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kingdomvel · 2 months ago

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Steddie | modern au | famous actor Steve Harrington | 3.4k | ao3

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Eddie can’t stop the laugh that comes out of him because of the video on his screen, Gareth snickering next to him.

“This is great, I have to show this to the others later,” Eddie says. His fingers move automatically, pressing on the send icon and then on the profile at the very top, a move he has done hundreds of times.

“Dude, did you just send that to Steve Harrington?” Gareth asks with a dumbfounded tone.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you acting like that’s normal?”

“Because it is? I just send him the posts I find funny to find them later.”

“You know there is a way to save posts so that they are organized, right?”

“I don’t like it and this is like way easier.”

“It’s literally not,” Gareth says, but Eddie doesn’t pay attention to him or stop.

“Look,” he goes to the front page, slides to the dms and opens the conversation with Steve Harrington, always at the top. “It’s just right there.” He starts scrolling up to show him the long string of unanswered memes and videos, but Gareth interrupts him.

“Wait, wait. Scroll back down, what the fuck is that? Does he read your messages?” He is pointing to the little icon with Harrington’s profile picture just above the last video he’s sent. Eddie shrugs.

“It’s probably a bored media guy enjoying some memes on the clock or making sure I’m not a weirdo, it’s not like Steve Harrington actually uses this account.”

“You are a weirdo, I’m surprised you are not blocked yet.”

Eddie is on his phone, passing the time as he keeps an eye on the lonely customer currently looking through the new vinyls. It’s a routine, a mindless action as he saves another post to show the guys later, preferring to see their reactions in person. Nothing ever happens, that’s why he gets surprised to the point of sitting up when a notification appears on his screen.

Steve.hrrgtn: Dude, you just made me laugh in the middle of a table reading

Eddie freezes as the notification disappears. Did he see that right? He couldn’t have seen that right.

He goes to his dms and surely, there at the top, is a message from THE Steve Harrington, or at least from his account. A table reading. It has to be him, right? Not an intern or a media guy. The one and only.

Eddie sends a look to the customer, still engrossed in the new releases. He is tempted to call her so she can check if the message is real or an hallucination provoked by his boredom. When he looks down, the message is still there. It is also still there when he opens the conversation. His fingers hover over screen.

He can picture him, sitting around a long table with his castmates, hiding his phone like a student in class but unable to keep his laugh in.

The vision is a bit surreal. He made Steve Harrington laugh.

Batking: why are you looking at your phone in the middle of a table reading

Steve.hrrgtn: new season boring af

It’s Eddie the one that can’t keep his laugh in this time. The girl sends him a look, but he doesn’t care.

Batking: should you be telling me that?

Steve.hrrgtn: I don’t even care at this point tbh

Batking: you are the one that signed the contract my guy

Steve.hrrgtn: I didn’t

Steve.hrrgtn: Never let your parents sign you into a multi season show when you are fifteen

Batking: I’ll keep that in mind for my next life

Batking: Sorry your parents made you a millionaire and famous

Steve.hrrgtn: 💀💀💀

Steve.hrrgtn: but really, at the time I thought hey it’s only a contract for five seasons for a teen drama, how bad could it be?

Steve.hrrgtn: now here I am, almost ten years later, listening to the worst script you have heard in your life

Batking: that does sound awful

Batking: you are making me happy that my folks are not in the picture

Is Eddie about to vent about his life to Steve fucking Harrington? It seems like it.

In the end, he doesn’t, because Harrington doesn’t answer to his message, probably swept away into actually working, or maybe he realised how weird it was that he was talking so casually to a guy he didn’t know.

Eddie doesn’t have time to wallow on it too much, because the girl comes to the counter with a vinyl and a question. The interaction with the famous actor moving to a part of Eddie’s brain normally reserved to daydreams.

Eddie thought that his interaction with Steve Harrington would be a one time thing, the guy looking at his phone because he was too bored and answering his message because, by some kind of cosmic coincidence, Eddie had happened to send it at the perfect moment. Just an impulsive action that he had regretted later. That’s why he is surprised when he gets a new notification after sending him the worst kind of shitpost ever, the ones that the algorithm feeds him at 2am – the current time – and send him in a fit of giggles with their complete absurdity.

Steve.hrrgtn: where do you even find these things

Batking: you are just jealous my algorithm is better than yours

Steve.hrrgtn: yeah everyday I dream about my instagram showing me a pig made with a sausage and sticks surfing some rotating meat skewers

Batking: It made you laugh though

Steve.hrrgtn: …..

Steve.hrrgtn: It did

Eddie lets out a short, disbelieving snort. It’s a bit crazy, knowing that somewhere out there a famous heartthrob is looking at his messages at 2am and laughing.

Unless this is the media guy.

Eddie prefers to believe that he is so funny he made a guy with millions of followers want to talk to him. Twice.

Batking: why are you awake at this hour anyway

Batking: shouldnt you be getting your beauty sleep

Steve.hrrgtn: we start filming the new season tomorrow

Steve.hrrgtn: today?

Steve.hrrgtn: and I can’t sleep

Batking: nightmares about the boring script

Batking: I see

Steve.hrrgtn: you could say that

Batking: well, check this out, your nightmares will go away

He sends another stupid meme (of the best kind, the ones from accounts that write in Cyrillic) and receives a set of skull emojis in answer.

Steve.hrrgtn: why have you stopped sending me memes

The message takes Eddie by surprise. It’s been a week since he texted with Steve Harrington for the second time – which still feels a bit surreal-, and he had decided to stop bothering the poor guy now that he knew he saw his messages. Going to his saved posts was still a nightmare, but Eddie knew how to behave.

Batking: didnt want to bother you now that you are working and I know you see them

Steve.hrrgtn: they have been my main entertainment for months you can’t just stop now when I need them most

Eddie blinks at the message. Months? The confirmation stuns him. The one that had been seeing his messages had always been him and not some media guy? Eddie remembers catching his name a few times on his Instagram stories. This is a bit trippy, if he is honest.

Batking: okay

Batking: as my liege commands

Batking: from now on I am your knight in shining armour your sole provider of memes

Batking: *reel attached*

Batking: did you kill the villain today?

Steve.hrrgtn: This is a teen drama???

Batking: *reel attached*

Batking: so, is the bad guy dead yet?

Steve.hrrgtn: Again???

Steve.hrrgtn: I told you like a thousand times that there is no bad guy to kill

Steve.hrrgtn: have you even watched my show?

Batking: I mean the scriptwriter

Steve.hrrgtn: lmao

Steve.hrrgtn: no, he is sadly not dead yet

Steve.hrrgtn: I think killing him would be a breach of my contract somehow

Batking: a pity

Batking: the way he insists on making your character straight? He deserves death.

Batking: don’t worry joe from normal life, I saw the way you looked at dacre, I know what you are

Steve.hrrgtn: I think that might have just been the way I was looking at Billy, the guy’s fucking hot

Steve.hrrgtn: an asshole though, glad he is not on the show anymore

Eddie pauses, his eyes reading the last two messages time and time again. Did Steve Harrington, heartthrob and ladies man, just admit to being attracted to a male coworker? Eddie’s thumbs hover over the keyboard. He looks up at Gareth from his place in their couch. He is not paying attention to him, too focused on his laptop.

Eddie is having a bit of a crisis here and his roommate is ignoring him. Maybe it’s best that he is, Eddie doesn’t really want to share this with anyone. Should he bring attention to it? Should he just ignore it and brush it off? The decision is not that difficult in the end. He needs to know. He knows that there is no way he has any possibility of actually bagging Steve Harrington. Exchanging messages and memes is one thing, a pseudo friendship is one thing, but something more? Not fucking likely.

He still needs to know.

Batking: did I just get exclusive confirmation that Steve Harrington likes men? Should I call tmz?

Steve.hrrgtn: you wouldn’t get any money

Steve.hrrgtn: I’ve been out as bisexual for years, the media just chooses to ignore it

Steve.hrrgtn: wow look at these pictures of Steve Harrington with his new male best friend that he goes to dinner and all premieres with! Totally platonic! Oh now they have stopped hanging out completely? What could have happened to their friendship?

Steve.hrrgtn: he cheated on me, that’s what happened

Eddie blinks at his screen. So, he had tried to avoid learning anything about Steve that the man didn’t tell him himself. Just a chivalrous, treat the guy like a normal person gesture, but now he is wondering if he should have paid a bit more attention.

Batking: ah yes, the joys of compulsory heterosexuality and conformity

Batking: that sucks, dude

Steve.hrrgtn: did you really not know anything about it?

Batking: sorry to burst your celebrity bubble where everyone knows everything about your life

Steve.hrrgtn: no no, it’s… nice

Steve.hrrgtn: I have a question though

Steve.hrrgtn: why did you start sending me memes if you were not really interested in me?

Batking: well

Batking: I needed someone very famous that wasnt likely to really see my messages and seemed chill enough to not block me immediately

Batking: and dude, you are like waaay more famous than the show you are in, it’s ridiculous, thought you must be a douche for a long time

Batking: but an interview with you and your friend Robin showed up on my fyp and I saw that you were pretty chill

Batking: so it was between you and Timothee Chalamet

Batking: and it ended up being you because you are hotter

Steve.hrrgtn: of course I am

Steve.hrrgtn: thank you for choosing me tho

Batking: anyone would have

Steve.hrrgtn: the casting director of a complete unknown didn’t think the same

Batking: well thats THEIR loss

Batking: you do a great job with the shitty script of normal life

Batking: you would have acted the fuck out of bob dylan

Steve.hrrgtn: I do a better job in my other stuff

Batking: you have other stuff??

Batking: I’m going to be honest with you here, I only watched normal life so I had context to bitch about the boring new season with you

Eddie looks at the three little dots that indicate that Steve is writing appear a disappear a few times. Did he fuck up? Maybe he sounded too eager, maybe Steve thought it was a bit weird that Eddie assumed they would continue talking. But they have been talking for weeks now. Was it bad to assume?

Eddie closes the app, deciding to give the guy some privacy to write down what he wants to write down and heads to the kitchen to prepare his dinner. If Gareth senses the way his mood has soured, he doesn’t say anything about it.

It takes a couple of hours for an answer to appear. It’s simple.

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s nice of you

It’s Steve the one that starts the conversation a couple of days after that. Eddie only sees his messages an hour after he sends them, too busy with customers. The group of notifications on his screen when he is finally able to look at his phone very welcome.

Steve.hrrgtn: so I just realised

Steve.hrrgtn: well, my best friend made me realise

Steve.hrrgtn: she basically said that it’s weird that I’ve been talking with you for weeks and don’t know anything about your actual life and that you could actually be a stalker with a lot of patience or something like that

Steve.hrrgtn: so tell me about yourself? You are not living like down the street from me and waiting for the right moment to kidnap me like Robin says are you?

Eddie tries not to feel giddy at the thought of Steve talking about him to his friends. He has not done it himself, mostly because he tried once and they made fun of his ‘delusions’ as they called it. Whatever. He doesn’t really expect Steve to still be online, probably already swept out to his own job, so he just sends his answer.

Batking: a very reasonable fear, some facts to follow

Batking: I live as far from you as you live from Chicago

Batking: I am a humble employee at a record store where I have to deal with pretentious assholes daily that don’t really care about music and just about bragging about their record collection

Batking: I also have a band with my friends

Batking: we have a whooping 1756 listeners on spotify

Batking: I know, I know, you didn’t know you were talking with a rockstar try not to be very starstruck

The answer, to his surprise, comes almost immediately.

Steve.hrrgtn: 1757

Batking: what?

Steve.hrrgtn: what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t listen to your band now that I know it exists?

Eddie would be lying if he said that that didn’t make his heart skip a beat. Is this healthy? Probably not. Is he developing a weird parasocial relationship with the guy? Probably yes, but is it even a parasocial relationship if he is actually talking with the guy and he called him his friend? This should be considered a normal crush, a normal, hopeless crush.

Batking: a very shitty one tbh here’s the link

Steve.hrrgtn: can I ask something else?

Batking: course

Steve.hrrgtn: you only have one pic in your profile and it’s with your friends

Steve.hrrgtn: which one are you?

Eddie taps the back of his phone a few times. It’s only natural that Steve would wonder that. He could just tell him, or… Eddie opens the camera and takes a picture, too close to see his face properly but enough that Steve will know who he is in the group picture now.

Batking: *picture attached*

Batking: this one

Steve.hrrgtn: fuck

Steve.hrrgtn: okay so the thought of you only seeing me in normal life is eating me alive

The notification comes when Eddie is with his friends, preparing for a night of DnD. Eddie was looking up some music to get the atmosphere going, but the music app immediately gets abandoned in lieu of the message.

Batking: can’t get me out of your head?

He knows he has been unable to keep the stupid smile out of his face when Jeff tries to glance at his screen. Eddie immediately slams the phone against his chest.

“Jeez, I thought you were looking at stupid memes again, who are you texting that got you smiling like that?” Jeff asks. He moves back to sit straight, so Eddie can look at his phone again.

“No one,” he says as he reads the new message.

Steve.hrrgtn: so I have a couple of indie films that are very good

So Steve has decided to ignore his message. Okay.

“He’s been like this for WEEKS now,” Gareth intervenes as he sits down at his spot. “He said it was Steve Harrington when I asked him when he started and has refused to say anything else.”

“The white boy of the month?” Jeff asks.

“White boy of the century,” Eddie feels the need to correct.

Batking: that’s great and all but I can’t watch your limited release indie films anywhere

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s why I’m sharing a link to the latest one with you

Steve.hrrgtn: don’t share it with anyone though

Batking: aw breaking the rules for little ol me?

Steve.hrrgtn: yeah yeah don’t get too cocky now

Steve.hrrgtn: can’t wait for your reaction 😉

Eddie stares at the winking emoji in confusion. What is that supposed to mean?

“Can you stop texting your white boy of the century now so we can start?” Gareth asks.

“Just a second.” Eddie sends a quick message back before he moves to the music app again, chooses the first song he sees and puts the phone down.

Batking: send it to me, soldier, I will watch it tonight and give you my honest opinion

Eddie stares at the screen of his laptop, currently on his thighs as he was lounging on his bed, seeing the film Steve had sent to him. The film is currently paused, Steve’s face staring at him with eyes and mouth half open.

Okay, so Eddie just watched his famous guy turned friend have an orgasm – fake! Fake an orgasm, Eddie feels it’s very important that he makes that clear to himself – on screen after probably the most erotic sex scene he has seen in a non porno in the last 10 years. Fuck. How did he not know about the existence of this? How did this not make the news? Probably because it was with another man. Double fuck.

Maybe this is normal for Steve, for actors in general, to send their friends a link to a film where you have a soul shattering orgasm with a message about wanting to know their reaction with a winking emoji. It is not normal for Eddie. It is also not normal for his dick, who has not gotten the memo about this not being something it should be getting so excited about.

Eddie bites his lip. His finger moves on its own, backing the film a few minutes so the scene plays again. Eddie tries to convince himself that this is not weird if Steve was the one that wanted him to see this in the first place.

Eddie curses and takes a deep breath. He eyes his phone. It’s late, nearly midnight, but he knows that Steve is normally away at this hour.

Maybe this is not normal for Steve either, maybe he did want to get some kind of reaction out of Eddie.

Eddie snaps a picture of his laptop screen, careful to get the tent in his pants just in the edge of the picture. It’s very obvious on it what scene he is watching.

Batking: *picture attached*

Batking: you sure know how to get a guy hot and bothered

Maybe he can play it off as a joke if Steve didn’t mean it like Eddie wants him to mean it.

Steve.hrrgtn: glad to see my acting is that good

Fuck, Eddie fucked it up, right?

Steve.hrrgtn: it did come out very natural

Steve.hrrgtn: but the real thing looks better

Eddie feels on the edge of a precipice, as if there should be a warning on his field of vision about how his choice here will change the trajectory of his story.

Batking: can’t say

Batking: I haven’t seen the real thing, so I can’t really compare them, can I?

Steve.hrrgtn: would you want to?

Eddie can’t get his hopes up, he can’t assume, Steve is so out of his league, this can’t be happening to him.

Batking: have you acted in a porno I don’t know about?

Steve.hrrgtn: are you always this dense?

Eddie’s heart is dying in his chest, that’s the only explanation to how it’s feeling.

He doesn’t have time to type an answer, Eddie’s screen is suddenly filled with something else.

Steve Harrington is video calling him.

Eddie has never accepted a call so fast in his life before.

part 2...???

tag list: @steddiefication @tailsfromthecrypt @orionchildofhades @coralineinwonderland @theohohmoment (you didn't ask me to tag you but I guessed you'd want to see it?)

#i imagine steve as what dylan obrian is to teen wolf but even more #robin is of course the friend that was worried about the possible stalker murderer #steddie #steddie fic #my steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

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lowrisemiller · 18 days ago

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ᴄʜᴀʀɪᴛʏ ᴄᴀꜱᴇ

pedro pascal x younger!fem!reader one-shot

insta smau

or just being pedro’s secret controversially young gf . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

a chance raffle win leads to unexpected texts, slow-burning chemistry, and stolen moments with pedro pascal. she’s younger, balancing school and real life. he’s careful, charming, and maybe a little too into her for his own good. what starts off light turns tender, and one cozy night might just change everything.

masterlist | 9k words | all fiction, pedro is 45-50 and fem!reader is 23 (I don't rlly gaf if you're annoyed with age-gaps if you don't like it fucking scroll), flirting, YEARNING (you’ll never stop me), kissing, celebrity things like that paparazzi, fingering, oral f!recieving, pussy job, unprotected piv sexxx

You hadn’t even meant to enter.

Your best friend, Kelsey, had texted you in the middle of a script revision meltdown with a link and three question marks.

“A Pedro Pascal charity meet & greet raffle. $25 to enter. Winner gets a private lunch.”

It was for some children’s literacy nonprofit, and you’d clicked it half-delirious, half-joking, adding one entry just to say you did.

Two weeks later, you got the email.

You thought it was a scam. Then your phone rang—an actual event coordinator from the organization, confirming details, verifying your ID, telling you a car service would be provided, that Pedro’s team had already cleared the date.

You stared at your phone long after the call ended. You were twenty-three, in college for a degree in screenwriting, juggling a bookstore job and unpaid pitch work. Pedro Pascal had been your comfort actor since your late teens—long before the mainstream hype. You’d watched his indie films, not just the blockbusters. You knew lines of dialogue he probably didn’t even remember.

Now you were going to sit across from him. At lunch. For an hour.

You didn't even have anything to wear that didn't look like it came off a Goodwill clearance rack.

The restaurant was tucked away in Laurel Canyon, low lighting, all exposed brick and polished glass.

You checked your reflection four times in the car window. A blouse that didn't cling too tight. Mascara you applied with shaking hands. You told yourself he probably did dozens of these. He wouldn’t even remember your name.

When you arrived at the restaurant the host said, “Right this way,” and there he was.

Pedro Pascal. In a dark blue button-up, sleeves rolled to the forearms. Sunglasses pushed up in his hair. Beard trimmed. Brown eyes soft.

He stood when you walked up.

“Hey, you must be the donor,” he said warmly. “Thanks for donating.”

You managed a smile. “Thanks for being the prize.”

He laughed. A real one.

You thought it would be awkward. Stilted. But he was funny, sharp, easy to talk to. You ended up rambling about how much his performance in The Bubble meant to you—how you watched it on your laptop in your dark bedroom during a bad depressive episode, how it got you through that awful year.

He looked surprised. Touched.

“I forget anyone actually saw that movie,” he said with a lopsided smile.

“I watched it five times. At least.”

He blinked. “Wait, are you messing with me?”

“Nope.” You grinned. “I even wrote a paper on it for a class on satire. You play a man who's aware he’s a fraud but keeps smiling through it—like, that’s the whole metaphor.”

Pedro blinked again—then gave you a slow, stunned laugh, mouth slightly open.

You weren’t flirting. You were just being honest. And maybe that’s what caught him off guard.

He walked you out after. His hand hovered at the small of your back but never touched.

“Seriously,” he said, “this was the best version of one of these I’ve ever done. I usually feel like a trained monkey. This felt like…” he paused. “A real conversation.”

You tried to play it cool. “That’s the goal. I’m supposed to be a screenwriter, right?”

He smiled, wider this time. “If you ever finish something, I’d love to read it.”

You stared at him, then snorted. “That sounded like a line.”

You were standing on the curb with him now, your rideshare still a few minutes out.

Pedro leaned against the building’s side wall, sunglasses back on, arms folded. The California sun caught the edges of his hair, bringing out the warm gray in his curls. You tried not to stare.

You were failing.

“Do you ever get tired of people telling you they’ve been obsessed with you since they were sixteen?” you asked, mostly teasing.

He laughed under his breath. “Depends on how they say it.”

You glanced up at him. “And how did I say it?”

His mouth curled. “Like someone who isn’t obsessed anymore. Just curious.”

That made you blush, which only made it worse. “Right. I’m too grown for fangirling.”

He tilted his head a little. “How grown are we talking?”

You gave him a look. “Grown enough to know that question is a trap.”

He grinned. “Smart.”

The pause that followed wasn’t awkward—it was warm, almost private. Like something unsaid had passed between you, and he was waiting to see if you’d name it.

You didn’t. You weren’t that bold. But you did say, “So, are you always this charming at these things? Or did I just catch you on a good hair day?”

He chuckled, then looked at you fully, one eyebrow raised. “Can I be honest?”

“Please.”

“I thought this would be fifteen minutes of smiling, nodding, and trying to avoid weird questions about The Mandalorian. I didn’t expect to actually…” He stopped, glanced away for a second, then back at you. “...like someone.”

Your stomach fluttered. “Someone?”

“You,” he said plainly.

Oh.

You blinked. “I—um. Okay. That’s… wow.”

Pedro rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Sorry. That might’ve been too much.”

“No—no, it’s okay,” you said quickly, too quickly. “Just wasn’t expecting it.”

He smiled again, softer now. “That’s fair.”

Then, casually—almost like it was nothing—he said, “Would it be weird if I asked for your number?”

You stared at him. “Wait—seriously?”

He shrugged, smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re comfortable. If not, that’s okay. I just—” he hesitated, then said, “I think I’d like to talk to you again. Not in front of cameras. Or PR people.”

You swallowed. He was looking at you like he meant it. Like he wasn’t in a rush, like he could wait forever.

“…Okay,” you said. “Yeah. I’ll give it to you.”

Pedro handed you his phone. No hesitation.

You typed it in, heart pounding a little harder than it should’ve. Saved ___(from lunch) and handed it back.

He glanced down at it, then nodded. “I’ll text you. So you have mine.”

“Cool.” You tried to act normal. “Cool, cool, cool.”

Pedro smirked. “You’re very cool, yeah.”

Your rideshare pulled up just then. Saved by the bell. He opened the car door for you, gentlemanly as ever.

Before you got in, he said, voice low: “I’m really glad it was you.”

You didn’t even know what to say to that. So you smiled, and got in the car, and tried not to immediately check your phone.

But when it buzzed two minutes later, your breath caught.

Unknown Number: Glad I made it through lunch without embarrassing myself. – Pedro

You didn’t text back right away.

Mostly because you didn’t want to seem eager. But also because you were still staring at your phone like it had just whispered your name out loud.

You waited ten minutes.

Then typed:

You: I think we both made it out with our dignity intact.

But that’s a pending review once I replay the whole thing in my head at 2am.

The dots appeared instantly.

Pedro: Damn, you’re already funnier over text. I’m scared. Should I be worried about my performance?

You smiled, flopping back on your bed.

You: You were decent. You only said “like” twelve times in that one story about Oscar Isaac. Pedro: You counted?? You: I’m a writer. I observe. Pedro: Dangerous. Pedro: Remind me never to lie to you.

He kept texting over the next few days. Nothing crazy. Nothing that could get him in trouble.

But his messages were always right there—close enough to be curious. Casual enough to deny.

Sometimes it was jokes about his press schedule. Sometimes questions about your scripts. One night, it was a photo of an old movie on his TV.

Pedro: I think this director peaked with this one. Tell me I’m wrong. [screenshot from Days of Heaven] You: You want discourse at midnight? Pedro: I want you to talk to me at midnight.

You stared at that one for too long.

Typed. Erased. Typed again.

You: That sounds dangerously flirty for a man with a whole IMDb page. Pedro: That sounds dangerously flirty for a girl who called me “decent.” Pedro: …But I’m not taking it back.

By the end of the week, he was sending you voice memos.

Low, rough-voiced ones. Mostly teasing. Sometimes just quiet thoughts he didn’t want to type.

“You know, I reread your screenplay sample. You weren’t kidding when you said it was dark. That final scene? Fuck me. Also, I think I’m obsessed with the way your dialogue sounds.”

Another night:

“Couldn’t sleep. Thought about texting you something sexy but decided on this instead: Do you think people fall for potential, or do they fall for the version of themselves they think the other person sees?”

That one stayed in your phone for days.

You didn’t answer it. Not directly.

But your next message said:

You: If you’re ever back in L.A. and bored, I know a dive bar that makes the best nachos in the city.

We could talk about your IMDb shame pile.

Pedro: You tryna seduce me with nachos? You: Maybe. Pedro: Tell me when. And don’t wear that blouse again. Or do…

Four Weeks Later

The texts don’t come every day anymore.

He warned you. Said work was picking up again—press junkets, travel, long days on set. You said it was fine. You meant it. You’d gone in expecting one hour of his time, not a month of flirty messages and midnight voice memos.

But still, you missed it. The tiny buzz of your phone. His name lighting up your screen.

You missed the way he made you feel like he actually saw you—like you weren’t just some girl who lucked into a celebrity lunch but someone with ideas, talent, nerve.

The last message had been five days ago:

Pedro: Sitting in a hotel bar in Berlin. Bartender looks like he’s judging my wine choice.

You responded. He didn’t reply.

You told yourself he got busy. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. Maybe it didn’t mean anything.

Still, you reread the thread more than once.

He kept opening your chat. Typing. Erasing.

He didn’t know why you stuck in his head. Why you’d gotten under his skin like a song he couldn’t stop humming. You were so much younger, so new, but you had a sharpness he envied. You made him want to say shit he hadn’t thought to say to anyone in years.

And you hadn’t even done anything, really.

You were just... honest. No agenda. No sucking up. You looked him in the eye like he wasn’t on a billboard but sitting across from you at a tiny table, halfway real.

And now you were quiet.

Maybe you’d gotten bored. Moved on. Maybe it was better that way.

But when his plane landed in L.A., jet-lagged and strung out, the first thing he wanted—before coffee, before sleep—was to see if you were still around.

You’re watching a terrible dating show in your apartment, sipping flat wine, wearing the same hoodie three days in a row when your phone buzzes.

Pedro: Back in town. That nacho place still open?

You stare at it.

Then:

You: It closes at 2am. So yeah. Still time for questionable choices. Pedro: Are we talking about food or me? You: Don’t make me say it. Pedro: Say it in person.

Then:

Pedro: Tomorrow night?

Your stomach flips.

It’s been weeks. You thought he forgot. You thought maybe you dreamed the whole thing.

You wait ten seconds.

Then:

You: Tomorrow night.

The bar is dim and humming when you walk in. Wood-paneled walls, strings of yellow bulbs, and that warm, greasy smell that hits just right after 9 p.m.

You spot him instantly.

Pedro’s in the far booth—back against the wall, baseball cap low, beer bottle sweating in front of him. He’s dressed down: jeans and a hoodie, that you recognize from one of his press photos.

He looks up and sees you. Smiles.

Not the friendly kind. The fuck-I-missed-you kind.

“Hey,” you say as you slide into the booth opposite him.

“Hey yourself,” he murmurs, eyes not leaving yours.

You settle your bag beside you. Try to ignore the way your heart’s fluttering like it’s your first date in high school.

He leans forward slightly. “You look…”

You raise an eyebrow. “Tired?”

He laughs. “No. Just better than I remembered.”

You smirk. “You say that to all the raffle girls?”

Pedro grins and takes a sip of his beer. “You think I’m doing a lot of raffle lunches lately?”

You don’t answer. You just meet his eyes—and hold them a second too long.

The first drink goes fast. So does the second.

Conversation’s easy again—teasing, snappy, laced with innuendos but grounded in that same curiosity he showed the first time.

“You’ve got that look again,” you say at one point.

He tips his head. “What look?”

“Like you’re thinking too much.”

Pedro taps his fingers on the table. “I am.”

“About what?”

“You.”

That shuts you up. For a beat.

“Okay,” you say carefully. “You’re officially flirting.”

“Only officially now?”

You glance at him. “Are we pretending we haven’t been doing that for weeks?”

He leans in a little, voice lower. “I haven’t been pretending, cariño.”

That word—cariño—drops right down your spine.

You sip your drink just to buy time.

Half an hour later, the nachos are cold and forgotten.

He’s shifted to your side of the booth. Close enough that his thigh brushes yours when he moves.

You can feel the heat of him—slow and steady, like a stove left on low.

“You’re braver than I thought,” he murmurs, voice near your ear.

You turn your head, pulse thrumming. “Why?”

He’s looking at your mouth when he says, “Because I think you know exactly what this is.”

You swallow.

“You think it’s a game?” you whisper.

“No.” His eyes lift to meet yours again. “I think it’s trouble.”

You let the silence stretch. Then, quietly:

“I think I want it anyway.”

Pedro exhales, almost like relief.

His hand finds your knee under the table, gentle at first—like he’s asking.

You don’t stop him.

Back at your place — 1:07 a.m.

He doesn’t kiss you right away.

He stands just inside your apartment, glancing around like he needs to ground himself. Like he’s cataloging every detail in case it’s the only time he sees it.

“Cute place,” he says.

You shrug. “It’s fine. It has a couch, at least.”

Pedro gives you a look. “So subtle.”

You smirk, toeing off your shoes. “I’m not trying to seduce you. I’m trying to sit down without my feet throbbing.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” he says, trailing behind you into the living room. “Because when you leaned over the jukebox earlier, I swear I saw—”

“—Shut up,” you laugh, swatting his arm. “I was picking a song.”

“You were bending the laws of nature, muneca.”

You plop onto the couch and toss a pillow at him.

He catches it easily, eyes dancing.

And then he sits.

Close. Closer than necessary.

Your knees touch.

And for a moment, neither of you say anything.

His hand brushes yours.

Once.

Twice.

Then it stays.

“I keep telling myself not to do this,” he murmurs, thumb tracing the back of your knuckles.

You tilt your head. “Then don’t.”

Pedro looks at you.

Long. Direct. Hungry.

And then he kisses you.

It starts slow.

His lips soft, searching. No rush. No agenda.

But your hand slides into his hair and his body shifts, just a little, and suddenly—

His other hand is on your thigh, gripping it.

You gasp into his mouth, and it makes him groan. A low, broken sound, like he’s been trying not to make it for weeks.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“You started it,” you whisper, breathless.

His tongue traces your bottom lip. “Don’t remind me.”

He pushes you back into the couch cushions, one knee slipping between yours, just enough weight to make you feel it.

You arch beneath him. Hips rising—seeking.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

Your hair’s messy, lips kiss-swollen, pupils blown.

“You’re so goddamn pretty,” he says, voice low. “You know that?”

You blink up at him, dazed. “You’re not bad either, old man.”

He huffed a laugh—and kissed you harder.

You end up straddling him, your hands under his shirt, his teeth grazing your neck. You whisper something shameless into his ear and he freezes, groaning into your shoulder like you just ruined his life.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice thick. “You’re dangerous.”

“You like it,” you say, biting back a smile.

“Too much.”

It doesn’t go any further.

Not because he doesn’t want to.

Not because you don’t.

But because there’s something delicious about stopping here. Something about the ache. The tease.

1:41 a.m. your apartment

You don’t get off his lap.

Even after the kissing slows. Even after his hand stills on your thigh and his breath evens out against your collarbone.

You just lean into him, cheek resting against the warm curve of his neck, and say:

“So what’s your comfort movie?”

Pedro chuckles, a low, content sound. His hands stay on you—one lightly tracing your waist, the other cradling your knee.

“You want comfort?” he murmurs. “I watched Paddington 2 three times in a row on a flight once. I cried. Full grown man. Tears.”

You sit up just enough to look at him. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

You grin, brushing your nose against his. “Mine’s Coraline. I know it’s for kids. Don’t care.”

“Oh, I respect that,” he says, nodding solemnly. “Creepy doll button eyes? That’s some formative trauma.”

You laugh into his shoulder. “Exactly.”

The conversation drifts.

From movies to music, then weird dreams, then the worst job he ever had (you make him promise never to do commercials for adult diapers), and the story of your first kiss (in a movie theater during a Marvel sequel, popcorn still in your braces).

You fall asleep like that for a while.

Wrapped around him. The TV is still on. His hoodie swallowing your frame.

It’s not a sleepover. But it’s the kind of night you only have when the flirting has already cracked open into something more dangerous—something real.

5:07 a.m.

He kisses you again on the sidewalk, slow and tired and a little reluctant.

The Uber’s headlights bounce off the curb.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay?” he murmurs, thumb brushing your hip.

You raise your brows. “You’d behave?”

“No.”

“Then go home.”

Pedro grins, teeth sharp in the early morning haze. “I hate that you’re right.”

“You love that I’m right.”

He kisses your forehead. “Text me when you wake up, cariño.”

Then he climbs into the car and disappears into the fading dark.

Later

You you looked like a mess when you left was kind of hot

Pedro don’t start i walked into my kitchen like a teenager head against the fridge door. dramatic sigh.

You “what is she doing to meee…”

Pedro don’t mock the broken man

You it’s cute I kinda like breaking you

Pedro yeah i could tell you were smiling while you ruined me

You and you didn’t stop me

Pedro never would

Pedro (real talk though… i haven’t kissed someone like that in years) what are we doing?

You no idea but i don’t really want to stop

Pedro good i’d be pissed if you did

You also i’m watching Paddington 2 tonight thought you should know

Pedro you’re trying to make me fall in love with you

You Trying?

A Few days Later

Pedro okay serious question what’s your go-to coffee order i’m at a café and there are too many words on the menu

You iced oat latte. extra cinnamon. no reason. just vibes. why?

Pedro just wondering what i’ll need to remember when i see you again it’s been a minute you free soon?

You maybe. depends. is this a brunch date disguised as a “casual hang”?

Pedro yes. and i might wear a hat and sunglasses like a criminal

You hot I’ll see you Sunday then

Two Weeks Later

Outside a café, 2:12 p.m.

You’re holding iced coffees, your oversized hoodie tucked into the waistband of biker shorts, and Pedro’s walking beside you—cap pulled low, hoodie up, sunglasses on.

You look like…friends.

Which is the goal.

Except his hand keeps brushing yours.

And when you laugh too hard at something he says about a failed audition back in ‘99, he looks at you like he feels it. Like he wants to bottle it.

You don’t even notice the guy on the opposite sidewalk.

Phone angled low.

The shutter click barely audible.

Another car slows down. Just a beat.

Pedro notices first.

His body tenses next to yours.

You follow his gaze. A pair of figures across the street. Hoodies. Big lenses. Moving fast.

Click click click.

You suck in a breath. “Shit.”

He doesn’t grab your hand.

He can’t.

Instead, he leans in like he’s just whispering something dumb.

“Just keep walking,” he mutters. “Act like you’re annoyed with me.”

You glance up at him. “That’s not hard.”

He grins, tight-lipped. “Atta girl.”

You duck into a bookstore.He buys a random novel and keeps the receipt.

You pretend to browse while your stomach spins.

He brushes his hand against your back briefly as you walk toward the back exit.

“Your face was covered,” he says quietly. “You’re fine.”

But he doesn’t sound entirely convinced.

You slip your sunglasses on, exhaling.

“I knew this might happen,” you mutter. “Still sucks.”

Pedro looks at you for a second too long. Then, under his breath:

“If anything ever actually comes out…I’ll handle it.”

You nod.

But it hangs there. Heavy.

You’re still you. Still just 23. Still not used to this world he lives in.

But the part that makes your pulse spike isn’t fear.

It’s the way his voice dipped when he said “I’ll handle it.”

Like he already decided he would.

Like you weren’t just a girl from a raffle anymore.

Pedro they didn’t get anything you’re safe

You you sure?

Pedro i’ve done this a long time if they had something good it’d be online already trust me

You i do just didn’t expect it to feel that...real

Pedro it is real at least for me

You i know. me too.

Pedro next time no public sidewalks just you my place pizza and zero danger

You and maybe another dramatic sigh against your fridge?

Pedro oh i’m already practicing i’ll be thinking about you all week

You good maybe i’ll make you wait again

Pedro maybe i’ll let you

Few More Days Later

You i just bombed my stats exam tell my family i died doing what i hated

Pedro nooooo not stats not you :(

You i’m so tired i might actually cry in the campus parking lot like a teen drama character

Pedro you want company or silence? or pizza? or a forehead kiss?

You omg

You that last one just made my brain short circuit is that allowed???

Pedro it is if you want it to be offer still stands come over i’ll put on something dumb and hold you until your brain restarts

You you’re dangerous give me an hour

That night — 8:13 p.m.

Pedro’s apartment.

The kitchen smells like garlic and fresh basil.

Pedro’s in front of the stove in a worn tee and joggers, barefoot, stirring pasta like this is just…normal. Like you always do this. Like he wasn’t in a galaxy far, far away a few months ago while you were still writing essays in the library, humming through AirPods.

“You ever cook for girls like this?” you tease lightly, watching from the counter stool.

Pedro smirks without turning around. “Not girls who make me nervous.”

You blink.

He glances back at you. “Just being honest.”

You open your mouth—then close it again.

Your throat’s warm. So is your chest. Your fingertips tingle against the glass of red wine in your hand.

The rest of the night unfurls gently. Like a held breath being let out.

He makes a simple pasta with veggies. You help slice strawberries for a little balsamic-glazed dessert (“This is so extra,” you laugh, and he just shrugs—“You deserve extra”).

You eat on the couch with the coffee table dragged closer, your knees brushing under the bowls.

Music plays low. Something acoustic and nostalgic.

His hand rests on your leg, casual but firm.

Yours finds his thigh a little later.

You’re sitting sideways in his lap again, back to his chest, your cheek against his jaw. He smells like citrus body wash and red wine and something inherently him.

His hands haven’t left you all night.

Thumb tracing slow lines into the top of your thigh. Fingertips under your hoodie hem.

He kisses your shoulder. Then your jaw.

You hum softly, turning your face toward his. He doesn’t hesitate.

The kiss starts easy. Then deeper.

And deeper.

You straddle him this time, your knees pressing into the couch cushions, your hands in his hair. His grip tightens around your hips—then softens again, like he’s reminding himself to slow down.

There’s heat. So much heat.

You shift against him, just slightly—and feel him underneath you.

He breathes hard into your mouth, breaking the kiss. “Wait—wait.”

Your foreheads press together.

You blink. “Did I do something—?”

Pedro shakes his head fast. “No, no. God, no. You’re perfect.”

You’re quiet. His thumb brushes your cheek.

“I just…” he swallows, “don’t want this to be fast. I want it to be right.”

You exhale, your nose brushing his. “Okay.”

He looks at you—tender, serious. “You trust me?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You trust me?”

Pedro leans forward and kisses you again, slower this time. His hands stay on your waist. Yours trail up the back of his neck.

Then he says the most dangerous thing of all:

“Stay tonight.”

You borrow one of his tees and wash your face in his sink with the cleanser he shyly offers you.

The bed’s big and warm. You climb in beside him, and he pulls you close, one arm under your shoulders, the other across your waist.

Neither of you says much.

But when you whisper, “You smell like something familiar,” he smiles into your hair.

And when he murmurs, “I like having you here,” you smile too.

You fall asleep curled up against him. No more nerves. No more pretending this is just for fun.

It’s not the night everything happened.

But it’s the night everything changed.

The Next Morning — 9:12 a.m.

You wake up warm.

Pressed against a solid chest, one of Pedro’s hands heavy over your waist, his breath slow and deep against the back of your neck.

It takes you a second to remember where you are.

The smell of his sheets. The weight of his arm. The stretch of your legs tangled with his.

Then it hits you.

Last night. Dinner. That kiss. Him asking you to stay.

You shift slightly, careful not to wake him.

But you feel him stir behind you.

His voice is a slow, rough murmur in your ear. “Morning.”

You twist in his arms to face him. His hair’s messy. His eyes are sleepy, half-lidded. There’s a small smile on his mouth that makes your heart kick like a rabbit.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He leans in and kisses you—soft at first. Barely there.

But then he kisses you again, firmer this time. Longer.

And it doesn’t feel sleepy anymore.

It feels like wanting.

Pedro’s hand moves under your shirt, smoothing up your back, dragging his fingers up your spine. You sigh into his mouth as you press your chest against his, your body already buzzing.

He rolls gently onto his back, bringing you with him so you’re straddling his hips. His hands settle on your thighs, his thumbs tracing slow circles just beneath the hem of your borrowed sleep shirt.

“You okay?” he murmurs, looking up at you.

You nod. “Yeah.”

His eyes search yours. “We don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you say, clear and certain. “I really want to.”

That’s all he needs.

He sits up, kisses you again—this time with intent. His hands slip under your shirt fully now, dragging it up over your head and off.

Pedro pauses when he sees you.

Like he’s trying to remember every inch.

“God,” he breathes, hands sliding up your waist to cup your chest. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You shiver as his thumbs graze your nipples. You shift forward, rolling your hips against his just a little, and feel him hard underneath you.

He groans, dropping his head to your shoulder.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,” you whisper, tugging his shirt off too.

It’s slow. He treats your body like something worth learning.

Mouth on your neck, teeth grazing your collarbone, tongue dipping below your breasts.

He lays you back and kisses down your stomach, looking up at you the whole time like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

You don’t.

You arch for him, tug his hand between your thighs.

Pedro groans when he finds you wet.

“So ready for me,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. “Jesus, baby…”

He touches you slowly, gently, working you open with his fingers until you're panting, until you're grabbing at his hair and whispering his name like it's the only word that matters.

Then he comes back up and kisses you again—deep, messy, tongue pushing into your mouth as his fingers stay between your legs, stroking you through every soft sound you make.

“You like that?” he breathes.

You nod, nails digging into his shoulder. “Yeah. God, Pedro—”

He groans, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

You smile shakily. “I’ll tell you if it’s not enough.”

When he finally pushes inside you, it’s slow.

Painfully slow.

Like he wants you to feel every inch of it. Like he wants to feel you—wrapped around him, holding him, trusting him.

You gasp. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your temple.

“You okay?”

You nod, hand fisting the sheets. “Keep going. Please.”

Pedro groans, deeper this time, and begins to move.

It’s not fast. It’s not rough.

But it’s intense.

Every roll of his hips is deliberate, slow and deep, the kind of rhythm that builds unbearable heat between your legs. He stays close, his chest brushing yours, one hand cradling your head, the other gripping your hip like he needs to anchor himself there.

You moan into his mouth. “Pedro—oh my god—”

“I know,” he pants. “I know, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, tilting your hips to take him deeper. The change makes you gasp—your whole body tightening around him.

He curses, thrusts harder once, then slows again, like he’s fighting to stay in control.

“Not gonna last,” he groans into your neck. “You’re too good—fuck—”

You cling to him, mouth at his ear. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t.

He fucks you through it—slow, patient, like he’s memorizing you.

Until you come with a cry, back arching, legs trembling.

And then he lets go.

Buried deep inside you, his arms locked tight around your body, he shudders with a groan that sounds almost broken.

Pedro lies beside you, one hand still tracing circles over your bare back.

You’re tucked into his side, head on his chest, your body boneless and warm and aching in all the right ways.

He kisses the top of your head.

You murmur, “So…”

“So?” he echoes softly.

“I don’t want to leave.”

He smiles. “Then don’t.”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze.

“Okay.”

10:36 a.m.

The bedroom’s quiet, dim with late morning light.

Pedro’s hand is still on your back, fingers idly tracing slow, lazy shapes like he doesn’t want to break the silence. You’re sprawled across his chest with your leg slung over his hip, still tangled in sheets and sleep and warmth.

You murmur, “My thighs hurt.”

Pedro laughs softly under you. “That’s a good sign, right?”

You pinch his side gently, but you’re smiling. “You’re annoying.”

He kisses your hair. “You’re glowing.”

“I’m sweaty.”

“Same thing.”

You hum, turning your face into his neck. “We should get up.”

“We don’t have to.”

“We will eventually.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. But I’m making coffee and putting on music and not wearing pants, so. Prepare yourself.”

You brush your teeth side-by-side in front of the mirror, barefoot and rumpled. He’s wearing plaid pajama pants slung low on his hips. You’re in one of his big, soft shirts that barely covers your ass.

Pedro spits, then wipes his mouth and gestures toward your reflection. “You’re doing the ‘walk of shame’ all wrong.”

“Oh yeah?”

He steps behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, kisses your shoulder. “Yeah. You’re supposed to sneak out. Look flustered. Not stand here looking like a smug little goddess.”

You lean back into him. “I can sneak if you want.”

He brushes your hair over your shoulder, mouth at your ear. “Don’t you dare.”

You perch on the counter while Pedro makes eggs and toasts thick slices of sourdough. Coffee gurgles in the French press. Music hums low from a Bluetooth speaker—Fleetwood Mac, or maybe The Rolling Stones, something vintage and cozy and a little flirtatious.

He hands you a piece of toast like it’s a peace offering.

“You’re spoiling me,” you murmur between bites.

He shrugs. “You stayed the night. That earns you toast rights.”

“What else does it earn me?”

Pedro leans on the counter next to you, pretending to think. “More coffee. Back rubs. The good chocolate from the top shelf. Maybe a foot rub if you beg.”

You laugh.

But he watches you for a second, quiet, eyes soft.

Then, a little more serious, he says, “You’re okay? With last night?”

You nod right away. “Of course I am.”

“You don’t feel—like it was too fast?”

You pause. “No. Do you?”

He looks away for a second. Then back at you.

“No. I just… I don't want to mess this up.”

Your heart thumps.

“You’re not,” you say, and it’s true. “I like being here. With you.”

Pedro steps closer. Kisses you on the forehead.

“You make me feel lucky,” he murmurs. “Like… really lucky.”

You hide your face in his shoulder, smiling into his shirt. “Sappy.”

“You love it.”

“I kinda do.”

You end up back in bed with the window open and your coffee cups half-full on the nightstand.

You scroll through your phone lazily while Pedro reads a book beside you, one hand resting on your thigh like he just needs to be touching you, even when he’s distracted.

Eventually, he sets the book down and watches you instead.

“Next time,” he says quietly, “let me take you out properly. Like a real date.”

You glance up. “Like…in public?”

He nods, hesitating. “If you want. I can be careful. Private table. Back entrance.”

You study him for a beat.

Then smile.

“Okay.”

He exhales, slow and relieved. Pulls you toward him.

And it hits you—how easy this could be. How dangerous. How close you already feel to something you shouldn’t want this badly.

But you let him kiss you again.

Because right now?

You just want more.

Pedro 🍯 Friday night okay for our scandalous outing?

You depends will there be food? and you opening doors for me like a gentleman?

Pedro 🍯 I’d open every door in LA for you even the ones I’m not supposed to

You that’s hot okay I’m in what’s the dress code? do I need to look famous?

Pedro 🍯 You are famous. In my phone. In my bed. In my head. But no—look like yourself. That’s what I like.

You you’re lucky you’re cute I’ll give you flirty and effortless

Pedro 🍯 It’s a look that destroys me every time

Friday Night – 8:04 PM

Private restaurant in West Hollywood

The hostess barely glances at you as she leads you down a narrow hallway to the back, where the lights are low and the table is tucked away in a cozy, dim corner.

Pedro’s already there, standing when he sees you. Black dress shirt, a little open at the collar. Trim beard. That soft smile that’s reserved for you now.

He says, “Wow,” under his breath when he sees you.

You grin. “That’s what you were waiting for?”

“No,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “But it’s a damn good bonus.”

He pulls your chair out for you, brushes his fingers down your arm as you sit. The tension’s quiet but buzzing. This isn’t like being at his apartment in sweats and bare legs. This is real.

The waiter arrives quickly—Pedro’s arranged everything. Wine’s already poured. A cheese plate. You’re grateful, because you’re nervous.

“Not what you expected?” he asks, eyes warm.

“It’s nice,” you say. “Just… kinda crazy. We’re really out.”

He leans in, voice low. “We don’t have to stay long.”

“No,” you say quickly, surprising yourself. “I want to.”

You talk about movies. About food. He asks about your classes. You ask about scripts he’s reading. It’s easy, even with the candlelight and clinking glasses and murmurs behind you.

But at one point, you feel someone glance toward the corner—just a shift, a flick of someone’s head.

You both go still.

Pedro reaches across the table and touches your hand, thumb brushing the back of your fingers.

“Don’t look,” he says gently. “They won’t get anything.”

You nod, swallowing.

“I’m okay,” you whisper.

His grip tightens slightly.

“So am I.”

Outside the restaurant

Pedro’s car pulls around to the back entrance just like he’d asked. You both slip out quietly, sunglasses on—even though it’s dark—and hoods up. The manager gave him a discreet nod on the way out, like this wasn’t his first time protecting someone.

Once you’re in the car, doors shut, windows up, and seat belts clicked… he finally exhales.

You laugh a little, heart still racing. “That was weird.”

“It was,” he agrees, starting the engine. “But not terrible, right?”

You glance at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been watched while eating cheese.”

Pedro grins. “To be fair, you looked very hot doing it.”

You nudge his arm. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

You do.

10:05 PM – His Apartment

He lets you in first. The lights are soft. The space smells like bergamot and whatever cologne still clings to his jacket.

You take your shoes off by the door without thinking. He shrugs out of his coat, throws it on the back of the couch. His shirt’s still half-unbuttoned.

“Wine?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Just water.”

Pedro nods and heads to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it from the fridge. You trail behind him, watching the lines of his back move beneath the dark cotton of his shirt.

When he turns, you’re sitting on top of the counter, arms crossed.

“You’re quiet,” he says gently, handing you the glass.

You take a sip. “Just thinking.”

He nods. Waits.

You hesitate. Then, “Do you worry? About people knowing?”

He pauses. Then crosses to stand in front of you, leaning back on the opposite counter, arms loosely folded.

“I do,” he says honestly. “Not because I’m ashamed. I just… I know how people talk. And I don’t want them to get it wrong.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

He watches you.

“I also don’t want to stop seeing you,” he adds softly. “So I guess I’ll figure it out.”

That makes your stomach flip.

“You don’t think it’s a bad idea?” you ask. “This?”

He tilts his head, thoughtful. Then he shook it.

“No. Not when you look at me like that.”

You blink. “Like what?”

Pedro smiles a little. “Like I’m not just some actor you had a crush on once. Like I’m… real.”

You don’t say anything, but you take a step forward. So does he.

Your hand lands gently on his chest.

“I like the real you,” you say. “Even when you’re dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic.”

“You literally made an escape plan for dinner.”

He chuckles in a low tone. “Fair.”

Your fingers hook at the collar of his shirt.

“Can I stay again?”

Pedro leans down and presses his forehead to yours.

“Please do.”

Pedro steps between your legs, his palms firm against your thighs, slowly sliding up under the hem of your dress. The fabric bunches at your hips, but neither of you cares. You’ve kissed him before, but not like this—not when everything feels like it might break open if you dare to go a little further.

“You’re killin’ me,” he mutters, lips brushing just below your ear as his hands roam.

Your breath catches. “I haven’t even done anything.”

Pedro pulls back just enough to look at you. “You wore that dress.”

You tilt your head. “You told me to.”

He smirks. “Yeah. My own damn fault.”

His mouth is on yours again—hot, unrelenting. The kiss turns hungrier. You moan into it when he presses closer, the hard line of him slotting between your thighs.

His hands are greedy now, tracing the backs of your thighs, then cupping your ass, pulling you forward against him. Your hips grind instinctively. He groans into your mouth, like he’s trying to hold back but failing.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel—Jesus—”

One of his hands slips around to your front, dragging his fingers between your legs over your panties. He feels how warm you are, how soaked the fabric is. His eyes flick up to yours, dark and full of heat.

“This all for me, baby?”

You nod, lips parted. “Been like that since dinner.”

He lets out a low, guttural sound and presses the heel of his hand right where you’re throbbing. You roll your hips against it, helpless. Your legs tighten around his waist as your back arches into him.

Pedro leans in, his voice ragged. “You want me to touch you?”

You barely manage a breathy, “Yes.”

His fingers hook into your panties, dragging them to the side. And then he touches you—slowly, carefully—like he’s trying to memorize every reaction. The pad of his middle finger slides through your slick folds, circling your clit just once.

You jerk slightly, gasping.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, watching your face. “You’re so wet already.”

You try to kiss him again, but he teases you, keeping his lips just out of reach. His fingers move lower, pressing gently at your entrance. He slips one inside, slow but sure.

Your head falls back. “Pedro—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, adding a second finger, curling them just right. “You feel fuckin’ incredible.”

You rock your hips in time with his rhythm, your moans filling the quiet kitchen. The counter is cool beneath your thighs, but you’re burning everywhere else—chest flushed, heart racing.

Pedro leans in and kisses the underside of your jaw, then your neck, his voice hot and gravelly against your skin. “I wanna see you come like this. Just like this.”

You grip his shoulders, legs trembling slightly as the pressure builds. He keeps his thumb on your clit, circling it in time with every curl of his fingers.

“Fuck—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

“I won’t, baby. I’ve got you. Let go for me.”

It hits fast. Your hips stutter, mouth falling open in a whimper as you come around his fingers, clenching tight while he keeps working you through it. He watches every second of it, like he’s completely wrecked by the sight of you falling apart in his hands.

When it’s too much, you grab his wrist, panting. “Okay. Okay—”

He kisses you then, deep and messy and full of hunger. You taste yourself on his tongue, and somehow that just makes it hotter.

“Next time,” he murmurs against your lips, voice full of promise, “it’s gonna be in bed. And I’m not gonna stop until you beg.”

You smile, still breathless. “Who says I won’t beg right here?”

He laughs softly, tucks your hair behind your ear, and leans his forehead against yours. “You’re trouble.”

“You like it.”

Pedro hums, pressing one last kiss to your lips. “I really do.”

Pedro kisses you again—more urgently this time, like he’s chasing the taste of your moan. You’re still coming down from your high, but he’s nowhere near finished. His hand strokes down your thigh, then back up slowly, deliberately. His lips drag down your neck to your collarbone, tongue flicking over the skin as he murmurs, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby.”

You squirm in his grip, panting softly. “Pedro…”

He groans when you say his name like that, like a plea. His hands slip under your thighs, and in one swift, effortless movement, he lifts you from the counter and carries you into the living room. He lays you out gently on the couch, kneeling between your legs, spreading them with his hands.

Your dress is still bunched around your hips. Your panties are crooked, barely hanging on.

Pedro looks down at you—lips swollen, legs open for him, pupils blown wide. “You want more?”

You nod, voice shaky. “I—I want your mouth.”

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He leans in, dragging your panties down your legs slowly, deliberately. You watch him with wide eyes, chest rising and falling. He kisses the inside of your thigh first—soft, reverent—then bites, just a little, enough to make you whimper.

And then he licks you.

It starts slow—his tongue parting your folds, gentle strokes that make you arch your back. But he doesn’t stay soft for long. He groans into you like he’s starving, hands gripping your thighs as he locks you in place and sucks hard on your clit. Your hips jerk up, and he just tightens his grip, flattening his tongue and dragging it slowly up and down before circling your entrance.

You’re already close again.

“Pedro, fuck—oh my God—”

He looks up at you, mouth shiny, eyes wild. “Come again for me. Just like this.”

You tangle your fingers in his hair, anchoring yourself while he devours you. He slides one finger back inside you, then another, curling them just right as his tongue works your clit. You fall apart again—loud, shaking, hips grinding against his mouth as you come harder than before.

You feel him groan when you clench around his fingers. He fucking likes how wrecked you are.

When he finally pulls away, you’re breathless and trembling. He kisses your inner thigh one more time before leaning over you, lips slick with you, eyes blown wide.

You reach for him, cupping him through his sweats. He’s rock hard and twitching under your palm. “Your turn.”

He swears under his breath, grinding into your hand. “I’ve been dying since you walked in.”

You tug the waistband of his slacks down. He helps, finally freeing himself—and your mouth waters at the sight of him. He’s thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip.

Pedro watches your face as you stroke him slowly, teasing him the way he teased you.

“You gonna let me take care of you?” you ask, sweet and soft.

He groans low. “Not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that.”

But he lets you guide him on top of you, your thighs still slick and spread. You rub his tip against your folds, not letting him in—just grinding, coating him in your arousal. You both moan at the contact.

He leans down, forehead pressed to yours, hips moving in slow, desperate circles.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he mutters.

You wrap your arms around his neck, legs around his waist, your voice a whisper against his jaw. “Next time, you’re gonna fuck me for real.”

Pedro pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “This isn’t even close to done, sweetheart.”

He ruts against you again, both of you panting now, bodies slick and sticky. He kisses you—deep and messy—as he comes against your stomach with a groan, your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

You lie there together, tangled and panting, the whole room humming with the tension that still lingers.

Pedro finally exhales a breathy laugh. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

You grin, heart racing. “Big, big trouble.”

He kisses your shoulder and smiles into your skin. “Worth it.”

You’re curled up in Pedro’s bed again, half-asleep with your cheek against his chest, his hand absentmindedly tracing lazy circles on your back.

He shifts a little beneath you, reaches over with a yawn to grab his phone from the nightstand, squinting at the screen as it lights up.

Then he goes still.

You feel it before you hear it—his body tensing just enough to draw your attention.

You peek up at him. “Everything okay?”

Pedro doesn’t answer right away. He swipes through something on his phone with a sharp breath through his nose, then hands it to you silently.

Your stomach flips.

It’s Twitter.

A photo. Grainy, long-lens, obviously taken from across the street.

Pedro Pascal on a late-night coffee date?He’s walking beside you on the sidewalk. His hood is up, and yours is too. Your face is angled down, half-covered by your oversized scarf. But it’s undeniably him.

His hand is on the small of your back. Gentle. Familiar.

The photo already has over 80k likes.

“Shit,” you whisper, sitting up a little.

Pedro watches you carefully. “Your face isn’t in it. You’re okay.”

“I mean… yeah, but people are gonna figure it out, aren’t they?” You hand him the phone, heart thudding.

There are already hundreds of quote tweets. Gossip accounts, stan edits, comments like:

“whoever she is… I fear I’m her now” “idk who she is but I know she smells like vanilla and reads poetry” “Pedro Pascal out on a date???? Real man hours” “y’all think this is PR? 😭”

You fall back into the pillows, groaning into the sheets. “I literally had exams yesterday. I was studying in a hoodie like twelve hours ago.”

Pedro chuckles softly. “And now you’re an anonymous femme fatale. Wild.”

You glance over at him. “This doesn’t freak you out?”

“Not really.” He reaches out, brushing your hair back. “I’ve been through worse. You okay, though?”

“I mean…” You sit up, wrapping the sheet around yourself. “I didn’t think this was gonna get real like that. That fast.”

Pedro watches you quietly for a moment. Then he reaches for your hand.

“We don’t have to rush anything. If you want to pull back, stay private, disappear for a bit, we can do that. But I also—” He pauses, thumb brushing your knuckles. “I like this. You and me. I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”

You soften. “I don’t want that either.”

“Then we play it smart.” He smiles a little. “Let them talk. They don’t know anything.”

You squeeze his hand. “Okay. But if I get doxxed by a thirteen-year-old running a fan cam account…”

“I’ll delete the internet for you.”

You laugh, and he leans over to kiss your temple.

Just like that, the tension fades a little. Not gone, not really, but tucked away beside the coffee cups and slow mornings and quiet confessions in bed.

You wake up later to the smell of butter and fresh coffee.

The space in bed beside you is empty, but warm. Sunlight spills through the curtains in long strips, cutting across the crumpled sheets and your bare legs. You stretch slowly, sore in the sweetest way, your body still humming from the night before.

You find Pedro in the kitchen, barefoot in his plaid pajama pants, the ones with a little rip near the pocket. He’s focused on the skillet in front of him, brows furrowed, spatula in hand like he’s trying to win an award for best boyfriend breakfast.

You linger in the doorway, quietly watching him like you’re afraid saying his name will break the spell.

He turns at just the right moment, catching you with a sleepy smile.

“Well, good morning, mystery girl.”

You grin. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? You are a mystery.” He gestures to the open laptop on the kitchen counter. “You’re trending.”

Your stomach dips. “So it wasn’t just a bad dream?”

Pedro nods. “Hashtag 'Pedro Pascal Date Night' has entered the chat.”

You groan and pad into the room, barefoot in his T-shirt, curling your arms around his waist from behind. “This is so surreal.”

He leans back into you just enough to kiss your knuckles. “You’re still you. I’m still me. Nothing changes that.”

You rest your cheek against his back. “I know, it’s just… I wasn’t expecting it to feel this big.”

Pedro turns gently in your arms and cups your face with those warm, capable hands. “Then let’s keep it small. Just you and me in this kitchen. My bad pancakes. Your bedhead. The rest can wait.”

You nod. Let him kiss you. Let him hold you like that.

A few minutes later, you’re sitting at the little dining table while he plates the eggs, toast, and strawberries in a way that’s oddly charming and not very symmetrical. He brings you your coffee just the way you like it—too much cream, not enough sugar.

“God,” you say, taking a sip. “This is dangerously domestic.”

Pedro raises an eyebrow, settling across from you. “Dangerous?”

You smirk. “You’re lucky I’m into it.”

He lets out a low laugh. “You have no idea how into you I am.”

You pause, caught off guard by how easily he says it. How it doesn’t scare you the way you thought it would.

After a beat, you lean across the table and whisper, “So what happens next?”

Pedro reaches for your hand, his thumb brushing the back of it like it’s second nature.

“Whatever you want,” he says. “We will figure it out. Together.”

And there it is again—that quiet thrum of something honest. Something with roots.

Hope.

divider by @/cursed-carmine 🏷️ @zevrra @xodilfluvr @annulmaelae @millersdoll @inbred-eater @thezatannaprint @stvrl1ghtt123 @umadirectioner @aj0elap0l0gist @heather81 @subconsciouscollapse @catch1ngmoths @littlemillersbaby @lizziesfirstwife @amyispxnk

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inupibaldspot · 1 year ago

Text

Back off,kid.

Pairing : Gojo Satoru x Reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : (Teen)Gojo is jealous over (kid) Fushiguro having a crush on you.

Fushiguro Megumi always wonders if he made the right choice every time a white-haired sunglass wearing teenager walks into the house.

The tall older boy would grin as his hands form a salute. “You doing good Megumi and Tsumiki?”

He was as useful as the indoor plants. Fushiguro thought.

Gojo wasn’t much good at cooking and neither helped with cleaning, probably because of his rich background—but he did spoil them with lots of food and pocket money but he wouldn’t ever admit that.

As much as Fushiguro would love to throw insults at Gojo, he holds back his tongue each time; Tsumiki would send sharp glare and nag him if he did.

The first friend he brought to visit them was a girl; it was after Gojo went missing for a while and when Tsumiki inquired about it ,he simply said one of his dear friend went cray-cray as his finger twirls at the temple of his head.

The girl had short, brown hair with a distinct smell of cigarette; her name was Shoko Ieiri. She wore an impressed look when she entered the house as she looked over to Gojo. “Heh— The place is pretty neat,Gojo.”

Fushiguro looked to Gojo who placed some groceries on the counter top with a proud smile on his face. “I know right!” Gojo replies.

The young boy frowns. “It’s Tsumiki who keeps the place clean.” Shoko gives Gojo a stare before she cackles.

A week later when Tsumiki was still in school with club activities, another person makes an appearance ,you. He could faintly hear conversations between you and Gojo through the front door on how you’d actually wanted to visit them sooner but was bombarded with mission before it swings open.

The first thing Fushiguro noticed was how Gojo seemed to make you enter first— other times he barges in without a care for Shoko— his hands near your back with a slight space, without touching it. Why was Gojo being nice?

You blink at the dark haired boy. “Fushiguro Megumi, right?” Gojo peers from behind as you smile. “Did you eat?”

“Not yet. Waiting for Tsumiki to get home.” Fushiguro thinks you’re the first person who is kind of decent.

You nod take plastic bag from Gojo’s hands and lift up it, your smile widen. “I’ll make you some good stuff then.”

“I want to eat your cooking too,y/n.” Gojo chirps in only to be ignored. And to your credit, it was actually good. He didn’t remember the last time he had something this good home made.

After that, your visits seemed to increase which Fushiguro Megumi did not mind, in fact he was getting fond of your presence. You helped with food, cleaning which lessened the load on Tsumiki plus you also helped him with his studies.

“You seemed to get it now, Megumi.” Poor kid, blushes a bit hearing your compliment. “Practice this set of questions and I think you’ll do pretty well on your tests.” You smile.

Fushiguro nods as he does as you say, face still heated up. He looks up at you, who was reading a book. Your hair slightly in your face, lips slightly parted with eyes focused. You were extremely beautiful and as much as he wouldn’t admit it , he had a big fat kid crush on you.

“Megumi-chan.” Suddenly he is shoved to the side as a body makes way in between you and him. It was Gojo who sat in between. “Move over~ This seat is mine.”

The boy frowns and so did you, not liking Gojo’s action. “Don’t interrupt the kid, who is studying.” Kid? Ouch…You huff as your move over, despite you complaining you make space for him, focus back on your book.

Fushiguro watched as Gojo leans closer to you, almost resting his head on your neck as he looked over to your book; after a while eyes slowly moved over to you, his expression softens.

Gojo smiles as he tugs a piece of hair behind your hair, to which you don’t react as if it was normal. Thee older man then turns his head to Fushiguro—oops,he got caught staring.

The white haired boy then grins, a condescending one in fact as he mouths out the following words.

‘y/n-is-mine.” Fushiguro huffs. ‘back-off.”

·:*¨༺ Part 2༻¨*:·

Reblogs, like and comment are appreciated! Love this work? out other here

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo imagines #gojo imagine #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro imagine

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rin-may-1103 · 2 months ago

Text

Aspiring Escape Artist

(DCxDP) | Masterpost | Next

"Alright, Mr. Fenton," his newest social worker started, turning in her seat so she might actually get him to look at her. Danny continued looking out the window and up at the gigantic building they were parked in front of.

"This is your last chance before the system declares you unfit for foster homes and sends you off to juvie. And before you get all uppitty about it, know this is as much your fault as it is the system's."

Danny rolled his eyes, watching as shadows rushed past windows too tinted to actually see into. Another shadow darted past a lower one, dragging his eyes down and toward the door. The shadow was quickly followed by three more, one of them waving something over their head.

Allowing his hearing to spread out from its usual range, Danny listened as muffled shouts filled the air, quickly turning into clear words.

"GET THE MASK, GET THE MASK!"

"SHIT!" fallowed by a thump and the sound of a large piece of furniture tipping backward and landing.

"I GOT IT!" another voice cried.

"HEY, I HAd that, you little shit-"

Danny quickly pulled his hearing back, not wanting to listen anymore. He already knew he was going to hate it here.

"Now, Mr. Wayne has taken in a lot of kids and has been very gracious to open his home to you. Make no mistakes, young man. You will listen to what he tells you, and so help me, if you cause this man any trouble whatsoever, you will regret it. Stay in the car until I tell you you can get out. I need to go over your file with Mr. Wayne first."

She was acting like Danny was some delinquent picked up fresh from a gang fight. He was half tempted to act like it just to spite her, but bit his tongue and continued looking around the place.

The large garden surrounding the building was obviously well taken care of, the green hummed happily as the (what Danny's gathered) rare sunlight and clear sky.

His control over plants still needs work, but he's gotten good enough to connect to the green and get the general feelings. Like how the man who just walked out the front doors was greatly loved by the plants, which meant he was the one taking care of them.

"Are you even listening to me?" the lady huffed, unbuckling herself and shoving the car door open. She was already standing and greating the old man before Danny could respond.

"Hello, Mr. Pennyworth, was it? Hi, I'm Ms. Clance, I'm Danny's social worker. Is Mr. Wayne home?" she slammed the door shut and held her hand out for a handshake.

The older man eyed her hand but otherwise ignored it, instead turning to look at Danny, who was still in the car. "That is correct, Ms. Clance. Master Wayne is in his study; he'll be down in a moment to discuss any last minute things you need to cover. Now, why don't we get Mr. fenton inside and aquanted with the others?"

"Hold on for just a moment," Ms. Clance cut in, sending Danny a nervous glance. Danny raised his brow, but continued to pretend he couldn't hear a word they were saying, 'waiting' for her signal to get out of the car.

The front door opened behind them, three heads popping out in an obvious attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation. There was an older guy, maybe in his mid to late twenties, a blond girl, still in her teens, and a guy with eyebags. Though Danny's were definitely worse, he might have Tucker beat. which was worrying, because what could this guy possibly need to pull three all-nighters for?

"I would like to speak with Mr. Wayne before letting the kid settle in. No offence, but I want to make sure Mr. Wayne is serious in wanting to house the kid. We've already had three other families agree to take him on and then drop him in less than a month."

"I see," Mr. Pennyworth hummed, studying Danny with a sharp eye. Danny studied him back; he had good posture, and his graying hair was slicked back. He had a mustache but no other facial hair, so he obviously kept himself well-maintained. Jazz said people like that were more likely to be well-disciplined and lean toward being blunt and honest.

His stance didn't lean toward classic butler, though; it leaned toward fighting and alert. He had experience in the army or something then, which meant Danny would have to keep an eye on this guy. he probably was the one running the house when Mr. Wayne wasn't around. which meant he'd be the one watching Danny the most.

"I still believe the young man should come inside, master wayne doesn't go back on his word, and he'll unlikely do so now."

Ms. Clance warily glanced at Danny, then back at Mr. Pennyworth, a fake smile plastered on her face, before one of the three spying on the cut in," yeah! I want to meet the little guy!"

The door swung open, allowing even more people to crowd around and watch the scene in front of them.

"And you will," Ms. Clance agreed, turning to face the growing group. "Once I speak to Mr. Wayne. We have to go over a few things in Daniel's file before I can sign off on all of this."

"Like, what?" the blond one asked, her eyes meeting danny's as she skipped down the stairs. Danny could just tell she'd be down for all sorts of chaos. And he could also tell she'd be glued to his side until her interest died, which would take only clockwork knows how long.

Instinctively, Danny reached out and grabbed the door, just as someone tried opening it. Glancing up and to the side, Danny met gray eyes. It was the other girl he had spotted wandering the garden a few minutes before.

She stared at him for a moment before smiling and stepping back. 'You can come out,' she signed. Danny glanced back at Ms. Clance, then back to the girl before sighing and getting out.

Her eyes lit up once he closed the door and turned back to her.

"You know sign," she asked, her voice quiet but not obviously disused.

'absoltly not', danny signed just to be a little shit. Turning back, he stared at his social worker, who was watching them in confused frustration.

"Daniel, what did I say about staying in the car?" She looked ready to march over and smack him.

"I thought you decided I wasn't listening?" Danny pointed out, crossing his arms and leaning back against the car. If she wanted to waste time, then that was perfectly alright with him.

"Never mind," she huffed, turning back to the butler. (he had to be a butler; he looked just like the one at Sam's place or the one his parents employed when they had made that deal with the GIW. And the fact that he referred to Mr. Wayne as master wayne.)

"You never answered my question," Blondy cut in, smiling sweetly at the frustrated woman.

"Like the plethora of misdemeanors?" Danny asked, watching as everyone turned to look at him. (probably because he wasn't supposed to know what the question was, considering he was literally just in the car.) The gray-eyed girl had slowly made her way back to join the others, though she still looked happy for some reason.

"no," ms. Clance huffed, obviously starting to get overwhelmed for some reason. she needed to take a step back and breath, there was literally no reason for her to be this agitated.

"More like we need to go over how many times you snuck out, got seriously injured, seriously injured someone else, and sent your last foster parent to a mental facility."

"All classified as misdemeanors, so obviously not that bad," Danny waved off, rolling his eyes. "And Mr. Thompson deserved it."

"You drove that man insane!" she hissed, swatting a piece of her hair out of her face.

Danny blinked at her, tilting his head to the side in confusion, "He was already insane before I got there, though?" which was actually quite annoying. Danny's dealt with enough insane people at this point; he'd rather hug Vlad than deal with another one.

"He was not," Ms. Clance sniffed, trying to straighten herself out.

"he definitely was," Danny argued, pulling his backpack tighter against his back in annoyance. "The dude thought locking me in a room and feeding me white rice once a day was perfectly fine."

Danny ignored the sudden stilted silence at his words, choosing to instead focus on the man slowly making his way outside and over to them.

"Would you stop making things up already?" Ms. Clance huffed, "We've already gone over this. There wasn't a lock on your door, and there was plenty of food in the pantry."

Danny rolled his eyes, going back to studying the gray-eyed girl. The happy sparkle was gone, and she was making hand signals that the others around her were focused on. It wasn't a dialect of sign he knew, most likely a self-made code then.

"Don't need a lock to lock someone up," Danny grumbled, turning back to Ms. Clance, "and if that doesn't count as insane, then talking to the shadows on the wall and claiming to be immortal does. Do you know how many times that man tried jumping in front of cars or out of a window? Way too many. So yeah, he deserved to go to the mental institution, where he'll get some actual help."

"right," ms. clance waved off, turning to continue talking to Mr. pennyworth. danny cut in before she could, "so, do you guys make it a habit; lingering back and listening to conversations?"

The rest blinked, then turned to see who exactly he was talking to, their eyes following his as they finally spotted the man they were all waiting for.

"ah," mr. wayne chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "sorry, I didn't want to interup. it sounded important."

"Right," Danny huffed, glaring at the man. Honestly, all the eavesdropping and being loud as hell was turning out to be a regular thing based on the fact that no one else was acting like it wasn't.

Yeah, he was going to hate it here if that was true.

#danny fenton #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #batfamily #part one #danny just wants to leave and meet up with his friends #this is not what the batfam was expecting #Aspiring Escape Artist Au

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 9 months ago

Note

I really loved your career day fic and I was wondering if you could do a Shut up mom fic with the same lineup with nanami tho if you write for him🥺 👉👈

Shut up, Mom!

Tags: teeth rotting fluff, mostly crack, cursing, jjk men as dads / fem!reader

An: I would be delighted to write this anon :) my requests are open, loves. If you want me to write a specific idea, definitely ask and I’ll try to deliver on it! also, if anyone wants to be on a taglist please let me know. So, I gave Sukuna a kid in this one because I didn’t really see Yuji calling you mom or him dad. Yuji calls you two unc and auntie :)

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA • NANAMI

SATORU

“Aoi, did you take out the trash?” You ask your nine-year-old son while trying not to giggle. Aoi has recently discovered pranks, and he suggested playing one on Satoru. You couldn’t help but think that was an amazing idea.

Your husband was leisurely sitting on the couch, playing a game on the console he and your son shared. He was able to see you from his peripheral vision while you and Aoi were in the dining room. He didn’t seem to be too intrigued by the conversation, but Satoru is a chronic eavesdropper. He can’t help it with his technique and all.

“No, mom. Why can’t you do it?” Aoi plays his role perfectly, even throwing in an annoyed groan at you. Gojo cut his eyes towards you two, but he stayed silent for a moment. He knew this was your battle to face, and he wasn’t usually the disciplinary parent anyways.

“Because I told you to do it, Aoi. It’s your chore.” You say, putting on a serious voice as you would if he had really been sassing off to you.

“Ugh. Shut up, mom!” Aoi yells with a dramatic eye roll.

Immediately, you hear the game console cut off. It seems like you two had garnered Satoru’s attention. Footsteps carry into the dining room, and your all too tall husband leans against the doorframe.

Aoi sees his father, and his eyes widen. Your little actor. He then tries to walk off, but Satoru easily put his hand out against Aoi’s chest, preventing him from going anywhere.

“Woah, woah, woah, there little man. Who do you think you’re talking to there?” He interjects as his hands slowly unwrap his bindings from around his eyes, letting you know that he’s about to get serious.

“She’s getting on my nerves, dad!” Aoi continues to play the role, even though you can tell that he’s scared shitless.

“Hey, look at me.” Satoru says as he bends his knees to be eye level with Aoi. Your son complies with his dad’s order. “I don’t give a shit, okay? Never, and I mean, never tell your mother to shut up unless you intend on fighting me afterwards. She says to take out the trash, you say yes and take out the trash. Do you understand me?” Satoru says as he holds his son’s shoulders, squeezing them a bit so Aoi knows he’s not fooling around.

“Because I don’t think you want to fight me, do you?” Satoru questions. His blue eyes beam in the light, making your son nervously sweat.

“Baby, it’s just a prank.” You quickly interject with a laugh as you gently nudge your husband away from your son.

“Yeah dad, I was just acting!!” Aoi’s nervous gaze flutters into an adorable smile.

Satoru rolls his eyes and playfully laughs along. “You two are too silly, makin’ me turn off my game for this.” He shakes his head as he wraps his eyes back up.

“You were like gonna hollow purple me!” Aoi shouts with an excited laugh, and he reenacts Satoru’s cursed technique.

“Yeah, I love your mom a little too much.” Satoru responds with a grin up towards your direction.

SUGURU

Mimiko and Nanako are coming into their teen years, and recently, they’ve been obsessed with the idea of TikTok. After seeing the “shut up mom” prank all over, they knew that they had to play it on Suguru.

You, of course, agreed to help them pull off their little shenanigan.

“You two are not going out. It’s a school night.” You chide at the twin girls, giving them a small wink as Suguru was enjoying a cup of tea while sitting at the breakfast bar. He was scrolling mindlessly on his phone, reading the news or something like that.

“Mom, please. Everyone’s going.” Nanako pled and even threw in a small pout.

“Yeah, who cares if it’s a school night?” Mimiko chimed in.

“Girls.” Suguru warned as he normally did when you were having to deal with the twins. He didn’t like the idea of the girls ganging up on you.

“I said no. I bet you two didn’t even do your homework yet either.” You carry on, eyeing the two girls as if they were really in trouble.

“Ugh! Mom, shut up!” The girls somehow managed to say in sync. The two had obviously practiced their lines.

The tea glass hit the counter, and Suguru a stood up from his seat on the stool. “Hey. I don’t ever want to hear that kind of language in this house, especially not to your mother. Got that?” He said as he eyed your daughters.

Your husband was a bit of a strict father to the girls. He really just wanted them to turn out good, so he was the main disciplinary figure in the house.

“Dad! She’s-“

“Aht.” He cuts Mimiko off, and starts to walk up to the girls. “I didn’t ask. Apologize to your mother this instant. Then, go upstairs and do your homework. You two are grounded from going out for at least a month.”

“Sugu, it’s a prank.” You say as you can’t hold back a laugh from how angry he got that quickly. “It’s a prank, sweetie.”

Your two girls were nodding quickly, holding their hands out in surrender. “We saw it on TikTok!”

Suguru rolls his eyes at the three of you. “That app is no good for you.” He quietly chides. “Did you two do your homework?”

Mimiko and Nanako exchange nervous glances, and they both run up to their rooms to get it done.

Your husband laughs quietly and shakes his head before sitting back down on his stool. You walk over towards him and card your fingers through his long hair. He lets out a long exhale of contentment while leaning his head into your touch. “What are we gonna do with those two, hm?”

“Love them and try our best to teach them.” You softly respond before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

TOJI

Toji is a pretty laid back dad. He lets you take the lead on a lot of the parenting aspects, since it comes to you more naturally than it does with him. However.. he has his moments.

“Megumi, come help me do the dishes.” You say to your 13-year-old son. He’s in that weird stage of puberty where you’re his best friend one day and his worst enemy the next, which means he sometimes agreed to play pranks with you.

“Busy, mom.” He mumbles at the table as he’s trying to learn the hand signs for one of his shikigami. He was left learning this stuff on his own since Toji wasn’t a sorcerer, and you weren’t apart of the Zenin clan. You had no idea how to do the hand gestures.

“You can do that after you’re done helping me, Gumi.” You say as you turn on the kitchen sink. Your son doesn’t even acknowledge that you said anything.

Toji eyes him from his seat at the dining table, waiting for his son to comply.

“Gumi. Get in here.” You finally say after a minute of him not responding to you.

“Shut up, Mom!” He raises his voice at you, and immediately, Toji is on him quicker than you could respond.

“What did you just say to your mother, brat?” Toji grits as he stares down at his teenage son. Megumi looked back up at him mortified. “I brought you in this world, and I will take your ass out of it if I hear you speak to your mom like that again.”

“Baby, baby, baby, it’s a prank!” You say as you rush over to Toji. Megumi cracks a nervous smile, and you gently nudge Toji back.

“It’s a prank!” Megumi shouts as he leans back away from Toji slightly.

Your husband lets out an annoyed grunt. “You two play too much. Gonna make me kill my own son.” He says as he releases Megumi’s shoulder. He walks back over to his seat at the dining table and smacks your ass on the way back.

SUKUNA

“Ryu, come take out the trash!” You yell to your son. He recently brought up the idea of pranking Sukuna by yelling at you to shut up in front of him. You had urged your son that this was a bad idea, but he was persistent.

Sukuna was sat at the dining table, eating whatever Uraume had prepared for him. Usually, Uraume handled the trash as well, but you distinctly told them to leave it.

There’s no response.

“Ryu! Trash now!” You call out again in a more frustrated tone.

Sukuna is biting his tongue at this point. There is nothing that he hates more than insolence, especially towards you. You’re his queen, and he demands for all to respect you, including his son.

No response.

“Ryu!”

“Okay mom! Shut the fuck up!”

All four of Sukuna’s eyes widened, and he put down his fork. “Domain expansion. Malevolent-“

“It’s a prank!” You shout as you spin to look at Sukuna quickly. Your son is standing behind you, quite literally trembling in fear.

“Yeah- it’s a p-prank, dad.” Ryu stutters out.

Sukuna narrows his gaze, and he looks between the two of you. “Foolish.” He grunts. “Boy, come have a seat.” He commands, and your son reluctantly complies.

“If you ever pull some shit like that seriously, I’m not afraid to start over and make a new kid. I got nothing but time on my hands.” Your husband says while eyeing your son.

“Ryu’s a good kid, Kuna.” You assure him as you walk over to your husband and rub on his shoulders a bit.

“Mmm, for now.” He mumbles, and he nods his head to the trashcan. “Take the trash out.”

NANAMI

Your husband was sitting in the living room, enjoying his “lazy Sunday” as he called it. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other. He couldn’t help but feel incredibly grateful for the life he was living right now.

He had everything he ever dreamed of: a stable job, an amazing wife, a small family in a loving home.

You were sitting next to him, casually rubbing on his thigh through his pajama pants. You and your daughter had been texting about playing a prank on your dear husband, and it was finally going to happen.

“Hana, did you fold the clothes like I told you to?” You call out to your daughter as she’s in her bedroom. Nanami turns a page in his book, still not paying too much attention.

“Mom, I’m doing something!” Your daughter yells back.

“Hana, get in here and fold those clothes!” You shout back, getting a bit more serious. Nanami lets out a small sigh as he places his mug on the coffee table. He’s normally quick to nip Hana’s attitude in the bud.

“I’m busy!”

“Hana!”

“Okay mom! Just shut up already!” She finally yells as she storms into the living room. Nanami shuts his book and immediately stares down your daughter.

“What did you just say?” He asks as he sits up from his cozy position. His jaw tightens a bit as he glares at Hana.

“I just told her to shut up. She’s being overdramatic.” Your daughter continues, playing her part perfectly.

“Who’s her? Your mother? You’re telling my wife to shut up?” Nanami says as he starts to stand up.

“It’s just a prank, Ken!”

“Dad, it’s a prank-!”

You and your daughter both shout nervously, and Nanami looks at both of you confused for a moment. It then clicks in his head. “God, don’t stress me out like that.” He chides as he relaxes back on the couch. He wraps his arm back around you and picks up his book again.

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thatonegreenleaf · 6 months ago

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🩸~orin~ hair & headpiece! 🩸

hi everyone! I made orin the red's hair from baldur's gate 3 bc i needed my sims to have a voluminous braid this long. I also converted the headpiece she wears, for the whole package of everyone's favourite bhaalspawn (except maybe your own character bc same)

my orin sim is wearing her in game outfit beautifully converted by @lady-moriel which you can download here! (you can also grab her conversion of orin's headpiece, it fits a bit differently so you can have options!). and if you want orin’s mesh directly from bg3, I downloaded that here!

ORIN HAIR & HEADPIECE:

♥ base game compatible!

♥ teen-elder, feminine & masculine frames

♥ hair: 24 maxis swatches + 8 bonus swatches. headpiece: 5 swatches

♥ hat compatible (headpiece in the hat category)

♥ high-ish poly! hair: 13.9k, headpiece 11.1k

♥ due to the nature of the sims 4 not natively having hairs this long, you can expect some clipping/stiffness at any length beyond the waist, but it's mostly ignorable!

Follow me on twitch!

Support me on patreon!

⇢ download: simfileshare | patreon

♥ this uses part of the wispy hairline by @rheallsim ♥

use my code "THATONEGREENLEAF" when you buy packs in the EA app to directly support me! ♥ (not a discount code, I wish!) #EApartner

I DO CUSTOM CAS ROOM (and other) COMMISSIONS! fill out my commission form ♥ (currently closed, will open again very soon!)

TOU: do not claim my cc/CAS rooms/presets as your own! recolour/convert/otherwise alter for personal use OR upload with credit. (no paywalls, no c*rseforge)

#sims4 #thesims4 #ts4 #s4cc #ts4cc #sims 4 cc #sims 4 custom content #my cc #the sims cc #sims4mm #maxis match #ts4 hair #maxis mix

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torpublishinggroup · 1 year ago

Text

Celebrate Pride with Tor Publishing Group!

Rakesfall by @adamantine

They met as children in the middle of the Sri Lankan civil war. Later, in a demon-haunted wood, an act of violence linked them and propelled their souls on a journey through the ages. As they reincarnate ever deeper into the future, a truth emerges: Some stories take more than one lifetime to tell.

Running Close to the Wind by @ariaste

In this queer pirate fantasy, Avra Helvaçi has accidentally stolen the single most expensive secret in the world. To avoid capture, he flees to the open sea, where only his on-again, off-again ex aka pirate Captain Teveri az-Ḥaffār can help him survive, profit, and become a legend.

Cuckoo by Gretchen Felker-Martin

Something evil is buried deep in the desert. It wants your body and wears your skin. Welcome to Camp Resolution, a queer conversion center where everyone leaves a different person. In 1995, seven queer teens were abandoned here by their parents, but survived. Sixteen years later, they’re scarred and broken, but back to face an evil that threatens the world.

Kinning by Nisi Shawl

In this alternate history where barkcloth airships soar and former colonies claim freedom from imperialist tyrants, the identity of the island of Everfair still wavers. Victorious in the wake of the Great War, a new threat looms. Can Everfair continue to serve as a symbol of hope for anticolonial movements around the world, or will it fall to forces within and without?

Can’t Spell Treason Without Tea by @rebeccathornewrites

Can one of the Queen’s private guard and the most powerful mage in existence leave their lives behind to settle down in their new bookshop that serves tea? This cozy fantasy is steeped in sapphic romance and nestled on the edge of dragon country.

The Fragile Threads of Power by V. E. Schwab

Once there were four worlds, nestled like pages in a book, each pulsing with fantastical power and connected by a single city: London. After a desperate attempt to prevent corruption and ruin in the four Londons, there are only three. Now the worlds are going to collide anew—brought to a dangerous precipice by the discoveries of three remarkable magicians.

Now available in paperback!

The Archive Undying by @emcandon

This is a story about misplaced faith, complicated love, so much self-loathing, and yeah—giant robots. Plugged into his AI god when its apocalyptic corruption renders him unfortunately immortal, sad gay disaster Sunai takes a die-again-or-die-trying approach to things. Unending life’s tough when intimacy is somehow scarier even than either of the warring police states set on turning you into a weapon or the rogue undead mecha-fragment of your old god that wants to eat you.

Now available in paperback!

The Bell in the Fog by Lev AC Rosen

A dazzling historical mystery that dives into the shadowy, closeted world of the Navy, emerging in the gay bars of the city. It’s a whirlpool of missing people, violent strangers, and scandalous photos in 1952 San Francisco.

Now available in paperback!

Celebrate Pride with more titles from Tor Publishing Group here!

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eleganzadellarosa · 1 year ago

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Melted

pairing: olderbrothersbestfriend!chan x needy fem! reader

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: MDNI (I'm sorry if this changes the way you see ice cream, pwp I guess, fast paced plot, unprotected sex (don’t 👀), big dick Chan (because what else would he be?), overstim, squirting, hair pulling, choking, creampie, Chan calls reader Baby, reader calls him Channie)

word count: 5.82K

A/N: Just because my mind has been on Chan A LOT lately. Also…this isn’t proofread 😬

Why would you like someone that ruffles your hair, tickles your sides and calls you “baby” as a nickname? Sounds childish right? Not to you when it comes to your huge crush on Chan. You know that’s just how he is with you and has been since you were younger, but you wish it meant something different to him.

Chan is best friends with your older brother, he’s basically been a part of your family for over 10 years. You’ve always liked Chan, but not in that way until your crush developed right before he moved. His family moved away for a while during his late teen years so you hadn’t seen him in quite some time. Then he suddenly came back and he was like a whole new person. His personality didn’t change, no, the way he looked did and you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off of him since.

He and your brother are 25 and you’re stuck being 23. It wasn’t a big enough gap to make anyone bat an eye, but you knew he always viewed you as his best friend’s little sister and you weren’t sure how to make that change. You watched as he pulled up in front of your house, picking up your brother like usual. They spent so much time together, you were almost past the point of jealousy and wanted to hate your brother for taking him away every time.

You stood in the open garage, watching him hop out the driver’s seat. He smiled and waved when he saw you and did a little jog onto the sidewalk and into the garage. Maybe things didn’t need to change and you needed to find someone else to crush on, but it was so hard when he would open his arms for you to hug him and would squeeze you tight until you couldn’t handle it anymore.

“Hey baby, missed you. How ya been?”

Baby. You would never get over that nickname. It gave you that warm fuzzy feeling but also gave you that second heartbeat.

“Hey Channie, you know same old same old. Where have you been all week?” You knew where he’d been but you’d do anything to have a longer conversation with him before your brother snatched him away.

“I went to go visit my family, they told me to tell you hi.” He smiled and you smiled back knowing how much his family loved you, which oddly enough made you like him more. “I got you somethin’, close your eyes.”

You obliged, closing your eyes waiting almost impatiently to see what he had for you. Not being able to see him in front of you but feeling his presence made a light blush fall on your cheeks. You felt his fingertips graze the skin on your hand and the sudden contact made you jump slightly. He carefully opened your hand and you felt the cold contrast of something against your palm.

“Open your eyes.”

You looked down to see a dainty anklet with small charms dangling from it. Your eyes lit up seeing each charm perfectly handpicked with things he knew you’d like. It was gorgeous and on closer inspection, it looked expensive. You didn’t care how much it cost, only worrying that he spent too much of his money on you, but loving that he got you a gift at all.

“Baby, do you like it?” He made dangerous eye contact waiting for you to reply. It didn’t help you gather your thoughts any quicker even though you had your answer already. He made your nervous system short circuit.

“Y-yeah Channie, I love it!” You smiled as much as you could to cover the way you swallowed thickly seeing him stand so close to you.

“Really? Oh gosh I’m glad, I thought I chose something you wouldn’t like.” He had to be lying. He could pick a leaf off a tree and you’d be jumping for joy. “Here lemme see, I’ll put it on for you.”

You gasped when he lifted you up to seat you on your dad’s workbench that sat at the back of the garage. The heat seeping in from outside was hot enough, but now you were sure you could break a thermometer. He kneeled down and wrapped the cold jewelry around your ankle. You were unconsciously holding your breath, scared of having any reaction because if you let go, you’d probably moan and you’d rather not make this awkward.

He looked up at you with your foot still in his hand, “It looks great baby, I like it.” God that comment had you slippery wet. He liked it on you? Now you’d never take it off. “Make sure you think of me every time you look at it.” He shot you a wink and your breath got caught in your throat preventing you from swallowing.

This conversation would be stored for fuel whenever you needed something to tip you over the edge at night. You almost said something equally seductive back, almost, when your brother came and took Chan away. You were used to it by now, never really having more than 10 minutes tops of alone time with him. It was frustrating, having to get most of your information from your brother who always reluctantly told you, asking “why do you wanna know anyways?”

You think Chan would tell you no hesitation if you actually had the chance to speak with him. But truth be told, you’d never be able to do such a thing with your brother around. He made it clear on multiple occasions that he didn’t approve of a relationship between you two if it ever came to be, but all three of you knew that would never be brought into existence.

You sat in the same spot on the tool bench, swinging your foot to see the charms sparkle in the small rays of sunshine. Chan said to think about him every time you looked at it, so you did. The thought of you on your knees in front of him, him slipping his thumb past your lips telling you to suck if you wanted to be rewarded. The ideas that ran freely were filthy and getting worse by the second. Your thighs rubbed together tightly as you felt yourself grow wetter with each passing thought.

The sun shined brightly through the small gaps between your blinds, easing you awake with its warmth. The weekends were the best because it was almost guaranteed that you’d get to have breakfast with Chan. It was an unspoken tradition and you marked it off in your mental calendar. You quickly washed your face before heading downstairs to the kitchen, only to see it completely empty besides the few duffle bags that sat beside the island.

“Where are you going?” You asked your brother who walked in at the perfect time before you could stump yourself with more unanswered questions.

“Didn’t mom tell you? I’m going to stay at a beach house with a few friends for the weekend.” He stuffed a few more things in his bag, talking with his back facing you.

“No…is Chan going too?” You asked carefully trying to make it seem like a normal question.

He rolled his eyes and leaned up against the marble island. “Next time you need to just start asking Chan these questions since you always wanna know everything about him. And no, he’s not coming.”

“Really?” A smile spread across your face but you quickly wiped it away when you saw your brother narrow his eyes.

“Don’t go bothering him while I’m away, he’s doesn’t wanna hang with you at all so just stay home!”

“You’re such an asshole, he never said that!”

“You don’t know what he said because you’re not his best friend! Just don’t bother him okay?” He sucked his teeth as he picked up his bags and walked out the door, kicking it closed with his foot.

He didn’t know what he was talking about. Chan wouldn’t say that, he would love to hang out with you. Right? You felt like a teenager crushing on a college boy that was far out of your league for multiple reasons but you swore you had a chance.

You sulkily walked upstairs back to your room and flopped on your bed. Being that your brother didn’t want you to bother Chan, it made you more curious as to what he could be doing right now. It sucks that you didn’t have his number or really any way to contact him. Well you did, you were just too scared to actually do it.

It was nothing but a 10 minute walk and 2 minute drive to get to his house but in the back of your mind, you were scared he actually wouldn’t want to see you. What would you say; what would be your reasoning for coming to see him?

“I have a crush on you and I want to be around you, please let me in?”

Like hell that would work. He’d probably slam the door in your face, call your brother and tell him how annoying and stupid his little-

There was a ring at your doorbell.

Your head snapped to your left, slightly shocked you had any visitors. It could easily be your neighbor since she always seemed to pop up randomly. “I got it!” You yelled out, jogging down the stairs. You looked out the peephole to see Chan standing there. Your heart started racing and you quickly looked over your appearance before opening the door.

“Channie?! What are you doing here?”

“Aww baby you aren’t happy to see me?” A cute little pout painted his face and you wanted to drag him in and kiss him all over.

“What? No, of course I am! My brother’s not here and I thought you knew…”

“Oh yeah I knew, I came to see you.”

He said it so nonchalantly as if it was normal to come see you. As if you both agreed to hang out today. Or as if you always hung out when your brother wasn’t around. He had to know what this was doing to you, there was no way he didn’t. You opened your mouth to say something but couldn’t find the strength to let the words come forward.

“I figured you’d be here all by yourself, so I thought I’d come pick you up.” He smiled brightly and there were those cute dimples. God you felt like you were gonna explode.

“I…umm…” you were stuttering and if he didn’t stop staring at you, you were going to be stuck like this.

He looked a bit sad and disappointed but waited to see what you would say. “It’s okay if you don’t want to Baby. I should’ve asked first, I’m so sorry.”

You quickly reached out to touch his arm and practically melted into a puddle, “No no Channie, I’m sorry, I just didn’t think you’d wanna hang out with me. I’d love to go to your house, especially since I’ve never seen this one.”

He smiled again, “Of course I would Baby, you’re my best friend! Now come on, hop in”

Oh how this was never something you thought would happen in a million years. You were Chan’s best friend? As much as you wanted this, there must have been some kind of mistake. Surely he didn’t actually think so.

He grabbed your hand and lead you to his jeep and opened your door for you. “Thank you Channie” barely left your lips before he reached inside and buckled your seatbelt, smiling at you before he closed your door. Your body was on fire; ignited from the soft and simple touches. You were down bad, there was no better way to put it. If he kept moving like this, you’d have to go home and deal with the problem between your legs.

His house was nice, nothing too big or small, just right for him. He had a great sense of decor and he kept his place sparkling clean. Scattered about on different pieces of furniture were photos of him, family and even younger pictures of the 3 of you.

“Baby, make yourself at home, you can sit anywhere you’d like.” He spoke to you from the little pass through window in the kitchen.

You nodded your head but decided to explore his living room some more. When you walked past the patio door, you noticed a reflection on the ground outside.

“Oh my gosh Channie, you have a pool?! Why didn’t my brother tell me?”

He walked over to you with a large red double popsicle and chuckled at the amused look on your face. “I’m gonna punch him when I see him, I told him to tell you because I know how much you love swimming. We can go out there if you want.”

He broke the popsicle in two and handed you a half. “I would love to…but I don’t have a bikini with me.”

“Just get in with what you have on.” He leaned against the side of his couch as he sucked on the cold treat.

You looked down at your outfit, a plain white tee and some daisy patterned shorts. “But I won’t have anything to change into. I can walk back home and get something.”

“Orrrrr, you can just wear some of my clothes until yours are dry.”

What was with him saying all this so nonchalantly? When have you ever worn his clothes? The smell must be absolutely amazing, he always smelled so good. If he was offering, you might as well just take it.

“Hmm” you bit your lip and smiled, “okay, but I don’t wanna get in by myself.”

He smiled as he finished off his half of the popsicle and chewed on the stick. He jolted off the side of the couch and pulled his shirt off. You almost choked on the leftover ice you had in your mouth. What the fuck was he thinking?

“Come on Baby, come swim with me.”

He opened the door and ran and jumped in without hesitation. After little to no consideration, you followed behind him, diving right in. The water was a perfect way to cool off in the hot summer sun. He swam over to you, hair drenched and sticking to his forehead. The droplets of water shined against his toned, muscular body. You wanted to lick him dry, no matter how long it took.

His right hand slid over your waist and around to your back, “you look so cute, I could kiss you right now.”

Cute? Kiss? Cute and kiss in the same sentence? Maybe you needed to pinch yourself to wake up from this completely unrealistic dream.

“M-me? I’m just plain and boring.” You mentally pat yourself on the back for not stuttering too much with how close he was and what he just said.

“You’ve never been either baby, no way that’s what you actually think.” His eyebrows raised in shock.

“Well yeah…there’s so many prettier girls than me. I’m just me, but they’re-“

It happened so fast that your mind didn’t process it. He bent down to press his lips to yours and hold you a bit tighter. Your arms were around his neck and you reciprocated the kiss faster than the fear set in. His tongue swiped over your lip and you happily allowed him to explore your mouth.

Somehow being drenched in the pool made it feel more sensual, nothing left to the imagination, bodies practically touching through the thin fabrics. You could feel how hard he was, pressing it right up against your thigh. You bravely touched him through his shorts, earning a small moan from him.

He ran a hand up the back of your thigh and roughly grabbed your ass. It wasn’t until you felt something press into your back that you realized he moved the both of you closer to the edge of the pool. He trailed the kisses over your jaw and to your neck. You were breathing heavily, making no effort to stop the sounds coming from you.

“I wonder how good you’d sound if I fucked you.”

“Channie please, oh fuck.”

Desperate was too innocent of a word to describe how badly you wanted him. You’d do whatever it took to make your dreams come true.

“Would you like that baby? Let me fuck you and make you feel good?”

At this point you were sure you stopped breathing. He looked so good with his wet hair, heavy lids, toned body pressed right against yours. Of course you’d like that.

“Yes Channie, I want it, I want you.”

He slipped your shirt over your head and left open mouthed kisses down your neck and across your chest. Just as he moved to get your nipple in his mouth, a loud ring came from inside the house; it was his phone.

“You should go get that Channie.”

He looked at you, lips parted and breathing heavily. “Fuck, okay I’ll be right back.”

He hopped out the pool and went inside while you tried to put all the pieces together. So Chan liked you? Or he simply just wanted a fuck buddy? Or maybe he just wanted to fuck you because he knows how much you like him and knew you’d be easy? The insecurity began to weigh down on you and now you just wanted to go home.

When he returned, he squatted down next to you, who was now slightly turned away from him with your arms wrapped around yourself in order to seek comfort.

“That was your brother, he said he’s coming home early because someone got food poisoning. So…he asked me to pick him up.” He reached out and touched your shoulder. “Baby, you okay?”

“Yeah Channie, you can just take me home.” You made sure to not let him see the tears brimming your eyes.

“You sure you’re-“

“Yes, I’d like to go home please.”

He watched you for a few seconds longer, definitely able to notice the shift in your mood, he just didn’t know what caused it. “Okay, let me at least get you a change of clothes.”

The ride back home was short and you got out before he could to open your door for you. He shouted something about seeing you later before driving off as you closed your front door behind you. You still didn’t have his number, so him hitting you up later wouldn’t be a thing, unless he was bold enough to ask your brother but you both knew that would open a can of worms you weren’t ready to try and close.

Now you were a bit nervous that he would tell your brother what happened because he wanted to know why you looked so sad. You’d just avoid him as much as you could and hopefully he would forget anything ever happened.

“As much as I don’t want you to, I need you to come with me and Chan so you can help me choose a gift for my girlfriend.” Your brother came into your room, not bothering to knock since your door was already opened slightly.

“I didn’t say you could come in!”

“Oh my god, yes or no?”

“You didn’t ask me anything dumbass and why don’t you already know what your girlfriend likes?”

“I do know but I want to know what’s the best out of the options I have and you’re a girl.”

“Umm…I guess?”

You were conflicted. You wanted to see Chan, you missed him even though it had only been two days since your encounter in the pool. But you also didn’t want to see him right now because you didn’t want to explain anything to him, yet if you said that your brother would for sure know something happened between you two.

“Okay well be ready in like 10 minutes, set a timer or something.”

Chan and your brother greeted each other like always and when he looked over at you, he looked as if he wanted to come hug you. “Hey baby, you coming with us today?”

Your brother rolled his eyes when you let a smile creep past your lips. You were weak for Chan, he knew exactly what to say to make you melt. Maybe you were thinking about it wrong, maybe he really did like you and he actually wanted to be with you. But having it happen so suddenly made you think perhaps you let your guard down too quickly.

You felt like such a third wheel around the two boys, laughing at their inside jokes and not worrying about you following behind them. Well Chan did, he would look back to make sure you were still there and smile at you when you made eye contact. It felt like hours even though but had only been 30 minutes of walking around the mall looking for the perfect gift.

“Girls like jewelry, so get her something she can always wear.” Your brother’s gaze followed yours down to your anklet. Before he could ask you where you got that, Chan spoke up.

“Yeah I told you that the other day man, if you really love her you should get her something that she can keep for a long time but also that you put effort into choosing.” He looked over at you when he said it, hoping you caught on to what he said.

You tried your hardest not to blush, your brother standing way too close for you to even let out a small squeal.

“Yeah that’s what I wanna get her but I’m not sure she’ll wear it, I never see her wearing jewelry.”

“Trust me bro, she’ll love it.” He placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and nodded his head.

“I’m gonna go get some ice cream and then head back to the car you guys.” You said waving your hand as you walked away. Your brother nodded as he answered his phone.

“Is it okay if I come with you baby?” Chan ran to catch up with you before you got too far.

“Sure Channie, I’ll pay for you.”

“You’re so funny Baby, I’m paying for the both of us.” As you approached the stand, he turned around grimacing. “Aww baby they’re all out of rocky road.”

After all these years, he still remembers your favorite ice cream flavor. “It’s okay Channie, just get me whatever you get.”

He smiled softly and nodded and ordered two strawberry cheesecake cones. You walked back with him to his car to enjoy yet another frozen treat in his presence. Of course, he opened your door and let you hop in before he did the same.

“Damn it’s already melting…”

“I prefer ice cream when it melts a little. Like when it drips down my fingers. It just tastes better that way…well to me anyway.” You realized you were babbling, so you looked up at him but he was already looking at you.

“You wanna lick mine off my fingers?”

The question alone could have made you cum, but the way he looked at you; eyes slightly hooded, lips parted, that had you throbbing. You couldn’t even answer him. Actually your mind was blank so you didn’t have an answer or any response to what he just said. He saw it on your face though. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you. He’s wanted you for a long time and as many hints as he tried throwing your way, you never seemed to catch them.

It became too much for him, your brother always getting in his way of spending alone time with you. He didn’t care what your brother thought about it though. He wanted you and he wanted you bad. So when he eased his hand toward your mouth and you happily let him push a finger past your lips, he knew he didn’t have to try to make you understand anymore; he made that clear when you were in the pool the other day.

“Sorry it’s not your favorite flavor.” He said, removing his finger to replace it with a new one.

“It is now.” Your words were partially cut off by the intrusion of his fingers. You were soaked and your head felt fuzzy, you felt like you were going to die.

You never broke eye contact and he watched you intently. “You can’t look at me like that if you don’t want me to ruin you.”

“Maybe I want you to.” You licked and sucked on his fingers as seductively as you could muster.

He licked his ice cream then shifted more toward you so he could kiss you. The contrast of the cold dessert and the heat from his tongue made you whimper. He slowly let your warmth melt the ice cream and drip down onto your neck and chest. He happily chased the drops with his tongue making sure none of it went to waste.

“Oh god Channie, mmm~”

He caught sight of your brother making his way over to the car so he quickly halted his actions and returned to his seat. “He’s coming, act normal. Deep breaths.”

Well that was surely easier said than done. He just licked the majority of his ice cream off of you, leaving you slightly sticky in multiple places. This was torture, getting so close to what you want only to be cockblocked by your brother once again.

“Yo Chan, is it cool if I stay at your place tonight? My girlfriend might stop by too.”

“Yeah sure, I don’t mind.”

“Okay cool, we can just drop Y/N off.”

You quickly turned, an exaggerated pout on your face, ready to fight your case. “NO FAIR!”

“It’s fine if she stays, I don’t mind.” Chan looked at your brother through the rear view mirror.

“What?! No way, she’s literally just going to bother us the entire time!”

“Fuck you, no I won’t! You always get to hang with Chan by yourself, I can be around him too!”

“Hey! It’s alright, you can sleep in my bed and I can sleep on the couch. I promise it’s fine.”

Your brother rolled his eyes and you stuck your tongue out at him. Maybe you were childish, but you weren’t going to let your day end without at least having another make out session.

You thanked God your brother’s girlfriend came quite late and that she took all his attention off of you and Chan. You all enjoyed some snacks and had movie night. It was nearing almost 2am by the time the movie was over, so your brother took her to the guest room where he was staying for the night.

You stayed up with Chan to help him tidy up even though he insisted he didn’t want you to.

“Is it okay for me to wear another one of your shirts Channie? I didn’t pack anything.”

He looked up from the dishes he just finished, “you don’t have to ask Baby, of course you can.” He gave you a big dimpled smile but then it dropped. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Yeah of course, what’s up?”

“Why were you so sad the other day? You know…in the pool.”

You knew he would ask you eventually so you might as well just tell him now and get it over with. “I don’t know…I just…wasn’t sure how to feel and was hoping you weren’t only doing it to take advantage of me.”

He walked up to you and kissed your forehead. “Oh Baby, I would never do that to you. I love you and I can’t ever say it or do anything about it because your brother’s always around. I’m sorry if I came off so strong but don’t ever think I’d do anything to take advantage of you. I love you, yeah?”

He rubbed his thumb over your hand and tilted his head waiting for you to nod your head. It took a heavy weight off your shoulders to hear him express his true feelings and being that he said it so easily helped you understand how genuine he was being.

“My room is all yours Baby, it’s the last door at the end of the hall. You can wear whatever you want and there’s towels in the closet in the bathroom.”

“Thank you for letting me stay Channie.” You stood on your tip toes and kissed him on the cheek and quickly ran away, leaving him in the kitchen with red ears.

You felt refreshed after your shower and even more comfortable as you slipped into one of his shirts. Since you didn’t bring a change of clothes, his shirt was the only thing covering you and barely so. You hopped into his king sized bed and playfully rolled around, enjoying the big size.

You looked over at the digital clock on the nightstand, it had already been more than an hour since everyone went to bed. You weren’t sleepy though, so you pulled out your phone and scrolled aimlessly on your socials. A soft knock on the door turned your attention towards it.

“Come in.”

Chan walked through the door, smiling when he saw you so comfy in his bed. “I couldn’t sleep but I also didn’t try…and, I can’t let you leave before I kiss you again.”

“Well good because I was thinking the same thing.”

He fully shut the door and locked it before he removed his shirt and hopped in the bed with you, lips immediately catching yours. His hands came up to grope your breasts roughly, sucking and biting your bottom lip as he did so. He slid a hand under your shirt, breaking the kiss when he felt your bare skin.

“God Baby, you’re driving me crazy. Seeing you in nothing but my shirt is making me sooo hard.” You took his hand in yours and moved it over your pussy. “Fuck…so wet already.”

He moved down closer to the edge of the bed and kissed his way down from your stomach. He gave you butterflies in the best way possible. His lips danced across the skin on your inner thighs sending tingles up your spine.

“Channie…” you say breathlessly and he looks up at you as his mouth attaches to your sensitive bud.

With his head between your legs, messily eating your pussy, your eyes were squeezed shut. It took every bone in your body to not moan, knowing that if you did, you would be loud. He sensed it, so he stopped eating you out and crawled on top of you.

He used two fingers to slip into you while his thumb pressed down harshly on your clit. “Don’t hide them from me, I wanna hear them.”

“B-but my brother is here.”

“And I want to hear how good I make you feel. Don’t hold back Baby, lemme hear your pretty moans.” His fingers sped up their pace, not giving you any other option. You moaned as your back arched slightly. “That’s it Baby, good girl.”

It turned him on watching how his actions made you react but he needed more; needed to feel the way your pussy wrapped around him like it didn’t want to let him go. You reached out to pull on his shorts and finally free his achingly hard dick from its confines. He was BIG but what did you really expect, it was just really really intimidating. None of that mattered though, you just wanted him in you without any interruptions.

He hissed when he used your arousal to mix with his and coat his length. He gave it a few pumps before he eased the head past your entrance. “I’ll go slow okay baby?”

“Okay Channie just keep going, please don’t stop.”

He caught his lip between his teeth, feeling the lust course through his veins hearing you beg and feeling the tightness of your walls. He watched your face contort in pleasure.

He was barely half way in, stretching you open with ease. “T-too big Channie…” You eyes were rolling back and you were already slurring your words.

“You can take it, look you’re doing so well for me Baby” he touched his forehead to yours and grabbed you by the jaw and kissed you again, “you feel so good Baby, so so fucking good, such a good girl for me.”

When he bottomed out he leaned over you to catch his breath so he wouldn’t cum too quickly. Your head was spinning. His body pressed into yours and the way he spoke to you already had your toes curling. He pulled out to the tip, your pussy making a squelching noise, and he quickly thrust himself back in. Your back arched off the bed and you almost screamed.

As much as you wanted to keep your sounds at bay, you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep the volume down to a minimum. He snapped his hips forward with desperation, grunts and moans falling from the both of you. His hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing enough to make your head get fuzzy and awaken every nerve in your body. He pounded into you with no remorse, making this worth the long wait.

He suddenly pulled out, causing you to whine in response, and sat against the headboard. “Come ride me, wanna feel you in this position.”

You crawled over to him then hovered over his still hard, leaking dick. You sank down on him, taking small breaks so you wouldn’t faint from the pleasure. He bucked his hips up, making you drop down fully. He held you under your butt, spreading your pussy open to help you bounce on his dick easily.

The more you hopped up and down on him, the more you felt the sticky substances mix and connect the two of you. Your legs gave out when he started to thrust up into you every time you dropped down. He repositioned you so that you were on your knees, leaning forward into him. He grabbed a handful of your hair, your back arching more, as he hugged you and fucked you violently. The new angle made him abuse your sweet spot.

“Letting me fuck you with your brother just down the hall, I didn’t know you were such a slut Baby.”

“Mmm ah! Only for you Channie!”

He held you tighter when he felt your pussy clench around him. This is exactly what he wanted, what he dreamed of. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer himself, so he quickly flipped you onto your back again. One hand on the back of one of your knees and the other rubbing harsh circles on your clit.

“Oh fuck…oh fuck Channie I’m gonna cum!”

“You gonna cum? Yeah? Cum with me, make a mess all over my dick.”

He thrust deeper into you and bent down to suck on one of your nipples. A few more loud moans and circles on your clit and your pussy fluttered as you reached your orgasm. He didn’t stop and kept up his quick pace until you squirted all over him and the sheets below.

“Fuuuuuck” his hips stuttered and he pushed himself deep as he painted your walls white. He pulled out quickly, the rest of his cum spilling into his hands and seeping through his fingers.

When you looked down, you couldn’t help but grab his hands to put his fingers in your mouth. Funny enough, the cum looks just like the way you love your ice cream.

“Channie, I think you’re my favorite flavor.”

#bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #skz smut #skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids #stray kids smut

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ari-ana-bel-la · 4 months ago

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I loved ur Charles!dad and teen daughter sm can u do one where he takes her to the paddock and she gets lost and helped around by the other drivers xx

Lost and found

The car ride to the circuit was filled with the soft hum of the engine and the distant buzz of the fans already gathering outside. Yn sat in the passenger seat, her phone in her hands, fingers scrolling through social media while her dad drove with practiced ease.

“Yn,” he called, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Stay close to me today, okay? It’s going to be really crowded. I don’t want anything to happen to you, and if something does, your mother will kill me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yn mumbled, not really paying attention as she double-tapped a picture.

“I mean it,” her dad pressed, his voice firm but warm. “Stay close. Promise me.”

“I promise,” she said absentmindedly, her eyes still fixed on her screen.

When they arrived at the paddock, the sheer volume of people was overwhelming. Fans, media, team members—all swarming through the narrow pathways, voices mixing together in a loud, chaotic symphony. The moment Yn stepped out of the car, the sound engulfed her.

She followed her dad as he walked toward the entrance, waving at a few familiar faces. He kept glancing back to make sure she was following, but Yn barely noticed. Her phone buzzed with messages from friends asking for pictures and updates, and she got distracted answering them.

A few steps later, when she finally lifted her head, the crowd seemed to have grown thicker. People pressed around her, conversations and laughter filling the air. Panic prickled at her chest as she realized her dad was nowhere in sight.

“Dad?” she called out, her voice swallowed by the noise.

No answer. Her heart started to race as she stood still, trying to catch a glimpse of his familiar figure in the sea of faces. Nothing. Everyone was taller than her, making it nearly impossible to see beyond the immediate bustle.

“Okay, stay calm,” she whispered to herself, gripping her phone tighter. “He can’t be far.”

“Yn?” a familiar voice called, cutting through her rising panic. She turned around to see her Uncle Carlos and Uncle Lando approaching, both wearing their team polos and matching concerned expressions.

“What are you doing here by yourself?” Lando asked, eyes scanning the crowd around them.

Relief washed over Yn like a wave, and she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “I was with Dad, but I looked at my phone for, like, a second, and now he’s gone,” she admitted sheepishly.

Carlos chuckled softly. “A second, huh? You sound just like him.”

“Come on,” Lando said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll help you find him before he has a heart attack.”

As they made their way through the paddock, Carlos and Lando kept her close, exchanging light banter to ease her nerves.

“So,” Lando teased, “how many selfies have you taken already today?”

Yn rolled her eyes. “I’m not that obsessed.”

Carlos grinned. “I bet your dad would disagree.”

They turned a corner and nearly bumped into Pierre, who was sipping a coffee and looking far too relaxed for the chaos around him.

“Why do you have a lost child?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“She lost her dad,” Carlos explained, biting back a smile.

“I did not lose him,” Yn protested. “He disappeared.”

Pierre chuckled, tipping his coffee cup toward her. “Sounds like you. Come on, I’ll join the rescue mission.”

With their little group now four strong, they continued toward the Ferrari garage. As they approached, the bright red of the garage felt like a beacon of hope. Just outside, Lewis was stepping inside, his calm demeanor as unwavering as always.

When he spotted Yn, his face softened into a warm smile. “There you are,” he said, opening his arms without hesitation.

Yn didn’t think twice before stepping into the comforting hug. “Hi, Lewis,” she mumbled against his chest.

“Let’s get you back to your dad before he loses his mind,” Lewis said gently, leading her inside while the others hung back with knowing grins.

The moment they entered the driver’s room, Yn saw her dad pacing back and forth, running a hand through his already messy hair. His head snapped up when the door opened, and his face went from stressed to relieved in a heartbeat.

“Dad!” Yn called, rushing into his arms.

He caught her, wrapping her tightly against him. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, just holding on as if they were afraid to let go.

“I was so worried,” he murmured into her hair, his voice slightly shaky. “You promised to stay close.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Yn whispered. “But I’m okay now.”

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s embrace, until her dad finally exhaled a deep breath and leaned back to look at her. “We are never telling your mother about this,” he said firmly.

Yn laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “Never.”

Lewis, leaning against the wall with a fond smile, cleared his throat. “Glad we found her in time. Otherwise, I think we’d all be in trouble.”

“You have no idea,” her dad muttered, but his grip on Yn didn’t loosen one bit.

Yn felt safe in her dad’s arms, and even though the paddock was still loud and chaotic outside, everything felt right again in that small room filled with the people who cared about her the most.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoy this story as much as I do. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

#f1 drivers as fathers #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x daughter!reader #leclerc!reader #dad!charles leclerc #💙🦋#f1 x female reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz x reader #lewis hamilton x reader

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vettelsvee · 9 days ago

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Hi, I love your writing, idk if your requests are open so I will send a request anyway, but no pressure to do it ofc. I have a request: could you maybe write something like reader is the passenger princess and like even though she has a drivers lincense (or not) he won’t let her drive or give up her seat as passenger princess, or just being overly overprotective, of course only if your comfortable and want to write this. I would like Max Verstappen/Charles Leclere/Oscar Piastri (but it’s your choice Ofc, write with whom your comfortable or want). No pressure to write it it’s just a thought.

Thanks xoxo

-🐨

THE PASSENGER PRINCESS CHRONICLES

⋆ INCLUDES: Oscar Piastri, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc ⋆ SUMMARY: Different situations on why they don't let you be their passenger princess even you insist them on giving you a chance! ↳ REQUESTED: Yes! Hope you like it anon, couldn't choose one! 🐨💖 ⋆ WARNINGS: Curse words, dangers on the road ⋆ WORD COUNT: 2726 ⋆ VEE'S NOTES: Today’s fic draft got deleted and I panicked BUT wrote this instead for anon 🥰 This is my first time ever doing this thing of x drivers in different situations and I really liked it, so tell me if you liked it so I get to do more in the future! Remember you can comment, request, like and reblog if you like my works! Thanks for reading <3 ↳ LET'S TALK/REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

₊˚・₊✧ OSCAR PIASTRI

"Could you buckle up properly, please?"

Oscar kept glancing between the road and you, clearly trying to get your attention because it was more than obvious you hadn’t listened to him. Playing innocent, you turned to him with an even more serious face than his, as if you hadn’t done anything wrong.

"You’ve got it under your arm,” he spoke again. “This isn’t a teen movie, you know… The way you’re wearing it doesn’t count."

"But I look cute tho," you replied, widening your smile, fully aware that was one of his weaknesses.

Oscar sighed, though he couldn’t help chuckling.

"I swear, one of these days you're going to give me a heart attack..."

"Nothing's going to happen. You’re a Formula 1 driver. I’m pretty sure that gives you more adrenaline than me not wearing a seatbelt properly."

"And I’m pretty sure the heart attack will come the day you get launched through the windshield because buckling up doesn’t go with your so-called aesthetic."

You let out a dramatic sigh. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point, and the last thing you wanted was to argue with him over something like this.

Once you finally clicked the seatbelt in correctly, he gave your knee a gentle squeeze.

"Happy now?"

"Yeah, normal," he replied in a teasing tone. "Though I’ll be truly happy the day you stop asking and begging me to let you drive."

You turned to him slowly. This conversation had come up more than once, and for a good reason. If one word described you behind the wheel, it was hazardous.

"You do remember I’ve had my license for four years, right?"

"Yes. And you also thought last week the gas pedal was the brake," Oscar shot back.

"It happened just once in four years! And only because you were stressing the hell out of me with the GPS!" you complained, swatting his arm.

"Another time you thought the car was in first gear, and it was reverse. Remember how my mom reacted when you broke her favorite flowerpot?"

You giggled, remembering Nicole’s reaction. She had every right to be mad, especially since she initially thought Oscar was responsible. But the moment you confessed it had been you, she softened and said it was fine. Even she offered to go buy a new one with you.

"Okay, fine, but… why do you always have to drive? I know I’m a mess, but you’re not perfect either! Half the time you’re barely awake!"

"Because I love you. That’s why," Oscar said immediately. You looked at him, knowing that wasn’t the whole story. "And because letting you drive is like handing a toddler a knife," he added.

"Excuse me?!"

Oscar took advantage of a red light to lean over and kiss your cheek quickly.

"Just being honest, princess."

You crossed your arms and pouted dramatically, playing along.

"Well, let me tell you something: if I had been a boy and started karting young, I could’ve been a driver too. And I’ll be challenging you, and probably be even better than you, and…"

"Babe, you can’t even park in parallel. Not to mention you always take forever to find a parking spot because you need every car in a five-meter radius to disappear."

"Parking in a full lot and parallel parking is overrated."

Oscar glanced at you, laughing again.

"What about the time you ran over your own shopping bag because you thought you were in first gear, but it was in reverse, again?"

"I didn’t notice, Osc!"

"Of course you didn’t. You left the bag on the roof, hit the garage door, it fell… and then you panicked, threw it in drive, and crushed it."

"Okay, okay! I know I’m a disaster," you admitted, finally accepting he wasn't going to let you drive. "But you still love me… even if I have no idea how I even passed my driving test, right?"

"You don’t even have to ask that. Of course I love you," Oscar said, his face softening with a small smile.

This time you leaned closer, planting a kiss near the corner of his lips as you laced your fingers with his on the gearstick.

"So… you really love me even if all I’ll ever be is a humble, helpless, incredibly stunning passenger princess?"

Oscar brought your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

"Especially because of that. I don’t know, call me old-fashioned… but I like having you here beside me. Safe, calm, even if I’m scolding you for not buckling up properly, or putting your feet on the dashboard, or leaving food crumbs all over the seat, or singing completely off-key..."

"Hey!"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. You're an absolute disaster… but you’re my perfect disaster. And I wouldn’t change a thing."

You melted, a lot, hearing that. Letting your head rest against the window, you finally decided to stop pestering Oscar for a while and just enjoy the music. He’d let you pick the playlist, of course, and right now, One Direction’s debut album was playing.

But staying quiet wasn’t really your style.

Three minutes in, right before Gotta Be You ended, you turned to him again.

"Osc…"

"Yeah?"

"Can I drive just a little bit? Just to the supermarket, I swear. So you can see I can actually do it."

"Nope."

"Not even to the end of the street?"

"You are banned from driving when I’m in the car," Oscar declared.

You huffed dramatically.

"Are you seriously not going to let me? Oscar Piastri, I might have to sue you…"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Why exactly?"

"Because you’re denying me the right to drive and relegating me to permanent passenger princess status. I should at least be allowed one drive per month! Passenger princess privileges, don’t you think?"

Oscar burst out laughing, wondering how you managed to always come up with the most ridiculous arguments and how you could be so persistent when you knew he’d never budge.

"Keep dreaming, sweetheart," he replied. "As long as we’re together, I’m driving."

"Don’t worry. Once we have kids, I’ll make sure they are on my side. They'll give you puppy eyes, and then you’ll have to let mommy drive."

₊˚・₊✧ MAX VERSTAPPEN

"Can I drive the rest of the way home?"

Max didn’t answer. Instead, he simply turned the volume of the music up a notch.

You frowned and reached over to switch off the radio.

“I’m being serious, Max. You’ve been driving all day.”

“I’m fine,” he replied curtly, though his tone was calm. His hands, however, were gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.

“You always say that.”

Max glanced at you briefly, then returned his focus to the road.

“Because it’s true. I’m fine,” he repeated.

You smiled faintly, but the truth was, it stung a little.

Sure, you preferred Max behind the wheel. Who wouldn’t? But that didn’t mean you never wanted to drive.

“Max… you know I can drive. I’m actually really good at it.”

“I know.”

“Okay, so if you know that, then why… I don’t know… Why do you never let me drive?”

Silence. You couldn’t tell if he was thinking of an answer, an excuse, or just ignoring the question. Either way, you didn’t press him.

“I don’t like being in the passenger seat,” he said finally.

That didn’t surprise you. Not from Max, not when driving was quite literally his entire life, and one he happened to be exceptionally good at, with four world championships on his back. But what did surprise you was the honesty in his voice. He didn’t often open up, especially not when it came to cars and driving.

“Not even if it means you being my passenger prince?” you teased gently.

Still no answer. Seconds stretched into minutes.

“I’m not saying I want to take your car and joyride around town,” you said softly, careful not to upset him. “I just mean… today, I could drive us home. The same way you take care of us, I want to take care of you, too. But when I’m sitting here, doing nothing… I feel like a burden.”

Max’s jaw tightened. Your words caught him off guard.

“That’s not it,” he said.

“Then what it is?”

Again, silence. You watched his knuckles whiten on the wheel, and noticed the slight aggressiveness in his gear changes.

“When I’m driving,” he finally said, “I know what’s going to happen. I’m in control. I can anticipate anything and fix it if something goes wrong. But if I’m not the one driving…”

“You lose that control,” you finished for him.

He nodded.

“I get it. Really, I do,” you replied, sincerely. “This…” you gestured around the car, then at him, “This is your world. It's what you're best at. But that doesn’t mean you have to be on and focused on everything all the time. You don’t have to protect us constantly, Max. Sometimes… you need to let yourself be cared for, too.”

He looked at you, then shifted his gaze to the rearview mirror where Lily, your six-month-old daughter, was curled up in her car seat, fast asleep.

“You trust me with everything else,” you added gently. “Why not with this?”

Max glanced back at you again, this time fully turning his head as he slowed the car down to a crawl, barely going 15 km/h.

His eyes softened. Then he smiled, just a little.

“You don’t even break the speed limit. You’re… let’s just say a bit too cautious.”

“Excuse me for respecting traffic laws,” you said in mock offense a little too loudly, because Lily stirred and whimpered in her sleep. You winced. “That” you whispered, pointing back “is why I don’t speed.”

“Sorry, but it’s boring,” Max murmured. “And I don’t care that we’re parents.”

“Sure, sure,” you replied with a roll of your eyes. “I know you strictly follow speed limits with Lily in the car… but I also know you don’t when she’s not.”

Max chuckled under his breath. A few minutes later, he pulled into an empty parking lot and stopped the engine.

“Wait, are you seriously…?”

He nodded, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door.

“Go on,” he said. “Switch seats before I change my mind.”

You squealed and quickly unbuckled, hopping out of the car and doing a little victory dance as you passed him, hugging him along the way.

“I’m so proud of you. This is real growth,” you teased, grinning.

You slid behind the wheel, half expecting him to join you in the passenger seat. But when you checked the mirror, you saw him settle into the back instead, next to Lily, now awake, and begin playing with her.

You couldn’t help but smile. And maybe tear up a little, trying your best to hold back tears.

Max was tense at first. His arms were wrapped protectively around Lily’s seat, and he flinched every time you braked a touch too hard or took a slightly sharper turn, even though, objectively, you were driving just fine.

“Relax,” you whispered, reaching your hand back and gently resting it on his leg. “Want me to go slower?”

He nodded. So you did.

And little by little, maybe for the first time in his life, Max let go of the wheel… and found peace in not being in control. Especially if it meant watching you smile and soaking in every quiet second with the little girl who’d just learned to hold his fingers in her tiny fists while smiling and babbling all the time.

₊˚・₊✧ CHARLES LECLERC

"You know what? I do have a driver’s license too, in case you forgot."

Charles didn’t even look at you when you said it, breaking the silence in a rather annoyed tone. Instead, he kept his eyes on the road and his hands firmly gripping the steering wheel.

"Yeah, I remember, don’t worry. The scratches you left on the car two weeks ago and the bill from the mechanic made it pretty clear," he replied sarcastically.

"That doesn’t count," you shot back, rolling your eyes. "That parking space was tiny."

"You parked in a spot meant for a Fiat, not a Ferrari."

He couldn't hold back his laughter after that.

You didn’t find the comment particularly funny, especially because you had felt guilty about the whole thing even though Charles insisted it wasn’t a big deal.

"Let me drive. Just once. I’m really bored."

"Bored? In a Ferrari? With me?"

He turned to you, completely baffled by your complaint, and burst out laughing.

"Yes," you said flatly. "Ever since you let me drive once, Charles, just once, and that happened, I’ve been banished to the passenger seat. I don’t get to do anything from here! So yes, trust me, I’m bored as fuck. Very."

"You want to drive this car? This exact one?"

"Of course I do!"

"Over my dead body, sweetheart."

You crossed your arms and let out a frustrated groan.

"You’re such a control freak."

"No, love, I’m a Formula 1 driver," he corrected you. "Keeping things under control is literally my job."

"You’re insufferable."

"And yet, here we are. Three years later and you still love me."

"I think at this point we just tolerate each other," you joked, still slightly bitter that he wouldn't let you drive.

"Right. That’s why you refuse to go back to your apartment to get clothes and keep stealing mine," he quipped. "How long have you been staying over mine? Five days? You said it was just for one night, if I remember correctly."

"Your place is cozy and bigger than mine. Also, may I remind you that you have Leo, who’s, by the way, way nicer, cuter and more pleasant than you."

While speaking, you started fiddling with the A/C controls, pushing buttons aimlessly in an attempt to make it colder. When Charles noticed, he fought the urge to panic and gently moved your hand away.

"Don’t touch anything," he said seriously.

"God, you really need to humble yourself. It’s just a car, not the Holy Grail," you snapped, genuinely annoyed by his reaction.

Who got that worked up over a car?

Suddenly, Charles pulled into a dead-end road that opened onto a scenic lookout. The view of the ocean was stunning, but that’s not what crossed your mind when he stopped.

"Wait… are you actually going to let me drive?!"

Charles turned off the engine and faced you. Then he smiled and said:

"No."

"Then why the hell did you bring me here?!"

"Because this is where I wanted to bring you all along," he admitted. "I found this spot the other day while driving and thought you’d love it. I know how much you like these type of views, so…"

You gave up.

Looking at Charles, you couldn’t help but throw yourself into his arms, covering his face in kisses, feeling a little more cheerful even if your frustration over the driving situation hadn’t quite faded.

You both sat in silence for a while, now sitting on the hood of the car, you snapping photos of the view, Charles taking photos of you.

"You know," he said after a moment, "you’re the only person I’d share this car with."

"Does that sharing include me driving it?"

"If you already know the answer, why do you ask me?"

You pouted, arms crossed. Charles laughed and wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"But you are my passenger princess and trust me, that’s way better," he continued. "You get full control of playlists, unlimited talking privileges, and I even you have the opportunity of eating in the car whatever you want, whenever you want."

"That’s it? Seriously?"

"Also kisses at every red light or pedestrian crossing," he added, making you smile and blush. "And maybe… if I see you really trying…"

"You’ll let me drive?!" you interrupted, eyes lighting up.

"I was going to say I might rent you a car for a day… Does that count?"

You shook your head and gave his arm a playful smack. Then, grabbing him by the chin, you pulled him in for a kiss and made him look you in the eye.

#f1 x reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 headcanons #f1 fluff #formula 1 #oscar piastri #charles leclerc #max verstappen #oscar piastri fanfic #max verstappen fanfic #charles leclerc fanfic

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morganbritton132 · 19 days ago

Text

It is two days after this event and Hopper and Callahan are in Melvalds taking a statement about a couple of teens that keep stealing magazines.

Ultimately, the only thing that will come out of this is an issued warning but Callahan needs experience interviewing witnesses so here they are.

Hopper is only vaguely listening to the conversation between Callahan and Donald Melvalds when Steve comes into the store. He’s wearing his baseball uniform, had a bat sticking out of his backpack.

He walks to the back of the store and returns to the front with a red Gatorade. He counts out his money at the counter and that should’ve been that.

No words exchanged. No conversation. No problem.

So, why. Pray tell. Why did Callahan open his trap and ask Steve, “Did you make up with your friend yet?”

Steve looks up at him. He looks at Don and then at Hopper. His voice wobbles when he says, “No.”

“He said -“ Steve manages before his voice breaks into sobs. “He said I can’t go to his house no more.”

If looks could kill, Hopper would’ve murdered Callahan three times over.

#Callahan gives Hopper and Donald Melvald a look like: Oops?#and get twin looks back that clearly say they think he’s an idiot #Later this story is going to be retold for Powell and Callahan is going to justify his actions like: I was making small talk?#Powell: With a six year old?#Powell insists that he would be able to handle Steve just fine since he has boys of his own #Though he is always conveniently absent when they’re dealing with any of the Harringtons #phil callahan #jim hopper #steve harrington

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pomefioredove · 7 months ago

Note

I have a silly idea: reader comes with Jade, Leona, or whoever else you want when they get their wisdom teeth taken out, so they can drive them home after, you know, but [Jade, Leona, or whoever] has a strong reaction to the anesthetic and is very loopy (and emotional, and honest) afterwards.

I hope you feel better soon!

arguably leona is the funniest one 😭😭 ty for this anon

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ forget it

type of post: fic characters: leona additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, reader can drive, I feel like that needs tagging, I didn't write this about jade but he snuck his way in anyway

"Careful. Mind your head. Let's get you into the car- there we go,"

Leona mumbles something nonsensical, holding an icepack to his jaw.

You'd think, with the pain and all, he'd be in an even worse mood than he usually is.

But then, you'd be wrong. He's full of surprises.

He runs his free hand over the armrest of his seat. "Where'd you get this thing, anyway? I thought you were supposed to be poor or 'somethin,"

"It was a gift, actually," ...from Leona himself, which he doesn't seem to remember. Hm.

"Whoever bought it must like you a lot..."

You give him a strange look before you start the car. "I suppose so?"

"Lucky bastard,"

You laugh. Then he laughs, which takes you by surprise. It's not like him to be so... unlike him.

He's very talkative, too.

Leona's been mumbling nonsense to himself since he got out of the dentist's door, but this is actual conversation, now... if a little slurred.

"'s a good thing you're 'doin this. If it was Jack or 'somethin I'd never hear the end of it... you're dependable, 'ya know?"

Laughing gas. The nurse had warned you he might be a little loopy for a short time after the procedure. Euphoric, is the word she actually used.

You can definitely see that now.

Leona is looking at you like you're the prettiest thing he ever saw, his eyelids lowered.

"Do you got a boyfriend or 'somethin?"

The numb, slurred state of his words makes it uneasy to understand him, but with the look he's been giving you, it's not exactly hard to guess.

"No, not presently," you say, trying to keep your eyes on the road. "Why? You gonna ask me out?"

"Yeah. Maybe,"

You roll your eyes. The nurse had also warned you he might experience some mild memory loss.

An effect of the laughing gas, again.

He won't remember this conversation in a few hours. A sense of disappointment hollows out your chest. You ignore it.

"Okay, then. Meet me on Friday. Six PM. I want dinner and a show, your pick," you say, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Done,"

"And I want flowers. Imported from Sunset Savanna,"

"Can do that,"

"And I expect a kiss at the end. A proper one, not a teen boy one,"

"Pfft. A teen boy one?"

"You know. Eyes open, dumb look on their face, tongue sticking out. You'll have to kiss me like a gentleman, Kingscholar. I really like you. Like-like you. Make it count,"

"Yeah, yeah..."

He mutters, closing his eyes and kicking back against the car seat.

Not all things are so different about him now- he falls asleep just the same. And he snores. All the way back to school.

You nudge him awake and he only growls, though not very menacingly, and lets you help him back to his dorm, your arm under his. Once he's tucked in bed, medication on the bedside table and a checklist in Ruggie's hands, you're done.

Walking back to your own dorm, you feel that same hollow sense of disappointment. And some relief, too. You confessed to your crush, and he won't even remember it!

"Ah, it's you. I was wondering who might be out so late,"

You jump, and spin on your heels towards the source of the noise. Behind you, the owner of the mysterious voice comes out of the shadows.

"Oh. Jade," who else would you expect at this point?

"Good evening," he bows, a little too formally for the sharp-toothed smirk on his face. "Might I inquire what you're doing, out here so late?"

"I had to drive Leona to a dentist thing," you shrug, walking again. Jade follows alongside you.

"Oh? And that went well?"

You chuckle. "Very. Besides the side effects on the anesthesia they put him on,"

That familiar curiosity gleams in Jade's glassy eyes, giving him a predatorial look. It's... unnerving. As usual.

"Oh? I wish you had told me. I've become quite interested in land creature teeth lately... tell me, what anesthesia was used?"

Creepy. But not unusual for Jade. "Some injection, and laughing gas,"

"...Interesting... you were in the car for a long while?"

"Uh..." where's he going with this? "Yeah, I guess. And we had to fill out some paperwork in the lobby before leaving."

"Interesting... very interesting,"

The gleam in his eyes almost becomes hungry, as if he's feeding off of what you're telling him.

Like... he knows something.

You narrow your eyes. "What?"

Jade grins, showing you rows of sharpened teeth. "Oh, nothing..."

You wait for him to go on. He waits for you to ask. You both walk down the long path to your dorm.

"...It's just that the effects of laughing gas wear off no more than ten minutes after the flow has ended. I'd dare to say that Leona was perfectly lucid by the time you got into the car,"

You slow. Then you stop. There's no way...

That... absolutely bastard of a prince.

Jade's grin sharpens.

"It seems as if whatever secret you have so clearly given Leona while you thought he was drugged isn't so secret now... is it?"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #leona kingscholar x reader

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flamingpudding · 1 year ago

Text

Jail Buddies

Once a month, Jason makes an effort to meet Dick on purpose. Sometimes even more. After all, he was a good little brother checking in with his brother. Though he had a rather uncontroversial way of doing so. One that involved getting led into a jail cell of your local police department and loudly demanding to speak to Officer Grayson.

Okay, maybe it wasn't like that it was an effort to check on his brother and just one of his many listed dumb moments of recklessness he got caught for. And he was maybe using his brother to get out without having to call Cass, Steph, Duke, Tim, Damian, Alfred or Bruce, in that order depending who was willing to bail him out every time Dick had his 'Little Wing you won't learn if I keep bailing you out.'-Phases again. Or if Dick was being petty because of a recent prank war.

Either way, while Jason was waiting for Dick to make his entrance in his cell he noticed the teen boy sharing the cell with him staring at him wide eyed. He arched an eyebrow, and decided on a whim to make friendly conversation.

"So what got you here kid?"

The teen blinked as if just realizing Jason had addressed him before grinning a bit feral, his blue eyes having an unnatural glow. "Vandalism."

Jason's eyebrow rose again, but the teen continued.

"Trashed mu place and gave my guardian's car a pretty paint job and some other stuff."

"You vandalized your own place? And got arrested."

"Fruitloop decided an overnight stay was a better punishment then leaving me unattended."

The teen shrugged and Jason couldn't help but feel like he just had heard a red flag. He opened his mouth to question the kid more but than his brother finally made his entrance.

"Little Wing! What did you do this time!?" Jason could see that Dick was out to start a rant but changed tunes when he noticed the teen.

"Danny or Dan? You are here again? When did they bring you in? Trouble at home?" Dick asked, and Jason clearly saw the telltale signs of information fishing bat style.

"Danny and the usual." Danny, as Jason now learned the kid's name was, shrugged nonchalantly like this wasn't the first time he and Dick had had that exchange.

"Seriously buddy? I had a rebellious phase as teen too but to regularly trash your home to the point that someone calls the police or vandalize your guardian's cars, buildings, advertisements or anything that has to do with him is not a solution kid." Jason arched an eyebrow at Dicks tone, feeling slightly reminded of whenever Dick lectured one of them.

"Oh I know. But it's a nice stress reliever, plus you guys are nice here. I get pizza as dinner whenever I stay the night." The kid grinned and Jason couldn't help the snort that earned him a little glare from Dick.

Instead of arguing further his brother let out a suffering sigh and let Jason out of the cell, waving him towards the exit and following him shortly after giving the kid one more look that looked like a mix between stern and pleading to stop being a rebellious teen.

Once out of earshot, Jason then chose to ask. "So what's the kid's deal?"

"Nothing, just a rebellious teen reminds me of Damian when he first appeared. He has a twin and a little sister as far as I know, both of them also known here. Their guardian is an upstanding man, though." Jason heard the hidden but.

"Did someone look into it?" He hummed more as a cover.

"Higher ups don't know, but i am running an investigation." Translation Bruce is unaware, but Dick was using Bat resources for looking into the kid's residence.

"Nice kid, didn't think he was a regular." He only commented.

"Nice and polite, you wouldn't think he did some of the things he was brought in for. Distrustful though, despite his friendly nature."

Jason nodded as Dick went through the papers to bail him out, a thought popping up in his head. Clearly, something was up with the kid that had his brother worried, and it looked like he was stuck on just doing his investigation. So, being the thoughtful little brother he was, Jason decided to help his brother.

In his uncontroversial ways, of course.

"Yo Danny, also here?" Jason grinned as he was led into the same cell the teen was in a week later.

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suuuupernovaaa · 2 months ago

Text

claw clip

summary: reader misses claw clips the most of anything pre-apocalypse. joel is obsessed with her, and fixes her issue.

warnings/tags: jackson joel, obsessed joel, simping, fluffy, HEA

MASTERLIST

The question is: what do you miss most about life pre-apocalypse?

Some at the table, like Ellie and Dina, were born into this world, so sit in rapt attention, listening to everyone else discuss before.

Some, like me, were early teens at the time. There’s things we miss, but maybe not as much as those at the table like Joel and Tommy, who were in their 30s.

“Your turn,” Tommy turns to me, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

“Oh, I don’t know…” I say, folding my hands on the table. “I was 14 at the time. I’ve lived like this more than, yknow, like that.”

“Come on,” Ellie says, rolling her eyes playfully. “Name one thing.”

I sigh. “Claw clips.”

Joel next to me lets out an ungentlemanly snort. “Like, for hair?”

Without thinking, my hand raises up to bring my braid over my shoulder. “Yes! This is why I didn’t want to share. It’s stupid. I’m sure there are some out there, but they’d be so brittle and useless by now. I loved wearing my hair in a claw clip. I did it every day, so I would look just like my mom.” I shrug, wrapping the long braid around my hand. “I just miss it.”

I let my braid fall behind my back again, and an awkward silence falls over the table.

“That’s not stupid,” Dina says, offering me a smile that I return eagerly.

Joel reaches over, pulling my braid back over my shoulder, and I look to him.

“Sometimes I miss the small things, too,” he says, and I reach over to squeeze his thigh.

xxx

It’s a few days later when I’m reminded of this conversation. I’ve just finished dinner at Joel’s house, and Ellie is helping me clean up.

It’s been a few months that I’ve been dating the man that I know she considers a father, even if she doesn’t say it, and Ellie has been nothing but kind to me in that time. She’s strong willed and a little goofy, a perfect and dangerous combination that makes her endearing to me.

“Are you in love with Joel?” she asks as I hand her a plate to dry. One thing I have learned about the teenager is that she isn’t shy, not in the least. If something crosses her mind, she says it.

I let out a laugh that’s equal parts nervous and entertained.

“I can’t tell you that before I’ve told him that,” I reply, dipping a bowl in the water.

“Hm,” she says quietly. “Sounds like a yes to me.”

When we’re finished, she heads out to meet up with Dina, and I join Joel in the living room on the couch, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh.

Joel is reserved in front of other people. I don’t think anyone would realize at a glance what we are to each other. He keeps a polite distance, greets me with curt nods and barely-there smiles.

It’s different when it’s just the two of us. Joel is touching me, always. A hand on my thigh, or my lower back, maybe playing with my hair, or enveloping me in his arms.

It’s why I don’t mind the distance in public. It doesn’t feel cold because sometimes, I catch his stare lingering or wandering, and I know he’s longing for us to be alone, just like I am.

He wraps his arm around me, pulling me tight to him, and I rest my head on his strong shoulder.

“I have something for you,” he tells me, his voice like dark honey pouring over me in the dimming evening light.

“Oh?” I say, leaning away to look at him. He stands up, looking a little nervous, running his hands down his shirt.

“Wait here.”

He stalks off then, his boots clicking on the floor, and I wait anxiously until he returns.

I can’t tell what it is in his hands at first, until he sits next to me and extends it my way.

“I wasn’t sure how big it should be. I can make a smaller one, or larger. You have a lot of hair so I thought this would, uh, work.”

It’s a claw clip. Made of polished wood, shiny and beautiful. I open it and close it, hearing that familiar click that I’d almost forgotten.

I can see my mother, standing in the kitchen, expertly twisting her hair up in a way I was always trying to replicate.

My heart is pounding, tight in my chest as I stare at this gift with eyes that are filling with tears.

“Did you make this?” I ask, even though the answer is obviously yes.

He just nods and clears his throat.

With shaking fingers, I pull my hair back, twisting it as best I can in the way I remember my mother doing 20 years ago. I feel like a child, practicing in my bedroom, wanting to be as lovely as she was.

The clip feels secure on my head. A little heavy, since it’s made of wood instead of plastic, but that makes it special.

It fits perfectly, holding all my hair in a twist that probably looks messy, and tears are falling from my eyes now.

“You’re crying,” Joel says matter of factly. I try to remember if I’ve cried in front of him before. I think this might be a first.

“Joel, I…” I struggle to find the words to explain how I feel, so instead, I pull him to me by his shoulders and press my lips to his in a searing, desperate kiss that I hope tells him.

He holds me tight to him, returning the kiss with enthusiasm, and when I pull away, he wipes the tears from my face.

“This means a lot to me. I can’t believe you did that for me.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Why? Can’t you believe it, I mean?”

I reach up, running my fingers over the clip again. “No one has ever done anything like this for me. You must like me a lot,” I say with a smile, my voice still thick with emotion.

“You might say that,” he says, pulling me in for another soft kiss. “You might say I even love you,” he murmurs, his lips still a whisper away from mine, our eyes still closed.

I’m going to cry again. “I love you too, Joel Miller.”

He smiles at me then. A true, ear to ear smile, so rare from this serious man of mine, and the tears do flow then.

But he doesn’t seem to mind.

#Joel miller #Joel miller fluff #Joel miller fic #tlou

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xoxolaw · 18 days ago

Text

+ MUTUAL FRAUD

in which two teens fake being One Piece fans for each other, only to find out that they're terrible liars, and a little bit in love.

GO HYUN TAK X READER

fluff

The first time he saw her, she was standing outside Eunjang High’s gate, leaning against the brick wall, one leg propped up, lollipop tucked between her lips, earphones in as she scrolled through her phone—laughing every few seconds like the world existed only for her amusement.

It was like someone had hit pause on the world.

Everything dulled around her—except for the glow in his eyes.

Was this how love at first sight felt?

A fuzzy warmth in your chest?

A flutter in your stomach just by seeing someone exist?

“Gotak! Why’d you stop like that?” Baku’s voice slammed into him like a train, snapping Hyun Tak out of whatever daze he’d been drowning in.

He blinked. Jun Tae was already over there—talking to her. Si Eun nodded politely. Even Baku, with all his noise, was grinning wide.

But she—

She glanced up at the sound of his name.

“Coming!” Hyun Tak called, and when he jogged over with a sheepish smile tugging at his lips,

Her mouth parted slightly.

Just for a second, they looked at each other—just one second.

But it hit like a full minute of sun pouring through a window on a winter day.

She wasn't expecting much when Jun Tae texted her that morning.

"Swing by Eunjang, I'll return your book. Also, want you to meet the guys."

She hadn't planned much, she stopped by right after her school ended. A lazy lollipop to fight the summer heat and a playlist to kill time while she waited outside Eunjang High’s gate.

No big deal.

She’d meet a few boys, nod, smile politely, and go home.

That was the plan.

Until she looked up—and saw him.

Messy hair, broad shoulders, blue hoodie like he lived in it. He wasn’t doing anything special. Just standing a few feet away from Baku, blinking like someone had unplugged his brain.

But something about the way his eyes softened when he looked at her—like he wasn’t expecting to see the sun but got blinded anyway—

It made her pause.

She hadn’t even realized she stopped laughing at her phone until her mouth opened slightly, the lollipop practically falling out.

"Who... is that?"

He jogged over when Baku shouted something, hair bouncing slightly with each step.

And when he smiled—just a little, soft and almost shy—

Her heart did something very stupid.

It flipped.

Turned sideways.

Fluttered against her ribs like it was trying to climb out.

He looked at her just once. Just for a second.

And in that second, she felt it—

That dizzy, lightheaded, "oh no he's cute" moment that girls in dramas have before the intro song kicks in.

She quickly glanced away, forcing her lips to wrap back around the lollipop, willing her heartbeat to calm down.

She could play it cool. No big deal.

Just another boy.

She didn’t even know his name.

Didn’t even know if they’d talk.

But in that half-second of shared eye contact—

Her world tilted. Just a little.

And something inside her whispered:

“Please let him be the kind of boy who talks about things just to make you smile.”

---

“She’s from Kanghak High,” Jun Tae said later as they walked toward the usual chicken shop. “Old friend of mine. Y/N.”

Hyun Tak tried to play it cool. “Cool. Uh... cool name.”

His hands were in his hoodie pocket. He stared forward like he didn’t want to ask.

But he did.

Hyun Tak tried to focus on the conversation—on what everyone was saying, the usual banter and jokes. But the truth was, he wasn’t listening to the words.

He was listening to her.

To the way her voice rose when she laughed, light and unbothered. The way her hair shifted gently with the breeze, catching the sunlight in strands he wanted to memorize. The way her eyes occasionally flicked toward him—brief, accidental glances that somehow felt like punches to his chest.

He wasn’t sure what they were all talking about.

But he knew how many times she smiled.

And he knew exactly how it made him feel.

And in no time, he didn't even realise how he ended up sitting right across her at the chicken shop.

And she… didn’t realize how hard it would be to look anywhere else.

She pretended to scroll through the menu even though she wasn't really reading it. Every now and then, her eyes would flicker up—just for a second, just long enough to see him.

Hyun Tak sat with his arms on the table, hoodie sleeves pushed to his forearms, fingers tapping lightly against the wood like he was trying to match a rhythm only he could hear. He wasn’t saying much. Just smiling at whatever Baku or Jun Tae said. Nodding. Occasionally letting out a soft laugh that—

God. That laugh.

She almost dropped her chopsticks when she heard it for the first time. It was low, kind of boyish, and it curled around her chest like a secret.

He didn’t talk much, but when he did glance at her—like he just wanted to make sure she was still there, still listening—it sent a ripple down her spine.

It wasn’t anything dramatic. No slow-motion hair flips. No cheesy k-drama sparkles.

Just the quiet, magnetic pull of sitting across from someone who made the world feel a little softer, a little more focused.

Like background noise suddenly knew how to hum in tune.

She noticed how he always made sure the sauce was near her side. How he offered the last drumstick without a second thought. How he kept brushing his hair back, only for it to fall right back into his eyes—like the universe was determined to make him look adorable.

She sipped her soda to calm the nerves that wouldn’t stop dancing.

And when their eyes met again—brief, unplanned, warm—

She smiled, pretending it was casual.

But inside, her heart whispered quietly:

Please look at me like that again.

---

"Bye!" she called out, her voice bright and warm, a grin stretched wide across her face like she was genuinely happy to have met them.

It echoed in his ears.

Hyun Tak lifted his hand to wave along with the others, trying to hide the way his smile lingered a second too long.

And that’s when he saw it—

The keychain dangling off the side of her bag, bouncing lightly with every step she took away from them.

A small, round figure with a straw hat and a wide grin. The colors were a little faded, like it had been with her for a while.

One Piece.

His eyes narrowed just a bit, something shifting in his brain.

Jun Tae was always going on about it. Something about pirates and dreams and loyalty and power-ups. Hyun Tak never really cared for it—he barely watched cartoons, let alone anime—but now?

Now it was different.

Because she liked it.

Or at least… she had the keychain. That had to mean something, right?

He stared at the little pirate bouncing on her bag until she disappeared down the street.

And in his chest, something clicked into place.

A quiet, determined thought.

---

That night, he didn’t even notice how quickly time slipped away.

What started as a casual search—“One Piece characters explained”—spiraled into an accidental three-hour rabbit hole.

He watched clips with half-lidded eyes, brows furrowed in concentration. He paused every few seconds to read the comments, double-checked character names, skimmed through fan wikis, and tried to memorize just enough to sound natural.

Straw Hat Pirates. Devil fruits. Grand Line.

It all blurred into a mess of colors and quotes and names he could barely pronounce.

But every time he wanted to give up, he’d remember that little keychain bouncing off her bag, and the smile she gave when she said goodbye.

That smile alone made reading twenty paragraphs about a talking reindeer somehow worth it.

He wasn’t trying to become a fan.

He was just trying to find a way in.

A way to sit across from her again—this time with something to say.

---

He was mid-chokehold—arms wrapped around Baku’s neck in playful vengeance—as the four of them strolled out of Eunjang’s gates, the afternoon sun spilling gold over their shoulders.

Hyun Tak had barely slept.

He'd spent half the night drowning in One Piece lore—memorizing character arcs, googling “best quotes to casually drop,” and silently mouthing Luffy’s full name like it was an exam question.

Still, he hadn’t expected to need it so soon.

And then—

His eyes landed on her.

She stood by the sidewalk, that familiar lollipop tucked between her lips like punctuation. The breeze played with the ends of her hair, and just like yesterday—just like that first second—everything else dimmed around her.

His arms dropped from Baku’s shoulders.

Literally. Just let go.

Baku stumbled forward with a strangled cough. “Bro—what the hell—”

But Hyun Tak didn’t hear him.

She had looked up.

And she smiled again. That same smile from yesterday, a little lopsided like it didn’t try too hard—but still managed to knock the wind out of his lungs.

He stepped forward, adjusting his hoodie, trying not to trip over the nerves that gathered all at once in his chest.

“Yo,” she said, waving casually.

“Hi,” he said awkwardly.

It came out softer than he meant. Barely above a whisper. Like his voice had forgotten how to work the moment she looked at him again.

She tilted her head, amused. “Rough night?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You look like you fought your pillow and lost.”

He huffed a laugh—short, nervous, and undeniably fond. “Yeah, kinda.”

There was a silence, a little bit awkward until he decided to break it, "you've... um, you've got a cool keychain. Luffy."

Her eyes widened a fraction—surprised. She glanced down at the little pirate swinging by her bag, "uh, yeah."

"Who's your favourite character?" He asked out of nowhere. She took a break... A long one as she tried to process the rate at which her heart beat with every smile of his.

"Luffy." She answered, smiling a bit awkwardly but in his eyes, it was the sweetest smile.

And that was how it all started. She started showing up in front of Eunjang everyday, never missing a single one.

And it was only for one reason.

To see Hyun Tak.

And Hyun Tak started running to the gate as soon as the bell rang.

For only one reason.

To see her.

---

She really looked forward to these afternoons. Watching him run over, drop an One Piece reference like that's all he talks about. But she didn't mind. In fact, she loved it. Everytime he would say something.

“So, uh… you think Luffy’s Gear Fifth is overpowered or what?” he asked one day, leaning against the wall next to her, trying to sound casual despite the way his heart was doing backflips.

She popped the lollipop out of her mouth, raising an eyebrow. “Gear Fifth? Uh… yeah, it’s… pretty wild.”

He didn’t notice the slight hesitation in her voice, the way her eyes flicked to the side as she scrambled for a response. To him, she was just playing it cool, like she always did.

“Right? Like, the way he just—boom—turns everything into a cartoon? Insane.”

She nodded, biting back a grin. “Totally insane.”

She didn’t know what Gear Fifth was. Not really. She’d heard the term maybe once, from a friend who wouldn’t shut up about anime, but she hadn’t watched a single episode of One Piece in her life.

The keychain? A random gift from her Jun Tae, shoved onto her bag because it looked cute and she didn’t care enough to take it off.

But the way Hyun Tak’s eyes lit up when he talked about it—the way he leaned closer, voice buzzing with excitement, like he’d been waiting all day just to share this with her—made her want to keep up the act.

So she did.

She googled terms in secret between classes, watched fan-edits at 2 a.m. until her eyes burned, and forced herself to sit through five episodes straight without understanding why Zoro kept getting lost or why Sanji wouldn’t stop flirting. It was chaotic. Long. Overwhelming.

But when she would remember Hyun Tak's smile

—God, it was worth it.

---

“You really think Enies Lobby was the best arc?” he asked one afternoon, brows raised like he was quizzing her on a final.

She hesitated only for a second. “Yeah,” she said with forced conviction, “I mean—Robin’s ‘I want to live’ moment? Kinda iconic.”

His jaw dropped a little. “Right?! I cried.”

She blinked. “...You did?”

“Don’t tell the guys,” he added quickly, ears turning pink, “but yeah. Ugly cried.”

She smiled, warm and unbothered. “That makes two of us.”

It didn’t. She hadn’t even gotten to Enies Lobby yet. But she made a mental note to skip ahead that night, just to see the moment that cracked him open like that.

---

This went on for weeks. Quiet moments by the gate, post-school banter that was 60% anime and 40% stolen glances.

He brought her snacks sometimes—“Zoro’s favorite rice crackers,” he claimed. She pretended she knew what that meant. She once brought him a straw hat keyring and watched him go still for a second before blurting, “I’m gonna treasure this forever, just so you know.”

---

And the truth?

The truth was she hadn’t meant to fall this hard.

She only stopped by the gates that first day on a whim, half-curious, half-bored.

But now—

Now it was the best part of her day.

Seeing him wait for her.

Seeing him light up the second their eyes met.

---

But soon everything was catching up to her.

The references were getting harder to fake.

And the hesitation in her voice was growing.

She tried. God, she tried.

Every night she'd google summaries, skim episode breakdowns, and even bookmarked a list of “Top 20 One Piece Moments To Pretend You've Watched.” She memorized names, powers, even the stupid boat’s name. She didn’t get it—but she got him. The way he smiled when he talked about it. The way he looked at her like she was the only one who ever really listened.

And Hyun Tak?

Hyun Tak was drowning.

He had exhausted the “Best One Piece Quotes to Casually Drop” article by week two. Every night was a last-minute cram session—watching half-speed TikToks about arcs he didn't understand and squinting at spoiler-filled Reddit threads just so he wouldn’t mess up the timeline when she inevitably asked something he wasn’t prepared for.

He thought she was a superfan.

She thought he was a superfan.

And both of them were completely wrong.

---

One afternoon, they sat on a park bench, sharing a bag of chips he’d bought “Luffy would love these,” he’d joked. The conversation drifted to One Piece again, as it always did.

He was mid-ramble about the “Thriller Bark arc,” words tumbling out faster than he could think, when she went quiet. Too quiet.

“You okay?” he asked, pausing, chip halfway to his mouth. She twirled the lollipop stick, eyes on the ground.

“Yeah, just… thinking.” Her voice was softer than usual, and it made his stomach twist. Had he said something wrong? Was she bored?He tried to keep it light.

“What, you don’t think Thriller Bark’s the best? C’mon, that shadow-stealing thing was wild.”

She forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, super wild.” Her fingers brushed the Luffy keychain, and she bit her lip.

He noticed—how could he not?—and something in her hesitation made his chest tighten.“You sure you’re okay?” he pressed, leaning closer, his voice softer now.She met his eyes, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, the park fading to a hum. “I… yeah. It’s nothing,” she said, but her heart was screaming: Tell him. Just tell him.

---

The next afternoon, she was at the gate, but her usual lollipop was gone. She fidgeted with the Luffy keychain, her stomach in knots.

Hyun Tak jogged up, his smile as bright as ever, but she saw the way his hands fidgeted in his hoodie pocket, the way his eyes darted to hers and away.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than usual. “No lollipop today?”

She laughed, but it was shaky. “Needed a break from sugar.” A lie. She just couldn’t focus on anything but the truth clawing at her. They walked to the chicken shop, the silence heavier than usual. He tried to fill it with a One Piece reference—“You think Usopp’s ever gonna confess to Kaya?”—but it felt forced, and her nod was half-hearted.

At the table, she pushed her fries around, heart pounding. He wasn’t eating either, his fingers tapping that nervous rhythm. Finally, she couldn’t take it.

“Hyun Tak,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “I need to tell you something.”He froze, eyes wide. “Yeah?”

She gripped the keychain, the faded Luffy staring back at her. “I don’t watch One Piece. This—” she held up the keychain, “—was just a gift from Jun Tae. I’ve been pretending to know it… because I wanted to keep talking to you.”

For a moment, he just stared, and her heart sank. Then his face broke into a grin, and he laughed—loud, relieved, that boyish laugh she loved. “Oh my God, are you serious?”

She blinked, confused. “You’re… not mad?”

“Mad?” He leaned forward, still laughing. “I’ve been faking it too! I saw your keychain and thought you were a superfan, so I’ve been staying up all night watching episodes I don’t even understand just to talk to you.”

Her jaw dropped. “You—what?”

“Yeah!” He ran a hand through his hair, cheeks red. “I’m, like, three arcs in and still clueless. I just… didn’t want you to think I was boring.”

She burst out laughing, the knot in her chest unraveling. “I’ve been googling ‘One Piece summaries’ in class! I thought you were the superfan!”

They laughed until their eyes watered, the chicken shop fading around them. When it died down, he looked at her, his smile softer. “So… we both suck at this, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said, grinning. “But… I kinda like that.”

“Me too.” He paused, then reached across the table, his hand brushing hers. “Wanna start over? No pirates. Just… you and me.”

Her heart did that stupid flip again, but this time, it felt right. “Yeah. I’d love that.”As they left the shop, the Luffy keychain swung on her bag, no longer a lie but a funny, cherished memory.

Months later, when they were holding hands at the arcade, Hyun Tak gave her a new keychain—a tiny blue hoodie, just like his. She clipped it next to Luffy, and every time they walked together, the two charms bounced side by side, a quiet reminder of the silly, perfect way they found each other.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE + MASTERLIST

I feel like this is the best I have written so far 😭 I love it!

TAGLIST

@keizvn @soobinbunnie5 @chaywkk @l5byrinth @inom17 @randomheyl @coffee-ii @mizxuqii @dna-black-and-blue @kyungjunnies @maxinehufflepuffprincess @deboizzzstay @coolasiangal123 @intoanothermind @satoru2716 @chenlegendj @changbinkisser

#weak hero class two #fanfic #weak hero x reader #gotak x reader #go hyuntak x reader #go hyuntak #one piece

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