#do people actually fold this thing for fun

[lyvhie]

── .✦ technically... he found your inner self

park jisung x fem!reader

𓂃 ࣪˖ summary: a bad decision about something that was supposed to be fun led your boyfriend to deal with things with his very own hands (quite literally) 𓂃 ࣪˖ cw: smut, public sex, fingering, unprotected sex, pet names. 𓂃 ࣪˖ a/n: errmm... so, i'm kinda busy with college right now, but i'm working on your requests, wait for me! ANYWAYS, ENJOY, FRIENDS!!!!!!!

You know those videos where Haechan drags Jisung around, and he just follows without complaining? That’s exactly how Jisung is with you.

If you wanted to do something, he’d do it with you—no matter if he wasn’t particularly excited or didn’t want to. He just liked seeing you happy. That’s why he let you drag him to all sorts of things—spontaneous late-night drives, random cooking challenges that always ended in a mess, even that one pottery class where he nearly destroyed his clay piece within the first five minutes.

And that’s also why he was okay with you bringing him to this stupid spiritual retreat, just because you thought it would be fun, even though he knew you wouldn't last too long without at least a small dose of internet to keep your brain entertained.

“Baby, can you please stay still?” Jisung whispered in your ear as you kept shifting around on the futon, trying not to wake up the other people in the room.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered back. “I’m feeling too… energized.”

It was another day of connecting with nature, finding your inner peace, and listening to the guru drone on about vague spiritual nonsense during the morning classes.

You needed to do something that actually made you feel active. It was unbearable to end the day without exhausting yourself. You couldn’t find the urge to sleep, unlike your boyfriend, who seemed to have no problem with it.

“We didn’t do anything again, and we still have three more days of this,” you complained, tossing and turning. The room was faintly illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the thin curtains of the large window.

Jisung sighed, rubbing his face before turning onto his side to look at you. "You're the one who dragged us here," he reminded you, voice groggy with sleep. "And now you're complaining?"

You huffed, staring up at the ceiling. "I thought it would be fun! I didn't think we'd just sit around all day listening to some old guy talk about breathing."

Jisung snorted. "That's literally what a retreat is."

You turned your head to glare at him in the dim light. "Well, I regret it."

He chuckled softly. "I knew you would," he murmured, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you firmly against him, his face burying into the curve of your neck. "I think I can help with that, baby.”

You blinked, feeling the warmth of his breath tickling your skin. “Oh? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” you asked, a playful lilt to your voice.

Jisung hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck. “Well, if you can’t tire yourself out, I guess I’ll just have to do it for you.” His voice was low, teasing, but there was something in his tone that sent a shiver down your spine.

His hand slipped under your shirt, warm fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over your belly.

"Okay, I know what you're thinking," you began, voice hushed but firm. "Absolutely not. There are people in the room."

Jisung only chuckled, his breath fanning against your skin. "Then you just need to be quiet," he murmured, his hand drifting lower, fingers teasing at the waistband of your shorts.

Before you could even think about wriggling away to stop him, his other arm slid beneath you, holding you firmly in place as he pressed another lingering kiss just below your ear.

"Jisung…" you warned, trying to sound firm, though the heat pooling between your legs betrayed you.

"Just be quiet and enjoy," he murmured, his hand slipping under your shorts, fingers gliding over your slick folds, making your breath hitch. "No panties, hm?" he mused, his voice dripping with amusement as he traced slow, teasing circles. "Were you waiting for this?"

He nipped at your earlobe, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine as you pressed your lips together, trying to suppress a gasp.

He didn’t hesitate, slipping two fingers inside you at once, your slickness making the intrusion effortless. The sudden stretch had a moan slipping past your lips before you could stop it, and you hurriedly clapped a hand over your mouth, heart pounding as you glanced at the other couples sleeping just a few feet away.

“I told you to be quiet,” he nuzzled his nose against your neck affectionately, his words carrying both amusement and a hint of warning.

"I'm sorry," you mewled softly, your voice barely above a whisper as he began pumping his fingers in and out of you at a steady, delicious pace. The heel of his palm pressed against your clit with each movement, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. Instinctively, you parted your legs just a little more, giving him better access, he took full advantage of it, a satisfied hum leaving his lips as he quickened his pace.

"Spreading your legs so easily for me… you must’ve really wanted this, huh?” he chuckled, amusement laced in his voice. "Bet you’ve been thinking about this the whole time we’ve been here,” his words sent a rush of heat straight to your core, making you whimper softly against your palm. “Poor thing… should’ve told me sooner. I would’ve had you crying on my fingers hours ago.”

His fingers moved with purpose now, curling perfectly inside you, pressing against that spot that made your toes curl. “You’re so mean,” you managed to whisper, your voice breathless as you tried to glare at him over your shoulder.

Jisung only chuckled again, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “And yet you’re squeezing around me like you love it,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

He rubbed his fingers against your gummy walls, feeling the tightness, the heat, as he slowly scissored them apart—just enough to stretch you without overwhelming you. His thumb found your clit, rubbing in slow, steady circles, giving it the attention it desperately needed. You didn’t know how you were managing to stay quiet, but somehow, your moans came out soft, muffled, barely escaping your lips as your body trembled beneath his touch.

He smiled lazily at your restraint, admiring how well you held yourself together—it was cute, how you were trying to stay quiet, even as your body betrayed you. His long fingers moved in perfect sync, thrusting deep into you, rubbing against that sensitive spot inside while his thumb expertly flicked against your clit, giving you equal pleasure.

You were getting so close, the pressure building with each motion, your body trembling with need. You pushed your hips down to meet his thrusts, chasing your climax as your breath quickened, desperate to release the tension he was expertly drawing out of you.

“I know you want to come,” he smiled, his thumb flicking faster against your clit. “Go ahead and let go. You can’t hold back much longer, can you?”

The knot forming in your core suddenly untied, and with a soft, desperate whimper, you came undone. Your body spasmed slightly at the feeling, milking his fingers as they continued to move inside you, coaxing every last bit of release from you.

“That was good,” you whispered breathlessly, gulping as you glanced around the room to make sure no one had heard you. The soft, lingering aftershocks of your release still made your body tremble, but you almost didn’t notice when he gently grabbed your leg, pulling it over him. He was still spooning you, his chest pressed to your back, his warmth surrounding you as he held you close.

“Jisung?” You raised your brows lightly in confusion, your voice soft, but the sound of his name still carried an edge of uncertainty. He simply hummed in response, his hand gently brushing the tip of his cock against your glistening pussy, making you gasp softly. When had he pulled his pants down? “Baby, we already—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, his voice low and insistent, as he rubbed his length against your clit, teasing you. The friction sent a jolt of sensitivity through your body, and you could barely contain the moan that escaped your lips. Your body was still so sensitive from your last orgasm. “I told you to be quiet and enjoy,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’m helping you, remember?”

You didn’t even have a chance to respond before he slid his hard cock inside you, the motion effortless as you were already a mess, so ready for him. The sensation of him filling you, stretching you to the brim, made you cry out his name, and a soft, relieved sigh left his lips in response.

“You can’t stay quiet like that, can you?” he teased, his voice low and commanding. “I’ll help you, sweetie.” Without waiting for a response, he pushed his fingers into your mouth, silencing you, while his hips began to move at a slow pace.

He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he continued to fuck you slowly, pressing his fingers against your tongue to make sure you stayed silent. His other arm held you close, locking you in place. There was no rush from him, just steady, deep thrusts that made you feel weightless, like you were melting beneath him. You couldn’t help but drool on his finger as your muffled moans escaped, barely audible to him, each movement of his pushing you closer to the edge once again.

The slow pace made your body burn with need, every inch of him stretching you as you clenched around him, desperate for more. He felt the way your hips bucked against his, silently begging for something faster, but he just held you in place, his grip firm yet loving.

“Just let me take care of you,” he cooed, his palm gliding over your belly in a slow, affectionate caress. He pressed down just enough to make you feel every inch of him buried inside, the pressure almost making you roll your eyes to the back of your head. Your thighs trembled, your walls gripping him tighter in response.

“Just like that,” he hummed in approval, and as he felt the way you sucked on his fingers. His hand drifted from your stomach back down to your clit, pinching it roughly—just enough to make you jolt—before soothing the sting with slow, firm rubs, keeping you right where he wanted you.

His movements remained slow, deep and unrelenting, pushing into you with precision, making sure you felt every inch of him. His fingers on your clit moved faster, the pleasure teetering on the edge of overwhelming. “Come on, baby, give me another,” he coaxed, his breath hot against your ear. “I know you can.”

The overstimulation was too much, the combination of his words, his deep thrusts, and the relentless attention to your clit sending you spiraling. Your body tensed, your walls clamping down around him as you came again, legs shaking in his hold.

“That’s it,” he cooed, pulling his fingers from your mouth, a thin string of saliva breaking as he did. His hand trailed down, gripping your thigh and caressing the soft skin on the inside, his touch gentle in contrast to the deep, slow thrusts he used to fuck you through your high, drawing out every last pulse of pleasure.

“So good for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice warm with praise as he turned your face toward him. His lips met yours in a soft, unhurried kiss, slow and deep, just like the way he had just fucked you.

As he pulled away from the kiss, your breath was still uneven, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself. He pressed a few soft kisses against your cheeks, grounding you, until your breathing slowly returned to normal. Then, with a satisfied sigh, you melted against him, snuggling closer as he wrapped his arms around you, adjusting the blankets over both of you. His touch had done more than just soothe you, now, you were fighting off a yawn.

“You should replace that fake guru,” you murmured sleepily, your voice laced with drowsy amusement.

He chuckled, pulling you even closer. “Are you saying I should fuck everyone who signs up for this useless retreat?”

“…Never mind.”

↝ taglist: @yizhrt, @sinisxtea, @peterm4rker.

[tunastime]

learn a little, get a little

happy (late, oops!) valentines! one of my good friends helped me churn up an idea for the heart day itself (a normal day for me and the lads, but a fun day nonetheless), and we settled on SEN ranchers <3 enjoy... the mess they are

in which Jimmy tries to come up with a brilliant and foolproof plan to ask Tango if he wouldn't mind trying something new with him. despite the word foolproof, Jimmy is, in fact, the fool. (1835 words)

Jimmy paces the length of his room. 

He's on off shift. He'd started work at 4am ship’s time and taken his mandatory rest period at 3pm ship’s time and set himself as off duty. It was quite the productive shift, too. And, he'd actually managed to snag Tango today for their meal period at noon ship’s time.

Tango would be gone for another hour and a half, though, so it would be approximately that long until Jimmy saw him again. Which was fine. because Jimmy was absolutely having a crisis that Tango did not need to see. 

He wasn't panicking—not really. The joy of finally having a proper emotional regulator meant he spent less of his time panicking and more of his time anxious, which, despite the similar strain on his central processor and its fans, was easier to solve, and easier to work himself through to a proper solution. Which explained why he tracked the same space of molded flooring until he felt like the joints in his hips were starting to hurt.

Tango was a lot of things, and special to Jimmy was right up there on the top of the list. He was also smart, and kind, and observant, and as much of a fan of physical touch as Jimmy was. He liked to press himself into the slot of his side when they took rest periods together, and he liked to hold to the inside of Jimmy's elbow, or put his hand on the small of his back, or lace their fingers together. And even with his friends, he liked to follow right at their shoulder, or lean into their personal space to listen to them, or clap their shoulder. He liked the tactile sensation of people, even if the affection wasn't necessarily romantic, or any sort of affectionately-coded at all. It wasn't an emotion Tango felt; the fringes of happy, neutral resting, bubbling anger, the starts of understanding, left over from Jimmy's influence? Absolutely. Anything else? Not so much. 

Tango didn't love him, and that wasn't, never was, the problem. He loved Tango, and Tango adored him in a way very particular to Tango, and liked to learn and touch him and hold him and listen to his wants and needs. Tango pulled Jimmy into his arms and let him sink his head into his neck, curled his hands in his hair and stroked down his back. He understood him. Watched media with him. Learned to laugh because of him.

Jimmy squeezes his eyes shut, chest rolling with turbulent feeling. Unease and anxiety, flickers of affection. He wanted to give Tango something new and different, some new sensation and task to learn, some new way to be tactile with him. But it was so romantic. And he was worried, drawing his cheek between his teeth, that Tango wouldn't like it.

If Jimmy was being honest, he had only just learned about it a few weeks prior. They'd been watching one of Jimmy's favorite historical dramas, absorbed silently in the mediocre acting and subpar effects. It was something so very human of those characters, something Jimmy realized, with a sudden and startling rush of want so strong he had to press his face into the warm rise of Tango's shoulder in front of him (and Tango had chuckled and ran his fingers through Jimmy's hair), that he wanted to do.

Jimmy wants to kiss him. He just doesn't know how to ask.

And now Tango will be back in an hour.

Jimmy folds his arms and starts to pace again, feeling his hip joint slot back into place. An hour was more than enough time to daydream any sort of scenario where he actually succeeded in making the words come out of his mouth. It would also be an ample amount of time to determine what he would say after he asked Tango. Because, aside from mustering the courage to say something as simple and nerve-wracking as how do you feel about kissing, he also had to figure out what he would say if Tango said I don’t like it, or worse: sounds good.

Sounds good. Sounds good? Is that really what he thought Tango sounded like? Jimmy presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, and though there’s no real sensation of pressure, the very human outlet of energy makes his secondary processor fans kick on, so he doesn’t need to take a long, sharp, cooling breath to feel like his head is still screwed on straight. Focus. Focus.

If he said: Tango, how do you feel about kissing? And Tango said: I think it sounds fine, Jimmy supposes he’ll have to ask him if he’d want to try it some time. And by some time maybe he meant that day. Or now. An hour from now, since obviously Tango wasn’t here, but now in the little, mental simulation he’s running. And maybe Tango would say yes to that, too, and then he and Jimmy would need to figure out the logistics of actually making that work. Jimmy actually sighs this time, expelling hot air as he shuts down all twelve of the simulations he was running in real time. For a moment he actually feels lucky he’s not a construct or a human with organic parts and human anatomy, because he’s certain that he would have upturned something inside him with the anxiety that washed over him at the prospect of trying to make it work. They could, though. He’s certain of it. So certain, in fact—

With a small, pleasant chime and swish, the door to Jimmy’s—to Jimmy and Tango’s cabin, slides open. Jimmy stutters, freezing in place at the center of the room. Tango blinks, and his eyes go wide and soft in a version of a smile that fits his face better than his mouth upturning.

“Just who I expected!” Tango says brightly.

“Tango!” Jimmy says, voice squeaking through his vocal unit. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be back for another half-hour?”

Tango laughs a familiar halting, scratchy sound. Jimmy feels his core processor take on more weight of calculations, but he can’t tell why. Well, he knows why, but he can’t tell what it’s processing. Focus.

“I thought so too,” Tango says, shrugging out of his uniform jacket. He’s a smaller stature than Jimmy, all sharp edges and compact to fit in cargo hold containers and maintenance shafts and in the smallest spacesuit HASA made. “But Bdubs didn’t need any more help with his project that he thought he’d need my superior brain for, so he said he’d tag me on the feed if he needed anything.”

Tango shrugs. The relaxed slope of his demeanor softens Jimmy’s worry back into something more manageable. He takes another cooling breath in and out.

“That’s lovely,” Jimmy says cheerily. So much for attempting to figure out what he was going to say. Maybe he could put it off for a little longer. Yeah. Sure! He could just put it off and then try again later. That would be fine. He could just keep thinking on this, and make it worse, and certainly he wouldn’t feel more awful about it. More awful? Awful-er?

“Mhm!” Tango agrees. He turns to Jimmy as he successfully doffs his boots, setting his hands on his hips. “Having a good off shift?”

Jimmy nods. “Been scheming about what shows we could watch.”

Tango’s expression brightens twofold.

“Oh, sweet!” he says, grinning. “I’d love that.”

Jimmy smiles, matching that lopsided grin as Tango moves around him and into his space. Tango pauses for a moment to reach up, squishing Jimmy’s face in his hands, before he pulls away, supposedly to park himself in a comfortable chair. As he pulls away, though, he stutters, stops.

“Actually,” he says. “I love that plan. But I’d wanted to ask you something.”

Jimmy blinks owlishly. Something that he thinks his emotional calculations module would label dread seeps into his wiring.

“Shoot,” he says, a hair softer than he’d meant to.

“So,” Tango starts, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. It folds and parts on the same perfect axis. “I’ve been thinking a little bit, and we watched a really cool historical show the other night? And the characters—well they’re obviously in romantic love, and stuff, but they’re just as touchy as we are, and they—at some point, they did something, and I haven’t—I was wondering—”

Jimmy is very very lucky he has no organic parts. He thinks he may have gotten sick with excitement. He blurts:

“Do you want to try kissing sometime?”

Do you want to try kissing sometime. That’s the sentence he was supplied with. This has got to be some kind of joke. Tango blinks, but his fond and soft expression doesn’t change. He tilts his head ever so, and, for an odd, fleeting moment, Jimmy thinks that if either of them could blush, Tango would be especially red in the face right now.

“You were thinking about it?” Tango asks, almost wistful, just a touch surprised. Jimmy nods.

“I thought it… might be fun. And interesting for you. And nice for me.”

Tango smiles, broad and toothy.

“I think it would be too.”

Jimmy grins back at him.

“Cool,” he says lamely, eyes immediately falling to his hands. “That would be cool.”

“Yeah,” Tango says, still sounding a little bit out of breath, despite not needing to breathe. “Um… did you want to?”

“Want to?” Jimmy parrots. He blinks at him.

“To try it. Um. Kissing. Right now.”

Blinking again, back to blinking. Jimmy blows out a hot breath through his teeth as he stares at Tango, and Tango’s wide yellow eyes stare back at him, and Jimmy can’t get the words out of his vocal unit. Instead, as his mouth moved to try and speak, he nods. Tango nods too.

“Okay!” Tango laughs pitchily. “Sure, okay. That’s great. Um. How?”

Jimmy blanks, blinking down at Tango in front of him. Not really down, more like slightly tilted down, and over, watching the open expression, delighted expression on his face. His processor stalls and skips for what feels like a subjective hour and is a objective five seconds. 

“We’ll just… do it like real people do. And make it up from there.”

Tango takes a small step, then a smaller one, and another, until he’s crowded just close enough to bump noses with him if he really tries. Close enough to see the fine lines of where the silicon skin slotted together around his eyes. To count each artificial lash. Tango cups his hands around his face, like he’s done hundreds of times (Jimmy has the number somewhere, but that’s not exactly relevant right now, is it?), like he’s about to knock their foreheads together. He smiles with his eyes. Jimmy smiles back, his body warm from all the mechanics trying to keep up with him. Tango’s eyes track his face for just a moment.

“Now you’re speaking my language.”

[isthatacalzone]

me: *seeing people yell about how they did Glintshore & Percy's death in the show*

also me: ..................anyway

[lemonlurkrr]

Scans of a zine thing I made for school last year about vampires :) <33

And it all folded up n schtuff

[marvey-sideblog]

Law firm Specter Ross represent gay club in Seattle

[nanihirunkits]

god skynani's numbers on twitter are insane i've never seen anything like this before, has this ever happened before????? with a "non-official" couple or even with official ones tbh..... i've not watched hsf so i'm just admiring in awe...... how????

this is unprecedented territory for everyone, including gmmtv

sky and nani have achieved something that gmmtv has been desperately trying to achieve with every single cp they've introduced so the fact that this happened organically makes this whole thing even better because firstly, no one gave a shit about them or the show when it premiered and secondly, they're a bromance “pair” in one of the (if not the) biggest bl production houses of the country

i think at most they were hoping to get something temporary like dewnani out of hsf since the source material was already pretty gay for a non-bl, but now gmmtv is probably this 👌🏻 close to making their first bromance ship official i do respect gmmtv for reacting so quickly and immediately giving them another show and a fancon, because it would've been a waste of their potential if they hadn’t. but then again it's gmmtv we’re talking about so p'tha was probably like 🤑💸💰🤑💸💰🤑💸💰 when he realized how much money they could make off of their new-found popularity

[arolesbianism]

Oh god the new cotl trailer is dragging me right back in... Damn you goat why must you relight my interest in this game so

[dayurno]

Oh your kevjeanthea in the pros is so funny because like. Jean will spend the whole night awake wondering what they are to each other and the next morning he opens his phone to see that he was added to Kevin and Thea's dogpark friends gc. Just fully introduced as like "oh this is Kevin and Thea's Jean"

ITS SERIOUSLY LIKE THAT. i think jean would have a very specific idea of what kevin and thea are like especially a few years into playing on a pro team together and he'll be very very very surprised it's not what he expected at all. he's going to realize he was wrong one day when he's sitting in (hand to god) pottery class (POTTERY CLASS, jeremy, do you understand how off in the head these people are) with kevin and thea fighting for his life to get any say in how their matching mugs are going to look like (kevin wins because he exhausts them) (they end up being trojan-red abominations and you can't even drink out of thea's)

just very! you know! sneakily domestic... i think jean would be fully in bed with his head on thea's chest thinking to himself what the fuck is going on here. who are these people. why do i feel so happy. i must be going crazy. I must hate them. i need to get the fuck out of here. like a nervous prey animal. but the sex is amazing. and trying to get moved from the houston sirens is going to be such a pain in the ass. and they have a dinner party with the neighbors in a week and why would jean miss out on free food. so you can understand the stress he's under

[what-even-is-thiss]

The reason people don’t want to work is that it’s just normal for them to be in bad work environments.

My issue with working at Walmart wasn’t the work itself I was doing. It was the circumstances around it. The concrete floor, lack of places to sit, having to put up with asshole customers, not getting time off for injuries, and bad pay.

If I had been given shock pads to stand on or a few chairs to rest on sometimes, if they paid me a livable amount of money and I was allowed to yell back at asshole customers, if they had given me any amount of training, I would happily work part time folding clothes all day and telling people where the swimsuit section is.

I’m a creative type. I’m a writer. I’m pretty smart, even. But if I could make a living folding shirts and listening to podcasts in one ear and helping people find the scented candles for 30 hours a week? I would. Leaves some mental space free for me to brainstorm. Lets me catch up on my reading with audiobooks.

But instead I was treated so badly by upper management and customers that I’m like legitimately a little frightened whenever I step into a Walmart now. And I only worked there for three months a few years ago.

I’m a good lower level worker. When I’m treated well. I like finishing tasks. I like being helpful. I like having some time to talk to coworkers and some time alone with my thoughts. I’m a frickin team player. And that’s how I was at my first job. I was treated well by my supervisor. I was trained. They were patient with me. I was so good at being low on the totem pole at that job because I was valued and felt like I was being listened to. I was able to sit still when there was nothing left to do which made it feel less bad when we were on a time crunch. I didn’t mind working hard at that job because it was fun even though I was doing all the low level stuff that the supervisors didn’t want do.

But at Walmart I was like that for all of two days. Then I figured out that nobody appreciated my work and if I worked in my normal people pleasing manner I’d kill myself because their standards were high and the rewards for meeting them were low.

So I slowed down. I started avoiding customers. I started taking a lot longer to get to my breaks and to come back from them. I became worse at my job because no matter how good I was at it there would be no reward, no appreciation, and I’d just be pushed further beyond my limits.

My only level of happiness from that job came from the people who were working with me. The old ladies and my department manager who made sure I wasn’t overextending myself. The one other young man working in the clothing department who always got sent with me to unload the heavy stuff and commiserated with me about the shoulder injuries, the hurting feet we were too young to have.

But none of that was enough to make me stay. We were constantly understaffed. I was constantly abused by customers and not able to do a thing about it. I was not paid much at all. So as soon as I had enough saved up for what I was trying to do and my last semester of college was about to start I handed in my two weeks.

I would have found a way to stay if I liked that job. If I liked that job I would’ve pushed myself to my mental limits to finish college and keep that job at the same time. Heck that job could’ve been a rest from college. A place to get away from it. But I hate that job so I got out as soon as I could.

I want to work. I want enough money to live sort of comfortably. I want to have some tasks to do to give my creativity a rest. I want to be a part of something. But the way that modern corporate run work environments are set up does not give me any of the things I actually want out of a job. And I think that’s the same for millions of people right now. A lot of people would happily spend their lives as a waitress or an Uber driver or a warehouse worker or a farmhand or any other “low skill” job you can possibly think of. But with the way the world works right now those jobs are absolutely miserable. It doesn’t have to be that way. I know because I’ve had a fulfilling part time minimum wage job that I looked forward to going to every week. A job where I was listened to and allowed to sit when I needed to. I miss that job. Especially now since I’ve realized that’s not the standard. It should be. People should look forward to going to work or at the very least not get mild ptsd whenever they set foot into a Walmart.

[pickapea]

everyone must unlearn the phrase "eat the rich". none of you are responsible enough to use it in a way that means anything

[yourcutelittlegayfriend]

Imagine this

I've been reading some of this good fics about Yandere Batfam x neglected Reader and it got me thinking.

In some of this fic, usually it's Alfred that has given the reader some love and have not neglected the poor thing and I was like,

What if Reader is still neglected by the batfam but Alfred gave them enough love so much that reader just decided to stay just for Alfred and Reader really just treated Alfred as their real Father or Grandfather.

Where Reader just let go of any expectation from getting attention from the others and just strive to make Alfred proud and happy.

How the turns have table

Imagine reader walking pass the others not bothering to greet them as they look for Alfred instead and other stuff.

Dick seeing them practically skipping as they clutch on a medal hanging on their neck.

"Woah hey!-...um whatcha got-". He tries to say but doesn't get any answers because you were busy muttering to yourself 'I got first place! I have to show this to Alfred!' as you giggle while looking down at the medal and sprint away when you see a glimpse of the butler at the distance.

How instead of begging for the others to train you and become a vigilante, you ask Alfred to train you for self-defense (especially the stuff from his spy days).

Jason was the first to arrive at the manor when the team heard about some intruders getting in but halted when he sees you tying up the unconscious thugs on the floor.

"Hey Alfred is this right?". You didn't pay them any mind when some of them pile in as you pay attention to Alfred who was praising you and giving you more good defense tips while you and him pull the unconscious people out.

How you spend healthy family time with Alfred by helping him in cooking and chores that earns you some knowledge of the recipes from his famous dishes.

Tim was trying to grab a coffee when he sees you having a fun time with Alfred as you skillfully prepare for dinner and actually have good laughs with him.

"Okay, then after I fold this I should add some paprika, right?". You ask the butler as he smiles at you while sipping on the tea that you made for him.

"Yes, you're correct once again young miss/master". He said while humming after drinking the tea indicating how good it is.

Tim can practically see you lighting up as you cheered a 'yes!' from Alfred's confirmation.

How you revolved your time and passion to Alfred and actually deciding that only Alfred is the one you should waste your time on.

Damian wonders around the manor when you and him bump into one another.

"And what are YOU doing walking around MY Father's manor?". He asks while glaring at you.

you just sigh and turn while clutching away the art supplies you bought so you can paint in the garden with Alfred.

"Walking away from you that's what I'm doing". you tell him as you turn the other way not even bothering to argue with the boy anymore.

How you do well in your studies and aim to get a good degree/phd and act like a proper man/lady but not because you want to keep up to being a Wayne but to see Alfred's proud face as he watches you stand on the stage as you show him your diploma/degree certificate.

Bruce decided to take a walk from sitting down for too long when he walk pass a framed picture on the hallway near Alfred's room and double takes when he sees you and Alfred standing together with while you were wearing a toga and cap holding not just any graduation certificate but a college one as the both of you look so happy and him seeing Alfred having that loving and well pleased expression something he rarely sees from Alfred after becoming the crusading dark knight.

Looking at the date he couldn't believe that it has been more that a few years since the graduation happened.

All of the family who used to ignore you suddenly took a different turn and started to try and get your attention but they fail to see that you already moved on from them and only cared about the one person that have literally loved you from the beginning.

Bonus:

Imagine Thomas and Martha Wayne was mysteriously revived for a day and met the family but was deeply disappointed to the others and took a special liking to reader because Alfred has said many good things about them and them especially getting many good degrees something that the rest haven't gotten yet or never bothered to get (this is my hot take because my family are hellbent on us cousins to finish school) and you know for a fact that Alfred is really REALLY proud of the kid that he raised preciously

[genericpuff]

Tbh at this point you should just make your own webcomic app/website because it would probably be 100 times better than whatever going on with webtoon right now.

hahaha it wouldn't tho, sorry 💀

Here's the fundamental issue with webcomic platforms that a lot of people just don't realize (and why they're so difficult to run successfully):

Storage costs are incredibly expensive, it's why so many sites have limitations on file sizes / page sizes / etc. because all of those images and site info have to be stored somewhere, which costs $$$.

Maintenance costs are expensive and get more so as you grow, you need people who are capable of fixing bugs ASAP and managing the servers and site itself

Financially speaking, webcomics are in a state of high supply, low demand. Loads of artists are willing to create their passion projects, but getting people to read them and pay for them is a whole other issue. Demand is high in the general sense that once people get attached to a webtoon they'll demand more, but many people aren't actually willing to go looking for new stuff to read and depend more on what sites feed them (and what they already like). There are a lot of comics to go around and thus a lot of competition with a limited audience of people willing to actually pay for them.

Trying to build a new platform from the ground up is incredibly difficult and a majority of sites fail within their first year. Not only do you have to convince artists to take a chance on your platform, you have to convince readers to come. Readers won't come if there isn't work on the platform to read, but artists won't come if they don't think the site will be worth it due to low traffic numbers. This is why the artists with large followings who are willing to take chances on the smaller sites are crucial, but that's only if you can convince them to use the site in favor of (or alongside) whatever platform they're using already where the majority of their audience lies. For many creators it's just not worth the time, energy, or risk.

Even if you find short-term success, in the long-term there are always going to be profit margins to maintain. The more users you pull in, the more storage is used by incoming artists, the more you have to spend on storage and server maintenance costs, and that means either taking the risk at crowdfunding (ex. ComicFury) or having to resort to outsider investments (ex. Tapas). Look at SmackJeeves, it used to be a titan in the independent webcomic hosting community, until it folded over to a buyout by NHN and then was pretty much immediately shuttered due to NHN basically turning it into a manwha scanlation site and driving away its entire userbase. And if you don't get bought out and try your hand at crowdfunding, you may just wind up living on a lifeline that could cut out at any moment, like what happened to Inkblazers (fun fact, the death of Inkblazers was what kicked off the cultural shift in Tapas around 2015-16 when all of IB's users migrated over and brought their work with them which was more aimed towards the BL and romancee drama community, rather than the comedy / gag-a-day culture that Tapas had made itself known for... now you deadass can't tell Tapas apart from a lot of scanlation sites because it got bought out by Kakao and kept putting all of its eggs into the isekai/romance drama basket.)

Right now the mindset in which artists and readers are operating is that they're trying way, way too hard to find a "one size fits all" site. Readers want a place where they can find all their favorite webtoons without much effort, artists wants a place where they can post to an audience of thousands, and both sides want a community that will feel tight-knit. But the reality is that you can't really have all three of those things, not on one site. Something always winds up having to be sacrificed - if a site grows big enough, it'll have to start seeking more funding while also cutting costs which will result in features becoming paywall'd, intrusive ads, creators losing their freedom, and/or outsider support which often results in the platform losing its core identity and alienating its tight-knit community.

If I had to describe what I'm talking about in a "pick one" graphic, it would look something like this:

(*note: this is mostly based on my own observations from using all of these sites at some point or another, they're not necessarily entirely accurate to the statistical performance of each site, I can only glean so much from experience and traffic trackers LMAO that said I did ask some comic pals for input and they were very helpful in helping me adjust it with their own takes <3).

The homogenization of the Internet has really whipped people into submission for the "big sites" that offer "everything", but that's never been the Internet, it relies on being multi-faceted and offering different spaces for different purposes. And we're seeing that ideology falter through the enshittification of sites like Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, etc. where users are at odds with the platforms because the platforms are gutting features in an attempt to satisfy shareholders whom without the platforms would not exist. Like, most of us aren't paying money to use social media sites / comic platform sites, so where else are they gonna make the necessary funds to keep these sites running? Selling ad space and locking features behind paywalls.

And this is especially true for a lot of budding sites that don't have the audience to support them via crowdfunding but also don't have the leverage to ask for investments - so unless they get really REALLY lucky in EITHER of those departments, they're gonna be operating at a loss, and even once they do achieve either of those things there are gonna be issues in the site's longevity, whether it be dying from lack of growing crowdfunding support or dying from shareholder meddling.

So what can we do?

We can learn how to take our independence back. We don't have to stop using these big platforms altogether as they do have things to offer in their own way, particularly their large audience sizes and dipping into other demographics that might not be reachable from certain sites - but we gotta learn that no single site is going to satisfy every wish we have and we have to be willing to learn the skills necessary to running our own spaces again. Pick up HTML/CSS, get to know other people who know HTML/CSS if you can't grasp it (it's me, I can't grasp it LOL), be willing to take a chance on those "smaller sites" and don't write them off entirely as spaces that can be beneficial to you just because they don't have large numbers or because they don't offer rewards programs. And if you have a really polished piece of work in your hands, look into agencies and publishing houses that specialize in indie comics / graphic novels, don't settle for the first Originals contract that gets sent your way.

For the last decade corporations have been convincing us that our worth is tied to the eyes we can bring to them. Instead of serving ourselves, we've begun serving the big guys, insisting that it has to be worth something eventually and that it'll "payoff" simply by the virtue of gambler's fallacy. Ask yourself what site is right for you and your work rather than asking yourself if your work is good enough for them. Most of us are broke trying to make it work on these sites anyways, may as well be broke and fulfilled by posting in places that actually suit us and our work if we can. Don't define your success by what sites like Webtoons are enforcing - that definition only benefits them, not you.

[solardrop]

beanstalk.

aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: a loser at the local pub thinks spencer is your boyfriend. Aaron drags him. tags: fluff. creepy men being creepy. body shaming (of spencer I'm so sorry). spencer just catching strays in general. word count: ~1.7k a/n: based on an ask. I was gonna just write my thoughts or a short 500 word drabble or something but then ended up writing this until the point I forced myself to just end it lmao. I think it gets a bit convoluted and cringe at the end but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it was fun! not proofread. divider cred @/cafekitsune

The pub was going to the rue the day they made half-off appetizers their weekly special.

The team squeezed in two pushed-together tables and binged on the greasy delights. you and Spencer had gotten into sharp back and forth about the apocalypse on the way there, which earned the both of you a quick banishing to a corner of the table where the rest of the team wouldn’t be subject to your bickering.

You rest your head against the cool concrete pillar you were sandwiched against. A table pressed against a half-wall facing outdoors was a hard sell to a bunch of field agents. However, Penelope’s animated declaration for the team to ‘live a little’ —specifically, to do so before Rossi got any greyer— landed you a wonderful view of the outdoors. You could watch all the homey, drunken people sway to the music flowing from the patio. The crisp night air flushes the overwhelming smell of burnt grease away from your nose. Maybe you could convince Hotch to grab a window seat for some date nights, you have to admit, the vibes were growing on you. While you enjoy poking the brain of your younger genius friend, you miss the solid warmth of Aaron beside you. Thankfully, he opted to sit in front of you instead. 

You took the opportunity to tease him. You kick him playfully under the table, stealing his attention away from the conversation he is having with Derek. He turns to squint at you for a moment, only to grab your food to sandwich it between the wall and his thigh in retaliation. His fingers drum a steady rhythm against your ankle, the ticklish tap tap tap making you squirm. You motion to ensnare his ankle with your other leg when Spencer turns to point his flimsy white plastic fork at you. 

“If emergency services were still in full effect during the zombie apocalypse, there would be a drastic increase in the number of people infected and a significant loss in—”

“A significant loss in medical supplies. Spoken like a true prepper Reid. What's next, gonna tell me about the importance of learning how to pickle your own food for rationing?”

“Actually, during the Great Depression housewives pickles things that lasted their families almost—”

His impending rant is cut short by the return of your server. Anticipating the bill, Rossi reached for his wallet before the woman shakes her head at him. Instead, sliding a drink and a folded up napkin on the table and nodding her head at you. 

“For the lovely young miss by the window.” She flashes a smile at you, “One of our lovely patons seems to fancy you.”

All eyes snap to you, all the color draining from your face as you stare down at the offending item. The drink was almost glowing at you, bright pink glitter swirling in the liquid with pink gummy hearts floating at the top and crystal sugar bedazzling the rim. There was no way this was actually something for the human body to consume. Even Penelope’s brows raised in shock at its extreme display. 

You glance at Hotch, his leg picking up a steady bounce next to yours after the waitresses revelation. His face is hardened, jaw rocking back and forth as he glares at the folded paper next to the drink. You clear your throat and face the woman again.

“Can you tell me who sent this?”

She juts her sharp chin over your head towards one of the outdoor tables. Hotch’s neck cranes around before your own, and you lock eyes with an older man sitting a few tables down. His face was unpleasantly square, the outdated sandy mullet crowning his head doing him no favors either. He raises his beer bottle towards you with a wink. You shiver, scooting closer to Spencer when the admirer hauls himself out of his stool to stride towards you. Aaron has turned almost fully towards outside now, his brow raised.

“Ohh this is gonna be good,” JJ whispers from the other side of Reid. The comment earns her a sharp glare from Hotch, a blush burning in her cheeks as she goes back to nursing her cheeto-crusted mozzarella sticks.

“I just don’t understand,” Spencer starts, “There are seven other people at this table including men at this table why would he be bold enough to-”

A sharp knock sounder off the ledge of the short wall. 

“Well, hello darlin’. I don’t mean to interrupt the dinner with your friends here, Hello friends, m’  names Miles!” He flashed his eyes around the table with a toothy, mustached smile. 

“But i couldn’t help but see your pretty little face in this window ‘ere and I had to buy ya’ a drink!” 

“Ah… Thank you but um-”

“Don’t even sweat it beautiful!” Small specs of saliva fly from his mouth, causing even Spencer to jump back pulling on the hem of your shirt. As if to use you as a human shield from the germs the man was spewing in his general direction. Hooray. Your hero. 

“I even wrote my number on that there lil’ napkin for ya’. My momma raised a gentleman, so I gotta buy you more than a lil liquor before I take you down.” His beady eyes shoot down to your cleavage before snapping back to your face, licking his lip. 

The fingers on your ankles pause at this. Aaron stares down the side of the mans face, lips pressd into a fine line spread across his face. You decide to jump in before your boyfriend takes it upon himself to tear the mystery man a new one.

“Listen, I appreciate the sentiment but, I’m here to have dinner with my friends and my boyfriend so… I could pay you back for the drink? No harm done-”

“Boyfriend!?” He steps back, eyes scanning the table once more before landing on Spencer and snorting. 

“This lil’ stringbean? You can’t possibly be serious” He smiles at Spencer before he continues “Jack and the beanstalk here could barely muscle steel so ya’ll stuck him with plastic,” He waves a crooked finger aimlessly around the table, “And you expect me to believe he’s wrangling a fine figure like yourself down every night?”

That seems to hit a sore spot for Reid, who finally peeps his head from around you. He takes the moment to ramble about the millions of germs and pathogens that could be found on community utensils even after a full wash cycle. Much to the dismay of the creep and team alike, so much so that Derek had to nudge him with his foot. With the conclusion of Spencer’s monologue the man continues

“Anyways, darlin’ for one night let me take you for a spin. Lil' boy like that won't do ya' any good. I promise you only a bigger, older man knows how to really take care of someone crafted as fine as you.” His eyes lower to your chest again and stay there. 

“I assure you she already knows that,” Aaron spits. 

Your eyes snap to his face. He seemd deceptively calm now, his expression almost bored. 

“Pardon?” Miles asks, half-heartedly turning his body towards him. 

“I’ll put it like this for you Miles. Stringbean over here isn’t her boyfriend,” Spencer begins to squeak out in opposition to his new pet name, but Hotch’s voice bellows out above his own, “I know you’re pathetic, that was apparent from the moment you walked up here puffing your chest after buying the cheapest drink on the menu as a gift. But I’m almost surprised you made your impotence so obvious too, considering you made eye contact with everyone you view as non threatening, the women, the man in his late years, the kid.”

Aaron lazily cocks his head towards Morgan, “But not me and my friend here in the corner. But I’m sure you thought you got away with that. Now, I’d suggest you move. The cologne you sprayed to mask the smell of Motel 8 is starting to wear off.”

Your ears warm at his words. Every sharp word honeyed by his calm, almost sweet tone. He spoke as if he was reading the well thought out profile of an elusive crimminal instead of just some ass in a sit down. God you wanted to kiss him. He’d have to let team politics go just this once right? Just a thank you peck. 

Before you can move to move ask him for one, Miles sputters out, “Talkin’ to me like I’m some dumbass— Who the hell d’ya think you are man!?”

Each syllable causes a spray of spit to launch out his mouth, forcing you to scoot even closer to spencer to evade the line of fire. His face shines with sweat and grease, red rising from his shirt collar as he barks at Hotch’s words. 

“I’m her man. Her bigger, older man. But I’m sure you already knew that, since you still refuse to look at me.” Aaron reaches down into his pockets, flipping out his credentials with deft fingers, “And I’m also an agent. As is everyone at the table including the woman you’ve spent the past several minutes sexually harassing.” He scowls, “Now, go sit down and shut the hell up.”

Miles' eyes finally rip away from you to meet his now. The angered flush erupts across his whole body now. He opens his mouth several times before closing it again, iced out by the cold stare Hotch gives him. He turns on his heel and marches back to his table without a fight. He sniffs his collar before jumping back in clear disgust.

A beat passes and the whole table erupts into laughter at the absurd happenings. Aaron’s face softens, still frowning in the general direction of the slimy man. Jolting when Derek claps him on the back and shakes him in praise. 

“Alright Hotch! Racing to defend your girl, I didn’t know you had it like that!”

“Well, I’m not surprised,” You stretch across the table to grasp his hand, kissing his knuckles before he could protest. He envelopes your hand in both of his and gives you a warm smile,  “my man is my hero in and out of the field.” He breathes out a laugh, knocking his knee against yours for your teasing. 

“Next time, you and String Bean get into it, we’re doing a different seating arrangement.”

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: toxic relationship, obsessiveness, possessiveness, denied break-up, abuse, manipulation, ish-kidnapping

♡ inspired by this by the lovely @eevwrites

♡ FEM reader

You’d wanted to be nicer about it. You’d planned it carefully, actually—even written down the words you were going to say in several drafts on your notes app. 

This was his fault—his fault that things were ending this way—his fault for making you do it now and not someplace else, someplace private where you could talk properly and do it right. Yes, this wasn’t what you wanted—this is what he’d made it be by forcing your hand—forcing your hand to throw a drink in his face in front of an entire crowd of drunk and dancing onlookers, as well as a handful of your mutual friends.

“Grow the fuck up!” you bark, taking on a hostile stance by placing your kitten heel down hard—glaring at him in all manners of vicious. “I’m not your property—and after this night, I’m not your girl either.”

No—it wasn’t how you wanted to end things—breaking up is something that should be done carefully—responsibly, and at the very least sensibly—not drunk or in the heat of a moment in some club a late Saturday night, but that’s how he’d made it happen. Always on you like a dog with a bone, a pest to your party—asking you to drink less, to wear more, to stop dancing like that, and to go home early with him. Fuck that, and fuck him. For the last time.

You glower at him for a moment—wanting to see your words solidify as they dawn on his shell-shocked face dripping with your drink. You watch long enough to catch his cheeks start to pool with bright, chagrinned pink—even in the dim club lights—before ripping your wrist out from his grip and stomping away from him, back into the crowd of sweaty, indiscriminate bodies all having fun to the beat of the drum and bass blasting over the speakers.

You might apologize for it tomorrow—tell him you hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, then break up properly as you’d intended with your well-written note at a Sunday cafe. But right now, you just want to dance. Hell, that’s what you’d come here to do—not to stand pretty between his arms and listen to him whine about all the people checking you out. Jeez—a fucking party pooper if there ever was one, and an insecure loser at that.

Your relationship ended mere moments ago, but you’re already feeling fantastic—ecstatic even—freed and light as a feather, like a big burdensome weight has just been dusted off your shoulders and given you a squeaky-clean break. In fact, with the way you’re feeling right now, not to mention the way you’re looking—hair right and makeup done up drop-dead gorgeous in your perfect little black dress hot as all hell—you might very well go home with someone else.

Is what you think in your alcohol-induced head—looking back at the guy who’s rubbing back into your grinding, thinking he’s quite a solid rebound. He even buys you another drink! Then two, then three, and ooh wee, guess who’s going home with a hot stranger!

The two of you stumble out of the club together—drunk and dumb and giggly, ready to order a cab to his place. It would be the first time in a very long time you’d have a one-night stand, but you have no mind to rethink it. On cloud nine, where you cling to the good-looker—as though you were scared he’d slip through your fingers if you let go for even a moment—as if you’d been denied a fun time for so long, you feared someone might come and take the thrill away.

“There you are,” a voice breaks your laughter, cracking the bright smile on your face. “Finally done?”

You go quiet, and so does the world around you—stopping dead in your tracks, you look up through your lashes as if ashamed to meet his gaze—knowing it would be harsh.

“And who are you supposed to be?” tonight’s unfortunate boytoy cocks his head.

Your boyfriend–no—your ex-boyfriend squares up, folding his arms upon his puffed chest, arms that look more threatening than you remember, then cocks his chin with an unamused face. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“Pfft—no, you’re not,” you slur with a scoff, shaking your head, trying to sober up. “I broke up with you.”

Your ex doesn’t find it as funny, giving you a steely glare while raising a strict pointer at you. “Shut it. You’ve had your fun.”

He then grabs your upper arm hard, pulling you away from the stranger and close to his side—grip so tight his knuckles whiten against your flesh.

“Sorry about her,” he chuckles at the stranger with a stiff smile on his face. “She gets like this sometimes—y’know how girls are…” He looks down at you while he says the next thing, “Attention whores.”

And then he laughs again, looking back at your friend—who, at this point, is looking a little uncomfortable where he stands caught in the middle of the awkward exchange.

“I apologize if she got your hopes up, but she’s only doing this to rile me up and has absolutely zero intentions of going home with you—so you might as well just scram.”

He’s already backing away when you interject, “Hey—” 

But he just throws his hands up. “Sorry, you’re fine, but I’m not touching this.”

Your ex scoffs with a smirk. “Smart kid.”

And then the guy’s gone. Just like that. Slipped away—leaving you alone again with him. The one you can’t ever seem to escape.

“Tch—look at you,” he grumbles, looking you over, still with a mean grip of your upper arm. “ You’re a drunk mess. I’m taking you home.”

You plant your heels—or try to at least—as he starts dragging you along towards the lot where he’d parked his car. 

“Stop!” you say, wanting to pull your arm free but failing. “I told you already—I’m not your girlfriend—we’re done, so leave me alone.”

He doesn’t pay you any mind, maintaining a straight route to the car.

“Let go!” you whine, tightening your hand around the strap to your purse before slapping it across his back. “I said—”

“I thought I told you to shut your mouth,” he growls once the two of you reach the car. “I’ve had about enough of this attitude of yours.” 

Turning to face you, he instantly yanks your handbag out of your grip, all but confiscating it—his warped expression only a short inch away from yours, glaring at you with his teeth clenched.

“Now, if you know what’s best for you, you’re gonna sit your bratty ass down in the car and put your goddamn seatbelt on before I get even more pissed off than I already am—then maybe, just maybe, I’ll go a little easier on you once we get home.”

He pops the passenger’s door open before throwing you inside—keeping your purse to himself as he rounds the car and gets in the driver’s seat, along with your phone and credit card. Left no other options but to take your chances in the sketchy club district, all alone, in the middle of the night, with no good means of getting home…

You deliberate it, holding onto the door handle, ready to jump out—but ultimately, you sit pretty as he starts the car.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[box-dwelling]

For a person who bonded onto Miles Edgeworth like a baby duck, when I write I really do focus on Phoenix and his struggles way more than Edgeworths.

[theetherealbloom]

The Things I Would Do, Just To Be Here With You

Summary: Amidst the whirlwind of movie premieres and busy schedules, you and Pedro Pascal, both thriving in your respective careers, find ways to celebrate each other despite the distance. While Pedro promotes Gladiator 2 in London, he longs for your presence at the after-party.

Or, you two would scream at the stars for keeping you apart... and the government too.

“Pedro Pascal x f!reader, Pedro is promoting Gladiator 2, and reader is in Wicked (Elphaba or Galinda of course!) for the screenplay of Wicked, and they are just really supportive of each other but also joke about their own movie being the best. Finding time to come to each other’s premiers. Posting behind the scenes or visiting each other.” — From @imaginemixedfandom

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Red Carpet, Cameras, Paparazzi, Long Distance, Timezone Difference, Social Media, Interviews, I’m not a Spanish speaker, I might be wrong with the terms, please don’t come after me T^T,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Ty @imaginemixedfandom for giving the idea! I didn’t really want to replace the reader with the cast of Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. Those two are just too iconic. So instead I will make the reader a writer for the screenplay adaptation of Wicked tehe. You all should listen to brent iii by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler, it’s absolutely one of my favorite albums of this year. Lastly, remember this is all fictional and for fun! Enjoyyyy my loves!

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: and the government too! By Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

gif by @andrew-garfielld

| Main Masterlist |

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING

“Hi.” Your voice was soft as you nestled deeper into the duvet, your body cocooned in its comforting folds.

“Hola, mi amor.” Pedro’s face lit up on your phone screen, the warm timbre of his voice washing over you like a balm. “I miss you.” “I miss you too… so much,” you replied with a little pout. The time difference between London and New York was merciless. Between his packed schedule promoting Gladiator 2 and prepping for Fantastic Four, and your whirlwind of work with the Wicked movie premiere, your conversations had been reduced to stolen moments like this. Still, even through a screen, Pedro had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the world. “You look cozy,” he said with a lopsided grin, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Meanwhile, I’m freezing my ass off here on set. I think my nose might fall off.” You laughed softly, the sound tinged with longing. “I’d trade you, you know. I’ll take the cold if it means I get to see you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He leaned closer to the camera, his face filling your screen. “If I weren’t contractually obligated to be here, I’d hop on the next flight and show up at your premiere tomorrow. Red carpet and all.” You smiled wistfully, your fingers brushing against the edge of your phone as if you could reach through it to touch him. “You’d outshine me. Imagine the headlines: ‘Pedro Pascal steals the show at Wicked premiere.’” “Please. Everyone’s going to be talking about you. ‘Brilliant screenwriter dazzles Hollywood!’” He paused, his tone softening. “You’re incredible, you know that?” Your throat tightened at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Stop, or I’ll actually cry, and my face will be all puffy for tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Okay, okay. But seriously, mi amor, I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.” “And so have you,” you countered. “The Gladiator 2 trailer broke the internet, and you still found time to send me flowers last week. You’re amazing, Pedro.” “Yeah, but flowers aren’t the same as being there with you.” His voice dipped, a hint of regret slipping through. “I hate being this far away.” You sighed, your heart aching in tandem with his. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the unspoken tension of your shared longing. Then, Pedro’s grin returned, bright and mischievous. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “who do you think has the better movie? Be honest.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Are you seriously asking me to compare Wicked to Gladiator 2? One’s a heartfelt, magical adaptation, and the other is a testosterone-filled epic. They’re different.”

“Uh-huh,” he teased, crossing his arms. “Sounds like you’re dodging the question. I knew you were scared to admit Gladiator 2 is better.”

You scoffed, sitting up straighter in bed. “Scared? Please. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings when Wicked inevitably becomes a global phenomenon.”

Pedro laughed, the sound rich and contagious. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, this would be grounds for war.”

“Lucky? You’re the lucky one,” you shot back, smirking. “I’ll prove it when I finally see you in person again. But until then…”

You brought the phone closer, pressing a soft kiss to the screen. Pedro mimicked your gesture, his lips brushing his camera lens.

“Goodnight, mi vida,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Pedro.” Your voice was tender, laced with all the love you couldn’t put into words.

As the call ended, you clutched the phone to your chest, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. Despite the distance, despite the chaos of your lives, you knew one thing for certain: Pedro Pascal would always be worth the wait.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — MORNING

Today was the day. You were walking the red carpet for the Wicked movie premiere. A sea of celebrities, producers, fellow writers, and editors would surround you. The sheer magnitude of it all left you feeling both giddy and utterly petrified.  

You smoothed your hands over the silk robe you wore, your palms damp with nerves. While you loved the craft of storytelling, the spotlight had always felt daunting. You preferred to let your work speak for itself—a tendency that paired surprisingly well with dating Pedro Pascal, the literal human embodiment of charisma and charm.  

“There, all done,” Laura, your makeup artist, said with a satisfied grin.  

You blinked at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin glowed, your eyes were accentuated just enough to look striking without overwhelming, and your lips were painted a perfect shade of confidence.  

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, giving her a warm smile.  

“Of course I did,” Laura replied with a wink. “Big night for my favorite screenwriter.”  

Mia, your stylist, emerged from behind a rack of gowns, holding up the dress. “Speaking of big nights... Ready to put this beauty on?”  

You nodded, though your smile wavered. “I just wish Pedro were here,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.  

Laura and Mia exchanged sympathetic glances before Laura gently squeezed your shoulder. “You’re going to look incredible, and he’d lose his mind if he saw you. How about we take some pictures to send him? A little preview for the man himself.”  

You hesitated, glancing at your phone on the vanity. “I don’t want to distract him. He’s busy with interviews and set work. London and New York aren’t exactly next door…”  

“All is fair in love and war,” Laura teased, her giggle breaking the tension. “Come on, babe! If anything, it’ll be motivation for him to hop on the next flight.”  

Mia chimed in, smirking. “Or just to remind him what he’s missing. Trust me, teasing Pedro is a public service.”  

You laughed despite yourself, feeling the nerves lift slightly. “Fine, fine. But if he complains, I’m blaming you two.”  

They ushered you into the dress—a masterpiece of emerald silk and intricate detailing that clung perfectly in all the right places. As Mia zipped you up, Laura stepped back, her hands pressed dramatically over her heart.  

“Pedro’s going to lose his shit.”  

“You look like a literal goddess,” Mia added, spinning you toward the mirror.  

For a moment, you hardly recognized yourself. The reflection staring back radiated elegance and confidence, even if you didn’t entirely feel it yet.  

“Okay, okay. Take the pictures,” you relented, biting your lip as you tried to contain your grin.  

Laura grabbed your phone and started snapping. You struck a few playful poses, twirling and laughing as Mia adjusted the hem of your dress. It felt silly, but imagining Pedro’s reaction warmed your chest.  

Once the photos were taken, you grabbed your phone and hovered over the message screen. You debated for a moment, then attached the best photo and typed a quick message.  

You: Wish you were here. But since you’re not... Enjoy this. Don’t let it distract you too much, cariño.  

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, the familiar swoosh of the message sending making your heart race.  

The reply came faster than you expected.  

Pedro: Distract me? How am I supposed to do anything now? You look like an angel. No, better than an angel. Drop-dead stunning. 

You couldn’t stop the grin from taking over your face.  

Pedro: Red carpet better be ready. They’ve got no idea who they’re dealing with tonight.  

The butterflies in your stomach multiplied tenfold. Before you could reply, another message appeared.  

Pedro: I’m so proud of you. Go knock ’em dead, mi amor. I love you.  

Your throat tightened, and you had to blink back the sudden tears threatening to ruin Laura’s hard work. You tapped out a quick reply.  

You: I love you too. Now go back to being the coolest man alive.  

“You okay over there?” Mia asked, watching you with a knowing smile.  

“More than okay,” you said softly, tucking your phone away.  

As you prepared to step into the whirlwind of the premiere, Pedro’s words echoed in your mind. Even from thousands of miles away, he made you feel invincible.  

Tonight wasn’t just about the red carpet or the glitz and glamour. It was about celebrating what you loved—and knowing Pedro would always be your biggest cheerleader, no matter where in the world he was.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON — AFTERNOON  

Pedro sighed deeply, his head resting against the back of his chair. The steady hum of activity on set felt like background noise, the voices and clatter muffled by the ache in his chest. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, the motion absent-minded, a physical echo of the restlessness he felt inside.  

He missed you.  

It wasn’t the casual longing of someone who hadn’t seen their partner in a while—it was the kind of yearning that settled into his bones, heavy and persistent. A few hundred miles of ocean separated you, but it may as well have been an entire galaxy.  

He opened his phone and scrolled back to the picture you’d sent him that morning. The emerald dress, the way it hugged your form, the way your eyes sparkled even in a still image—it took his breath away. You looked like a dream. His dream.  

“If I were there right now…” he murmured under his breath, running his thumb over the screen as if he could touch you.  

If it were as simple as hopping on a flight, he’d already be on his way. He imagined the way you’d light up when you saw him, how you’d rush into his arms. He’d bury his face in your hair, inhale your scent, and hold you so tightly that he’d forget about the world outside.  

But it wasn’t that simple. The timing was off, as it so often was with both your careers in full swing. He was tied to the production schedule of Fantastic Four, and you were in the spotlight for Wicked. The universe seemed determined to keep you apart, and for the first time in years, Pedro felt the cracks in his patience.  

He closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Damn stars. Damn schedules. Damn… government,” he muttered bitterly. The laugh that followed was humorless, the frustration thick in his voice.  

If he could, he’d scream at the stars for conspiring against you both. Curse the invisible forces that made life so complicated. He’d barter with time itself, twist it and stretch it, just to have you here with him for a few stolen moments.  

He wondered what you were doing right now. Were you nervous about the red carpet? Did you feel as hollow without him as he felt without you? Pedro clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him. You deserved to have him there, to walk that carpet with you, to hold your hand and beam with pride as you took in the applause for your work.  

“Pedro, they’re ready for you!”  

The call from a production assistant jolted him from his thoughts. He blinked, the weight of reality crashing back down as he stood and stretched.  

“Be right there,” he called back, tucking his phone into his pocket.  

As he made his way back to the soundstage, he couldn’t shake the thought of tomorrow. The Gladiator 2 premiere loomed ahead, another milestone he should be celebrating with you by his side. Instead, you’d be halfway across the world.  

But one day, he promised himself, one day, nothing will keep us apart.  

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING 

The flashing lights were relentless, casting an almost blinding glow over the red carpet. The screams of fans and the constant click of cameras created a symphony of chaos, one you weren’t entirely comfortable navigating. You’d always preferred the quiet—curled up with a book, tucked away from the world’s prying eyes.  

But tonight, you smiled and posed alongside your cast and the production crew. You owed it to them, to yourself, and to the story you’d helped bring to life.  

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Winnie Holzman, the original writer of Wicked, leaned in with a smile, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the crowd.  

You nodded, though your voice was tinged with nervousness. “It’s incredible. Overwhelming, but in the best way.”  

“You’ve done amazing work,” Dana Fox chimed in, her excitement infectious. “We wouldn’t be standing here without your screenplay tying it all together.”  

Jon M. Chu, ever the cheerleader, clapped you lightly on the back. “Tonight’s your night too. Own it.”  

You laughed softly, feeling a little more at ease with their encouragement. Together, the four of you posed for the cameras, sharing a few candid laughs before heading closer to the press area.  

As you stepped into the spotlight for interviews, the questions started flying.  

“How does it feel to see Wicked finally come to life on the big screen?”  

“It feels surreal,” you answered, your smile genuine. “Everyone on this project has poured so much heart into it. To see it come together like this is... overwhelming in the best way.”  

“You’re known for being quite private. How are you handling all the attention tonight?”  

“It’s definitely out of my comfort zone,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’m surrounded by such a talented and supportive team, which makes it easier.”  

Then, inevitably, came the question you’d been bracing for. “We couldn’t help but notice that Pedro Pascal isn’t here tonight. Do you miss him?”  

The question tugged at something deep inside you. “I miss him so much,” you said softly, your expression softening. “He’s busy promoting Gladiator 2 and filming in London. I know he wishes he could be here, just like I wish I could be there for him. We’re both incredibly proud of each other, though.” You grinned, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “But, of course, Wicked is better. Don’t tell him I said that.”  

The interviewer laughed, and you followed with a wink before stepping away.  

AFTER THE PREMIERE  

As the credits rolled and the crowd applauded, you walked alongside Jon, Winnie, and Dana toward the exit. The night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the theater.  

“You were glowing on that carpet,” Winnie teased, nudging you gently.  

Jon smirked. “Bet it’s because of a certain someone who couldn’t make it.”  

You flushed immediately, your cheeks warming. “Stop,” you mumbled, though your smile betrayed your embarrassment.  

“Oh, come on,” Dana added with a laugh. “You were gushing about him earlier. Just admit it—you’re head over heels.”  

You sighed dramatically, though your heart raced just thinking about Pedro. “Okay, fine. I miss him like crazy. I just—” You paused, glancing up at the stars. “I wish I could be there for him, you know? For his premiere. He’s always so supportive of me. It feels wrong not to do the same.”  

Jon stopped walking, turning to face you with a thoughtful look. “So go.”  

“What?”  

“Go to him,” he said with a shrug. “Take the jet. I’ll make the call.”  

You blinked at him, stunned. “You—you’d let me do that?”  

“Of course,” Jon said, waving off your concern. “You’re part of the heart of this project. If being with him makes you happy, it’s worth it.”  

“But I don’t have a ticket, and I need to pack, and—”  

Dana held up a hand, already pulling out her phone. “Relax. I’ll call a car, and we’ll pack together. You just focus on getting there.”  

Before you could protest further, Jon had already stepped aside, dialing someone on his phone. Dana grabbed your arm and started steering you toward the waiting car.  

“You’re really doing this,” she said, grinning.  

“I—I guess I am.” Your voice trembled with excitement and nerves. “What if I don’t make it in time? What if—”  

Dana cut you off with a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. “You’ll make it. And even if you don’t, just being there will mean everything to him.”  

AT THE AIRPORT  

The private jet was waiting for you, its sleek frame illuminated by the glow of the runway lights. You quickly texted Pedro’s manager and assistant, letting them know you were on your way.  

You: I’m coming to London. Please don’t tell him. I want it to be a surprise.  

The response was almost immediate:  

Franklin Latt: Got it. He’s going to lose his mind—in the best way.  

As you settled into your seat and the jet began to taxi, your heart raced. Seven hours separated you from Pedro, but for the first time in days, the distance didn’t feel insurmountable.  

You leaned your head back against the seat, clutching your phone tightly as you closed your eyes. You could already picture the look on his face when he saw you.  

Just hold on, Pedro. I’m on my way.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING

The energy in Leicester Square was electric. Fans filled the barricades, the roar of excitement nearly drowning out the camera flashes as Pedro made his way down the red carpet. Dressed in a sharp black shirt, the top unbuttoned, slacks, his signature charm, and a warm smile lit up every interaction as he stopped to greet fans and pose for photos.

The press area was bustling, and soon Pedro found himself standing in front of a journalist holding a microphone.

“Pedro, congratulations on Gladiator 2! How does it feel to be here tonight celebrating this film?”

Pedro grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It feels incredible. This is one of those projects you dream about as an actor, and to see it all come together, to see everyone’s hard work pay off, it’s… it’s a real honor.”

The interviewer nodded. “You’ve had an amazing year, between this and your other projects. But we couldn’t help but notice that someone special in your life had a big night recently—the Wicked premiere in New York. Did you get a chance to see any photos?”

Pedro’s face lit up instantly, a laugh bubbling out of him. “Oh, I did. Believe me, I did. She sent me some pictures, and I’ve seen the ones floating around online too. I mean… she looked absolutely stunning. Like, knock-you-out, breathtakingly gorgeous. I might be a little biased, but still.”

The crowd nearby caught wind of his gushing, and a few cheers erupted. Pedro laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I’m so proud of her,” he continued, his voice softening. “She poured so much of herself into that screenplay, and to see her get the recognition she deserves? It’s the best feeling in the world.”

The interviewer smiled. “There’s definitely a lot of love and mutual admiration between you two. Word on the street is you’ve got a bit of a friendly competition going on—Gladiator 2 versus Wicked. Any truth to that?”

Pedro chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, it’s absolutely true. We’ve got a bet going. She’s convinced Wicked is going to sweep the box office, and I, of course, have complete faith in Gladiator 2. Let’s just say the stakes are high—winner gets breakfast in bed for a week.”

The interviewer laughed along with him. “That’s adorable. Who’s winning so far?”

Pedro smirked. “Let’s just say she’s got me a little worried. But I’ll never admit that to her.”

LATER, BACKSTAGE

Pedro leaned against the wall, sipping from a glass of water while chatting with Paul Mescal. Their conversation flowed easily, but Pedro’s gaze kept drifting toward the entrance, as if hoping for some sort of miracle.

“You’ve got that look again,” Paul teased, nudging him with his elbow.

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning ignorance.

“The ‘I’m desperately in love and missing my girl’ look,” Paul quipped with a grin.

Denzel Washington, who had just joined the conversation, chuckled. “He’s not wrong, man. You’ve been staring off into space like a lovesick teenager.”

Joe Quinn walked by, overhearing the exchange and throwing in his two cents. “It’s cute, though. Very romantic. Someone should write a movie about it.”

Pedro rolled his eyes, though a bashful smile crept onto his face. “Okay, okay, I miss her. Can you blame me? She’s halfway across the world, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Frank, Pedro’s manager, stepped in, giving him a supportive pat on the back. “You’ve got it bad, buddy. But hey, it’s not a bad problem to have.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile to himself, already knowing what Pedro didn’t—that you were on your way. He could only imagine Pedro’s reaction when he saw you walk through those doors.

“Alright,” Pedro said with a dramatic sigh, “can we please focus on the fact that we’re here for Gladiator 2 and not my love life?”

“Sure,” Paul said, smirking. “But if she shows up, we’re all watching you lose it.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll take that bet.”

Little did he know, he was about to owe a lot of people a round of drinks.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING  

The crowd in the after-party buzzed with excitement, a mix of A-list chatter and glasses clinking. Pedro stood near Lux, their conversation about the night’s success lighthearted, though his gaze kept drifting toward the entrance. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that the ache of missing you hadn’t dulled, even amidst all the celebration.  

Lux, sharp-eyed as always, caught the slight shift in his expression and smirked. “You’ve got that look again,” she teased.  

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning nonchalance as he sipped his drink.  

“The one that screams, ‘I wish she were here.’” Lux nudged his arm playfully.  

Before he could muster a witty retort, Lux’s eyes darted toward the entrance, widening in surprise. “Well, speak of the devil…”  

Pedro turned, following her gaze, and the breath left his lungs.  

There you were, stepping into the room, your black silk gown catching the dim lights perfectly. Your hair, slightly tousled from the rush, framed your face with an effortless beauty that made his heart stop. Heads turned as you walked in with Frank, but Pedro didn’t notice anyone else.  

He froze, jaw slack, his mind racing to comprehend that you were actually here.  

“Pedro,” Lux whispered, amused. “Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”  

But Pedro couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was watch as you walked toward him, the soft smile on your lips turning into a grin as your eyes met his. He vaguely registered Joe, Paul, and Denzel laughing nearby, but he didn’t care. You were here.  

When you finally stopped in front of him, your grin widened, and you quipped, “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was terrible—there’s a movie premiere happening, and I—”  

Before you could finish, Pedro moved.  

He swept you up in his arms, lifting you off your feet as a chorus of cheers, whistles, and laughter erupted around you. You let out a surprised giggle, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he held you close, burying his face against your shoulder.  

“Dios mío,” Pedro murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here.”  

“I’m here,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his curls.  

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes brimming with love. “I can’t believe this. You’re really here.”  

You smiled, tears threatening to spill as you cupped his face. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun without me.”  

Pedro didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance, kissing you with a fervor that made the entire room fade away. The kiss was deep, all-consuming, and when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless.  

Your laughter broke the moment, and Pedro pressed his forehead to yours, his hands still firmly around your waist as if afraid you might disappear. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.  

“For what?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.  

“For being here. For being you. For… everything.” His voice was low, reverent. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll never stop thanking the universe for it.”  

You kissed him again, a soft press of lips this time, and smiled against his mouth. “You don’t have to thank the universe. Just let me love you.”  

Pedro let out a soft laugh, his arms tightening around you. “You’re incredible, you know that?”  

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” you teased, resting your head against his chest as the room slowly came back into focus.  

From the sidelines, Joe nudged Paul, chuckling. “Think he’s gonna let her go anytime soon?”  

Paul smirked. “Not a chance.”  

Denzel clinked his glass against Joe’s. “Now that’s a man in love.”  

And Pedro? He didn’t care about the laughter, the cameras, or even the early morning call time tomorrow. For now, you were in his arms, and nothing else mattered.