#I WAS SO THRILLED WHEN I SAW THISSSS

[lazysoulwriter]

monaco madness - pedro pascal.

Pedro had always known you were obsessed with Formula 1. The kind of obsessed where Sunday plans revolved around race schedules, where you angry muttered driver names in your sleep, and where he once caught you watching an onboard camera video from 2008 just for fun.

So, when he suggested going to Monaco for the Grand Prix, it wasn’t just because of the glitz, the yachts, or the allure of Monte Carlo. It was because he loved seeing you in your element.

What he hadn't expected was to get completely sucked into it himself.

-

From the moment you stepped onto the circuit, decked out in Ferrari red, you were practically vibrating with excitement. The roaring sound of engines in the background made your eyes light up in a way that had Pedro smiling like an idiot.

“You’re going to explode,” he teased, tightening his grip on your waist as the two of you made your way to your seats.

“I might.” You turned to him, grinning, adjusting your sunglasses. “Do you even understand what’s about to happen?”

Pedro scoffed. “I understand that cars go fast.”

You snorted. “Wow, expert analysis. Maybe they should hire you for commentary.”

“I’d do great,” he said smugly. “I’d just point at the screen and go, ‘Look at that one. He’s winning.’”

You rolled your eyes, looping your arms around his neck. “You are so lucky you’re pretty.”

“I am pretty,” he agreed, leaning down to steal a quick kiss before you could pull away.

“Pedro!” you scolded, laughing against his lips. “We don’t have time for this! The race is about to start!”

Pedro groaned dramatically but let you go, watching as you practically bounced in your seat.

The cars lined up, the lights went out, and the moment the engines roared to life, you grabbed his hand without even thinking. Pedro barely had time to process the chaos before you were on your feet, screaming alongside thousands of other Ferrari fans.

“GO, GO, GO!”

Pedro had never seen you like this. Eyes wide, face glowing, shouting in frustration when someone overtook a Ferrari like they had personally offended you.

“Are you serious? That’s a penalty!” you cried, throwing your hands up.

Pedro leaned in, amused. “I have no idea what that means, but I love how angry you are.”

Before you could reply, a Ferrari made a daring overtake, nearly brushing the wall. The entire grandstand erupted, and Pedro felt something shift inside him. A thrill ran up his spine, and suddenly, he got it. The speed, the tension, the sheer insanity of it all. His fingers gripped the railing, and before he could stop himself, he was shouting,

“OH, SHIT! THAT WAS INSANE! FORZA FERRARI!”

You whipped your head toward him, stunned. “Wait. Are you—Are you into it now?”

Pedro ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I think I just saw God.”

You burst into laughter, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him full on the mouth. “Welcome to the dark side, tifoso.”

For the rest of the race, Pedro was in it. He booed strategy calls, cursed at pit stops that took too long, and even found himself gripping your thigh when things got too tense. Every time Ferrari made a move, you both jumped out of your seats, yelling like lunatics.

At one point, he turned to you, slightly out of breath. “I swear to God, if we don’t win, I’m—”

“You’re what?” you challenged, grinning.

Pedro narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know yet, but it won’t be pretty.”

You laughed, pulling him down for another quick kiss. “You’re so dramatic.”

He smiled against your lips. “And yet you love me.”

When the checkered flag finally waved, Pedro collapsed into his seat, exhaling like he’d just competed in the race himself. You giggled, straddling his lap, running your fingers through his hair.

“So?” you asked, tilting your head. “Worth it?”

Pedro smirked, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “I’m never missing a race again.”

You grinned. “That’s my baby.”

And just like that, Monaco had gained another die-hard Ferrari fan.

---

requested! loved thissss.

[darkforsythe-blog]

Tell Me I’m Pretty | One

Prompt: Artist!Reader x Jughead.

Warnings: Angst, bullying, possible mentions of suicide later on. There could be violence and mentions of death, so please, be careful when proceeding to the other parts!

A/N: Hope you like thissss!!!

Song Of The Chapter: Trouble by Cage the Elephant

We were at the table by the window, the view, Casting shadows, the sun was pushing through.

Y/C/H hair pushed to the side, while droopy eyes scanned a sketchbook filled with unfinished works. A golden sun dipping into the horizon provided slivers of lighting through the blinds of the window you sat by. A melted milkshake sat next to the open book, the beverage barely sipped out of as the cherry had sunken to the bottom of the glass at this point. Your mind was wrecked with ideas, so much so that your hand couldn’t even move because you didn’t know what would come out on that paper. Lyrics to a song that nobody wrote? A sketch of the boy you had been admiring from afar as you sat in the comfort of your booth? The essay that your English teacher had assigned during school hours?

You decided to sit back, leaning your head against the booth while a delicate sigh escaped your lips. The atmosphere at this little diner was relaxed and quiet, so your lonely presence wouldn’t be too out of place. Usually, on Friday nights, the people in this small town would much rather gather at the club or go to a high school football game than visit the diner on the corner of a less travelled street downtown. You were thrilled to spend no  time around peers that knew of  you at school. You had already paid for whatever you ordered, so nobody was waiting for you to leave the booth and make the diner slightly more empty.

Nobody cared to invite you to these social outings, mainly because whenever you were new to the school and people wanted to be your friend, you shut them down. You weren’t too fond of kindling friendships with people who’d be out of your life by the time they broke eighteen. You’d much rather write poetry and sketch the pretty people who made this town just a bit more interesting. Those who flourished in the attention of their close friends and buzzed about on social media. Their existence brought you something new to study, the student body’s lack of morality, and the constant movement, drama, and rivalry between inner circles.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a figure sliding into the seat across from you, your eyes landing on the boy you had been looking at nearly this entire time. Jughead Jones III, a fellow student in your fifth period English class. He sat three seats to your left, and he always managed to catch your eye through quick side glances. His presence, though, caught you off guard. Not once had he spoken a word to you, but he was always enthusiastic when it came to English.  A strand of his raven black hair fell over his forehead as he rested both forearms on the table, lacing his fingers together while they interlocked; he looked as if he was about to interrogate you, of course. With Jason Blossom’s murder still being a mystery, everyone had to be questioned in this little town. You hadn’t even thought to speak a word, you were practically stunned by his sudden decision to appear before you.

He had a great group of friends, ones much more popular and had a respectable reputation that was spoken about around the halls. His best friend’s name was Archie Andrews, a talented musician and athlete, who seemingly had better luck with girls and friends, because there was always people surrounding him. Jughead’s friends were practically the core of popularity, a mixture of underclassmen who thrived from the admiration of their fellow classmates. You didn’t despise the group. These were the things that you had paid close attention to, for your life would never be as interesting as theirs, so you vicariously live through what could have been for you, and sketch these scenes out in multiple hardcover books stacked on your desk at home.

His lips curled into a half-smile, “Y/N L/N, right?” Jug reached over to grab a french fry from your untouched basket that you ordered nearly half an hour ago. You raise an eyebrow, his behavior causing you to think he sat across from you as a result of a stupid dare. If you weren’t so terrified of confrontation, you would have swatted his hand away.  This was the first time you’d ever been approached by a fellow student and peer in what felt like forever, and your nerves were already being poked at.

“Yeah… Jughead Jones?” You watched as his ocean eyes crinkled when he grinned. He was quite gorgeous, but the way he spoke so carelessly and cockily… You surely questioned his intentions.

“Correct. Now, what’s a girl like you doing here on a Friday night?”

Yeah, this was either a joke to him, or a sick dare. You roll your eyes, closing your sketchbook, “I came here to grab some dinner, which you so rudely interrupted.” With a soft, amused sigh, Jug chuckles.

“I guess, if dinner means old french fries and a completely full milkshake with the whipped cream nearly melting off the sides. All of the food idle and untouched. Don’t deny that you were burying your nose in a book. Oh, and don’t think I didn’t see you staring at me as well.”

You cleared your throat, a rosy tinge burning the apples of your cheeks, “How could you tell? When your friends were here, you didn’t even look my way.” You were right, and as you tilted your head to see that Archie, Betty, and Veronica had left, he rolls his eyes, scoffing at you. Maybe they went to see the second half of the high school football game, maybe they all had to go home, these were the thoughts that plagued your mind instead of what was occurring in real time.

“Because I was staring at you too. You didn’t catch me when you were gazing into that book.”

Spoke a lot of words, I don’t know if I spoke the truth.

“Well I-”

Jug shushed you, leaving you utterly confused as to what could have been the catalyst to spark this interaction from him. “I heard you’re an artist.” His voice was dripping with mere antagonism, but from the other side of the booth, you shrugged it off and nodded, answering him with a quick, “I am.” Your words were small, almost nervous.

“Mind showing me what you’ve been working on?” The false curiosity seething from his pink lips formed a lump in the your throat. You then shook your head, your hand itching to reach for the book that sat in front of you. “If it has something to do with Jason Blossom, I’m not part of it.” You said shakily. Jughead didn’t take no for an answer, and his hand snatched the book away. He was too quick, and you ended up slapping the table with your hand in an attempt to rescue it from his grip.

Without opening the black book, he held it with a tight lipped grin and narrowed eyes. “Why can’t I see? Is the quiet girl scared or something?”

Got so much to lose,

An exasperated huff  came before a weak, “Maybe. Hand it over.” And that only fueled Jug’s curiosity to delve further, he wanted to push this girl, get her to talk. Lord only knows why he was causing you this anxiety, maybe it was a silly crush, an immature dare, or just him going out of his way to investigate you for a murder. It was beyond you, and your blood began to boil.

Got so much to prove,

And with that, he opened it up, “Fat chance,  Y/N.” His fingers turning the pages to the very first, and you winced, your cheeks no longer holding a rosy blush, but a red hue in embarrassment and sheer anger.You were the topic of conversation at the table with the core four. They always saw you sitting, staring, sketching. That’s all you ever did, so Jug took it upon himself to delve into the rumors that were whispered from one group to another. Harsh, sure. But it’s high school, behavior like this was expected and tolerated by anyone and everyone. His investigative spirit just added to the mess.

God, don’t let me lose my mind.

“Called it.” His eyes never left the pages. The book was dedicated to the groups at Riverdale High, Archie laughing with his friends, Betty and Veronica in their River Vixen uniforms, and Jughead with his crowned beanie. Admittedly, you had talent, a gift for capturing these moments, but his eyes soon widened when he noticed you incorporated yourself into the social scenes. Some small panels where you sat next to Jug on a bench, sketchbook in your lap, his laptop open on his. Some were of you in a pretty prom dress, in a River Vixen uniform, or just sitting with his group of friends.

“Classic stalker. Is this why nobody ever sees you looking up from these damn things?-” A sudden pang of guilt knocked him right in the stomach once he picked up his head to see your doe-eyes glazed over. His smile faded into a look of concern. Clearly he wasn’t thinking, and boy, did he regret it after witnessing the hurt look on your face.

“Please,” You motioned towards him with a shaky hand, asking for the book. Jughead didn’t have the guts to argue, so he handed it over to you, watching as you held it to your chest as if you were protecting a newborn. With a quick motion, you slung your backpack over your shoulder and kept your head down as you rushed out of the diner. This left Jughead with a sinking feeling in his stomach and the realization that he shouldn’t have sparked trouble with you.

And the whole weekend, he was riddled with the idea that he needed to talk to you again to mediate the tension and apologize. Even if you despised him, it was something that he had to do.