Finché L'uomo Continuerà A Cagare Il Cazzo Alla Natura, La Natura Sarà Ben Lieta Di Cagare Il Cazzo

I don’t think I’ve ever felt a stronger urge to motorboat an old man😽

The ✨️Genders✨️ of the Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe:

Asshole (affectionate)

Babygirl (derogatory)

Babygirl (affectionate)

Slut

pussy inspection with old man logan.. and he’s wearing his reading glasses.. omfg

cw: smut (nsfw), implied age gap

it’s late in the evening. a small bedside lamp illuminates the faint rose blush on your cheeks caused by the scene in front of you. it’s logan. he’s right between your legs, the hairs on his beard tickling your inner thigh, his face so close to your bare pussy, you can feel his quiet breathing on your skin. he’s wearing his glasses, of course he is. 

with two fingers, he spreads your glistening folds and blows lightly on your clit, the action making you shiver and instinctively try to shut your legs. but he pries them open again, his whole frame now between your thighs. you’re forced to face him, you just can’t look away. this feeling of being splayed out for him like a meal, vulnerable and nude, is erotically nauseating, addicting.

“you’ve been a good girl, right?” logan asks, slicing the tension in the air. you swallow and nod with a quiet “mhm”, not trusting your voice to speak.

in response, he places a soft kiss on your clit, the action eliciting something wild in you, a feeling of obedience, an all-consuming thought that this is what you were made for. to please him and get rewarded.

the cool wind blows through the open windows, making the curtains sway lightly and goosebumps erupt on your legs. logan lifts his gaze, looking up at you through his glasses which were resting carefully on the bridge of his nose. he gently runs a reassuring hand up and down your thigh.

“let me warm you up, baby.” he speaks softly.

and you oblige, you give yourself to him. perhaps the unconventional dynamic of your relationship was unnerving, a little too much for such a young thing like you. but that’s exactly what he was here for - to help you. so he rushes to your aid, releasing all of your pent up tension for you. you mold like putty in his hands, his beard covered in your juices, your limbs limp by the end of the night, the only time you speak being when you come undone on his tongue, whispering his name like a prayer.

pov you are the armorer

textless version under cut

I can't...I can't handle it

That de-escalated quickly

Hey ...

Can I have a request for pedro × reader ?

The reader is sad about something and can't sleep pedro finds her in the balcony all alone with her thoughts in the middle of the night

threw this together to try to get out of my writers block, hope you enjoy love! sorry it's a bit on the shorter side :)

The night had gone seemingly well - or so he'd thought. Nothing was particularly out of the ordinary anyways. Dinner had been delicious, the wine you'd shared sweet, and you'd both wound down with a few episodes of a new show in bed before he'd curled up under the covers and let the drowsiness have him.

He'd just assumed you'd dozed off soon after he'd kissed you goodnight. But when he woke up at 2am to a cold bed, he realized he's been mistaken.

It put a knot in his stomach as soon as his eyes adjusted and he realized that his senses weren't failing him - you really weren't there beside him.

"Baby?" He called, voice still raspy.

The knot grew into a pit when he saw that the bathroom light wasn't on either.

"Amor?" He tried again - no answer.

His heartbeat picked up as he stood up from the bed, pace quickening as he realized that the bedroom door was cracked. He pushed it aside quickly, eyes scanning the house for any sign of you.

He let out a breath when he found it - the silhouette of his yellow Lakers shirt outside on the balcony, outlined through the glass doors. He'd recognize you in a crowded room, even with you turned away towards the city the way you were.

He was quiet and slow as he approached, sliding the door carefully out of the way.

"Amor? It's me." His voice was gentle but you jumped anyways, breath catching in your chest before you recognized him and relaxed.

You opened your mouth to say something, but you couldn't find anything quite right. Everything felt heavy - your mind, your chest, your eyes. So when Pedro made his way in front of you, crouched down to meet your gaze and asked if you were alright, you couldn't answer. All you did was shake your head no, and let the burning in your eyes you'd been fighting finally spill over.

He didn't need anything more than that. Without any hesitation he looped one arm under your knees and another behind your back, lifting you up and switching places so you were settled on his lap in the chair, curled up against him. He didn't move his arms, just used them to hold you close to him, to tuck you up against his bare chest.

His cheek was rough against your forehead, but it settled you, grounded you each time you felt it move as he spoke sweet nothings that flowed down to you, calming your heart beat by beat. I've got you amor. You're safe. It's alright. I'm right here. You can let it out. I love you. Te amo. I love you.

The tears stopped some time later, and to Pedro's relief you sat up and looked at him, giving him the chance to wipe some of the remnants away with his thumbs along your cheekbones.

"Que pasa mi amor?" He murmured sweetly - when you were finally able to look at him the genuine concern in his eyes was almost your undoing all over again. The love was so blatant, and you felt so undeserving that it was overwhelming. How could he really be yours? And how could you handle him being so far away? But you couldn't put that on him - it was too much. Too heavy.

"It's nothing baby, I'm okay."

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers linger. You relaxed, resting your cheek in his palm.

"I can't help you if you don't let me in amor. Please," he whispered. "Let me in. Tell me, let me hold some of it."

You would never understand how he always knew exactly what to say to unlock the flood gates. But somehow he always had the key. And so you started to tell him. And you couldn't stop. And with every sad confession came tears and jumbled sentences and points missed and you didn't care, because Pedro was there, listening to every word and holding your hand as you played with his fingers to distract yourself as you spoke, released everything that had been keeping your mind running in circles all night long, exhausting you.

"... and it feels better when you're here, it feels like I can breathe but I know you're going to be gone soon and I'm so happy for you and I know you'll come visit and I can go visit but I don't know how I'm going to be okay with you so far away for so long when I love you this much and I just - I just -"

Those words in particular caught Pedro's ear, caused him to sit up a bit straighter.

"Sweetheart, I don't leave for filming for another two months."

"I know, I know I sound crazy, we have so much time but I can't stop thinking about what it's going to be like when you aren't here."

"Hey, c'mere. C'mere." He readjusted, moving your legs until you were straddling him. He took your face in his hands, waiting until you looked at him. "You aren't crazy. I've been thinking about it too. About how hard it's gonna be."

The shock of that pulled you out of your spiral a bit.

"You have?"

"Of course I have. I don't want to leave you here alone when I got to the gym, much less for six months of filming. I want to be where you are, simple as that."

The sincerity of his words hit you like a ton of bricks. "Yeah?" was all you could muster, and it made him chuckle.

"Yeah, mi amor." He laughed, kissing your nose. "So on that note I was thinking, maybe you could just come with me. If you wanted. We could get an apartment instead of my trailer, for the weekends, and -"

"You'd do that?"

He blinked at you, surprised. "Of course I would. But I understand that's a lot to ask of you. So obviously take all the time you need to think about it, and we can figure out the details."

It was your turn to laugh. As if you even needed to consider it.

"What?" He questioned. You answered him with a kiss, hoping it would convey everything you needed to say. When you finally broke free a few minutes later, your lack of sleep and aftermath of adrenaline had worn off. He didn't need to ask if you were okay - he could feel it. You yawned, leaning your head against Pedro's broad shoulder and melting into him.

He held you for a few moments, relishing in the feeling of you fully trusting him before he kissed your temple and coaxed you up just enough for him to get his hands under your thighs so he could carry you to bed. You didn't stray far - once he climbed under the covers you returned to him, curling up against his chest, head clear for the first time in weeks as his kissed your forehead and pulled you closer, holding you through the night.

There's something so wonderfully, perfectly autumnal about the Lord of the Rings and even the Silmarillion. It is profound and beautiful and filled with splendor, but also so melancholic and tragic and bittersweet that it makes your heart ache.

The elves are leaving for the Western Shores and magic is dying, but there is something so beautiful about it, even as it slowly withers, like the changing leaves in the autumn trees. There is beauty even in the loss, life in death, joy found even in the midst of pain. It is fair even in the fading.