#sorry for the wait coco!!

[ghonorrhead]

SOME GYJOS FOR @coco-chip RAHHHH

I care for them so much you have no idea

[fritzes]

The New Gen // "Vienna" by Billy Joel

inspired by @advantage-sinner

[rolandkaros]

[CHANGEOVERS.]

[twinklecupcake]

There's a post about American tourists not bothering to learn the language of the country they visit versus at least making an attempt, and I don't wanna derail it because it's not a tourist story but I remembered two incidents from when I worked retail.

Once, I was ringing someone up, and I was supposed to ask "Do you want help putting it in the car?" I did, and the customer stared blankly before saying slowly "I don't speak English. Español." I blanked for a second, but I do remember some words from high school, so after a bit of pause I pointed out to the cars and asked "Ayudar?"

I remember her expression just lit up suddenly, and she shook her head and said no. I added "Sorry. Mi Español... mal. Muy mal. Habla poquito." The lady laughed, reached over the register to pat my hand, and said "No. Good. Good." And for the rest of our encounter, she would tell me the Spanish word for whatever I was ringing up.

Years later, at another store, I was ringing up a couple and their teenage son. The couple spoke Spanish, and they wanted cigarettes. But I couldn't understand what one they wanted.

I said "No habla. Poquito. Perdon..." and pointed at the box behind me. "Roja?"

They helped me figure out what they wanted based on the color (They wanted the gray box. I said "I don't know 'gray.' Perdon."

Of course then it turned out the teenager spoke English the whole time, he'd just not said a word until I was finishing up their purchase (his parents looked happier) and he just said "'Gray' is gris. Also you're saying the formal 'sorry,' you wanna say 'lo siento.'"

When I told these stories years later, I mentioned how both times they looked happier after I spoke. My friend told me "Yeah, they were happy because you were making an effort."

[sexynetra]

hello! i was planning on drawing the rawnsyf characters, but i don't really have a clear idea of what every character looks like. do you have any examples of what the characters would wear on a day-to-day basis?

OMG WHAT THATS SO SWEET 😭 😭 😭

For Marcia I generally imagine her in like preppy pastel 2 or 3 piece sets that have a kind of 50’s meets 90’s vibe, very reminiscent of her premiere episode yk? Skirts and sweaters and matching tops. She also of course has her matching workout sets that she wears all the time :)

Anetra I think is a little harder to pinpoint, I don’t think her style is as distinct. I generally imagine her a little more on the light grunge side, like big t-shirts and cargos and flannels and leather jackets, but I also think she’s still figuring out herself and her sense of style so there’s definitely more wiggle room with the way she presents herself haha — just definitely not hyper femme and retro like Marcia

I hope this is helpful somewhat!!! Lmk if you want any other characters and also omg I am still kvelling this is so incredibly sweet I am HONORED that you want to draw my girls 🥹🥹🥹

[durgeapologist]

Where are the ask metas you posted that you would make? Ive been waiting all day for them ;-;

hey buddy listen 😶 they are in my drafts being worked on rn kdjfhdksjaks today got viciously busy i went grocery shopping and then hung out with my mom and then had some heart to hearts with fang and coco and then the derogatory server had a two hour watch party and then—

they are coming i promise lower ur pistol i beg of you 👁️👄👁️

[muirneach]

jasmine top 3????

[thestarmaker]

It's a shame owl city hasn't put out anything new in like ten years. But ending on the ultraviolet ep means he at least went out on a good note. Too bad nothing came of that ep

[enluv]

hello! I’ll be pretty BUSY* again today, not sure what time I’ll be getting home so just wanted to give everyone a heads up! i hope you all have a good day, muah kiss!

[rolandkaros]

there is something so sad and fucked up imo about tennis in the way that any tournament win could be a player’s last and for most of them you’d have no idea

[checkeredflagggs]

Unexpected Roommate

pairing: lando norris x pet owner!reader

summary: when moving in with his girlfriend, lando gets confronted with the new side of her pet

a/n: inspired by the guy walking his pet down the street I saw yesterday…

yourusername

liked by landonorris, yourbff, oscarpiastri, and 231,445 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: and it’s moving day! It’s a big step for us but I can’t wait to start living with you landonorris!

view all comments

user1: oh god the fomo I have

↳user2: saaaaammmmmmeeee

oscarpiastri: the question is was lando being helpful today or just disruptive?

↳landonorris: oi!!!

↳yourusername: Oscar!

↳oscarpiastri: it’s a valid question! I work with him — I know his habits

↳maxverstappen1: same

↳alex_albon: same

↳georgerussell63: same

↳danielricciardo: same

↳carlossainz55: same

↳landonorris: you frickin muppets!

↳yourusername:…

↳yourusername: he was helpful moving me out but quite distracted when we got to our new place

↳landonorris: oi!!!

↳yourusername: sorry baby but it’s true

user3: god the heart fingers…when will it be my turn…

user4: we need a tour!

↳user5: yaaassss! I need all the details for my fantasies where I’m living her life…

↳user4: ok let’s not get too crazy here

alex_albon: let us know when you’re all moved in!

↳landonorris: why?

↳maxverstappen1: so we don’t get roped into helping of course!

↳landonorris: I’m gonna block all of you

carlossainz55: did he let you get anything done once you got there?

↳landonorris: yes!! And I helped!

↳yourusername: the bedroom and his game room are done…

↳oscarpiastri: yeah that sounds about right

↳landonorris: stop slandering me!

↳user6: little lando norris learned a new word!

↳yourusername:🤣🤣🤣

↳landonorris: babe! 😢😢

yourusername

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, oscarpiastri, and 397,455 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: didn’t know I would gain a limpet when I moved…or that my dinners would now come with live entertainment 🤣🤣

view all comments

user7: I’ll take that issue off your hands

↳user8: or me!

↳yourusername: sorry he’s mine only!

↳landonorris: I’m yours?

↳yourusername: I’d fight all your fangirls for you

↳landonorris: babe 😍😍

landonorris: babe…why you gotta do me dirty like that??

↳landonorris: you said you wouldn’t post these photos!!!

↳yourusername: I lied! Gotta show everyone your true character

↳landonorris: babe!

↳yourusername: sorry not sorry 😘 forgive me?

↳landonorris:😢😢😢

↳yourusername: 🥰🥰🥰

↳landonorris: ok but only cause you’re really hot

maxverstappen1: need a crowbar there?

↳alex_albon: or maybe another set of hands to push him away?

↳yourusername: is both an option? 🤣

↳charles_leclerc: might need some chains and a tow truck…

↳maxfewtrell: can you even breathe?

↳landonorris: I’m literally going to report all of you for bullying me

↳charles_leclerc: you’d need to detach yourself from her first

↳alex_albon: are we supposed to be scared?

↳maxverstappen1: so?

↳maxfewtrell: in real life too?

↳yourusername: even me? 🥹🥹🥹

↳landonorris: never you baby

yourbff: he is NOT invited to girls night

↳yourusername: of course not!

↳landonorris: you said I could come!

↳yourusername: the council said no!

↳landonorris: is the council yourbff?

↳yourbff: And coco!

↳landonorris: coco would never! She loves me!

↳yourbff: still a no!

Private Messages

lnupdates

liked by user1, user2, and 790,469 others

tagged: landonorris, maxfewtrell

lnupdates: I don’t even have words for how chaotic Lando’s last stream was… can anyone identify the voice in the background that was cursing them out?

view all comments

user9: it wasn’t yourusername was it?

↳user10: no she had photos posted of her and yourbff at a concert

↳user9: then whoooo???

↳user10: I think I heard them say coco??

user11: like I’m concerned about who that was but…that was freaking hilarious

↳user12: I completely agree. Whoever they were, they were roasting max and lando

↳user13: the absolute shock on lando’s face when the first motherfucker rang out…

user14: taking notes 📝📝📝📝

↳user15: what for???

↳user14: Lindsey is going down next time

↳user15: oh my god let it go

↳user14: never

Private Messages

yourusername

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, charles_leclerc, and 1,590,278 others

tagged: lnupdates, cocotheparrot

yourusername: the criminal from last night’s streaming…snafu. Meet Coco! She’s a mature African Grey Parrot I adopted from a friend who could no longer care for her.

She has…strong opinions and an even stronger way to express those opinions 🧡

view all comments

user16: oh my god I’m in love

landonorris: you didn’t tell me she talked!!!

↳yourusername: babe it’s well known that african greys are considered the smartest parrots

↳landonorris: WELL KNOWN TO WHOOOO?!?

↳alex_albon: everyone

↳yourusername: everyone

↳lilymhe: everyone

↳charles_leclerc: everyone

↳maxfewtrell: everyone

↳maxverstappen1: everyone

↳carlossainz55: everyone

↳mclaren: everyone

lnupdates: oh my god!! I would never even guessed a parrot!!

user17: she’s absolutely beautiful!

↳user18: god I’d love to get a parrot

↳yourusername: take care! Parrots are one of the hardest breeds to take care of and one of the longest living ones too — anywhere from 40-60 years

↳user18: …ok maybe not a parrot

↳landonorris: 40 TO 60 YEARS???

↳charles_leclerc: maybe you’ll learn a new language listening to her!

↳landonorris: 4 to 6 DECADES OF BEING SWORE AT?

↳alex_albon: awesome!

↳yourusername: she doesn’t swear all the time…

↳landonorris: 😨😨😨

a/n2: so I saw someone walking their pet parrot down the street and it was so cool! I didn’t get swore at (which would have made my day tbh) but this popped into my mind and I had to write it out. I don’t know why but lando makes the most sense to have a pet parrot that swears

[dilf-docs]

Light Up My Life (So Blind I Can't See)

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: pedro pascal in cannes breaks the internet, only rivaled by the mystery figure next to him at the airport. oh, that's you. oh. well, that wasn't part of the plan. oops.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, begging kink, lwk praise kink, choking, fingering, creampie, hurt/comfort, fluff, cannes!pedro (yes that's a warning)

word count: 5,984 words

side note: not to be that bitch but i think pedro in cannes 2025 will be my roman empire. shot out to secret dating, love that shit!!!! based on this request by my lovely fren :)

A few days ago, you had been watching a movie marathon in the comfort of your home.

"I can't believe it, you said you liked it!"

"I never said that. I said it looked interesting" he yawns. You narrow your eyes. "Sleep deprivation" he clarifies, as if reading your mind. "But, you chose it"

"Yes, because you let me" you're quick to counter.

"Yes, because we always do what you want"

Even in the distance, he finds ways to tease you.

"Not true. If it was, I would be there, with you. You know I love Marvel"

He laughs. "It's rare to hear that nowadays, less sounding so sure. You're an endangered species, baby"

You gasp. "I'm not that much of a fan"

"Not a lot of people watch a six hour livestream of chairs"

"Five" you correct, "and I did just to see if you'd show up!"

As if, gut feeling aside, he hadn't told you before.

"Alright, my bad. Five. Still, my point stands"

"So does mine. If Coco is there, why can't I be?"

"Do you happen to know hairstyling? I thought your thing was marketing"

"Oh, shut up"

Stanley Tucci briefly shows up on screen. Not that you already know, given the amount of times you've watched it.

"Are you sure it doesn't bother you?" he asks. Could refer to a lot of things.

It's the crack of dawn.

"It's the only time you can give me" you answer instead.

He makes a little pout, making you giggle. The movie keeps playing in your laptop.

"I'm sorry you have to meet me like this"

"Please, stop" at his bad joke. "The lack of sleep is showing"

He just laughs. "I can't wait for you to come"

(Texted you places of London you wouldn't be able to visit. It's just a stopover, you said, yet he insisted on sending links of London's best attractions for tourists)

"I know" you admit, softer. "Me either"

You yawn. So much for a movie you aren't watching.

"Won't it be too tiring?"

Your amazing boyfriend, ever so caring.

"Pedrito" he sighs at his name on your lips, little and a warning. "I'll be fine. Besides, I already dowloaded the movie's soundtrack to keep me company"

Pedro rolls his eyes. "You really enjoy this movie, don't you?"

You take a brief glimpse at the forgotten movie, playing on your shared screen, then back at his face.

A bit tired, eye bags more pronounced. The sleep thing was true. Still, he was the same in many other ways. His broad frame, sharp jawline, grey hair now dyed yet stubborn enough to show in some edges and over his face, in a beard that would scratch against your face when he kissed you, because he liked being close. Too close. You can still smell him, even if he hasn't been in your apartment for over a month now. As if his smell, him being intoxicantingly close, had impregnated on your skin. Another part of his to be yours.

"It's Madonna" like that's enough of a reason.

It shouldn't be this distracting. Singing Who's That Girl after arriving in France isn't a special thing, but to you, lyrics blasting through your airbuds that Pedro hates except when you offer a song and he listens, because he always listens, holds something sacred the moment your feet stretch and you're back on land again, yet people speak French instead of English and time has warped your sense of reality again.

Pedro had checked on you all the time. That was distracting. Some texts during the flight, insisting on buying Wi-Fi on the plane as if he was a millennial who couldn't survive without internet, saying what he couldn't live without was writing to you. That's a lie. You caught him on TikTok sometimes. Over his shoulder, because you couldn't sit together. Liar, you sent. You know he saw it by the way his shoulders wiggled and he covered his mouth to stiffle a giggle over the silence in the cabin. Nevertheless, he continued his little check-ups on you, as if you were a kid.

(Him: in a way, you are. You: Pedro, I'm almost thirty. Him: That's as ambiguous as me coming to Cannes. You: Your fans already suspect. Him: They're smart. You: They are. Him: Listening to the soundtrack? You: Tenth round. Him: You're insane. Insufferable too. You: It's only about forty minutes. This is a seven hour flight. Besides, you love me. Him: I do. Now stop peeking over my shoulder. You: Stop watching TikToks then, you addict!)

Somehow, lost in the music and happy feet struting towards movies, bright sun and the close yet faraway sea, you take too many of those. That wasn't the plan. Don't sit together, don't look in his direction. Over and over again. Precautions. To you, rules. Memorized them. It's not every day you board a plane, but the others are similar, in a way. It was a small price to pay for dating him.

Sometimes you mind.

(You: I miss my personal pillow. Him: I ain't got a belly anymore. You: I'm aware. I was talking about other huge things. Your biceps. HUGE. The one's Julie will show to the world in a day. Those HUGE biceps. I want to bite them. Him: You're a freak. You: Blame Kevin Feige. Him: Not the guy who lost 25 pounds?)

Sometimes you don't.

(You: Come to think of it, you do snore a bit. Him: But I thought you missed me? You break my heart, y/n)

Bump.

The defeaning sound. Coco and his bodyguard glance. But Pedro? he looks. At you.

The internet has rules too. They're both, funnily, f-rules: never forgive, never forget.

His expression is of surprise. They don't forget. His wide eyes. No, that's beyond a surprised face. That's a knowing face. They don't forgive. The subtle difference. He knows you.

Seconds, probably. He goes back to stoic mode. You hear his voice as he chats with Coco. His voice is tight, barely noticeable to anyone but you; know him better than you know yourself. But not today, when he's a supposed stranger and you're another passenger of this plane. An insignificant dot in a crowd. You walk further and avoid his gaze, pretending to search for imaginary stains in your passport, as if you hadn't make the worst mistake of your life.

Days ago, sitting in your bed, you were just another light in the vast Californian sea of houses and salt air. Now, everyone knows he's your something.

Makes sense.

The slip-ups on interviews, his comments about Materialists, his behavior on that interview with Dakota, the mysterious silhoutte that ressembled a woman but was always too blurry and far yet close to identify.

Unrecognizable.

Because you were a nobody. Made a line to get coffee, nothing about you guaranteeing any special treatment. Worked in a publicity agency from Mondays to Fridays, Saturdays if someone called in sick. Took your dog, who complained when the LA sun hit his tiny paws too much, out on walks: Toto, the little cairn terrier who was now under the care of your brother and his girlfriend because of your trip. Was photographed because you wanted and not because they had to, the hidden cameras capturing every move of yours.

That was the privilege of anonymity.

But that luck, like everything else in the world, seemed to have run out.

Now you sit on the hotel room, phone blowing up with messages, mentions, and emails. Funny thing is, despite already having your Instagram account leaked, you were still a ghost. A who?. Just a face Pedro had looked too much for it to be a simple passerby.

You sniffle as Coco brushes your hair, more to calm you than to fix it for the event.

You look through the mirror, not at you, but at the bag dangling from it, and sniffle again. The dress hangs on the closet as Coco gives you a sympathetic look and Lux squeezes your shoulder gently.

"Maybe we can still work it out" you manage to choke up, hoarse from useless crying. So hopeful, as Pedro would say.

The original plan, before the little "bump" on the road, was to attend Cannes while disguised, which meant sneaking as a guest, skipping the whole red carpet.

But now people knew who you were. Or how you looked, at least.

"Not to be a killjoy, but even if the French press is oblivious, I'm sure the internet will catch up as soon as the live stream for Eddington's red carpet starts broadcasting" Lux comments.

"They don't know your name, yet I'm sure they've already memorized your face. You're all over my Instagram" Coco adds, smiling sadly. "Your face is not to be forgotten"

You smile weakly, still feeling bad.

"I don't know what to do" you sniffle, looking back at the dress, one your budget could've bought but leave you on a tightrope for the rest of the month. To your boyfriend, it was barely a tickle on his finances. He insisted on buying it after your bright, unable to hide, smile. Wear it on a special day, and that is today.

Was.

"I'm sure we can come up with something" Lux offers.

"Come with me"

The three of your turn around. You'd recognize that voice even if you were deaf.

"¿Te volviste loco?" Lux asks, perplexed. (have you gone crazy?)

"Un poco" he replies in a Spanish that needs to be practiced a tad bit more, "por ella, sí" (a bit, yes. for her)

"What's going on?" you ask, wiping your tears.

Pedro kneels down in front of you, already dressed in an all black suit. If you weren't on the verge of sobbing for the umpteenth time, you'd tear that suit in two.

"You look good" you sniffle.

He smiles, softly. "I know"

"I love those glasses. They're my favorites"

He smiles again, adjusting them. "I know"

"Se acabó el tiempo, tortolitos" Lux jokes. (time's up, lovebirds)

"Yeah. Are we going to ignore the elephant in the room?" Coco asks, eyes widened in exasperation.

"I'm taking her with me"

"To the red carpet?" his sister asks, surprised.

"No, to fucking Wendy's. Of course, Lux. I'm taking her to the red carpet" he then gives his sister a glance. "You look gorgeous, by the way"

"I know" she flips her hair.

"Yeah, she's beautiful and so are you" Coco interrupts, then points to you. "Is that how you plan on solving this?"

Pedro nods, solemly.

"Listen, it's just a matter of hours before people connect the dots. They already have your Instagram and name. What's next? Your job, your dog?"

You gasp. "I have a whole dump of Toto on my feed!"

"Your account is private though" Lux drops.

"Still!" you panic. "What do I do?"

"Come with me" Pedro insists. "Harm's already done. What would change if we walked down a piece of red clothing?"

"Not even Rooney Mara will walk along Joaquin"

"So? We're not them" he kneels in front of your face again. Wipes a stray tear and grabs your hand. Squeezes it, like fresh oranges for a juice, because he knows you like the gesture. Need it. "And Emma is taking her husband, so"

You only sigh, unconvinced.

"Come with me" he repeats again, like a mantra. Or a prayer. Maybe hoping you'd accept.

"And let the whole world know?"

"Precisely" he smiles, cheeky. "They know some things already. We're just advancing the process for them"

Coco sighs. "At the speed of a bullet train"

"Whatever" Pedro drops. Then, looks at you. "We like it fast, don't we, baby?"

You can only blush in response.

"She'll come with me, then. We'll ride in the car behind" Ullrich sentences.

"No" his grip on your arm is strong but not brusing. Firm, as his position. He gives you a little tug, as to pull you in. Needless to say, you felt like a ragdoll. "She'll come with me"

Fighting Pedro was like trying to tame a tide.

In the end, somehow, he'd managed to rope you into the chaos of the red carpet, black limusines and flashing cameras and inside his car.

You weren't sure. Back in school, you weren't disliked or bullied, but it's not like you were popular either. You had friends, but would rather be alone at times, be it at the library or just sketching at a lonely bench in the park. There was something precious in the silence most people didn't appreciate; you did.

So, to say you where overwhelmed at the bright lights and constant yelling for Pedro was an understatement.

But, if your boyfriend dressed in an all black suit didn't scream Look at me! energy enough, there was you.

It was quick. Everything seemed to be so as of late. The cameras and press, waiting fans, yelled for Pedro, only to then find out he wasn't only here with his sister, but another woman. The airport woman. A loud point of a finger and the whole world knows you're back.

That he isn't your something. No, Pedro is more.

He's your fucking partner.

And it's so obvious, by the way he looks at you fondly. It different from his sister. This isn't that type of unconditional supporting love, but a stronger one. Consuming. One that speaks of devotion. He looks at you. Admires you. Like a painting. As if you had all the answers in the world.

You say hi to his co-stars, maybe a bit too excited to greet Austin Butler. Pedro isn't happy but he's not putting a jealous fit for the cameras. Not when he's busy throwing charming smiles and flexing that body he's worked so hard for under the summer sun.

The world talks. It's all over the news. Your smile, growing only wider when Pedro is near you, hand on the small of your back, right where the dress leaves inviting skin for the rest to see. He introduces you to anyone who wants to listen, always talking, because he's such a yapper. A loud laugher too, and even if it's not with you, you laugh with him, too contagious for you to question it. Posing with the rest of the cast as you wait by the sidelines, taking some pictures for yourself. You see the bee, trying to meddle, imposing and nosy, and feel a little sorry for it, despite Emma's face and the guys' laugh. In a way, you see yourself in the poor insect: taking space where it shouldn't, captured under the lights.

Comments are deceiving, yet there's a movie playing and then an awkward, way too long, standing ovation for you to care. You do. But you try not to, rather focusing on the event and feeling proud of Pedro. You clap and do a little too loud sound that vagely resembles a cheer. Flustered, you find out later on that the video made it out to Twitter. Strangely, even if your sudden appearance in Pedro's life, or rather public life, is well received under that post. Maybe life wasn't so cruel.

"You're not wearing that"

Life is cruel.

"Why not? You knew it beforehand. Said it was your favorite"

"I changed my mind. It's too revealing"

"What are you? Seventy?"

"The age gap is the other way around, grandpa"

And then the fucker flexes his arms. Worst, not even on purpose. Putting on glasses and a pink soft sweater shouldn't be this hot.

"Don't worry, baby. Don't break a sweat. I'll take the grandma sweater off when we get there"

Your cheeks heat up. "That was on purpose"

He offers a cheeky grin.

"Maybe"

Today is the photocall, and if yesterday's outfit put you in your knees, this one sends you straight to the ground. Full force. In a tank top and black pants paired with spiky shoes, his purpose was to serve and to kill you.

He goes again for the round of photos and such, you trailing behind like a lost puppy. Everyone assumes, yet no one asks.

She, the airport woman, now y/n.

(Can't say it out loud either. Not even you, yet, as if the knowing smiles and stolen not so subtle glances hadn't given you away)

You enjoyed this limbo. Of belonging not more inside closed doors and ambiguous coincidences, but on tabloids and loud shutters of camera. You liked the attention but not the label. It was good to see them scrambling, begging for details. Your social media had filled with requests, and even at times, your phone crashed.

You sat in a corner, watching the press. A few clicks here and there, Pedro drinking water and making it sexy (the size difference of his hand and the tiny bottle? You need to be locked up), questions, some about the movie, others about working with Ari Aster and then, awkward ones Pedro handled with grace. He spoke with such reverence, care and thoughtfulness, you can't help but feel your legs weak. You knew he was smart, well read and opinionated, but hearing him was another thing. So lost in this, you don't hear the next question.

"I know no one else is brave enough to ask" the reporter laughs nervously, "but I need to know"

Pedro senses immediately. When he glances briefly at you, hidden on a corner, you know this is about you.

"I don't think you do" he laughs, but there's a certain edge on his tone.

"It's fine if you don't want to answer, but me and everyone else on this room, hell, world!, wants to know who the woman at the airport is"

Before he adds about your quiet but strong presence on both days, Pedro cuts in:

"Is that how you call my girlfriend?"

The uproar is so loud, even Joaquin, who seemed to be on a separate train of thought, jumps on his seat. More questions follow, ones he doesn't answer. Out of boredom or to keep. Some things are meant to be like this.

Tabloids go crazy with the news. You haven't even left the place and phone blows up even more. It will explode at this point. Worse, it's only been minutes. An hour later, it's still as bad. Well, bad is a way of saying it: what you mean is nosy press and the promise of a quiet vacation ruined.

"I don't think it'll ever be quiet again"

You sigh softly, leaning on the door of the car taking you to the hotel.

"It's an opportunity" you reply just to feel the silence.

"Ever the marketer, you bussiness woman"

Even then, he manages to rob from you a faint smile.

At least they don't know where you're staying. That would be awful. You can't imagine having troubles to get out of a car.

"Something's in your mind" as your heels click against cold marble floors.

A shit ton.

You. The fast changes. Impending. Privacy gone. Scrapes of your life out in the open for the world to see. Your relationship and this new stage you're in.

Him. His warm eyes. Firm hand to secure you. Those circles on your back that calmed you down. It's a quiet I love you. Reassurance you don't say but need. I'm here. Pedro won't let you take the fall alone.

But, also, him.

With his body that had been driving you wild. Intoxicating cologne. A small cut abov his beard, still fresh. Thick glasses. Long legs. Strong arms. His charisma. Confidence. A killer smile. Warm eyes. Kind. He laughed too much and filled the gap of your stolen breaths, waiting.

"Want me to tell you?"

Smug grin you could wipe off his face.

"I'm all ears"

He too has noticed you. Short glances. Parted lips. So plump he can still taste them. The lipstick inside his cheek, over his white pristine smile if he hadn't licked it off. A part of you in him. Another. Your body, always so perfect, but in that dress he bought? He steals a look now. He definitely pictured you in it, yet this is better. How you own it. The cameras aren't flashing your way, but their eyes trail your every move. You had that in you: a beauty that wasn't loud, but made sure to be noticed. Like the air: not seen, just felt. Sometimes light, others heavy. He feels light-headed. Today you chose another set he bought you. In away, Pedro feels as if he owns you. But a tender belonging, of soul to soul, possessive, yet not as an object; he was raised right. Although, after your giggles with Austin...

"Pedro..." all sweet voice. He likes his name a lot. More if it's from you.

Your silence is both punishing and teasing.

"Tell me what you want" he insists.

"You know me" you play coy.

"I wanna hear it" desperate.

You cave in. Then, lean. His hairs raise in a prickly trepidation.

"They know too much" he feels your pressure, fears. But also, he feels your hot breath and short gasps, as if you can't hold this any longer.

"I'm sorry"

You shake your head with parted lips and hooded eyes, blood rushing to your cheeks.

"Show me something only I'll know"

Pedro's control shatteres at your words, a low, animalistic growl rumbling up from his chest.

"You're gonna make me fuck you in here" he spills the lewd confession.

"You're going to get us kicked out of this hotel"

"Can I at least kiss you on the elevator?" he pleads. Puppy sad brown eyes and all.

"Maybe"

In an instant, he takes your wrist in his grip, pulling you stumbling to the dinging door.

"Be patient" you mumble as his lips ghost over your neck. You glance at the numbers.

"We're on the thirty-two floor"

"Patience is a virtue"

"I don't care"

As soon as the door opens, he strides out with desperate, urgent steps.

"This isn't our floor"

"Fuck!"

The short time from the twenty-four to your actual floor felt interminable, every second stretching into an eternity as the weight of your shared desire hung heavy in the air.

"Jesus" you mutter.

"That good or bad?" he asks, mouth busy and voice sort of muffled against the flush skin of your neck.

"Good" you manage to mumble, hands on his hair.

Alright, you miss the messy curls but you can see them insist on the top of his hair, now starting to get sweaty, Coco's work going to waste.

"Then let's give them more to talk"

As soon as you crossed the hallway, Pedro kicks the door shut behind both of you. He's got your back pressed against it, roughly, as if he couldn't wait a bit longer, mouth taking yours in a hungry kiss.

His hands roam your body, gripping, squeezing, tugging at any little space of honeyed skin he can, taking off the buttons with a feverish desperation. You swear one of them pops, if your ears don't deceive you.

"You bought that dress. I liked it"

He rolls his eyes. "I can buy you a new one. A whole closet"

"But I liked this one" you pout.

He kisses your pouty lips. "Then I shall move the earth to get the same one again for you. Now... where were we?"

He's back to kissing you roughly, and soon, your brain is too fuzzy and lost in the force of his lips on yours, that the cameras and late interview are soon forgotten in the back of your mind.

"I'm going to ruin you" he says against your mouth, voice ragged with lust. You let out a little moan as you squirm under his insistent touch. "So hard, so deep, you won't forget who you belong to. Never"

You should feel threatened. Scared, even. But no, down there? You're a wet mess.

The dress falls to the floor with a soft thud. At least he didn't rip it.

"No bra, baby?" he asks, voice thick. You swallow harshly and nod. "Bad girl. Such'a tease"

His mouth drops then to your chest, lips kissing and teeth grazing the soft swell of your breasts. His tongue runs cold through a shiver, moving to your nipples, taking the hardened bud into his mouth and sucking hard. You feel his hands then over the rosy flesh, grabbing what he can, which, given the size of his hands, it's a lot.

"All this for me?"

You nod, lost in the grunts, sweat, his mouth and touch.

"That's right. Mine. You're mine, baby. Just mine. Say it. Tell me you are"

"Yes!" you gasp. "I'm yours, Pedro. All yours. Only yours"

He groans into your mouth as your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. There's too a low sound coming from his throat, probably an approval sound of some sorts. His hands now slide down to your hips, gripping the free skin until he lifts you up. It's always like this. Now, you wrap your legs around his waist, tiny ankles locking at the small of his broad back.

Finally, he takes you to the bed in the middle of the room, all while never breaking the kiss or stopping his greedy hands from touching you. You whine and squirm, weak under his spell.

"So antsy" he softly says.

"I think you meant your hands"

With a little laugh, he lays you down on the bed, body hovering over you, pinning you to the mattress. Before, he'd take his time to let go of the shirt, undressing slowly and almost reluctantly. Now, he takes no time in stripping off his shirt, revealing the toned body under an already revealing shirt. You love Pedro, in all of his forms and shapes, but weren't you incredibly turned on like a horny teenager for this new body? Maybe it was his new energy, how it oozed off of him in the form of flexing biceps, slim figure, toned chest and stomach and disarming smile. He was a menace and knew it, by the smirk visible even through the soft moonlight filtering through the window.

"We should've turned the lights"

"I like you like this" needy fingers now turn tender as he traces soft hearts on your face, the rough skin brushing your soft flushed own.

"At least the nightstand one. It's yellow"

"No"

He leans down to claim your mouth again, or just shut you up. It's helpful, anyway, as he kisses you until you're breathless, lips swollen and tingling.

"Someone's insatiable today" you croak out.

"For you? Always" he replies, fingers finding the damp patch in your panties, rubbing over it, thick fingers pressing against your clothed pussy. "It's never enough, baby"

He lets out a little grunt.

"Fuck, you're so wet" voice rough with lust and surprise. "Julie's outfit turned you on that much?"

"Even the hideous ones did" you whimper. "Imagine this one"

"I chose some of those, you know" he sounds a bit offended.

"Whatever. I'm happy with this Cannes run. I'll send some flowers or take her to lunch"

"So caring" he mocks.

"For dressing my man like a complete eye candy? Hell, yes"

"No one uses that term nowadays" Pedro interjects.

"Here you go again. You're my biggest hater. Shut up and just-"

You turn desperate at the pressure his fingers apply on your clothed slit. He smirks at that, eyes dark.

"You want this, don't you? You want me inside, filling you, stretching you around my cock?"

"Yes" you whimper again.

"Say it" he demands.

Never would you beg for something, but goddamn, didn't this man reduce you to a puddle of moans and pleasure? Your common sense, no, normal functioning, basic even, flew out of the window with just a kiss.

"I need you"

His fingers press even deeper, and the pulsing light pain sensation drives you wild, making you whimper again.

"Pedro-" you whine, hips rocking up against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction.

He clicks his tongue. "Manners, baby"

You squirm, violently and desperate. He really was going to make you beg for it.

"Please, Pedro"

"That better" fingers slightly more insistent. "One last time?"

Fuck dignity, man.

"Please, Pedro. I need you. I need you so badly" you choke out.

He grins like a schoolboy, eyes dark. "Good girl"

He rewards you by making a quick work of your panties, practically tearing them off and tossing them aside. His fingers then were on your bare skin, drumming on sensitive thighs.

"Don't tease" you plead through gritted teeth.

"So impatient" he tsks. "Want it now, baby?"

You nod, feverish.

"Because you asked"

"Because we always do what I want" you choke.

His eyes shine dark. "Easy, brat"

He strokes through the slick folds of your, pussy, pushing two long, thick fingers deep inside you, curling them just right, hitting that well known spot that made you see stars.

"So tight" his voice comes out strained. "So fucking tight and hot and perfect"

Pedro pumps his fingers in and out, thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit. His mouth drops to your breast again, suckling hard, biting just on the edge and then licking to soothe the sting. You feel heat building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Your hands scrabble at his back, nails digging into his skin, as to urge him.

And then he pulls away, leaving you empty and aching. You whimper at the loss, making him chuckle a bit.

"Calm down, baby. I ain't going anywhere"

He starts undressing what's left of his clothes, and if you liked the outfit, him naked takes the win. His cock springs free, long and hard, the thick head already glistening.

"See?"

He settles himself between your thighs, the thick length of his cock nudging against your slick folds. He looks down at you, eyes intense under the moonlight. His large, calloused hands slid under your hips, gripping them hard enough to leave bruises.

If spilling it in the interview wasn't enough, he was going to mark you, claim you, make you his.

"I'm going to fuck you now" Pedro announces, voice low with lust. "I'm going to fuck you hard and deep, just like you need. Like we both do"

With that, he thrust forward, pushing past your entrance. You gasp at the intrusion, feeling your pussy stretch around him, accommodating his size. It always happens; he's just big like that. He pauses, letting you adjust to the stretch, before pushing forward again, sinking deeper inside.

So thoughtful.

"Fuck, you're so tight " he said through gritted teeth. "So fucking tight and hot and perfect. You feel incredible, y/n"

He starts to move then, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in. Each push brings him deeper, until he was buried to the hilt inside. He sets a hard, fast pace, the bed creaking beneath with the force of his thrusts. The room filled with the sound of their mingled moans and gasps, sweat pooling like a second skin.

And if things couldn't get any better...

One hand came up to your throat, long fingers wrapping around it. He didn't squeeze, not yet, just rested them there, feeling the flutter of your pulse.

"Nervous?" his thumb brushes over your racing heartbeat, a teasing promise of what was to come. "C'mon. Don't get shy on me, baby. I know you like that"

(You did. He was new to this, mainly going off some spaking and dirty talk. Now, he seemed to be into it, if not more, as you. It was always exciting when he did it, never telling you before. If you didn't want to, he stopped. You know he would, at least, because so far, you've never told him to)

You nod, walls clench around him.

"As much as you like feeling my cock stretching you open? Filling you up? You like knowing I'm the only man to be inside this perfect little cunt?"

"Yes" you gasp. "God, yes. No one else, but you, Pedro. Only you."

A wicked grin spreads across his face and he tightens his grip on your throat, just a little. Enough to make you feel it.

"That's right, baby. This cunt belong to me now. Your body. You. You belong to me"

He starts to thrust harder, faster, headboard slamming against the wall with each snap.

Pedro feels you starting to tighten around him, breath coming in short, sharp, desperate gasps.

He knew you were close.

He leans down then, his rough stubble rasping against the smooth skin of your neck as he growled in your ear.

"Be a good girl and come for me" he urges. "Let me feel this pretty pussy spasm around my cock. Feel it come undone on my dick"

His hips never slow, pounding into you with deep, powerful thrusts. The grip on your throat tightened just a touch more, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. Not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make you light-headed.

"I'm going to fill this cunt with my cum. I'm going to pump you so full of it, you'll be dripping for days"

You let out a choked moan at his filthy promise, back arching off the bed. He could feel her starting to convulse around him, her slick walls fluttering and clenching. He was so close too, his balls drawing up tight against his body as the pressure built.

"Come now. Let me feel you scream my name as I fill you up. Let the whole damn city know who you belong to"

With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you. At the same time, his fingers tightened around your throat, squeezing just as your orgasm crashes over. You let out a strangled cry, body shaking and shuddering beneath him as you come apart.

"Fuck, y/n. Fuck"

With a load groan, he comes too, cock pulsing and jerking inside you as he pumps you full of his hot seed. Spurt after spurt, until he sees your stomach bloat lightly and you feel it sloshing inside you like the distant waves on the beach.

He collapses on top of you with a loud sigh, weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside your fluttering heat; it's still dripping.

You both lay there for a long moment, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat, as you catch your breaths. Finally, he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes soft.

"You're incredible" voice raw. "I can't believe you're mine"

You giggle, feeling his arms wrap around you, pulling you close as you snuggle against his neck. He can feel your soft, warm breath tickling on his skin. A sense of peace and contentment settles over him, and he sighs happily.

"Yours" and a quick tired sloppy kiss. "You drained me, thought"

"If you weren't such a tease..."

You playfully swat him, weakly.

"Shh, just relax" he murmurs, one hand stroking slowly up and down your back. "You did so good, baby. So fucking perfect. As always"

You can't helo but say: "And now the whole world knows it"

He captures your lips in a slow, deep kiss. It was different from the hungry, desperate kisses before. This one was tender, almost sweet. Full of a quiet, growing affection.

"It's okay" so quiet you would miss it. "I've got you, baby. And I'm not going anywhere"

You make a soft, contented lazy sound as you snuggle even closer, fingers playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He feels your body starting to give up.

"Promise?"

He tightens his arms around you, holding you like he means it. You are the most precious thing in the world to him, but he doesn't want to tell you. He wants you to know. So he holds you tightly, like a vow. Something to keep. Something worth.

"Promise"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif: @a7estrellas / dts: @io12n

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.5

Chapter Five: As If The Street Lights Pointed In An Arrowhead Leading Us Home

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: 6.5k

A/N: Sorry for the wait on this chapter! I was busy writing chapter one of my Richard Reeds fanfic, and my brain went into overdrive. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter, and my thoughts and writing process will be in the end notes below! Take care out there.

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: Cornelia Street by Taylor Swift

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CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — MORNING  

It was the weekend.  

A rare, golden thing in the middle of a chaotic schedule. Sometimes, productions pushed through weekends, forcing actors and crew alike to run on fumes and caffeine, but this week, you’d been given the luxury of a proper break.  

So you did the only logical thing: you slept in.  

No alarms. No early call times. No frantic scrambling to get out the door before the sun had even fully risen. Just the quiet hush of your hotel room, the soft cocoon of blankets, and the gentle hum of the city beyond your window.  

Pedro, on the other hand, was not sleeping in.  

He was downstairs earlier, enjoying breakfast with some of the crew, chatting between bites of eggs and toast. But when he realized he hadn’t seen you—not even a glimpse—something tugged at his chest.  

He checked his phone. No messages from you.  

Not that you had to text him, obviously. But still.  

“Maybe she’s still asleep,” Vanessa mused when he brought it up, sipping her coffee.  

Coco smirked. “Or avoiding you.”  

Pedro shot her a look, unimpressed. “You’re hilarious.”  

Joseph, ever the instigator, leaned in. “You do realize how weirdly invested you are in this, right?”  

Pedro ignored them, pushing back his chair. “I’m gonna go check on her.”  

“OoOoOo, someone’s worried,” Ebon teased, grinning.  

Pedro just flipped them off over his shoulder as he walked away.  

Your side of the room was quiet when he got there.  

Pedro knocked.  

Nothing.  

He frowned and knocked again, a little louder this time. “Hey, you alive in there?”  

Still nothing.  

His concern deepened. He knew you’d been exhausted lately, emotionally drained from the whole Cecilia situation. And yeah, maybe you were just catching up on sleep, but what if you weren’t feeling well? What if—  

He shook his head, pushing the thought away.  

A quick check with the front desk confirmed they had given you a key for emergencies. That was all the justification he needed.  

Carefully, Pedro let himself in.  

The room was dim, curtains drawn just enough to let in a sliver of London’s muted morning light. And there you were, curled up under a mountain of blankets, dead to the world.  

Snoring.  

Pedro exhaled, the tension in his chest dissolving as a slow, amused smile tugged at his lips.  

He took a step closer, just enough to take in the peaceful rise and fall of your shoulders, the way your hair was a little all over the place. A soft snore left your lips, making him chuckle under his breath.  

God, you were adorable.  

For a brief moment, he debated waking you. Teasing you for sleeping through breakfast, maybe even convincing you to come downstairs with him.  

But then you shifted, letting out the softest sigh as you burrowed deeper into the pillows, and—yeah. No. He couldn’t wake you.  

Instead, he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching for a little longer.  

He’d give you another hour.  

Maybe two.  

And then, well—if you didn’t wake up soon, he’d have to find a way to lure you out with the promise of coffee or something just as tempting.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — LATE MORNING  

The late morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. Pedro had been patient—he really had—but after standing around for a while, listening to your soft snoring, he decided you needed to eat something.  

So he had slipped downstairs, grabbed a plate of fresh fruit, some pastries, and a glass of juice, and set everything neatly on the kitchenette counter before making his way back to your bedside.  

The problem?  

You were not a morning person.  

Pedro bit back a grin as you stirred, groaning into your pillow, clearly fighting consciousness with everything in you. He could already tell this wasn’t going to be an easy wake-up.  

“Alright, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “Time to get up.”  

You groaned again, pulling the blanket over your head. “No.”  

Pedro chuckled. “Not even gonna think about it?”  

“No.”  

He exhaled, amused, and sat on the edge of the bed, nudging your shoulder lightly. “C’mon, I brought you breakfast. Fresh fruit, pastries, coffee… I even got you juice. Thought I was being nice.”  

That earned him a tiny peek of an eye from beneath the blanket. “What kind of juice?”  

He smirked. There we go.  

“Mango,” he answered, watching as you visibly debated with yourself. “And it’s still cold.”  

You groaned but finally—finally—sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you blinked blearily at him. “Fine. But if you’re lying about the juice, I’m going back to bed.”  

Pedro chuckled, standing up. “Noted.”  

As you shuffled out of bed and towards the kitchenette, still wrapped in your blanket like a grumpy little burrito, Pedro bit back another laugh.  

You were trying so hard not to snap at him, despite your obvious morning grumpiness, and he found it strangely endearing. You cared about him—he could see that. Not just in the way a fan might, but as someone who had gotten to know him, really know him, beyond the public persona.  

And for some reason, that made his chest feel warm.  

By the time you took your first sip of juice, you finally looked at him, still groggy but slightly more awake. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you grumbled.  

Pedro grinned. “I know.”

Pedro stayed leaning against the kitchenette counter, watching you with quiet amusement as you nibbled on a croissant, still wrapped up in your blanket like you might retreat back into it at any moment.  

"You know," he said, arms crossing over his chest, "I've worked with some pretty serious divas before, but you? You might be the worst morning person I've ever met."  

You narrowed your eyes at him mid-chew, unimpressed. "Bold of you to assume I’m even a person in the morning."  

Pedro laughed, rich and warm, like he hadn't expected you to say that. It sent a flutter through your stomach, but you buried it beneath another bite of food.  

A comfortable silence settled between you as you worked through your breakfast, the weight of last night—the teasing from your friends, the way Pedro had looked at you over dinner, the way he’d listened, really listened, when you brushed off your problems—lingering just beneath the surface.  

It should’ve been awkward. But it wasn’t.  

"So," he finally said, drumming his fingers against the countertop, "what’s the plan for your day off? Big, exciting plans to stay in bed all day?"  

You swallowed a sip of juice, tilting your head at him. "That was the dream, yeah."  

Pedro let out a soft scoff, pushing off the counter. "Nah. Not happening."  

You raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"  

"You’ve been working your ass off all week, and I don’t mean just putting up with the shoot," he said, giving you a knowing look. "I mean all of it. Everything. And since you clearly weren’t gonna tell me how much it was getting to you, I figure it’s my job to make sure you actually do something for yourself today."  

Your stomach twisted at that.  

He had noticed.  

Of course, he had.  

And now, instead of letting you bury it like you had all week, he was making it a thing.  

"Pedro," you sighed, setting your glass down. "I really don’t—"  

"Shh," he cut in, grinning as he pressed a finger to his lips. "No arguing."  

You stared at him, deadpan. "Did you just shush me?"  

"Yeah." He shrugged, completely unfazed. "It’s effective."  

You narrowed your eyes, trying very hard not to laugh. "You’re an idiot."  

"And yet," he said, nodding toward your now-empty plate, "an idiot who got you to wake up, eat breakfast, and seriously consider leaving this hotel room."  

You bit your lip, fighting back a smile.  

Damn it.  

"Okay, fine." You rolled your eyes. "What exactly do you have in mind?"  

Pedro grinned like he’d just won something. "Get dressed, cariño. I’ll tell you on the way."

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY AFTERNOON 

You didn’t know what you had expected Pedro to suggest—maybe a lazy stroll through the city, or coffee at some tucked-away café—but the moment you stepped outside, you realized you had severely underestimated him.  

For one, he had somehow procured a car.  

Not just any car. A sleek, inconspicuous black SUV, complete with a driver who nodded at Pedro like they had some unspoken understanding.  

You frowned, pausing just before getting in. “Please tell me you didn’t hire security just to take me out for the day.”  

Pedro smirked, holding the door open for you. “Relax. It’s just a favor. No secret service level drama.”  

You eyed him suspiciously. “You swear?”  

“Would I lie to you?”  

You didn’t dignify that with a response.  

With a dramatic sigh, you climbed into the passenger seat, and Pedro followed suit, settling in beside you with a satisfied grin.  

“See?” he said as the car pulled away from the hotel. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”  

You shot him a flat look. “I already regret this.”  

Pedro just laughed, tapping his fingers idly against his knee.  

The city stretched out beyond the tinted windows, a blur of old brick buildings, cafés with tiny outdoor tables, and the occasional group of tourists wrapped up in their own adventures.  

For a moment, you let yourself relax, head resting back against the seat, the steady hum of the car filling the silence.  

And then—  

“Are you actually going to tell me where we’re going?” you asked, side-eyeing him.  

Pedro hummed, pretending to think about it. “Nah. I like watching you squirm.”  

You groaned, letting your head fall back dramatically. “I hate you.”  

“No, you don’t.”  

You turned your head, finding him already watching you, something fond and unreadable flickering behind his glasses.  

Your breath caught in your throat.  

The car hit a stoplight, and he looked away, tapping something into his phone.  

Okay. Fine.  

You could pretend that didn’t just happen.  

The drive continued, weaving through the city until you eventually started to recognize where you were heading.  

Your brows furrowed.  

“Wait a minute—"  

“Surprise,” Pedro said, grinning as the car finally rolled to a stop in front of what was, unmistakably, a bookstore.  

Not just any bookstore.  

One you had mentioned in passing about a few days ago, while sitting with him and a few others on set, talking about places you’d love to visit while in London.  

You turned to him, mouth slightly open. “You remembered?”  

Pedro gave you a look, like the idea of him not remembering was ridiculous.  

“Of course I did,” he said simply, pushing open his door. “Now, are you gonna sit there looking at me like I just grew a second head, or are we actually going in?”  

You scrambled out of the car before he could make another joke, ignoring the warmth spreading through your chest.  

Inside, the scent of old paper and freshly brewed coffee wrapped around you like a hug. The place was small but full—every wall lined with shelves, tables stacked with books, mismatched chairs tucked into cozy corners.  

It was perfect.  

Pedro hovered near the entrance, watching your expression, clearly pleased with himself.  

You turned, crossing your arms. “Alright, Pascal. What’s the catch?”  

He smirked. “No catch.”  

You narrowed your eyes.  

He sighed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine. I might have selfish reasons for bringing you here.”  

You raised an eyebrow. “Which are?”  

Pedro stepped closer, tilting his head. “You’re a pain in the ass when you’re stressed.”  

Your jaw dropped.  

“Excuse me?”  

He laughed, reaching out and flicking the end of your sleeve. “You needed a break. And I—” He paused, eyes softening. “I like seeing you happy.”  

The words were simple.  

Too simple.  

And yet, they settled deep in your chest, curling around something you weren’t ready to name.  

You swallowed, looking away, focusing on the nearest bookshelf like it held all the answers.  

Pedro let the silence stretch for a beat, then nudged you gently.  

“Go on,” he murmured. “Pick something.”  

So you did.

LONDON BOOKSHOP — EARLY AFTERNOON  

You took your time browsing.  

Partly because you wanted to, and partly because Pedro made himself comfortable, dropping into one of the armchairs in the corner like he had all the time in the world.  

He did this thing where he pretended not to be watching you. Flipping through a book, glasses sliding down his nose, but every so often—you caught him. The flicker of his gaze, the tiny smirk when you pulled a book off the shelf and examined the cover with interest.  

It made your skin warm.  

It was still so bizarre—this thing between you two.  

You were still wrapping your head around it, still trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t some overactive, sleep-deprived hallucination.  

Because this was Pedro Pascal.  

And Pedro Pascal had somehow taken it upon himself to make sure you were okay, taking you out on bookstore adventures and—  

Oh god, were you on a date?  

Your heart jumped at the realization, nearly making you fumble the book in your hands.  

No. Not a date.  

Just… Pedro being Pedro.  

Right?  

You exhaled slowly, trying to refocus.  

The book in your hands was a worn, well-loved copy of a classic romance novel. The pages were slightly yellowed, the cover soft with age.  

“That one, huh?”  

You startled slightly, looking up to see Pedro watching you from his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest.  

You shrugged, running your fingers along the spine. “I’ve been meaning to read it.”  

Pedro hummed, tilting his head. “You always do that.”  

You blinked. “Do what?”  

He nodded toward the book in your hands. “That thing. Where you rub the cover before you decide.”  

You froze, caught. “…I do not.”  

Pedro’s grin was entirely too smug. “Oh, you do.”  

You felt warmth creep up your neck. “You’ve been watching me pick books?”  

He lifted a shoulder, like it wasn’t a big deal. “You’re cute when you’re indecisive.”  

Your stomach flipped.  

You opened your mouth—only to immediately close it again, because what the fuck were you supposed to say to that?  

Pedro’s grin widened like he knew exactly what he was doing.  

Your fingers curled around the book, gripping it like it could somehow ground you.  

“I—” You cleared your throat, forcing a glare. “I hate you.”  

Pedro just laughed, leaning back in his chair. “No, you don’t.”  

You turned away, cheeks burning, pointedly walking toward the register before he could see how flustered you were.  

The woman behind the counter smiled as she rang up your book, eyes flicking toward Pedro lounging in the corner.  

“That your boyfriend?” she asked casually.  

You nearly choked.  

“What? No. No, no. He’s just—” You gestured vaguely. “Pedro.”  

She just smiled knowingly. “Right.”  

You hurriedly paid, ignoring the way Pedro was definitely smirking behind you, and grabbed the small paper bag with your book inside.  

When you turned, he was already standing, adjusting his glasses. “Ready?”  

You exhaled, nodding.  

As the two of you stepped outside, the chilly afternoon air hit your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the bookshop.  

Pedro slipped his hands into his pockets, glancing over. “Lunch?”  

You hesitated. “I don’t know… what if people see us?”  

Pedro just shrugged. “So what?”  

You frowned, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I just— I don’t want people to think—”  

“That you’re hanging out with me?” Pedro finished, raising an eyebrow.  

You let out a breath, rubbing at your temple. “I just don’t want to be weird about it.”  

Pedro was quiet for a beat, then nudged your arm gently. “Hey.”  

You looked up.  

“Let them think whatever they want,” he said, voice softer now. “You’re allowed to exist in public with me, y’know.”  

Your chest ached in a way you weren’t expecting.  

He made it sound so simple.  

You swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”  

Pedro grinned. “Good. Now let’s go find some obscenely overpriced pasta.”  

You huffed a laugh, letting him lead the way.

LONDON — AFTERNOON

The restaurant Pedro picked was one of those effortlessly stylish little spots tucked away on a side street, the kind of place with warm lighting, fresh flowers on every table, and a menu written in looping script on a chalkboard.

It smelled like olive oil and fresh bread, like garlic sizzling in butter.

“Obscenely overpriced pasta,” you muttered under your breath, scanning the menu. “You weren’t kidding.”

Pedro chuckled, tilting his head toward you. “Hey, if we’re gonna be reckless, we might as well do it with carbs.”

Your lips twitched, but you didn’t argue.

The two of you had been seated near the window, the view outside hazy with the gray of the London afternoon. Pedro sat opposite you, cap low, glasses on, but even that didn’t do much to disguise him.

It was still him.

Still warm brown eyes and laughter lines, still easy charm and a quiet steadiness that made you feel safer than you probably should.

The restaurant hummed with soft conversation, the gentle clinking of glasses and silverware blending with the distant notes of some old jazz song playing overhead. The air smelled rich—garlic and butter, fresh herbs and warm bread—and for the first time in what felt like days, you felt… light.  

You weren’t thinking about work. Or her.  

Just Pedro. Just this.  

He was leaning back in his chair now, one arm draped over the backrest, fingers idly tracing the rim of his water glass. His cap was still low over his forehead, glasses perched on his nose, but his expression was open, relaxed—like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like the two of you having lunch together was something that had always made sense.  

And maybe it did.  

"So," Pedro said, tearing off a piece of bread from the basket between you. "Tell me something about you that I don’t know yet."  

You huffed a small laugh, stirring the ice in your drink with your straw. "That’s a pretty broad request."  

He shrugged. "Alright, let’s narrow it down. What was little you like?"  

You blinked at him. "Little me?"  

"Yeah." He popped a piece of bread into his mouth. "Like, what were you like as a kid? Were you the quiet, shy one, or were you running around causing problems?"  

You scoffed. "I am the quiet, shy one."  

Pedro gave you a look. "I know you. You’ve got a little chaos in you somewhere."  

You bit back a smile. "Fine. Maybe a little."  

Pedro grinned, leaning in like he was settling in for a story. "Alright, spill."  

You thought for a moment, fingers brushing absentmindedly over the rim of your glass. "I was kind of… scrappy, I guess? Like, I wasn’t looking for trouble, but I wouldn’t not fight a kid if they deserved it."  

Pedro nearly choked on his water. "What?"  

Your face heated. "Not like that! I just—I had a strong sense of justice, okay?"  

Pedro wiped his mouth, eyes gleaming with amusement. "So what I’m hearing is that you’ve always been ready to throw hands."  

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. "I shouldn’t have told you that."  

Pedro was grinning so hard. "No, no, I love it. I love picturing little you, all tiny and righteous, just out there laying down the law."  

You peeked at him through your fingers. "It wasn’t that dramatic."  

"Mm-hmm," he said, clearly not convinced.  

You shook your head, exhaling a laugh. "Okay, your turn, big shot. What was little Pedro like?"  

His smirk softened into something more nostalgic. "Oh, I was a menace," he admitted.  

You snorted. "Of course you were."  

"I mean, not in a bad way," he amended, breaking off another piece of bread. "I was just… all over the place. Loud, always moving, always talking. My parents were exhausted."  

You smiled. "Sounds like you were a handful."  

"Oh, completely." He took a sip of his drink, glancing at you over the rim. "I grew up in a house that was always full, always noisy. Family coming in and out all the time, music playing, food cooking. I never really knew what quiet was until I got older."  

There was something warm in his voice, something fond in the way he spoke about home.  

"That sounds… nice," you murmured.  

Pedro tilted his head slightly, studying you. "What about you? What was home like?"  

You hesitated, glancing down at your plate. "Not like that."  

His brows drew together, but he didn’t push.  

You exhaled softly, running your finger over the condensation on your glass. "I mean, it wasn’t bad or anything. It was just… quieter. A little lonelier."  

Pedro didn’t say anything, just waited.  

You bit your lip, giving a small shrug. "I guess I always felt like I had to work a little harder to fit in. To matter."  

Pedro’s gaze softened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.  

You cleared your throat, suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry, that got depressing—"  

"Hey." His voice was quiet but firm.  

You glanced up.  

Pedro was watching you with something steady, something real in his expression. "You don’t have to apologize for being honest."  

Your stomach flipped.  

You nodded, a little too quickly. "Right. Yeah."  

Pedro gave you a small smile, then nudged your foot under the table. "For what it’s worth," he said lightly, "I think you’re pretty great."  

Your throat felt tight. "Yeah?"  

"Yeah." His smile widened. "Even if you did used to fight kids."  

You groaned. "Oh my god."  

Pedro laughed, and the sound was so warm, so easy, that you couldn’t help but laugh with him.  

And just like that, whatever tension had settled between you melted away, leaving nothing but warmth in its place.

The street was buzzing softly with life when you stepped outside, the late afternoon sun spilling golden light over everything. You hadn’t even fully processed where Pedro was leading you when he suddenly tugged on your wrist and gestured toward a tiny, vintage photo booth tucked just outside the café. Its paint was chipped, its curtain a little worn, but it had the kind of charm that begged you to step inside.  

“C’mon,” Pedro said with a mischievous grin, already pulling you toward it.  

“What? No!” You laughed, glancing around like someone might catch you doing something scandalous. “Pedro, this is so cheesy!”  

He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by your protests. “Cheesy is good. Plus, you owe me for making me think you were a goner this morning.” He gave you a dramatic, pleading look. “One strip of photos. For my emotional recovery.”  

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Fine. One. And only because I feel bad for you.”  

The booth’s tiny space forced you closer together than you expected. Pedro leaned in to fiddle with the ancient machine, his arm brushing against yours. You tried not to think too hard about how warm he was, or how his cologne smelled faintly like cedar and something else you couldn’t quite place.  

“Okay, ready?” Pedro asked, his finger hovering over the button.  

“Wait! What do we—what pose are we doing?”  

He grinned. “You’ll figure it out.”  

The camera counted down—three, two, one.  

The first flash caught you both off guard, faces blank with surprise. You burst into laughter, the kind that made your shoulders shake, and Pedro quickly leaned in for another shot.  

“Okay, okay, serious face,” he instructed, eyes narrowing comically.  

You tried, but the second the flash went off, you broke into giggles again, and Pedro lost it right along with you.  

The third shot was a blur of laughter, your head tipped back, Pedro’s grin wide and unguarded.  

Then, right as the camera beeped for the final shot, Pedro turned toward you.  

You barely had time to register the movement before his lips brushed your cheek, soft and quick but undeniably there.  

The flash went off.  

You froze, eyes wide as you turned to look at him. Pedro’s face mirrored yours for a second—caught somewhere between Did I really just do that? and Yeah, I did. But then, the corners of his mouth curled into a sheepish grin.  

The photo strip slid out of the machine, and you grabbed it, holding it up between you. There it was: the first three frames filled with laughter and goofy poses, and the last… the last one where his lips were pressed against your cheek, your eyes wide, his soft and warm, both of you caught mid-smile.  

Your heart fluttered—nervous, exhilarated, but… not scared. Not even a little.  

“You kissed me,” you said, voice soft but teasing.  

Pedro rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to look thoughtful. “Hmm. Did I? Feels like that might’ve been you kissing me.”  

You gasped, smacking his arm with the photo strip. “Liar!”  

He chuckled, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, I’m just saying—it’s open to interpretation.”  

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”  

“And yet,” he said, tilting his head, “here you are. Stuck in a photo booth with me.”  

The air between you shifted then—lighter, but also charged with something else. Something that felt like the beginning of a question neither of you was quite ready to ask.  

For a beat, neither of you moved.  

Then Pedro tapped the photo strip with his finger, breaking the moment. “Well, at least we’ve got proof of how good we look together.”  

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “Shut up.”  

“Never,” he replied, already holding out his phone. “Now, do we post this on the internet, or do we keep it as blackmail material for later?”  

You grabbed the photo strip, slipping it into your pocket. “Neither. This one’s ours.”  

Pedro raised his hands in surrender, but the smile on his face told you he didn’t mind one bit.

The sky was painted in soft shades of pink and orange as the sun began its slow descent. Pedro slipped his phone back into his pocket after calling the driver, glancing at you with a small smile. “We’ve got about ten minutes. Wanna walk a little?”  

You nodded, grateful for the chance to stretch your legs. The streets were alive with a gentle hum—tourists taking photos, locals going about their day, the occasional street performer filling the air with music.  

The city felt like a movie set, every streetlamp and cobblestone path perfectly placed. And in this fleeting moment, it felt like the world had paused just for the two of you, as if the streetlights themselves pointed in an arrowhead, leading you home.  

Pedro noticed the slight chill in the air and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before you could protest. “Can’t have you catching a cold,” he said, his voice light but warm with care.  

The jacket smelled like him—faint cologne mixed with something warm and earthy, something Pedro. You tugged it around yourself a little tighter, feeling its weight settle comfortably over your frame.  

A surge of boldness swept over you, the kind you usually talked yourself out of but didn’t this time. You stepped closer, looping your arm around his. His body radiated warmth, steady and solid beneath your touch. Slowly, your fingers found his hand, intertwining with his.  

Pedro didn’t hesitate. His hand squeezed yours gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soft, absentminded rhythm. It was such an easy, natural thing for him, this casual intimacy that felt so rare and comforting.  

You’d learned over the past few days that touch was part of his love language. He was the kind of man who hugged with his whole body, the kind whose touch always felt intentional and grounding, never forced or fleeting.  

Your heart thudded a little harder in your chest. You told yourself it was just from the walk.  

You squeezed his arm lightly, smiling up at him. “Thanks for today, Pedro.”  

He glanced down at you, his eyes warm and crinkling at the edges, those familiar laughter lines making an appearance. “For what?”  

“For everything,” you said softly, almost shy. “For making me laugh. For breakfast. For not running away when I woke up looking like a crypt keeper.”  

Pedro chuckled, his grip on your hand tightening for a brief second. “You looked adorable. Not a crypt keeper—more like… a sleepy little gremlin.”  

You gasped, mock-offended, and smacked his arm with your free hand. “Gremlin? You’re lucky I don’t let go of your hand right now.”  

He grinned, that mischievous spark in his eyes you were quickly becoming fond of. “You wouldn’t. You like me too much.”  

You couldn’t argue with that.  

The streetlamps flickered on as the daylight dimmed, casting a golden glow over the cobblestone streets. You both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. The city hummed around you, but all you could focus on was the steady warmth of Pedro’s hand in yours, the easy rhythm of your steps together, the way everything felt just a little softer, a little brighter with him by your side.  

“You’re really something, you know that?” Pedro said suddenly, his voice quieter now, thoughtful.  

You glanced at him, your breath hitching slightly. “Something good, I hope.”  

Pedro stopped walking for a second, turning toward you. His eyes searched yours, serious now. “The best kind of something.”  

Your chest tightened at the weight of his words, a mix of nerves and excitement swirling in your stomach. You tried to play it cool, but the heat rising to your cheeks gave you away.  

“Well,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “right back at you, Pedro.”  

He smiled, that same soft, unguarded smile that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world he was looking at.  

The driver pulled up a few moments later, headlights cutting through the soft twilight. Pedro opened the door for you, his hand resting lightly on your back as you slid into the car.  

As the car pulled away, you leaned back into the seat, Pedro’s jacket still wrapped around your shoulders, his warmth lingering like a secret you weren’t quite ready to give up.  

And maybe, just maybe, neither was he.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

The glow of golden hour had dimmed into soft dusk by the time you returned to Chiltern Firehouse. The lobby was warm and buzzing with quiet energy—guests sipping cocktails, a crackling fireplace, and staff moving seamlessly through the space. Pedro walked beside you, his hand resting gently at the small of your back like it had been there all along.  

You didn’t want the day to end just yet. There was something about the way the air felt, a little lighter, like it had been charged with something electric and unspoken.  

As you approached the front desk, one of the hotel managers, a polished woman in a tailored suit, stepped forward with a warm smile, followed closely by Franklin Latt—Pedro’s manager.  

“Good evening,” the hotel manager greeted. “I hope you’ve been enjoying your stay. I wanted to let you know that your room is now ready, miss.”  

Your breath hitched for a split second.  

Right. The room.  

It was easy to forget after the last few days, the way you’d fallen into such a natural rhythm with Pedro. Sharing his suite had felt so… effortless. You blinked, trying to process the sudden shift.  

“Oh,” you said, your voice soft, almost reluctant. “Right. That was, uh… this week.”  

You glanced at Pedro, and for a fleeting moment, something passed between you—a flicker of disappointment mirrored in his eyes.  

You shifted on your feet, clearing your throat. “Okay, um… I guess I need to pack, then.”  

The hotel manager smiled politely. “The room is ready for you whenever you’re ready to move, miss.”  

Pedro opened his mouth before you could respond, a little too quickly. “Actually, do you think she could switch tomorrow? It’s been a long day, and she still needs to pack her things. We’re both pretty wiped out.”  

His voice was casual, but there was an edge of determination that made you glance up at him, your heart fluttering at how easily he’d jumped in for you.  

The hotel manager hesitated but nodded. “Of course. If you’d prefer to transfer tomorrow, that can be arranged.”  

Franklin, however, raised an eyebrow, his sharp gaze flickering between you and Pedro. His eyes caught on Pedro’s jacket draped around your shoulders, the sleeves too long for you, the fabric worn in all the right places.  

Your face heated up as you tugged the jacket a little tighter around yourself, hoping it would hide the rush of color in your cheeks.  

Franklin crossed his arms, his expression somewhere between amused and suspicious. “Tired, huh?” he said, his tone light but pointed. “You sure that’s the only reason?”  

Pedro shot him a look, his brow arching in silent warning. “Relax, Frank. We’ve been out all day, walking around the city. She’s exhausted.”  

Franklin chuckled, clearly not buying it but deciding to let it go—for now. “Right. Well, don’t let me keep you.”  

The hotel manager nodded again. “Just let us know when you’re ready to move rooms. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”  

She and Franklin walked off, leaving you and Pedro standing in the middle of the lobby, the hum of quiet conversations around you. For a second, neither of you spoke.  

Pedro scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “So… I guess you’re stuck with me for one more night.”  

You tried to laugh, but it came out softer than you intended. “Guess so.”  

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped inside together. The air between you felt charged again, like earlier, but now tinged with something deeper—something fragile and new.  

Pedro leaned against the wall of the elevator, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “If I’m being honest, I’m kinda glad you’re not leaving just yet.”  

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to play it cool. “Oh yeah? Afraid of being lonely?”  

He chuckled, his voice low and warm. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just gotten used to having you around.”  

The words settled in your chest like a secret you weren’t sure you were ready to unpack. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything in return, so you just smiled, a little shy, a little flustered.  

When the elevator dinged, Pedro followed you out, his hand resting lightly on your back again as you made your way to the suite. It was such a small thing, but it grounded you in ways you hadn’t expected.

Maybe you’d sort through those feelings tomorrow, when the lines between friendship and something more didn’t feel so blurred.  

But tonight?  

“One last movie night?” you asked softly as you swiped the keycard, pushing the door open. You glanced over your shoulder at Pedro, an almost shy smile playing on your lips.  

Pedro’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned, stepping in behind you. “It doesn’t have to be the last one,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “We can have as many movie nights as you want.”  

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight you weren’t sure he meant to put there. Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten in the best way possible.  

You kicked off your shoes, trying to shake off the flutter in your stomach, and headed for the couch. Pedro shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair, moving to grab a couple of waters from the kitchenette.  

“Okay,” you said, settling into the couch cushions, pulling a blanket over your lap. “But I’m picking the movie this time.”  

Pedro handed you a bottle of water and plopped down beside you, close enough that his knee bumped yours. “Deal. What are we watching?”  

You tapped your chin dramatically, pretending to be deep in thought. “Something light. No brooding detectives or tragic endings.”  

He laughed, the sound low and easy. “Are you saying my movie choices are too intense?”  

“Not too intense,” you teased, opening the streaming app. “But I’m in the mood for something that won’t make me question the meaning of life.”  

Pedro leaned back, resting an arm on the back of the couch behind you. His fingers brushed your shoulder, barely there, but it sent a spark down your spine anyway. “Fair enough. Surprise me.”  

You clicked on a romantic comedy and settled in, trying to focus on the movie and not the warmth of Pedro beside you. But it was hard to ignore—the way his thigh pressed gently against yours, the sound of his soft chuckle whenever something funny happened on screen, the way he stole glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.  

About halfway through the movie, you felt your head naturally tilt toward his shoulder. You hesitated for a second, nerves twisting in your chest. But then Pedro shifted ever so slightly, making it easier, like he was inviting you to stay.  

“You comfortable?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“Yeah,” you said softly, your cheek resting against him. “You make a pretty good pillow.”  

He chuckled, the sound vibrating under your ear. “I try.”  

Neither of you moved after that, the movie fading into the background. The world outside the suite felt far away, like it didn’t matter. Not right now. Not with him.  

Maybe you’d unpack those feelings tomorrow.  

But tonight?  

Tonight, you let yourself fall a little further. 

End Notes:

This was one of the chapters I was dreading to write. Not cause I didn’t want to write it—

Cause I knew, from a writer’s perspective, at some point, I had to subvert the expectation of, “They’ll be roommates the entire time and fall in love.”

And yes, I did the thing where I gave you something you wanted/something good and then took it away from you LMAO ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I mean… at least you get your own room now! So that counts for something— (please don’t show up at my house aHHHH)

Also, five chapters in, I had to give ya'll a little smooch... just a little... hehe

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

[kxsagi]

“𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐲”

a/n: based on this!

it’s honestly unfair how famous you are. 

not just “front row at fashion week” famous or “gets surprise flowers from designers” famous. no, you are the woman. the woman of the decade. the woman of the century. the woman everyone either wants to be, wants to marry, or wants to be adopted by. it’s global. international. peasants know your name. politicians have posters of you in their offices. pop stars write songs about you and your career. your wedding at twenty was televised and momentarily broke peace treaties in three countries because no one wanted to miss it. 

and despite all this, you still look like you’d throw hands if someone touched your man without permission. 

you married young, and to a man whose name can silence entire stadiums. a man just as disgustingly in love with you as you are with him. the kind of love that makes people sigh dreamily and gag a little. mutual. sickening. soulmate-coded. the internet has never recovered. 

so when you walked onto that late night interview show in your sunglasses and million-dollar smile, the audience erupted. cheers, tears, screams of “MOTHER!” and “SHE’S HERE!” filled the room. you waved like a benevolent queen, high-fived a teenage fan in the front row, and sat down with the grace of someone who knew the world revolved around her and her alone. 

the interviewer blinked at you like they couldn't believe you were real. “i have to say, you look stunning tonight.” 

you laughed, low and easy. “thank you. i stole this outfit from coco chanel herself.” 

the crowd screamed again. 

the interview went smoothly at first. questions about your upcoming projects. your career milestones. your recent appearance at the met gala where you’d made headlines for not blinking once during the entire red carpet. the fans ate it up. the comments online were already calling you mother, icon, CEO of their hearts. 

and then, mid-way through the interview, the host leaned forward with a little glint in their eye. 

“so… we’ve all seen the fan edits. the montages. the insane compilations. i have to ask… how’s your sex life with your husband?” 

the audience sucked in a sharp breath. 

your lips twitched. 

“oh, naughty,” you hummed, voice dripping with amusement as you crossed one leg over the other. “buttttt i won’t be saying anything, because i’ve seen the fandom edits. i know what y’all are capable of. i’m not giving you another frame to turn into a ‘me x my husband moaning in 4k’ tiktok.” 

the crowd exploded. half of them screamed. the other half cried. one person fainted. 

the host choked, laughing. “wait, wait. you watch the edits?” 

“of course,” you replied smoothly. “i have to see what my digital doppelgänger is doing. sometimes the plots are better than actual TV shows.” 

a fan in the audience shouted, “IS YOUR HUSBAND JEALOUS?” 

you smirked. “jealous? he makes fake accounts just to defend me in the comments.” 

that was the end of the interview, essentially. nothing else mattered. the internet went feral. the words 'naughty but no moaning tiktok sorry’ trended worldwide. fan accounts posted clips of the moment on loop, edits rained down within hours, and despite your very clear warning, the fandom somehow went harder than ever. 

there were now more suspiciously well-edited videos. some with you and your husband in soft domestic bliss, others labeled “you can’t tell me they didn’t do it in the kitchen after this interview.” some of them were too well-edited. you scrolled a bit through tik tok days later, narrowed your eyes, and muttered, “that audio was fake. i did not say ‘daddy’ like that.” 

your husband passed by, peeked at your phone, and mumbled, “i kind of like that one. they gave me a six pack.” 

“as if you don’t have one.” 

the fanbase? oh, it's unhinged. there’s the main fandom, the professionals who have followed your rise since you were eighteen and treat you like royalty, and then there’s the reader x character fandom, a subculture so passionate they’ve created an entire parallel timeline. you’ve seen it all. fanfiction with 300k words. hand-drawn comics. romantic timelines. detailed analysis on your zodiac compatibility with your husband (as if you weren’t married for four years now). 

and you? you love them. adore them. blow kisses and comment emojis and once personally called out a stalker in the dms like: 

❌ you. in the bushes yesterday. blocked. 

✅ everyone else. you may continue to thirst in peace. 

the world can’t get enough of you. neither can he. your names are etched into pop culture history like an eternal love spell. and even though you tried to warn the internet… somewhere, in the depths of fandom editing hell, a new video is rendering. 

title: “reader x husband – ‘naughty’ scenes the interview DIDN’T show 😭💥💍🔥” 

you sigh, drop your head back, and mutter, “gosh. i love being famous.” 

and the comments? 

“THEY’RE NOT JUST A COUPLE. THEY’RE A RELIGION.” 

“i want a love like that or i’ll perish.” 

“her and her man are SO unserious. goals.” 

“mother is mothering again.” 

god help anyone who thinks they can match your energy. 

you’re the woman. and he’s your man. the world’s just lucky to witness it. 

characters: any boy from blue lock 😚💙

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[vivieenee]

can i request hcs on Jason todd dating childhood best friend?? :))

Jason Todd Headcanons

†Childhood friend turned to sweetheart edition †

★ Jason who first saw you and your family moving into his apartment complex and decided to help you carry a few things next door.

★ Jason who was offered cookies and hot coco as a thank you was surprised and very grateful to you.

★ Jason who is often found on the rooftop of the apartment building in the middle of the night was suddenly joined by you.

★ Jason who found himself opening up to you whenever you guys have late night talks.

★ Jason who slowly realized how much he wants to be with you.

★ Jason who never got the chance to say goodbye when he was suddenly adopted by Bruce Wayne.

★ Jason who wrote letters apologizing for suddenly leaving but never had the courage to send them.

★ Jason who saved you from robbers a year after he became Robin.

★ Jason who accidentally told you his secret identity and was relieved when you promised to keep his secret.

★ Jason who came back to the habit of seeing you on the rooftops and having those late night talks once again.

★ Jason who found himself asking you out after a few months of reconnecting.

★ Jason who surprised you with a rooftop picnic as your first date.

★ Jason who took you out on multiple dates before he was caught by the Joker.

★ Jason whose last 7 minutes were every moment the two of you spent together.

★ Jason who after being resurrected became insecure of what he has become and used the alias Red Hood to try and forget his past.

★ Jason who after a few years has met you once again in the same rooftop as your first date.

★ Jason who waits for you to calm down before explaining himself.

★ Jason who was afraid that you'd now hate him after what he has done.

★ Jason who was surprised when you kissed him for the first time after he told you everything.

★ Jason who knew that being with you was dangerous but he's willing to take that risk and protect you if it means he'll be with you once again.

A/n: I hope this is what you wanted and sorry in advance if this isn't your liking. I wanted to make this into a full on fic but I don't know if that's better or not. Also thank you for the support! I'm surprised that this blog actually got attention.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Dogs: Christmas

Keira Walsh x Laura Feiersinger x Child!Reader

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle x Child!Reader

Summary: Christmas with Pup

Lucy scrubs a hand over her face, yawning as she forces her eyes not to slump closed.

Late nights and early mornings clearly didn't agree with her anymore as she watches you whizz around the room with too much energy for seven in the morning.

Keira's seemed to doze off in the armchair by the tree while Ona and Laura happily work around each other in the kitchen.

"Presents now, please?" You ask, skidding to a stop in front of Lucy, who's only just realised that your Baby Sibling has finished their bottle of milk and fallen asleep again in her arms.

Lucy yawns. "You know the rules. No presents until everyone is ready. Ona and Laura are still busy with breakfast."

"I get them!"

"No, wait, Pup-"

You're already gone though and Lucy groans, moving your Baby Sibling up and attempting to burp them.

"She has too much energy," Keira complains, voice thick with sleep.

"You're not the one that got woken up first."

Keira yawns. "That's because she knows that she's got to wait until her clock has certain numbers to come and wake me and Laura. Why do you think I taught her numbers so early? I keep telling you to do the same but-"

You come skidding in again, slip-sliding over the area of wooden flooring before you're safely on carpet again.

"Mami and Mama say nearly ready! Have little pigs in blankets for us!"

"That's-" Another yawn from Lucy "-Great, Pup. Why don't you go and separate all the gifts into piles. Can you remember how to spell everyone's names?"

Your little face falls and you shuffle anxiously on your feet. "I don't. Sorry, Mum. I forgot."

"That's alright," Keira says, sitting up and snagging a pen and pad from the table," I'll write them out and then you can match the spelling to the words you see, alright?"

"Okay!"

By the time Ona and Laura come in with a tray of pigs in blankets and other small snack food that had all been properly cooked last night, you've managed (with Keira's help) to make little piles of presents for everyone.

You sit happily in the centre of the floor with Narla and Coco.

"You aren't going to open your presents, Pup?" Laura asks.

"No, Mama. I wait."

"Pup made us all gifts," Ona says," I think she's waiting for us to open them."

It's Keira that gets to hers first. It's quite badly wrapped but that's because you and Pina ended up fighting over the wrapping paper and tape at the arts and crafts table during training.

"That's us!" You say, pointing at the little misshapen plastic charm things that hang off the bracelet. "Is you because you've got your pretty curls!"

"Oh, Pup...That's so thoughtful, sweetheart."

Lucy's misshapen charm of herself is meant to have sunglasses on her because you think she's cool while you'd painted Ona's with stripes because she's fast like a cheetah and Laura's charm's head was fat because it was meant to represent the helmet she wears when she takes you climbing.

"Alright," Lucy says, hands covering your eyes," Now it's time for big presents. One from me and your Mami and one from your Mummy and Mama, alright?"

You try to pry Lucy's hands from your eyes. "And then tea time? Want to try my new puppy mug."

Lucy laughs. "Yes. Big presents and then we'll go and make a big brew so you can try out your new puppy mug."

"You ready, Pup?" That's Keira now.

"I'm ready!"

"Now," Lucy says," This one is from me and Mami."

Her hands peel away and you blink your eyes into focus.

Ona is standing behind a massive box.

"It's for your room in London," She says," Lucy's going to drill these into the wall for you."

"Like the climbing gym Mama take me too!"

"Exactly like that," Ona laughs," A little rock climbing wall just for you in the house with Mum!"

"Wow!" You say, eyes wide and face beaming with happiness," Thank you, Mum! Thank you, Mami!"

Lucy ruffles your hair. "You'll be the best climber in the world in no time!"

Keira rolls her eyes. "You better make sure those panels are secure, Lucy, otherwise you'll be in major trouble."

Lucy grins. "I've got this, don't worry."

Keira's hands covers your eyes now and you sit up properly again.

"And this big present is from me and Mama," She says," You're going to have to be very still and very quiet, can you do that?"

"I can."

"Good girl. I knew you could."

There's silence for a long while and then someone - Ona, you think - gasps.

"Kie, you didn't..." Lucy says.

There's a bit of movement in front of you and something wet comes across your cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Pup," Laura says as Keira removes her hands from your eyes.

Mismatched eyes stare back at you, a little tongue poking out of a little mouth and a little tail thumping against Laura's body.

"Puppy!"

Keira laughs. "Yeah, Pup, your Christmas puppy."

"My Christmas puppy? Mine?"

"Of course," Laura says," A puppy just for Pup."

"Is...Is a boy puppy or a girl?"

"It's a girl, Pup."

"I..." You look between your parents. From Keira to Laura and then from Ona to Lucy. "I...My book please? My puppy book?"

"I'll get it," Lucy says, standing up with your Baby Sibling in her arms," This one needs to be put down for a nap anyway."

You go flipping through your dog encyclopaedia the moment you're given it, trying to match a page in your book to the puppy in front of you.

You find it eventually, turning the book around for the puppy to say.

"This you," You tell her and you're pretty sure her tail wags even harder. "You're from...Mummy, what this word?"

"Australia, Pup. We went to Australia for the World Cup, do you remember?"

You don't actually but you nod anyway, looking back to your puppy.

"You're from Aus-tra-lia so...So you're like Bluey! Bluey's from there."

Your puppy wages her tail super hard.

"So...I call you Bluey. Merry Christmas, Bluey!"