#I WAS POSITIVELY STARSTRUCK | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

satoruhour · 2 years ago

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HIS FAVOURITE W— STUDENT !

a/n: dilly / @crysugu i am losing the pwp war i needed the lore to be in this HELP. anyway !!! professors bc i cannot stop my mind from spiralling while starting my university classes — im not entirely proud of this but eehhh ….

wc: 4k

warnings: ultimately semi-public sex for all, unprotected sex, cumshot, standing doggy, brief oral (m receiving), brief f! masturbation, brief fingering (gojo), geto is a professor who is also a camboy, camgirl!reader, f! and m! masturbation, mentions of bad dragon’s cumtubes, brief fingering, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink (geto), pussy slapping, spitting (on yo pussy), pet names, clit stimulation, oral / cunnilingus, tit play, fingering, implied f! masturbation (nanami), mentions of murder, stripper!reader, riding, degradation, calls you ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, calls you ‘mama’ once too, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), deep-throating, slight face-fucking (toji), n*sfw under the cut

✶ GOJO

professor gojo was… an interesting teaching figure. he didn’t have a set way of doing lectures or tutorials, nor was his feedback on assignments entirely coherent, but he was fun and unorthodox. he was also hot as fuck, as you’ve heard from your friends, but you never really got the deal even after seeing his photo on the university website or from miles away entertaining some starstruck student. his classes were always left with no vacancies, too, only able to see what your friends meant after stepping foot first into the lecture.

you were a tad bit early, greeted with gojo sitting at the front with his legs propped up on the desk as he shot you a nonchalant greeting and you think maybe you should’ve signed up for another lecture group, but then he speaks and the air is knocked out of your chest. professor gojo is charismatic when he teaches about art, design and media, captivating everyone with the stark white hair and blue eyes, but he’s clever with his glances because you aren’t realising he stares at you more than anyone else.

aren’t you in your second year? how did he not see you anywhere last year? why did you just sign up?

the smiles he gives you are sweeter than others, the words more sugar coated with lilts in his voice and you’re chastising yourself for not being any different from everyone else, soon turning into the girls who ask for extra tutoring sessions and sidling up to him on campus — at least you’d get the full experience.

“oh! sweetness, what are you doing here?” you’ve managed to get gojo just as he leaves his office, standing outside for quite some time thinking if you’d really want to do this. several lecturers and professors have already walked past asking if you needed anything, but no matter how much you wanted to say professor gojo’s name, it always turned into something like waiting for a friend.

“oh— uhm, professor gojo, just wondering if the grade for that major project is really set in stone?”

gojo makes a show of thinking, but you know you’re asking for the devil himself when he replies yes with a stifled grin and you’re asking if the two week period of appealing works for the major you’re in.

“you can submit other collaterals as an appeal but it might either boost your grade or bring it down,” the professor leans down with a sick smile on his face, because he’s had so many people outside just like this, nervous from his advances and yet not going through with what they thought they could do. but this time it’s you, the you who he imagined taking on his office desk or even in a lecture theatre for everyone to see, who wants the words to fall from your lips just so he could be your knight in shining armour.

“is there really no… other way to appeal?” you swallow when gojo switches the position and gets you in exactly where he wants you: your back facing his office, his face dangerously close to yours while his eyes slyly catching the way your thighs rub together.

gojo smirks to himself when you knock down yet another cup of stationery on his desk after “discussing” ways you could improve your grades, nails making unsatisfactory noises on the wooden desk while he can hear your cunt gush around him, made obvious from the squelch of your hole and he’s muttering praises into your neck from behind.

“this what you had in mind, baby?” just another girl in his roster, getting ruined just for a grade that wasn’t even that bad. what you didn’t know is that you were the only girl, getting professor gojo so hard in lectures and tutorial classes just from the sight of you that to finally have you — it’s a sweet reward. you shiver when his hand reaches to your front to rub at your clit and you’re grasping at nothing as moans leave your lips.

“y-yeah, professor—” gojo is filthy, lewd, lifting your leg to prop up on the desk just so he could get deeper in you, your pussy everything he imagined and more as he continues to fuck into you. you’re warmer than his hand, than some hookup’s mouth from the club, clenching around his cock so tightly his hips stutter.

“f-fuck, angel, tryna snap my dick off?” you let out an incredulous chuckle at that, hips moving back to meet his while the sounds of his balls slapping against your ass fill the room. your juices are coating his length so well, too, that gojo’s eyes lock on your cunt that sucks him in over and over again, the spread of your pussy lips just amplifying his moans. the other spreads your cheeks and sighs at the translucent ring of cum at the base of his cock, hips fucking up to hit your sweet spot that you’re cumming with a shock down your spine — so hard, so deep, so intense that you’re jolting from the orgasm with whimpers of his name. gojo never truly is done with you after pulling out to cum on your ass, however, and you aren’t either.

there’s a thrill that runs through his veins when you back him up onto the sofa, a glimmer in your eyes that suggest you’re as intoxicated on him as he is on you, a sultry gaze taking over your shyness from earlier before he’s pushed onto the cushions.

“thank you for the meal, professor,” you giggle and gojo swears he’s reached his death when your mouth first closes around his still sensitive tip and he whines loudly, hearing your fingers fill your drooling cunt as your hand squeezes out leftover cum from before. a hand runs through your hair and your cockdrunk face is enough for him to see white—

professor gojo thinks you look heavenly between his legs.

✶ GETO

you sigh echoes throughout your dorm room, ending the stream and collecting your keep for the day as you grimace at the mess you’ve made on your sheets. it’s not like it wasn’t pleasurable, but on some days you’re wondering how long you truly need to serve gross men on the internet for it to be enough to pay off your university fees. sure, there were a few attractive people who commented and tipped you, but that was the extent of it. it’s not long before you can only think about cleaning up and taking a big fat nap, but a video in the sidebar catches your attention.

it seemed like a casual stream — no script or planned storyline apart from a heavily tattooed arm taking up half the screen, his pelvis just slightly off the thumbnail. he was faceless, too, filming rather from the chest down which was also inked, something that sends a chill to your core.

it’s only later when you’re slipping your dildo back into you as you watch this stranger pump his cock, guttural groans and slick noises filling your airpods that you realise the dragon wrapping around his arm looks awfully familiar. you’re so blissed out by pleasure, focusing on the needy moans that the man lets out before he cums with a grunt, so much cum leaking out from him. you’ve reached your high too, but you have no time to admire the stranger because it seemed like he was in a hurry, but not before you’ve caught a glimpse of his lip ring.

you know why he looked so familiar, now, standing in front of him in his office while his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, something he doesn’t do often. geto suguru doesn’t wear his lip ring in lecturers either, and now you think you know why because they match the video you’ve seen just last night. you aren’t even entirely sure why you were called in, and you think maybe it’s because you “accidentally” sent a friend request, but you’re taken aback when he asks you if you’ve already selected a tutor to be your mentor throughout your major project.

“surprised? i sent out the email a week ago, love.” you try not to let the name get to you, and the confession lingers at the tip of your tongue.

“y-yeah! i saw it, professor geto, just—”

everyone was no stranger to professor geto’s striking looks, always turning heads with his unconventional gauges and long hair that probably should’ve landed him in a modelling agency in the first place. except, he’s opting instead to teach linguistics, a fitting major for him to talk of the history of language and its formation of it, even slipping in some latin and greek to show its origins but you can hardly listen when all you can focus on is the tight pull of his shirt around his body while his hair falls around his face and you think maybe it was a bad time to think if his hair falls out of his bun while he rails someone. you hope soon it’ll be you, just so you can confirm it for yourself with no other reason involved (you’re a fucking liar).

geto clears his throat and you swallow and the flex of his forearms only distract you further, the dragon on his arm seemingly laughing at your torment as it moves along his skin — the other doesn’t miss your dilemma, staring at you for your answer with a dark stare and enjoying the effect he had on you. your brain doesn’t respond fast enough, though, and you’re blurting out the first thing as you watch the curve of his mouth turn in either distaste or satisfaction; you weren’t sure.

“i saw you stream yesterday—” and you slap a hand over your mouth, wanting to run immediately, but you didn’t expect him to smile after a moment of recognition, making the connections to your account until his mouth falls open just a little.

“you’re the little cutie who sent me a request last night, aren’t ya?”

as he asks the question you hoped he wouldn’t ask, you find there’s nothing on your mind except maybe seeing his tattooed arms wrap around you — and you did. they looked so much better up close, leading from one thing to another in that stuffy office soon they’re looking especially good with how he’s currently dragging the tip of his cock along your folds, collecting your slick as you hold onto his biceps after confessing sin after sin about you from—

“i’ve jerked off to your videos.” a burn on your cheeks when geto sets you on his office table, palms leaving hot trails along your thighs and skin. he lets you play with his bulge, hands probably forming bruises on you from how you relieve the tension in his pants.

“the way your cunt wraps around that dildo — makes me wish i was there fuckin’ your pussy instead.” a gasp and a moan when he preps you with both fingers as he sucks hickeys into your neck and plays with your tits, pinching your nipple that has you clenching around him.

“didn’t miss how you like to be bred in your videos too. think maybe you need some real cum, princess,” geto’s button up shirt is pried open by now, trousers just barely pulled down below his hips because he has a lecture in about half n’ hour. though, he wanted your pussy all to himself and if 27 minutes was all he was granted, he was going to make full use of it. geto groans into your hair when your legs wrap around his middle and he’s reeling at how he’s been watching your videos for the longest time and yet, nothing compares to having you fall apart by his hands.

a quick glance to his watch tells him fifteen minutes, eyes flitting back to the squelch of your cunt around him and he smiles smugly at the whimpers he knows so well. he’s sure it’s imprinted on his brain by now but his dick still jumps at the many variations you’ve let out during the 27; he’d commit every single one to memory. “professor— s-shit!”

geto angles his hips up, the curve of his cock hitting that spot just right that your back arches and you let out a drawn out moan, “yes, baby?”

“w-wan’ your cum in me, suguru,” you’re pleading with a drunk little smile and your face is twisted into such pleasure he’s only seen through pixels that geto cums almost immediately with a pained laugh seeing the real thing, hips stilling as he fills you up, up, up to the brim with hot, white semen that geto feels embarrassed to climaxing so quickly. but what can he do? when his favourite camgirl and student asks to be bred, it’s only natural.

how could he possibly say no?

✶ NANAMI

“does that mean the poem is written from the cross’ perspective?” your hand shoots up in hopes of interpreting the text correctly, but also because, just maybe, that you wanted to impress a little someone at the front of the lecture theatre. beside you, you can hear the gasp of your friend along with the eyes of various other students. “sort of like— personification?”

nanami points to you with his glasses that he’s long removed, a small smile on his face. it’s not like you’re trying too hard, but of course you know your shit fairly well. you always have in every class, it was just a bonus you were so attractive that all nanami could think about was spreading your legs right on this desk. “yes, almost. anthropomorphism, something that was very common in poems or works written in old english.”

you were sceptical about professor nanami at first, especially since he was a lecturer who was transferred here from overseas only three months ago and is technically quarter of a white man, but he held command of the japanese language well enough for you to understand, both in speech and concepts. you were more interested in the lecturer himself though, piqued from the moment he explained his grandfather was danish and you turn to your friend, explains the blonde hair, doesn’t explain how he’s so insanely fine, giggling quietly to each other the first day.

as for your major, it was texts after story after poem, but you enjoyed it alongside giving your own input in class — something you knew would help your participation grades. you’ve raised your hand in more ways than one, always coming up at the end of lectures with a question, stopping him in hallways to show him the book you were currently reading. so that’s why you were confused when you were called to the front of the lecture theatre after everything’s over. it couldn’t be bad, right?

it wasn’t bad, it was much better, especially when nanami’s got your legs on either side of him on the lecture theatre desk while he takes his rightful place between your legs — somewhere he’s always longed to be. both the front and back doors are locked, with only your soft, muffled moans filling the room. but nanami has no shame, slurping up the juices that drip from your pussy loudly, possibly staining the desk below him. he’s cared before about the condensation of his drinks but when it comes to your sweet, sweet cunt? he doesn’t give one fuck.

“taste so good, sweetheart,” nanami moans wrapping a forearm around your thighs and just eats. he flicks his tongue over your clit, while the other hand goes up to squeeze at your tits, kneading and playing with them while you’re still at awe at the man on his knees, at how you’ve gotten one of the hottest professors in the university eating out of your pussy like it’s the last meal on earth.

you’re snapped out of your daze when nanami lands a few slaps onto your pussy, brown eyes boring holes into your skull. but this stare is different, as opposed to glaring down the mischievous boys who can’t stop making noise, this is…

“pay attention when i eat your little pussy, angel,” the demanding tone has you shivering, a small grin stifled when he nods in deserved approval and continues his assault. fingers slip in before you have time to react and your head is thrown back so hard it bumps against the wood but you don’t care, clamping down around his fingers. nanami’s pace is unforgiving, sucking hard on your clit while he pumps them in and out.

“feel good?” nanami asks through slurps as he catches your eye, licking one last stripe before gathering his saliva into a ball and he spits onto your clit, sight so lewd you clamp around his fingers. he admires how the way the glob of liquid runs down your cunt and mixes with your arousal that he can’t wait for it to be his cum instead.

“better than…” your voice trails off when he rubs in his spit, a thumb on your bud while he continues to move his fingers and your thighs are already trembling from how nanami knows all your sweet spots in such a short period of time. nanami simply chuckles at your sensitivity, meeting you halfway as you sit up to feel his lips against yours and he whispers against your lips—

“what were you gonna say, baby?”

you’re heaving for oxygen as he adds a third finger and you’re just hoping he’d show you his fucking dick already. hot breath fans across your lips and you smile to yourself seeing how your words affect him.

“better than fucking myself with my fingers thinkin’ it’s your cock, prof.”

✶ TOJI

it was nine in the morning, and toji could already feel a headache forming from the amount of absentees in his class, simply sighing before pulling up the details for today’s lecture, eyes unknowingly looking for you in the large lecture theatre. he finds that you’re already looking, clad in a cardigan and tired eyes — no doubt from trying to reach his deadline earlier than usual. toji found that you liked to do that, the first one to always submit your essays and assignments, so that’s why he knows what game you’re playing at when you’re asking the difference between first, second and third degree murder when you already know their definitions.

he would know — you got full marks the other time.

“hm?” toji only hums when he sees your enthusiastic face and a quick look down to your lower half shows how your legs spread naturally for him. the professor only licks his lips before he spots your underwear, entertaining you for now as you stare on earnestly, while nothing is actually entering your brain. that’s okay, though, you’re smart.

toji can count on one hand the amount of times you manage to catch him off guard, but he didn’t expect both of those times to be on the same day. it was a busy night at the club, trailing behind professor gojo, bored, until the clock hits 11 and the shift changes, some dancers retiring for the night whilst others make their way out. they emerge with pumps and skimpy outfits, but toji still hasn’t found someone worth wasting his loaded bank account on until you’re stepping out in a corset and garters and toji whistles lowly, eyes travelling up your person unforgivingly before he hears a small gasp.

his curiosity is piqued at the small noise, only to be greeted with your widened eyes and taut muscles at having seen your professor at the strip club you work at, but with a clap from somewhere backstage your body moves naturally into a professional stance, and perhaps a little more sluttily than other days.

your professor was hot, of course you would work twice as hard, twisting your body around the pole while you show off your assets — things you were covering just this morning in professor toji’s lecture. he taught criminology, a minor that you were trying out in your second year of uni and if it didn’t work, you’d drop it, but no matter how much you complained about the class, the green eyes that bore into yours in lectures always seem to ask you to stay. you never really knew whether he was looking at you or not.

at least now, you’ll make him.

toji’s hands tightened around the wad of cash he planned to waste tonight, all put on hold just from watching the way you put your body on display. he wouldn’t have imagined seeing you tonight at the strip club he let gojo drag him to, but he’s almost glad he’s here when you seem to be only dancing for him, all focus on the other patrons lost.

your eyes are still locked with toji’s, reminding you of the times in the lecture theatre where green was all you could see, a smile creeping on your face when one of your girlfriends behind you whispers that the man with the black hair and tight shirt wants a private session with you.

that’s all it took before you feel toji’s hands on your ass later in the private room, pulling you to his front with a smirk. “what’s a sweet girl like you doin’ here?”

you roll your eyes as you feign annoyance. your heart was pounding along with the music, finally being able to feel his toned body from the front., “cut the crap, prof. you booked me for a reason. what, here to talk about my grades or something?”

“what? can’t see my favourite student?” you scoff with a small smile.

“and how did you know i work here?”

“i didn’t, but seeing you work that pole,” toji grins, landing a smack on your butt before grinding his very obvious, large bulge on you and he’s loving the way it seemed to stimulate your clit, “i need ya to show me what i’ve been missing, mama.”

toji groans later while you’ve got his cock in his mouth, on your knees in front of him while you’re fisting the places you can’t reach. you take most of him easily, feeling the tip of his length reach the back of your throat. there, your eyes flick up to him, doe eyed and pleading. it isn’t long before you feel his hips bucking into your mouth and the cute twitch of his cock in your mouth, moaning around him as you knead his thighs, dragging him closer with what little strength you had.

“dirty fuckin’ slut, huh?” toji mumbles out breathlessly, tightening his grip around your hair before you start bobbing your head again, a plethora of lewd noises alongside the slurp of your saliva and his pre-cum mixing only makes your panties wetter and sends your cunt clenching around nothing. “who knew my cutest student was such a whore?” your head reels at the degradation, sucking in your cheeks even more while you slobber over him. toji swears under his breath when your tongue sweeps over his tip, collecting his pre-cum.

“it’s s’big in my mouth, professor,” giggling, you bob your head faster as the other’s noises increase in volume, and he’s left to tap the side of your skull, causing you to tilt your head in question. the vibrations of your moans has him grinding into your mouth, shutting you up until he’s cumming down your throat with a loud groan. toji spills so much into your mouth that you have to swallow twice, pulling on your jaw as you show him the remnants of the cum still on your tongue.

“’m sure they have it somewhere in the conduct about professors not having sexual relations with a student,” toji chuckles when he sees you peel off your underwear, eagerly wrapping his arms around your waist. “or even something about cutting corners to get your grades up…” it’s a little soft, trailing off when he feels you drag his tip along your pussy and he’s mesmerised with how your dripping folds accommodate him easily.

you pout in dramatics, thighs tightening around his when you take inch after inch of him before you’re bottoming out. there’s a deep sigh coming from you before you’re moving your hips lazily, a certain slur to your words that already show you’re drunk on your professor’s cock and toji only smiles.

“yeah, but my grades are perfectly fine,” you whisper with a small whine when toji squeezes your ass, something he never thought he’d get a taste of.

“plus, we’re not in the classroom now, are we, professor?”

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alatusprinz · 2 years ago

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when you call him good boy .

characters: wanderer/scaramouche, kaedehara kazuha, albedo, xiao

genre: smut, (warning of explicit words choice)

Scaramouche/Wanderer sneers at you mockingly when the words fall from your mouth. His grip on your hips tightened as he snapped his hips into your behind roughly, deliberately thrusting in so deep so your back arches with your face buried into the pillow. He hated when your needy moans were silenced when it wasn’t on his accord, making him reach out to grip onto your hair roughly to pull your body up while holding onto your neck with his other hand, forcing you to find balance in an awkward position with your knees on the mattress and back against his chest. His hips never halted one bit, still thrusting in relentlessly into your drenched walls as your mind blanked out from the dizzying stimulation. Tightening his grip on your neck, he leans into your ear, almost purring in a sickeningly sweet voice.

"Fuck, you like that don't you? Like being used like a little dolly for me?" You whimpered weakly as your scalp slightly burned from his tight grip, your body moving to meet his slams involuntarily from the force of his each thrust. It always felt like this, almost too good, too overwhelming from the borderline ruthless way he fucked you. As your broken moans persisted and he wanted to see you break down more, let go of your hair with a satisfied smirk and instead held onto both your wrists to pull your body back to meet his hips, manhandling you and taking you as he pleased.

His grip on your wrists tightened as pulled them back to slam your ass to his hips over and over, your cunt almost sore and aching from how he used you like a toy for his pleasure.

“Yeah? Fuck, call me that again, let me know how much of a good boy I am being.”

Kazuha’s gaze was always starstruck and almost drunk in love when he was staring at you as he slipped into your snug walls over and over. He was so hypnotized by you, completely allured more every second you two spent together. And he never knew he could fall even deeper until you looked at him with that sultry gaze, mouth open and making the prettiest sounds for him, and called him your good boy. Your good boy. An infatuated smile blossoming on his face, his cock pressed in deep, then he moved in a grinding motion slightly as you squirmed and mewled in pleasure. He was looking at you with heart in his eyes, completely enchanted and greedy to see more of your beauty. Nobody could ever compare or hold a candle to how beautiful you looked under him when he made love to you.

That’s right- he almost whimpers at your word as his hold on your waist tightened, immediately pressing his lips onto yours. His kiss was needy, desperate to feel you in his arms, if there was anything in this world that he couldn’t lose ever, it would undoubtedly be you. Kazuha’s heart feels like it would leap out any moment now as he rolls his hips into yours, trying his best to go sensual and slow although his patience was running thin every time your breathy moans graced his ears. His lips lowered to your neck, warm breath tickling your skin, and he whispered.

“All yours my love, all yours… Your good boy, yours…”

A soft moan leaves Albedo’s mouth in pleasant surprise at the praise he hears from you. His inquisitive gaze never leaves your face, in fact his sight never seemed to focus on anything else other than your pretty expressions when he made love to you. The way your eyes fluttered shut when his tip brushes over your sensitive spot (one he knows all too well by now), the differences in your moans when he grinds into you, slowly pushes as deep as he can to drag upon your tender spot, or when he sometimes indulge his greed and slams into you harder and faster as your nails scratched into his back- all of your precious reactions are recorded in his mind like a rewound tape.

You called him good boy- his pupils dilated visibly if you had half the mind to notice, and suddenly he was all the more determined to please you more. His mouth latched onto your nipple, one hand gripping onto your waist as he rutted inside your warm walls, pleasured groans leaving his lips while he sucked on harder. You swore sight blurred as his other hand was suddenly rubbing over your clit, circling and flicking the way he knew you moaned the prettiest for him. He knew your body better than you did by now, Albedo took silent pride in that fact. And he intended on being a good boy for you every day and night, whenever you desire him.

- Xiao almost gets too pleasure-driven from the moment your lips are on his more sensually, from the second your touches turn suggestive. His eyes are always clouded over with lust, desire and admiration towards you, he is hardly even lucid when he finally pushes into your eager walls, he can never control himself fully once he had a taste of you- all that mattered to him was you, your moans, and your face twisting in pleasure. That’s why when you first called him your good boy, he didn’t even hear it. His one hand was pressing yours to the mattress, fingers entwined as he rammed inside needily, it felt so good, he wanted to be buried inside your snug walls forever- this insatiable lust transfers over to his actions because as much as he tries, he can’t seem to be too gentle and from the way you moan sharply each time he slams in and his cock rubs against your insides just right, Xiao couldn’t find it in him to slow down anyways.

His fingers laced with yours on one hand, indirectly holding you down in place with how with each thrust made your linked hands sink down onto the sheets, and his other holding onto your hip so tight it felt like it would bruise,. You muttered out a weak “good boy” once more- this time he heard it all too well. He groaned in pleasure at your words, at your beauty or your tight cunt he couldn’t tell, all he knew was he had to give you more, make you take more of him. His lips are on your neck and his sharp teeth sank down on the side, his lustful panting and deep moans ringing in your ear. Your wince of pain was drowned out in the high-pitched whiny moan when his claws unintentionally dug onto your hips as he forced your walls to take all of him, slamming his hips to yours desperately like he would die if he didn’t engrave the feeling of your warmth around him inside his mind. Your sweet moans always made his heart flutter, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he bit down harder on your neck, rutting into you as though to remind you that you’re all his, and he’d be your ‘good boy’ always and forever.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact smut #xiao x reader #xiao x reader smut #xiao smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #scara smut #scaramouche x reader smut #kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader smut #kazuha smut #albedo x reader #albedo x reader smut

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elssero · 9 months ago

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overheard.

k.bakugo

-in which bakugo overhears you talking about him with the girls... super whipped bakugo. cute confessions.

he knows he shouldn’t have followed him.

when sero dared him and denki to listen in on your conversations during girls night he knew it was wrong.

he knew it was wrong when he got up to follow his friend, he knew it was wrong on the walk to the room and he knows that it’s wrong now- while his ear is pressed against the door.

he doesn’t know why he followed denki- all he knows is that he’s now found himself pressed up against the wall- breathing silently as to not alert any of you of their position.

he can hear the conversation surprisingly clearly- it’s something stupid about your celebrity crushes- he wasn’t aware that girls were so.. vulgur?

“wait okay i’ve got a good one-“ it’s mina he hears- her loud voice clear as day as she begins her question- “if you had to go on a date with one of the guys in our class- who would it be?”

gasps burst throughout the room at the end of her question- giggles coming from a few of you-

he feels denki nudge his side- when he looks to the left he sees a knowing look in the boy eyes.

it’s not a secret as to who’s answer he wants to hear- it’s yours. it just so happens that almost every single one of his friends had somehow figured out about his little crush on you- everyone but you at least.

“okay okay- i’ll go first-” he doesn’t make care for minas answer, she says something about kirishima before admitting she could never actually date him- they’re too close for that. so she settles on todoroki.

gasps of surprise seem to come from the girls after that answer- “it’s not an actual crush!- he’s just handsome!”

it’s hagakure who goes next- she makes a small comment about todoroki that mina quickly agrees with before making the final decision on ojiro-

uraraka refuses to answer- teasing questions are asked about izuku- or iida? bakugo is forced to hold in a scoff.

“cmon yn! you gottta tell us!” the mention of your name brings bakugo back to focus, ears perking up as to not miss your answer.

“okay- you guys have to promise not to judge.” the excited squeals of the girls are followed with an array of promises not to judge you-

“well if i had too- it would probably be bakugo.”

his heart is beating faster than it ever has before- you just said his name. his name. out of everyone in your class you’d want him.

oh. oh.

the laughs from the girls are completely tuned out as bakugo begins to take in what you’d said. squeals of excitement are quickly turned into a bombarding of questions.

“but- why? he’s such a dick?” laughs are heard from jirou as she questions you- bakugo is too infested in your answer to take note of the insult.

“well- i guess that’s kinda what i like about him?” confused murmurs are heard from the girls surrounding you- urging you to continue.

“yes he’s loud- and obnoxious- but i guess i can’t help but find that- almost charming?”

words of disagreement leave your friends mouths.

it’s only when denki taps his shoulder when he realises his friend is still stood next to him- his jaw is dropped as he looks at the blonde. it takes him a second before he realises he feels the heat in his face- a clear blush across his features.

bakugo turns away in an instant- making his way back to the kirishimas room where they had been previously hanging out.

he slams the door behind him and denki hard- immediately pressing his back against the door letting his head fall back as he gains his breathe.

“so? what did you guys hear?” he can’t even answer sero when he asks- far too busy thinking about what you had said-

“oh- just that if yn had to go out on a date with anyone in the class, it would be our bakugo-” he could slap denki right now- if he wasn’t so starstruck.

kirishima jumps up immediately- wrapping an arm around his friends shoulders. “bakugo- man this is great! you totally have a shot!”

he wants to answer- tell his friends to shut up- but his throat feels dry and the words won’t come out, still attempting to get ahold on his breathing he shoves kirishima away from him.

“i- i fuck i don’t know how to do this shit.”

“don’t worry about it man- we’ll wingman you-” kirishima’s words of encouragement are swiftly cut off by a knock at the door. despite not knowing who it is- a pit forms in bakugos stomach.

slowly and silently bakugo moves away from the door to allow his red haired friend to greet whoever is on the other side.

“hey- is bakugo in here? i need to talk to him.” he hears your voice from his spot behind the door as he sinks into the corner, his heart rate begins to sore once again.

“yeah he’s here!” the grip on his shirt is strong as it pulls him out of his hiding spot- now finding himself face to face with you as you eye him suspiciously.

you don’t say anything as you turn away- he watches you walk without moving, feet glued to the floor. kirishima pushes him out the door whispering a quick good luck.

he follows you down the hall- you take a look around you before taking a left, seemingly looking for an empty space.

his heart is beating out of his chest so fast he’s afraid you might hear it, he watches you walking in front of him in complete silence, it feels like torture.

you stop at the end hall and before turning around to look behind him- your making sure your alone before you finally turn to look at him again.

you stare at him expectingly and he feels his stress levels rise- he needs to know what you want from him and now.

“we heard you.” his previously ferociously beating heart feels as though it’s stopped- falling flat into his stomach.

“w-what’re you talking about?” if the stutter in his usually brash voice isn’t enough- you know that bakugo isn’t an idiot, and you know that he’s aware exactly what your talking about-

“earlier- you were eavesdropping on us.” the temperature in the hall feels as through its increasingly rising- he feels the tips of his ears getting warmer the longer you look at him for.

“i-ive got no idea what your talking about.” you take a step closer to him now- he has to stop himself from scurrying away.

“so it wasn’t you outside mina’s form earlier?” a lump forms in bakugos throat- he feels pathetic, how can he manage to be so strong but completely crumble when it came to you?

“we did some eavesdropping of our own.” bakugo watches as the look in our eye changes- casting a teasing look as you continue.

“what exactly was it that you and your friends were just talking about?”

he wants to answer you- he truly does. he feels the weight of the feelings he’s had for you since last year, he wants needs to tell you.

he remembers all the stolen glances he gives you, how sometimes he would catch your eye and it would plague his thoughts for days after.

the things he wishes he could do with you come to mind, the list of spots he’s found that he’s certain you’d love- that he’d love to show you.

he thinks about how he wants to be there for you, to be the person you reach for, your safe space.

he wants to tell you.

“you- we were talking about you” he blurts it out before he can think about it properly, your eyes widen slightly, clearly taken aback.

“it’s always you.” he takes a deep breath before he continues, deciding not to rush himself.

“your the first thing i think of when i wake up- and the last thing i think of before i fall asleep. i- fuck- i think about you all the time.” he holds your stare as he continues- hoping- praying you can reciprocate his feelings.

“i can’t get you out of my head and- i’ve never felt like this before-“ taking long breath- the tension in this stupid hallway seems to only be growing before he closes his eyes.

“i like you- alot.”

silence follows his confession- bakugos eyes still glued shut as his breathes deepen, hands slightly shaking as they rest by his sides.

he opens his eyes slowly- half expecting you to have walked away before he catches the first glimpse of your face. that stupid smile plastered on it.

he takes you in- his eyes now fully open as you looks in you in a daze, you finally begin to speak.

“i know.” it’s almost a whisper when you say it- the weight of your words not fully settled in before his initial confused disappears- he can’t help the way that the tone of your voice makes him feel instantly comfortable.

“i like you too.”

#mha x reader #mha #bnha x reader #mha x female reader #bakugo katuski #mha fanfiction #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader fluff #fluff #mha x reader fluff

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nereidprinc3ss · 10 months ago

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please don't say you love me

in which fwb!spencer reid and fem!reader get into an argument about the nature of their relationship.

18+ (implied intimacy) warnings/tags: friends with benefits arrangement, it goes bad, reader is so clearly anxious avoidant, reader is so me-coded, self-loathing, difficulties with emotional intimacy, arguing, derek and penelope make an appearance woo, a little dramatic, no happy ending (a nereidprinc3ss first!) a/n: it happened guys I stopped writing for a few days and last night randomly was inspired to finish this fwb piece and it essentially turned into a vent and went a completely different direction than i thought it would but here we are!!! i hope you enjoy, I loved writing, ilysm

“Are you reading it? Did you get to the part yet?” You ask, buzzing as you peer around Spencer’s arm to see where he’s at in the book you’d handed him. Sometimes you think it takes him longer to flip the pages than to read them.

He doesn’t answer, but you see the flickering quirk of his lip like something is amusing him. It’s been a few minutes and he’s maybe halfway through. He has to have seen it by now.

You’re clinging to his arm, eyes darting pointlessly between the text and his face, searching for a reaction. It comes in the form of a furrowed brow, a disbelieving smile, and something between a barking laugh and an exclamation of, “what?”

“You read it?”

His eyes narrow and he flips back a page, taking a bit longer to reevaluate.

“Our moans and grunts drowned out the screams of the dead and dying only a few hundred feet away.”

You giggle furiously, clapping a hand to your mouth when you snort, and you feel Spencer’s focus shifting to you, even with your eyes screwed shut.

“And you read this whole series?”

At that you sober up some, still hiding the bottom half of your face and brows drawn sorrowfully as mirthful tears well. You’re slow to admit your guilt with a nod, and his expression is somewhere between horror and fascination.

Your cheeks heat and you cover your face, laughing again and shaking your head shamefully as he ridicules you.

“Why? Why would you do that to yourself? I don’t even know if I can be seen in public with you, that’s—” he’s haphazardly tossed the book back on its display table and grabbed your wrists, pulling gently and laughing too. “No, show me your face. This is—you need to explain yourself. This is unforgivable.”

“No! I swear it was a morbid curiosity, I didn’t like it, I’m sorry! I—”

“Reid?”

You both freeze.

It’s not the most dignified position, admittedly—hidden among the shelves in a bookstore, pressed too close to be friendly, his hands around your wrists.

So you don’t mind when he drops them like hot potatoes and gives you a few inches of breathing room.

“Hey! Uh—you’re—”

Spencer is looking between you and two other people at the end of the aisle—a quirky bespectacled blonde in a flouncy polka-dot dress and her taller companion, ripped and head shaved, sporting some impressive eyebrows. Right now they’re conspicuously raised—his eyes are also pinballing between you and Spencer.

For a moment, everyone is just sort of… looking at each other.

It’s a little bit… awful?

Finally Spencer clears his throat.

“Um, what are you guys doing here? Just… looking at books?”

Something is off, and you feel like shrinking or running, but you just stay glued to your spot.

In sync, they hold up copies of the same book—and it takes you not a second to place the author’s name, in imposing red font at the bottom like it’s important. Rossi.

The pieces click into place. These must be Spencer’s co-workers—Penelope and Derek, if his descriptions of the team have served you well. Part of you is starstruck. Part of you is embarrassed. They’re clearly shocked to see Spencer with a girl in the wild, so you know he hasn’t told them about you—and why should he, you think, why should he tell his friends about the girl he’s been sleeping with for months now?

Finally, the blonder half of the duo speaks.

“You’re—this is a girl. That’s. Who is that? Hi! Who are you?”

She’s literally pointing at you, eyes drifting between you and Spencer like it just doesn’t make any sense. Derek gives her a look and gently pushes her hand down.

“Hey. That’s enough.” Then he offers you a polite smile, though you sense a bit strained, and his eyes too keep wandering back to the man next to you. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, no! You’re not… interrupting…” Spencer trails off and you sense he’s looking at you and gauging a reaction but you’re just smiling idly at his friends and waiting for this to be over. He finally thinks to introduce you by name, and you offer a shy wave and a smile to your new acquaintances.

Penelope points (that damn finger again) but this time it’s less accusatory, and stays below chin level.

“Cool shirt. I love that band,” she offers genially. Your brows raise and you look down, trying to remember what shirt you’d tossed on before leaving Spencer’s apartment an hour ago.

“Oh! Thanks,” you smile, and you’re relieved to mean it this time.

Another frosty silence begins to descend, but Derek doesn’t let it settle so much this time, to everyone’s satisfaction.

“Alright, well. It was nice to meet you. Enjoy your date.”

There’s too much weight on the last sentence, and Derek gives Spencer a eyebrows-raised-meaningfully look you don’t understand. You’re just glad Spencer keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t immediately insist that it’s not a date, because it’s not, and that’s fine, but the vehement denial would bum you out.

The pair walk away in the kind of clenched silence that means they’ll start fervently whispering as soon as they are out of ear shot. You watch their retreating figures and chew your lip, sensing that the carefree and playful energy of five minutes ago will have evaporated by the time you turn back to face your companion.

“Strange,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, and you’re slightly jarred when Spencer replies from beside you.

“Which part?”

All of it.

Turning to face him, you smile, and it doesn’t reach your eyes but it doesn’t need to.

“Oh—nothing, sorry.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, only stares at a point somewhere above your head and narrows his eyes like he’s thinking unpleasant thoughts.

“Was I an asshole, to you, just now?”

It’s unexpected. You don’t have an answer prepared, so you say something that feels like a lie because you can’t prove that it’s not the truth.

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“I just… I don’t know. I get weird around them, sometimes. I don’t always know what to say, like, when my personal life and my work life intersect, because for a long time I didn’t really have a personal life. And I think they still think I don’t know how to talk to girls, so…”

“You don’t know how to talk to girls,” you remind him. “Let’s go look at the puzzles.”

Maybe you spend too much time with Spencer Reid. Maybe that’s the problem—too long in his presence and he’s eating away at your neural tissue like you’ve got cysticercosis and he’s the T. solium (a terrible thing he had explained to you a few weeks ago.)

Maybe you need a break from him, to stop breathing his air and sleeping in his bed and wearing his clothing, because you’re forgetting that he’s not the entire world and that is a very bad thing to forget in a situation like yours. The entire world cannot be the size of his apartment.

But you also just like him so much. As a friend, of course. That goes without saying. You like his strange sense of humor, and the way he lights up when you ask him an obscure question. You like your legs across his lap while you watch his old shows. You also like being kissed by him, and hugged by him. You like being taken care of like no one has ever taken care of you, and you like the way he always touches you, soft and kind and so on purpose.

You never meant to like him so much.

This affection—it has grown, insidious and parasitic, and now that it’s been pointed out to you like a lump in your side, it’s impossible to ignore.

What you and Spencer have works precisely because you’ve kept things platonic and casual. That way, there’s no worrying about emotional baggage or arguing about feelings because there are none to be found and no precedent that any such things should or need to occur. You can’t hurt each other’s feelings if your feelings aren’t on the table.

So why can’t you stop thinking about earlier?

Why can’t you help caring that he’s been keeping you a secret from the people he loves most?

“So, essentially the book is his first deep dive into meta-fiction. It was pretty revolutionary at the time, and while not his most celebrated novel, I’d argue it was his most relevant and culturally pervasive. I’d actually love to hear your interpretation of the story—it’s truly different for everyone. It’s a little like… like a literary Rorschach test. Do you wanna borrow it?”

You’re a tangle on his bed—arms, legs, sheets—it’s hard to tell where you end and he begins. All you’re sure of is his hand, tracing his fingers in chaste lines, feather-light up and down your inner thigh in the way he knows you like. Usually it’s so soothing you melt and fall asleep within minutes. Right now it’s only stoking some sparking electrical fire in your chest—the buzzes and bursts from which have you on edge. Ready to cave in at any second. You wish you could relax. You’ve been trying.

Spencer is in no hurry for you to respond, and so doesn’t seem to mind when it takes you a long while to find your answer.

“I think I need to go home.”

It comes out too scratchy, as you haven’t really spoken for several hours. Not as casual as you were going for. He angles his head down toward you and his hand stops and you realize it’s actually worse like that.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah! Everything is fine, I just… I wanna sleep in my own bed tonight, I think.”

It’s late and you shouldn’t be making him drive you across town, but he’s always amenable to what you want. This is the longest you’ve ever stayed at his place, after all—a rare long weekend—and before that a few weeks had passed with no cases to speak of, during which time you’ve been staying with him more and more. Spencer seems to be completely content letting you eat his food and use his shower if it means you don’t leave.

“I know the feeling well,” he admits, and your heart twinges with the care he takes to not bump or bend you or pull your hair as he shifts. He’s already been out of bed, and so is more dressed than you. Really, most people on the planet are more dressed than you, and you pull his nice sheet higher up your chest as he sits on the edge of the mattress, looking down at you and with a sort of worry in his eyes. He finds your knee through the fabric. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been quiet.”

Stop paying such close attention, you want to tell him. And in the same breath, please don’t ever look away.

“I’m… good.”

It is easily the least convincing performance of your life. Either you’re self sabotaging or you want him to push you further, and you don’t know which is worse.

When his brow ramps just the slightest bit, you know you’ve fumbled it.

“I don’t believe you.”

You shrug. “I don’t need you to.” And then you sit up, still holding the sheet to your chest. “Can you hand me a shirt?”

Enough clothing has accumulated around the room recently that he could pretty much reach out in any direction and find something for you to wear. He grabs a sweatshirt hanging from the bedpost and holds it out for you, and you pull it over your head, before dropping your feet onto the cool wooden floor and grabbing the first bottoms you see—a pair of floral pajama shorts. How have so many of your clothes ended up at his apartment?

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

You scoop your bag up from a chair and flit around the room, haphazardly stuffing away discarded clothing to take back home. It’s true that it’ll be nice to get back to your stuff—your shower products and your closet and your silk pillow cases. You shouldn’t be spending so much time here. It’s not your space and you’ve been sacrificing your own needs to be closer to him, which is something you’d rather not do for any man.

“You can drive me home. I’ll send you gas money.”

“You don’t need to send me gas money,” he says, tacking your name on to the end of the sentence in a way that raises your hackles instantly.

“Yeah, I do. You drive me around constantly. I’ll pay you back and start taking the metro, or something.”

“I don’t want your money,” he scoffs.

“Fine. Then I’ll call a car.”

“That’s unnecessary. I’m happy to drive you.”

“Why?”

Silence hangs. Spencer has by this point stood up, and he’s watching you with a furrowed brow and slightly parted lips like he doesn’t understand where this animosity has come from. Honestly, you’re not entirely sure either. You didn’t realize you were harboring so much of it.

“Am I supposed to see you as an inconvenience?”

“I’m not your responsibility.”

“No. You’re not. We have a relationship and I don’t mind doing things for you.”

“You’re not my boyfriend.”

You didn’t mean to say it, but you sure as hell were thinking it.

It feels good to say, like stretching a sore muscle beyond its limits or pressing into a bruise until you get past the ache. Sometimes when things hurt, it’s best to feel the pain and move on.

He looks absolutely perplexed, the lines between his brows only ditching deeper.

“Is that what this is about?”

“Oh my god, Spencer, no, I don’t care—”

“Because earlier at the bookstore I asked you if I was being an asshole and—”

“I do not give a fuck about earlier at the fucking bookstore!”

It’s too late to be yelling, but he doesn’t scold you. He just sort of looks at you, like you’re something mildly unpleasant. It makes you feel worse.

A long moment goes by.

“Fine. I’ll take you home.”

You let him brush past you, nothing more than a breeze on your shoulders as he disappears from the darkened bedroom. For a moment, you can’t follow him. All you can do is stand there and try to contain that sour, stinging, crying feeling in your eyes and nose because there’s no reason for you to be crying right now.

From the living room, he calls, rather abrasively, “Are you coming?”

“Yes,” you huff, and it is as wavering as it is insolent, so obviously the only word holding back a full-fledged deluge of tears.

One minute. One minute to sniffle and take deep breaths and wipe abashedly under your eyes because you refuse to be dramatic about this. Refuse to get over-emotional. You will not let it matter this much to you.

When you decide you can show your face without making a scene, you march out of his bedroom and straight past where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, keys in hand, to the front door.

He doesn’t move. You burn smoking holes into the dark wood of the door with your eyes, and the two of you are apparently at an impasse.

“I’m ready,” you eventually snap, always the impatient one between the two of you, casting a sharp glance over your shoulder.

“I’m not.”

“You said you would—”

“I know what I said,” Spencer cuts you off and shuts you up, “and I changed my mind. I’d prefer to talk about it before I take you home.”

By the time he finishes the sentence you’re already wrestling your phone from the depths of your bag in search of a ride sharing app.

“Okay, well I’m done talking because I don’t think there’s anything to talk about, so—”

“No, you’re done talking because this is what you do. You can never admit it when you want something because that would mean acknowledging that you’re a human being with emotions, and that’s too scary for you.”

Surely you misheard him. You turn around, a deep frown contorting your features.

“Excuse me?”

He only looks at you in that expectant, knowing way of his.

“It’s too scary so you run away. You’d rather burn your relationships to the ground and rebuild them with a new person every time than actually let someone in.”

“You don’t know me!” You yell.

“Do you actually think that’s true?” Spencer says, pushing off his perch against the counter, voice shrilling and raised slightly as he gets visibly agitated. “You think I’ve spent hours upon hours with you and I don’t know you at all?”

“You have no idea what I’m like in a relationship because this isn’t one. You have no fucking idea what I want, so do not presume to,” you seethe.

“You want a relationship. You wanted my friends to know you and you didn’t tell me that because you’re fucking terrified of the fact that I do know you. You can’t stand the idea that regardless of how many times you tell yourself it’s just sex, you have been vulnerable with me, and you’ve told me things you’ve never told anyone before, like why your last three relationships really ended, and how you constantly self-sabotage when you’re on the verge of getting what you want because you think you don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up!”

“No. I’m not just going to let you walk away from me like you did everyone else who could’ve ever cared about you because I know once you walk out that door you’ll stop responding to my calls and texts and I’ll never see you again, which is a juvenile pattern and completely unsustainable if you don’t want to keep pushing people away for the rest of your life!”

“God, Spencer, stop!” You sob, staggering back like you’ve been stabbed.

The urgency, the raw, desperate scratch of your voice, stops him in his tracks.

Every place an arrow penetrated a chink in your armor aches, and it hurts so much worse because he knew exactly where they were. You don’t know when or how it happened, but he’s right. Despite your most valiant efforts, Spencer Reid knows you. Somehow he crept in and grew over every limb like ivy. It’s crawled over your feet and up your legs and it’s keeping you there, rooted in place in his apartment, sobbing silently into the crook of your arm because you feel utterly paralyzed with fear.

Just as he’d said.

It’s silent for a long stretch of time, unquantifiable the same way the distance between the beach and the horizon is unquantifiable. It’s sprawling and infinite and desolate. The only relief from the drowning quiet is the occasional gulp of air or gasp from you which furthers your humiliation.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer finally whispers, soft and unsure like rays of weak sunlight over staggered tides, in the grey morning after a raging storm. It’s an attempt. It’s earnest and afraid.

The energy radiating off of him is so tangible that you can sense his desire to come near. To hold you. But that would be your worst nightmare come to fruition. This—this warbling and crying in front of him in silence in his dark apartment is god-awful enough. But to be comforted? For him to bear witness up close and personal to your humility and your ugly, jagged pieces—that inspires true catatonia. That is everything he said you were afraid of, and he was right.

You resent your human nature, and the fact that you care how his friends look at you and that it stung when they did so with little more than apathy. You hate that you care that he hasn’t told them about you. You hate that you feel so unimportant—because more than anything, you want to be fine with being unimportant.

You want to be fine. Constantly.

You hate that you feel. You hate that you care.

But you always have. And so fucking deeply.

Somehow, Spencer Reid is the only one who has ever noticed.

Eventually, his self-restraint snaps and he surges forward at the same time as you take a shuddering inhale and step back.

“Please don’t touch me,” you whisper. Afraid that if he did, his fingers would only sink into your flesh like decaying fruit. That you would disintegrate in his hands, and he’d finally see you’d been rotten the whole time.

He speaks softly, holding his hands up to show you he’s not a threat.

“Okay. I won’t. I’m sorry.”

“I need to go home.”

“I’ll—”

“No. I don’t want a ride. I’ll get a car.” You speak quietly. Efficiently. There’s no point in pretending this doesn’t feel catastrophic anymore.

His brows furrow. Like a moth to flame, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, he draws nearer again.

“I’m not comfortable with you on the street at this hour.”

“I’ll wait in the lobby,” you insist, pleading, a wounded animal, because he doesn’t seem to understand how every casual notion of kindness is a violence, how he’s ripping into you and making it so you’ll never be able to put yourself back together. He can’t be kind like you’re easy to be kind to.

If you’re easy to be kind to, you are just as easy to hurt. Accepting that kindness is a sort of vulnerability you feel you can’t afford right now.

Another moment of silence, of stillness, as if you’re both bolted to the ground where you stand.

When he speaks it’s a blow to the chest because you’ve made him cry too.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, quietly, and a venomous self-hatred drips down your throat. Because you’re doing it again.

Maybe this is all you will ever be.

You fail to stifle a sob and Spencer steps closer still, saying your name desperately and so quietly like it’s his last rite.

And you try. You try harder than you ever have to stay in one place, to get a hold of your vibrating and to swallow all those slithery feelings and ignore every alarm telling you to panic when he reaches out to touch your arm because it’s never safe to let people in. But when his hand finally brushes you, it’s like a cow prod. You jolt backward.

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” you whisper all in one harrowed breath, and there’s so much you’d like to say—you’re right, about everything, you do know me, you know what I want, I tried, I’m ashamed—but none of it matters. None of it is enough. He’s backed you into a corner of your own making, and the only way out is by pushing him aside even if it hurts you both.

So you don’t say anything else. You leave him there, in the dark of his own apartment, and you disappear down the hall.

Maybe this is all you will ever be.

#spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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starflungwaddledee · 1 year ago

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@moon-mage-ex you are SO right. "who wouldn't want to smooch him" literally nobody. everybody wants to smooch him and i'll hear no counter arguments.

i saw someone once say that they headcanon all the waddle dees to have little crushes on dedede which i thought was super cute, and i'm sure starstruck would want to join in! she is a super normal waddle dee, after all!

#also yeah if i'm going to draw him for the ~Boyfriend Tourney~ of course i'm drawing him that little bit extra penguin #i imagine this one would probably be a little one-sided though. he's probably not really in a position to reciprocate? sad.#🎀💖#my art #starstruck dee #king dedede #bandana waddle dee

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strwberri-milk · 3 months ago

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Good morning, Berri. I'm back with another LADS request. May I request: You bring the LADS men to meet your parents for the first time. How will the meeting go?

Zayne is great at meet the parent(s). He just uses some of his bedside manners with them and of course, wows them with the fact that he's a heart surgeon. I mean, who wouldn't be proud to bring Zayne home? He's polite, handsome, and incredibly accomplished.

He'll keep conversation going and is very receptive to anything your parent(s) will say. The classic picture of a perfect gentleman with totally nothing amiss. There's no way to pick a fault with him because the evening goes absolutely perfectly.

Xavier is a little quiet which can come off as standoffish to your parents. He's not rude to them - he just doesn't have very much to say. He's still very polite, but your parent(s) are going to be able to clock that he's shy.

The way that he looks at you and talks to you makes it obvious that he cares so much about you so nobody can really say anything mean about him. You're his entire world and it's very clear at dinner.

If they know who Rafayel is of course they'll be a little starstruck. Rafayel doesn't have the best reputation though so they might be worried about how he'll treat you but at least you don't have to worry about money.

Rafayel isn't super friendly either but he's somehow managing to be charming despite it. He also has impeccable manners (when he wants to use them) so he'd still leave a very positive impression.

Sylus is also very charming and gentlemanly, but in a mildly intimidating way. It's sweet to watch him try and be less scary as he introduces himself. He doesn't talk too much about himself, more about how he wants to take care of you. Thankfully, it doesn't come off as suspicious because he's incredibly charming so people tend to overlook it when they're first meeting him.

Caleb is super friendly when being introduced. He's bubbly and bright and very clearly madly in love with you. He answers all questions with a practised ease and really exudes "the boy next door" energy so it's really impossible not to love him from the get go, especially because he's doing everything he can to impress them. It works, of course.

#love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #zayne x reader #l&ds zayne x reader #lads zayne x reader #l&ds xavier x reader #lads xavier x reader #xavier x reader #l&ds rafayel x reader #lads rafayel x reader #rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #lads sylus x reader #l&ds sylus x reader #caleb x reader #l&ds caleb x reader #lads caleb x reader

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zykamiliah · 3 months ago

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people who think lbh ever had a crush on sj when he was literally 10 YEARS OLD (or younger!!!) do not understand him. i do not trust you with his character.

that child wanted someone TO TAKE CARE OF HIM!!!! that he was starstruck by shen jiu's immortal appearance, by that otherworldly immortal CHOOSING HIM!!!!! (this is the important bit!) doesn't mean he "had a crush". please. don't cheapen lbh's complexity like that. he thought he was getting a shifu, a shizun, a father figure. and that hope got completely obliterated the same day, and over and over with each pacing day, as the years went by.

"You were supposed to love me because you choose me" it's SOOOO daddy issues coded, c'mon.

do you know how many things SY!SQQ had to do to WIN Binghe over????? let me make you a list of the many times SY!SQQ was kind and the effect it had on Binghe:

--Giving Binghe medicine to treat his wounds (that didn't win Binghe's heart, it make him wary of this new development)

--Making Binghe ride with him on the carriage AND smiling at him (that didn't win Binghe's heart, but it made him go doki doki)

--When the OOC lock unfroze, promising that he would protect BInghe from the on (that didn't win Binghe's heart, but it did soften him and made him believe in SQQ, since the words were backed by his actions against the Skinner demon in order to save LBH and NYY)

--Giving Binghe a new cultivation manual ((that didn't win Binghe's heart, but "SHIZUN GAVE THIS TO ME!" For someone who doesn't have anything, being gifted something so precious was really meaningful)

--At the demon invasion, VERBALLY and OPENLY stating that he was 1000% sure Binghe would win. (that didn't win Binghe's heart-- no no, wait, this is it. This is truly the start of it all, because SQQ BELIEVED IN HIM. Listen. Listen. That level of blind faith was something that REWIRED Binghe's brain. He had NO ONE to believe in him until then!)

--When SQQ got poisoned by Without a Cure to protect Binghe, at the cost of his own life (BANG!!!!!! HERE WE GO!! The beginning of the congee making saga!! )

--Protecting Binghe FROM HIMSELF in the dream realm

--Treating him as the specialest boy in the world for almost 3 years

it's VERY IMPORTANT to understand that what won Binghe's love was Shen Qingqiu's UNCONDITIONAL LOVE: the willingness to put himself in harm's way to protect Binghe, give Binghe what he needs (a proper place to sleep, attention, encouragement, lessons, access to knowledge, etc), caring for Binghe in any way necessary, taking REVENGE on Binghe's name to punish his bullies; and the decisiveness with which he did all that, the fact that Shen Qingqiu never ever truly regrets sacrificing himself for and loving Binghe.

and with all that in one side, Binghe decided to RECIPROCATE. because that's just how he loves, and what he felt SQQ's love for him deserved in turn.

it was never "woah pretty immortal 😳"

now, after everything i've said, do you actually think that someone like Shen Jiu would EVER qualify for the esteemed position of "Binghe's loved one"?

pd: well, the sexual attraction does mean he actually went "pretty immortal 😳" at some point, but it's not like that would be enough for binghe lol the unconditional love made the attraction stronger. if the novel hadn't gone that route, sqq would have been just binghe's sexual awakening

#svsss #svsss meta #luo binghe #bingqiu #zykamiliah-svsss

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frostedsugarcookiehearts · 4 months ago

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⁴ this is modern feminism talking! (i expect to run the world in shoes i cannot walk in!)

୨ৎ

call him whipped, but it was an "anything-for-the-missus" mindset. after you (the aforementioned missus) had popped into his stream, urging him to eat his vegetables, he grumbled complaints under his breath. he glanced to the camera, then let you pop a strawberry into his mouth.

"take a load off, doll. c'mon," he urged, tugging on your wrist and positioning you on his knee as he drove in truck driving simulator with his other hand. you tried to make conversation with chat, but there were so many comments at once you got a little overwhelmed. until someone donated "5'3" southern woman here. fuck you!" and schlatt barked back, "fuck you bitch!"

his face comically dropped as he turned to you slowly, absolutely terrified. but you were already looking at him with a steely gaze. "jay!" you chide, wagging a finger in his face. "you can't call a woman that. it's disrespectful. apologize."

schlatt coughed, trying to cover up his terror as he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "tch. 's not that big a'deal, baby—"

"apologize. now." your sweet little face darkened, and you pressed a finger to his chest, poking it twice to emphasize each word.

he looked to the screen, then you, and deflated like a balloon. more like a defeated puppy than anything, he muttered, "sorry."

"who are you sorry to?" you prod, crossing your arms just like he has his, except you looked more adorable doing it.

grumbling under his breath, he croaked out, "the stupid five-foot-three southern lass. is that enough, little bossy pants?"

"yup!" you light up again, going back to being a little ball of sunshine. "don't wanna hear that word again, okay? it's mean."

schlatt scoffs, a smirk settling on his face. "won't happen again, ma'am. i'm never mean."

୨ৎ

but unfortunately, to be human is to error. a creeper had exploded his new house in minecraft, and the donos were like a grating noise in his ear, and chat was calling him gay for the umpteenth time, so he let out a— "shut the fuck up, bitch!"

chat was gagged. appalled. starstruck. confuzzled. he was under strict orders by the missus to not say that word, and yet they did anyway. so everyone immediately snitched on schlatt, obviously. he wasn't the only one afraid of your wrath, it seemed!

he cut off the stream abruptly, and a photo was posted to your instagram, captioned (imagine the cat is schlatt):

@y/n:

>:( he's in timeout. no more stream until i wash his mouth out with soap

↳ @/jschlatt

↳ yes ma'am :(

divider credits: @omi-resources

#fanfic #fluffy fanfic #celeb crush #creative writing #jschlatt fanfic #schlatt x y/n #jschlatt x reader #schlatt x you #jschlatt x you #schlatt #schlatt x reader #jschlatt fluff #jschlatt #jschlatt x y/n #𐙚 ࿐࿔ sweetheart!reader #⋆⑅˚. ࿐࿔ oc x jschlatt

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theetherealbloom · 5 months ago

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IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.3

Chapter Three: The Air Buzzes Whenever You're Near

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck,

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: HEHEHEHEHE. Yes, this fic is basically a slice of life, low stakes, and all-around good vibes. Eventually, there will be some drama but nothing too heartbreaking… maybe… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Magnets by NIKI

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY MORNING

The soft hum of your phone vibrating roused you from the haze of sleep. Your eyes fluttered open, squinting against the dim light of the TV still playing softly in the background.

Your hand instinctively reached out to grab your phone from where it had slipped to the floor beside the couch. As you shifted, something warm and solid tightened around your waist.

Oh.

Oh no.

Your breath hitched as the realization settled over you like a weight. Pedro’s arm was draped across you, his body pressed against yours, radiating warmth. Your head had somehow found its way to the crook of his shoulder, and the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest against your side told you he was still asleep.

Oh God.

Carefully, you reached down to grab your phone without disturbing him. Your thumb brushed across the screen to silence the alarm, and you winced when you saw the time: 4:30 a.m. Far too early to be awake but late enough to question how this even happened.

Your heart pounded as you tried to make sense of it. You’d been watching a movie—something quiet and low-energy, just as you’d requested. You vaguely remembered leaning back against the couch, your body growing heavier with sleep. But you hadn’t expected to wake up like this, tangled together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Pedro stirred slightly, a low hum escaping his lips as he adjusted his arm around you, pulling you even closer. Your breath caught, panic and something else—something warmer—bubbling to the surface.

Do I move? Do I stay? Oh, this is bad. Or is it good? Your thoughts raced, but your body refused to cooperate, frozen in place as if the universe had hit pause on this moment.

A faint smile tugged at Pedro’s lips, even in sleep. His face was softer like this, the usual teasing edge replaced by something peaceful. It wasn’t fair, you thought, how he managed to look so effortlessly handsome even now.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. Carefully, you began to shift, attempting to untangle yourself without waking him. But as soon as you moved, his arm tightened again, and this time, his eyes fluttered open.

“Mm, what time is it?” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

You froze, caught in the act. “Uh, it’s... early. Like, really early.”

Pedro blinked a few times, his gaze slowly focusing on you. And then, as if realizing the position you were both in, a sleepy grin spread across his face.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice still thick and low, “this is a nice way to wake up.”

Your cheeks burned. “I—uh, I didn’t mean to—”

“Relax,” he interrupted softly, his eyes twinkling despite the early hour. “I’m not complaining.”

You stared at him, caught between embarrassment and the inexplicable urge to laugh. “Pedro...”

He stretched slightly, his arm finally loosening its hold on you, though he made no move to pull away entirely. “You fell asleep first,” he said, his tone teasing now. “I just... went with it.”

You let out a soft huff of laughter, shaking your head. “This is so unprofessional,” you muttered, though there was no real weight behind the words.

Pedro smirked, sitting up slightly but still close enough that you could feel his warmth. “Guess we’ll just have to keep it a secret,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Our little... accidental cuddle.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, curving into a smile. “You’re impossible,” you murmured.

“And yet,” he countered, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your heart stumble, “here you are.”

The air between you shifted then, the teasing fading into something quieter, something unspoken but undeniable. For a moment, neither of you moved, the world outside the suite forgotten.

And then, because it felt safer than facing whatever this was, you stood, clutching your phone like a lifeline. “I need coffee,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze as you made your way to the kitchenette.

Pedro watched you retreat into the kitchenette, his easygoing grin fading into something thoughtful. He stretched lazily, his hair still mussed from sleep, before following you at his own unhurried pace.

You were already fussing with the hotel’s coffee machine when he appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame like he belonged there. “You know, you’re very intense about your coffee for someone who just woke up,” he teased, his voice warm and teasing.

You startled slightly, glancing over your shoulder at him. “I need caffeine to survive this,” you muttered, your words a little too sharp, betraying just how tightly wound you felt.

Pedro quirked an eyebrow. “This? What exactly is this?”

You didn’t answer right away, turning your attention back to the machine and praying it would brew faster. “Nothing,” you said finally, though your tone was anything but convincing.

He stepped further into the kitchenette, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he didn’t want to spook you. “Is it the early morning? Or... could it be that you’re stuck sharing a suite with me?”

You froze, clutching the edge of the counter. His voice held that teasing lilt you’d come to associate with him, but there was something softer underneath it, something that made your stomach flip in a way you were trying very hard to ignore.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though your tone made it sound like you were anything but.

Pedro chuckled, and the sound was low and warm, filling the small space between you. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

You turned to face him, your heart thudding in your chest. He was standing closer now, his dark eyes studying you with a mix of amusement and something else—something you couldn’t quite name.

“I just—” you started, but the words stuck in your throat. How were you supposed to tell him that sharing a suite with him, waking up next to him, was a level of surreal you weren’t prepared for? That he wasn’t just Pedro to you; he was Pedro Pascal, your literal celebrity crush and the man who’d unintentionally been making your life both thrilling and impossibly complicated?

“I’m just trying not to embarrass myself,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Pedro’s grin softened into something gentler, something almost fond. “You’re doing fine,” he said simply.

Before you could respond, the coffee machine beeped, signaling it was done. You practically lunged for the cup, desperate for something—anything—to do with your hands.

Pedro didn’t push you further, but as you handed him a mug of coffee without meeting his gaze, he murmured, “For what it’s worth, I like having you around.”

Your heart gave a traitorous little leap at his words, but you forced yourself to nod, mumbling a quiet “Thanks” before retreating back into your room to get ready.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — DAY

The car ride to work was tense—at least for you. Pedro, of course, seemed completely unbothered, chatting with the driver and making the occasional attempt to draw you into the conversation. But all you could manage were one-word answers, your mind too busy overthinking everything about the morning.

Once you arrived on set, you threw yourself into your work, doing your best to stay out of Pedro’s way. Which was easier said than done, considering he seemed to have made it his mission to seek you out every chance he got.

“Hey, everything okay?” he’d ask in-between takes, his dark eyes scanning your face like he could read your thoughts.

“Yep, totally fine,” you’d reply, before darting off to find something—anything—else to do.

By lunchtime, you were exhausted. You slumped into a chair in the corner of the break area, picking at your food while scrolling aimlessly on your phone.

“Who are you hiding from?” Daisy’s voice cut through your thoughts, startling you. She plopped down in the chair across from you, popping a piece of fruit into her mouth as she gave you a curious look. “You’ve been acting weird all morning.”

“No one,” you said quickly, maybe too quickly, because Daisy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Oh, really?” she drawled, leaning forward with a knowing smirk. “Does this have anything to do with a certain actor you spent the night with?”

Your face went hot, and you nearly choked on your drink. “I—what? No! It’s not like that!”

Daisy’s smirk only grew. “Uh-huh. Sure. You’re just blushing like crazy for no reason.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “It’s complicated, okay?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Daisy said lightly, leaning back in her chair. “Pedro seems pretty into you, you know.”

Your head shot up, your eyes wide. “What?”

She shrugged, biting into another piece of fruit. “I’m just saying, he keeps looking at you like you hung the moon. It’s cute, really.”

You shook your head, trying to brush off her words, but the flutter in your chest told you it wasn’t that simple.

And as if on cue, Pedro walked into the break area, his gaze immediately landing on you. He smiled, that easy, disarming smile that made your knees weak, and started making his way over.

“Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, sinking lower into your chair.

“Good luck,” Daisy whispered with a grin, grabbing her tray and leaving you alone just as Pedro reached your table.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm and casual, as if he hadn’t just sent your heart into overdrive. “Mind if I join you?”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but all that came out was a soft, barely audible, “Sure.”

Pedro sat down across from you, his eyes twinkling with that same unreadable expression that always made you feel like he knew something you didn’t.

“So,” he said, resting his chin in his hand as he leaned forward slightly. “Why have you been avoiding me all day?”

And just like that, your heart was racing again, because of course he noticed. Of course he did.

Pedro’s question lingered in the air, heavy with curiosity and a touch of concern. He tilted his head slightly, watching you like he had all the time in the world to wait for your response. His fingers drummed idly against the table, a subtle rhythm that matched the uneven beat of your heart.

“I… Um…” you stammered, feeling like your words were stuck somewhere in your throat.

Pedro’s brow furrowed, and his expression softened. “Did I make you uncomfortable last night?” he asked, his voice quiet and laced with genuine worry. “I’m so sorry if I did—”

“No, no,” you interrupted, your voice rushing out faster than your brain could keep up. You waved your hands slightly, as if trying to erase the idea entirely. “I didn’t mind. It’s just—”

You trailed off, feeling the weight of his gaze. Pedro didn’t push, didn’t fill the silence with reassurances or jokes like he usually did. He simply waited, his head still resting on his hand, his warm brown eyes encouraging you to keep going.

Taking a deep breath, you clenched your hands together in your lap, as if grounding yourself. “I’m just… I can’t believe you really want me around,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like you actually want to be friends with me. It seems so…”

“Unreal?” Pedro finished for you, his lips curving into a soft smile.

You nodded, biting your lip. “Exactly. Unreal. I mean, you’re you—a ridiculously talented actor, charming, funny, and so... well, famous. And I’m just... me. I keep waiting for the moment you’ll realize I don’t belong in your world.”

Pedro blinked at you, his expression flickering between surprise and something deeper—something that made your chest ache in a way that was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

He sat up straight, his hand reaching across the table, stopping just short of yours. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice pulling you out of your spiral. “First of all, you’re not just anything. You’re smart, talented, funny as hell, and honestly, one of the most grounded people I’ve ever met. That’s a big deal in this industry, you know.”

You looked up at him, startled by the earnestness in his tone. “Pedro…”

“And second,” he continued, leaning a little closer, “I do want you around. Not because of some weird celebrity power imbalance or whatever you think this is. I want you around because you make my days better. You make me laugh. You make everything feel... lighter.”

The lump in your throat grew, and you had to look away before your emotions spilled over completely. You focused on the half-eaten piece of fruit on your plate, blinking rapidly. “You don’t have to say that,” you murmured.

“I’m not saying it because I have to,” he replied, his voice firm but gentle. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

When you finally dared to meet his eyes again, you saw nothing but sincerity staring back at you. It was the kind of sincerity that made your carefully constructed walls feel like they were made of paper.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice soft but steady.

Pedro smiled then—a real, heart-stopping smile that lit up his entire face. “Okay,” he echoed, sitting back in his chair with a satisfied nod.

The tension between you eased, replaced by something warmer, something fragile but promising. And for the first time all day, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, Pedro saw something in you worth sticking around for.

“Now,” he said, breaking the moment with a playful grin, “can we please talk about how you were about to burn that coffee machine this morning? Because I have questions.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as he chuckled, the sound wrapping around you like a familiar melody. And just like that, the world felt a little less overwhelming, and Pedro felt a little more like home.

The afternoon passed in a blur of tasks, and now, you found yourself walking toward the makeup trailer, your phone clutched tightly in your hand as you prepared to fetch Pedro for his next scene.

You knocked lightly before stepping inside, the scent of hairspray and setting powder filling the air. Pedro was lounging in the makeup chair, eyes closed as Andrea Cracknell, the key hair and makeup supervisor, gave his hair a final tousle. Suzanne Harper, one of the main hair and makeup artists, was touching up the edges of his beard with careful precision.

The warm glow of vanity bulbs cast a golden hue over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the soft crinkles near his eyes.

Dara Hannon, the daily hair and makeup trainee, glanced up and grinned as you stepped in. “Ah, there’s our favorite ray of sunshine,” she said, setting down a brush. “You always look so put together. How do you do it?”

You laughed, heat creeping up your neck. “Trust me, I don’t. I just hide it well.”

“She doesn’t need to hide anything,” Pedro murmured, cracking one eye open. His voice was smooth, laced with something teasing but warm. “She’s effortlessly stunning.”

You felt your brain short-circuit.

From across the room, Samanta, one of the junior makeup artists, let out a low whistle. “Damn, Pedro. You don’t hold back, do you?”

Chloë Pyne—one of the main team hair and makeup artists—smirked, tilting her head as she studied you. “He’s right, though. You have one of those naturally pretty faces. Like, the kind that doesn’t need much makeup.”

Pedro hummed in agreement, his gaze lingering on you a beat too long. “See? Told you.”

You waved them off, suddenly very interested in the floor. “Okay, okay—enough. I came to get you, not to hear you guys exaggerate.”

Pedro grinned. “We’re not exaggerating. You just don’t take compliments well.”

“I take them fine,” you mumbled, eyes darting anywhere but him.

He chuckled, stretching his arms as he stood from the chair, towering over you. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?”

Your stomach flipped, and you wanted to sink into the ground. “Pedro—”

He smirked, leaning in slightly. “Yes?”

You huffed, turning on your heel. “Come on, you’re needed on set.”

Pedro chuckled behind you, his footsteps light and easy as he followed. Just before you stepped out of the makeup trailer, his hand brushed against your arm—barely there, a whisper of contact—but it sent a ripple of heat up your spine. You swallowed hard, pretending not to notice, pretending your stomach wasn’t doing ridiculous little flips at the way his presence lingered so close behind you.

By the time you reached the sound stage, the energy on set had shifted.

“There she is!” Vanessa beamed the second she spotted you, setting her script down to stride over. “Finally. The only competent person around here.”

You snorted. “I think that’s an insult to literally everyone else.”

Vanessa grinned. “And yet, somehow, they’ll survive.”

Before you could respond, Joseph and Ebon chimed in from where they were going over their lines.

“Thank God, I thought Pedro kidnapped you,” Joseph teased, crossing his arms with a smirk. “We were about to send a search party.”

Ebon shook his head. “Nah, he would’ve kept her hidden all day.” He gave Pedro a pointed look. “You’ve been hovering.”

Pedro scoffed. “I don’t hover.”

Vanessa snorted. “You so do.”

You stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish, unsure how to defend yourself—or Pedro, for that matter—when another familiar voice called out.

“Ah, the prodigal assistant returns!”

You turned to see Jess Hall, the first AD, grinning as he strolled over, script in hand. “Seriously, where have you been? I swear the set runs smoother when you’re around.”

“I… I’ve been doing my job?” you offered weakly.

Jess huffed a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, keep being humble, we love that.”

Before you could protest, Matt—the director—walked up, arms crossed, surveying the growing crowd around you with an arched brow.

“So…” he mused. “Am I missing something? Because the way everyone gravitates toward you makes me think you might actually be running this set.”

You blinked. “Uh—no? I mean, I just… I don’t know, I just do my job like everyone else.”

Matt squinted at you like he didn’t quite buy that, but he just hummed and glanced at Pedro. “You keeping her distracted, or is she keeping you distracted?”

Pedro grinned. “Bit of both.”

Your brain stalled.

Matt shook his head, muttering something about actors before waving a hand. “Alright, let’s go, people. Back to work before I regret hiring all of you.”

As the cast dispersed, Pedro leaned in, voice low, warm. “See? Told you everyone likes you.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as Pedro’s laughter rumbled beside you, rich and warm.

“Why are you like this?” you muttered, voice muffled against your palms.

He tilted his head, smirking. “Like what?”

“You know what.”

Pedro simply grinned, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, as if he wasn’t single-handedly unraveling your ability to function like a normal human being.

There was a steady thrum in the air whenever he was close—something neither of you acknowledged but both of you felt. It was impossible not to.

It crackled between you when you stood side by side, almost magnetic.

And when your fingers brushed, even just for a second? Electric.

You pulled your hand away as if burned, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way you tensed. But of course, he did. Pedro always noticed. His gaze flickered down to where your hands had been, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing. “Someone might think you like me or something.”

You sucked in a sharp breath and, without thinking, smacked his arm.

Pedro just laughed, dodging the second playful hit you aimed at him before finally relenting, his hands raised in surrender.

“Alright, alright, I’ll behave,” he promised, though his smirk said otherwise.

With a final glare, you turned and threw yourself into work, desperate for some sense of normalcy.

The next few hours passed in a blur of controlled chaos—wardrobe changes, prop resets, last-minute adjustments. You did your job like clockwork, moving through set with practiced efficiency. Fetching cast members, tracking schedule updates, and ensuring things ran as smoothly as possible.

Your friends worked nearby, their presence grounding you amidst the constant hum of production. But despite the familiarity of routine, you felt off-kilter.

Every time you caught sight of Pedro—laughing with the cast, deep in conversation with Matt, even just sitting between takes, flipping through a script—your stomach did that thing.

The stupid fluttery thing.

By the time filming wrapped for the day, you were both exhausted and wired, your brain still buzzing with the day’s events.

You found yourself huddled in a loose circle with some of the PAs and crew, all of you packing up while chatting, the easy rhythm of conversation filling the space.

Daisy elbowed you playfully. “So, how’s your day been? You seemed a little… frazzled earlier.”

You cleared your throat, focusing very intently on coiling a stray cable. “Just… tired.”

Jordan snorted into his coffee. “You’re such a bad liar.” He raised a brow. “Let me guess—Pedro?”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

The entire group cackled.

“Yeah, thought so.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you grumbled, hugging your clipboard to your chest like it might somehow shield you from their knowing smirks.

“Oh, sure,” Lucy drawled, her smirk downright devious. “It’s not like the man literally gravitates toward you every chance he gets.”

“That’s just how he is!” you argued, feeling heat creep up your neck.

Daisy hummed, unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

“You guys are insufferable.” You crossed your arms, trying and failing to suppress your flustered expression.

Jordan held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. We’ll drop it. For now.”

As the conversation flowed, the tension you’d been holding onto all day slowly unwound. Someone cracked a joke about a prop malfunction earlier, and you found yourself laughing, the sound blending into the hum of easy chatter around you.

“Okay, but did you see the way the fake blood exploded everywhere?” Daisy wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes.

Jordan shook his head, still grinning. “Poor props department. That cleanup looked brutal.”

Lucy snickered. “I swear, Matt almost had a stroke.”

You smiled, the stress of the day fading into the background. It was moments like this that made the long hours worth it—these small pockets of joy, of shared experiences.

Then, like clockwork, he entered the periphery of your awareness.

Pedro’s laughter rang out from somewhere behind you, low and familiar. The sound curled through your chest like a flickering ember, and before you could stop yourself, you turned slightly—just enough to catch sight of him.

He was leaning against one of the equipment carts, deep in conversation with Matt, a lopsided smile playing on his lips. But then, as if he could sense you looking, his gaze flicked up—searching, landing squarely on you.

And suddenly, it was just the two of you.

Your breath hitched.

Pedro’s smile softened, his eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners. He lifted a brow, like he knew exactly what was running through your mind.

You tore your gaze away, your face burning, heart hammering against your ribs.

“Yup. She’s gone,” Jordan muttered, loud enough for only the group to hear.

You smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

Daisy cackled. “Oh my God, you’re so screwed.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands as the laughter around you grew.

Maybe you were screwed.

Because, try as you might to ignore it, that pull—the steady thrum of something unspoken, something undeniable—was getting harder and harder to resist.

You quickly said goodbye to your friends as they boarded the shuttle back to their hotel, the last remnants of laughter lingering in the air. The set had mostly cleared out, leaving only a few crew members finishing up and the cast slowly trickling out of their trailers. You tucked your arms around yourself, the night air cool against your skin as you waited for the others, your thoughts still buzzing from the day.

Then—warm hands.

A firm, sudden weight against your back.

You barely had time to process it before you were lifted off the ground.

A startled squeal left your lips as Pedro spun you effortlessly, laughter rumbling in his chest. “Gotcha,” he murmured near your ear, his voice thick with amusement.

“Pedro!” you gasped, swatting at his hands, but you couldn’t help the breathless laugh that followed.

He finally set you down, his arms still loosely around your shoulders, and when you turned to glare up at him, he had the audacity to grin—full, boyish, utterly unrepentant.

“You didn’t even hear me coming,” he teased, giving your shoulders a playful squeeze before finally stepping back.

“You ambushed me,” you huffed, pressing a hand to your racing heart. “I almost had a heart attack.”

Pedro smirked. “I’d apologize, but your little scream was too cute.”

Your face burned. “You’re insufferable.”

Before he could respond, you heard stifled giggles from nearby.

You glanced up just in time to spot Coco, Vanessa, Joseph, and Ebon approaching, all of them watching the scene unfold with varying degrees of amusement.

“Oh, don’t stop on our account,” Vanessa quipped, smirking.

Coco nudged Joseph with her elbow, grinning. “Are we interrupting something?”

Pedro, ever the shameless one, just threw an arm around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Not at all,” he said easily, then glanced down at you with a teasing glint in his eye. “Unless you think we were?”

You glared at him, resisting the urge to shove him away—because knowing him, he’d just make a bigger scene.

Instead, you turned to the group, feigning exasperation. “Can someone please save me from him?”

Ebon just laughed, shaking his head. “Nope. You’re on your own, kid.”

Your stomach did an unfair little flip as Pedro pulled you closer, his warmth seeping into you despite the cool night air.

And the worst part?

You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to be saved.

Pedro’s arm was still draped lazily around your shoulders, his body warm against yours, the scent of his cologne lingering—something woodsy, something undeniably him. You willed yourself to ignore the way your pulse picked up, to pretend your skin wasn’t tingling from the casual intimacy of it.

Vanessa arched a brow, arms crossed as she watched the two of you with blatant amusement. “What are you doing just standing out here?” she asked, tilting her head. “You could’ve knocked at my trailer.”

You blinked, shifting slightly beneath Pedro’s hold. “I, uh—” You cleared your throat. “I didn’t have your guys’ numbers, so I just thought I’d wait near the trailers.”

Coco gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “You mean none of us thought to give you our numbers?” She turned to the others, looking genuinely offended. “What kind of monsters are we?”

Ebon chuckled. “Okay, okay, let’s fix this.” He pulled out his phone and waggled it in front of you. “Give me your number, we’ll add you to the group chat.”

You hesitated, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed. You had kept a certain level of professional distance with the cast—sure, you’d exchanged pleasantries, worked alongside them, shared the occasional laugh—but this? Being included like this?

Pedro, still pressed close, must have sensed your hesitation because he squeezed your shoulder lightly, his voice softer this time. “Told ya,” he murmured, just for you. “We like having you around.”

Your chest tightened.

Before you could overthink it, you rattled off your number, and within seconds, your phone buzzed with a message from an unfamiliar group chat.

Coco grinned. “Welcome to the chaos.”

Joseph laughed, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you just signed up for.”

You looked down at your phone, at the flood of messages already rolling in—Vanessa sending a series of emojis, Ebon dropping a meme, Pedro sending a voice note that was probably nonsense.

A warmth spread through you.

Maybe you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to be saved.

But you were sure of one thing.

You didn’t mind being pulled deeper into this.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

Turns out, everyone was exhausted. Some opted for room service, others had plans to meet up with friends in the city. The once lively group slowly dwindled, leaving you and Pedro lingering near the car.

Without a word, he reached for your bag, slinging it over his shoulder like it was second nature.

You blinked up at him. “Pedro—”

“I got it,” he said easily, already heading toward the car.

You huffed but didn’t argue, too tired to put up much of a fight.

The ride back to the hotel was quiet, the streets of London painted in golden hues from the setting sun. Pedro, ever so casually, turned to you.

“Do you wanna go out for dinner?” he asked. “Or we could just order room service.”

You shrugged, watching the buildings blur past the window. “I don’t mind either way. It’s up to you.”

Pedro hummed as if considering his options, but he didn’t push for an answer right away.

When you arrived at the hotel, the two of you walked through the dimly lit hallway to your floor. The plush carpet muffled your steps, the air between you thick with something unspoken—comfortable, warm, charged.

At your door, you kicked off your shoes, swapping them for the soft hotel slippers. Pedro did the same, toeing off his boots before setting your bag down on the small table in the suite’s living area.

“You didn’t have to carry that, you know,” you told him, watching as he stretched his arms above his head, his shirt riding up slightly.

He smirked, that lazy, insufferably charming smirk. “I didn’t have to,” he echoed. “But I wanted to.”

Your stomach did a flip.

You swallowed, folding your arms as if that might steady you. “Well… thanks.”

He shot you a wink. “Anytime, cariño.”

After flipping through the room service menu, you both settled on an easy dinner—something warm and filling without the hassle of going out. Quickly calling the food service on the landline, the order was placed, and as you sank into the plush couch, stretching your legs, you sighed.

"During the weekend, I’ll probably go grocery shopping," you mused aloud. "Ordering room service and eating out every day is going to burn through my savings if I keep this up." You glanced at Pedro. "So, I’ll stock up on food in the pantry if I’m still, y'know… here. In your suite."

Pedro, who had been casually leaning against the armrest of the couch, stilled. His expression shifted from amused to something unreadable. "Why?" His brows furrowed. "Where are you going?"

You blinked at him, confused for a second. "Uh… the front desk said they might have a room for me by next week, remember?"

"Oh." His lips parted slightly, but he didn't say anything else.

You watched the way his fingers tapped idly against his knee, as if the thought of you moving out hadn’t quite registered until now. There was something oddly endearing about the way his frown deepened. Like he didn’t like the idea of you not being here anymore.

Before you could think too much about it, you cleared your throat, shifting the conversation. "Anyway," you said lightly, folding your arms over your chest, "you guys did great today on set."

Pedro’s eyes flickered back to yours, and just like that, his easy grin returned.

"Yeah?" He leaned in slightly, resting his forearm against the back of the couch, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Any specific compliments, or just a general ‘you guys did great’ kind of thing?"

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched at his teasing. "Oh, I definitely had specific compliments." You tapped your chin, pretending to think. "Vanessa was incredible, Joseph absolutely killed his scene, Ebon had amazing delivery—"

Pedro gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "Wow. So, I just… I don’t even make the list?"

You bit back a laugh. "I mean… you were fine."

"Fine?" he repeated, eyes narrowing playfully.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Serviceable. Passable. Not bad."

Pedro let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his head back against the couch. "Unbelievable. Here I was, thinking you were my biggest fan."

You giggled, nudging his knee with your foot. "You’ll survive."

He peeked at you from beneath his lashes, a slow smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I guess I will."

The warmth in his voice made your breath hitch. You quickly looked away, pretending to check your phone as the sound of the hotel staff knocking on the door saved you from whatever moment you’d just stumbled into.

Pedro stood up to grab the food, but not before murmuring, just low enough for you to hear—

"But it’d be a hell of a lot easier if you stuck around."

And just like that, the butterflies were back.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — LATE NIGHT

The scent of warm food filled the suite as you both settled onto the couch, the soft glow of the television flickering against the dimly lit room. Pedro had absentmindedly put on a movie, something familiar and easy to watch—though neither of you seemed particularly focused on it. The conversation flowed naturally between bites of food, soft laughter filling the quiet spaces in between.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Pedro asked, “So… no special someone waiting for you back home?”

You froze mid-bite, your fork hovering near your lips. It wasn’t the question itself that threw you off—it was the way he asked it. Casual, like it was just another topic of conversation, but there was something in his voice. A quiet curiosity. A weight that made your stomach flip.

You swallowed and shook your head. “Nope,” you said simply. “It’s just me.”

Pedro hummed, nodding slowly as he chewed. “Huh.”

You raised an eyebrow, setting your plate down on the coffee table. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smirked, tilting his head toward you. “Nothing. Just surprised.”

You scoffed. “Surprised how?”

He took his time answering, setting his own plate aside before stretching his arm along the back of the couch. His fingers drummed lightly against the cushion behind you, close enough that if you leaned back just a little, you’d brush against them.

“I don’t know.” He exhaled, gaze flickering to the screen before finding you again. “You’re funny, smart, kind—"

Your eyes narrowed. “Sounds like you’re about to say something insulting.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I was gonna say, I just don’t get how someone like you is single.”

A warmth crept up your neck, and you quickly picked up your drink, taking a long sip to avoid answering right away. Your heartbeat thrummed a little too fast, a little too loud.

“I don’t know,” you murmured finally, voice quieter now. “Relationships just… never worked out for me, I guess.”

Pedro studied you for a moment, his usual playful expression softening. He didn’t push, didn’t ask for more. Instead, he just nodded, accepting your answer without prying.

And then—because the air was starting to feel too heavy—you smirked. “What about you? No special someone waiting for you?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Nah. It’s just me, too.”

Your lips twitched. “Well, that is surprising.”

Pedro groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against the couch. “Oh, come on—”

You laughed, nudging his leg with your foot. “I’m just saying! You’re charming, talented, kind of a big deal—”

“Kind of?” He placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense.

You grinned. “Kind of.”

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath about how unbelievable you were, but there was a smile playing at his lips.

And just like that, the weight in the air lightened again, the conversation slipping back into something easy. The movie played on, mostly forgotten, and the two of you sat there, side by side—closer than before, shoulders brushing every now and then.

Neither of you moved away.

End Notes:

OOOOOHHHH?!?! Things are heating up??? Or maybe it’s literally nothing at all and it’s all in your head 😃✊

OOF— you might stop sharing the suite at the end of the week? Oh naur T^T

Thank you all for the lovely words and comments that ya’ll keep leaving on each chapter. It warms my heart and gives me fuzzy feelings that make me dizzy AAAAAAHHH

Mfs, I’m posting this while I’m outside at a club LOL

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x fem!reader #pedro pascal fan fiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x reader series #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedropascal #pedro pascal art #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedrito #pedrostories #pedro pascal x reader masterlist #pedro pascal imagine

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andy-15-07 · 5 months ago

Note

Would you Pedro Pascal x actress!f!reader

You were about to get ready to photoshoot for Variety for Actors on Actors. You two got to say hello to each other, to ready to photoshoot. You two poses very realistic and seriously though, focusing on camera. You two sit as talks about the roles you two describes, how things getting well. They talk very wholesome and lots of flirting. They seem to have a chemistry together. After that, he secretly text you for come along to your apartment.

(Hope you will write it, thanks and have a lovely day)

The Rise of a New Beginning

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader

Word Count: 1807 | requests are open!

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The lights of the studio were soft yet purposeful, casting a warm glow that illuminated the set perfectly. The buzz of the crew filled the air as Y/N adjusted the strap of her dress, a masterpiece of sleek lines and understated elegance. She stood near the vanity mirror, the last few touches being made to her makeup. Her eyes sparkled under the light, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling beneath the surface. Today’s shoot was no ordinary gig; it was for Variety’s Actors on Actors series. Sharing the frame with Pedro Pascal added a certain gravity to the event.

As Y/N’s stylist stepped back, the director called out, “Pedro’s here!” The room shifted subtly, a collective murmur of admiration following the actor’s entrance. Dressed in a tailored black suit with an open-collared white shirt, Pedro exuded effortless charm. His warm brown eyes scanned the room, landing on Y/N. A genuine smile broke across his face as he approached her.

“Y/N,” he greeted, his voice smooth with a hint of gravel, “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

She returned his smile, shaking his outstretched hand. “Likewise. I’m a little starstruck, if I’m being honest.”

“Starstruck? Please. You’re the star here,” he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

The banter between them was easy, an unspoken connection already forming. The director clapped his hands to get their attention. “Alright, you two. Let’s get started with the photoshoot.”

They moved to the set, a minimalist setup with a mix of vintage and modern elements. Pedro and Y/N positioned themselves under the guidance of the photographer. The first few shots were straightforward: standing side by side, arms crossed, faces serious. But as the session progressed, the chemistry between them became palpable. The poses grew more dynamic, more intimate. At one point, Pedro rested a hand lightly on her waist, their faces close enough to share a secret.

“You’re a natural,” he murmured softly, his voice meant only for her.

She tilted her head slightly, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “And you make it look effortless.”

The photographer, sensing the magic, encouraged them to lean into it. “Perfect! Let’s do a few more with you two laughing.”

Pedro turned to Y/N, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Quick, tell me your worst joke.”

“Oh, you’re putting me on the spot,” she said, feigning indignation before firing back with a terrible pun. Pedro laughed wholeheartedly, his infectious energy pulling a genuine laugh from her as well. The camera clicked rapidly, capturing the moment.

After the shoot wrapped, they moved to a cozy, dimly lit interview area. Two chairs faced each other, separated by a small table holding water bottles and notepads. Once seated, the interviewer gestured for them to begin. The conversation flowed easily, their voices weaving a tapestry of stories and reflections.

“So, Pedro,” Y/N began, crossing her legs and leaning forward slightly, “your role in ‘The Last of Us’ has been such a phenomenon. How do you approach portraying a character with so much emotional weight?”

He took a moment, his fingers tracing the edge of the water bottle. “I think, for me, it’s about grounding the character in reality. Joel’s experiences are so intense, but at the core, he’s just a guy trying to protect the people he loves. I try to focus on those universal emotions.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “That’s beautiful. I think that’s what makes the performance resonate so deeply. It’s raw and honest.”

“Thank you,” he said, his gaze lingering on her for a beat longer than necessary. “And what about you? Your recent role was such a departure from your earlier work. What drew you to it?”

Y/N’s expression softened. “It was the challenge, really. The character was so layered, and I loved the idea of peeling back those layers and discovering what made her tick. It’s scary but rewarding to step out of your comfort zone.”

“Well, you nailed it,” Pedro said sincerely. “You brought so much depth to her. It was inspiring to watch.”

The interviewer occasionally interjected with prompts, but the conversation naturally veered back to Pedro and Y/N’s exchange. Their laughter filled the room as they shared behind-the-scenes anecdotes, moments of vulnerability, and thoughts on their craft. The crew’s knowing smiles hinted at the chemistry sparking between the two actors.

As the interview concluded, Pedro leaned closer, his voice low. “You make this way too easy. I think we might be too good at this whole ‘chemistry’ thing.”

She chuckled, matching his tone. “Are you saying we’re method acting right now?”

“Maybe,” he said with a wink, standing to shake her hand as the crew began to pack up.

Later that evening, Y/N was unwinding in her apartment, still replaying the day’s events in her mind. Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. Picking it up, she saw Pedro’s name flash across the screen. Her heart skipped a beat as she opened the message.

Pedro: Hey, today was fun. You’re incredible. Any chance you’re up for some company tonight?

A smile spread across her face as she typed her reply.

Y/N: Only if you’re bringing the charm you had on set today.

His response was immediate.

Pedro: Always. See you soon.

As she set the phone down, the anticipation thrummed in her chest. The night, it seemed, was just beginning.

The doorbell chimed, a melodious sound that cut through the quiet of Y/N's apartment. She glanced at her reflection in the hallway mirror, a playful smile gracing her lips. Tonight, she was going for effortless chic – a flowy silk slip dress, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, and minimal makeup.

Pedro stood on the other side of the door, a bouquet of sunflowers in hand. His eyes widened when he saw her, a silent compliment that spoke volumes. "You look… breathtaking," he finally managed, his voice rough with admiration.

"Thank you," she replied, her cheeks warming under his gaze. "You brought flowers? You shouldn't have."

He shrugged, a charming smile playing on his lips. "Couldn't resist. Besides, sunflowers are your favorite, right?"

"They are," she confirmed, taking the bouquet from him and inhaling the sweet, summery scent. "They're beautiful."

He stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the apartment. "It's lovely. Cozy."

"Thank you. Come on in, I made dinner."

The aroma of pasta and garlic wafted from the kitchen, making Pedro's stomach rumble. "It smells incredible. I'm starving."

They spent the next hour laughing and talking over dinner, the conversation flowing easily between them. They discussed their childhoods, their favorite movies, their dreams for the future. Pedro was a captivating storyteller, his voice filled with warmth and humor. Y/N found herself drawn to him, captivated by his intelligence, his kindness, and the mischievous glint in his eyes.

After dinner, they moved to the living room, settling on the couch. Pedro put on a record – a classic jazz album – and they listened to the music, the soft melodies filling the air.

"This is perfect," Y/N murmured, leaning back against the cushions. "Just… being."

Pedro smiled, his gaze fixed on her. "I agree. This is exactly where I want to be."

He reached for her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. The touch sent a shiver down her spine, a jolt of electricity that surprised her. She looked at him, her heart pounding in her chest. His eyes held hers, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

He leaned closer, his breath fanning against her cheek. "May I?" he whispered, his voice husky with emotion.

Y/N nodded, her breath catching in her throat.

Their lips met, a tentative touch that quickly deepened. It was a slow, sensual kiss, a exploration of each other's senses. Y/N felt a surge of warmth, a dizzying sensation that swept over her. She lost herself in the moment, in the feel of his lips against hers, the way his hand cupped the back of her neck.

They pulled back, their foreheads resting against each other. "Wow," Y/N breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

Pedro smiled, his eyes filled with a tenderness she had never seen before. "Wow, indeed."

He leaned back against the couch, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "This is… nice," he said, his voice laced with a hint of disbelief.

Y/N smiled, snuggling closer to him. "It is."

They spent the rest of the evening in comfortable silence, the music providing a gentle backdrop to their shared contentment. They talked, they laughed, they simply enjoyed each other's company. As the night wore on, the air grew heavy with unspoken emotions, a simmering tension that hung between them.

Finally, Pedro stood up, stretching his arms above his head. "I should probably go," he said, his voice reluctant. "I don't want to overstay my welcome."

Y/N felt a pang of disappointment. "You don't have to leave."

He looked at her, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "Are you sure about that?"

She nodded, her eyes sparkling with a challenge. "I'm sure."

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Alright then. Let's see what we can do about that."

And so, the night continued, the air crackling with a potent mix of desire and anticipation. They explored the boundaries of their newfound connection, their laughter echoing through the apartment. As the first rays of dawn peeked through the window, they lay entwined, a comfortable silence settling between them.

Y/N drifted off to sleep, a contented sigh escaping her lips. She had spent the most magical night, a night filled with laughter, conversation, and an undeniable connection. And as she fell asleep, she knew this was just the beginning. The beginning of something special, something unexpected, something beautiful.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sound of sunlight streaming through the window. She turned her head and saw Pedro sleeping peacefully beside her, a soft smile gracing his lips. A wave of warmth washed over her, a feeling of contentment she hadn't experienced in a long time.

She gently traced the lines of his face, her fingers lingering on his cheekbone. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open.

"Good morning," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

"Good morning," she replied, her voice soft. "Did you sleep well?"

"Better than I have in a long time," he admitted, his eyes twinkling.

They spent the rest of the morning in bed, talking and laughing, their bodies still warm from the intimacy of the previous night. As they lay there, a comfortable silence settled between them, a shared understanding passing between their gazes.

"I think I'm falling for you," Y/N confessed, her voice barely a whisper.

Pedro smiled, his eyes filled with a tenderness that mirrored her own. "I think I am too."

And with that, they sealed their confession with a kiss, a promise whispered on the breath of dawn.

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