#THIS ONE'S FOR ME!! FOR ME I SAID EVERYONE

[maykitz]

everyone knows that famous niemöller poem: first they came for the communists and i said "heil hitler" because i was an ardent nazi since the early 1920s. then the only reason i ever got into conflict with the higher ups in the nsdap was after they tried to take too much control of church business while i still wanted us to do our persecution of jews and degenerates autonomously. then with how the war ended that was kinda lucky in retrospect. and then no one ever came for me and i pivoted to preaching about peace and shit in post war europe lol.

[queenkatluv]

I Am Leaving LAE

Hey everyone, I have an important announcement to share.

After much thought and consideration, I’ve made the incredibly difficult decision to step away from Lunar and Earth Show. This means that in the coming days, I will no longer be part of LAE as a channel lead, and this will be my final time as Earth on the show.

This was not an easy choice—it’s honestly heartbreaking for me. I’ve poured so much love, time, and effort into this show, from writing and managing to recording and shaping it into what it is today. LAE has been such a huge part of my life, and leaving it behind is one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make.

Unfortunately, my schedule has become overwhelming, and I simply no longer have the time or energy to keep up with the demands of creating content at the level LAE requires. For the sake of my mental health and overall well-being, I need to step away and give myself the space to breathe. As much as this pains me, I know deep down it’s the right decision—not just for me, but for you, the fans, who deserve consistent, high-quality content.

That being said, LAE is not ending—it’s moving in a new direction, and while I can’t speak to all the changes ahead, I sincerely hope you’ll continue to support what comes next.

This isn’t a full goodbye either! I will still be voicing Earth, Dazzle, Miku, and many other characters on The Eclipse and Puppet Show and The Sun and Moon Show, so you’ll still hear and see me around. I’m not disappearing—I’m just shifting focus.

I am beyond grateful for this incredible community. Seeing LAE grow to 129,000 subscribers and witnessing the love and support from all of you has meant the world to me. Thank you for being part of this journey, for your encouragement, and for making this experience so special.

I hope you’ll continue supporting LAE in its new chapter, and I hope you’ll stick with me as I move forward into mine.

Thank you all, truly. This isn’t the end—just a new beginning. 💙

[petertingle-yipyip]

MISS POSSESSIVE - JOAQUIN TORRES

Pairing: Joaquin x Reader // Word Count: 2,061

Summary: So what if you were a little possessive? No one got hurt. (fun fact: the biting story is a true story)

Your relationship with Joaquin was no secret.

You two didn’t necessarily shove it down everyone’s throats, but you didn’t hide anything either. You arrived at most trainings together, sat next to and against each other, went to lunch together, left together. The only time you were really apart was when he went on a mission with Sam and you went with your recon team.

You noticed the new set of eyes in the training center one day. You were doing your planned solidcore routine while Joaquin did weights on the other side of the center.

You saw her when you took a break between exercises. You sat flat on the machine’s pad and breathed deeply, glancing around the relatively empty center. You and Joaquin were there, as part of your usual schedule, along with Nat and Yelena sparring in the far corner. Kate was doing some yoga routine with the blonde that was actively staring at Joaquin, who was oblivious as he began a set of lat pulldowns.

You stared at your boyfriend for a moment as well. Admittedly, the blonde had a fair excuse to stare, and she was new. Or you hadn’t met her at least. Maybe she didn’t know.

You pushed a headphone aside, ready to snap at her, when Kate smacked her friend’s arm. You could barely hear her say to pay attention and that he was taken. Kate met your eyes a moment later and she offered you a thumbs up with a nod, a not-so-subtle confirmation that she had your back.

You smiled at her as you chuckled. Replacing your headphones, you went back to suffering through solidcore.

Later that week, in a more packed training center, Joaquin’s newest fan was watching him again. You two were jogging the track and conversating, and he decided to show off and jog backwards. You caught the woman over his shoulder and you fixed a glare in her direction. Her eyes met yours and she changed from basically undressing Joaquin in her head to daring you to stop her.

“Hello?” He waved a hand in front of your face and your attention slid back to him. “What was that?” He was smirking slightly.

“Nothing.” You shrugged. “You’re gonna fall.”

“I’m not gonna fall.”

“You’re gonna fall.”

“I’m not gon-“ He began before nearly tripping over his own feet.

His arms flailed slightly and you caught him, which caused you to stumble with him. You couldn’t help the laugh as he righted and you two resumed your easy pace.

“Don’t tell Sam.” He said quickly.

“I already saw!” Sam called from the other side of the track.

Joaquin groaned in embarrassment and you nudged him slightly with your elbow. He frowned dramatically at you and you giggled before jerking your chin, daring him to keep up as you increased your stride.

By the end of that week, his watcher had built up some courage.

You were at the cubbies near the door, rifling through your bag for your sparring gloves. Joaquin was leaning against the wall near the cubbies, casually mentioning how he had his already and you were putting your session behind. You mocked him quietly as you dumped the contents of your bag on the floor.

“You set me up.” You blamed him.

“Me?” He laughed. “I’d never do such a thing.”

“Yes you would, because you know I can kick your ass.”

He sighed dramatically and knelt beside you to help you look. You filtered through your scattered items while he checked the zippered pockets. He was the one to find them, which only added on to his guilt in your mind, and you shoved everything back away.

He offered you his hand to get up and you made a show of your reluctance as you took it. He laughed, pulled you to his chest, and kept you close with an arm over your shoulders.

She wasn’t there when you two began your session. You would’ve felt those baby blue eyes following. By the time you were taking a break, she was there, lingering at the edge of the sparring area. She pretended to be focused on her own workout  when Joaquin glanced in her direction but she didn’t hide her blatant stare when you looked at her.

You didn’t give a warning before storming over. You knelt to be at her level and she propped herself up on her elbows. She opened her mouth but you cut her off.

“Funny how you think I don’t notice the way you undress him with your eyes almost everyday.” You said flatly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She rolled her eyes.

“Look at the floor. Or the ceiling. Or anyone else in this place. Just keep your eyes off him.” You forced a smile that was anything but friendly. “Got it?”

“I’m so scared.” She said sarcastically, craning her neck to see around you.

“Listen. I can only be nice about this for so long. Some fights you’re not gonna win. And him?” You nodded towards him once. “No way.”

“May the best woman win then.” She shrugged and returned to her sit ups.

You kicked her braced feet away before heading back to Joaquin, earning a muttered “bitch” as you left. His brows furrowed but you waved him off. With a new anger in your veins, you knew you’d hit someone you shouldn’t soon, which made the next portion of your sparring more intense than necessary.

You were both covered in sweat by the time you were done. You had also both removed your shirts by then. Your muscles were burning with the effort and you assumed Joaquin’s were too, but by the way he was talking your ear off you wouldn’t have guessed.

“You’re pretty chatty.” You teased with a grin.

“You wouldn’t let me get a word in over there!” He sounded offended as he threw a hand towards the sparring area. “Anytime I tried to talk, you pounced.”

“I pounced?” You laughed. “What am I, a cat?”

“A feral one.” He muttered and you smacked his arm before you both laughed. “Definitely feral.”

“If I was feral, I’d bite.”

“You do!”

“I do not!”

“Didn’t you bite a kid in second grade?”

You whirled to face him and jabbed a finger into his chest. “You know good and well that I had a good reason!” You defended.

His hands went up in surrender but the grin was still plastered on his face.

“I felt threatened.”

“And biting was the only answer?” He tried and failed to keep his laughter contained.

“Yes! I was playing my own game, he tried to make me the prisoner in his war game with some other kid. You don’t put your arm-“

“Around someone’s neck and not expect to get bit.” He finished and you glared lightly at him. “At least you didn’t get suspended.”

“I cried in the principal’s office because I was scared of getting in trouble.” You deadpanned. “I don’t think I ever apologized to the kid, though.”

“And you still went on that field trip.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “I’m so disappointed in you, Y/N/N.”

“Oh no, whatever will I do now?” You dramatically put your hands to your heart.

“Just don’t bite me.” He shrugged, which earned another smack to his arm.

“I left my water. Grab my bag?” You began backing away towards the sparring corner.

“Yeah.” He nodded and went towards your cubby.

As you were grabbing your bottle, Kate and Yelena were stepping into the square. Kate waved enthusiastically at you and Yelena held a fist towards you. You bumped your own against hers and smiled towards Kate.

“How’s it going?” You asked. “Feeling stronger?”

“Today’s the day.” Kate nodded firmly.

“Ha!” Yelena responded loudly and you turned. “You think you’ll beat me?”

“Okay, you say that like it’s a joke.” Kate frowned.

“Was it not?” Yelena laughed. “C’mon, Kate Bishop.”

“Why do you still do that? Stop saying my name like that!” Kate urgently whispered.

“I don’t know, Lena. She might.” You added. You gave Kate a once over glance and then nodded slightly. “Yeah, I think she actually has biceps now.”

“See?” Kate threw an arm towards you. “Wait a second.” She furrowed her brows.

“Staying to find out?” Yelena asked, bouncing side to side on the balls of her feet.

“No, Joaquin and I are gonna try to catch a movie.” You nodded towards where you left your boyfriend. “Just came back for my water.”

“Oh!” Kate announced. “That reminds me…”

“You’re stalling.” Yelena complained.

“It’s important!” Kate insisted then turned to you again. “Sorry about before. I tried to tell her.”

“The new girl?”

She nodded, almost looking embarrassed, but you shrugged.

“I told her today in the nicest way I could to back off.” You waved a dismissive hand.

“What if she didn’t get the memo?” Yelena asked, focusing on something over your shoulder.

“Oh shit…” Kate looked at the same thing behind you.

“What are you two-“ You mumbled and turned to see for yourself. “Oh.”

You crossed your arms and watched for a moment. Joaquin was sitting on the floor with the new girl kneeling beside him. They were involved in some sort of conversation and you were just glad he had put his shirt back on. She exaggerated a laugh and he was confused for a second. Apparently, what he said hadn’t been that funny.

“I think you should start planning your friend’s funeral, Kate Bishop.” Yelena said flatly as the blonde reached out and put her hand on Joaquin’s forearm.

“No, it’s…” You began.

You knew Joaquin. You knew his mannerisms and body language better than anyone. He didn’t care to be talking to this girl, not in the way she was trying to talk to him. He had his phone in one hand and judging by the way he kept looking down at it, he would’ve rather been scrolling than talking to her.

“You’re better than me.” Kate offered. “Two warnings and she still acts like that? Friend or not, I’d slap the hell outta her.” She laughed slightly.

Her other hand landed on his forearm and her other moved to his upper arm. Your brows rose and as if that expression sent a signal, Joaquin looked over towards you with wide eyes.

“Pray for her.” Kate said simply as you took long strides to get back to Joaquin.

He stood as you got closer and she bounced up beside him. She stepped closer, one of her hands on his shoulder and the other reached for his hand.

“Ready to go?” You made a point of only speaking to and looking at Joaquin.

“Yeah.” He sighed in relief and shifted to get away from her touch. “We leave now, we’ll have enough time to shower first.”

“Did you get the tickets already?”

“I thought you were going to stick around and spot me.” The blonde pouted.

“I’ve got ‘em.” Joaquin answered. “And your bag, m’lady.” He bowed slightly as he offered you your bag.

You laughed slightly and slung the strap over your shoulder.

“But Joaquin!” She cried, grabbing his hand with both of hers. He immediately pulled away and she pursed her bottom lip in another pout.

“He already said he’s busy.” You snapped. “Go see if Kate or Yel have time to babysit.”

“I didn’t realize you were his mommy.” She said sarcastically.

You turned to face her fully but Joaquin pulled on your bag to force you back a step. He tapped his knuckles against your thigh and you shifted your weight closer to him.

“Seriously.” You threatened. “Get your hands off my man.”

“Scared?”

“I’m gonna kill her.” You ground your teeth and looked to Joaquin.

Quickly, he put his arm around your shoulders and guided you out the doors. She called after him but you lifted your hand to give her the middle finger. After a string of curses were directed at you, Joaquin closed his hand over yours with a laugh.

“Told you.” Joaquin said proudly as he opened the passenger door for you.

“Told me what?” You raised a brow.

“Feral.” He grinned.

You opened your mouth to argue then closed it. Maybe he was right, at least where he was concerned.

Feral. Possessive. Protective. Same thing, right?

[yanderedrabbles]

Foreign Yandere x Air Hostess Reader

He's beyond shady. Got connections and friends in all the lowest places. But you're just a little too slow to realise it.

Foreign Yandere who sees you for the first time on his first flight out of the country. He’s a sketchy guy, got a pack of fake passports in a hidden compartment in his bag, but you smile at him like you don’t see the tattoos, the scarred knuckles, the too quick hands.

Oh, you’re pretty. All the cabin crew are, but you’re something new. Exotic almost. Got him wondering exactly how different you are in bed too, got him wondering if you’d put up a fuss if he cornered you in the bathroom. Hell, you might like it. Folk always said foreign girls were down for so much more.

It’s a long-haul flight and your supervisor is bitchy about damn near everything you do. Passengers aren’t much better after twelve hours with their legs cramped up and only shitty plane chow to eat. He can see it wearing on you, can see the way your smile gets tighter after every too sharp complaint. Makes him want to beat their faces into a pulp.

His last straw comes at hour sixteen, when you’re clearly exhausted and one passenger just won’t let up. Practically screaming at you about not getting his specially ordered meal. You’re dealing with it as best you can, but everyone has a limit. He can see the tears starting to brim behind your waterline, can see you struggling to fight them back.

He stands so fast that his seat mate actually flinches. Comes to stand behind you and glares at the troublemaker. The man doesn’t let up, just switches his anger to him.

“You got a problem, huh?”

Foreign Yandere who doesn’t have a lot of English, but he knows a threat when he hears one. He leans down, shoots the man a smile filled with all the menace of a streetfighter.

“What did you say to me?” he asks, in his own language. It isn’t the standard dialect. It’s the regional kind, the type that’s as rough ‘round the edges as its speakers.

The man quails.

 “Sorry,” he mutters. But that’s not good enough.

Foreign Yandere who jerks his head at you, his message clear even across the language barrier.

Apologise to her.

The guy does. Red in the face, resentful about it, spitting his sorry through his teeth like an insult.

You look up at him, the foreigner with the hard eyes, and thank him. In his own language.

Your accent is thick, the pronunciation too rounded on the vowels. But he’ll be damned if it ain’t just fucking adorable.

“Anytime,” he tells you.

It’s not long after he’s back in his seat that you bring him a complimentary cup of coffee and a muffin. The good stuff too, not the swill that usually gets served in economy. He grabs your wrist before you can leave, grip just a little too tight without meaning to be.

“Can I see you again?”

Your grasp of the language isn’t the best, and it takes you a minute to puzzle out what he's asked. When you finally get it, you smile at him and shake your head. Rueful.

“Against company policy to meet the passengers after the flight ends.”

He lets it go. Sighs and says he understands, wouldn’t want to get you in trouble. A surprisingly polite answer from a man who looks like he never hears the word no without following it with a punch to the teeth.

But he doesn’t let it go. Not really. After the plane is deboarded, he skips lines and almost skips customs to keep his eye on you. When you get into a shuttle bus with the rest of your coworkers, he takes careful note of the hotel name scrawled on the side.

His business goes well - if you can call smuggling business that is. The boys he’s dealing with have their own plane to get him home. The kind of small jet that never lands at any airport marked on a map. He slips them all a little something extra under the table and asks if he can bring a guest.

“Will they be conscious?”

He grins. “Not if I can help it.”

Getting you is the tricky part. He borrows a suit and cleans himself up. Shows up at the hotel desk in the middle of the night and tells them he’s here to pick you up for an unscheduled early flight. He knows your name, your company, even your damn rank in the crew. Everything he says checks out. And if the receptionist that calls you thinks he looks a little rough to be a driver, she doesn’t mention it.

You show up with your uniform a tiny bit askew and a sock sticking out of your suitcase. You must have scrambled out of bed without even bothering to double check with your supervisor. Good. The less people that know the better.

He mostly keeps his back to you. Doesn’t want you to recognise him too soon. He shouldn’t have worried. You’re too jetlagged and blurry eyed to even recognise your own mother.

It’s only when you’re in his car and speeding down the wrong highway that you start to get suspicious. Start to come awake fully.

“Which company did you say you work for again?”

He doesn’t reply. You’re going to have to put more effort into learning and speaking his language. No point encouraging you by answering.

“Excuse me?”

You lean forward to get his attention and when he hears your little gasp, he knows the game is up. That you recognise him. Honestly, he’s a little offended that it took you this long. He could keep track of you through a sea of faces back at the airport after all.

“Listen, I don’t know why you’re here. But please stop the car.”

See? You’re speaking his language a bit better already.

“No chance sweetheart. You’re coming home with me.”

He can almost admire your guts when you go straight for the door, despite the speedometer showing over 200. Locked of course. He’s not an idiot.

When he finally arrives at the hangar, it takes him and two other thugs to finally hold you still.

“Fucking feisty thing,” one of them snarls when you land a good kick to his knee.

When he finally manages to prick the injection into your neck, you’re crying so hard that your mascara is running.

“You put up a good fight baby,” he comforts you as you go limp in his arms. “But I just want this more than you.”

His buddies smirk when they look at your body sprawled out on the seat.

“Nice catch. I’m mad I didn’t see her first.”

“You gonna be nice and share?”

That makes him grin. “We’ll see. If she’s too much to handle, well…”

That makes them snicker.

You shouldn’t assume someone’s a thug just ‘cause of the way they look. But in his case, those scars weren’t earned through gentle accidents.

And when he gets you home, someplace probably tropical, someplace where a missing foreigner isn't that surprising a thing, he'll show you exactly how dangerous it is to smile at a criminal and expect him to just let it go.

[qqueenofhades]

Gotta say, it's heartening to see just how terrible a time these GOP chucklefucks are having. This administration and its cronies are even MORE disastrously incompetent than last time, and that's saying something. Yeah, the next several years are still gonna suck, but at least we can laugh at these shit-for-brains assholes continuing to run head-first into the brick wall of their own incompetence. And perhaps even prevent the worst outcomes.

Honestly, the biggest fear for everyone was that giving the fascists four more years to plan and actually write down all of Project 2025 would mean that they were focused, competent, stone cold driven, ready to actually work to change things for real, and otherwise buckle down and be -- well, if not something approaching competent, at least effective. Or the fear that the American public, being fickle and underinformed at the best of times, would just sit back and let them do it. Because, yknow. Half this godforsaken country did just somehow shrug and vote for the orange monster again, so.

But that said, as I pointed out earlier today, it IS fucking heartening to see that they're the same mean, stupid, chaotic shitbags as ever, they really decided to go for the shock-and-awe LOL WATCH US BLOW EVERYTHING UP!!! approach that has gotten them nothing except turbo-sued and enraged the entire country, they basically united the entire world against Russia and for Ukraine in literally ten minutes yesterday (hope you enjoyed that little clown show, Vladimir!) and furthermore, nobody is afraid of them, which is death to fascists. I often point out that fascists desperately want people to be afraid of them and think they're cool, competent, unstoppable, and suave. They also especially, incredibly, desperately hate being laughed at and mocked. They can't stand it.

As such, the fact that they're just the same as ever except worse, and are not magically more competent (in fact, much worse) and are their own worst enemies, does in fact bode well for our ultimate ability to get through this. They will break shit, they will needlessly alienate friends and allies, they will torment every vulnerable group they can just to be dicks, and all of this was just so avoidable... but. Nobody likes them for it, even the people who deluded themselves into voting for them. They're scared little chickenshits who are having a bad bad time that will only get worse, especially if they actually try to cut Social Security and Medicaid, which is basically the death knell of stupid things to do in American politics. Because they just can't help themselves, but this is really, REALLY not going to work out well for them. It just won't.

As such, when they're already running from the heat ONE MONTH into the Glorious Eternal Rule of King Donald, like the little pissbabies they are, it tells me that there is literally no way they're gonna manage four years of this. They just aren't (and Deo volente Trump will finally have an aneurysm and die facedown in a Big Mac before 2028). To say the least, the 2026 midterms are gonna be interesting, especially if the GOP keeps digging their own grave, and yes.

As I keep saying: things are bad. They will get worse. But these miserable jabronies are just as pathetic and beatable as they have ever been, they did not suddenly get magically competent at being pointlessly evil, the country is showing out with a spirited will to make them suffer immensely for every braindead numbnuts piece of Nazi performative cruelty they attempt and often fail, and in these dark times, every day that we can fight back matters a lot. It’s working and we have gotta keep doing it. Idk about you, but I feel energized by seeing it. So yeah, say it with me:

STAY! STRONG! AND! KEEP! THEM! SCARED!

The end.

[aayakashii]

No because let me add something here. I used to have a crush on a friend of mine and was heartbroken when he revealed to everyone that he was dating a girl for four months. I got over it, everything's fine and whatever.

Now you may ask what does this has to do with chat gpt??? I say, wait

Two other friends of ours got married, and they set up a little gift wishlist where we could send them their gift with a little message congratulating them on their wedding. I wrote mine short and sweet.

Tell me why this mf (the guy I used to like) turns to me and say he asked for chat gpt TO WRITE A SHORT MESSAGE CONGRATULATING OUR FRIENDS ON THEIR WEDDING. HELLO?

I was so disgusted by the laziness that I legit said he was awful for that, and he just giggled as if he was super pleased with himself and his witty. Like, he legit became one of those assholes from apple's ads.

Needlessly to say I began wondering why tf I spent so much time crushing on him back then, because I could NEVER want someone who can't make the tiniest effort for the people they like

the generational gap between me and the people my age who use chat gpt

[drchucktingle]

As an autistic person, did you struggle to make and keep friends? And have you found friends through the writing world? I ask because my mom always said i needed to find my people. I did finally find them (they are neurodiverse trans nerds, haha), but not until i was like 30. And i wonder if its true of other autistic people too. So i guess my question is: did you find your people, and when?

thank you this is good question. i have always had a LOT of CLOSE BUDS even from a very young age. i would actually say that i am unusually socially adept in my way and that it is partially BECAUSE of my autistic trot. LETS TALK ON THAT FOR A MOMENT

'BUT CHUCK YOU SAID YOU ARE ON THE SPECTRUM AND AUTISTIC BUCKAROOS CANNOT BE SOCIALLY ADEPT' some say. and sure it is UNUSUAL overall, technically speaking, but there is also an important reason we talk about this as a spectrum of buckaroos and not a monolith

when buckaroos ask me what it is like to be autistic i try to explain like this: there are certain cues and markers from the outside that serve as a sort of identification checklist but because of masking they are not always correct. instead i see it as question of WHAT IS IT LIKE INSIDE YOUR BRAIN?

internally my brain is different. its taking in way more information all the time, including the stuff that neurotypical buds block out, and that can become overwhelming. it is hard to navigate because i do not have that automatic neurotypical 'here is what is important here is what is not' function

so yes i can be easily distracted and zone out as i watch the patterns and fractals spin off. and yes i can miss certain things in social situations. in many autistic buckaroos this makes large groups overwhelming and the OUTPUT of behavior matches what we typically know as signs of autism

FOR ME however, same thing is going on inside, but i have managed to HARNESS that information. even from very young age i see that everyone is DOING THE HUMAN ACT but instead of rejecting that and shutting off i think 'well okay i am just going to do THIS because thats what they actually want'

in other words, most neurotypical buds say one thing that has a kind of spiraling social-cue-related OTHER MEETING (they do this ALL the time) and instead of rejecting that i have trained myself to be REALLY REALLY good at knowing the hidden meaning. it is EMPATHY but on a sort of LOGIC BASED level

and because i have always been pretty good at that, people like to trot around me and say 'wow this is a good friend they understand me'. now for ME that can be a little exhausting and there are things i need to do and stims and all that to release the effort, but overall it is worth it to me

OTHER THING is that i was a successful CREATOR AND ARTIST BUCKAROO from an early age which is socially seen as 'cool' especially when you are trotting around in your youth. it is not particularly FAIR but it is true that some level of fame makes buds treat you well even if you are 'weird'.

of course it can be a sort of FAKE 'treating you well' but as an autistic buckaroo it is still more of a chance than you might otherwise get. this timeline has sort of carved out a very special little sliver of social grace for the token odd artistic weirdo to have a seat at each cool kids table

ANYWAY that is the trot of my life. it is a unique trot that i dont get to talk on much but since you asked THERE YOU GO. every chance i get to say 'I LOVE BEING AUTISTIC' and talk on HOW MUCH IT HAS IMPROVED MY LIFE i try to take a moment and do that. when i was young i had few autistic heroes

and OF COURSE it can be difficult and overwhelming and we need to have space for those stories and voices, but i want young buckaroos who get this diagnosis to know there are ALL KINDS of stories and trots on the autism spectrum. MINE IS PRETTY DANG COOL and maybe yours will be too. LOVE IS REAL

[myntrose]

Missing You !

ೃ⁀➷: how the l&ds boys are when they miss you.

a/n: I want these men so bad it hurts. n e ways trying something different from smau 🤍 this is part one, will write the other boys later. Also pls send requests !!

content warning: the boys missing you to the point where it's a bit concerning. maybe ooc. Suggestive in Xavier's part towards the end. Did not proof read srry💔

ft: Zayne, Xavier x reader (separately)

pt. 1 , pt. 2

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ zayne (705 words)

the hospital holds an unnerving chill in the air. everyone can feel it; the staff, nurses, patients and the other doctors. and even though everyone could feel it, no one chose to acknowledge the source of this tension. because no one wants to disturb Dr. Zayne when he's in one of these moods.

It's another hard day for Zayne. The paperwork seemed endless, he's had to deal all sorts of patients, and he hasn't seen you in a week. You were out in a mission, nothing out of the normal for a hunter. But Zayne couldn't help but worry. He loves you, knows you're more than capable of handling yourself, but worrying about you comes as easy as breathing to him. It's second nature, an everyday thought.

Just as he starts to steady himself, the ink of his pen explodes on the report he was writing. He about ready to lose it, letting out a deep, heavy sigh. Zayne isn't usually this disoriented, and it's making him go mad.

Moving from his desk, Zayne paces around his office, opening your last message. it stresses him out that it was 2 days ago.

ms.hunter: ugh this mission is so dumb. smt happened and now it looks like ill be gone longer. im sorry babe :(((

He grips his phone a little harder. Paces the room with heavier steps. Breaths another sigh.

What is wrong with me?

A knock at his door disrupts his pacing.

"What?"

Zayne doesn't realize he said that with a bit too much bite, a bit too coldly. The door opens to reveal his new secretary, looking like a scared little lamb entering the lions den.

He looks at his secretaries face, realizing his harsh tone. Zayne murmurs a quick apology, asking his secretary if there was something needed.

"There's someone here to meet you, Dr. Zayne. Said they had an appointment?" The secretary trails their sentence like a question, knowing that Zayne shouldn't have any appointments today. Poor thing was shivering from the doctor's cold demeanor.

The veins on Zayne's head are almost visible now. On top of this day, an unscheduled appointment? Had it not been for his doctors oath to not harm, he would've denied this appointment.

Another sigh leaves him, as he tells his secretary to let the mystery appointment inside his office. Zayne makes his way back to his desk, head in hands trying to compose himself.

"You really shouldn't be sighing so heavily, Dr. Zayne. Heard it's bad for you"

Zayne's head whipped so fast towards the doorway, that you almost left bad for laughing at the action.

He blinks once, then another, before standing up and meeting you halfway across the room.

" 'm sorry for not texting you sooner, but I've been working twice as hard to get done with my mission-"

You don't get to finish your sentence before Zayne crashes his lips into yours. This kiss was desperate, filled with longing and want. It's almost startling, usually Zayne is more composed than his.

"would be more composed had you told me you'd be arriving back today" Zayne responds, perfectly reading your thoughts. Before you could say anything, he kisses you again. This time, he's softer, placing one hand on the small of your back and the other cradling your face.

You're the one to pull apart first, desperately needing air. Looks like your boyfriend missed you more than you realized. Oh, this was gonna be so fun.

Zayne scoffs, but he's still holding you close. "I do not scowl. It's just been a stressful week at the hospital."

You laugh at that. God, he missed your laugh. He missed you. He walks the both of you to his desk, where he sits you on his lap as he takes a seat.

"Did you miss me that much? It's only been a week."

"A week too long, my love"

While you and Zayne catch up, the rest of the hospital is glad that the chill in the air has died down. Looks like the staff knows who to call when their doctor is in that mood.

𓆩✧𓆪 xavier (570 words)

there's only a few things that causes Xavier to wake up. Either you shaking him awake, peppering his face with kisses, or when you steal the blanket from him.

Actually, it's mostly you that causes him to wake up. And right now, the reason why sleep escapes him is because it seems like you escaped the bed at some point.

Xavier feels around your side of the bed, only to be met with emptiness. Confused, he wakes up, and looks around to see the room still in pitch darkness.

2:34 a.m. It's still horribly early, so you wouldn't have woken up for work. Plus, Xavier knows your schedule better than he knows his. He knows that you don't have any kind of missions to attend to right now.

So, where were you? A sudden rush of thoughts occur at once, and Xavier can't help but assume the worst scenarios. He jumps out of bed and checks around the apartment.

Bathroom? No. Living room? Empty. Kitchen? Quite. He's going a bit crazy, because where did you go?

He just about to rush outside when he hears the sound of keys opening the front door. Turning to the sound, he watches as the door opens to reveal you.

You, holding a bag from the nearby 24/7 convenience store. You walk in, not realizing that Xavier was watching as you enter the room.

You're holding your phone in your other hand, staring at it. It wasn't until you looked up that you noticed you were being watching by your boyfriend.

Your words don't make it to his ears. Rather, he answers you with a question of his own.

"Where were you?" His voice is deep, laced with a serious tone that doesn't quite suit him. Oh no, was he mad?

"I went out to buy ice cream. I couldn't sleep and wanted something sweet. I texted you where I was!" Defending yourself, showing Xavier the bag with a few ice cream bars.

Oh right, he never checked his phone. Xavier pulls his phone out of his pockets, and opens his notifications to see that you in fact did text him where you were.

"Oh."

You move to the kitchen, putting the ice cream away. "Yeah, oh is right. What, d'ya think I just left without saying a work ?" You only meant that jokingly, of course. Turning around, Xavier is right behind you, caging you between himself and the fridge.

It wasn't until you looked at his eyes when you realized that, oh, he was worried. The realization sets in, and you understand what just happened. Xavier had woken up, and genuinely thought you were done.

Your eyes soften as you look at him, moving your hands to his face "Oh, baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you like that." Xavier melts into your touch, and you both stay like this for a while.

You speak up first. "Why don't we go back to sleep?"

Xavier opens his eyes, looking down at you. "Actually, I'm not sleepy right now. I think I'm hungry."

"Do you want some of the ice cream I bought? I got your favorite flavor- Xav- Xavier why are we going to the bedroom?"

"I said I was hungry."

"Oh...?!"

Later that morning, you had to call into work "sick" for both you and Xavier.

[be-xkyy]

Yandere Platonic Twin Brother (a bit of yandere friend in love)

Warning: violence, blood, a broken nose, overprotective brother, a friend in love, a clueless reader but with strong character, This is PLATONIC and a little ROMANTIC but not with the brother.

(By the way, I was going to be inactive this month, but it's quite the opposite, why does inspiration come to me when I have so many things pending😰? I'm juggling the blog and school 💀)

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★ @riawrld ★ @darkuni63 ★ @minshookie29 ★

Divider credits: @cafekitsune ★ @bernardsbendystraws ★

Yandere Twin Brother who was already attached to you from the womb; when your parents went to their appointments with the OB they always saw him by your side even in an ultrasound (that your mother framed) it looks like you are holding his little hands.

Yandere Twin Brother who when he was born (just five minutes before you) cried at the top of his lungs and his cries only calmed down a little when you were born and he heard you cry.

Yandere Twin Brother who shared the same crib with you (although your parents bought one for each of you) when you were babies since he always cried if they separated him from you.

Yandere Twin Brother who comforted you when you cried on the first day at daycare because you missed your parents and you were scared; he hugged you rubbing your back with his little hand and promised you with his pinky that he would always take care of you.

"Don't cry sis! Everything will be okay, I'm with you. I promise I'll scold our parents for doing this to you! Please don't cry..."

Yandere Twin Brother who never let anyone bother you or get close to you at daycare; one day a boy pulled your pigtails making you cry and your upset brother pushed him to the ground and another boy approached your bully and bit him (two teachers had to make him let go)

Yandere Twin Brother who only had one exception to the rule and allowed him to get close to you; that exception was Jamie a boy his age who seemed enchanted with you and became friends with your brother after biting the boy who bothered you.

Yandere Twin Brother who from that day on basically spent all his time with you and Jamie; They were the three musketeers, as you grew up you became even closer (if that was possible) and Jamie's feelings for you became more obvious (to everyone but you) your brother liked to tease Jamie.

"Maybe my sister doesn't like you because of your idiotic face, she has good taste you know?"

"Oh shut up! I'm really handsome and she's just shy, plus we all know you're the ugly one of the group"

"EH?!—"

Yandere Twin Brother who like you and Jamie was quite popular at university; although he was surrounded by girls he never put them above you and always spent time with you; also he and Jamie were howling at your suitors constantly (much to your annoyance)

Yandere Twin Brother who got furious when he saw Jamie flirting with another girl and even kissed her, how could he do this to you?! (it's true that you don't even know that he loves you, but it's still wrong, okay..?) He approached angrily, when Jamie saw him she greeted him only to receive a strong punch in the face.

Yandere Twin Brother who started a fight with Jamie when he recovered from the shock of the blow, both began to punch and hit each other while yelling at each other, some students ran to separate them.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! YOU THINK YOU CAN TELL ME YOU LOVE MY SISTER AND THE NEXT DAY BE WITH A BITCH?!"

"IT WAS JUST A THING! WHAT DO YOU CARE ABOUT IT?! SHE AND I ARE NOTHING YET!"

"YET?! YOU THINK YOU'LL HAVE SOMETHING WITH MY SISTER AFTER THIS?! I'M GOING TO FUCK KILL YOU!"

Yandere Twin Brother who tried to break free to hit him again but they both held him firmly; a teacher arrived and they were both taken to the infirmary, a smile slipped across your brother's bruised lip when the nurse said that Jamie's nose was broken.

Yandere Older Brother who looks at you embarrassed when you enter the infirmary with judging eyes asking you both what happened but you don't answer and you end up asking them if they fought over a girl and they both answer at the same time exalted.

"NO!"

"NO!!!"

Yandere Twin Brother who ends up making up a random excuse for why you two fought and Jamie nods his head agreeing with him; you on the other hand look at them unconvinced before sighing and rolling your eyes; after being treated you both are called to the dean's office and end up being suspended for two weeks.

Yandere Twin Brother who when you leave the office approaches you along with Jamie who tries to joke a little about the situation (to calm the waters with your brother) but your brother ignores him taking you by the arm and leading you towards the exit while Jamie follows them.

"Well, it's not so bad we can spend more time together, right?"

"Shut your mouth Jamie, don't talk to this idiot sister."

"Hey, wait for me, don't leave me!"

[unknownogre]

“I come to steal a famous dime, the locks will be picked and it will be mine

I’ll dance away and you will see…I’ll laugh at you while I drink my TEA!”

The rhymes were terrible but that was the trademark for The Fool. He wore the jesters costume, bells and all with a mask that was always smiling, it could be seen as unsettling…if he didn’t have the reputation he did. If there was a rank for villains below F that would be where he sat. Glitter bombs, whoopie cushions, rubber chickens…and very telegraphed heist plans. No one took him seriously…and that was certainly part of his charm. No one ever got hurt fighting The Fool, no one ever lost hope. Villains, heroes, it didn’t matter. When The Fool was involved oddly everyone felt better about themselves. Even if he was considered a villain he had respect from both sides and that was good enough for him. He didn’t need to be taken seriously; he was here for his own mission, and it was being done just fine.

“I am evil…no one is on my lee-vil…

I’ll add this loot to my pile…no one can beat my style!”

He was just marching down the street, popping here and there in the blink of an eye. Everyone sees this as minor illusion at best since he hasn’t so much as scratched a single hero of villain. That was good to have them think of him as harmless, that was the best way to get done what he wanted to get done. The museum was in sight…it was time to get the heist started. He knew who’d be trying to stop him…a husband and wife team called Wind and Fire…they boost each other’s abilities a considerable amount and have stopped world ending events with just the pair. These heroes were greatly respected. They just lost their son to a long debilitating illness and haven’t had their heads on straight since. This just what they needed, some banter, low steaks risk…a little fun and they’ll be right as rain.

“The Fool is here, please be a dear,

And steer clear but don’t shed a tear

My victory is all but clear!”

He said as he rounded the corner to the museum. Today was going to be a good…

…the front to the museum had been all but destroyed and the sounds of battle could be heard within. On the steps The Fool could see the body of fire…tormented, twisted and very much dead eyes frozen open in horror and pain. His heart stopped for a moment…this wasn’t supposed to happen. What…what was going on here?

He ran, forgetting who he was and why he was here for a moment just so he could get eyes on the fight that was happening. Wind would need support, oh gods he hoped he wasn’t too late. Right when he made it at the top of the steps her body hit the ground right at his feet, her limbs were crushed and twisted in impossible angles. Still she had a bit of life…her eyes landed on the familiar mask, sorrow in her eyes…so much pain.

“Fly you Fool. Fly…r…u…”

With that the light from her eyes faded. Sadness, grief…this wasn’t supposed to happen. This was supposed to be a nice easy day, hearts were supposed to be repaired not stopped. Heavy footsteps brought him back to the current scene, surrounded by debris right in front of him stood a giant of a creature, dressed in all black with a mask that hid any features of his face…was the villain known as Terror, he was supposed to be small time though. Sure there were whispers that he was on the rise, fifteen hours away. Why would he come here?!

“The Fool…THE FOOL! HA! My lucky day. If you bow down to me and lick my boot I might let you get me a beer from the fridge!”

Terror stood over seven feet tall with arms as thick as tree trunks. The Fool just looked there, standing his ground for the moment. His head canting this way and that.

“Today…wasn’t the day

Yet into the fray I dare stray

Still, I don’t think I feel

Submissive enough to lick your heel.”

Terror laughed and threw a lazy punch at the Fool’s head fully intending to connect. Yet it seemed he just punched the air right next to the trickster villain. There was a touch of confusion but then just a light chuckle. Terror’s eyes went to Wind’s twisted body.

“Oh, she is kind of cute, twist her limbs back and I could have some fun. Bet she is still warm…”

IT was then The Fool’s mask changed. There was no smile, nothing pleasant, but instead it was in a grimace of rage. Teeth bared, eyes glowing red…very much reflecting his current mood. Terror only noticed this as he was sailing backward through the air from a hit that was so powerful it took a few moments to register the pain from the impact.

“SHUT UP! You don’t get to talk about her anymore, not him either. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?”

Then Terror seemed to hit an invisible wall stopping him just short of the actual museum wall…and he hit it hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. He bounced off the barrier and then hit the floor, rolling onto his back with a groan.

“You…you were an easy mark. Kill…to show dominance, then you submit, and I have a place in a big city.”

In a blink The Fool was in the face of Terror, moving several dozen yards in the span of a heartbeat. Another strike to the head, a back hand that shattered Terror’s mask, embedding pieces in the skin of a rather unremarkable face. Again he was lifted off of his feet and again he slammed into an invisible barrer before he could do more damage to the interior of the museum.

“Think if it was that easy it would have been done already? Did you ask around? Ask why not a single hero of villain has come to ‘claim my territory? First, I am well liked…I perform a service to keep everyone sane so they don’t go insane or kill themselves. Everyone has a place in this world, hero or villain and I’m here to make them want to stay in it instead of destroying it or destroying themselves.”

Again in a blink The Fool covered a distance impossibly fast. Terror could hardly move as he was grabbed by the front of his shirt and thrown into the center of the room as though he was nothing more than a rag doll to the man who stood no taller that five feet five inches.

“One…a single villain has tried this. I caught wind of it first…they simply disappeared. No one knew what happened to them and not a single person gave a fuck. The truth…if I wanted to I could rule the world. Not a group of heroes, not the league of villains, not anyone could do anything to stop me. I’ve done it twice actually…burned entire nations just so I could ‘protect’ everyone. I fucked it up each and every time…so I’d reverse time and try it again. Never came out like I wanted…so I stopped.”

During this conversation Terror tried to stand and summoning what rage he could tried to charge forward to punch The Fool…yet he seemed to be almost held in place. All of his power being put to just move less than a millimeter.

“I found my role was to help in different ways. A simple heist, a way to give confidence. Let the heroes vent their loss, talk about their insecurities. Who isn’t your best friend if it isn’t your arch-nemesis? I KNOW I’ve helped so many. YET HERE YOU ARE! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING! You killed GOOD people. Now you will beg me for death. You will plead and cry and scream for me to end your suffering. See I’m actually very evil, just in a different way than most. You’ll see…I’ll give you a hint on my power. I can bend space-time.”

The Fool was just strolling around Terror at a normal pace while the Super Villain did everything he could just to move a little tiny bit.

“I could go into the complicated nature of everything, but I’ll say this. You won’t move unless I want you do. I’m ancient, and I know exactly what I’m doing. Still though, my power is more than gravity manipulation. I can make worm-holes at will. You might ask why that is important…well I can take pieces off of you without a blade in the most precise way possible. You’ll see…I’ll start with this…”

The Fool just looked to Terror and released the hold he had on him. The villain moved to stand up…there was an odd vacuum noise…and right as he was about to attack he fell down into a pile on the floor.

“You don’t regenerate you just can recover well. I just removed the part of your brain for motor function. You can’t talk, or move or even really change where your eyes look. I spent a great many years learning neuroscience just for moments like this. I didn’t want to mess up and kill someone on accident. Though Honestly I use the ability to remove tumors that are considered inoperable often. Though now…I get to play a little bit. Don’t worry…”

There were a few more of those vacuum sounds and with each one Terror was unable to do even more, until he was just sitting there, breathing…but fully unable to move at all. The fool then maneuvered him onto his back with the easy of a child playing with an action figure.

“You’ll never be able to respond, or blink, or cry or even raise your heart rate to more than just enough to keep you alive. I have successfully imprisoned you in your body. Since you don’t regenerate, well you cannot heal the damage. I can’t go back in time to bring back Fire and Wind…that does too many things to too many realms. Death is still a little upset at me for the last time I did it. At least they are with their son now, hopefully happy.”

Terror couldn’t respond, motionless his gaze stuck on the ceiling…he could do nothing but listen…fully aware of his surroundings.

“Also don’t worry, I put a little barrier around your mind too. Don’t think anyone will be able to talk to you with telepathy or some of them fancy dream reading machines. This will be your and my little secret. You’ll lament in some hospital as your body degenerates. Helpless…until you die and THEN I get to have fun with you. I just want you completely broken first.”

The Fool’s face went to a sad one from rage as he gathered the bodies of the heroes and set them next to each other. He even sobbed a little bit over them straightening their limbs so they could be found presentable. Then a call was made and he fabricated everything…no one would know. As Terror was taken away on a gurney…only The Fool knew how much he was screaming in his mind to be let go.

“They Deserve respect for what they have done,

Wind and Fire two great heroes are now gone,

With hope I wish their souls will fly

With a heavy heart I will say goodbye.”

The Fool said as their bodies were taken away…he didn’t even want the stupid dime anymore. He learned something though, and he’ll never be caught unaware again.

You pretend to be a small-time villain. At most, you annoy the local supers, but your crimes never hurt anyone. To you it's all good fun. Things change when a truly sadistic supervillain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

hi, can you do a max one were the reader is around 15-16 and gets harassed or hate from fans (possibly gets hurt) when she joins max at a race, but max is on the track, so he doesn't see it or know and well you can come up with the ending

From good to bad

Yn had been excited for this race weekend for weeks. When Max had suggested she join him, just the two of them, she had nearly jumped into his arms with joy. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her family—she adored her little sisters, and she knew how much her parents loved her. But ever since the younger girls had been born, their attention had naturally shifted toward them. She understood it, truly, but sometimes she missed the days when she was the center of their world.

So when her Papa said, Just you and me this weekend, she had packed her bag faster than ever.

The paddock was buzzing with energy when they arrived. Max had a hand on her shoulder, guiding her through as he proudly introduced her to everyone. Engineers, mechanics, media personnel—everyone smiled at her, recognizing the young girl who had always been in the background of her father's life.

Then, she saw him.

"Uncle Charlie!" Yn beamed, her face lighting up.

Charles turned at the sound of her voice, his green eyes softening when he saw her. "Ma chérie!" He opened his arms, and Yn gladly stepped into his embrace.

"You’re here for the weekend?" he asked, pulling back to take a good look at her.

"Just me and Papa," she confirmed with a proud smile. "The little ones are staying with Mama."

Charles chuckled. "Finally getting some one-on-one time with the old man?"

"Hey!" Max protested, playfully shoving his friend. "I’m not old."

Charles smirked, ruffling Yn’s hair before turning back to Max. "It’s good you brought her. You don’t get nearly enough time with this one."

Max's expression softened as he glanced at Yn. "I know."

She knew they felt guilty. She had overheard her parents talking about it late at night, her Mama whispering about how they sometimes neglected their eldest. She had wanted to walk in and tell them that she understood, that she didn’t resent them, but she never did. It wouldn’t have changed anything.

"I'm really happy to be here," she reassured them both, squeezing her father's hand.

Max gave her a small smile before checking the time. "I have to head to a meeting. Stay around here, okay?"

Yn nodded, watching as her dad disappeared into the Red Bull hospitality. Charles left shortly after, heading toward Ferrari’s motorhome, leaving her alone.

It was fine.

She wandered through the paddock, taking in the sights and sounds. Everyone was busy, running around with headsets and laptops, preparing for the upcoming sessions. It was exhilarating. Eventually, she found herself on a quiet balcony overlooking the entire paddock. The view was incredible, and she leaned against the railing, taking a deep breath.

But then—

“Hey, look! It’s Max’s daughter!”

Yn turned around, startled, as a group of older girls approached her.

“Oh my god, we have to take a picture,” one of them said, pulling out her phone.

Yn hesitated. “I—um—I’d rather not, sorry.”

They didn’t seem to care.

“Oh, come on, just one!” another girl insisted, stepping closer.

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal,” a third chimed in.

Yn took a step back, feeling uneasy. The balcony wasn’t very spacious, and they were closing in on her. "Please, I really don’t want to—"

“Just smile for the camera!”

A girl reached out, trying to pull her closer, and that was when it happened.

Yn stepped back instinctively, her foot catching on the edge of the small staircase behind her.

She didn’t even have time to react before she felt herself falling.

She hit the first step hard, the impact jolting through her ribs. Then, she tumbled down the remaining steps, rolling until she came to a painful stop at the bottom.

Silence.

Then panic.

"Oh my god!"

"Shit, is she okay?!"

"Run!"

Yn barely registered the sound of hurried footsteps as the girls fled. Her body was screaming in pain, a deep, sharp ache spreading through her side. When she tried to move, a searing pain shot through her ribs, making her gasp.

She groaned, forcing herself to sit up despite the dizziness.

No one was around.

No one had seen.

Her hands shook as she pressed them to her side, breathing heavily. It hurt.

After a few minutes, she managed to stand, biting down on her lip to keep from crying out. Her legs were unsteady, but she forced herself to walk, her mind focused on one thing—she needed to get away.

She made it to a bathroom, locking the door behind her. With trembling fingers, she lifted her shirt.

A massive bruise had already formed, stretching across her left ribs. Worse, there was something wrong with the way her skin was shifting—like the bones underneath weren’t where they should be.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

What was she supposed to do?

A deep, shuddering breath left her as she pulled out her phone. There was only one person she could call.

She pressed the contact and lifted the phone to her ear.

"Papa?" Her voice was weak, strained.

"Yn?" Max’s voice was immediately alert. "What’s wrong?"

Her breath hitched. "I—I need help."

There was silence for a second. Then—

"Where are you?"

"The—bathroom. Near the back of the paddock," she whispered.

"I’m coming."

Minutes felt like hours. The pain was unbearable, her vision blurry from unshed tears.

Then, the door burst open.

Max.

His eyes landed on her, his face contorting in worry. "Yn!"

She let out a choked breath as he crouched beside her, his hands hovering over her as if afraid to touch her.

"What happened?" His voice was sharp, panicked.

She shook her head, too overwhelmed to speak. Instead, she lifted her shirt slightly, revealing the bruise.

Max’s face darkened, his jaw tightening. "Who did this?"

"I—" She winced. "Some girls… they wanted a picture. They crowded me. I—I fell."

Max’s hands clenched into fists. "They pushed you?"

"Not exactly, but… they didn’t stop."

Max exhaled slowly, his nostrils flaring as he pulled out his phone.

"Lando, I need you. Now."

Minutes later, Lando rushed in, his expression filled with worry. "What happened?"

"Help me get her to the medical center," Max ordered.

Lando immediately moved to support Yn, his touch gentle. "Hang in there, sweetheart."

The medical team confirmed it—two broken ribs. Yn was given pain medication, her body exhausted as she lay in the hospital bed.

Max stayed beside her, his expression unreadable. Then, he turned to Lando, his voice cold.

"I'm going to sue those bitches."

Lando nodded, his jaw set. "I��ll help you find them."

Max reached out, brushing Yn’s hair back as she drifted off to sleep. His heart clenched as he watched her.

She had always been his brave girl.

But he had failed her.

And that was something he would never let happen again.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey guys. I hope you enjoyed this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[starsjulia]

Old, In Love, and Annoying // Leah Williamson

a/n : so sorry i haven’t been consistent with my posting, life’s stressful at the moment, but here’s a cute fic i whipped up.

warnings : pregnant!r, one sexual joke i think

“I’m literally trying to cook,” you muttered, nudging her with your elbow.

“And I’m literally trying to love you,” Leah replied, resting her chin on your shoulder. “Dunno why you’re being so difficult.”

“You’re being clingy,” you said, though you didn’t actually try to move away.

“Babe, I have to be clingy,” Leah said, her hands rubbing over your belly. “Our baby’s in here, and they need to know I’m their favorite already.”

“Oh yeah?” you snorted. “Natalie’s gonna be fuming if this one comes out preferring you. She’s already convinced you’re corrupting them from the womb.”

“Sounds like a her problem,” Leah said smugly, pressing a kiss to your neck.

Before you could reply, your teenage daughter’s voice rang out from the other room.

“Mum! Mummy! Can you please stop being gross in the kitchen?”

Leah smirked against your skin. “She’s jealous.”

You rolled your eyes and shouted back, “We are cooking! Not being gross!”

“You would never let me hug you while you’re cooking,” Natalie shot back.

“She’s got a point,” Leah teased.

You turned your head slightly, arching a brow. “Oh, do you want me to start holding you hostage while you try to make dinner? See how fun it is?”

“I wouldn’t complain,” Leah grinned, kissing your shoulder.

Before you could reply, there was a knock at the door.

“That’ll be Beth and Viv,” Natalie said, clearly grateful for the interruption.

Leah finally pulled away (with a dramatic sigh, of course) to let Natalie open the door while you focused back on the food. A few seconds later, you heard Beth’s voice.

“Bloody hell, it still stinks of romance in here.”

“I told you, mate,” Viv chimed in, shaking her head as they walked in. “They get worse every time.”

“Oi!” you said, turning to glare at them as they entered the kitchen. “You come into my house, insult my marriage, and expect to be fed?”

“Yes,” Beth said immediately, grinning.

Leah was already reaching into the fridge for drinks. “Well, you’ll just have to suffer through the romance first.”

Natalie groaned loudly. “This is literally my worst nightmare.”

Beth laughed, ruffling her hair. “Don’t worry, Nat. One day, they’ll be too old to keep up all this PDA.”

“You’d think that,” Natalie grumbled, “but somehow, they just keep getting worse.”

“Because we’re still madly in love,” you said sweetly, turning to Leah and fluttering your eyelashes. “Aren’t we, baby?”

Leah smirked, stepping closer and resting a hand on your bump. “Oh, absolutely. More in love than ever.”

Natalie gagged.

Viv shook her head in mock disappointment. “You two were reckless at 23, and you’re reckless now.”

Beth nodded. “Having two kids? At your age? Couldn’t be me.”

Leah gasped dramatically. “Are you calling us old?”

“You are old,” Natalie mumbled, sitting down at the table.

“I think you mean seasoned,” you corrected, pointing a spoon at her.

Beth grinned. “You did have Nat young, though. No wonder you’re still obsessed with each other.”

“It’s called commitment, ladies,” Leah said smugly. “Try and keep up.”

Viv raised an eyebrow. “You got her pregnant again. That’s not commitment, mate. That’s madness.”

Leah grinned, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Madly in love, madly in love,” she sing-songed.

You beamed up at her, smitten as ever. “Aw, baby, you’re so sweet.”

Beth gagged. “I hate it here.”

Natalie groaned. “Same.”

Viv just shook her head. “You two are gonna be eighty and still making everyone sick with your love, aren’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, laughing. “Gonna be snogging in our rocking chairs.”

Natalie put her head in her hands. “Please stop talking.”

Leah smirked, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “She’s just mad ‘cause she knows we’re still gonna be shagging.”

Natalie screamed.

Beth and Viv burst into laughter as Natalie jumped up from the table.

“I’m leaving,” she declared. “I’m running away.”

Leah grinned. “Need help packing?”

“You’re a monster,” Natalie muttered before storming upstairs.

Beth wiped a tear from her eye. “I’m so glad we came over.”

Viv nodded. “Highlight of my week, honestly.”

You laughed, shaking your head before reaching up to kiss Leah’s cheek. “Well, babe, at least we’re still fun, right?”

Leah smirked. “Oh, always.”

Beth groaned. “You’re disgusting.”

Viv raised her glass. “To disgusting, sickly love.”

Leah winked at you. “Forever, baby.”

And despite all the teasing, despite all the groans from your daughter, you knew without a doubt—this was the happiest life you could have ever asked for.

[mollywilcoxvo]

Reminder that, even on some of the worst days, in some of the more frustrating situations, chances are the people around you aren't the *cause* of the frustration.

Saturday, I got to spend 2 hrs in my mobile phone store, because someone in another state had decided to charge 4 iphones to my account, and ship them to their place.

When checking in, I was told it would be a good 45 minute wait. So I toddled off to get lunch. When I came back, about a half hr later, an older white gentleman had come in and sat at one of the service counter tables.

He had a piece of paper in front of him, and kept fidgeting with it. Snapping the paper, grumbling semi-loudly. Finally, when another person was called and it wasn't him, he yelled "FUCK! Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Everyone just stared at him for a second. He continued "I was told to come back in an hour and they'd have my phone ready, and I'm ignored! I have things to do today!"

I looked at him and said "Sir, we all have things to do. I get that it's frustrating, but that's no excuse."

He glared at me "Well, I have things to do, and it's my only day off. I want the phone they were supposed to have ready."

I just looked at him. "Honestly, sir, I'm dealing with 4 counts of fraud on my bill today. If I can wait patiently for a representative to help me with this, you can wait patiently for them to bring you the already set-up phone."

Him: "You should just shut the fuck up."

Me: "Same to you, sir.", and I went back to reading my book.

5 minutes later, the assistant manager came in, checked in with him and said his phone should be ready in about 10 minutes.

He apologized at that point, in particular looking directly at me.

Patience and manners are learned behavior, taught to us as we grow up - or, at least, they should be. And punitive punishment doesn't produce better manners or behavior - quite the opposite.

Also, you have to actively use these mental muscles regularly, or they get rusty and don't work any longer.

After years of living in the adulting world, I think I’ve come to a realization: Manners exist to guide you to good conduct even when you’re in a bad mood.

When you’re happy, when you’re feeling generous, when you’re pleased with your gift or your service or your outcome, it’s easy to be nice. It’s easy to tip the waiter well when you’ve had a good day. It’s easy to thank the teller or the clerk when you got what you wanted out of the transaction. It’s easy to smile and chit-chat with strangers on the road when you’re in a good mood.

It’s hard to tip the waiter when you didn’t enjoy your food. It’s hard to thank the clerk for their time when you’ve just been told there’s a problem with their account and they weren’t able to fix it for you. It’s hard to think of something nice to say when your aunt gave you a crappy sweater you neither need nor want. It’s hard to be nice to people when you’ve had a shitty day. It’s HARD.

That’s what manners are for. Scripts and phrases that you learn by rote to say when you can’t think of a single nice or good thing to say from your own volition. Yes, they’re scripted. Yes, the sentiment is empty. But the scripts work in every situation, and the emptiness provides a buffer between your own unhappiness and the rest of society.

Because most of the time, it’s not the waiter’s fault that the food you ordered wasn’t what you expected. It’s not the clerk’s fault that your account is overdrawn. It’s not the fault of the barista or the stranger on the subway that you got fired today or your favorite aunt died. But even when you can’t summon a smile or a cheery word, you can still have manners, because they will serve you the same in sunshine or rain.

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.7

Chapter Seven: What Are You Doing To Me Now?

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

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

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

Word Count: 8.3k

A/N: ISTG last chapter— ya’ll comments had me wheezing and dying of laughter PLEASE— MY BAD, I DIDN’T MEAN TO GIVE PEDRO A HEART ATTACK LMAOOOO. Anyways, enjoy this little filler of a chapter. That’s 8k words long LMAO…

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

Song: The blue by Gracie Abrams

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PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

“You still need to change.”

The words tumble out before you can stop them, and you immediately want to crawl into a hole. Out of everything you could have said, that’s what your brain decided on?

Pedro blinks at you.

Then, as if just realizing it himself, he looks down at his suit—a bright, unmistakable blue, the bold insignia stretched across his chest.

Mr. Fantastic.

A literal superhero, walking through the lot, guiding you with steady hands like you were the fragile one. It’s so utterly absurd you almost laugh.

“Huh,” he says, eyebrows raising in mild amusement. “Guess I forgot.”

You shake your head, half-exasperated, half-fond. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving a dull ache in its place, and for the first time since the accident, the weight of everything presses in.

The stitches in your arm pull when you move too fast, a sharp reminder that this was real. That you’d actually shoved Pedro out of the way and taken the hit yourself.

He hasn’t let you forget it, either.

Not in the way his fingers still ghost over your wrist, as if testing to make sure you’re solid. Not in the way he keeps looking at you, his expression unreadable, like he’s trying to work through something in his head but hasn’t found the words yet.

And now, on top of it all, you still need to check in with Jess, confirm with Matt that you’re cleared for the day, and figure out if you need to file for medical leave.

So much for an easy afternoon.

You make your way across the lot, Pedro still at your side, his presence warm and steady. When you find Matt and Jess, they’re already deep in conversation with Rob Beggs, the safety manager. The area where the light rig fell is cordoned off now, crew members carefully maneuvering around it as they assess the situation.

The moment Jess spots you, her face crumples into something equal parts relief and guilt.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” she asks, stepping forward like she wants to hug you but stops herself at the last second, eyeing your injured arm. “Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“Jess, no,” you interject quickly, shaking your head. “This wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen.”

“Still, I feel awful,” Matt adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “We should have double-checked the rigging before calling everyone in.”

“And we’re going to,” Rob says, tone firm but even. “I’m running a full investigation on this. We’ll figure out where the breakdown happened and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You nod, appreciating the sentiment but also not wanting to linger on it. The last thing you want is for everyone to start treating you like glass.

“I’m okay,” you say, offering them what you hope is a reassuring smile. “Just a few stitches. I’ll live.”

“Damn right you will,” a familiar voice cuts in.

Daisy.

She and Omar appear from the side, both of them looking equally relieved and exasperated.

“You scared the hell out of us,” Omar says, shaking his head. “One second everything was fine, and then—boom. We see you on the ground, bleeding.”

You wince. “Yeah. That part wasn’t fun.”

“No shit,” Daisy mutters. Then her eyes flick to Pedro, who still hasn’t strayed far from your side. Her gaze sharpens just slightly.

“You sticking to her like glue for the rest of the day or what?” she teases, but there’s an underlying note of curiosity there.

Pedro doesn’t even hesitate.

“Yep.”

You glance at him, surprised by how easily the answer leaves him. His expression is relaxed, but there’s something in his eyes, something quietly unwavering, that makes your stomach flip.

Daisy arches a brow, but she doesn’t push.

Instead, she just shakes her head, smirking slightly. “Figures.”

Omar huffs a laugh. “Well, at least she’s in good hands.”

You feel your face heat, and Pedro, the absolute menace, just looks utterly unbothered, like he was always meant to be standing here next to you. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Alright,” Jess sighs, rubbing her temples. “You’re cleared for the day. If you need extra time off, just let me know.”

You nod. “Thanks, Jess.”

“Now,” Matt adds, giving Pedro a once-over, “please tell me you’re not actually taking her back to the hotel like that.”

Pedro glances down at himself again.

Then he shrugs. “I dunno. Kinda think it adds character.”

You groan, covering your face with your good hand.

“Just go change, man,” Omar snorts.

Pedro grins, but then his attention shifts back to you, and the humor fades just slightly, replaced with something softer. Something quieter.

“I’ll be quick,” he says, voice low. “Stay here, okay?”

You nod, and the second he steps away, you exhale, feeling the weight of everything settle just a little heavier on your shoulders.

Daisy nudges you.

“So,” she drawls, a knowing glint in her eye. “Anything you wanna share?”

Your face burns.

“Nope.”

Omar snickers. “Yeah, sure.”

You huff, shaking your head, but you don’t say anything else. Because honestly?

You’re not sure how to explain what just happened.

Or how you’re supposed to go back to normal after it.

You don’t know how Pedro managed to convince Matt and Jess to call it an early day, but somehow, he did. Maybe it was the way he asked, firm yet gentle, leaving no room for argument, or maybe they saw the concern in his eyes—the kind that couldn’t be faked. Either way, production had been shut down for the day.

Besides, Rob had said they needed to check the cameras, review the footage, and determine exactly what went wrong.

Now, you were surrounded by Vanessa, Ebon, and Joseph, their voices overlapping as they checked in on you.

“Oh my god, are you sure you’re okay?” Vanessa asked, wide-eyed, her hand hovering near your arm as if she was scared you’d break.

“Yeah, you took quite the hit,” Ebon added, shaking his head. “Looked bad from where we were standing.”

Joseph crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “They need to get that sorted out before we continue filming. It could’ve been worse.”

You nodded, offering them a small smile, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline and the way their concern made you feel more fragile than you wanted to admit.

“I’m fine, really,” you reassured them. “Just a couple of stitches. No big deal.”

But your voice wavered slightly, betraying the truth. Your hands were still cold, your heart still hadn’t settled into its usual rhythm. You wanted to be strong—to be the girl who brushed things off with a laugh. You’d always been that girl.

Then Pedro emerged from his trailer.

He’d finally changed out of the Mr. Fantastic suit, trading in the blue spandex for a soft black sweater and dark jeans, but he still had that look—the same one he’d had since the moment the accident happened. Like he hadn’t been able to let out a full breath since.

His eyes found yours instantly.

“Hey.”

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “Hey.”

Pedro ignored everyone else, his focus entirely on you as he closed the distance between you. The warmth of his presence was immediate and grounding, and when he reached out—his fingers ghosting over the bandage on your forehead—you felt yourself sway slightly.

“You should be resting,” he murmured, his voice lower, softer, meant just for you.

“I’ll rest when I get home.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, but something in your expression must’ve given you away, because Pedro exhaled through his nose, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face before he could think better of it.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, barely there, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. You were very aware of the way the others had fallen silent, watching the moment unfold. But Pedro didn’t seem to care, and you... you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“I didn’t mean to.” The words came out quieter than you intended.

His brows knit together like he was about to say something else, but then Matt called out from the other side of the lot, breaking the moment.

Pedro sighed, dropping his hand, but not before giving your shoulder a small squeeze. “Let me take you back to the hotel. You shouldn’t be dealing with all of this right now.”

Your instinct was to protest, to insist that you were fine, that you could handle it. But the truth was, the idea of getting away from set, from all the eyes and whispers, sounded... nice.

So you swallowed your pride, glanced up at Pedro, and nodded.

“Okay.”

His shoulders loosened slightly, like he’d been waiting for you to agree. “Okay.”

And just like that, he was guiding you toward the parking lot, his hand ghosting over your lower back, protective, steady, like he was ready to catch you if you stumbled.

You exhaled, letting yourself lean into the warmth of him, just a little. Just for now.

The black van was already waiting at the curb, engine humming softly as the late afternoon light spilled golden streaks over the lot. Pedro kept a firm but gentle hand on the small of your back as he guided you inside, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.  

Albert, the driver, glanced back as you climbed in. “Miss,” he greeted with a polite nod, his eyes flickering briefly to Pedro as if silently assessing whether you were okay.  

You gave him a small smile. “Hey, Albert.”  

Once everyone was settled, the doors shut with a soft thud, sealing you into the familiar bubble of the ride back to the hotel.  

“I think after today, we deserve drinks.” Joseph stretched out his legs with a groan, his head thumping lightly against the headrest. “Preferably something strong. Maybe something that could wipe today from my memory entirely.”  

You let out a quiet laugh but shook your head. “Thanks, but no alcohol for me.” You scrunched your nose, pulling a face. “Kind of wanna keep all my blood inside me for now.”  

Pedro made a noise next to you—something between amusement and disapproval—as he shot you a sidelong glance. “Yeah, no tequila shots for you, querida. Not when you just got stitched up.”  

“Ugh, I was gonna say wine, but sure, make me sound like a total mess,” Joseph quipped.  

Vanessa smirked. “You are a mess.”  

Ebon chuckled. “At least you admit it.”  

The conversation carried on, the lighthearted teasing making the tension from earlier slowly fade. You felt yourself relax, your body sinking a little deeper into the seat. But even as the laughter filled the van, you remained acutely aware of the warmth beside you—the way Pedro’s thigh pressed lightly against yours, the way his arm rested along the back of the seat, close but not quite touching you.  

And when you glanced at him, you found his gaze already on you, something unreadable in those deep brown eyes.  

You looked away first.

The drive back to the hotel stretched longer than expected, traffic turning the usual route into a slow crawl. London streets, thick with impatient drivers and red taillights, blurred into a haze outside the window. Rain had started to drizzle, streaking the glass with soft, uneven patterns. The low hum of conversation filled the van, punctuated by the occasional groan from Joseph whenever the vehicle lurched forward, only to stop again moments later.  

You let your head rest against the window, watching the world pass in slow motion. The warmth of the van, the steady rhythm of the rain, and the quiet murmur of voices lulled you into something close to drowsiness. Your body ached—not unbearably, but enough that exhaustion tugged at you with each passing second.  

Pedro shifted beside you, the movement drawing your attention. His arm, which had been loosely draped along the back of the seat, dipped slightly, fingertips ghosting over your shoulder in a touch so light you almost imagined it.  

“You okay?” His voice was low, meant only for you.  

You hummed, turning your head slightly but keeping your gaze on the rain-slicked streets. “Yeah. Just tired.”  

His fingers flexed, the briefest hesitation before he let his hand settle—gentle and warm—on your arm. Not overbearing. Just there. Just enough.  

You should sit up straighter. You should move, make some joke, shake off the way his presence settled around you like something protective, something safe. But you didn’t. Instead, you let yourself relax, the weight of exhaustion pressing heavier against you.  

The next time the van jolted to another stop, your body leaned instinctively toward the nearest solid thing—Pedro.  

You felt it the moment your head made contact with his shoulder. The way he stiffened, just for a beat, before exhaling like he’d been holding his breath. You started to move away, an apology forming on your lips, but before you could, his hand found your knee—just the lightest touch, grounding, reassuring.  

“Stay,” he murmured.  

You weren’t sure if he even realized he’d said it.  

But you did. And you stayed.  

The voices around you blended, fading into the background as your eyelids grew heavier. Pedro’s breathing was steady beneath your cheek, the rise and fall of his chest lulling you into something dangerously close to comfort. His scent—faint traces of cologne and whatever they used to take off the makeup from set—wrapped around you, familiar and warm.  

Outside, the rain kept falling. The city moved in slow motion.  

And in the middle of it all, you slept, tucked safely into the space Pedro had made for you.

Pedro stilled when he felt the full weight of you against him.  

At first, he thought you were just resting your eyes, letting exhaustion settle in after the long, chaotic day. But then your breathing slowed, deepened, the kind of rhythm that only came with sleep.  

Carefully, he glanced down at you. Your face was relaxed now, lips slightly parted, the tension that had clung to you all day finally melting away. A soft, barely-there snore slipped past your lips, and—fuck—his heart clenched.  

Then he felt it.  

A faint warmth against his shoulder.  

He shifted ever so slightly, and sure enough—yep. You were drooling.  

He should probably mind. He should probably shake you awake or shift you off of him. But the thought didn’t even cross his mind.  

Instead, he swallowed past the lump in his throat and stayed perfectly still.  

Because if this was all he got—this fleeting moment of quiet, of you trusting him enough to let your guard down, to lean on him like this—he wasn’t about to ruin it.  

Still, guilt gnawed at him. The scene kept playing in his head. The accident. The way his stomach had dropped when he saw you hit the ground. The way you had looked up at him afterward, trying to play it off like it was nothing, even though he knew better. Even though he knew you.  

He could have lost you today.  

The thought made his grip tighten ever so slightly against his knee, his other hand twitching with the urge to reach for you. To make sure you were really here.  

And then there was that look.  

The one you had given him. The one that sent something sharp and undeniable curling in his chest. The one that told him—without words—that whatever this was between you, it wasn’t just in his head.  

He could have kissed you then.  

He should have.  

But it hadn’t been the right time. Not after what had happened. Not when you were still reeling from it, still patching yourself up.  

But fuck, it’s going to keep him up at night.  

He wants you.  

And he knows—knows—that you want him too.  

The van hit another bump, jostling you slightly, and instinctively, he shifted, tucking you closer so your head wouldn’t slip from his shoulder.  

You murmured something in your sleep, a soft sigh, curling the tiniest bit toward him. And Pedro?  

Pedro let himself enjoy it. Just for now. Just for tonight.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING  

A gentle voice coaxed you from sleep.  

“We’re here.”  

You stirred, warmth pressed against your cheek, the rhythmic hum of the van’s engine fading as the vehicle rolled to a stop. Your mind felt sluggish, still tangled in the remnants of sleep, but then—oh God.  

Your head had been resting on him.  

Panic flickered through you as you jerked upright, realizing with horror that you had not only slept on Pedro’s shoulder but also left a small damp patch on the fabric of his hoodie.  

“Oh my—shit.” You wiped hastily at your mouth, mortified. “I didn’t mean to—Jesus, I drooled all over you. I’m so—”  

Pedro chuckled, low and amused, shaking his head. “It’s fine.” His voice softened. “Just don’t move too much. Remember—your stitches.”  

The reminder stopped you in your tracks. Right. Your stitches. Your ribs ached dully, a reminder of the accident earlier on set. You swallowed, nodding.  

“Right,” you murmured.  

Across from you, Joseph twisted in his seat, smirking slightly. “You good?”  

“Yeah.” Your voice was still rough with sleep. You cleared your throat and tried again. “M’good.”  

Vanessa gave you a sympathetic look, her expression warm. “You should probably head up and rest.”  

You nodded again, still feeling a little disoriented. The van door slid open, letting in the cool London air. One by one, everyone filed out, stretching and murmuring about what to do next. Pedro moved to step out, then hesitated, glancing back at you.  

“You coming?” he asked, voice low, just for you.  

You blinked, forcing yourself to move. Your limbs felt heavy, your body still craving rest. As you started to climb out, your footing wavered slightly—maybe from exhaustion, maybe from the dull ache in your side.  

Pedro was there in an instant.  

His hand hovered near the small of your back, not quite touching, but close enough to steady you. Close enough to say, I’ve got you.  

You inhaled, just for a moment, letting yourself take comfort in his presence. 

The warmth of the hotel lobby wrapped around you as you stepped inside, the soft hum of distant conversation and the faint scent of polished wood and expensive cologne filling the air. Pedro stayed close, his presence a quiet reassurance, his hand hovering near your lower back again, never quite touching, but there.  

You made your way toward the elevators, pressing the call button. When the doors slid open, you stepped inside with a sigh, exhaustion settling deep into your bones. You tapped your keycard, pressing the button for your floor before instinctively pressing Pedro’s as well.  

“Nope,” he said immediately, crossing his arms.  

You turned, blinking up at him. “What?”  

“You’re staying with me tonight.”  

Your lips parted in surprise. “Excuse me?”  

Pedro sighed, like he had already expected you to put up a fight. “Someone needs to look after you.”  

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Pedro, I’ll be fine. They’re just stitches. I’m just gonna head to bed early—” You punctuated the statement with a yawn, covering your mouth with the back of your hand.  

Pedro gave you that look. That firm, stubborn, no-room-for-argument look, the one you’d seen him use when he was absolutely set on something.  

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”  

“Just stay in the suite,” he said, softer this time. “Please. You can use your old room.”  

Your brows furrowed. “Pedro, my stuff is still in my room.”  

“Then I’ll stay with you.”  

Your breath hitched. “What?”  

Pedro shrugged, like it was the most casual suggestion in the world. “If you won’t stay in my suite, then I’ll stay in yours.”  

You stared at him, your heart thudding a little too loudly in your ears. The idea of sharing a space with Pedro for the night—of waking up knowing he was just a room away, of the quiet intimacy of existing in the same space—made your stomach flip.  

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, voice quieter now.  

He tilted his head, studying you. “I want to.”  

The elevator dinged, signaling your floor. The doors slid open, but neither of you moved. The air between you was charged, thick with something unspoken, something there.  

You hesitated. He was giving you a choice.  

You exhaled, already knowing you were going to give in before the words even left your mouth.  

“Fine…” you muttered, crossing your arms. “If it makes you feel better.” You glanced up at him and sighed. “Now put away your puppy eyes.”  

Pedro grinned, all smug warmth and victory, but there was something softer in his eyes—relief, maybe. Like he was glad you weren’t pushing him away.  

“I’ll just grab some of my stuff. I’ll be right back,” he said, already stepping back toward the elevator panel to press his floor again.  

You shot him a teasing look. “Better hurry, or I might just pass out before you get there.”  

Pedro narrowed his eyes playfully. “Seven minutes,” he said, like it was a challenge.  

You smirked as the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with the quiet hum of the hallway.  

By the time you got to your room, exhaustion was already creeping in. You barely had the energy to kick off your shoes before flopping onto the bed, sighing into the plush comforter. You told yourself you’d just close your eyes for a moment—just a second.  

Then, exactly seven minutes later, the sound of your doorbell rang through the room.

You rolled off the bed with a groggy sigh, rubbing your eyes as you shuffled toward the door. When you pulled it open, Pedro was standing there, looking so effortlessly comfortable it made your stomach flip.  

A plain black tee stretched across his broad chest, the soft fabric hanging loosely over the curve of his arms. Grey sweatpants sat low on his hips, the kind that made your brain short-circuit for a second longer than you wanted to admit. He’d traded his usual contacts for his square-framed glasses, the ones that made him look just a little too good, like a university professor who knew exactly how to ruin you with a well-placed argument.  

In one hand, he held a small duffle bag, the strap slung over his shoulder like he belonged here, like this was routine. Like you’d done this before.  

Pedro’s gaze flicked over you, taking in your half-lidded eyes and the way you leaned against the doorframe, still fighting off the edges of sleep.  

“You didn’t pass out,” he noted, amused.  

“Almost did,” you mumbled, stepping back to let him in.  

Pedro walked past you, his familiar scent trailing after him—clean, warm, a mix of something woody and subtle, like cedar and spice. He moved easily around the space, setting his bag down by the chair, toeing off his sneakers before glancing back at you.  

“You should get some rest,” he said, softer now.  

You folded your arms over your chest, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you were still in the clothes you wore earlier, your sweater slightly rumpled from your half-nap. “I was resting until someone rang my doorbell exactly seven minutes after leaving.”  

Pedro just smiled, unapologetic. “I said I’d be quick.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small grin tugging at your lips.  

Then, as if the weight of the day finally caught up to him, Pedro let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw before tilting his head at you. His gaze softened, the humor fading just a little.  

“How’s your side?”  

You hesitated, glancing down like you could see the stitches through your clothes. “Fine,” you said, but it wasn’t very convincing.  

Pedro’s brows pulled together. “Let me see.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“Just—let me check, make sure it’s not bleeding or anything.”  

You frowned, the shyness creeping back in. “Pedro, I can—”  

“You could,” he interrupted gently, stepping closer, “but you won’t.” His voice dipped into something quieter, something coaxing. “Just let me take care of you, okay?”  

Your breath hitched.  

You should’ve argued, should’ve batted away his concern with another stubborn insistence that you were fine. But he was looking at you like that—like you were something fragile and precious, something worth worrying over.  

And maybe a part of you wanted to be taken care of.  

You swallowed, nodding once.  

Pedro exhaled, something unspoken passing between you, before he gestured toward the bed. “Sit.”  

You did.  

He knelt in front of you, hands careful as he helped you lift the hem of your sweater, just enough to check the bandages covering your side. His fingers barely grazed your skin, but it was enough to send a shiver up your spine.  

Pedro stilled.  

His gaze flicked up to yours, like he’d felt it too.  

For a moment, neither of you moved. The room felt smaller, the air thicker.  

Then, finally, he spoke—voice rough, quiet.  

“You scared the shit out of me today.”

“So you’ve said…” You mumbled.

Pedro huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he carefully smoothed the fabric of your sweater back down. His hands lingered for half a second too long, fingertips brushing against your waist before he pulled away.  

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to it—just exhaustion, something fond underneath.  

You swallowed past the warmth creeping up your neck and cleared your throat. “I, uh—I need to shower.”  

Pedro’s expression shifted instantly, concern knitting his brows together. “Careful with your stitches.”  

“I know,” you sighed, already pushing yourself up from the bed. “I just—” You hesitated, suddenly aware of how gross you felt. Your sweater was stiff in places, dried with sweat and blood, and your skin itched from the grime of the day. “I just need to wash this all off.”  

Pedro’s gaze softened, but his jaw ticked, like he was biting back a hundred different things he wanted to say.  

Instead, he nodded. “Okay.”  

You quickly gathered your pajamas and underwear, started toward the bathroom, then paused at the door, glancing over your shoulder. “Don’t—” You hesitated, shifting awkwardly. “Don’t leave, okay?”  

Pedro blinked, something flickering behind his eyes before he nodded again. “I won’t.”  

That was all you needed.  

You closed the bathroom door behind you and exhaled, pressing your forehead against the cool wood for a second longer than necessary. Your heart was beating too fast.  

You shook it off, moving to turn on the water, making sure it wasn’t too hot—you didn’t want to irritate the stitches. The mirror caught your reflection, and you winced. You looked exhausted, dark circles under your eyes, dried blood streaked near your collar. No wonder Pedro had been hovering.  

Carefully, you peeled off your clothes, mindful of your injury as you stepped under the spray. Warm water cascaded over you, washing away the dirt and the tension, and you sighed in relief.  

The moment you stepped out of the bathroom, warmth wrapped around you—not just from the plush hotel robe you’d thrown on, but from the scent of food lingering in the air. Something rich, comforting.  

Pedro sat on the edge of the couch, scrolling through his phone, but his head snapped up the second he heard you. His eyes flickered over you, scanning for any signs of discomfort, lingering too long on the bandages at your side before he forced himself to meet your gaze.  

He offered you a small smile. “I ordered room service for dinner. Figured you needed something to eat before your next set of meds.”  

Your stomach answered before you could, a low grumble betraying just how little you’d eaten today.  

Pedro smirked. “Guess I made the right call.”  

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you were grateful. The thoughtfulness of it made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with your stitches.  

“What’d you get?” You padded over, tucking damp hair behind your ear as you settled onto the small couch beside him.  

“Chicken soup, because, you know—doctor’s orders.” He lifted the lid with a flourish, steam curling into the air. “And some pasta, just in case you wanted something more solid.”  

Your lips twitched. “You really thought this through, huh?”  

Pedro shrugged, too casual. “You’re my responsibility tonight.”  

Something about the way he said it made your breath catch. He didn’t say it like it was an obligation. He said it like it was a fact. Like he wanted it to be.  

You looked away, focusing on the soup as you picked up a spoon. “Thanks,” you murmured.  

Pedro watched you for a beat before nodding. “Anytime.”

The silence between you was warm, familiar. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.  

You focused on your food, spooning up the broth, letting the heat soothe you from the inside out. The warmth of it settled deep in your chest, easing away the tightness that had been there since the accident. Pedro had been right—this was exactly what you needed.  

Across from you, Pedro twirled his fork through his pasta absentmindedly, but he wasn’t eating much. His eyes kept flicking toward you, like he was checking, making sure you were still here, still breathing.  

“You should eat,” you murmured, not looking up from your bowl.  

Pedro let out a small breath of amusement. “You sound like me.”  

You lifted a brow. “Guess it’s contagious.”  

He smirked but didn’t argue, finally taking a bite of his food. You kept eating, but the weight of his gaze never fully left you. It sat there, unspoken, lingering between the spaces of your breath and the scrape of silverware against ceramic.  

After a while, you set your spoon down and leaned back against the couch, stretching your legs out. Pedro’s eyes flickered to your bandages again, his jaw tightening slightly.  

Pedro’s gaze flickered down to your bandages again, his jaw tightening slightly.  

“You have no idea how much you worried me today,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges.  

You exhaled slowly. “I know.”  

“I mean it,” he said, setting his plate aside. He shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours, grounding himself in the warmth of you. “One second, you were fine, and the next…” He shook his head, running a hand through his curls. “I keep thinking—if things had gone differently…”  

“Hey.” Your voice was soft but firm. You reached out without thinking, resting a hand over his. His fingers twitched under yours, like he was resisting the urge to hold on.  

“I’m okay,” you reassured him. “It was just an accident.”  

Pedro let out a humorless huff. “That doesn’t make it any less terrifying.”  

You swallowed, your fingers curling slightly over his. “I know.”  

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The distant sounds of the city hummed beyond the hotel window, the murmur of footsteps passing by in the hallway. But here, in this quiet little bubble, it was just the two of you.  

Pedro’s fingers twitched again, then slowly, finally, curled around yours. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t hold too tightly. Just enough to tell you he was still here. That he wasn’t letting go.  

Your throat felt tight, emotions tangling up somewhere in your chest.  

“Pedro,” you started, but you didn’t know what to say.  

He looked at you then, really looked at you. And for the first time all night, you didn’t look away.  

There was something in his eyes—something raw, something real. It made your heart stumble in your chest.  

He swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. “You need to drink your meds.”

“Right.” You nodded and reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand and twisted the cap off with a sigh. Pedro, ever watchful, pushed the packet of pills closer to you with two fingers.  

“Go on,” he urged, tilting his head.  

You huffed but took the meds anyway, popping them into your mouth and swallowing them down with a gulp of water. The whole time, Pedro watched you like a hawk, arms crossed over his chest, his face full of barely restrained concern.  

“There. Happy?” you mumbled, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.  

Pedro narrowed his eyes slightly, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Very.”  

“You’re being a little much,” you teased, setting the bottle down.  

He arched a brow. “A little much?”  

“You’re hovering. You’re being—” You gestured vaguely at him. “Like a mother hen.”  

Pedro let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Damn right I am. Someone’s gotta make sure you’re not out here trying to tough it out on your own.”  

You looked away, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. He wasn’t wrong. You’d spent so much of your life trying to prove that you didn’t need anyone, that you could handle things on your own. But having him here, fussing over you, making sure you took your meds, ordering you food—it was… nice.  

Really nice.  

You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling warm all over. “Well, thanks,” you muttered, voice softer this time.  

Pedro studied you for a beat, then gave a small nod, like he understood. Like he saw right through you.  

You busied yourself adjusting the pillows, trying to ignore how much your heart was racing. But then you froze.  

There was only one bed.  

Your eyes darted to Pedro’s, and you saw the exact moment he noticed, too. His lips parted slightly, gaze flicking from you to the bed and back again.  

“Oh,” you said.  

Pedro exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can take the floor.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“The floor,” he repeated. “I’ll sleep there.”  

You frowned, looking between him and the thick, undoubtedly uncomfortable carpet. “Absolutely the fuck not.”  

Pedro smirked, clearly amused by your sudden shift in tone. “Wow. Strong words.”  

“I’m serious, Pedro.” You crossed your arms. “Your back will hate you forever.”  

His smirk widened into a grin. “Are you calling me old?”  

Your mouth opened, then closed. “No! I—I’m just saying, you’ll wake up sore as hell and—ugh.” You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples.  

Pedro chuckled, shaking his head. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”  

You glared at him, flustered beyond belief. “Not funny.”  

“Very funny.”  

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it effortlessly, still grinning like a damn idiot.  

“You’re sleeping in the bed,” you grumbled, trying to regain some of your dignity.  

Pedro held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. But if I wake up with an elbow to the ribs, I’m filing a complaint.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.  

One bed. Pedro Pascal. You.  

You were doomed.

You climb into bed first, carefully maneuvering around your injury as you settle against the pillows. Pedro follows soon after, turning off the last of the lights, leaving only the bedside lamp casting a soft, golden glow over the room. The space between you is small—closer than what two people who are just friends probably should be—but neither of you move to fix it.  

For a moment, the only sounds in the room are the quiet hum of the heater and the occasional creak of the hotel settling. Then, Pedro shifts slightly, resting his head on his hand as he looks at you.  

“Isn’t it weird?” he murmurs.  

You blink sleepily. “What?”  

“You changed rooms… and now we’re in the same bed.” His voice is thoughtful, like he’s only just realizing the weight of the situation.  

You snort. “Maybe I’m cursed.”  

Pedro chuckles, low and warm. “Nah, can’t be cursed if you end up spending more time with me.” His grin is downright smug.  

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Okay, superstar, calm down.”  

Pedro huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I’m just saying. If this is a curse, it’s not a bad one.”  

You open your mouth to argue—because really, who just casually says things like that?—but the words catch in your throat when you realize how close he really is. His face is relaxed in the dim light, his eyes dark and unreadable, his curls a little mussed from the day.  

Your heart stumbles.  

It should be weird, lying here with him like this, but somehow… it isn’t.  

Somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

The quiet hum of the night settles around you, the warmth of the sheets and the steady presence of Pedro beside you making it all too easy to forget the chaos of the day.  

You should be sleeping, but instead, you’re scrolling on your phone, the dim glow illuminating your face as you read. The soft, rhythmic sound of Pedro’s breathing makes you think he’s fallen asleep—until his voice rumbles low in the quiet.  

“You always do that before bed?”  

You nearly jump, clutching your phone against your chest. “Do what?”  

Pedro’s lips twitch in amusement. “Read.”  

You swallow. Shit.  

“Yeah?” you say, trying to sound nonchalant.  

Pedro props himself up on one elbow, peering at your phone. “What are you reading?”  

Your body goes rigid. Oh god.  

You’re reading fanfiction. Specifically, his character’s fanfiction.  

Absolutely not. You cannot let this man know.  

“Nothing,” you say too quickly, locking your phone and placing it screen-down on the nightstand.  

Pedro raises a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure.”  

You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, and you turn away, mumbling, “It’s nothing important.”  

Pedro hums, amused, but thankfully doesn’t push further. Instead, he settles back down, stretching one arm under the pillow.  

“Alright, secrets,” he teases, voice laced with sleep. “Guess I’ll just have to wonder.”  

You groan. “Go to sleep, Pedro.”  

He chuckles, the sound warm and deep. “Fine, fine.”  

A comfortable silence blankets the room, the kind that makes your eyelids grow heavier. The warmth of Pedro beside you—solid, steady, real—only adds to it, pulling you deeper into rest.  

And before you know it, you’re asleep.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY MORNING

The muffled chime of your alarm cuts through the quiet, dragging you from the depths of sleep. You groan, blindly reaching for your phone on the nightstand, smacking at the screen until the sound dies out.

As you settle back into the pillows, intending to steal a few more minutes of sleep, that's when you feel it.

Warmth. Solid and everywhere.

Your drowsy brain takes a second to catch up, to process the strong arm slung over your waist, the steady rise and fall of a broad chest against your back, the way his legs are tangled with yours, locking you in place.

And then—oh.

Something hard presses against the curve of your ass.

Your breath catches.

Oh.

Heat floods your face instantly. The realization slams into you with the force of a freight train. Pedro is wrapped around you, his body flush against yours, and—yep, there’s no mistaking that.

You go completely still, hoping—praying—that maybe, maybe he’s still asleep, that he’s not aware of how intimately you’re pressed together.

A slow, deep inhale against your shoulder tells you otherwise.

Shit.

You can feel the moment he wakes up, the way his breathing shifts, the faintest tensing of his muscles. And then—

A sleepy, raspy groan vibrates against your skin.

Pedro shifts slightly behind you, his grip on your waist tightening for the briefest moment before his entire body goes rigid.

Silence.

You can practically hear the gears turning in his still half-asleep brain.

“…Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire.

His hand flexes against your stomach before he very, very slowly starts to pull away, but in doing so, he shifts again—and you feel everything for a split second longer than you should.

A tiny, humiliating sound escapes the back of your throat.

Pedro freezes.

Oh, god. Kill me now.

“…Did you just whimper?” His voice is still thick with sleep, rough and laced with amusement.

“No…” you mumble, barely above a whisper.

He shifts slightly, just enough for you to feel him again, solid and unmistakable.

Your breath stutters.

Pedro lets out a low, knowing chuckle, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he murmurs, “Mmm. I think you did.”

You want to die.

Or maybe kill him. Either option seems preferable to this moment.

“You’re imagining things,” you mutter, voice strained as you try to ignore the way heat licks up your spine.

“Am I?” His arm tightens slightly around your waist, his fingers splaying against your stomach in a way that makes your breath catch.

God, he’s so warm.

You swallow, heart hammering against your ribs. “Pedro.”

Pedro hums in response, low and teasing, the sound vibrating against your skin.  

You shiver, heat pooling deep in your stomach. He’s still so close—his breath warm against your jaw, his fingers resting against your waist, firm and grounding.  

You don’t know who moves first.  

Maybe it’s you, tilting your head just slightly, your lips parting in anticipation. Or maybe it’s him, the way his nose grazes your cheek, the way he exhales shakily, like he’s been fighting this just as much as you have.  

And then his lips are on yours.  

Soft at first, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away, to stop this before it can spiral into something neither of you can take back.  

But you don’t pull away.  

Instead, you press into him, fingers gripping onto the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.  

Pedro groans low in his throat, something almost desperate unraveling between you. His hand slips under your shirt, fingers splaying against the bare skin of your waist, not pushing—just holding. His lips part against yours, deepening the kiss, tongue sweeping against yours in a slow, intoxicating glide.  

You sigh into him, utterly lost in the way he tastes, the way he feels.  

Then he shifts, leaning more of his weight onto you, and a sharp twinge shoots through your side. You inhale sharply, wincing.  

Pedro immediately freezes.  

His lips break from yours, breath warm and uneven against your jaw. “Shit.” He pulls back, eyes scanning your face, concern flickering in the deep brown of his gaze. “Did I—did I hurt you?”  

You shake your head, blinking away the haze of want clouding your thoughts. “No, I’m okay. Just… a little sore.”  

His lips press into a thin line, and then he’s pulling away completely, his hands gentle as he brushes a thumb over your hip. “I shouldn’t have—”  

You cut him off with a soft laugh. “Pedro, you didn’t break me.”  

His brows pinch together, still looking unsure. But then his gaze flickers to the clock on the nightstand, and he mutters a quiet fuck.  

You glance at the time. “What?”  

“I have to be on set in thirty minutes.” He groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “I gotta get dressed.”  

Your heart sinks.  

You don’t even try to hide it, the disappointment settling deep in your bones. But it’s not just that he has to leave—it’s the way he pulls away so fast, the way his hands are gone from your skin, the way reality rushes back in like a cold slap to the face.  

What if that kiss was a mistake? 

What if he didn’t mean it, not really? What if it was just the heat of the moment, an impulse he already regrets?  

You swallow hard, trying to school your expression, trying not to let the spiral show on your face.  

But Pedro catches it anyway.  

He stops halfway through buttoning his shirt, his gaze snapping to yours. His brows furrow, that warm, knowing look settling into his features. “No.”  

You blink. “What?”  

He shakes his head, stepping closer, voice firm. “No. I know that face.”  

You press your lips together, looking away, but Pedro doesn’t let you retreat.  

His fingers find your chin, tilting your face back toward him. His eyes are soft, earnest, searching yours. “That kiss wasn’t a mistake.”  

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.  

Pedro exhales, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I like you.” His voice is rough, almost exasperated, like he can’t believe he even has to say it out loud. “Fuck, I like you.”  

Your stomach flips. “You do?”  

His lips twitch into a small, crooked smile. “Yeah. I do.” He presses his forehead against yours, letting out a breathy chuckle. “And I really wish I didn’t have to leave right now.”  

You let out a soft laugh, the tension in your chest easing just a little. “Me too.”  

Pedro lingers a second longer before groaning, pulling away. “Okay. I really do have to go.” He finishes buttoning his shirt in record time, shoving on his jacket, running a hand through his messy hair.  

And yet—before he reaches the door, he turns back, pointing at you. “Take your meds. We’ll talk more later when I get back.”  

You roll your eyes. “Yes, dad.”  

“I’m serious,” he says, giving you a pointed look. “Rest, take your meds, don’t do anything stupid.”  

You huff, crossing your arms. “You’re really bossy, you know that?”  

Pedro smirks, walking backward toward the door. “Yeah? And you really like it.”  

You grab a pillow and launch it at him.  

He laughs, catching it before it can hit the floor, and then he’s gone—leaving behind the ghost of his touch, the lingering taste of his lips, and the undeniable truth that you are absolutely, utterly screwed.

The moment the door clicks shut, you stare at it for a solid five seconds.  

Then—  

You let out a muffled squeal, practically throwing yourself onto the bed, hugging your pillow close to your chest as you kick your feet.  

Oh my god.  

Oh. My. God.  

Did that really just happen? Did Pedro fucking Pascal just kiss you? Did he say—no, did he actually say he likes you? Out loud? Like, in real life?  

You bury your face into the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut. This has to be a dream. Some fever-induced hallucination from the painkillers, because there is no way this is actually happening to you.  

Your stomach flips as you replay every second of it—the warmth of his hands on your skin, the way his lips moved against yours, the way he groaned into your mouth. Jesus. Your body feels like it’s buzzing, and you don’t know if you’ll ever recover from this.  

Then, like a bucket of cold water, a terrifying realization crashes over you.  

He doesn’t know. 

You push yourself up, staring blankly at the wall as the horror sinks in.  

He doesn’t know you’ve been reading fanfiction about him. About his characters. About him doing things that— 

You slap a hand over your mouth.  

Oh God.  

This is the worst thing that has ever happened to you.  

What if he ever finds out? What if he ever catches you again, peeking at your phone, and this time you don’t have the composure to hide it? What if he sees the ungodly amount of saved bookmarks you have?  

You flop back onto the bed, groaning into your pillow.  

Oh. Oh no.  

The fanfiction was bad enough. But then—  

Your stomach drops.  

The TikTok edits.  

The candid photos.  

The folder.  

You physically sit up in bed, gripping the pillow like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. The folder on your phone—hidden in the depths of your camera roll, labeled something totally inconspicuous like Receipts or Taxes—is filled with candid pictures, behind-the-scenes clips, and so many thirst edits of Pedro Pascal set to unholy audio.  

You squeeze your eyes shut, cringing so hard your whole body tenses.  

You can never let him near your phone.  

Ever.  

What if he finds the one edit with him as Jack Daniels? The one that made you short-circuit the first time you saw it? Or the compilation of him laughing, looking stupidly charming, set to some overly romantic Taylor Swift song?  

Jesus Christ.  

You groan, flopping back against the pillows, dragging your hands down your face.  

This is bad.  

Like, really bad.  

Because not only have you been a lowkey (very highkey) fangirl for years, but now you’ve kissed him. Now he likes you. Now there’s a very real possibility that this could actually go somewhere.  

And if he ever finds out just how deep your obsession goes?  

You’re changing your name and moving to a remote island.

End Notes:

Well… IT HAS BEEN HINTED AT. TIME AND TIME AGAIN. That you are a fan girl so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Oh God, what if he finds out 😃

Ya’ll they kissed! YAYYY!!

Awww you have a week off to rest and heal up girlieeee heuheuh

Look at Pedro being a mind reader. Love that for you!

We love a reassuring king. Gimme that shit. 

Yes, this is a little filler chapter before absolute chaos… oh hrm I meant… nothing what?

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta @suzysface @reidsworld @xmaykeca @dontlookatme121 @mandaloriankait @picketniffler @pedrofan @mystickittytaco @enchantingchildkitten @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @ro-nahime-things @senhoritamayblog @hermionelove @ashhlsstuff @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @youusunshineyoutemptress @klajmekkk @aomi-nabi

[rafes-slut]

Horny rafe gives you call wanting to see your pussy

Pairing: Horny!Rafe Cameron x reader

Warnings: Smutty talk, sexting, Rafe being a typical needy menace, explicit language, a bit of possessiveness, mentions of alcohol and drug use, suggestive content.

Summary: he is out of town missing you when he gives you call begging you to flash him. And you cant help but to tease him about it

----

You were stretched out on a towel, the sun warming your skin as the waves rolled in the background. Your friends were nearby, laughing and talking, but your focus was on the phone screen as it vibrated in your hand.

Rafe.

You smirked as you answered, bringing the phone to your ear. “Hey—”

"Show me your pussy."

A laugh burst from your lips. No greeting, no ‘I miss you’ first—just straight to the point. That was Rafe.

Before you could even react, he groaned. "No, don’t—fuck, I’m sorry… I’m drunk. Or high."

You could tell. His voice was slower, a little slurred, but still the same deep, commanding tone that always sent a shiver down your spine.

Another pause, another contradiction. "I felt bad…" A few beats of silence. "No, I don’t. Fuck."

He was spiraling, and you were completely entertained. "Rafe," you chuckled.

"Show me," he tried again, voice rough with impatience.

You laughed, shaking your head as you leaned back on your elbows. "I’m at the beach, Rafe."

"So?"

"So," you emphasized, "there are people around. And I’m not exactly gonna flash everyone just because my needy boyfriend is—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he cut in, exhaling harshly. "You got old ones. Look at those." You tell him.

The demand made him roll his eyes. "Send them to me" He said impatiant. But the idea of teasing him was far too tempting. "Hmm," you hummed playfully, pretending to consider it. "Maybe I deleted them."

"You didn’t."

You bit your lip, grinning. "What if I did?"

A scoff. "Then I’d fly home right now just to take new ones."

Your stomach did a little flip. It was one thing when Rafe was just horny and demanding, but when he said things like that—things that told you just how much he actually wanted to be here, with you—it made you miss him even more.

"How much longer are you gone?" you asked, softening.

He sighed, and you heard the rustle of fabric like he was shifting on a bed or couch. "Day after tomorrow," he muttered. "Too fucking long."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he grumbled. "Miss you."

You smiled. "Miss you too."

"Not just your pussy," he added after a beat. "Like… you."

It was rare for Rafe to get all sentimental, but when he did, it always made your heart clench. He wasn’t good at saying it outright, but this was his way of telling you he loved you.

"Well, I’ll be here when you get back," you assured him.

He huffed. "Not soon enough."

You could hear how tired he was, the way his words dragged slightly now—not just from the alcohol or whatever he’d taken, but exhaustion.

"You should sleep," you murmured.

"Mm. You should send me something to dream about."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Goodnight, Rafe."

A groan. "Ugh. Fine. But I’m calling you first thing when I wake up."

"Wouldn’t expect anything else."

You heard him mumble something else, then the line went quiet. Shaking your head with a smirk, you put your phone down.

[adrienneleclerc]

Hello! You could make a Fanfic where Toto Wolff's daughter begs her father to make a contract for her boyfriend (Carlos Sainz) in the Mercedes team so that he doesn't go to Williams 💗

Yes! And I’ll be using one of my favorite Hannah Montana quotes because Y/N will DEFINITELY be a Daddy’s Girl.

Pretty Please

Summary: Y/N Wolff is dating Carlos Sainz and is unhappy to hear that Carlos is thinking about signing with Williams.

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors, Williams hate

A/N: any hate towards Williams are things I have heard other people say. I’m also trying to get through ALL my requests so bear with me, please.

You were chilling with Carlos when he received a call. He kissed yourcheek and excused himself to take the call in another room. A few minutes have passed and Carlos walked back in with a smile.

“What’s got you all smiley?” You asked him.

“I got an offer from Williams to be their driver for the 2025 season.” Carlos said. You were in shock, however, remembering how James Vowels had a history of getting rid of their second drivers before the season finishes, thinking about Nicholas and Logan. You don’t want the same thing to happen to Carlos. But Carlos is a good driver, he knows what he’s doing.

“That’s great, babe, I’m so happy for you.” You hugged him after you said it.

In front of Carlos, you act very supportive of his decision, but in reality, you’re thinking about how you could convince your dad to sign Carlos. Carlos dropped you off at home, and when you opened the door, your mom was cooking food while your dad and brother were watching TV.

“Sweetheart, you’re just in time for dinner, have a seat. Toto, Jack, you guys too.” Your mom said. You put your things in your room, washed your hands, and sat down for dinner. “How was lunch with Carlos?”

“It was good, he’s recently got an offer to join Williams.” You said.

“That’s good, he’s a talented driver, he deserves to be in the new season.” Your dad commented.

“I like Carlos! He lets me play with his dogs.” Your brother jack said.

“Yeah, he’s talented all right, definitely too talented to drive for Williams.” You said, your dad doesn’t even have to look up from his plate to know you’re giving him puppy dog eyes, he can hear the begging tone in your voice.

“Ah no, nope, I already have a driver in mind for 2025, i can’t sign Carlos.” he said, getting up to get a beer, you followed him.

“How many ‘pretty’s do I have to put in front of the word ‘please’ for you to make Carlos a contract? Pretty, pretty…” You said training behind him. "Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty please, daddy, please!" You begged, stepping in front of the fridge before he had the chance to open it.

"Woah!" Your father exclaimed, putting his hands up as if he was surprised.

"Does that mean you'll sign him?" You asked hopefully

"No, it means you can stop. I already have Kimi Antonelli lined up to join Mercedes, you know this.” Your father said, moving you to open the fridge and get himself a beer.

"Dad, come on! It’s better for Kimi to have one more year in Formula 2, you know how everyone treated Logan, they all said he wasn’t ready to join F1. Kimi is just a kid, one more year until he can join and Carlos will join Audi in 2026.” You said.

“Charles Leclerc also did one year of F2.” Toto argued.

“But he didn’t join Ferrari right away, dad. He was in Sauber first before joining Ferrari. Wouldn’t it be better for kimi to go to Williams to get more F1 experience before joining Mercedes?” You asked your dad.

“I’ll think about it.” He said and you frowned.

“I’m not Jack’s age anymore, dad. I know ‘I’ll think about it’ means ‘ain’t gonna happen but nice try.’” You said, crossing your arms.

“I’ll think about it. But can we finish dinner first, please.” Toto said and you nodded.

It’s been a week since your conversation with your dad and you were losing hope until you saw Carlos and your dad talking. They shook hands, you decided to approach them,

“What’s going on here?” You asked, standing beside Carlos.

“You are looking at Mercedes’s new driver.” Carlos said, hugging you. You were in shock but hugged him back.

“Really? Omg, Im so happy for you!” You exclaimed, your father winked at you and you mouthed him a thank you.

“Took a lot of convincing though.” Toto joked.

“The contract is really good, I read it over three times, and signed today.” Carlos said.

“That’s great, how about we go out to celebrate? My treat.” You offered and Carlos nodded. You guys walked away and just when your father was out of earshot, Carlos whispered thank you in your ear. “For what?”

“I know you talked to your dad about me.” Carlos said,

“Are you mad?” You asked.

“Max that my girlfriend loves me so much she’ll convince her dad to write me up a contract? I know you were just looking out for me.” Carlos said.

“Well yeah, i Don’t really like how James treats his second drivers, I did not want you getting that treatment at all.” You pouted. Carlos kissed your pout away.

“I Love you so much.” Carlos said.

“I love you too.” You said.

The End

Hope y’all liked it!