Avenue, but this one – this one is promising. A rich broth, fresh vegetables sliced paper-thin, spices that warm your throat like gentle coals in a fireplace. You long to be able to cook this well, but the culinary arts are more different from elixirism than one would think. (For one, the quality of food is measured by how good it tastes.)

“More?” asks the owner, an older lady who reminds you of Fay. (She owns the restaurant with her son. He’s your age, she’d told you when she brought your food. Single. Graduated top of his class at culinary school and takes very good care of her.)

“Oh, no, thank you. I’m so full.” You feel guilty for saying no, even though you’d given in the previous two times. You eye the table next to yours. “But could I have some tteokbokki to go?”

“Of course.”

After paying your bill and sitting for a bit longer to digest, you heft yourself up and grab your takeout, waving goodbye to the owner and her son before finally exiting the restaurant.

The bright sunlight scalds your eyes. Squinting against it, you look around for some signs or a directory. You’re already done with your work-shopping for the day. Maybe you could go browse for some new books.

Just as you reorient yourself and start heading towards Beauty and the Books, you hear two familiar voices coming from somewhere nearby.

“Red Shoes!”

You perk up, curious. Turning around, you catch sight of Arthur and Merlin rounding a corner, hands cupped around their mouths. Behind them lumbers a giant wooden bunny.

“Red Sh – oh,” Arthur cuts himself off once he spots you, blinking in surprise. “Hello. Fancy running into you here. Have you seen Red Shoes, by any chance?”

You eye Merlin, who only meets your gaze for a second before finding a sudden interest in the nearby lamppost. Fine. He can act how he likes, and you’ll pretend he doesn’t exist. “No.”

“Great.” Arthur sighs and slumps forward. “I take my eyes off her for just a few seconds and she up and disappears on me.”

Your brow wrinkles, and you glance around. You certainly haven’t seen Red Shoes since you got here, but Golden Goose Avenue is a big place, and you haven’t exactly been paying attention to the other shoppers. “Maybe she went into one of the stores to shop by herself. Is it really that big of a deal?”

“Well, no, but you never know what could happen,” Arthur persists. “Looks like hers bring all sorts of creeps out of the woodworks.” He shudders. “Speaking from experience.”

Now, that is something you can imagine. Maybe it’s not so great to be so beautiful, you think, if all you get in return are expectations.

“I’ll help you find her,” you offer.

“Would you? Fantastic!”

Walking alongside Arthur as he retraces his steps, you keep an eye out for silky brown hair, a red satin skirt – lovestruck gazes. You hope she’s outside so you can avoid the hassle of looking in each individual shop. Some of them are charmed to keep you inside for hours.

In all honesty, it’s more likely that Red Shoes will find the three of you instead of the other way around, given the heavy thump, thump, thumps that rumble behind the two of you down the street.

You clear your throat during a lull between calling her name.

“So, what’s with the giant wooden bunny?”

Arthur looks up at you and then back at the silent creature. He reaches up to scratch the back of his head before stopping midway and posturing instead. “Just a vicious beast that I rescued Red Shoes from last night. Pretty impressive, right?”

“Ha!” Merlin says, and Arthur whips around.

“Got something to say, magic boy?!”

As the two begin to bicker, you drop back to examine the bunny again. It stares back at you, eyes half-lidded as if utterly unimpressed with the company it has found itself in. ‘Vicious’ is the last thing you’d use to describe it. If anything, it’s calmer than any of you.

You’ve never heard of giant wooden animals living near Risky Rock before. Maybe the increase in monster activity is affecting the wildlife …

“—so I’m not even gonna bother explaining women to you anymore.” A loud scoff from Arthur distracts you from your staring contest with the bunny, and you furrow your brow as he breaks away from Merlin to resume walking. You jog slightly to catch up. “C’mon, [Y/n]. Red Shoes! Red Shoes?”

From the alleyway to your right, you hear someone call out.

“Guys! Guys, I’m here.”

When you turn to look into the shadows of the alley, you can just make out the figure of a young woman in the middle of a group of knights. She waves at you.

You don’t recognize her. Judging by the looks on Arthur and Merlin’s faces, they don’t know her either, so the three of you awkwardly look away and continue on.

“That was weird,” Merlin mutters once you’re out of earshot.

“She probably thought we were someone else,” Arthur brushes it off. “Let’s go, we need to find Red Shoes.”

Merlin nods, but when you look at him, his expression is troubled. He glances over his shoulder and stops walking.

“No, the way those knights were standing around her …” he starts. “Something didn’t seem right.”

You frown. You’d be the first to list Merlin’s many faults, but poor instincts is not one of them; you’ve been on the wrong end of them too many times to count. You think back to the alleyway and wonder what he had noticed that you didn’t. Was the woman secretly asking for help? Were the knights not as relaxed as you thought they were?

Arthur groans impatiently, throwing his arms out. “They’re probably helping her find whoever she thought we were,” he responds. “It’s fine. Now, are you going to help me find our princess or not?”

Your gaze flits from one prince to the other, stopping on Merlin as he continues to look over his shoulder. His fingers twitch, antsy, and his mouth presses into a thin line before he opens it.

“Keep looking for her,” he finally says, turning around and running back to the alley. “I’ll be right back!”

Curiosity eclipsing your pride, you run after him.

“Are you ser – guys!” Arthur yells after the two of you, his voice fading with the distance. “Merlin, stop trying so hard to play hero!”

With Merlin’s stature, it’s easy to catch up to him. “Hey,” you ask once you do, clutching your bags to your chest to keep their contents from clattering around, “what did you –”

“Shh.” He halts abruptly just before the entrance to the alleyway, throwing an arm out to stop you.

You hold your tongue and swallow the impulse to push him right back. Wordlessly, he and you peek around the corner and squint through the darkness.

Oh.

The knights, who had seemed so casual before, now cluster in the back of the alleyway, their weapons raised. And though you can’t see her, you can hear the voice of the young woman from before.

(You hate it when he’s right.)

The soft crinkle of paper by your leg catches your ear, and you glance down to see Merlin holding one of his talismans. Your eyes widen.

“Uh, Merlin –”

“Come on,” he mutters, and the next thing you know, he’s striding towards the knights and flicking his fingers with quiet confidence.

The knights rattle and drop like flies, revealing the cowering figure of the poor woman you’d all ignored earlier. She’s pressed herself against the back wall. As she lowers her arms, eyes round with shock and fear, shame swirls in the pit of your stomach.

You trail after Merlin as he picks a red shoe off the ground and dusts it off. He approaches the woman and offers it to her.

“Your red shoe, milady,” Merlin says.

His voice is gentle, assuring, and soft, and it renders you speechless.

Merlin isn’t gentle. He’s arrogant, and flashy, and tries too hard to be suave. He’s a prince. He’s not a gentleman. But the way he had gone back, and the way he had stayed to speak with the woman afterwards …

Something moves inside your chest. It warms behind your ribcage, and you are startled by the strangeness of it, and strangely frightened.

“… Excuse me, miss, have we met?”

“Um”—the woman tenses, meeting your eyes before quickly looking away, and you are hit with a odd, vague sense of familiarity—“well, that’s kind of a complicated question.”

You open your mouth, only to be interrupted by the sound of Arthur yelling out for Red Shoes outside the alley.

You had almost forgotten.

“Will you be okay?” You break your silence upon your second attempt, lowering the bags from your arms.

This time, the woman holds your gaze, and she smiles a bit bigger, nodding. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay … er.” There are now two pairs of eyes on you as you free one hand to dig around in your satchel and pull out a small bottle. It’s partly to assuage your guilt, which makes you feel guiltier somehow, but, “Here, have this. It’s a deterrent. You spray it.” When she takes it hesitantly, you hastily tack on, “It’s free.”

(Oh, gods, you think. Why would you even say that?)

Merlin tugs at your sleeve, gesturing at the street with his head. “We gotta go,” he tells the woman. “Stay safe.”

You mumble out some semblance of a similar sentiment, and as you leave her, hurrying out of the darkness into the bright light, you bite your bottom lip in embarrassment and squeeze your eyes shut.

“Wow.” Merlin releases you once you’ve both turned the corner, letting out a snort that brings blood rushing to your ears. “I bet princesses would be scrambling in line for your post-rescue care.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, desperately wishing for him to just drop it, drop it. (You know he won’t.) “What – what about that weird act you had going back there? ‘Your red shoes, milady’ – I almost died of cringe!”

“Excuse me? I wasn’t acting,” Merlin replies indignantly. “And it wasn’t cringey.”

“I’ve never seen you be that nice without a motive.”

He huffs up at you. “I’m actually genuinely nice, thank you! You’d know that if you didn’t antagonize me all the time.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around,” you retort.

“Oh, please.” The two of you begin to walk towards Arthur and the Wood-Rabbit, and Merlin’s voice takes on a smugger tone, needling at the part of you that remains young and oversensitive. “You know what I think?” he says. “I think you’re jealous that I was being nice to her.”

“… What?”

“It’s perfectly fine, [Y/n].” He casts a glance at you, a smirk stretching across his cheeks. “If you ever get attacked by a dragon or something, I’ll sweep you off your feet too.”

You balk. Heat spreads from your ears to the entirety of your face.

That little –

“Took you guys long enough!” Arthur scolds right as you’ve decided to encase Merlin’s head in an ice cube and then yours. “So, Merlin, was I right or was I right?”

“You were wrong, actually,” Merlin snarks. “There was a problem, and I took care of it. [Y/n] can vouch for that.”

“Yeah, right, you really think I’m gonna believe”—Arthur looks to you for backup, only for his face to drop when you glare at the ground and cross your arms—“believe … w-well, that’s …! Fine! Anyways, more importantly, I just saw Red Shoes on a wanted poster, and I have a lot of questions about that, so we need to find her ASAP.”

“Wanted poster?” you ask.

“You didn’t see them? The knights have been passing them out,” Merlin says. “The ones that weren’t busy harassing citizens, at least.”

He pulls out a piece of paper and unfolds it, offering it to you. With distaste curling your lips, refusing to meet his eyes, you snatch it up and read the header and footer.

WANTED, it says. BIG REWARD.

Drawn in the middle of the page is, without question, Red Shoes.

“What did she do?”

“It doesn’t say.”

“I know it doesn’t say; I can read. What did the knights say?”

“Go and ask them yourself.”

“Oh, for the Lady’s sake,” bemoans Arthur, throwing his head back and turning around, “I liked it better when you two were moping. Can you just –” He looks past you and suddenly, his eyes brighten. “Red Shoes!”

He waves his arm. You turn on your heel, catching sight of who you’re certain is Red Shoes dashing towards the entrance of the Avenue. She doesn’t so much as slow down or look over her shoulder.

“Stop!”

You blink, and a gust of wind blows by as two giant men barrel past you. It doesn’t take much to figure out who they’re chasing after.

Merlin yanks your arm a split second later.

“Get on!”

“Get on what –” Realizing his plan, you scramble after him onto the Wood-Rabbit’s back. “What about Arthur?”

Merlin clutches onto the greenery sprouting from the back of the rabbit’s head. “He’ll catch up!”

You yelp as the Wood-Rabbit stands up, grabbing a fistful of moss with your right hand. Your left hand isn’t so lucky.

The creature bounds forward, and you fly several inches up into the air. With a panicked gasp, you wrap your loose arm around the next sturdiest thing and squeeze tight.

Merlin lets out a mix between a wheeze and a cough as you all but crush his lungs. “What are you doing?” he yells, trying to pry your hand from his coat. “Grab Red Shoes!”

The rabbit jumps again, bringing your heart to your throat, and you tighten your grip. “You’re the rescuer, aren’t you?!”

“How can you expect me to – just do it!”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can!”

“I can’t!” you shriek just as you catch up to Red Shoes, throwing your arm out. She grabs it, and when the rabbit jumps, she soars upward and lands right behind you.

“I’m okay!” she yells, grabbing the moss on the Wood-Rabbit’s back with far better luck than you.

Merlin looks back, exhaling with relief when he sees Red Shoes. “Thank Morgaina,” he exclaims. The four of you sail past the Avenue’s entrance, and his attention then turns to you, his eyebrows raising as you dig your fingers into his coat again. “See, was that so hard, you big baby?”

“You’re a jerk,” you shout. But your nerves are alight, and your blood is rushing, and a sharp, wild laugh bubbles from your throat for the very first time. “If we die, I’ll kill you myself!”

“Like you could!” he says. You feel laughter rumbling through his chest, fresh and real and alive.

(Your heart jumps into your throat again.)

Behind you, Red Shoes dissolves into giggles. The adrenaline pounding in your head brings with it the hysterical relief that only comes from a terrifying experience, and your laughter joins hers and Merlin’s, cracking the air and leaving your pursuers in its wake.

This curse is going to take years off your life, you think. You find yourself not caring nearly as much as you should.

—

Part: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve

[gustofnostalgia]

I. SERENDIPITY

―― I just remember I was lonely - I guess I am always, it's not a problem. It's just something, I got used to.

" YOU LOOK LONELY. " ― How would they say it? ― FIRST IMPRESSIONS herbivores edition ⟶ carnivores edition

TWS: READER IS DESCRIBED TO BE A RECLUSE, READER IS HINTED TO BE A CARNIVORE, READER IS FRIENDS WITH JUNO, SPECIAL TREATMENT FROM LOUIS, LOUIS IS HINTED TO HAVE OBSERVED READER FROM AFAR, PINA BEING PINA

۶ৎ LOUIS ; By the drama clubs practice room...

"You look lonely." : His voice is measured, few words meticulously chosen to be cryptic — He wasn't empathizing with you, but simply, pointing it out — His lithe frame towers over yours solely because you don't choose to look up at him as you were sat by the upper area of the drama club room. Louis appears beside you with nothing but a thin lipped smile, thinly veiling what you assume to be contempt.

His doey eyes focused heavily on your hunched figure as you turn your attention to the floor below you, barred off by the metal fence that kept you safe from falling. From the corner of your eye, you could see his clean golden fur shift while he moved to cross his arms "I was under the impression you were closely affiliated with Juno.. I wouldn't have thought you to spend your lunch in your lonesome." The red deers velvet voice reaches your ears, smooth yet precise.

You swivel around to ask him of his intentions here (since of course Louis the red deer, would not waste his time with campus loners, let alone someone of your kind.) however you were swiftly interrupted by the sound of clothes rustling paired with a soft grunt. Your mouth ached to open, curious inquiries threatened to rupture from your throat although no sound had come out.

Your own eyes, the opposite of his, intruding and immensely intrigued were glued to his movements. Despite being laser focused on every single action he made, each breath he took, you paused for a few seconds to recognize that he turned his heel away from you "You should be hungry by now. It's a free period, You should indulge your appetite." Maybe you were hearing things, but the manner in which he said appetite clicked something in you.

Regardless, the subtle change in tone could not compare to the kindness he was providing you in the moment. Looking up, you expect an expression akin to one of pity, apathy or even impatience, with his antlers arrogantly held up yet.. As soon as your gaze lands on his own, he doesn't present himself with the aloof and commanding face of you've grown used to, for once, he offers a small smile as he tilts his head to the path downstairs, coaxing you to follow him with a wave of his hand.

۶ৎ HARU ; By the gardening clubs private sanctuary...

"You look lonely.." : Her voice is innocuous, unassuming and curious she sounds audibly surprised of your presence — She said it so sympathetically, like she recognized your circumstance — She was leaning down, long ivory ears drooping while she matched your eye level. Her beady irises were glued onto your own nearly enough to make you feel unnerved from how doll-like they appeared "Ironic. How so many people run up to the gardening clubs area for solitude even when they've never thought of joining before."

Haru chuckled the same way an adolescent would, steady and gentle however her small voice didn't match her tone. "What brings you here?" The dwarf rabbit would ask, positioning herself beside you as she'd hug her knees against her and rest her head on the clean fur of her arms, the pads of her fingers digging into her pure white uniform.

You move to speak, to respond to her question if she didn't continue abruptly "Since you're here though.. You could help out!" The statement motivates you to answer, this time, with more conviction though you find that she coincidentally, disrupts you the second time "Tell you what, if you like the solitary this place has, I can let you stay here any time you need it.. As long as.."

Your eyes scan her body — noting how little she is compared to you — before you notice the prominent curl of her naturally shaped lips (almost always mirroring a grin.) twitching upwards "You put in some work here." she stated it so easily, even if it was formed like an offer, it felt more like an insistent exchange on her part from how expectant she looked.

No matter how many times you looked at her, Haru possessed a grin ingrained by her species, painting a friendly appearance upon her. You didn't feel like rejecting the arrangement, it sounded less isolated than what your routine usually consisted of. So instead, you silently accept the deal by placing a hand above her extended one (She was shaking erratically yet she looked so composed..)

۶ৎ PINA ; By the cafeteria...

"You look lonely~" His voice is practiced, melodious to your ears but unbearably annoying — He couldn't care enough to appear empathetic, resulting in him sounding condescending — Lush cream fur made its way into your view, fixed to perfection as you watched each curl bounce when he sat down beside you. The light caught his horns in a particularly pleasant way, as if he was meant to be situated near you.

It didn't take long for a multitude of herbivores to glance at him by your table and immediately begin to fume (much to your displeasure of being forced into a spotlight, but that was all Pina had ever brought.) while the Dall sheep locked eyes with you as his lips tugged into a friendly smile — although looking more closely, it resembles a smirk more — inspecting every part of you from head to toe.

"Although I suppose I can't be so assuming of your behavior.. I know you carnivores love your.. Social activities." a voice as feather light as silk wrapped itself around your mind, irritating you from how it seemed to creep into every crevice of your being "Considering you're one of them, I presume you'd be good friends with that.. Ah, who was it, June? Yes I think that's right, that gray wolf. I must admit, she really has everyone wrapped around her flawed fingers doesn't she?" He chuckles, mostly to himself.

Is he enjoying the fact that you're getting bugged out. "Since I'm in no mood to be entertaining my lot today, I think it's best I give you the privilege of my presence, hm?" Maybe. "I'm sure my company would cheer you up some~ Especially since your species is known for their brooding." Yes. He really is enjoying this..

P.S: Apologies if there are any grammatical errors or innacuracies, I just recently picked up on the manga and have been enamored by the characters and the story itself. Usually, I'd finish the Manga first before writing however in my defense, I adore the cast too much to hold back till the end!

[mx-piggy]

red dwarf nation i am in dire need of rimmer x reader fics that have a gender neutral or male reader. i've been too scared to look out of fear that all that i'll find is fem!reader stuff (which is a no-go for me because the dysphoria is really hitting at the moment). maybe i will write a self-indulgent gender dysphoria fic if you guys promise not to be bothered by the fact i'd be writing as someone who is only on season 4.

[d1sc0s8n]

Kawaii!Rimmer that no one asked for? Sure why not. Made this for fun, feel free to use as an icon, just credit me for the edit, pls!

[itsfuntobeavampiree]

Hippie love

Now we all know rimmers views on hippies BUT what happens if his partner so happened to be one...

(I haven't written anything publicly in ages, so please excuse me. I'm a bit rusty, miladdo)

Contains: female reader,Ooc rimmer bc I suck at writing him, there's a word for it, but I canny remember so it's off topic from the actual plot of red dwarf <3

Y/n joined the boys in the cockpit of starbug. Today, the alert system was rattling away like no other. The boys were very occupied with this and she had no choice but to watch. Unfortunately.

"Hey, the radars are picking up a distance space craft," Lister announced, flicking switches, pressing buttons, and other necessities. Y/n walked up to the front to get a load of this herself. She inspected the screen, and it displayed a 100 or so yards space craft lingering in front of starbug.

"Now hey hey, maybe they're in need of help!" She suggested, making light of all things negative. That's what y/n did, with her spiritual view on everything she always had hope that in everyone kindness hid. Except her boyfriend, rimmer, rimmers kindness got lost in the womb.

"Well, wouldn't they have sent a distress call already? I mean, c'mon y/n, the last time you suggested someone was nice, they tried to maul you to death!" Rimmer scoffed, giving her a look that was different from the ones he gave to the boys but still meant the same. His look to her was softer. Y/n rolled her eyes.

"We can always hope, can't we? Everyone knows the saying, 'Make love not war,' " she stated, very clearly expressing her views. The four boys looked at her strangley like the past few times y/n tried to help people out it always backfired.

"I may not be smart, but what you just said sure made me feel like it!" Cat laughed, moving on from her horrible opinion. She tsked and turned to her boyfriend for some support, which he only shrugged at.

"Wow. You lot are gonna regret this later on when I'm right and you're all wrong! Especially you, Arnold Judas Rimmer!" Y/n glared directly at him, which he tried to hide away from by ducking down, but it clearly didn't work as she pointed a finger at him to make it more obvious she didn't appreciate his no support. Lister 'Oooed' at rimmers telling off, soon snickering alongside cat and kryten who surprisingly joined in. Getting his fair share from it.

After what...unfortunately happened with coming to contact with the space craft whose members didn't seem to be what y/n wished, she quickly got her taunting from Lister who did NOT stop bothering her about it for the rest of the day. Rimmer enjoyed watching her get frustrated by all this but soon packed it in when he was pulled from his collar to somewhere quiet. Too quiet.

He looked down at his girlfriend, who didn't seem so pleased with him. He gulped uncontrollably.

"Don't think you're getting away from this, mister. What happened to you 'finally' supporting my opinions?" She huffed in anger. Rimmer licked his lips, letting out a soft chuckle which left y/n more furious then before.

"What's so funny, rimmer?" She growled. She never really used her boyfriends last name unless she was really ticked off, and she was.

"Well, have a think now, will you? Smoking 12 joints a day and saying 'peace and love' won't get the attention from anyone, will it? Well, unless if the beatles were in town," he cheekily replied. Y/n clicked her tongue in disbelief. She stood herself up on her tippy toes, so she was somewhere near his height to begin giving him a piece of her mind. Verbally.

"You've got the cheek, haven't you arnold? Don't start getting used to this power cause im pulling it straight out of you very soon." she whispered. Whenever y/n started to lower her voice in an argument, it somewhat seemed more sincere and rimmer didn't like this.

"Look, I apologise, but -" rimmer started off strong, but his speech was muffled by a soft peck on the lips. He raised a brow, confused by why y/n changed up so quickly, but it soon hit. It hit him very hard. She was gonna use this all against him until...well, whenever she felt was the right time. Y/n was never the one to continue being angry or any of those negative emotions, but her boyfriend, Arnold j. Rimmer filled that all in for her, so she enjoyed using herself against him in a more gentle way. Which he infact did not like.

"Isn't this all silly! Let's move on before we both get riled up. Now let me go make your bed darling" she smiled, stroking his cheek softly. His brows furrowed, confused.

"But I always sleep in your bed?" He said, watching her leave his side and off to his and listers quarters.

"Not tonight! Think I'll be too 'peace and love' for you" she smiled innocently, knowing her cheek over him was working. She skipped away leaving him with many unanswered questions.

"But- wait! Wait y/n I love your hippieness! I love hippies, please don't let me share a room with lister again!" Rimmer yelled after her.

"Hang on, are you going hippie on us rimmer?" Lister smirked, coming into the room just in time. Rimmer turned to look at him, face full of disgust.

"Oh shut up lister"

-------------------‐--------------------------

OMG OMG, I was going through my drafts and I found this. Why did I not post it it's the best one I've done in like a year bc this is the only one😭 I'll try to post more often I've js not been feeling it at all recently.

[sttoru]

 𝝑𝑒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. the ryomen sukuna has never in his thousand years of living apologised to any living being. so why does he feel the need to make it up to you after (unintentionally) hurting you?

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. fluff, angst (hurt to comfort), suggestive. sukuna is an asshole but also not i guess. a little bit ooc. reader gets called ‘brat, woman’. not proofread. wc: 1.8k

sukuna has never felt the need to apologize. he’s never in the wrong if you ask him. apologising to someone he deems ‘lesser’ would be a sign of weakness.

yet the king of curses always has this secret need to make his favorite concubine feel better after (unintentionally) hurting her. you’ve got this hold on him that he will never acknowledge. although there are moments where he will indirectly show you that he regrets upsetting you.

it’s a quiet saturday evening and you’re relaxing in your bedchambers after eating your dinner. you didn’t go to the dining hall to eat with sukuna and the others. no, you made sure your head lady-in-waiting brought your food to your room.

sukuna and you got into a ‘little’ argument yesterday. you both spent the entire day and night alone instead of in each other’s presence, which is the norm. even the people around you have noticed the growing tension whenever sukuna and you would cross paths.

of course, the other concubines seized the opporunity to vie for sukuna’s attention now that his favored little concubine was no longer by his side. yet, their efforts proved in vain. sukuna had grown more irritable over the past twenty-four hours, his mind relentlessly preoccupied with thoughts of you—a fact that only frustrated him further. you weren't in the mood to speak with him again, so why did that bother him so much? It should have made him scoff, made him see you as weak and driven him to demand that you speak to him once more.

but all the king of curses can think about is how to get you to cling to him once more. as much as he says that it’s exhausting to have a needy 'brat' at his side all the time, your abscence makes him realise he secretly enjoys having you around.

snapping back into your own thoughts, you realise you’ve been staring at your cup of tea for the longest time. you sigh and get up from the table, your feet dragging over the tatami flooring. however a sudden knock on your doors causes you to stop in your tracks.

“come in,” you murmur, thinking it is one of your ladies-in-waiting with your dessert. but the silence that follows afterwards is nearly ominous.

you frown and sigh before going over to the shoji. you slide the screens aside, only to be met by a wall of muscles you know way too well. you tilt your head back and your eyes widen slightly at the sight of the one man you stubbornly refused to talk to.

sukuna looms over you, his massive frame dwarfing your smaller one. he invites himself inside, not waiting on a response from you. he steps into your room and turns around to face you. his dark red eyes narrow as he tries to decipher the emotions playing on your face.

you don’t say a thing. you don’t look at him. you don’t smile at him. you don’t move a muscle. no acknowledgment at all. sukuna hates it—it’s unusual for you to be so cold. your eyes dart to the floor and your bottom lip subtly forms a defiant pout.

sukuna scoffs. he’s made the decision to break the silence between you two first, coming all the way to your bedchambers to talk. he would never have done such a thing for anyone else—would have waited for them to grovel before him and beg for his forgiveness. and yet here he is, standing in front of his concubine, ready to confront the issues between them.

he feels pathetic and it angers him from within. he desires to command you to get on your knees and apologise to him, to obey him and forget what happened. however an annoying voice in the back of his head tells him to be patient with you.

“tch, what’s with the face?” sukuna's deep and commanding voice fills the spacious room. he doesn't go about it the gentle way—he’s still him after all. “y’re still sulking about that little thing? i thought i told ya to stop thinkin’ about it.”

hearing sukuna say the latter makes your heart ache and your eyes water from frustration. everything seems like it’s not a big deal to him—even when you’re clearly upset.

“that was not just a little thing, my lord!” you raise your voice just a little, surprising yourself as the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. you swallow thickly and bite your lip. you've done it now, the thought echoes inside your head.

sukuna’s eyebrows raise in surprise at your outburst, not used to you raising your voice to him like that. although in an instant, his eyes flash with something dangerous. you may be his favorite and he may let you get away with a lot of things, yet there are boundaries. rules that even you must obey.

the king of curses would probably find it amusing to see you snap back at him, thinking you will achieve something with that, but today is not one of those days. the shimmering tension between you two has lead to him being more agitated than ever.

sukuna closes the distance between you two and reaches out to grab you by our jaw. his fingers curl tightly beneath your chin and force your head to turn, making you face him.

“you dare raise your voice at me, woman?” sukuna growls, his face mere inches from yours. his grip borders on painful and you wince at the ache in your jaw. he doesn’t let go and instead tightens his hold, “i don't have time for this fuckin' nonsense.”

sukuna releases you with a light shove. he takes a deep breath to try and calm down, to remind himself that he came her to clear things up. but it’s difficult because he’s never had to do this before. never had to listen to someone else, always expecting them to simply endure and move on whenever he caused harm.

you stumble a bit, rubbing at the your chin. you don’t get it; is sukuna here to make it worse for you? to rub it in? to remind you again of what he said to upset you? to make fun of you for being upset about it?

it certainly does hurt. you replay that moment again in your head. the moment when sukuna told you he could replace you with someone else whenever he desires. it is a fact. sukuna can do that whenever he pleases. but it stung to hear him say it so explicitly. to hear him say it to your face, as if that doesn't already keep you awake at night.

little did you know, sukuna didn’t mean to hurt you too much with that comment. he didn’t expect you to ignore him, to avoid him, all because of what he said. he simply said it because he was struggling with his own emotions—denying that he feels anything for you. he said it to remind himself that he isn’t getting attached to a human.

but that failed terribly. seeing you like this—your teary eyes glaring up at him with fear, hurt and betrayal made him feel an uncomfortable pang in his chest. something that resembled guilt.

“have a good night then, my lord,” you dismiss sukuna and turn away, your voice strained with emotion. you don’t want to start another argument with him.

the king of curses grits his teeth. there it goes again. ‘my lord’ — yes, it’s what most others call him, but not you. you always called him by nicknames he deemed foolish. ‘kuna, ryo or even dear. he strangely longs to hear your voice call him as such again.

sukuna stands there, trying to reign in his anger and other overwhelming emotions. he grabs your wrist and tugs you back to him, making you stumble and catch yourself against his chiseled chest.

he doesn’t know what to say—doesn’t trust himself to speak. he knows he’ll make it worse by speaking, knows he’ll rile you up even more. thus he chooses not to utter a word for a moment.

your eyes meet and you’re surprised when sukuna leans down to catch your lips in a kiss. your hands fist into the collar of his kimono, your mind telling you to back off. this man is dangerous—playing with your emotions like this.

telling you one thing, but contradicting himself with his actions. it’s extremely confusing yet also exhilarating.

you close your eyes and respond to his kiss with equal fervor. the pink-haired man groans against your lips, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip before biting on it. a habit of his.

sukuna’s large hands roam over your body as he presses you as close to him as possible. it’s like he’s reassuring you with his touch—melting away all your worries. it’s a manipulative tactic that somehow always gets you. or perhaps it’s just his way of apologising.

which of the two it is, will always be vague and unknown.

eventually, he pulls away, leaving you both breathless. you stare up at him with a huff before glancing the other way. you’re still sulking, still pouting.

sukuna rolls his eyes and easily lifts your body up into his arms. two of his hands settle on the back of your thighs, the other two grazing the side of your breast and waist. he carries you over to your bed and sits on the edge with you on his lap.

“y’re a fool,” sukuna clicks his tongue. his fingers slither up the exposed skin of your arm and against your cheek to flick your forehead. he gains a whimper from you which urges him to do it again.

you frown and rub at the tingly skin on your head. your eyes are still watery, lashes clumped together due to your tears. it’s almost cute. almost. “and you look pathetic,” the man in front of you adds with a condescending smirk.

you weakly smack sukuna’s chest, making his grin widen. there you go—there is the woman he knows, slowly making a comeback. slowly warming up to him again. slowly being playful with him once more.

sukuna sighs. to you, it may seem like a tired sigh, but in reality it’s a sigh of relief. he may not have solved this issue between you two in a normal, healthy way, but it worked out anyway.

“you’re mean,” your comment breaks the moment of silence. your bottom lip trembles and you look like you might just cry it all out. the frustration, the fear, the hurt, the relief—it’s overwhelming.

sukuna inhales briefly. he doesn’t respond to your little remark, instead, he holds the back of your head and presses your face into his chest. he holds your body against him, nestled warmly between his muscular arms.

you don’t protest at all. you close your eyes and breathe in his familiar scent, nuzzling your nose into his pecs. you know this is his way of making you feel betted so you will not complain.

an apology will never leave the prideful man's lips and you’ve come to accept it. this way of reassuring you counts as something at the very least.

it doesn’t matter who or what gets between you two, at the end of the day, you’ll find each other again. one way or another.

and that's all you need.

[dilf-docs]

Call It What You Want

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

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

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

word count: 11,706 words

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

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

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

You take your seat and so does Jimmy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh. My. God"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were never a fan of secrets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was hard.

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

But God has heard your prayers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm all ears"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How could you ever say no to this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You both stop.

The sound gets clearer.

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

A knock in Pedro's trailer.

And you are inside. Both.

While you're grinding him.

With his skirt on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, fuck this shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You spit on your hand, and he gulps.

"Somethin' like that"

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

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

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

"I'll be there, Paul, just―Fuck!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He points down.

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

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

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

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

But then Paul got sick.

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

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

"Tell me"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pedro, no seas necio!"

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

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

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

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

"And I'm Pedro Pascal"

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

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

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

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

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

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

If he was gonna play, so were you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's so crazy"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oomfs"

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

This is easy. It was all over your timeline.

"Protective mom" you answer on a beat.

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

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

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

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

"It's people's princess"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's Greta Gerwig, actually"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"W-wait a minute"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, that's dissapointing. Please continue"

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

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

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

You can't help but laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah" he answers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Connor?" she asks, confused.

"Incorrect. Three points" while pointing you three.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No peeking" Connie berates as Pedro laughs.

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

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

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

"Yes, Joseph"

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

"No, but it's in that-"

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

"...family of thought" he finishes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It really is not" Connie agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"February" all of you say.

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

"Second" Mescal reveals. "Point to Joseph"

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

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

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

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

"What is my full name?"

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

"Pedro Pascal, something, something" says Joseph.

"Nope"

"No?"

"Pedro Maria, Jose Maria Pascal" Paul struggles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paul gets angry. That sore looser.

"That's absolute bullshit"

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

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

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

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

Quinn raises his hand. "It's me"

"That you're my favorite actor?"

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

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

"Do you remember?" Joseph insists.

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

"Oh" he sounds rather dissapointed.

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

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

"Marlon Brando?" Connie guesses.

"Is it Harrison Ford?" Fred guesses.

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

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

"As a kid?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The answer in the card is-"

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

Now you have three points under your belt.

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

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

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

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

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

You put a puzzled look.

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

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

"Joe's got it" Connie agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" Joseph asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck" Pedro tries.

"No"

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

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

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

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

"Shit" Paul tries.

"Satan" she reveals.

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

"Vos Satan!" Connie curses.

Now it's Fred's turn.

"What is my weirdest on-set habit?"

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

"I have" Pedro interrupts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You huff, annoyed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What celebrity do I get mistaken for?"

"Daisy Edgar-Jones sometimes" says Mescal. Of course he had to bring her up.

"No, she gets mistaken for me" Joseph jokes. "Yeah, poor Daisy. But I'm writing it down"

"That was the two letters?" Pedro notices. Still, no one gets it.

It's fucking Justin Timberlake. You'd never guess that.

"What is my favorite film franchise?"

You've probaly named all the existing franchises to no avail. You think fo your dad, a huge geek, trying to remember if there is one missing.

"Oh- Lord of the Rings!" you both answer with Paul at the same time.

"C'mon!" his celebration is short lived when he realizes you tied to him.

"What is my favorite British slang word?"

Pedro says it can't be said, but Quinn insists they can, even adding it's his favorite one too.

"We can say bad words? We can say-?" but the camera beeps over it.

The answer is Bellend. What even is that? Joseph feigns sadness and Pedro keeps apologizing, even as you sit on the chair.

"Okay. I'm last"you wiggle your eyebrows with interest. "Let's see. Okay, first question: what did I take from the Gladiator II set?"

"You took something?" Joseph asks on disbelief.

"Why wouldn't I take something?"

"Is it like an item or memorabilia?" asks Connie.

"It's an item" you uncap the marker, scribbling down the answer.

"It's a short word" Fred points out, but still can't provide a guess.

"You took the rings home" Pedro answers. You snap your had on his way, probably obvious. "What? You told me" he says.

Of course Paul complains. "Hey, that isn't fair! He knew the answer before!"

"Well, if you payed more attention to me, you'd know it"

Lies. Pedro knows because it's sitting in the jewelry box inside your house.

"See? I do pay attention" Pedro playfully hits Mescal.

"I could pay you more attention" he looks at you.

"Alright, then do. Ready? Next question: what is my go-to movie? Oh, this is a good one. I'm always changing it, but most of the time I end up choosing the same one"

They all give you a puzzled look as you scribble.

"C'mon, guys! I've said it on interviews before too. Paul?" the man shrugs. "Thought you said you'd pay me more attention. Heads up, you're doing a terrible job so far!"

"Hey!" he protests. "It's not fair if the answer's changing. Give us a clue"

"You didn't give any clues to yours!" you giggle. "Besides, I don't want you to win"

"Hey, that's against the rules!"

"I'd say it depends on the season" Pedro speaks up. You quirk an eyebrow. "Like, if it's changing, I don't think your Christmas go-to movie is the same as your summer one"

"Actually" you smile fondly, "that is true. On summer, it's Mamma Mia. So I suppose, if you can't guess the one, that'll do"

"No" he smiles, cheeky. "I know it too"

"Yeah?" you challenge, "what is it, then?"

"It's Thelma and Louise" he answers, and your heart beats fast.

"How do you know?" Paul inquires. "Somebody was paying attention to Y/n L/n very closely during the shooting of this movie"

Ah, his joke from earlier. Joseph giggles behind him. Karma, he supposes.

"She said it on an interview, guys. C'mon, learn your sources!"

"Okay" you clear your throat. "What movie got me into acting?"

"Thelma and Louise" Joseph tries.

"No" you laugh, "you're just recycling the answer"

"Is it an old or modern movie?" Connie asks.

"Hmh, old" you pause, "just not... I don't know if you'll ever guess it"

"Is it a Pedro Almodóvar film?" you shake your head. "What? You're always mentioning him!"

Pedro looks into your eyes amid the others' discussion, and you can tell he remembers the conversation.

"There isn't one"

You smile, chest pounding at his soft tone.

"That's correct"

"A trick question?!" Paul yells. "I quit"

"When there's just one left?" you tease.

"Yes, because you've been hiding it all the time but no more" he counters, pointing both you and Pedro. You feel the space getting smaller, breaths going from even to noticeable. "You are sharing answers"

You try to make your breath of relief pass as a chuckle.

"I'm not even gonna win, relax. And drop the charges, please. Loose like a man"

"You didn't explain it though" Connie speaks. "What did Pedro mean?"

"While I have many movies that are inspiration to me, they aren't the reason I chose this path. I did it because I saw an Oscar's ceremony when I was 11" you explain fondly, feeling warm at the memories. "I still remember when they handed the award to Diablo Cody for best original screenplay. I don't know, man, it moved me. What it meant for young artists who came from nothing. I guess I wanted, one day, to be the one standing there, for other dreamers to see it's possible"

"Wow, that's beautiful" Connie says.

"Thank you" you get flustered. "Suppose it was worth it, you know, to do interviews about not really knowing my cast mates" and laugh.

"How does Pedro know, though?" Joseph asks.

"We talk a lot" you clear your throat. "Last one: what indie horror movie did I make a small appearence in? I'm feeling generous because it's the last so I'll give you a clue. It's a Stephen King adaptation"

Paul is the first to speak. "You where in a-"

"Yeah but it wasn't such a huge role. Don't make yourself any ideas"

"I have no idea" Connie surrenders. "Other clue, as in how many words?"

"It doesn't even have any words" you laugh. "You give up? It's 1922. Was an extra as well. Made me think Netflix had my name highlighted in the extra call sheet, because I did so many minor and background roles during that year. Grateful, though, because now I get to be Rome's empress and not fortune teller or highschool #6"

The interview ends, and the camera may or may have not captured the last seconds, Pedro's gaze fixated with you the entire time.

elysyannemimi: we all saw that right? GET PEDRO AND Y/N IN A ROMCOM ❗THEIR CHEMISTRY IS INSANE❗ at0michips: love paul and y/n so much 😭😭 gimme enemies to lovers RN ㅤㅤbobgirllll: at0michips wait what if paul and y/n are secretly dating 😳 ㅤㅤann-gell: bobgirllll quick question are u dumb unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they're married. it has to be. trust me ㅤㅤstarlightt180: unhing3dprincess BESTIE U ARE BACK

You arrived in London today. The premiere will be in a few days, and things have been, well, hectic.

Lux couldn't stop talking all the plane ride, but your mind kept going back at the email your manager had sent you before you had boarded the plane.

It's catching upon you, read the haunting message. Attached below, a TMZ article that claimed a regular church attendee had seen you both getting married. It also used a lot of the noise fans had been making on social media, connecting dots or just hyping up the undeniable chemistry. It ended with a little paragraph saying it was obvios, and they're just hoping you'd confirmed it.

You came to realize you didn't care about it anymore. Sure, the pushing around annoyed you, but the thought of still keeping your marriage under wraps feels pointless now. Why wouldn't you shout to the world how in love with your husband you are?

Yet, when you arrive at the hotel, you keep the same protocol of arriving after Pedro, who has already checked in with two keys, claiming its for him and his sister, while you ask for the key to Lux's actual room. After you swipe cards with her, you head over the room you'd be sharing with your husband.

His face appears in your frame, everything happening quickly.

"Get inside. Now"

Your body is dragged inside the hotel room, not even giving you time to swipe the key for yourself.

"Pedro!" you exclaim, between surprised and confused. "What the hell is your problem?"

"Did you read it?"

"What? The article?" your tone is filled with annoyance. "Yes, I did. Why?"

"What do you mean why?" he snaps, voice raising higher. "Don't play dumb with me. You know fans have fuelled the rumors, and tabloids have started digging every corner in fucking California"

"So, what? You're acting as if people finding out is the worst thing in the world" you roll your eyes.

"It is, yes!" Pedro bursts out, caving in to the stress.

It feels like you've been hit across your face.

"Excuse me?" you seethe, hurt etched all across your features. "Would it be the worst thing in the world to admit you're married to the person you supposedly love the most?"

"I love you, y/n. It's just-"

His voice softens, trying to reach for you, yet you pull back, his hand falling to his side in an akward manner. He sighs in frustration, running a hand through his hair as he sits on the edge of the bed.

"I love you" he repeats, sounding much more sure this time.

Your frame seems smaller as your voice comes out hoarse, filled with emotion, appearing to be in the brink of tears:

"Then why do you act like you're embarrassed of me?"

He hates himself for making you feel this way, making you think things that aren't true.

"I don't. Never" he emphasizes. Then, tries to reach once again when you move a little bit closer to him, recognizing that's your way of letting him know you're ready. "You're the most precious thing in the world to me, don't ever think the opposite" then he sighs, heavy. "I'm just scared"

You silently ask him to explain, rubbing his thumb soothingly across his tattoo.

"You're so young, and I'm, well- I know we're aware of it, but people are cruel and the press is ruthless. I don't want to see your name dragged across the mud because you decided to marry me. Your career is starting, and I'd never forgive myself is something happened to you because of me. Not trying to make this about me, yeah? But this industry is fucked up. You've work hard to get to where you are, and it'll be unfair if you'd loose it. I'm scared because us..." he wavers, words trailing off. "I want us to be. I wouldn't want to live in a world without you, i-it would kill me not to have you be my wife"

You desperately want to kiss off the worry on his face, but let him finish.

"N-not saying our love is weak, or anything! That a couple of opinions or tabloids will- you know? Just, I-I don't want them to break us apart. Mi vida, you're the light of my life. Please, forgive me, I-"

He feels his throat closing up, words failing to come out. You sense the grip on your hand to be stronger, immediately letting loose of it.

"Hey. C'mere" your voice is tender, allowing him to bury his face in your stomach as you comb his messy curls with your fingers. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere"

He lets himself melt under your touch, his mind loosing itself in the soft of your digits and your perfume up his nostrils. He's again breathing normaly, hands now hugging your waist.

"There you go. Better?" Pedro nods, still not being able to talk. "That's okay, take all the time you need. We have all day"

"Do we?" he raises his view, his eyes soft yet there is something else to the brown shade.

You hum as to nod. "We agreed to join Lux for dinner. It's barely 1pm"

"Tell me you're thinking it too" his voice cuts throughout the air, boucing off the tapestry on the walls.

You laugh, nervously. "I don't think I do"

"Hmmh, I see" he stands up, towering over you. "You sure you don't?"

"You sure you want this?"

Before you know it, his lips capture yours in a passionate kiss, cutting off all words to be said. What a waste of air, anyway. You are quick to reciprocate, whimpering against his lips.

Pedro picks you up like you're as light as a feather, his arms flexing as he carries you and places you on the bed, frame hovering over yours. He breaks the kiss to breath, but you're pulling him back in, his hold on your hips tighter and the wet spot in your panties wetter.

"Look at you, pretty baby. So needy" he whispers against your face, hot breath lingering above your lips. "And mine. Mía. Only mine"

"I am, yes. Yours only. Need you so bad right now, papi" you answer in a rush. "Now shut up and fuck me"

"Con gusto" he chuckles darkly, "gotta keep the wife happy"

"Happy wife, happy life" you recite, stripping him off of his plain shirt, revealing his toned torso, bulging biceps defined by the movements. You gulp. "Fuck, papi. Gotta thank Marvel for this. I love all of your versions, but I can work with this too" you dreamily stare at him, your hands cupping his face.

He strips the rest of his clothing, but a cute blush adorns his cheeks.

"Yeah, well, it's Scott's fault too"

Your impatient fingers reach the middle of your panties to rub your clothed pussy, letting out a sound that darkens his hazel orbs.

"Fuck that guy" you mutter. Pedro laughs.

"Thought you said you loved the guy"

"Until I learned what he said about your body" you groan, still rubbing. "Connie told me"

His hands now travel to remove your clothes, almost ripping them off.

"Who cares? I just want to fuck you now" he breathes out, practically drooling at the sight of your damp panties. "Lemme take this off too"

He unhooks your bra, seeing the hard nipples. The urge to lick them is so bad, but his desire to fill you silly to the brim is stronger.

You see his hesitation, which is why you grab him by the neck to pull him in for a kiss. He kisses back fiercely, labored breaths as he struggles to focus on your lips, his wet mouth darting to your jaw, neck and collarbones. His hands roam all over your body, needy.

"Gotta be inside of you, mami. Can't wait any longer"

"Then stop waiting" you plead, tugging at his boxers with urgency.

Seeing you so cockhungry, lips parted and pupils blown wide makes his hard dick twitch with anticipation.

He mutters a labored fuck, aligning himself to enter your sticky folds. Pedro enters your tight pussy with a low groan, burying himself deep inside of you, used to his length by now. You're basically begging for it, nails digging and eyes supplicating.

He can't deny you anything, can he?

A messy whine leaves your widened mouth as you adjust, pleasure mixed with pain.

"Mhmm" you moan.

"Mhmm what?" he mocks. "You asked for it. Now take it, cariño"

He thrusts deeper into you, watching in awe how his dick enters your pussy; it was always perfectly, your pussy made for him.

"You're drippin' baby" his rough voice caresses your cheek. He kisses the are, giving a lick to the sweat starting to form. "S'fucking tight too"

You move your hips towards him, trying to augment the friction. The overstimulation starts to cloud your sense, reducing you to a whiny mess as you grip his steady arms.

"I can't think of anything but you, baby" he confesses between grunts, "filling up your pussy to the brim, you dripping with my seed for days"

You moan at the filthy words.

"Love how you take my dick, amor" stretching you as Pedro moves in and out. "S'made for me"

"Yes" you moan, skin slapping sounds bouncing off the walls. "Fuck, I love your dick..."

His pace picks up, and it comes to a point where he's just fucking you silly, his grip on your hips surely to leave a bruise as you keep spilling obscene sounds of pleasure from your lips.

"Your pussy's mine, yeah? No one else gets to have you like this"

"N-no, just you, Pedro. My h-husband" you manage to squeeze, more moans vocalizing the pleasure you felt with each thrust, his big dick inside of you moving in a a steady rhythm, making your eyes roll back further and orgasm closer.

Your breasts bounce with each thrust, and he finds impossible to resist the urge anymore, licking the sensible skin and hard nipples, your hands moving to his back, scratching him harshly, both chasing your release.

"Please!" you whine out loud, not caring how desperate you sound.

Harder. Faster. Rougher.

But your husband knows you, so he indeed starts to fuck you harder, heavy breaths and slippy kiss noises hanging in the spaces between each thrusts. He pants with every motion of his dick, a knot forming on his belly.

"Shit, baby. I think I'm gonna cum. Gonna come so hard"

"Do it. I'm on birth control, remember?" you groan, feeling your high approach as well. "Fill me up, please. Give me all your cum"

Your bodies move as one, precise thrusts hitting exactly that sweet spot of yours repeatedly, chasing your orgasm. For a brief moment, your eyes lock with his and then he's saying:

"I love you, y/n. So much"

Your heart skips a bit, his dick twitching inside as his gaze glimmers with adoration and possesiveness, teeth grazing your skin with marks for him to call you his.

"I love you too, Pedro. More than you know"

A final thrust is delivered. Fuck, feels so good you think you hear him say. Just like promised, he fills you with his release, shots of his thick, warm cum inside your sticky walls. You follow soon, back arching, toes curling, and both head and eyes rolling back. Pedro falls on top of you, his broad body collapsing over yours, as you both pant hard, trying to steady your pulse and breath. He then removes himself and positions you to be the one on top now, lazily throwing the covers over your bare bodies. We need to shower, you said, but he argued you'd do it later before going out.

"I needed that" and you happily hum in agreement at your husband's dragged out words.

Your head falls and rises, with the movement of his chest, silence settling on the previously filled with sex noises room. That until he speaks up:

"One day, I'm gonna fill you up so good until you have my babies, mami" he murmurs, just then realizing what he said. But you snuggle closer, hand and legs drapped over his bare body. You look at him closely, seeing nothing but certainty on his eyes.

I choose you. I'll always choose you.

"Whatever it is with you" your nose brushes his, a small sweet kiss on his lips, "I want"

His eyes shine, probably with tears or the glow of affection.

"Let's do it"

"What?" you look into his eyes for any sign of doubt, bull all you see is love. "Pedro, are you serious?"

He nods. "Wouldn't you want that?"

You feel the corner of your lips pull up.

"Never have I wanted anything more"

poppysplayground: Y/N AND PEDRO RED CARPET DEBUT AT THE LONDON PREMIER OF GLADIATOR II WTF I JUST WOKE UP ptwt is in SHAMBLES mostannoyingbillioner: UM HELLO pedro showing up with two hot women on his arms LUX GIMME A CHANCE pompeiianbollockr: WAIT WDYM THEY ARE MARRIED?!??! ALL THIS TIME?@?#? HOW???! NEED BIGGER CAPS TO SCREAM I'M GOING INSANE at0michips: that article better come out now or i'll burn the TMZ building ann-gell: not me thirsting for a married man 😭😭😭 how they kept this a secret for so long?? we should've noticed ㅤㅤunhing3dprincess: ann-gell i did. knew betting my grandma was the way all along ㅤㅤpyramiidsf: i'm gonna start betting my grandma too

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @trashcora

[https-bakugo]

I love you / (k.bakugo x GN! Reader) (Written) ♡ cw / tw : -

And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like-

“I love you.”

The three words slipped from Bakugo’s lips before he could think.

Eight letters.

Three words.

One fucked up horrible shitty mistake. He should really try to salvage it, backtrack and explain himself or something right? That he didn’t just say “I love you.” That Katsuki was talking about the stars right? 

Right! 

He loved the stars. 

He loved the way they twinkled against a canvas of black - most if not all of them just ghosts, alive in your eyes, but in reality they were dead. Dwarf stars, neutron stars… black holes…  Stars who had burnt up all of their lives and disintegrated into a hollow shell.

Maybe he felt like a star. Bright and hot - but simultaneously small and dead at the same time. 

So maybe he was talking about how much he loved the stars.

Or maybe Katsuki was talking about how much he loved the look on your face when you stared up at them - oh how he wished that you would stare up at him with such fondness.

Maybe Katsuki was talking about how much he loved it when you would sleepily trudge into his room every night, claiming you couldn’t sleep and then join him at his balcony to stare up at the sky.

Maybe Katsuki was talking about how much he loved it when you ranted about your shared love for them.

Maybe Katsuki was talking about how much he loved it when he pretended not to know these things. Just so he could hear all of the information spilling from your lips.

‘Hey Katsuki. Did you know that…’

‘Hey I bet you don’t know this one but…’

‘Okay okay this one’s super interesting but did you know…’

Yes.

Yes he knew.

But please God, please tell him again.

It was like he could fall asleep to your voice, he was addicted to it - addicted to you.

Maybe he was in love with you.

Maybe…

“I love you?” 

You turned to look at him, confusion creasing your brows as he quickly looked up. Katsuki had to come clean, he couldn’t continue digging his grave like this.

“I… I love you.”

He whispered under his breath.

A sleepy smile spread across your lips, a small giggle escaping your lips. God the sound of your laugh was his most favourite thing.

Katsuki stared at the stars, flushing a brighter red when he felt your head drop onto his shoulder. Hesitantly he reached around to wrap his arm around your waist. “I love you.” You whispered back.

Katsuki felt his heart thrum in between his ribs.

A giddy smile tugged at his lips.

© HTTPS-BAKUGO. Do not steal, copy or use any of my work for AI. Legal action will take place if caught.

Tagging: @rueclfer

[gonzo-rella]

Not-A-Woman | Arnold Rimmer

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

Note: In this fic, the reader is AFAB and nonbinary. This fic positions the notion of being perceived as a woman as being the worst thing in the world for the reader. But, hopefully it is clear that this is because the reader is trans and they have a lot of dysphoria around how they're perceived, and not because there's something wrong with being a woman. I felt that making this clarification in-story would only read as clunky, so I decided to include it here.

Relationship(s): Arnold Rimmer x AFAB!nonbinary!reader (implied romantic); Dave Lister x AFAB!nonbinary!reader (platonic; mentioned)

Summary: Who would have known that Arnold Judas Rimmer wasn't so bad at the whole 'counselling' thing after all?

Warnings: Gender dysphoria, references to periods (reader is implied to have periods), references to misogyny (Rimmer makes a very Rimmer comment that reflects his character and not the views of this author), canon-typical humour (or a Gen Z's attempt at that), jokes about suicide (again, nothing more extreme than you'd get in canon). (Let me know if I need to add any)

Word count: 3k

(A/N: This is incredibly self-indulgent, written solely with my own personal enjoyment in mind. This is my first fic I started writing for Red Dwarf, about a week after I'd started watching the show. It's weird to think I've only had this show for a month and it's already so dear to me. I've finished writing a different Red Dwarf one-shot since then, which you can find here. Red Dwarf, and Rimmer specifically, has gotten me back into writing reader-insert fanfic and it's been a lot of fun to rediscover my love for it, and to have two fics that I'm so proud of. I have a couple of other Rimmer fics in the works, one of which is a sequel to my Terrorform fic, but feel free to send in requests. I want to write a Lister fic at some point but I'm stumped for ideas, so feel free to send in suggestions for him as well.)

It had been something innocuous that had set this whole thing off. Lister had saved you from the latest thing that meant you harm- it felt like a weekly occurrence at this point. Had he not intervened, you would have died, or at least gotten a nasty wound. Normally, you would have been suitably grateful that your friend hadn’t let you die, but something about this time bugged you. It really bugged you. It wriggled under your skin like a familiar parasite, feasting at your innards and your patience. Lister had saved you, like he had all those other times, and yet you could hardly look at him without wanting to tear off your own skin, or his skin for that matter. It was a strange kind of resentment. You were consumed by this restless annoyance, but you felt guilty enough about it to hole yourself up in your room to avoid saying something you would regret, as well as to be perceived as minimally as possible. You hid your body beneath a rotation of objects: a blanket you wrapped tightly around you (just not tight enough to fit the shape of your body), a cushion you hugged to your chest, and the most oversized top you owned.

No one thought much of it when you decided not to join them for a well-earned dinner and drinks. After all, you were tired- that’s what you told them, anyway. They didn’t have to know that you stayed up about as long as them, drinking alone in your room. But, they took notice when there was no sign of you the next day.

The first of them to check in with you was Kryten, who had gone through the trouble of making you lunch. He asked you if you were okay, an understandable question, and you assured him you were fine. He picked up that something wasn’t right, so he asked if you were sick. You decided to lie and told him that you were on your period. You hoped it would be enough of an excuse to explain away your absence without causing any alarm, and that your crewmates, all men or man-adjacent (besides Holly), would be too overwhelmed by the concept of a period to even think of bothering you.

Unfortunately, Lister wasn’t bothered by your fictitious period like you had hoped. Later that day, he turned up at your door. He invited you to do something- you weren’t paying attention so you had no idea what exactly it was, but you guessed it probably involved alcohol, curry and/or poker, seeing as that’s all you guys seemed to do. You declined, a little bluntly, using the excuse that you weren’t feeling up to it, whatever it was. ‘You know how periods can be,’ you had said. He wasn’t convinced that everything was fine- as fine as it could be while you were on your period- but it had only been one day. He could give you the benefit of the doubt and believe that you really were this wiped out. So, he left you to it. You’d be back to normal soon enough, you assured him. Anything to get him to go away. And, really, you had thought you’d be fine within the next couple of days.

But, you didn’t leave your room the next day, either. Kryten delivered you some food. And, Lister tried to coax you out again with some activity or another. You declined. So, he asked you if you were alright. You told him you were fine. But, he really didn’t believe it this time. He asked again. No luck. So, he told you to come talk to him when you were ready. That made you feel worse.

Another day went by and you hadn’t taken him up on his offer. If he wasn’t worried before, he certainly was now.

Nothing could have prepared you for Rimmer throwing his hat in the ring. Your best guess was that he had put himself forward. You could imagine Lister scoffing at the idea and Rimmer going ahead with it anyway. Thinking about Lister further soured your already displeased expression, which also came with an inevitable wave of guilt. Your lack of enthusiasm did nothing to deter Rimmer, who invited himself in without hesitation. You watched him from your bed.

“I thought it might be worth checking in. You haven’t left this room in days and it’s safe to say we’re all growing a bit concerned.”

You might have been touched and more receptive to his presence if he wasn’t speaking with the tone of a teacher.

“All of you? Even Cat?”

“Well, no. Perhaps not Cat. In fact, the next time you see him, you might very well have to re-introduce yourself.”

You rolled your eyes as he paced around the room, making a failed attempt at pretending as though he wasn’t closely examining it for any sign of whatever he was looking for.

“I think you’d better leave, Arnie. I know about the Lemming Sunday incident and with how I’m feeling right now I’m worried there’ll be a repeat of it if you keep talking to me.”

He was clearly caught off-guard by the comment. He thought for a moment, then let out a deep exhale.

“I suppose I can call a meeting and arrange a rota for suicide watch.”

Given he was discussing the topic of suicide watch, his tone was perhaps inappropriately casual.

You shot him a glare, already sick of him. Normally, you were the first to defend him, but this conversation was giving you a glimpse into how Lister, Cat and Kryten must have seen him.

“I was joking. Mostly. But, I wasn’t joking about wanting you to go away.”

“You know, whatever’s bothering you-”

“Nothing’s bothering me. I told Kryten, I’m on my period. So, I don’t want to be disturbed-”

He raised his finger to interject.

“Ah, about that.”

You squoze your eyes shut and rolled your head back. You were sure whatever he was about to say was going to annoy you. The last thing you needed was Rimmer’s input on the subject of menstruation.

“Holly says you’re not due a visit from Auntie Flo for another two weeks and three days. So, I’m afraid that’s the end of that excuse.”

You straightened up, eyes wide as you stared at him in bewilderment. 

“Holly tracks my cycle?”

“I’m sure she’ll start giving you a few day’s warning if you ask her to.”

“That’s not-”

“Now, I suggest you start talking.”

“For God’s sake, Rimmer, I’m depressed, not a prisoner of war.”

“Aha! So, you admit it. You’re depressed.”

He seemed far too gleeful about that revelation. You looked at him blankly.

“I thought you’d figured that out already.”

“It’s one thing to reach a conclusion based on pure intuition, but it’s another kettle of fish wrenching out a confession- so masterfully, might I say.”

“Okay, well, you’ve got your ‘confession’. Can you smeg off now?”

“I’m afraid not. This is what we call a ‘safeguarding issue’.”

“If you weren’t a hologram, I’d give you a ‘safeguarding issue’.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to get hostile,” Rimmer tried. He thought for a moment; you assumed he was trying to recall some advice he had read in a book about negotiation or interrogation. “Alright, would you rather speak to Lister about whatever this is?”

The glare you directed at him sent a chill down his spine, or the hologram equivalent of that sensation.

“No.”

Realisation settled on his features, and what followed was a wave of smugness. Amidst his pride, he smirked and folded his arms. He paced victoriously.

“Ah. So, you’ve fallen out with old Listy, eh? What is it, then? A playground squabble? A lover’s tiff?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He wavered.

“Hang on a minute. Are the pair of you-”

“We’re just mates, Rimmer. I don’t fancy Lister and Lister doesn’t fancy me. Believe it or not, I can be friends with a bloke. Men and women can be friends. And, I’m not even a woman, so that doesn’t even apply here anyway.”

Rimmer, thankfully, was clueless as to what to say. Before he could attempt to string together a sentence that would most likely compel you lob a chair through him, you continued, softening your tone a tad.

“Look, Arnie, I’ll be fine in a few days. Give me some time and it’ll be like this never happened.”

“And, until then?”

“I don’t know. I’ll manage. I always do.”

Rimmer’s gaze landed on your wastebasket, which could best be described as a growing mountain of empty cans. His eyes widened in alarm. He hadn’t been observant enough to notice them before.

“Christ, are those from the past three days?”

You shrugged.

“That’s how I’ll manage.”

He sighed.

“Trust me, I can understand loathing Lister with the burning passion of a billion suns-”

“I don’t-”

“But, I’ve never withdrawn like a maladjusted hermit and stumbled down the slippery slope of alcoholism because of it.”

He seemed genuinely concerned, so much so that you couldn’t bear to keep looking at him. You were hyper-aware of the fact that he was looking at you- watching you with a softness you scarcely saw from him. It was kind of nice, but also mortifying. As tender as it was, you weren’t exactly in a mindset where you wanted to be perceived. You shifted uncomfortably and shook your head.

“You wouldn’t get it, Arn.”

“Go on. Try me.”

Maybe Rimmer would understand. He knew a thing or two about self-hatred and insecurity, after all. You took a deep breath before speaking.

“Lister always saves me from being killed or hurt or anything.”

Rimmer’s brows knitted in confusion.

“The bastard?”

You paused and shut your eyes for a moment.

“I know we’re mates and that’s why he bothers to not let me die, and I appreciate it. I really do. But, I dunno. Sometimes it feels like him and all the rest of you lot see me as a girl because I’m not a full-on bloke. And, I guess, whenever he saves me from things it’s like I’m just some damsel in distress to you guys- like no matter what, I’ll always be at least woman-adjacent.”

Rimmer exhaled from his nose.

“Trust me, if Lister saw you as a woman, he’d be on you like the foul odour on his… everything,” Rimmer insisted. “What does it matter what he thinks of you, anyway?”

“He’s my mate. And, the thought of him- or anyone- seeing me as a woman makes me feel a bit sick because that’s really not who I am.” You paused. “Do you see me as a woman, Arnie?”

“I thought this was about Lister.”

“So, is that a yes?”

“No. Were it a yes, I would have said, well, yes.”

“But, you didn’t say no. Not right away. You dodged the question. So now it feels like you do see me as a woman.”

There was an undertone of panic in your voice.

“I don’t see you as a woman.”

“Then, why didn’t you just say that straight away?”

“Because, no one ever cares to hear my opinion on anything. I was taken by surprise.”

You glanced at him, half-pitying, half-apologetic.

“Oh.”

There was a brief moment of awkward silence.

“Well, why does it matter if Lister sees you as a woman or if I see you as a woman?”

“When you phrase it like that, it seems like you do see me as a woman.”

He tipped his head back in frustration.

“Neither of us see you as a woman! But, I have to tell you, this hysteria really isn’t helping your case.”

Your growing fondness for Rimmer came crashing down. Of course it was too good to be true. And, oh, he had been doing so well.

“Misogyny. Nice. Can you actually smeg off now, you total-”

“It’ll take more than accusations about my character and childish insults to get rid of me.”

You could have throttled him. Well, technically speaking, you couldn’t.

“Are you really that stubborn that you won’t leave me alone?”

“This isn’t about me. You’re having some sort of crisis and I don’t think hiding in your room like a recluse and drinking enough to kill a horse is doing you any good.”

He had you there.

“Right, well, what do you want me to do, Arnie? Because, that’s all I feel like doing right now. I don’t want to be looked at. Not when people look at me and see me as something I’m not. And, not when he’s there to remind me of what a failure I am as… not-a-woman.”

Rimmer cleared his throat.

“Well, then, perhaps I’d better leave. I wouldn’t want my masculinity to make you feel inadequate.”

Well, you certainly hadn’t expected that. Your eyes widened with shock. You stifled a laugh. The corners of your lips stretched into a smile, one you hid behind your fist. You chewed on your finger and turned your head away from him. He sent you a look of confusion and mild indignation.

“What’s so amusing?”

You shook your head. 

“Nothing. Nothing.”

Rimmer placed his hands on his hips. Your body shook with laughter that you tried to keep as quiet as possible. You felt so mean but you couldn’t help it.

“You don’t think I’m masculine?”

You managed to compose yourself a bit to answer him, taking in several deep breaths.

“It’s not that! I’m so sorry, Arnie. You’re a perfectly acceptable man.”

“Then, why are you laughing?”

“It took me by surprise.”

Rimmer shook his head.

“I see how it is. Tell me, then, what is it that makes David Lister a veritable paragon of machismo?”

You chewed your nail, thinking for a moment. You paused. You sighed.

“I’m sorry for laughing at you, Arn. Will you please let me explain?”

After a moment of hesitation, he let out a huff.

“Very well. Go on.”

“Dave’s a proper laddy lad, you know? He’s confident in his own bloke-ish-ness. He’s, like, the quintessential bloke. He drinks beer, he tends to be handy to have around, he’ll shamelessly wear curry-stained clothes that haven’t been washed in a year,” you explained. “I mean, you’re far from laddy- and, no offence, you can be a bit pathetic sometimes- but you’re still a man. Cat’s a bit metrosexual but he’s taken seriously as a man. And, Kryten: he’s not even technically a man but that’s how we treat him and it’s probably right for him. You’re all men and you all do it so differently but it doesn’t change how people see that part of you.”

You folded your arms tightly over your chest.

“But, then there’s me. I’m not a woman. I’m not a man. But, it feels like because I’m not a man and all of you are, other than Holly, I’m a woman by default because I’m ‘closer to being a woman’ than the rest of you or something because that’s how I was born. So, I get it in my head that everyone sees me as a woman, because I’m driving myself mad with the ‘woman things’ I have. And, it really gets to me how you can all just be men so differently and effortlessly and I can’t have that for myself.”

You rolled your head back, squeezing your eyes shut.

“It’s no one’s fault how I was born or how I am- not even mine. But, I know it’s all down to me, to deal with how I’m feeling. So sorry for being a bitter, miserable prick. That’s why I was trying to avoid all of you until it stopped.”

You had been going on for so long about your abject misery that you had forgotten you were talking to Arnold Judas Rimmer, who Lister had once described as having all the gentleness of a prostate exam from Freddy Krueger. But, when you finally dared to look at him again, you were met with that same soft expression from earlier. Your shoulders sank, a sense of relief washing over you.

“You know, if you feel you must try to emulate Lister, his drinking habits certainly aren’t what I would attempt to mimic,” he finally said. “It makes him an idiot, not any more of a man.”

You laughed weakly. “I suppose you’re right.”

“And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re a perfectly acceptable… not-a-woman.”

“Thanks, Arn.”

He carried on looking at you, thoughtful. You stole another glance at him. When your eyes met, your heart skipped a beat and warmth flooded your stomach.

“You’re not actually going to do anything stupid, are you?”

“Probably not.”

He appeared dissatisfied by your answer.

“No. I’m not actually going to do anything stupid, Arn.”

“Good.”

You smirked.

“‘Good’ because me killing myself would somehow inconvenience you or ‘good’ because you care about me?”

He hesitated.

“A bit of both.”

You grinned.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. I’ll take that.”

“So, are you feeling better, then?”

“A bit. You don’t have to worry about me anymore. And, I’d say you’ve earned the right to tell them they were wrong about you being able to help me.”

He knitted his brows.

“How did you know about that?”

“Intuition.”

– – –

“Hang on a minute, are you seriously saying that Rimmer made you feel better?”

Lister leaned back in his chair, eyeing you incredulously and with clear unease. 

You nodded. 

“Yeah. He did.”

After Rimmer had helped you feel better, you didn’t mind that he was eager to parade you in front of the crew to tell them that he’d done a good job despite their misgivings.

“Arnold Rimmer?”

“Yep.”

“Arnold Judas Rimmer?”

“Yes.” 

Lister got up and pointed directly at an indignant Rimmer.

“That git?”

“He might be a git-”

Rimmer folded his arms.

“Excuse me!”

“But I appreciated his help anyway.”

Lister huffed and sat back down.

“Well, I suppose all that matters is that you’re feeling better.”

Still, he seemed unsettled, while Rimmer was able to return to being smug. You thought it was kind of sweet, but it was obvious that Lister didn’t share that sentiment, judging by the way he was massaging his temple.

“And, to think,” Rimmer said with a self-satisfied smile. “You were so vehemently against me offering my counselling services.”

Cat casually strolled into the room, carefree as usual. When he passed you, he did a double-take, then he looked between Rimmer and Lister with confusion.

“Who’s that?”

[sunshineangel0]

-baking, because murder is wrong. ✩‧

pairing- lee felix x reader summary- After a frustrating day, you show up at Felix’s apartment in the middle of the night, demanding a baking session before you do something illegal. genre- fluff, comedy, best friends to lovers word count- 1.6k warnings- mentions of stress/frustration (but no heavy angst), excessive fluff and best friends-to-lovers tension (your heart may combust), mild swearing (a few curses here and there), lots of playful banter and teasing ! not proof read (sorry for spelling mistakes etc.)

2:03 AM – Felix’s Apartment

Felix was enveloped in a deep, restful slumber when his phone began to vibrate aggressively against the wooden surface of his nightstand. At first, he ignored it, burrowing deeper under his blanket. Then it buzzed again. And again. And again. With a groggy sigh, he finally reached for it, squinting at the screen.

Y/N🦋: I’m outside.

Y/N🦋: Open the door before I commit arson.

With a resigned sigh, Felix dragged himself out of bed. The clock on his nightstand blinked 2:17 AM in glaring red digits. Of course. This wasn’t the first time you'd turned up at his doorstep in the dead of night, exuding an unmistakable air of barely contained chaos.

Felix shuffled to the door, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. As he unlocked it, he was greeted by the sight of you, swathed in an oversized hoodie that dwarfed your frame, your hair tousled as if you’d run a marathon through a windstorm. In your arms, you clutched a bag of flour with the intensity of someone holding a weapon, ready for battle.

“…Do I even want to ask?” he muttered, his voice a mix of amusement and resignation.

You pushed past him, your footsteps echoing off the wooden floor as you marched into the apartment. "I need to bake before I do something illegal," you declared, your tone a storm cloud ready to burst.

Felix just shook his head, closing the door with a soft click. He was completely unfazed, accustomed to your nocturnal baking escapades as an antidote to whatever madness the world had thrown your way.

Felix leaned casually against the kitchen counter, his eyes following your every move as you aggressively swept ingredients from the cupboard and plunked them onto the table with a loud clatter. "So," he drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement, "who's got you all riled up this time?"

You slammed a hefty bag of sugar onto the counter, sending a small cloud of white dust into the air. "My boss is an idiot," you snapped, the frustration evident in the sharpness of your voice.

Felix nodded slowly, his expression one of feigned seriousness. "Mhm."

"And my coworkers are absolutely useless," you continued, grabbing a carton of eggs and placing it beside the flour with a thud.

"Right," Felix said, his tone encouraging you to vent more.

You threw your hands up in exasperation, your voice rising with each word. "And I swear, if one more person tells me to 'just calm down,' I'm going to start throwing hands."

Felix couldn't suppress his grin any longer and reached for a mixing bowl, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Alright. Let’s rage bake," he said, ready to join in the therapeutic chaos.

It started innocently enough, with the kitchen bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun. Felix stood at the counter, meticulously measuring flour with a slight furrow of concentration on his brow. Meanwhile, you were beside him, whisking the batter with a fierce determination, your movements a blur of energy.

Then—

“You know you’re supposed to gently fold in the butter, right?” Felix teased, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he glanced over at you.

You shot him a glare, eyebrows raised in defiance. “Do I look like I care about technique right now?” you retorted, the whisk still clutched tightly in your hand.

Felix snorted, a chuckle escaping as he shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re dangerous,” he remarked, feigning a look of mock terror.

Then, before he could react—

You scooped up a handful of flour and flicked it at him, watching as a cloud of white powder puffed into the air, settling on his shirt.

Felix froze, his eyes wide with surprise as he processed the sudden attack. You broke into a wide grin, feeling a rush of triumph.

“…Oh, you’re done for,” he murmured, a playful threat in his voice.

With that, he grabbed a fistful of flour and launched it at you, a burst of powdery chaos swirling around you both. You gasped, ducking and weaving just in time to avoid the white storm. “You little—” you began, laughter bubbling up uncontrollably.

Chaos erupted in the small kitchen. Flour flew through the air like snow in a blizzard, sugar spilled across the countertop, and Felix danced around your attacks with surprising agility, a grin never leaving his face. You were mid-throw, about to hurl another handful, when Felix lunged forward. With a swift motion, he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you momentarily off the ground and spinning you away from the counter.

The two of you crashed gently against the fridge, laughter ringing out as you both tried to catch your breath, the world around you dusted in white. Felix’s face was only inches from yours, his eyes locked onto yours, a soft smile playing on his lips.

And suddenly—

You weren’t thinking about your boss, whose endless demands had been weighing on you. You weren’t thinking about your awful day, filled with stress and frustration. You were just thinking about him, the warmth of his presence and the laughter you shared, and nothing else seemed to matter.

The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed reminded you of the sun peeking through clouds on a dreary day. His hands lingered on your waist, warm and reassuring, as if they belonged there. His smile softened, just slightly, as he looked at you, the corners of his lips curling gently upward. Your heart skipped a beat, a fluttering sensation that you couldn't quite control.

And before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out of your mouth—"…You look good like this."

Felix blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes, before a playful smirk spread across his face. "Covered in flour?" he teased, gesturing to the white dusting on his shirt.

You laughed, a light, airy sound that filled the kitchen, and nudged his chest with the back of your hand. “No, I mean—” You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor as you tried to gather the courage that seemed to have slipped away.

Felix tilted his head, his eyes gentle and encouraging. Then, in a quieter voice, he urged, “Say it.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you. This was dangerous territory, a line you had both been dancing around for months. But maybe, just maybe, you were tired of pretending. So you exhaled, your voice barely above a whisper, the words escaping your lips—"…I mean, I like you, dumbass."

Felix froze, his expression momentarily unreadable. Your stomach plummeted like a stone in a pond. Oh. Oh no. What if you had ruined everything between you?

But then, Felix's lips curved into a genuine grin, not teasing or smug, but soft and sincere, as if he had been waiting for this moment all along. Without a trace of hesitation, he said, “I like you too.”

Your breath caught in your throat, hope bubbling up inside you. “Yeah?” you asked, barely daring to believe it.

Felix chuckled, a deep, rich sound, and reached up to gently brush a smudge of flour from your cheek. “Yeah,” he confirmed, his eyes twinkling with warmth.

And then, slowly, sweetly, he leaned in and kissed you. It was a kiss that enveloped you like a warm embrace, tender and unhurried. It felt like all those late-night baking sessions had finally revealed their true purpose, like this was more than just a distraction. It felt like he was exactly where he wanted to be, and so were you.

You perched on the edge of the marble counter, your legs swinging idly back and forth, while Felix meticulously swept up the scattered flour that covered the kitchen like a fresh layer of snow. The remnants of your late-night baking escapade were everywhere—flour dusted the floor, bits of dough clung to the edges of the wooden table, and a sweet aroma lingered in the air.

“…So, technically, I still never got my revenge,” you mused, watching Felix’s careful movements as he wiped the counter with a damp cloth, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Felix paused, glancing up at you with an exasperated yet amused look. “I think you had enough fun throwing flour at me,” he retorted, brushing some lingering white powder from his dark hair.

You flashed a mischievous grin, the memory of your playful battle fresh in your mind. “Maybe.”

Then, as the moment softened, your voice did too, turning almost contemplative. “But I feel better.”

Felix’s stern expression melted away, replaced by a gentle warmth. He reached out, his fingers lightly tapping your knee, a silent acknowledgment of the bond you shared. “That’s why I let you wake me up at 2 AM,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble that made your heart skip a beat.

You rolled your eyes playfully, feeling the flutter of your pulse quicken, and hopped off the counter, landing softly on the cool tile floor. “Come on,” you said, tugging at the sleeve of his floured shirt with a gentle insistence. “Cookies are done.”

Felix grinned widely, his eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and amusement, and allowed you to lead him toward the oven. Together, you both sank onto the floor, the warmth from the freshly baked cookies seeping through the plates in your hands. Sharing the sweet treats and exchanging shy, stolen glances, you couldn’t help but think—

Maybe baking really was better than murder. Especially when it meant discovering a love that felt as warm and comforting as the cookies you shared.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

[h1nanii]

Having zoro as your boyfriend Headcanons

Pairings: Grumpy! Zoro x Soft girl! Reader

[Warnings: NSFW 18+ at the end]

Minors dni

It was no question that you & zoro held massive differences between each other, but it was surely a shock to everyone else to see the two of you together.

Zoro’s not soft by nature — but he tries. He roughs up your hair too hard the first time he tries to give you a head pat. When you giggle and call him “adorable,” he growls under his breath and turns red.

You’re His Compass (Literally and Emotionally)

You’re the only one who can get Zoro un-lost on an island. You gently take his hand and lead the way, and he just silently follows — not because he needs the help (he swears), but because he trusts you.

You get nervous in big crowds or loud towns? Zoro’s already standing behind you like a wall, one hand on a sword, eyes scanning everything, saying, “You stay close to me.”

Zoro’s favorite activity with you is napping. He likes when you curl up next to him like a little warm bundle, your head on his chest, your breath slow and even. It’s the calmest he’s ever felt.

Secretly Loves When You Patch Him Up

You’re always ready with bandages, soft words, and that serious “nurse face.” He acts like it’s unnecessary, but he never refuses your touch. In fact, he looks forward to it.

Protective Without Admitting It

Zoro doesn’t say “be careful,” he says “don’t get in the way.” He doesn’t say “I missed you,” he says “what took you so long?”

But god forbid anyone looks at you wrong — he’ll “accidentally” unsheathe Wado Ichimonji.

NSFW/SPICY headcanons

[I Had a blast writing this 😛😛]

He tries to be gentle—but damn, you make it hard.

Zoro starts slow. He doesn’t want to hurt you, especially with how soft you are. But the second you let out a needy whimper or tug at his shirt shyly?

All restraint goes out the window. He’s got you pinned, panting against your skin, growling, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

Size kink, 100%.

You’re smaller, softer, and his body dwarfs yours.

He loves watching his length stretch you, your pretty little hole struggling to take all of him, his thumb rubbing your clit while he growls, “You can take it ‘pretty girl c’mon..”

The grunts, the groans, the growls.

Zoro isn’t loud—but the low, primal noises he makes while buried inside you are filthy.

He’ll grunt, “So damn tight,” in your ear as he drives deeper, hand on your lower back to keep you in place.

Quickies during training breaks.

You bring him water or a towel mid-workout, and he’s already pulling you into the shadows. “Just a quick one,” he says.

But you’re bent over a bench seconds later, sweating and gasping, your voice bouncing off the walls while he mutters, “Couldn’t wait ’til tonight.”

Morning wood? You’re his favorite way to deal with it.

Waking up with you warm and sleepy next to him? He doesn’t even wait.

He’s rutting against you, lips on your neck, half-asleep voice mumbling, “C’mere, baby. Need you. Now.”

His favorite meal? Get on that damn table girl.

And when you do?

“Been thinking about this all damn day,” he growled, breath hot against your inner thigh. “Training, sparring, even while talking to Moss-For-Brains Cook.”

Your soft gasp made his smirk deepen.

“You’ve got no idea what you do to me, Princess. All that cutesy shit, that soft ‘lil smile… ‘gon get me a taste alright?” His hands—big, calloused, strong—eased your thighs apart as he kissed up your leg, slow and savoring.

And when his mouth finally met your soaked heat?

It wasn’t gentle. It was focused. Obsessive. Like a man starved. Just how long did it take for him to crave you that much as if you weren’t riding his face that same morning.

You loved it. Every rough, filthy, loving second of it.

________________________________________________

[visual representation of me writing this btw, hoped you guys liked it ]

[vinnyvamppp]

please give us the viltrumite reader 🥺👉👈

"I’ll Breed You Into Loyalty"

A/N: SO! There have been some drastic changes. You guys know I like to keep things in character, having Mark JUST meet an enemy and fuck them two seconds later didn't sit right. This is "The Uncharted Assignment." Reworked.

Synopsis: Lines blur between battle and bedroom, loyalty and lust, love and war. Mark has to face a question worse than betrayal: What if the only person who understands him is the one destined to destroy him?

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tention, Emotional Whiplash, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Fuckbuddies to???, Post Omni-Man Canon DIvergence, HEAVY Porn w Plot, “If you leave me, I’ll chase you” Energy, Hair Pulling, Accidental Choking, Mark Being Overwhelmed But TRYING, Breeding Kink, Powerplay, Overstim, Biting, Hate Sex, Post-Sex Guilt, Emotional Attachment.

"Why do I hate that I'm into you?"

Mark Grayson x Viltrumite!Fem!Reader

WC: 2.7k

You weren’t born to be seen. You were bred in silence on a deep-core training outpost orbiting a red dwarf. The Empire called it Caldera, where the most cunning of your kind were sharpened like blades, not to fight but to corrupt. There was no brute force or grand displays. Just pressure, precision, and patience. You weren’t a soldier but a mere whisper in the skies. That was your role.

And when Omni-Man disappeared—defected and disgraced. Earth became the Empire’s bleeding wound. They sent you not to destroy it. They sent you to turn it in. More importantly… they sent you to turn him. Mark Grayson, the half-human, half-Viltrumite, who's entirely too stubborn for his own good. You were told he was unstable and emotional, susceptible to influence through connection.

You didn’t expect him to be… kind, funny, or infuriating. You didn’t expect to like him. That was mistake number one.

You arrived after Bulletproof disappeared—filed as MIA after a solo recon gone wrong in interdimensional space. There was nobody, nor was there footage. Just static and red.

You weren’t directly responsible. Not… really. The Empire made sure someone else pulled that trigger. Your hands were clean. Clean enough for Cecil to greenlight your placement on the Guardians of the Globe. They needed strength, speed, and control—and you delivered. No questions asked. You did everything right. You even controlled your accent, monitored your energy output, and let your victories look hard-won.

And Mark liked you. Too fast. Too easily. You trained together. Patrolled together. Laughed sometimes. He teased you for never taking your coffee with sugar. You called him a "softhearted liability." He would walk you to your quarters after sparring in a sparking silence. Somewhere between the jabs and near-death experiences, it started to feel… easy… comfortable. That was mistake number two.

The storm had rolled in fast. Static buzzed over the Guardian comms, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the crack of bone under your knuckles. You slammed the alien’s face into the rooftop again—cratered it. His blood was dark purple and sticky on your palm. "Stop!" Mark’s voice cut through the rain. You didn’t, no, not until the alien stopped twitching.

You stood, chest heaving. Blood, rain, and guilt—hushed beneath something sharper, colder. He landed behind you with a wet slap of boots on concrete. "He was already down," he said. "He wasn’t moving."

"He was still breathing," you replied, your voice falling flat. "That doesn’t mean you kill him!" You turned to find his eyes—wide, hurt, and angry—searched your face like he didn’t recognize it. Maybe he didn’t. You didn’t even know if you did. "He would’ve killed you," you said.

"You don’t know that." You stepped closer, now inches from him. "I do." There was something in your tone—something too sure and cold. His jaw clenched. “That’s not how we do things.” You don't respond. You can't, as you’re left staring down at the crater you left behind—purple blood pooling in the cracks—and for a moment, you feel the leash slipping. The one you’ve held tight since arrival. The one that tells you to pretend to be human… almost for his sake.

We. The word hung in the air, heavier than the storm.

You held his gaze and let a bit of the mask crack. “Maybe I’m not like the rest of you.” Something was menacing in your delivery. Or even the way a faint smirk fought the edges of your lips as you basked in his confused and furious expression. And then you left him, soaked in the rain and conflicted. That was mistake number three. This was getting tiring. Time to pivot your strategy.

Guardians Headquarters, it was late. You’re in the med bay. Minimal wounds, just some surface bruising. You don’t bother dressing them; you don’t need to. But routine is good; it keeps your hands busy while your thoughts spiral.

He slams the door open. “What the hell was that tonight?” You don’t flinch. He’s pacing already, wet hair matted to his forehead. Eyes red, not from crying, but from rage. His voice cracks just enough to sting. “You don’t just kill people, no matter what you’ve been through.”

“I saved your life.”

“You executed someone on a rooftop!”

He’s panting like he just finished a sprint. You watch him carefully, in an eerie silence like you were trained to. Like he’s a variable—something dangerous. “Why?” he finally asks, his voice lower now. “Why do you do things like that?”

You let out a breath, slow and measured, despite the circumstances. This is the moment. The file called for phased exposure. Let the truth out slowly. But you’re too tired to lie right now. Too tired to lie to yourself like you wouldn’t slaughter everyone here given their retaliation. Just... rip off the band-aid. So you look him in the eyes. “Because I’m not human, Mark.” He stiffens.

“...What?”

“I’m a Viltrumite.”

The room seems to suck in on itself. The weight of respective heritages is palpable. Comms static hums in the background like a heartbeat, its sound causing your ears to ring. He doesn’t speak but rather stares. “They sent me here after your father left,” you say. “To finish what he couldn’t. Not by force. By logic, persuasion, and connection. Through you.” Your eyes scrutinized his very being, anticipating an outburst. One that never came.

“You used me?” His voice is quiet now, almost too quiet. You nod, “At first.” He turns away from you like looking at you physically hurts him. “Why tell me now?”

“Because I think you’re smart enough to understand the truth. Earth is tearing itself apart. You feel it too. You’ve always felt it.”

“You sound just like him.”

“He was right about the outcome,” you snap. “Not the method. We can do better. You and I—we could shape something that lasts. Together.” He whirls around, gaze narrowing. “You’re out of your mind. I don’t even know who you are right now!”

Your voice cuts through his downpour. “Spare me your self-righteous squawking. I’ve listened to months of you whining about ‘monsters’ while you stand over bodies you helped break. You kill when it’s convenient, Grayson—don’t pretend it’s anything nobler than that.” You suddenly grew intense, and when you spoke, it scathed him. There was no flinching, not even a stutter in the delivery as you stared down your nose at him. “You whine like a martyr and kill like a soldier. Pick one, Mark. Otherwise you’re a hero with a guilt complex.” That was the final nail in the coffin. All the venom he needed to confirm you were the mocking shadow of his comrade. Not the person he once knew— loved even.

His eyes dropped for half a second, then rose again, glassy with disbelief. The shoulders that usually squared in confidence slumped, just slightly. Just enough to betray the weight of your words. His fingers curled into fists at his side— shaking in tandem with his jaw wound tight as if the next sentence couldn’t pass without drawing blood. When he spoke again… behind the fury, he found sadness. He sighed, “You don’t get it…” His words caused you to feel compunctious, yet it was too late. You were staring through him, your expression neutral before furrowing slightly. And for the first time, your silence made him question if you were trying to protect him… or protect yourself from him and the weight of the Empire.

And when you spoke, he realized it was both.

“Then give me a child.” A heavy silence choked him like gravity suddenly doubled in the room. “What the hell did you just say?” You step toward him, slowly. Not with threat, but promise. “If you won’t take your place, give me someone who will. I’ll raise them the way you should’ve been raised. Strong, focused, and loyal to the cause.”

You don’t mean it, not entirely, anyway. But it’s the only way you know how to force a decision. To make him feel something besides hate. And then—like you asked for it—he grabs your arm. “You don’t get to manipulate me like that.”

“Then stop me.”

And he kisses you. It’s angry, teeth-clashing, utterly uncontrollable, and chaotic. The kind of kiss that means nothing and everything. The kind you’ll regret later but crave more of anyway. And when he pulls away, breath ragged, you’re both trembling for different reasons.

“You don’t want to be like him,” you whisper. “Then stop pushing me,” he fires back. The silence that follows isn’t peace. It’s war in slow motion.

“You were my friend,” he says now, voice hoarse. “You acted like you were my friend.”

“It wasn’t an act.”

“Then what was it?” His voice breaks again. “What were you doing? Setting me up? Studying me?”

“Understanding you,” you say quietly. “Trying to see if you were salvageable.” He flinches. Your expression doesn’t change. That hurts more. “I hate this,” he says. “Then walk away.” He looks at you, and everything in his face says he wants to. That he should. That he knows what happens if he doesn’t. His voice cracks. “I hate that you still make sense to me,” he says. “Even after everything.”

“You hate that I remind you of what you are.”

“No,” he says, stepping in. “I hate that part of me wants to believe you. That part of me still—"

“Still what?”

“Still wants you.”

There it is. The words he swore he’d never say. The silence that follows is sharp enough to bleed. “Say it again,” you whisper. He’s shaking his head. “Say it.” His brows knit upwards. “I want you,” he says, too quickly. Too honest. “And I hate that I do. I hate you for doing this to me.” You step forward. "Then punish me."

That stuns him, and he stares at you, his breathing growing shallow. “You think this is a game?”

“I think you want to know what it’s like to stop pretending. Just once.” He grabs your wrist, and you let him, but he doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t twist—just holds it, trembling. “I could never trust you again.”

“I don’t want your trust.”

“Then what do you want?” You lean in—lips a breath away from his, eyes sharp and conflicted. “Take a wild guess, Grayson.”

And then he kisses you again, but not violently this time. It’s like he’s drowning in everything he’s tried to suppress—grief, lust, confusion, the hollow ache of missing something that never really belonged to him in the first place. He spent months undoing his father's ruin, just for his efforts to unravel like silk.

Your mouth opens beneath his, heat pouring between you like fire through the fractured glass. His grip on your wrist tightens— again, just enough to tell you he’s trying to keep control. But he's failing, and fast.

You push him, watching as he stumbles back and hits the wall with a grunt but doesn’t fall. His eyes burn as you follow, shoulders squared, every inch of you predatory. “You always this easy to provoke?” you whisper. “I told you to stop talking,” he mutters and grabs your face like he’s trying to shut you up with his mouth again. You let him, watching as his hands cage you in, every action like a curse.

He kisses like he fights—too emotional, too much heart. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, dusted a pale pink, and tender despite everything. And what's worse is that made it better. You bite his lip, hard enough to taste copper, and he groans into your mouth. That same sound you’ve heard in battle. That same frustration and need. He couldn’t stop even if he tried, his emotions sharp like a blade that pierced him with every kiss. 

Your hand slides to the back of his costume, unzipping it as it drips down his torso. Dragging your nails down the curve of his ribs, he gasps. You feel his body flinch, but not in fear. In anticipation. “You want to hate me?” you whisper against his throat. “Then earn it.” He growls, like actually growls. “You don’t get to control everything.”

“Try and stop me.” And suddenly you’re moving again—he’s lifting you like you weigh nothing, slamming your back against the wall. “There’s the Viltrumite,” you murmur. “I was wondering when you’d show up.” You grin, teeth bared.

He drops you—not gently—onto the nearby cot, climbing over you, breathing hard, eyes wild. You wrap your legs around his hips without hesitation. The friction is instant and delicious as he desperately bucks into your clothed sex. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he yanks your suit down to your waist, exposing your skin to air and heat and the sting of too much touch at once. He tries to not gawk, but every inch of skin revealed was chiseled from marble — made in the image of robust perfection. His fingers immediately paw at exposed flesh and the swell of your breasts. You strip him fast, palms dragging down over his chest and his stomach, until he gasps when you grip him.

He’s hard already. Of course, he is. Your fingers slither down his pelvis, tantalizing, almost. Digits firmly wrapping around his cock— palm warm enough to make him twitch.

His tip is flushed, deeper in color, and sensitive enough that he contracts when you apply just a little pressure. He's long. Uncut. There's something intimate about it. The way his foreskin shifts when you stroke him— tight, smooth, responsive— makes it easy to tease and even easier to control as his abs trembled from the sensation. You open your mouth to speak, and he silences you. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

His gaze lowers to where your moist, velvety cunt beckoned him. A sanctuary of pure, unadulterated bliss. Its arousal nearly glistening enough to see his reflection. And once he finally gets a taste, rubbing the head against your labia… He’s in shambles as he hurriedly presses into you. You cry out—not in pain, not even in surprise—it's because he’s thick. It stretches you open with a slow, delicious ache, the kind that steals the breath from your lungs and replaces it with a low, desperate moan.

You feel every vein, every pulse of heat. When he thrusts, it’s like being filled to your limit and then some. Perfectly overwhelming. The fact that you’re both half-feral and half-clinging to each other like this was inevitable. His hips rear back— lips pursed together as shaky breaths were all he could muster through restraint. Dragging through gummy, creamy walls—

He thrusts hard, deep, and controlled at first. But it doesn’t last, never does. You meet him thrust for thrust, dragging your nails down his back, pulling him in harder. You bite his shoulder, and he whimpers— teeth gritted— sweat sliding down his temple. He pummels harder, faster, fingers curling tighter in your hair. When he pulls, your head tips back, exposing your throat—and he bites you there. You gasp, ridges clenching around him, and that nearly ends him. “God, you’re insane,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. 

“So are you. You just wear it better.” Your hand drifts between you, finding the right rhythm amongst your clit— clamping in tandem with the tight circles. Then your tongue comes to caress the shell of his ear before nipping it. He gasps again—shudders, actually—and you smirk. “Sensitive?” You tease, pumping slowly just to watch his face twist. “You’re not gonna win this.”

“I already have.” You roll your hips just right, and he chokes on a curse—his body stuttering. You squeeze him tighter, feeling the way his breath hitched. He’s close.

You whisper, “Come on then, Mark. Show me how much you hate me.” And he sure does. His hands locked around your wrists, yanking them above your head as his hips thrust savagely into yours, but you still bucked up against him and ground your teeth against a moan. Every movement was a battle. His strength against your will, your cunning against his need.

With a final thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, hand in your hair, mouth crushed against your neck. He shakes as he spills inside you, his breath ragged, his moan caught somewhere between bliss and disbelief. But you’re still not done.

You flip him—actually, flip him—and he barely catches himself as you straddle his hips and sink back down. He grabs your thighs, trying to slow you, but you ride him with practiced ease. Raw. Overstimulated. And borderline masochistic. He stutters, trying to formulate a sentence. “You—”

“Me,” you finish for him. “You want me.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“But you do.”

His head falls back onto the mattress, jaw slackening with groans that border on pain and pleasure. A salacious squelch echoes between you— his cock already creamy from cum and slick, coating your sex in his scent. The way his shape drags along your walls in just the right way to make your toes curl, hips roll, and back arch. Every grind, every stroke that presses deep and nudges that spot inside you that sends sparks flying.

"You like testing me, huh? Keep pushing, and I’ll show you what happens when I stop holding back." He groans, trying to save face. His muscles began aching to match your momentum. Hips pistoning upwards with the slightest swivel, tip threatening to kiss your cervix and then some.

His thrusts stutter, and his dick and balls throb as if about to spill again at any moment. Your fingers dig into his rippling abdomen. Shared gasps fill the gaps of silence; his skin was warm breath your palms. He was taut, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to flinch or melt. "Give me your worst; I’ll give it back double." You grit as he attempts to regain control, maintaining what little is left of his dignity.

In one sharp buck of his hips, he throws you off rhythm. You gasp, your hand slipping off him. He grabs your waist, flips you again, and slams you down onto the mattress, his face inches from yours. He grinds deep, hips rolling with vicious intent, pushing deeper than before—almost too much—but never enough. A crack splintered the wall as the cot rocked, metal bending and crumbling debris falling on deaf ears.

Your noses brush and your eyes lock. His breathing's ragged. He kisses you softly—just once—before his hips slam into you again, knocking the breath from your lungs. He grinds against your ass, nudging deeper with every roll, a slick pop echoing in the room. His breath fanned your skin, hands gripping your hips, your waist, and your throat again when you try to rise. “Stay down,” he hisses. “Let me feel you.”

"Is this the part where I beg you not to stop?" You’d never say it out loud, but it’s the best you’ve ever had. And he doesn’t even know it. You can't tell if this is the best or worst decision you've made in your life. "You’re so good at pretending you don’t care. Let’s see how long that lasts." He mumbles. "Tell yourself you're in control. It won’t save you. Every time you touch me, you forget who the real threat is." Your voice was muffled by the sheets but curt enough to carve into his memory. The air between you burned, thick enough with heat and desperation; his skin flushed a rose red as the smell of salt filled his lungs.

Every thrust dragged a strangled moan from his kiss-bitten lips. You pushed back against him, chasing his hips with every drag— daring him to lose control before you did. He was frantic. His conflicted gaze fixed upon you as his thrusts grew ragged. There was no rhythm; it was his senses being overwhelmed by pleasure.

You two moved harmoniously, but hatred colored every kiss, bite, and thrust, chasing the definitions your relationship had. It was wanting. It was revenge, need, and love, with every emotion coming to a boiling point. And it terrified him.

Your orgasm hits harder than you expect. It's fast and vision-blurring, your whole body clenching around him, your back bowing, a broken moan ripping from your throat as you ride it out. Your cunt contracts, shivers rippling down your spine with each pulse. You scream for him. For everything he makes you feel. For everything you can’t stop craving.

“Mark—oh—fuck—Mark—”

He’s not far behind. You feel him losing rhythm and losing control, and his grip tightens. His warm lips trailed down your nape, your spine, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach. His thrusts weren’t trying to dominate you anymore; they were begging you to stay. To change your mind.

“Can I—” he asks, unable to control it the first time. "Tell me what to do. I’ll do it. Please."

“Inside,” you whisper. “I want to feel it again.”

He chokes on your name as he erupts into you—deep, rasped, utterly broken. His final sigh was reminiscent of a cry, his body locking up on him. Beaded sweat from his forehead dampens your back as he loses his fucking mind. The padded surface beneath you dips as his toes curl into the mattress. He watches, stunned. Almost disappointed in himself as cum sloppily drizzles from your cunt. He collapses on top of you, muscled bodies coated in a sheen that mixes with his, both of you panting in silence.

And this happens. Again. And again. And again.

“We can’t keep doing this,” he murmurs.

“You say that every time.”

“And I mean it.”

“Then stop coming back.”

He doesn’t answer. His hand finds yours in the sheets. He squeezes once. Then let's go.

The worst part wasn’t the way he touched you, like he hated you. It was the way he touched you, like he loved you anyway.

He would pretend this world and you aren't breaking him. And you would forever be curious as to why he won't let it. Sooner or later, fate would come and ruin what could’ve been. His heart had danced with yours, and even then, anger filled it. So why… why does he still lie beside you? Why does it feel as though no battle has been won?

God, you’re insufferable.

A/N: There are some aspects similar to the old draft. (It sounded so formal LMFAO, the way I wrote when just starting was…. Hm.) anyway, hope the five people who requested this, enjoyed.

[dark-moonlust]

Hi there, this is my first time sending an ask.

I was wondering if could you do a bear hybrid x fem reader. I really love the concept of a bear hybrid but there's not really a lot of stuff on that.

Thank you, your avid reader

Sure thing anon! I hope this is to your liking! 🖤🥂 Happy reading!

Claimed by the Bear Hybrid

Pairing: bear hybrid x f!human reader

Summary: you are strolling the woods when you meet a bear hybrid who claims you as his.

Warnings: minors don’t interact, 18++!!!, slightly non-con, oral (f!receiving), big 🍆, p in v, lots of 💦.

I've written a second part for this one and you can find it here.

“You’re mine now,” the creature rumbled, deep and commanding. 

You forgot how to breathe, your heart stuttering at the sight of the bear hybrid before you. Standing on his two back feet, the massive hybrid towered over you, making it impossible for you to escape. The creature had the build of a very big and muscled man, but his dark fur, size and strength were unmistakably bear-like. 

Not to mention that between his legs hung the most glorious cock you’d ever seen. It was as thick as your forearms and long, longer than seven inches—with the angry red head leaking moisture. Two heavy, hairy balls hung from between his thighs, throbbing visibly. An involuntary shiver traveled through you, not at all fearful. He grunted and shifted, his nose smelling the air. Then his eyes, they were completely dark, fixed on you with a hunger that brought back the fear inside you.

Oh, how foolish you had been thinking that a stroll in the woods would be harmless. You were alone with an apex predator in his own habitat, and he was about to devour you, oh the irony… the forest was dense and filled with the sounds of nature and the chirping of birds. It was such a beautiful morning, so unlike your fate.  

“Pl—please… I won’t hurt you,” you uttered, terrified out of your wits. “Let me go and—”

“Never!” he rasped powerfully. “You. Are. Mine.”

You barely had time to react before he closed in on you, his huge body dwarfing yours. He was three heads taller than you and that much heavier. A strong hand grasped you as he scooped you up, hanging you over his shoulder. Paralyzed, you shouted and writhed, but no help came as he carried you effortlessly toward his cave. 

Once inside his lair, cool air welcomed you to a bed of soft furs. His eyes never left yours as he climbed on the massive bed beside you, his hands gripping your ankles, strong enough but careful not to bruise you. You couldn’t escape. Tears flew down your cheeks as he ripped your clothes apart, his sharp claws removing every layer until you lay completely exposed before him. 

“Shhhh…” his voice was soothing. “I will not harm you, little human. You are my mate.”

“Nnn…no.” Embarrassed, you crossed your hands in front of your breasts. “This can’t be! We can’t—”

“You are mine,” he repeated stubbornly. “You tremble and leak nectar for me.”

To prove his point, he spread open your legs, exposing the soaked slit of your pussy. Your plump folds glistened with arousal, and you flushed at the sight. You’d refused to accept what your instinct was telling you, but there was no mistaking it now; the hybrid didn’t want to kill you; he wanted to fuck you. And for some strange reason that made you ever wetter, your heart beating frantically.

Your breath hitched when you felt his callused fingers brushing along your chest. You protested, but his strength was great, and he drew your arms apart, exposing your breasts to him. Big hands cradled each breast, thumbs skimming over your nipples until they turned into hard little buds. You whimpered, tears in your eyes, because each stroke felt good, awakening a mix of fear and arousal. You could feel his strength, his raw power, and it both thrilled and scared you. 

“Pretty and soft,” the hybrid muttered as he massaged your mounds and caressed your nipples. “Such roundness.”

It was at that moment that you realized you had arched your back to offer more of yourself to him. He took this chance eagerly and bent down to engulf the entirety of one tit in his mouth. The suction was warm and wet, his tongue rough and textured as it circled your nipple. Lips quivering, you shivered as he stroked and suckled, crying out softly when he alternated to the other mound. 

Strong hands moved to your hips, gripping them firmly as he lowered his head between your thighs. He inhaled your pussy, then breathed over it. You shivered all over, especially when his tongue flicked out, licking up and down your folds before delving inside. You jolted at the electric sensation, long moans escaping you as his rough tongue fucked you with primal thrusts. He ate you out, his growls vibrating against your pussy. Hands gripping the sheets, you rocked against him, hips arching toward his mouth. 

“Such a soft little cunt; it tastes so sweet, better than honey,” he murmured, tongue spearing your pussy. 

“Pl-please,” you whispered, barely able to form the words and unsure of what you were begging for. To stop? To keep going? You were so pleasure-hazed that you had no idea what to do. 

He chuckled. “You’ll get more, mate.”

Hands gripping your ass, he brought you closer to his face, spreading your folds as he continued his sweet torment. His snout caressed your clit and you bucked against him, your moans filling the cave and echoing off the walls. Your orgasm tore through you, strong and blissful, surging from your head to your toes, and despite your violent thrashing, his tongue still drove inside you, devouring every drop of your release.

Head falling back against the bed, you opened your legs obscenely, offering your pussy to him. He licked you fiercely, then your inner thighs, then up your belly and your breasts. You whined when you felt the heavy weight of something warm and leaky against your fluttering cunt. You looked down and gasped; your ankles were hooked over his broad shoulders and he was rubbing his cock against your slit, his thick girth looking inhumanly big in contrast to your small pussy.  

“I’ve waited so long for this moment,” he growled, his hands caressing your inner thighs. “You’re my mate, and I will claim you.”

“Stop— you’re too big—”

But it was too late. A soft hitch of breath left you when he pushed the cockhead inside. It parted your moist pussy lips and drove inside, inch by inch. You whimpered at the stretch, yet his fullness invaded you without discomfort, bottoming out inside you as his balls squeezed against your bum.

You’d done it. You’d taken him. Wow… 

Your thoughts faded when he started moving inside you. Holding your tiny waist in his big hairy hands, he pumped powerfully inside you, watching as his dick spread your lips, then came out covered with your juices. You gripped his arms for dear life, your nails digging into his thick skin. He liked it because he fucked you faster and deeper, each thrust driving you higher and higher. 

“Yes, only my mate can take me,” he growled, his cock making your belly bulge. “I’m going to fill you up, claim you, make you mine.”

The bed creaked from his thrusts, your tits bouncing. He licked them up, suckled them in his mouth as he pounded into you, the plap-plap of skin slapping against skin obscenely wet and lewd. Your cries mingled with his grunts of pleasure, your walls clenching and unclenching around his cock as a second orgasm overwhelmed you. He kept fucking you and followed right after with a feral roar, filling you up with buckets of his cum. He pumped for minutes, over and over, until he had marked you with his seed. 

Breathless and spent, you couldn’t help but collapse into the sheets that smelled like musk and earth. Your body still tingled from the intensity of your union, your legs weak. You couldn’t believe what had happened. You’d heard of many cases of interspecies mating, and now it had happened to you as well. This bear hybrid was your mate. Your soulmate. He’d claimed you, bathed you in his seed. And even if your bond was unusual and fresh, you felt like being truly home.

“You’re mine, all mine,” he murmured, nuzzling your neck, his breath warm against your skin.