#this is so cheesy my heart melted

[donelywell]

February 29- March 2 2024

The first time Sonic went Super in Road Trip wasn't exactly as stunning to Tails as other au's and stories.

Tails is like maybe 5 here (I'm not actually that organized on the timeline for this au yet, I'm getting there though, things are getting in order.) and he wasn't forced to grow up and be a hero in this au. So he's a bit more childish than canon Tails because he doesn't feel as pressured to mature and grow up fast. Plus, he genuinely thinks Sonic is going to die and this is the last time he see's him, so tears are bound to come down.

Part 1

[ancient-romes]

ooh who’s the new icon? they look so cute

Cog from a comic called daybreak!!

as you can tell I'm extremely normal about him

[theetherealbloom]

Your Love Feels Like A Sunday When You Got Nowhere To Go

Summary: You are Pedro’s date to the SNL 50 celebration as his newly engaged fiancée.

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Suggestive Content, little SMUT, PiV, Dirty Talk, Short but sweet smut, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Dancing, 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: 5.8k

A/N: Hi! Yes, I am still working on It Could Happen To You. School is being a bitch and I’m just in a weird headspace rn lol.  Anyway, since this is basically a series now… I’ll make a series masterlist for this soon tehe.

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: Your Love by JISOO

PEDRO PASCAL MAIN MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST |

THE BOWERY HOTEL — DAY 

You arrived a day before the taping of the SNL 50th anniversary show, the energy of New York buzzing all around you. But inside the hotel suite, it was just you and Pedro, wrapped up in a world of your own.

Sweet, romantic Pedro. The man who hadn’t stopped calling you wife since he slid that engagement ring onto your finger.

You twirled the sparkling diamond under the dim lighting, still not quite believing it was real. It had been just over a month since Pedro had proposed, and somehow, you were still catching yourself staring at it in disbelief.

From across the room, Pedro watched you, his lips curling into a smirk as he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

“Caught you staring again,” he teased, voice warm with amusement.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “It’s new. Let me have my moment.”

He pushed off the doorway, crossing the room in a few strides before wrapping his arms around your waist. “It’s not new to me,” he murmured against your temple. “I’ve known you were mine for a long time.”

You sighed dramatically, tilting your head back to look at him. “I’m not your wife yet, Pascal.”

Pedro hummed, his nose brushing against your cheek as he whispered, “Hmm… nah. You are.”

You swatted at his chest, but the way his eyes twinkled made your heart melt.

“You’re impossible.”

He grinned. “And yet, you love me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” you muttered, but the smile on your face betrayed you.

Pedro chuckled at your faux annoyance, his warm breath ghosting against your lips as he leaned in. “You’re so cute when you pretend to be mad at me,” he murmured, tilting your chin up with his fingers before capturing your lips in a deep, slow kiss.

You melted instantly, hands threading into his hair as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss grew hungrier, his lips moving against yours with a languid sort of urgency, like he was savoring every second.

His hands roamed—one resting on the small of your back, the other slipping beneath the hem of your robe, fingertips teasing against your bare skin. A soft hum escaped you as his mouth trailed along your jaw, down the curve of your neck.

And then it hit you.

“Wait—” You gasped, breathless, gently pushing at his chest. “We have lunch with Javiera.”

Pedro groaned dramatically, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Mierda.”

You giggled as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression somewhere between frustration and mischief. “Did I forget to mention I invited her to watch you perform?”

“You did,” he huffed, pouting slightly. “And I love that she’s coming. I do. But do we have to be on time?”

You gave him a pointed look.

Pedro sighed, rolling his eyes playfully. “Fine. Fine.” He took a step back, raking a hand through his already tousled hair. “But just so you know, you owe me later.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Owe you?”

“Oh, cariño.” His voice dropped to a sinful murmur as he trailed a slow finger down your arm. “Later tonight, I’m going to have my way with you.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you smirked, smoothing your robe as if unaffected. “We’ll see about that, Pascal.”

His grin was full of promise. “Oh, we will.”

THE BOWERY HOTEL — AFTERNOON  

Lunch with Javiera was set at a quiet corner table in the hotel's restaurant, a space that offered just enough privacy for a family catch-up without feeling too closed off. The scent of fresh bread and herbs lingered in the air as you sipped on a glass of chilled wine, the engagement ring on your finger catching the soft afternoon light.  

Javiera beamed as she reached for your hand, examining the ring for what was probably the fifth time since you sat down. “It looks even better in person,” she said, her voice warm with affection. “I still can’t believe you two are finally engaged.”  

Pedro, seated beside you, chuckled as he reached for a piece of bread. “Finally? What’s that supposed to mean?”  

Javiera gave him a knowing look. “Oh, come on. Everyone saw this coming except you.”  

You laughed, nudging Pedro playfully. “See? Told you.”  

He huffed dramatically. “Unbelievable. My own sister conspiring against me.”  

Javiera grinned, sipping her drink. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen the way you look at her. The way you talk about her when she’s not around. You’ve been a goner for a long time, hermano.”  

Pedro didn’t even try to deny it. Instead, he turned to you, a soft smirk playing on his lips. “Guilty as charged.”  

You rolled your eyes, but your heart melted at the way he was looking at you. Before you could say anything, the waiter arrived with your meals, setting down plates of fresh seafood and warm pasta.  

Javiera leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “So, have you two started thinking about the wedding?”  

Pedro answered before you could. “She keeps saying she’s not my wife yet, but I don’t know… feels pretty official to me.”  

You groaned. “Pedro.”  

Javiera laughed, shaking her head. “He’s never going to let that go.”  

Pedro grinned, cutting into his food. “Nope.”  

You sighed dramatically, but you couldn’t hide your smile. “We haven’t talked about it too much yet. Everything’s been moving so fast. But we will.”  

Javiera nodded in understanding. “Well, no matter what you decide, just know the entire family is already planning in their heads. Mom is probably dreaming up wedding decorations as we speak.”  

Pedro groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Dios mío.”  

You giggled, squeezing his hand under the table. “At least we know it’ll be a party.”  

Javiera smirked. “A very loud one.”  

As the lunch carried on, the conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with teasing, reminiscing, and warmth. The afternoon sun streamed in through the windows, casting a golden glow over the table, and you found yourself stealing glances at Pedro every now and then—marveling at the fact that this was your life now.  

Engaged. In love. Surrounded by family.  

And if Pedro had his way, he’d be calling you his wife a lot sooner than you expected. 

THE BOWERY HOTEL — EVENING

After a long, exciting day, you and Pedro decided to call it an early night, opting for the comfort of your hotel room over any glamorous outings. Room service had just arrived, and the two of you sat on the plush bed, plates of warm pasta and glasses of wine spread out between you. The room was dimly lit, the soft golden glow of the bedside lamps casting a cozy warmth over everything.

Pedro swirled his wine glass lazily, leaning back against the headboard with a contented sigh. “This is perfect,” he murmured, glancing at you with the softest eyes. “No loud crowds, no cameras—just us.”

You grinned, taking a bite of your pasta before setting your fork down. “I still can’t believe you’re going to be on SNL again. It feels like just yesterday we were watching your first episode from our couch.”

Pedro chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, and I was nervous as hell back then.”

“You were incredible, though,” you said earnestly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “And you’ll be even better this time. I’m so proud of you, Pedro. Not just for this, but for everything. For who you are.”

His ears tinged pink, and he let out a bashful laugh, shaking his head. “Stop, you’re gonna make me all emotional.”

“I mean it,” you insisted, scooting closer. “You work so hard, and you never let the pressure change who you are. That’s why people love you. That’s why I love you.”

Pedro set his wine glass aside and turned to face you fully, his expression melting into something unbearably tender. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles along your cheek. “But I thank whatever force in the universe brought you into my life every damn day.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. “You’re just saying that because I let you steal half my food.”

Pedro smirked, feigning innocence. “Who, me? Never.”

Before you could protest, his fingers darted to your waist, tickling you mercilessly. A shriek escaped your lips as you collapsed onto the bed, writhing in laughter. “Pedro! No—stop! I’m gonna spill the wine!”

He was laughing just as hard, his face split into the most joyful grin as he kept at it. “Not until you take back that accusation!”

Through uncontrollable giggles, you tried to escape, but he was relentless, his hands finding every ticklish spot. “Okay, okay! You’re innocent! You’re a saint!” you gasped between bursts of laughter.

Pedro finally relented, collapsing beside you, both of you breathless from laughing. You turned to face him, your eyes still shining with amusement, but the moment shifted as his gaze softened, darkening with something deeper. His hand brushed over your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jawline.

“You really do mean the world to me,” he murmured, his voice hushed and full of emotion.

Your breath hitched as his lips met yours, slow and deliberate, the laughter between you fading into something softer, needier. His hand slid to the back of your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and you melted into him, sighing against his mouth. His body pressed against yours, the warmth of him seeping into your skin as he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned into your mouth, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between you. The air grew thick, charged with heat and unspoken promises. Pedro’s lips trailed down your jaw to your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point just enough to make you shiver.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough.

You exhaled shakily, tilting your head back as his hands explored, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing slow circles over your bare skin. “Then maybe we should do something about it,” you whispered, your own hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin.

Pedro didn’t need to be told twice.  

The moment your lips met, any remaining restraint melted away. His hands gripped your hips, fingers pressing into your skin like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. The heat between you was intoxicating, a slow burn that built with every kiss, every teasing graze of his fingertips over your exposed skin.  

His mouth was hungry, insatiable, devouring you with a passion that made your breath hitch. He kissed you like he’d been starving for you, like he was trying to drown himself in the taste of you. His tongue swept against yours, deep and slow, coaxing a soft whimper from your lips that only spurred him on.  

“Fuck,” he groaned against your mouth, his voice thick with desire. “You have no idea what you do to me, cariño.”  

You gasped as he rolled his hips against yours, the hard press of him igniting something primal deep within you. Your fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel more—more of him, more of his warmth, more of the intoxicating way he made your body feel like it was on fire.  

“Then show me,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, but Pedro heard it loud and clear.  

His answering smirk was sinful. “Oh, I plan to.”  

In one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, settling between your legs. The weight of him pressed you into the mattress in the most delicious way, making you arch into him instinctively. His hands wandered, sliding beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming over your stomach before tracing a slow, teasing path upward.  

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw. “I’ll never get tired of looking at you. Touching you.”  

You shivered under his touch as he pushed your shirt up higher, his fingers grazing over your bare skin with a maddening slowness. His lips followed, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, lower and lower, until he reached the edge of your bra. He paused, glancing up at you with hooded eyes, silently asking for permission even now.  

“Pedro,” you whined, your body arching toward him, desperate for more. “Please.”  

That single word sent a visible shudder through him, his control hanging by a thread. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered before finally peeling your shirt off, his eyes darkening at the sight of you beneath him.  

His lips were everywhere—on your throat, your shoulders, the swell of your breasts. He took his time worshipping you, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of exposed skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The contrast of his rough stubble against your soft skin made you gasp, sending a delicious ache straight to your core.  

“You’re killing me,” you murmured, your nails digging into his back as he teased you, his lips hovering just above where you needed him most.  

Pedro chuckled, his breath hot against your skin. “Patience, mi amor.” But the way his voice wavered, the way his own body trembled against yours, told you he was just as desperate.  

And then—finally—his mouth was on you, his kisses turning scorching, his hands gripping your thighs as he moved lower.  

The next moments were a blur of pleasure, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, his touch unraveling you until you were nothing but gasps and moans beneath him. Every flick of his tongue, every slow grind of his hips against yours sent you spiraling higher and higher, until you shattered beneath him, trembling, breathless, completely undone.  

Pedro didn’t stop. Not yet. He guided you through the aftershocks, whispering sweet praises against your flushed skin, his voice raw with love and desire. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “So fucking perfect for me.”  

When you finally opened your eyes, dazed and blissed out, Pedro was hovering above you, his gaze soft but filled with something deeper—something more than just desire.  

“I love you,” he whispered, brushing damp hair away from your face. “Always.”  

Your heart swelled, your body still humming with pleasure as you reached up to cup his cheek, running your thumb over the stubble there. “I love you too,” you murmured, pulling him down for a slow, languid kiss.  

And as he wrapped you up in his arms, bodies tangled beneath the sheets, you knew—there was no place in the world you’d rather be.

THE NEXT DAY…  

THE BOWERY HOTEL — AFTERNOON

The hotel room buzzed with energy, a symphony of laughter, light conversation, and the occasional pop of a hairspray bottle. Your glam team moved around you in a carefully choreographed dance, curling strands of hair, blending makeup, and adjusting the final touches of your red-carpet look. The air smelled of floral-scented powders and expensive serums, mixing with the faint, crisp scent of fresh linens from the open balcony door.  

It was a beautiful afternoon in New York, golden sunlight pouring through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow over everything. The excitement in the room was palpable—not just for the event, but for you.  

“So,” one of the hairstylists, Bella, said with a teasing grin as she ran a brush through your hair, “how does it feel to be engaged to Hollywood’s most beloved man?”  

You let out a soft laugh, glancing at yourself in the mirror as the makeup artist dusted a final touch of highlighter on your cheekbones. “Surreal, honestly. I keep waiting for someone to shake me awake and tell me it’s all a dream.”  

Another stylist, Marie, chimed in, hands on her hips as she admired your nearly finished look. “Well, if it is a dream, you’re living in the most romantic one ever. That ring? Stunning. And the way he looks at you? Girl, you won.”  

Your heart squeezed at her words, warmth blooming in your chest. You knew exactly what she meant—Pedro had a way of looking at you like you were his entire world, like nothing else mattered when you were in the same room. Even after all this time, it still made you breathless.  

As if on cue, the door creaked open, and in walked Pedro, freshly showered, the scent of his cologne—a mix of cedar, citrus, and something undeniably him—filling the room. His tousled curls were still damp, his beard neatly trimmed, and he wore a fitted brown V-neck shirt that clung to him in all the right ways, paired with black dress pants that hugged his hips perfectly. A blazer hung over his arm, though from the easy smirk on his lips, he didn’t seem in any hurry to put it on.  

And, of course, he was grinning.  

“Talking about me?” he mused, his voice carrying that familiar playful lilt as he sauntered in, hands casually slipping into his pockets.  

Your stylists all exchanged knowing looks before Bella smirked. “Oh, always.”  

Pedro chuckled, then placed his hands on the back of your chair, leaning down so his face appeared beside yours in the mirror. His deep brown eyes flickered over your reflection, admiration evident in his gaze. “Damn, Hermosa…” His voice dropped lower, more reverent. “I might have to fight off every person at this event just to keep their eyes off you.”  

Your stomach flipped at the intensity in his tone.  

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress the giddy smile tugging at your lips. “Smooth.”  

“I’m serious,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your bare shoulder. The heat of his lips against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, your breath catching in your throat.  

Marie let out a dreamy sigh. “Ugh. The romance.”  

Pedro straightened, clapping his hands together with a playful grin. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you all to it. Just needed to see my girl before we head out.”  

But as he turned to leave, he caught your gaze in the mirror again, his expression softening into something deeper, something unspoken. And then—he winked.  

A flutter of warmth spread through your chest, and you realized something.  

No matter how many times you saw him, no matter how many times he looked at you like you were the only person in the world—you would never get used to it.  

As the final touches were made, you finally stepped into your dress—a breathtaking gown that made you feel like a dream. It was an elegant yet modern off-the-shoulder number, the fabric a deep, rich shade that complemented your skin tone perfectly. The fitted bodice flattered your curves, while the flowing skirt trailed behind you like a soft cascade of silk.  

You took a steadying breath, smoothing your hands down the fabric before turning toward the door—where Pedro was waiting.  

He was already dressed in his full look, a classic black suit tailored to perfection, the crisp white dress shirt beneath unbuttoned at the collar just enough to drive you a little insane. His salt-and-pepper curls were styled just so, his beard neatly trimmed, and his warm brown eyes—those eyes that always made you feel like the only person in the room—were already locked on you.  

And when you stepped into his view, his breath audibly hitched.  

"Dios mío…" His voice was barely above a whisper, but you heard it, felt the weight of it settle deep in your chest.  

A slow, smitten smile tugged at your lips. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Pascal.”  

Pedro exhaled a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over his heart as he took a step closer. “Mi amor, if I wasn’t already planning to marry you, I’d be proposing again right now.”  

You let out a breathless laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. “You’re ridiculous.”  

“I’m serious.” His hands found your waist, his fingers brushing lightly over the fabric as he shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful in my life. And I mean that. Completely. No exaggeration.”  

Your throat tightened, emotions swelling too fast, too much, because—God, how did he do this to you? How did he make you feel so seen, so loved, so entirely his without even trying?  

You swallowed hard, blinking up at him. “Pedro, you can’t say things like that.”  

He frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Why not?”  

“Because…” Your voice wavered, and you let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh. “Because you’re going to make me cry.”  

Pedro’s expression melted into something impossibly tender. “Oh, baby…” He cupped your face instantly, his thumb tracing along your cheek as he studied you, his own eyes glassy now. “Then let’s cry together. Because fuck, I love you so much, I don’t know what to do with it sometimes.”  

Your breath hitched, a tear slipping free before you could stop it. Pedro caught it with his thumb, brushing it away before leaning in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your lips—like he was sealing in everything he couldn’t say.  

You clutched his lapels, pulling him closer. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”  

Pedro huffed out a soft laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “You existed, mi amor. That’s all you ever had to do.”  

A choked laugh left your lips as you shook your head. “You’re the most sickeningly romantic man alive.”  

“And you love it,” he teased, his nose nudging against yours.  

“I love you,” you corrected, voice barely above a whisper.  

Pedro pulled back just enough to look at you fully, his expression so full of love, so full of everything that it made your chest ache. He took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips and kissing your engagement ring before intertwining your fingers.  

“You ready?” you murmured, voice still thick with emotion.  

He squeezed your hand, his gaze never leaving yours. “With you?” He smiled, soft and certain. “Always.”  

And with that, you stepped out into the night, hand in hand, heart in heart, ready to take on the world—together.  

ROCKEFELLER CENTER, STUDIO 8H — EARLY EVENING

The moment you stepped out of the car, camera flashes erupted like fireworks.

Pedro’s hand was warm in yours as you both made your way down the red carpet, stopping every few feet to pose for photos. Reporters called out his name, some calling yours, and you couldn’t help but feel a wave of nerves crash over you.

Pedro must have sensed it, because he squeezed your hand, leaning down to whisper, “Breathe, baby. I got you.”

And just like that, the tension melted away.

You reached the interview section, and almost immediately, Entertainment Tonight flagged you both down.

“Pedro! Congratulations on SNL’s 50th! And—oh my gosh, congratulations to both of you on the engagement!”

Pedro beamed, pulling you a little closer. “Thank you. Yeah, it’s been a hell of a year.”

The reporter turned to you. “How does it feel to be engaged to the Pedro Pascal?”

You laughed. “Honestly? Like dating a golden retriever with a credit card.”

Pedro clutched his chest dramatically. “Wow. Wow. Betrayed on live television.”

The reporter laughed. “Well, it’s clear you two are head over heels. Pedro, can we expect wedding bells soon?”

Pedro turned to you, his smile softening. “Whenever she’s ready. No rush. I just know she’s it for me.”

Your heart stuttered.

You turned back to the reporter, your own smile matching his. “Yeah. He’s it for me, too.”

And as the night went on, with the lights, the cameras, and the sea of Hollywood’s biggest stars surrounding you both, you knew—Pedro was right. You were already his.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

STUDIO 8H – SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE 50TH ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL

You loved watching Pedro perform on stage. It was one of your absolute favorite things. The way he commanded the room with effortless charisma, the way he delivered every line with that perfect balance of humor and sincerity, the way he owned the stage—he was a natural. An absolute force.  

And really fucking funny.  

Sitting in the audience, you could barely keep it together. The energy in the studio was electric, but nothing compared to the way your heart pounded watching him up there, in his element, making an entire room—hell, millions of people—laugh like it was the easiest thing in the world.  

And then it happened.  

The skit with Sabrina Carpenter had already been hilarious—Pedro leaning into his role, playing it up with exaggerated expressions and that perfect comedic timing that had everyone in stitches. But when the music kicked in and he suddenly started hip-thrusting into the air, fully committing to the bit with zero hesitation, your jaw unhinged.  

“Oh. My. God,” you breathed, your entire body stiffening as your brain tried to process what you were seeing.  

Javiera, sitting beside you, didn’t miss a thing.   

“Are you—oh my God,” she cackled, smacking your arm. “You’re so done for.”  

You barely registered her words because your entire world had narrowed down to him—Pedro, on stage, grinding the air like it was his job, all while belting out the ridiculous lyrics to the skit’s song.  

Your face was on fire.  

“Shut up,” you hissed, pressing your hands to your face in a weak attempt to cover how absolutely hot and bothered you were.  

Javiera just laughed louder, fully reveling in your suffering. “No, no, no—don’t go all shy now! Own it, babe. That’s your fiancé up there.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice just enough so only you could hear. “And let’s be real… if he’s that good at hip-thrusting in public—”  

“Javiera!” you choked, shoving her while she doubled over in laughter.  

You turned back to the stage just in time to catch Pedro glance toward the audience, his eyes scanning the crowd before they found you. And oh, the moment he locked onto your completely flustered, scandalized expression, his lips twitched into the smuggest smirk you’d ever seen in your life.  

That bastard knew exactly what he was doing.  

He winked.  

You swore your soul left your body.  

Javiera grabbed your arm, wheezing with laughter. “Oh, you’re in trouble tonight.”  

And yeah. She was absolutely right.

You were in so much trouble.  

But before you could even fully recover from the absolute chaos of Pedro’s hip-thrusting performance, the next skit rolled in—and it wrecked you all over again.  

Pedro walked onto the stage, transformed.  

His usual effortless charm was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a full-blown, committed hillbilly persona. He wore the most ridiculous wig, long and messy, nearly covering his eyes, and a graphic shirt that looked like it had seen better days. The second he opened his mouth, putting on that exaggerated twang and delivering his lines with painstakingly perfect comedic timing, you lost it.  

Javiera was right there with you, grabbing your arm as she wheezed through her laughter. “Oh my God—look at him! I can’t—”  

You could barely breathe. “Stop, I’m actually about to die.”  

Onstage, Woody Harrelson and Kate McKinnon were trying—and failing—to keep straight faces as Pedro went all in on the character, telling some completely unhinged story about how the aliens had abducted him and taken a very inappropriate interest in his “hillbilly butt.”  

And then came the moment—  

Meryl Streep, Meryl fucking Streep, turned to Pedro, trying to deliver her line with composure, but Pedro—your Pedro—gave her this completely deadpan look, blinking beneath that ridiculous wig before delivering a line so absurdly timed, in that perfect hillbilly drawl, that Meryl Streep—the queen of acting herself—broke.  

Her head dipped forward as she cracked up, covering her face, shaking her shoulders, and the entire audience erupted. 

You lost your mind.  

“Oh my God he just made Meryl Streep break character,” you gasped, gripping Javiera’s arm as you struggled to stay upright in your seat. “That’s it. That’s the peak. That’s the moment.”  

Javiera shrieked through her laughter. “Your fiancé just made one of the greatest actors alive break on live TV. Babe, you won.”  

Tears streamed down your face as you tried to pull yourself together, but Pedro kept going, doubling down on his character’s antics, sending the entire studio into absolute hysterics. The audience was howling, and you? You were on the verge of falling out of your damn seat.  

To say you were proud of Pedro was the understatement of the century.  

He was killing it.  

And when the skit finally ended, the camera catching Pedro barely holding it together as Woody clapped him on the back and Meryl wiped away her tears of laughter, you saw it—that look he gave, that quick flicker of his eyes searching the audience, finding you.  

And when he did?  

He grinned.  

That big, beautiful, unbelievably smug grin.  

And you knew.  

You were so in trouble tonight.

STUDIO 8H – LATER THAT NIGHT

After his skit, he’d barely disappeared backstage before returning to you, his face still slightly flushed from all the laughter and adrenaline. And just when you thought he couldn’t get any more irresistible, there he was—dressed in a plain white henley, the soft fabric stretching just right across his chest, his sleeves pushed up enough to show off those strong forearms.  

And those glasses.  

The square-framed ones that made him look ridiculously handsome, the ones that had your brain short-circuiting every time he wore them.  

Oh, you were so done for.  

Pedro slid back into his seat between you and Javiera, flashing you a small, knowing smile. His hand automatically found your thigh, squeezing lightly—just a touch, nothing inappropriate, but enough to send heat flooding through your body. You swore the bastard knew exactly what he was doing.  

So you did what you knew would drive him crazy.  

You turned to him, grabbed his face, and kissed him dizzy.  

Pedro inhaled sharply through his nose, but he barely hesitated, responding immediately—his hand sliding up to your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to claim you, as if he wanted to pull you into his lap right then and there. His lips were warm, soft, and eager as they moved against yours, deepening the kiss just slightly. His thumb brushed over your ribs, and you felt the way his breath hitched, like he was fighting the urge to take things further.  

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his henley as he kissed you like he needed you—slow, lingering, with an almost teasing edge.  

Javiera groaned beside you. “Alright, you two, I am still here.”  

You pulled away with a breathless laugh, Pedro’s lips still chasing yours even as you separated. His forehead rested against yours for a lingering second, and when he finally pulled back, he gave you that devastatingly soft look—the one that made your heart flip inside your chest.  

“You keep kissing me like that, mi amor,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise, “and I’m not gonna make it to the after-party.”  

You smirked, letting your fingers trace along his jawline. “Who said we’re going to the after-party?”  

Pedro’s eyes darkened ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a smirk. He gave your thigh another squeeze, this time lingering a little longer.  

But before he could say anything—  

Paul fucking McCartney took the stage.  

The first notes of Golden Slumbers filled the room, the familiar melody wrapping around you like something magic.  

Pedro’s entire body shifted as if on instinct. His fingers laced through yours, squeezing tight, before pulling you up with him.  

“You’re dancing with me,” he murmured, voice low and full of emotion, his breath brushing against your ear as he wrapped an arm around your waist.  

“You act like I’d ever say no.”  

Pedro chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he held you close. His other hand settled at the small of your back, guiding you effortlessly as he swayed you in slow, easy circles.  

His touch was everywhere—warm, solid, grounding. You let yourself melt against him, your cheek resting against his chest as the music carried you both away.  

“Once there was a way… to get back homeward…”  

Pedro hummed softly against your temple, his voice low, affectionate. You felt the way his arms tightened around you, the way his fingers traced lazy circles against your spine.  

“You have no idea how much I love you,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion.  

Your throat tightened. “I think I do.”  

His lips brushed your forehead. “You’re everything to me.”  

You closed your eyes, letting the moment sink in, letting his words settle in your heart like something precious.  

As Carry That Weight began, the crowd’s energy shifted—cheers, laughter, voices singing along. Pedro lifted your hand, spinning you gently before pulling you right back into his arms.  

You laughed, breathless, the warmth in his eyes making you weak. “You’re gonna make me cry.”  

Pedro’s hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with so much tenderness. “I love you,” he whispered. “More than I know how to say.”  

And that was it.  

You surged forward, pressing your lips to his, letting the kiss speak for you. It was soft, full of love and something deeper—something that felt like forever. Pedro kissed you back just as sweetly, his fingers threading into your hair, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go.  

As The End played, the final notes echoing through the studio, you held onto Pedro like he was your whole world.  

Because he was.

[landoughnut]

Made With Love

♡ masterlist - request

♡ pairing - max verstappen x fem!reader

♡ summary - while visiting your boyfriend working, why not bring a little surprise sign you made for him?

♡ warnings - blushy and in love max, drivers and fans teasing max, fluffffff

♡ w/c & a/n - 1.08k | IM BACK 🫶🏻 hehe sorry yall this isn't too great but I gotta get back into the groove so pls send in thoughts or requests bc my minds a blank canvas

Race weekends were always chaotic, but the energy in the paddock today was on another level. Fans packed the grandstands, waving flags, banners, and signs - some are more simple, some are memes of the drivers, yet they were all made with the same excitement for the race ahead.

And somewhere in that sea of people, standing right at the front, was you. Normally, you’d be in with Red Bull but you went over to the fans to join them for the time being. Some had given you bracelets and asked for pictures, which you happily agreed to. 

So here you stand, clutching a sign you had spent way too much time making the night before.

It wasn’t your fault, really. You had been up late, watching Max’s past races for “inspiration” (which was really just an excuse to admire him), when an idea popped into mind. With a few markers, a ridiculously pathetic and cheesy pun, glittery heart stickers, and maybe a questionable drawing of you two, you created what could only be described as likely the most embarrassing thing he would ever see before a race.

“DRIVE FAST BUT NOT TOO FAST, I HAVE PLANS FOR YOU LATER ;)”

You could already imagine his reaction - probably an exasperated sigh, followed by that little smirk he always gave you when he pretended to be unimpressed but was actually very much an attempted cover up of how he falls deeper in love with you. 

The drivers started their walk to the grid, and your raced just a little bit when you spotted him looking impossibly handsome. Max looked calm - focused, sharp, already in his zone - but you knew him well enough to see the tiny traces of nerves beneath the surface. 

As they passed by, you lifted the sign above your head and glanced at some of the fans around you who giggled when they read it.

It took him a second, but then he stopped.

He just… stood there, staring at the sign like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or melt into the asphalt. His mouth was parting and closing again, unsure of how to react, but you just gave him your perfect smile and it made his heart flutter. His ears went pink first, then the blush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks.

“Oh, for f-” Max muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple, but the amused smile on his face betrayed him.

And that’s when the teasing began.

Lando cackled loud enough for the entire grid to hear. “Oh, this is GOLD!”

Before Max could escape, Lando slung an arm around his shoulder, grinning like he’d just won the championship. “So, what’re these ‘plans’ about, mate? Anything we should be worried about? Should we clear the podium early?”

“Do we need to tell Christian?” Charles chimed in, barely holding back his laughter. “You know, just in case he needs to schedule some extra… recovery time for you.”

A chorus of laughter followed. Max groaned, dragging a hand down his face, but the pink on his cheeks only deepened. “You’re all the worst,” he grumbles.

Meanwhile, the nearby fans had caught on fast.

“Oh my god, he’s BLUSHING,” one girl gasped, tugging her friend’s arm.

“He’s practically making heart eyes, how adorable,” another comments, phone already in hand and recording the scene.

Max, looking positively doomed, glanced at you - a mix of betrayal, affection, and desperate pleading. But you? You just continued to smile sweetly with a tilted head.

“You like it.”

“I hate it.”

“You’re literally blushing.”

“I’m warm.”

“Mhm,” you roll your eyes and chuckle.

The teasing didn’t stop as he pulled out his phone and snapped a quick picture of your masterpiece, grumbling something about “evidence to haunt me later.” But before he walked away, he pointed at you, eyes narrowed.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

Your heart did a little flip and you grinned. “Oh, I know.”

And just like that, he was gone, back into the pre-race frenzy - but not before stealing one last loving glance at you over his shoulder.

Later on, the celebration was loud and chaotic. Max had finished on the podium - not a win, but a damn good race - and when he finally found you in the paddock, you barely had time to react before he crashed into you, arms wrapping tight around your waist.

“Enjoy the show?” he asked, voice still breathless with adrenaline.

“Loved it. Thought you might’ve forgotten about my sign, though.”

“Oh, trust me,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to look at you. “Hard to forget when the im being tagged in posts of it nonstop.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He sighed dramatically before pulling out his phone. Everywhere, Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, was flooded with clips from earlier.

Fan tweets scrolled across the screen:

“THE WAY HE STOPPEDDDD LOOK AT HIM. HE’S A GONER”

“If my future man doesn’t hold up a sign like this for me, I don’t want him”

“This man is so down baddd LOOK AT THE BLUSH”

“MAX VERSTAPPEN ‘I’M WARM’ CHALLENGE (IMPOSSIBLE)”

You bit your lip, trying (and failing) not to laugh. “I mean… they’re not wrong,” you poke his cheek.

Max groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re never making a sign again,” he says, although you both know he doesn’t mean it.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, swaying slightly. “Oh, baby, you know that’s a lie.”

Before he could argue, you kissed him, soft at first, teasing. But then he tilted his head, deepening it, fingers pressing into your waist like he didn’t care that people were watching.

Somewhere in the background, some group of fans started shouting.

“Oh my goshh, he’s in love!.”

“Life is so unfair! Where’s my Max?”

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he was grinning like a lovestruck idiot.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“And you love it.”

His gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered. “That I do.”

Later, when you made it back to his driver’s room, you caught him slipping the sign into his bag, folding it carefully like it was something worth keeping.

“… You’re keeping that?” you asked, amused.

He shot you a look. “Shut up.” You didn’t push it. But you did smile. He bites his lip, placing it into his pocket, knowing that no matter how many trophies he collects, this - you - might just be his favorite thing he’d ever won.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤYOUNG LOVEㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Robins x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How would they be as your boyfriend?

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

Affection Overload: Dick is all about physical affection. Hugs, kisses, holding hands—he’s constantly touching you. If you’re in public, expect him to have an arm around your waist or your hand in his at all times.

Grand Gestures: He loves making big romantic statements. Random flowers delivered to your class? Check. Swinging into your bedroom window just to say goodnight? Double check.

Jealousy Level: Surprisingly chill, but only because he’s confident. If someone flirts with you, he’ll swoop in with a smug smile and casually remind them that you’re his.

Protective Side: He’s sweet and easygoing most of the time, but the second he thinks you’re in danger, he turns into serious protector mode. He’s not above scaring people off if necessary.

Clingy but Cute: He hates being away from you. Even if you’re just apart for a day, he’ll text or call constantly. "Miss me yet? Because I miss you."

The Cheerleader Boyfriend: Dick is your biggest fan. Whether you’re pursuing a hobby, trying something new, or just having a bad day, he’s there hyping you up like, “You’re amazing, don’t forget that.”

Drama King: If you ever fight, expect him to show up at your door with flowers, chocolates, and the saddest puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen. He cannot stand the idea of you being upset with him.

— JASON TODD ⋆

Acts Tough but Is a Softie: Jason tries to play it cool, but deep down, he’s so soft for you. You’ll catch him staring at you like you hung the moon, and he’ll deny it every time.

Overprotective: Jason is feral when it comes to your safety. If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, he’s ready to throw hands. “You okay, babe? Need me to deal with them?”

Big on Small Gestures: He’s not a grand-gesture kind of guy, but he’ll quietly leave your favorite snacks on your desk or slip a note into your bag that says, "Have a good day, idiot."

Jealousy Level: Off the charts. Jason tries to play it cool, but the second someone flirts with you, his hand is on your waist, and his glare is lethal.

Supportive but Real: Jason is your rock. He’ll always be there for you, but he’s not afraid to call you out if he thinks you’re being too hard on yourself. “Stop beating yourself up. You’re amazing. End of story.”

Loves Quiet Time Together: He’s happiest when it’s just the two of you curled up on the couch, watching movies or reading. Those moments mean the world to him.

Secretly Romantic: Jason pretends he’s not into cheesy romance, but he’ll randomly do something that makes your heart melt, like showing up with a book he thought you’d like or quoting poetry at the most unexpected times.

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

Awkwardly Affectionate: Damian isn’t great at expressing his feelings verbally, so his affection comes in the form of small, thoughtful actions. He’ll make sure your tea is brewed perfectly or bring you handmade gifts.

Possessive but Polite: Damian hates sharing your attention. If someone flirts with you, he’ll politely (but firmly) remind them who you belong to. “I believe you’re wasting your time. She’s spoken for.”

Jealousy Level: High but controlled. Instead of losing his temper, he’ll subtly outshine whoever is trying to steal your attention. “Ah, yes, you’ve met my girlfriend. Isn’t she magnificent?”

Protective in a Subtle Way: He’s not loud about it, but Damian is always watching out for you. If someone wrongs you, he’ll handle it quietly and efficiently. “You’ll find they’re no longer a problem.”

Always Wants to Impress You: Damian is constantly trying to prove himself to you, whether it’s through his art, his fighting skills, or his intellect. He’s desperate for your approval, even if he pretends he’s not.

Secretly Vulnerable: Behind his confident exterior, Damian is terrified of losing you. He doesn’t know how to handle those emotions, so he’ll sometimes withdraw until you reassure him.

Over-the-Top Romantic in Private: When it’s just the two of you, Damian lets his walls down. He’ll read you poetry, kiss your hand, and whisper how much you mean to him.

How They’re Similar

All of them are incredibly protective of you and hate seeing you hurt or upset.

They’re obsessed with making you happy and will go out of their way to ensure you feel loved.

Whether they’re soft and sweet or intense and dramatic, they all love you with their whole heart—and they’re not afraid to show it.

— MASTERLIST ☆⁠

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[soldateins]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Arthur Morgan NSFW Headcanons (Mid Honour) ⟡ ݁₊ .

I wrote these to help with my writing, trying to figure out what Arthur's like, and I really liked these so I thought I'd share 'em! Go wild! Female!Reader btw ⁠♡ This has 18+ smut in it, mdni x

⟡ He's actually a bit of a challenge to turn on. He may be a bit touch-starved but he's controlled. He loves a bit of PDA and showing you off, but he isn't one to get hard instantly. He can deal with sultry glances and smirks from you, if anything it makes him chuckle to himself and shake his head.

⟡ In order to get a more pronounced reaction from him, you have to tease your underclothes or brush your ass against his hips as you make your way past him in camp. He's a lot more receptive to physicality. And sound, if you run up behind him, wrap your arms around his midriff, yank him down a bit and whisper in his ear, he's gone.

⟡ He tends to end up smothering you if you're smaller. Sometimes by accident, sometimes not.

⟡ He starts off more reserved but as he grows hotter, his language and sounds start to slip. A "Jesus..." here and a "Shit..." there. He'll start groaning, his nose scrunching, baring his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. The majority of his sounds are heavy breaths, grunts, groans, the occasional growl. When he comes, he'll sometimes let out stuttering "Oh-"'s that get louder before melting into laboured panting.

⟡ But he'll also murmur silly, cheesy things in your ear through his ragged breaths. "You make me believe in Heaven." "I musta done somethin' right in life to have you fall in my lap."

⟡ He sweats like a pig. Post-orgasm, he's huffing and grabbing his shirt from where he threw it to wipe his face and neck.

⟡ He loves pleasuring his partner, and looooves eating women out. Kissing, sucking, lapping, making you squeal and whimper. He savours your sounds, wanting more and more. He'll keep at it until you're overstimulated and batting at his head, or until he has to come up for air, beard soaked. He'd happily drown in you.

⟡ And when you give him head? He's a little nervous having the focus be on him but once you start, he's sucking in shaky breaths, eyes fluttering shut, jaw slack, in heaven. He'll grab at the air a little, fingers twitching before he paws at your head gently. He'll cradle your face in his palms and moan when your dreamy gaze meets his whilst you lap at the underside of his cock. He'll thrust into your mouth nice and slow, his veins flooding with arousal and his muscles tingling with utter disbelief that he's lucked out so highly with you.

⟡ He's an ass man, but just loves your body in general. He loves gettin' a handful of you; Ass, hips, waist, thighs, breasts, all of you. "You're a first-rate stunner." He'll growl softly, a smirk curling his lips, his thick fingers dipping into your warm flesh, "My girl."

⟡ If he needs you to be quiet during sex, he'll shove his neckerchief in your mouth out of necessity. "Sh, shh, shhh, darlin'. Can't be wakin' up the whole camp with those pretty sounds of yours. Here now, open up."

⟡ If he's sans neckerchief, he lets you bite his shoulders or have you suck on his fingers. "You gotta keep quiet, sweetheart." He'll whisper against your skin as he cups the back of your head and brings your mouth to his shoulder or pushes two thick fingers into your mouth.

⟡ He'll instinctively support you; holding your hips, wrapping his arms around your waist, grabbing your shoulders to stabilise you. He loves being pressed against you, feeling your heart against his chest or back, relishing the connection.

⟡ He's also always checking that you're enjoying yourself, whether it be by asking you outright or watching you for signs of discomfort. "That feel good?" "Y'alright, darlin'?" "Looks like that feels good, hm?" "Yeah? Like that?"

⟡ He gets unsure about leaving marks on you via biting, sucking, spanking, not wanting to hurt you too much or mar your skin. You have to convince him you want it. He feels a bit guilty until he sees how much you enjoy it. And he can't deny the way the sounds you make when he does it strikes lightning through his loins. "You really are a little hellcat, ain'chya?"

⟡ He doesn't mind being marked himself though, not at all, doesn't matter. He's marked all over anyway, what's one more mark? Especially from you.

⟡ He love love loves kisses. All over him, all over you. If you pepper kisses about his face and chest, he'll very quickly flush a gorgeous crimson and look at you, dazed. He'll pull you into his lap and kiss you all over until you're laughing loudly.

⟡ He'll click his tongue at you gently like click click click "Sh, shh, shhh. Easy, girl, easy."

⟡ He'll also tut at you if you're being bratty or feeling overwhelmed. Tut, tut, "Now now, girly. Don't get shrewish with me." or tut, tut, "Oh, sweetheart. I know, I know, c'mon, sweetheart. Keep going, just a little longer."

⟡ He's a soft dom/switch mostly, but if you can get him aroused enough, he relaxes into being a little more dominating.

⟡ He occasionally enjoys being dominated but more so enjoys either a relatively equal sexual dynamic or he naturally falls into a soft dom, caring, cooing role.

⟡ He's not immune to losing himself in the moment, though. He'll breathlessly mutter a "God..." or his breath will hitch like he's been winded before his movements will become rougher, more desperate, like this blissful feeling will slip through his fingers if he doesn't grab you. "C'mere." "Gimme more, girly." "Un-unh, don'chu move now."

⟡ He naturally praises you, not giving it much thought other than wanting you to feel incredible. "That's it, darlin'." "Lookatchu." "Good girl." "Atta girl." "Ain'tchu a picture." "Pretty lady, takin' it all." "That's it, girly, keep on, keep on." "Yeah, more'a'that, baby. Oh, you're so good."

⟡ And when you praise him? Most of the time, he'll duck his head down and wince. "Naw, shut up." "Quit all that." Before trying to divert the focus back onto you by squeezing your ass or rubbing your waist.

⟡ But if he's lost in pleasure? It'll drive him mad. His grip will tighten on you and he'll hiss and huff. He won't respond to the praise verbally but he'll flush red and let out soft "Oh"'s as he holds onto you for dear life.

⟡ If you put his hat on, he will automatically want to have you ride him (But not before barking out a laugh). "Y'think y'can be a cowgirl without ridin', hm?" He'll say before spreading his legs and patting his thighs, "Giddy up, girly." He'll say with a sarcastic lilt, his eyes aflame with excitement.

⟡ If he's particularly tired, you can ride him hard enough to draw a whine from him. His head will fall back, his hands falling from you, his hips jerking into you messily. "Oh, darlin'."

Hope y'all enjoy! I love writing Arthur smut ✗♡✗♡

[enwoso]

MOMENT OF GRACE | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

one for those many requests i’ve had☺️

grumpy masterlist

leah was sat in an armchair, her legs draped comfortably over the empty chair next to her as she could feel the warmth of the afternoon sun through the window. letting herself to just breathe for a few minutes from the whole chaos and tiredness that came with media days.

it had been a hectic few hours for everyone, alessia swamped with media commitments and the whirlwind that was professional football as leah was just happy after to finishing her schedule for the day to have a few quiet moments with you.

you were sprawled in her lap, chattering away like there was no tomorrow as your little fingers tugged gently at the rings leah wore on her hands.

you always been fascinated by leah's jewellery as just like your mummy she wore a lot, and you were especially intrigued in the silver band on leah's right hand and the gold ring that fit perfectly on her middle finger.

"is this one yours, mama?" you asked, your wide eyes sparkling as you picked at the band leah had on her left hand. the word coming out so naturally and so effortlessly that leah froze for a split second as her heart skipped a beat.

"mama?" leah whispered, unsure if she'd heard right.

you, completely unaware of the effect your words were having on leah, as you babbled on about the different rings you could see, "this one's gold, like sunshine! and this one had a pretty colour in it. mama what's this one?"

you were pointing to the next ring, completely focused on it and not at all aware of how your little words had skaken leah to the core — in the best possible way of course.

leah's breath caught in her chest, a strange mixture of joy and overwhelming emotion rising up. as she tried to hold it together but the warmth in her chest made it difficult. it was like a secret part of her heart had been unlocked and now she was struggling to keep her composure.

"that one is.. just, was a gift from your mummy for my birthday." leah managed to say, blinking rapidly to push away the tears threatening to spill over.

"look.. it has an A, a L and the first letter of your name" leah pointed to each little small engraving in the inside of the ring as you looked on with wide eyes.

leah taking a deep breath as she tried to steady herself as you giggled. your fingers running over the rings as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"mama," you said again, as if it were just another word in your vocabulary.

leah's heart shattered in the best possible way as you continued to babble on as you looked over shiny jewellery. leah could feel the tears welling up as she was struggling to hold it together.

looking down at you, your small innocent face and unaware of the emotional whirlwind you'd just triggered. leah swallowed thickly, fighting back the big cheesy grin that was threatening to break through.

"thank you my angel" leah whispered, her voice barely audible to you as she leaned her cheek against your soft hair. — later that evening, as alessia had finally tucked you up into bed. leah lay on the sofa waiting for the blonde to return so they could watch their series together cuddled up together.

alessia finding the blonde sprawled across the sofa, scrolling through her phone, the glow of the screen reflecting in her soft and tired eyes. leah looking up when alessia entered.

"hey, you okay?" alessia asked her voice tender, as she'd noticed the blonde chirpier behaviour since returning home as well as the flush in her cheeks and the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes.

leah tried to nod, but her voice trembled as she said, "she.. she called me 'mama' today."

alessia froze for a moment, her expression melting into one of surprise and pure affection. "she did?" she whispered, moving to sit down beside the blonde. taking leah's sprawled out legs and placing them on her lap as she laced her hand with leah's.

"oh le, of course she did. she loves you so much."

leah's breath hitched as the weight of the moment poured out, "i wasn't ready for it," she admitted, her words came out as a whisper. "i- she usually just calls me lele or even something silly but when she said 'mama' i.. i just.." her voice faltered and the tears spilled.

alessia took her other hand as she reached over to brush away a tear with her thumb, "she's always seen you as a parent figure, you know. i see it every time she looks at you."

leah shook her head, laughing through her tears, "let me have my moment less. it's just- this is everything i've ever wanted. a family to love and be apart of.

alessia's teasing grin softened into something more serious as she pressed a gentle kiss to leah's temple, "you are her family, babe. you always have been. your everything to her and to me."

leah looked up, her heart overflowing. "you have no idea how my heart sounded when i heard her say it. it was like... all at once everything just made sense. like i finally belonged in a way i didn't even know i was waiting for."

alessia stroked leah's cheek, her eyes shimmering with her own emotions. "you've belonged in this family from the very first day le. lovie knows it. i know it. and i'm so glad you're finally letting yourself believe it too."

leah's lips quirked into a tearful smile, but before she could say anything. alessia hesitated, her voice dropping to a quieter and more intimate tone. "there's something i've been meaning to tell you, actually."

leah's brows knitted together, curiosity and a touch of worry flickering across her face, "what is it?" she asked softly.

alessia shifted nervously but smiled, a little shy as she spoke, "a couple weeks ago, it was just me and lovie driving to training and out of nowhere, lovie asked me if.. if it would be okay for her to call you 'mama'"

leah's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening at the confession. "she.. she really asked that?" she whispered, her voice almost breaking.

alessia nodded, her smile growing as she remembered. "she said she want to but she wasn't sure if it was okay. i told her it was more than okay - that it was perfect but she could do it when she felt it was the right time and i guess today she decided it was to let you know how she feels."

leah's hand flew to her mouth as fresh tears spilled over, her whole body trembling with the weight of alessia's words. "she's been thinking about this?" she choked out as she whispered an 'oh god' under her breath, her sobs starting to overtake her. "i'm so happy, less. i can't even-"

alessia pulled her in again, holding her tightly as she let it all out, "i know, love. i know. she loves you so much le. and i love you too. we're so lucky to have you."

leah lung to her, her voice breaking. "i never though.. i never thought i'd get this. i didn't even realise how much i wanted it until it happened"

alessia kissed her forehead, a smile playing at her lips. "you deserve this. you deserve everything, my love"

leah sniffled, finally pulling back enough to look up at alessia with now red-rimmed eyes and a wobbly smile. "i love you" she whispered. "i love her. this- this is my everything"

alessia beamed her heart full as she cupped leah's face, "and you're ours, always."

for a moment they lay in each others arms, letting the love between them fill the empty space. as leah leaned her head against alessia's her heart swelling with happiness. she whispered, "i've never been more sure of anything. this is exactly where i'm supposed to be."

[servicpop]

short n' sweet ♡ valentines day special　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　adrien ( delinquent oc ) x student president m reader

ⓘ　fluff fluff fluff ! jealous adrien , reader gets confessed to by a girl

A day where cupid strings his bow and aims his arrow at couples is the day you spend the most time stringing up heart decorations around the school. Its only a few small splashes of pink ribbons and red hearts since Valentines isn't a huge thing—some people simply don't enjoy it as much as Christmas or others—but it's a nice opportunity to liven up the school with some fun flare.

For the most part, you can see cheesy couples receive bouquets neatly arranged into something pretty for their partner or love letters being handed out the old-fashioned way. You weren't a big celebrator seeing as you didn't have a romantic partner. Of course the occasional chocolates being given to friends was a tradition you practised when nobody bothered to give you a flower or a sweet confession.

But this year was different.

After finishing the decorations, you took the time to wander the grounds before returning to your councillor room. It was early enough for the walk to be rather peaceful with the occasional wave to people you knew when they walked by. Reaching the room you, place your hand on the doorknob, twisting it until it makes that click before a hand plants on your shoulder.

“Been awhile.”

You turn your head to see him in the flesh. Adrien, with that shit-eating grin. It was completely out of character for him to show up so early—or show up at all. That fact alone sent shivers down your spine. A coincidence that he shows up bright and early on valentines day?

“Bit late but,” Adrien takes a moment to exhale before his eyes meet yours.

“Will you be my valentines?”

You stand there, blankly staring at him. No flowers, no chocolates and certainly no handwritten love letter stamped with a wax seal as you were wishing for. He couldn't have been this unromantic. For all you knew, Adrien was just some ill-mannered guy who weaseled his way into your life thinking he had you wrapped around his finger just because you two 'hooked up' underneath the staircase.

“No.” Short and sharp; unintentional or not. Sure you liked him, a little more than you'd ever wanted to admit, but Valentines was meant to be unrealistically romantic, a day where you can feel like you're living in those old romance films.

“What?” You could hear the confusion in Adrien's voice as he watches you brush past him and slam the door infront of his face, drowning out his complaints through the door.

That whole ordeal in the morning definitely wilted your mood. The entire morning session of classes felt like a drag as if time was purposefully going slower each time you glanced at the clock.

You were probably the first person to leave the classroom when you were dismissed, rushing out to your locker to reunite with your friends in hopes of charging your social battery.

“Hey— prez? I have, um, something for you.” The nickname felt like deja vu, like you've been called it countless times by a certain someone. But it wasn't him; it was a girl around your age or even younger. In her hands was a square, pink box with 'milk chocolate' printed in a cursive font. Her face was flushed pink and it looked as though if she met eyes with you, she'd melt under your gaze. On top of the chocolates was a pretty letter with equally pretty handwriting.

It undoubtedly made you smile even if it was just a little.

You accepted her gift, making sure you flashed a polite smile at her before watching her scurry off like it had been the hardest thing of her life to come up to you like that. It was charming in a way. You skimmed the letter which was mainly just her stating her appreciation for you and how she wanted to get to know you better with her name signed at the bottom with a small heart next to it.

A few of your friends who had just made it out of class had witnessed the whole scene, patting your back and pawing at the chocolates like hyenas. It wouldn't hurt to share the love, especially when your friends seemed like they'd die without sugar.

You let them all take one before sealing the box and placing it in your locker for later, you pocketed the note just so you didn't accidentally lose it or have it slip out.

Come to think of it, the more the day went by, the more you noticed a lack of Adrien. Usually he'd make an appearance by now, whether that was to stare at you with a smirk while you walked by eachother or to 'accidentally' brush your arm on any opportunity he got.

You made nothing of it though, it was probably because he thought today was boring—given all the couples would boast their affection towards eachother in the hallways—and decided to skip. It was typical of him to do so. But it still weighed in your mind all the way until the home bell rung.

Your locker was the last stop before you could go home, opening the metal door to see that your box of chocolates were gone; replaced.

Godiva chocolates in the shape of a heart, a letter sealed in an envelope, and a bouquet of flowers that look strangely like the ones from the school garden was neatly arranged in your locker.

“Do you like it?” You practically jump out your skin as your turn to see the man you haven't seen the while day.

“You put this here?” You ask, looking back at the gifts stuffed in your locker.

“Who else would— nevermind don't answer that.” You could tell from the furrowed set of his eyebrows that he was pissed off about something, like it bothered him enough to replace the chocolates you were given.

“I thought that maybe you didn't like how forward I was this morning.” It was one of those rare occasions where Adrien wouldn't have that cocky look on his face or that teasing lilt to his tone. He wore an almost shy expression, like he wasn't used to giving gifts this romantic.

“Seeing as you liked that girl's gift so much.” You could hear the venom roll off his tongue when he said that.

You glance down at what Adrien gave you. Godiva wasn't a cheap brand and those flowers would probably have taken Adrien awhile to personally pick and choose the ones you liked to plant in the gardens. Your heart flutters at the thought that maybe Adrien was gone the whole day because he was trying to pick up gifts for you, all cause he felt a little guilty.

“I know its over the top but—” “I like it.”

He pauses and stares down at you like its the most baffling thing in the world to hear you say 'I like it.' You look up at him, and you can't hold your smile back—this time, you smile wholeheartedly.

“Thanks, Adrien,” You look both ways to see if anyone was watching and you lean up to kiss just shy of his lips on the corners of his mouth. It was a quick peck as you almost instantly pulled back to pack up your things and walk past him.

He stands there, frozen in place before his own fingers touch his face, grazing over the spot you kissed him at.

There's a sharp bang of his fist against the neighbouring lockers as he internally crumbles, holding his face like he needed to shield what was left of your fleeting kiss.

A victory perhaps?

a / n ; dividers made by anitalenia , and the gift graphics are made by my dearest anby !

[megalony]

Can't You Be Mine

As promised, this is my newest Evan Buckley imagine and I have a follow up planned if anyone is interested.

Let me know what you think.

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@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Part 2

You're Mine Now (Spin-off)

Summary: Evan has a great relationship with (Y/n)'s little girl, Minnie. So good, in fact, that at preschool, she starts telling everyone that her dad is a firefighter.

Enjoy.

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A grin spread across Evan's features when he pulled up outside the preschool. He unclipped his belt and tilted his head to the right, looking across at his little 'passenger princess' as he had come to call her recently.

Minnie had a cheesy smile on her face that glistened in the sunlight, illuminating the streaks of syrup covering her lips and chin and most likely her hands too.

Her hair was tied up in a bobble with a dark red bow in the centre of her head which always acted as a beacon. Evan could always spot her when he was dropping her off or picking her up due to the bows and clips she liked to have in her hair.

"Alright, let's clean up quick."

He leaned across to fish out the pack of wipes he had in the glove box while his heart gave out an extra beat when he noticed what Minnie was doing. She had her arms pinned to her chest but her hands held out in front of her, waiting very patiently and doing her best not to touch anything. She didn't want to get syrup all over the car, especially not when Evan told her the pancakes they got on the way to school were a secret.

Of course, (Y/n) knew they would pick something up on their way, they always did. (Y/n) knew one of them would end up letting slip what they had got on their way to school and work and half the time it was Evan who let slip what they had.

He swiped the sticky golden splotches from Minnie's hands and dabbed at her mouth before he kissed her nose.

Evan loved bringing her to school but he loved to pick her up even more because then he got to see her run out into the playground and make a beeline for him. He adored seeing Minnie run over to him with her arms out and a bright smile on her face, it made his day ten times better.

"Okay," He murmured to himself, cleaning himself up too before he grabbed the rubbish and climbed out the jeep, tossing everything in the bin on his way. "Ready?"

He unclipped Minnie's belt and scooped her out of the car seat, easing her down to her feet and helping her slide her backpack over her shoulders.

He loved that he didn't even have to say anything and she would automatically reach up and take his much larger hand in her own. Her fingers squeezed into his palm and she started to sway their hands back and forth as Evan guided them across the path towards the gates.

"You picking me up today?" The four year old tilted her head back and squinted in the bright sun to look up at Evan.

Her toothy grin melted his heart and had him beaming a smile back down at her. He wished he was picking her up, he would pick her up every day from school if he could, but he was going to work in ten minutes and he would be on a double shift. He wouldn't be finished until tomorrow morning so he wasn't going to see Minnie until tomorrow afternoon when she came home from school.

"Not today, mouse. Your mum's gonna pick you up, but I'll pick you up tomorrow if you want."

The nickname rolled off the tongue without Evan needing to think about it. He had come accustomed to calling her mouse, after Minnie Mouse, and he knew if he ever called her by her name, she thought she was in trouble because she was so used to petnames from Evan.

The four year old had attached herself to Evan from the moment they met and he couldn't of been happier.

Evan had been a little bit apprehensive going into a relationship with (Y/n) because all the other girls he'd dated had never had kids. He loved kids, he was a natural at looking after kids, but this was new territory for Evan. He had been worried that Minnie wouldn't want him around.

With (Y/n) being a single mum, Minnie wasn't used to her mum having a boyfriend or having a father figure around and Evan worried that she wouldn't want him being that father figure in her life.

She took them both by surprise. If Evan didn't pick her up from school she would pout and wobble her lower lip. If he wasn't round to have tea with them or if he couldn't put her to bed, she would stomp her foot and have a tantrum. If she thought (Y/n) was getting more attention she would get grumpy and if (Y/n) got a kiss, Minnie would pout and wait until Evan kissed her too.

And she had easily wormed her way into Evan's heart. He was forever telling the team about her and had dozens of photos of both his girls on his phone.

His favourite was the one of Minnie trying to wear his uniform. She had found his uniform when she and (Y/n) came over for dinner at the loft. Safe to say, Evan found her wearing his boots and his shirt that drowned her frame and he had to take a picture.

"Okay," Minnie leaned her head against Evan's leg, itching her temple against the scratchy material of his starched trousers.

Evan slowed down when they approached the gates, but he knew their routine by now. He didn't necessarily have to walk Minnie through the gates, her classroom was ten feet in front of the gates next to the playground. He could stand at the gates and see her safely into class.

But that never happened. Every time he dropped her off, Minnie would walk him through the gates like she was the adult safely escorting him to school. Only when they were right near the classroom door would she let go of his hand and say goodbye.

He let her drag him through the gates, smiling happily as the little girl led him towards the playground. They were a few minutes early today and her class was out in the play area, all milling about and burning off energy until the teacher would call them inside.

"Okay now I won't see you until tomorrow. Try not to miss me too much," He crouched down in front of her, letting go of her hand so he could hold her sides instead.

The whine she let out made his smile dampen but at least she didn't cry. She pushed forward and looped her arms around his neck, leaning against his chest for a hug.

"Bye bye." She broke off in a fit of giggles when Evan started to press sloppy kisses against her cheek to brighten her up.

"Bye girlie," He pressed a lasting kiss to her temple before he pushed up and headed back out the gates. He looked back over his shoulder, as always, and found Minnie waving at him with a toothy grin and creased eyes.

Minnie's shoulders sagged and her head lolled to one side as she looked around the playground.

She liked school, but she wasn't the most interactive or social child in the room. It worried (Y/n) that Minnie would rather sit on a table by herself and colour or do games on her own than with the other kids. The four year old started to panic when the teachers tried to get her to join in with everyone else. She was better with one on one where she interacted with one friend at a time otherwise she seemed to become overwhelmed and recluse herself.

She stayed watching through the fence as Evan hopped in the jeep, giving her one last wave before he pulled away. When he was gone, her lips pressed into a big pout and she turned around.

Her beady eyes landed on Amber, one of the girls in her class who she felt more comfortable sitting and talking to.

She headed over towards Amber and flopped down on her bum next to her as Amber was doodling on the pavement with chalk. There was another boy from their class, Miles, sat chalking the floor and Tina was stood kicking at the stones, waiting to head inside.

For a few moments, Minnie sat quiet as the mouse she was named after and listened to the conversations floating around. Her hands tapped against her thighs and her head tilted to one side as she tried to keep up.

"My daddy builds things, like big buildings. He goes in big crane machines." Amber didn't look away from whatever creation she was doodling, but she moved her hands out at her sides to emphasise how big the machines were that her dad operated.

"My dad fixes things, like trains." Miles dropped the blue chalk he was holding, now bored of doing this. He wanted to go inside.

"What does your dad do?"

Minnie's lips formed another pout and she began bashing her hands against her legs to give herself something to do.

She didn't know.

She didn't have one. Minnie always found it strange when she started school that the other kids talked about their dads and said their dads lived with them and took them out or told them off or picked them up. It was strange because she didn't have one. All Minnie had was her mum and Evan, who (Y/n) always said was her boyfriend.

But surely, if he was her mum's boyfriend, that meant he was Minnie's dad, didn't it?

Couldn't Evan be her dad? He brought her to school and picked her up, just like Amber's dad. He took her out to the zoo with her new 'cousin Chris'. He stayed over a lot of nights and he stayed in her mum's room. He cooked and played games with Minnie, he helped her get dressed and tucked her into bed. Sometimes he would tell her off like Miles's dad, though not often because Minnie prided herself on being good.

Evan did all the things the other dads did, so that had to make him Minnie's dad. Plus, they were going to live together soon. (Y/n) and Evan had already sat Minnie down and said they were all going to live in a house together soon and they were all packing their things up, ready for when they moved next month.

"My daddy's a fireman." Minnie kept her eyes on the chalk on the floor as her tummy fluttered and her legs began to jitter.

Well, that was what Evan did and he seemed to be her dad, for all intents and purposes. And that was what Minnie wanted. She wasn't sure if her friends chose their mums or their dads or if that was how this was supposed to work, but Minnie chose Evan.

"Does he drive the big trucks?"

Her words seemed to spark Miles's interest and he stopped fidgeting to pay attention to her.

"Yeah. Daddy had the truck fall on his leg."

"No he didn't."

A deep frown set in Minnie's features. Her nose scrunched up and her brows furrowed until she could barely see and her lips curled into the biggest pout she'd ever made. Her little hands planted down on her thighs as she huffed.

"Did too! I've seen the scar, he had pins and bolts in his leg." She wasn't fibbing. She had seen Evan's legs whenever he wore shorts when he stayed with them or when he took her swimming.

On the back of his left leg, he had a massive scar going from the back of his knee right down to his foot. It was a streaky white colour and as wide as Minnie's thumb that could trace the indent it caused in his skin like the formations of a crack in the road.

She was enamoured by the small lines that streaked horizontally across his scar from the stitches and she had seen the little circular scars where he'd had pins inserted into the bone to keep it in tact. Minnie didn't quite understand why he still had his leg considering such a big truck had landed on it, but she was satisfied when Evan just told her he was very lucky.

"Wow." Miles seemed satisfied by her answer and Minnie managed to smile, her frown washing away just as the bell rang and Miss Harvey came over to usher them all inside.

***

"Are you ready?" (Y/n) let her eyes scan around the group of children all piling off the minibus, but her sight kept falling back to her daughter stood at her side.

She felt Minnie take hold of her hand and tuck herself up against her mum's leg like she wanted to blend in and hide herself away.

(Y/n) was glad she had signed up for this little fieldtrip. She dreaded to think what Minnie would be like if she wasn't here. The preschool seemed to take the kids on lots of different outings and activities and parents were encouraged to sign up as chaperones and (Y/n) was more than happy to do that. Especially since Minnie was struggling with including herself and wanting to join in.

If she wasn't here, (Y/n) had a feeling Minnie would of thrown a tantrum about going on this trip or she might have attached to one of the other mums here and not left their side.

Their group- consisting of fifteen children, three parents including (Y/n), and two teachers- all walked down the path until they were in front of the large brick building with bright red shutters and signs attached.

"And this is the fire station we're visiting today." Miss Harvey beckoned all the kids to stand close together with the parents hovering them towards the wall and away from the road.

(Y/n) looked down when she felt Minnie give a small tug on her hand, although the four year old had her eyes set on the station like it was a beacon coming out of the darkness.

"Station, like where Buck works?"

"Yep." She squeezed Minnie's hand with an encouraging smile. She had chosen not to tell Minnie where they were going or which station, when they talked this morning. It seemed safer not to in case Minnie got too overexcited or in case this trip didn't go ahead for some reason.

And (Y/n) hadn't told Evan either so it would be a surprise for both of them when they walked in.

She kept Minnie tucked into her side and also kept an eye on the other two girls who were staying close by, Amber and Tina. They seemed to want to talk and interact with Minnie, but Minnie wasn't so keen. She just wanted to stay with (Y/n) and only talk to her mum.

They all followed Miss Harvey inside and (Y/n) took a moment to look around, almost in wonder as much as the kids. She had never been in a fire station before. Despite being with Evan for a year now, she had yet to turn up here. That didn't mean she hadn't met his friends, or his 'work family' as he called them, (Y/n) had met just about everyone who was important to Evan, but actually being here made all his stories come alive.

They were all guided to a large space between two fire trucks and all the kids were kindly told to sit down on the floor in the middle of the trucks.

"Okay kids, this is Captain Nash. He's in charge here and he's going to talk to you about what they do here."

Once Miss Harvey moved to the left and motioned towards Bobby, (Y/n) moved her hands and motioned for Minnie and Amber to sit down in the third row.

A gasp tumbled past Minnie's lips and she suddenly tugged on (Y/n)'s hand before she tried to rush to the side. (Y/n) followed her line of sight while she wrapped both arms around her daughter and reeled her back into her chest to stop her from running off.

"Baby, come on we need to sit down-"

"Buck! It's Buck." She wriggled from left to right, doing her best to get out of her mother's arms but it didn't work. (Y/n) sat her down and knelt behind her, keeping hold of her like they were just having a cuddle when really, she was preventing her daughter from running around the station like the Tazmanian Devil.

"You can see him after the Captain's talked to everyone," (Y/n) hushed in her ear, wincing when Minnie all but huffed and crossed her arms.

But she stayed seated on the floor, pressing her chin into her chest while she tried to focus on what the Captain was saying. It was hard. Minnie couldn't concentrate despite his soft voice and his warm smile. She wanted to go and see Buck.

Evan tossed the cleaning rag over his shoulder and stepped away from the ambulance when he heard the ruckus. That meant the kids were here.

It wasn't often that they got schools coming by to visit the station, it was normally them turning up at schools to give safety talks and lectures. He figured this was better for the kids. Out of their usual environment, somewhere new to look around and explore and this way, they got to see the trucks and the ambulance and see what it looked like inside a real station.

He crossed one leg over the other and leant against a pillar next to Eddie who was stood with his hands in his pockets and a soft smile on his face.

Once Eddie turned and noticed who it was behind him, he grinned and lightly jabbed his elbow into Evan's chest before pointing towards the group of kids all sat on the floor.

"You never said it was Minnie's class coming in today."

"What?" Evan pushed up off the pillar, standing back on his feet properly as his shoulders straightened and his back clicked into place.

Minnie's class? She was here? (Y/n) never mentioned it. She never said Minnie was going on a trip today, or that it would be a trip to his very own station. Come to think of it, Minnie hadn't said anything either and if Evan knew her like he thought he did, he knew that she would of been screaming in his ear that she was going to come and visit him today. He would of been waiting by the door if he knew.

His eyes scoured the three rows of preschool kids all sat quietly, barely any of them moving, all enamoured by Bobby's speech and how he was beginning to point and describe the anatomy of the trucks.

Sure enough, Evan's beady eyes landed on not only Minnie but (Y/n) as well. They were knelt in the back row on the end and Minnie was leaning back into (Y/n) like she was desperate to wriggle out of her mum's hold and run around the station.

"I didn't know," Evan whispered softly, barely turning his head in Eddie's direction because he couldn't look away from his girls.

The moment Minnie looked in his direction and realised he was looking at her, her whole face lit up. She smiled and her eyes shone like stars and she started to wriggle again. She sat up straight and squared her shoulders, moving to wave frantically in his direction until a grin broke out on Evan's face and he silently waved back.

Evan's original plan had been to hang somewhere out the way and then come down when Bobby had finished his speech. He had it in mind that he would come down and interact with the kids for a bit and then see them off. But now he knew Minnie was here, he couldn't find it in himself to disappear.

He stood next to Eddie, both of them only half listening to Bobby. Evan began to tap his foot, suddenly impatient for Bobby to finish so he could go over and talk to his girls.

Bobby couldn't have finished a moment too soon but he waved Hen over to have a quick chat to the group since she was a medic as well as a firefighter.

(Y/n) took that as her moment. She leaned forward and kissed Minnie's cheek, whispering in her ear quietly. "Let me go talk to Buck, then when Hen's finished, he's all yours. Okay?"

Minnie bubbled up excitedly and nodded, but she wouldn't look away from Hen just yet. Now she was interested just before the speeches were going to end.

Moving her hands to her knees, (Y/n) slowly pushed up from the floor that had turned her legs to jelly and made her knees harden like stone. She could feel her back clicking into place once she was up and she took a glance around the group before she moved towards Evan. Miss Harvey was stood near Bobby and the other two parents were stood off to one side, murmuring and smiling with Chimney. It would be fine for (Y/n) to talk to Evan, she would still be within close range of the kids in case they needed her.

(Y/n) ran her hand through her hair and moved over towards Evan who took a few steps away from Eddie to meet her at the side of the truck.

She noticed his eyes do a quick sweep around the station, making sure no one else - or the kids- were watching before he looped his arms around her waist and reeled her into his chest.

He ducked his head down and stole a kiss from her lips before she had chance to panic and look around as if they were teens trying not to get caught in school. His lips tasted like cherry cola and his fingers felt heavenly, squeezing into her hips while his chest leaned down into hers like he was trying to tilt (Y/n) backwards or lay her down on the floor.

She brought her hands up to cup the sides of his neck, smoothing her thumbs up and down behind his ears until he was shivering.

Their temples pressed together when they parted and the grin that lit up his face made Evan look like one of the school kids. A quiet "Hi," whispered from his lips into hers and he nudged the end of his nose along hers until (Y/n) was smiling and shaking her head.

"You didn't tell me you were coming here."

"It was a surprise."

"Well colour me surprised… I bet you didn't tell Minnie either, did you?" The hint of a smirk pulled at his lips while he let go of her hips so he could loop his arms fully around her waist and tug her closer until every ridge of her body was pressed up against him.

"Course I didn't, she'd of been screaming your name all day if I told her." As much as (Y/n) loved her daughter's enthusiasm, she didn't think everyone would appreciate Minnie's hyperness if she knew they were coming to see Evan.

The four year old would have been bouncing off the walls, telling everyone and proudly shouting Evan's name until they got here. At least this way both she and Evan got a lovely surprise and it stopped Minnie from getting worked up like a sugar rush.

"Well, I'm glad you're all at our station. I'll show you round in a bit." He leaned forward and pecked her temple, smiling to himself when (Y/n) buried her head beneath his chin and kissed his neck causing a shiver to roll down his spine.

He kept her burrowed away into his chest for a few more seconds, savouring the moment until he noticed Hen had finished her talk and the kids were starting to get up.

He knew Minnie would be heading their way any second now and then Evan would happily show her and a few of the kids around and answer any of their strange questions. He let his arms loosen around (Y/n) just enough for her to spin around in his hold so her back was snuggled into his chest and both of them were looking at the kids.

Minnie was stood with two other kids while the rest of them split up into groups and followed after Hen or Bobby.

Her hands began to itch at her sides and she couldn't stop herself from smiling when she looked over towards her mum and Evan. He was here. This was where he worked. This was the fire truck he drove and maybe the one that landed on his leg too. This was his other home that he was always telling her about.

"Is that your dad, the fireman?" Amber kept her chin tilted down and feebly pointed towards Evan. She had seen him with Minnie at school a few times, and Minnie did tell them last week that her dad was a fireman.

A beaming smile lit up Minnie's face as a rush of adrenaline flooded her stomach and she began to fidget from foot to foot. She nodded and pointed over at Evan which caught his attention and made him smile in her direction. And he watched as Minnie trotted towards him, both Amber and Miles in tow behind her.

"Yeah. That's my daddy."

Evan couldn't breathe.

All the air in his lungs suddenly evaporated; his lungs turned into balloons which popped and shrivelled up in his chest. His jaw hung open and his lips became dryer than the desert, but he couldn't find anything to say.

Minnie had never called him that before. When they first met, she used to call him Mister quite a lot, then when they became closer, she started calling him Buck. Even though she heard (Y/n) call him Evan, she never tried to call him that, it had always been Buck so far. She had never called him dad before or pointed him out and named him her dad to other people.

But what else could he be? What else could she call him when she saw him almost every day? He took her to school, he picked her up when she fell over, he tucked her in bed and took her out and went to the doctors with her and (Y/n). He introduced her to everyone as his 'little mouse' or 'my girl'.

And just a few weeks ago after Minnie commented that he was always telling (Y/n) that he loved her, he started to tell Minnie he loved her too. He never wanted to say that before in case it upset her or made her feel uneasy but just seeing her face light up when he told her, meant the whole world to Evan.

"My turn." Minnie held her arms out towards Evan, suddenly breaking him out of his trance.

He realised he was shaking when he unravelled his arms from (Y/n) who looked like she was on the verge of tears. Her hand moved to his shoulder while he leaned down and scooped Minnie up so he could cuddle her into his chest.

Her arms looped around his neck and Evan breathlessly kissed her cheek while he did his best to ward off the burning sensation behind his eyes that were threatening to spill tears. God, he hoped Minnie wasn't just saying this because her friends were nearby. He hoped that when he got home from work tonight, she would still call him that.

He hoped tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after, that Minnie was still going to call him her dad. He hoped she would introduce him to everyone as her dad. He could just see himself telling people he had a little girl, he could imagine showing the guys her picture and proudly saying that was his daughter.

"Hi, are you being good, little mouse?" He kissed her cheek again when she wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled in close to him as she nodded and hummed.

His eyes darted from Minnie to (Y/n) when he suddenly realised that maybe, (Y/n) might not be happy about this sudden revelation.

Evan remembered the conversation they had not long after they started dating. He remembered every word of that chilling conversation where (Y/n) told him about Minnie's biological dad. Minnie had never met him, he didn't even know she existed.

Minnie had been the reason (Y/n) got out of her abusive relationship with her ex. She managed to get away from him and moved in with her sister until she found a place of her own. And Evan remembered everything (Y/n) told him about what her ex had done. There was no way (Y/n) could stay with him if she had Minnie and to protect Minnie, (Y/n) hadn't named anyone in the father's section on her birth certificate.

It suddenly occurred to Evan that maybe (Y/n) wouldn't be happy about this. Maybe she wouldn't want Minnie to have a dad or call someone her dad. But Minnie had never known her dad, she had grown up thinking she just didn't have one and that had been fine until Evan walked into their lives and changed their perspectives.

But the way (Y/n) smiled and the single tear that rolled down her face told Evan she wasn't displeased at all. She was thrilled.

She stood close to Amber and Miles in case they had any questions or wanted to go and take a look around. But Miles took a step forward towards Evan and gingerly tugged on his trouser leg to gain his attention.

"Did a truck really land on your leg?"

Surprise flooded Evan's eyes and his jaw hung loose again while he tried to think how to respond to that. But all that came to mind was the fact that clearly, Minnie had been talking about him. She had been telling her friends what Evan did for a living and about his accident. Clearly she loved him enough to want to brag about him and talk about him to her class. and that thought melted Evan's heart.

Evan looked between Minnie who had her cheek pressed into his shoulder, and the young boy who was staring at both his legs intently. He looked like he wanted to pull on Evan's trousers and peek beneath them at his legs. And Evan would bet that the young boy thought Evan might have some kind of prosthetic.

"Uh, yeah, yeah it did." He nodded and leaned backwards a little so Minnie could rest better against his chest.

"Wow. So- so you're like superman?"

"Well, not qui-"

"Yeah he is! Show him your leg, daddy." Minnie wriggled around in his arms, shimmying down his chest a little until she could grab at the waistband of his trousers.

For a dreaded second, Evan thought she was going to undo his belt and try to pull his pants down to show his scar. But she only tugged on his pant leg to get him to take the hint. She wanted him to pull the pant leg up so he could show Miles his scars.

Evan rolled his lips together to supress a smile and juggled Minnie in his right arm so that he could scrunch his trouser leg up in his other hand. He pulled it up towards his knee, showing just enough of his tattered, scarred leg to make Miles gasp and grin like he'd seen one of the seven wonders of the world.

The young boy simply stared at Evan's leg, unable to look away even when Evan rolled down his trouser leg again.

He carefully leaned forward and planted Minnie back down on her feet, but when she clutched his hand and held it to her chest, he smiled. He stayed slightly stooped over so she could keep hold of him while (Y/n) looked between Miles and Amber.

"Alright, who wants to look round the fire trucks?"

When the pair of them nodded, (Y/n) guided them over towards Miss Harvey and Bobby who were with five other kids looking round the first fire truck. She noticed Hen guide the other half of the class towards the ambulance to let them take a look around and show them what each appliance and equipment piece was.

Once the pair of them were back with the group, following Bobby's lead like he had put them all under a trance, (Y/n) slowly headed back over to Evan and Minnie. Her hands moved up and down her sides to try and remain calm, but she didn't know what to do with herself.

Minnie had never asked about her dad before, and (Y/n) had always been grateful. She was always relieved her daughter never wondered why she didn't seem to have a father figure or why she didn't have a dad to come and visit her and take her out like other kids. She seemed content just to have (Y/n).

And she had been so happy that Minnie took to Evan so easily and attached herself to him. But somehow, (Y/n) still didn't think that Minnie would want to call Evan her dad, not yet anyway.

She smiled as she approached them and crouched down in front of Minnie who was still clinging to Evan's hand that she seemed to have confiscated and pinned to her chest.

Her hands reached out to hold Minnie's waist and tug her closer while Evan shimmied his hand out of her hold so he could rest his hand on her back instead.

"So… you, you've got a new name for Buck?" When Minnie didn't answer, Evan crouched down beside her so they were all level.

"You've never called me that before, mouse."

The way she looked down at her shoes made Evan's heart flip. She looked so sweet, so innocent and worried as if she thought she might have done something wrong by calling him her dad. It would never be something bad in their eyes, but both (Y/n) and Evan would have thought they would of gotten some warning first. Which made them wonder why Minnie had suddenly come out with it today of all days.

"Everyone was talking about their dads, so… so can't you be mine?" Minnie shifted a little so she could go back to holding Evan's hand and she started to sway it back and forth between them like their hands were some kind of swing or a toy to be entertained.

For a few seconds, Evan focused on controlling his breathing so he didn't go into a fluttering panic. And he looked to the left, locking his eyes on (Y/n) so he could gauge her face for a reaction.

This wasn't his question to answer, it was hers. He couldn't overstep the mark or set the boundaries, it had to be (Y/n)'s choice no matter how thrilled Evan was that Minnie clearly wanted this.

When (Y/n) nodded, Evan felt like his heart had exploded in his chest and a tingling sensation shot through his arms right down to his fingertips. He let a soft grin overtake his features and he reached out for Minnie, unhooking their hands so he could hold her sides and gently twist her in his direction.

"I'd love to."

He braced his knees and levelled his weight out in his boots when Minnie slammed into his chest and deadlocked her arms around his neck.

The sweetest smile (Y/n)had ever seen fluttered across Evan's lips and she couldn't help but lean forward to kiss that smile and see if it was as sweet and sugary as it looked. She smoothed her hand up and down his shoulder before she glanced over to the left when she heard Miss Harvey switching the groups around. They wouldn't be here for much longer before they all would be getting ready to leave.

"Let's go take a look at the trucks then, baby, let dad get back to work." It felt strange to say but somehow, it rolled off the tongue like magic.

"Off you go, I'll see you when I finish work tonight, okay?" Evan pecked her cheek when she finally untangled herself from him and he couldn't help but kiss her temple too as he pushed up to stand tall once again. He murmured a soft "See you soon," in (Y/n)'s ear, dancing his fingertips along her hip while he kissed her quick.

"Bye daddy," Minnie cast a quick look over her shoulder, one hand tangled with (Y/n)'s and her other hand waving across to Evan as if he couldn't spot her in the small crowd.

His smile brightened and his breaths came out shaky as he waved back at her, his other hand tucked into his pocket while he leaned back against the pillar.

Their fire house had been taken off all calls for two hours, dispatch was redirecting all calls to the nearby stations so no calls came through and disrupted the school fieldtrip. That meant Evan still had a while to mill about the station and tidy up or get a drink and amuse himself until the kids left and they were allowed to take calls again.

And it felt like a good thing that they weren't going out on any calls at the moment because Evan was running on a high. Adrenaline was fueling his system and he felt like he had taken an overdose with how lightheaded he was. It felt like he was walking on cloud nine and he didn't ever want to come down from this feeling.

The smile wouldn't leave his lips and his head tilted to one side while he watched both girls head back over to the group and follow Bobby who was showing them all the different compartments and aspects of the truck.

"What's got you smiling?" Chimney brought his cup of coffee to his lips and raised a brow when he looked up at Evan. There was an unusually happy smile on his face, even for him, and it had Chimney looking round the station to try and find out what was so funny.

But he wasn't prepared for the answer as Evan slouched down against the pillar, dipping his chin towards his chest as a blush started to taint his cheeks.

"My daughter."

[isaadore]

US THREE QUINN HUGHES

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ pairing dad!quinn hughes x mom!reader

SUMMARY little snippets of your life with quinn before and after the birth of your son. word count 1.2k

warnings fem!reader, tooth-rotting fluff

notes i haven’t written anything in sooo long, so i’m a little rusty 😓 i apologize if this isn’t the best and a little cheesy. i just got a few ideas while watching titans (i’m in love with dick grayson)

QH43 MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST

PAINTING THE NURSERY

It was one of those perfect autumn afternoons, the kind where the air felt crisp and colourful leaves danced in the wind. Quinn set the last can of soft pastel yellow paint down on the nursery floor, and as the warm light streamed through the window, the walls seemed to glow. You were perched on a step stool, carefully taping the edges of the room, your growing belly just brushing the ladder as you shifted. Quinn was nearby, his brows furrowed, hovering slightly with one hand stretched out, ready to catch you if you even thought about wobbling.

“You know I’ve got this, right?” you teased, turning to shoot him a playful smirk.

“I know,” he replied, his own grin creeping onto his face, “but just... humour me, okay? I can't help it—I'm not taking any chances.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, hopping down to grab the paintbrush he held out to you. “All right, Mr. Safety First. Let's see if you’re as good with a paintbrush as you are with a hockey stick.”

“Better,” he shot back, popping open the paint can with a satisfying snap. 

As you worked together, it felt like more than just painting. You shared giggles and tossed around baby names, and then, in a moment of mischief, you smeared a little paint right on his nose. He retaliated with a playful swipe of yellow across your cheek, his boyish grin impossibly wide when you squealed in surprise. By the time the walls were mostly covered, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and your heart felt so full it was almost overwhelming.

Quinn took a step back to admire the work, his hand resting gently on your back. “I think he’s going to love it,” he murmured.

“I think so too,” you replied softly, leaning your head against his shoulder, feeling all the warmth between you both.

PROUD DAD-TO-BE

The first time Quinn brought you and your soon-to-be son into a post-game interview was completely unexpected. The Canucks had just pulled off an overtime win, and Quinn was still filled with adrenaline as he stood by the microphone.

“Quinn, how does it feel to lead your team to a win like that?” a reporter asked, clearly eager for a soundbite.

He flashed a big grin, running a hand through his damp hair, still buzzing from the game. “It feels amazing. Honestly, though, it’s not just about me. My wife’s at home, seven months pregnant and absolutely crushing it. Every time I’m on the ice, I’m thinking about them. I want to make my son proud before he’s even here.”

The room filled with soft laughter and nods of approval. Quinn’s eyes sparkled with a mix of pride and excitement, and back home, you were curled up on the couch with tears in your eyes, feeling every word. He had this incredible way of melting your heart, always reminding you of the beautiful life you were building together.

CRAVINGS AND CHICKEN PARM

A few days later, you found yourself sitting at the kitchen counter, scrolling through recipes on your phone. Pregnancy cravings had hit you hard, and that night, all you could think about was chicken parmesan.

Quinn strolled in, wearing sweatpants and a simple t-shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. He leaned over your shoulder to peek at the screen, flashing a grin. “Alright, what’s on the menu tonight?” he asked.

“Chicken parm,” you said, setting your phone down with a smile. “And extra cheese, of course.”

“Even better,” he replied, already heading toward the fridge.

Quinn wasn’t exactly a culinary master, but he’d taken it upon himself to whip up whatever you were craving. Watching him in the kitchen was one of your favourite pastimes. He would hum under his breath, occasionally glancing back to check in on you. That night, as he dipped the chicken into the breadcrumb mixture, he paused, a thoughtful look on his face.

“You know,” he said, looking up with a smirk, “if our kid ends up loving hockey as much as chicken parm, we might be in for some late-night games and a lot of takeout.”

You laughed, shaking your head at the thought. “He’s going to have your work ethic and your heart, so I think we’ll manage just fine.”

Quinn’s ears turned a light shade of pink at the compliment, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he got back to layering the mozzarella and marinara with a focus that made you smile. When he finally set the plate in front of you, there was a look of triumph on his face.

As you took that first bite, Quinn settled in beside you, his hand instinctively resting on your belly. Just then, the baby kicked, and both of you froze before bursting into joyful smiles.

“Looks like he approves,” Quinn said softly, his thumb brushing gently against your skin through your shirt. 

“He definitely has good taste,” you replied, leaning over to plant a quick kiss on his cheek.

LULLABIES

It was well past midnight when Quinn heard the soft sound of you humming from the nursery. He had just wrapped up reviewing game footage in his office, but the gentle melody drew him out. Quietly, he padded down the hall and leaned against the doorframe, taking in the sight of you swaying in the rocking chair.

At first, you were lost in your own world, your hands resting on your belly as you sang a lullaby barely above a whisper. The dim glow of the nightlight cast a warm, golden light around the room, and at that moment, Quinn thought you’d never look more beautiful.

“Can’t sleep?” he murmured, stepping inside and breaking the stillness.

You looked up, a smile brightening your face. “Just practicing for when he gets here. Thought I’d get a head start on lullabies.”

Quinn knelt beside the chair, his chin resting on the armrest as he gazed up at you. “You’re going to be an amazing mom,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “He’s so lucky to have you.”

You reached out, your fingers gently stroking his dark hair. “And he’s got the best dad in the world. We make a good team, don’t we?”

“The best,” he replied, leaning in to place a tender kiss on your belly. “Hey, buddy, you’re going to love it here. I promise.”

FIRSTS

On the morning of Quinn’s first game, after the baby was born, the house was buzzing with energy. You darted around the living room, stuffing essentials into the diaper bag while Quinn wrestled with the car seat straps, frustration written all over his face.

“This thing is impossible,” he grumbled, tugging at the straps.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Here, let me show you how it’s done.”

With a little teamwork, you managed to get the seat secured, and Quinn let out an exasperated cheer. “We did it! All right, now we’re all set!”

As you carefully strapped your son into the seat, Quinn knelt down, his face breaking into a wide grin as he gazed at the baby. “Okay, little man. It’s game day! No pressure, but we’ve got a streak to uphold.”

You gave him an amused roll of your eyes. “Don’t listen to him. Just focus on being adorable.”

Quinn leaned over and planted a kiss on your cheek, his excitement radiating as he headed toward the door. “Best cheer squad ever!” he called back, his voice full of warmth.

When you got to the rink, the atmosphere was electric. Quinn scored a goal and immediately turned to look at you in the stands, where you sat cradling your son. The pride lighting up his eyes was everything, and in that moment, everything felt just right.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ QH43 MASTERLIST ✷ MAIN MASTERLIST

[nonushu]

perfect - yoon jeonghan

genre: fluff, light angst (T_T while writing) | wc: 330 | husband!jeonghan x reader a/n: just my husband and i looking back at our wedding memories...

"honey, look at this one!" you giggle, showing him the polaroid.

jeonghan perks from the dining table, seeing you and the scattered pictures in the living room. curious, he makes his way to sit by you, taking the image out of your hand. "are these our..."

"wedding photos that we haven't seen? yeah..."

he scoffs playfully at the polaroid, the memory of soonyoung sobbing in his seat, too fuzzy to remember. whoever took these did no justice to him.

his fingers traced the other polaroids on the table, lingering on a particular one of the two of you. embraced in each other's arms in the middle of the dance floor, smiling like no one was watching.

"you looked beautiful that night," he says, nudging your side.

you leaned into him, cheek pressing onto his arm and eyes shifting to the picture. "you weren't too bad yourself."

he looked down at you with a smirk before tossing the polaroid back onto the table. his hands perfectly molded into yours as he pulled you up from the cushions.

"jeonghan-"

"you know," he whispers, taking you into his arms like that night of your wedding, "i really wished we could've just slow dance together all night."

you raised your brows, "our parents literally recorded like 30 minutes of us dancing."

"yeah, but not like this," he spins you gently, pulling you back into his arms.

"you're so cheesy..." you laugh quietly, melting in his arms.

he shrugs with a teasing smile. "just making up for lost time." his hands tighten around your waist, guiding you in a slow sway that mirrors the memory.

something about no wedding guests, no flashing cameras... just you and him. jeonghan could not have it any better.

"still think i wasn't too bad?" his voice low, lips hovering near your ear.

you shut your eyes, grinning as you rest your head on his chest, the steady beat of his heart like the rhythm of the instrumentals you remember. "no, you were perfect."

a/n 2: this isn't even angst LOL... i;m just gonna miss jeonghan so bad

[cvnt4him]

something ab izuku canonically being bad at english has my heart melting like omg

foreigner! reader at U.A there to get better at using their quirk and all that jazz, izuku grows a crush and has trouble communicating with reader and reader thinks it is so cute and thoughtful that he's trying. So aizawa assigns reader to help izuku with learning english bc clearly the teachers aren't doing a good job. Izuku grows a lil crush n oh my god he's like “ how do you say this this this in english?” n you show him— n thinking of some silly cheesy move where he asks “how do you say I love you” n he thinks he's being so sneaky n shit but is SO mf clear it's ab you n you tell him while holding his hands “ I love you” and he melts I think love this idea oml.

And then you hold him tightly at night after you start dating and his english is getting so much better so he constantly tells you he loves you because that's the main thing he strived to learn and that's the thing he knows most fluently.

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.8

Chapter Eight: He Got My Heartbeat Skipping Down 16th Avenue

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, Making Out, 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, Heavy Overthinking, Boats, Cruise Dinner,

Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: Let’s all collectively pray that Pedro doesn’t EVER read any of my work god bless and thank you.

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: I Think He Knows by Taylor Swift

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING  

Pedro is sitting across from you, his long legs stretched out under the small table, his ankle brushing against yours every so often. He’s comfortable here, like he belongs in your space. And maybe he does.  

He’s been hovering, checking on you, bringing you food, tucking you in with the kind of care that has your heart doing somersaults in your chest. And now, he’s looking at you with something warm in his gaze, something almost nervous.  

“I was thinking,” he starts, running a hand through his curls, “we should go out this weekend. Like… a proper date.”  

You blink at him. Once. Twice.  

“Like… a date date?” You blurt out, immediately wanting to crawl under the table.  

Pedro grins, dimples and all. “Yeah, a date date.”  

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again. “I can’t believe this is happening.”  

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Believe it, sweetheart.”  

“This weekend, though?” you say, suddenly remembering. “That’s when I get my stitches out.”  

Pedro shrugs, easy and nonchalant. “Then we’ll do that together.”  

Your breath hitches slightly. Together.  

You bite your lip, glancing down at the table, at your hands, at anything but him because if you look at him too long, you might melt into a puddle.  

“Okay,” you murmur, barely above a whisper.  

His fingers brush yours, a soft touch, grounding you. “Okay.”  

A two days pass.  

Pedro never really leaves.  

He’s in your room every night, sleeping beside you, taking care of you like it’s second nature. He wakes up earlier than you, presses a soft kiss to your temple before leaving for set, and every time you open your eyes, there’s a fresh cup of coffee waiting on the nightstand with a little note written on the hotel’s stationary.  

Drink your coffee, take your meds, miss me a little.  

You always do.  

To pass the time while he’s gone, you draw. You sketch the view outside your window, the way the evening light filters through the curtains, the memory of his hands on your skin. Sometimes you hum to yourself, letting your voice fill the quiet. Sometimes you read, but you’re always careful when Pedro’s around because you still haven’t recovered from the time he caught you reading fanfiction and you had to pretend it was something entirely not about him.  

And every night, he returns, drops his things by the door, and makes himself at home in your space, even though he has a perfectly good—larger—room of his own.  

“You know, your bed is way bigger than mine,” you point out one night, arms crossed as you watch him steal your pillow like it’s his pillow.  

He smirks, slipping under the covers like he owns the place. “I like yours better.”  

You narrow your eyes. “Liar.”  

He grins, stretching his arms behind his head. “It’s not the bed, sweetheart. It’s the company.”  

You stare at him, heart flipping over itself.  

Yeah.  

You’re absolutely, utterly, completely screwed.

Pedro stretches out on your bed, like he belongs there, like he’s always belonged there. His arm is tucked behind his head, his shirt slightly rumpled from the long day, and his legs are sprawled out like he has no concept of personal space.

You huff, crossing your arms as you stand at the foot of the bed. “You know, I wasn’t actually inviting you to take over my bed.”

He smirks, patting the spot beside him. “And yet, here I am.”

You squint at him. “You have a room, Pedro.”

He tilts his head, eyes softening as he watches you. “Yeah, but I like this one better.”

Your stomach flutters at that, but you roll your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his words affect you. Instead, you climb into bed, careful of your stitches, and settle into the pillows.

Pedro turns on his side, facing you, head propped on his hand. His gaze flickers over you, slow and thoughtful, like he’s cataloging every little detail. It makes your skin heat.

“You feeling okay?” he asks, his voice dipping into something softer.

You nod. “I’m fine, Pedro.”

His lips press into a line, like he doesn’t quite believe you. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”

You exhale, heart warming at the concern written all over his face. “Yes, mother hen.”

Pedro snorts. “Good. I was this close to spoon-feeding you soup earlier.”

Your mouth falls open. “What?”

He grins. “What? You were ignoring your food, I was getting worried.”

You groan, flopping onto your back. “Oh my god, this is so embarrassing.”

Pedro laughs, the deep, raspy sound wrapping around you like a blanket. “What’s embarrassing about me taking care of you?”

You peek at him from beneath your arm. “Everything.”

He hums, reaching out to toy with the hem of your sleeve. “Better get used to it, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches.

Because he says it like a promise.

Like he’s not planning on going anywhere.

The thought is dizzying, and you don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nod.

Pedro watches you for a beat before exhaling, reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp. The room plunges into darkness, except for the sliver of city lights filtering through the curtains.

You’re left facing each other in the quiet, breaths mingling in the small space between you.

Then—

“Hey.”

His voice is low, sleep-rough.

“Yeah?”

There’s a pause.

Then, “This is nice.”

You swallow. “What is?”

“This.” His fingers brush yours in the dark. “Being here. With you.”

Your heart stutters.

You don’t know what to say to that, but you don’t have to, because Pedro just squeezes your hand before settling back against the pillow.

And slowly, slowly, you drift off, feeling safe.

Pedro wakes up early for set, always making sure you have everything you need before he leaves. Sometimes, that means tucking an extra pillow behind your back or leaving a bottle of water on your nightstand. Other times, it means making sure your phone is within reach or adjusting the curtains just enough so the morning sun doesn’t hit your eyes too harshly.  

But the constant, the one thing he never forgets, is pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before slipping out the door, murmuring a gruff, "I’ll be back soon, sweetheart."  

And throughout the day, his texts come like clockwork.  

Pedro: Did you eat?  

Pedro: Did you take your meds?  

Pedro: What are you doing right now?  

Pedro: Do you miss me? 😉  

You roll your eyes every time he sends that winky face, but you still answer.  

You: Maybe.  

And every evening, without fail, he comes back.  

Some nights, he brings dinner—tossing a greasy paper bag onto the bed, giving you an easy smile as he shrugs, “Figured you could use some real food instead of whatever sad snack you had today.”  

Other nights, he’s dead on his feet, barely making it out of his clothes before collapsing onto the bed beside you. His body is heavy with exhaustion, but he still turns to you, nuzzling his face into your shoulder, voice scratchy and thick with fatigue as he mumbles about his day.  

And then there are nights when you wake up for no reason at all—just a shift in the air, a change in the silence—only to find him already awake, propped up on one elbow, just looking at you.  

Like you hung the damn stars.  

You don’t ask him what he’s thinking.  

You don’t have to.  

It’s late, and Pedro is stretched out beside you on his stomach, chin resting on his folded arms, watching as your pencil glides over the page. His breathing is steady, slow—content. The air between you is quiet, but not the uncomfortable kind. It’s warm, familiar.  

And then, he notices.  

His brows furrow, lips quirking as he tilts his head. “Is that me?”  

You freeze, fingers tightening around your pencil.  

He smirks. “That’s me.”  

Shit.

“No, it’s not.” Your voice comes out too quick, too defensive. You clear your throat. Cool it. “It could be anyone.”  

Pedro pushes himself up onto one elbow, squinting at the page. “Sweetheart.” His voice is a slow drawl, playful but laced with certainty. “You literally sketched my face.”  

You purse your lips. “That’s just, like… a coincidence.”  

His smirk deepens. “A coincidence.”  

“Yes.”  

“Uh-huh.” He shifts closer, propping himself up just enough so he can rest his chin on your shoulder. His breath is warm against your skin. “Am I your muse?”  

You groan, shoving his face away, heat crawling up your neck. “Shut up. Besides, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”  

He chuckles, easily catching your wrist before you can retreat, fingers curling around yours. His thumb brushes over your pulse, slow and deliberate.  

His voice softens. “I like it.”  

You don’t look at him, but your lips curve just slightly, betraying you.  

And Pedro sees it.  

And Pedro feels it.  

And before you can even think of another excuse, another deflection—  

He presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand, lingering just long enough to make your pulse stutter.  

“Draw me again sometime,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing. “I promise I’ll pose for you.”  

You roll your eyes, but you don’t say no.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — MORNING

Saturday morning arrives in a slow haze of golden light filtering through the curtains. You stretch beneath the covers, wincing slightly when you feel the dull ache from your stitches. Right. Today’s the day.  

You’re finally getting them removed.  

Pushing yourself upright, you glance over at Pedro, still sprawled across your bed like he belongs there. One arm is draped over his eyes, the other resting lazily across his chest, his breathing slow and even.  

You shake your head, smiling softly as you slip out of bed and head to the bathroom to freshen up. By the time you’re dressed and ready to leave, Pedro is awake—barely. He groans as he stretches, blinking blearily at you.  

“You’re up early,” he rasps, voice thick with sleep.  

You arch a brow. “We have somewhere to be, remember?”  

He hums, rubbing a hand down his face before propping himself up on one elbow. His curls are a mess, sticking up in different directions, and his shirt is wrinkled from sleep. It’s ridiculously endearing.  

“Right,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “Your stitches.”  

You nod, pulling on your shoes. “You still coming with me?”  

Pedro swings his legs over the edge of the bed, cracking his neck. “Sweetheart, I offered to take you.” He stands, stretching, his shirt riding up just enough to expose a sliver of his stomach. “You think I’m backing out now?”  

You huff a small laugh. “Just checking.”  

He grins, stepping closer to ruffle your hair. You bat his hand away, but the warmth lingers.  

As you both step out of the room, you glance up at him. “So… where are we going later? You know, for our date?”  

Pedro smirks, slipping his hands into his pockets. “It’s a surprise.”  

You narrow your eyes. “Pedro.”  

He chuckles. “What? You don’t trust me?”  

You let out an exaggerated sigh. “That’s not the issue.”  

“Mm,” he hums, tilting his head. “Then what is?”  

You hesitate before muttering, “What if I want to dress accordingly?”  

Pedro stops walking, turning fully to face you, a slow smile spreading across his lips. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “Sweetheart, you’d look good in anything.”  

Your face heats instantly, and Pedro knows it. He winks, then gestures toward the exit. “Now c’mon, let’s go get you fixed up so you can stop wincing every time I kiss you.”  

You roll your eyes, but your heart is racing.  

Today is going to be interesting.

ER — EARLY AFTERNOON  

You’re so glad you both decided to go to the ER in the morning—because by the time your name is finally called, it's nearly lunchtime.  

Pedro has been nothing but patient the entire time, keeping you distracted with quiet jokes and subtle touches, his knee knocking against yours, his fingers occasionally brushing your wrist. He’s dressed inconspicuously—cap pulled low over his curls, dark-framed glasses perched on his nose, and a coat zipped up against the chill outside. You’re bundled up too, matching his casual, low-key look, though you both know that if anyone really paid attention, Pedro Pascal in an ER wouldn’t stay unnoticed for long.  

A nurse leads you into a small examination room, offering you a kind smile as she checks your chart. “So, you’re here to get some stitches removed?”  

You nod, shifting on the paper-lined exam table. “Yeah. The doctor said they should be good to come out today.”  

She hums, scanning the notes. “Looks like everything healed up nicely.” She glances up, curiosity in her eyes. “How’d you end up needing stitches in the first place?”  

You hesitate for a split second, not really sure how to phrase it. Before you can come up with something, Pedro, who has been leaning against the counter with his hands tucked into his coat pockets, chimes in—voice warm, effortlessly charming.  

“She saved my life.”  

Your head snaps in his direction, brows shooting up.  

The nurse's eyes widen slightly. “Oh?”  

You groan. “Pedro.”  

He just shrugs, casual as ever, like he wasn’t just out here making you sound like some hero in a dramatic action film.  

“It’s not a big deal,” you mumble, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “Other people would’ve done the same.”  

Pedro tilts his head, leveling you with a look over the rim of his glasses. “Doesn’t make it any less impressive, cariño.”  

The nurse smiles, clearly entertained by the exchange. “Well, whatever happened, sounds like it was quite the ordeal.” She wheels over a small tray with supplies and snaps on a pair of gloves. “Let’s get these stitches out, then.”  

Pedro stays close, watching as the nurse works with practiced ease. The removal doesn’t hurt, just a slight tugging sensation as the stitches come free. Still, Pedro’s hand rests on your knee, thumb stroking over the fabric of your jeans—a silent reassurance.  

“All done,” the nurse announces after a few moments. “Everything looks great. Just be gentle with the area for the next few days, but you’re good to go.”  

You exhale, relieved. “Thank you.”  

The nurse smiles, then glances between you and Pedro before adding with a knowing glint, “And try to keep out of trouble.”  

Pedro laughs, slipping his hand into yours as he helps you down from the table. “No promises.”  

Your face burns as you leave the room, Pedro’s fingers still loosely laced with yours.  

Outside, he tugs his cap lower, the corner of his lips twitching. “So, officially stitch-free now. How do you feel?”  

You glance up at him. “Pretty good.”  

He grins. “Good enough for our date?”  

Your stomach flips. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Good enough for that.”  

You don’t realize you’re still holding Pedro’s hand until he gives it a small squeeze, tugging you ever so slightly closer as the two of you step outside the hospital doors. The cold air nips at your cheeks, but the warmth of his touch lingers, grounding you.  

“So,” you say, exhaling, “where are we going?”  

Pedro’s lips curl into a smirk, his breath visible in the crisp air. “You’ll see.”  

You narrow your eyes. “That’s not an answer.”  

He just grins and tugs you along, leading you toward a waiting car.  

LITTLE VENICE — GOLDEN HOUR 

You don’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t this.  

The two of you stand by the water’s edge, the amber glow of the setting sun reflecting off the canal. The air smells of autumn—crisp leaves and the distant scent of warm pastries from a nearby café. Houseboats bob gently along the docks, their string lights flickering to life as the sky shifts from gold to dusky lavender.  

Your breath catches. “This is…” You trail off, taking it all in.  

Pedro watches you, his expression soft. “Pretty great, huh?”  

You turn to him, eyes wide. “How did you—?”  

He shrugs, looking unfairly pleased with himself. “Heard you mention you’ve never been.”  

Your chest tightens at that. You can barely remember when you’d said that, but clearly, he had remembered.  

Before you can even process how much that means, Pedro’s gently guiding you toward one of the docked boats—a narrow, beautifully restored canal boat, its deep blue paint glossy beneath the fading sunlight. A small sign by the entrance reads PRIVATE EVENING CRUISE — RESERVATIONS ONLY.

Your eyes snap to his. “Pedro.”  

His smirk widens. “Surprise.”  

A thrill rushes through you as a staff member greets you both, ushering you aboard. The interior is stunning—cozy and warm, with plush seating, soft lighting, and a table set for two near the window. A bottle of wine waits in an ice bucket, next to a selection of small plates: fresh bread, olives, cheese, and a few things you don’t immediately recognize.  

You glance up at Pedro, still slightly stunned. “You planned all this?”  

He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little bashful. “Wanted to do something special.”  

Your heart melts.  

You don’t trust yourself to say anything, so instead, you take his hand and squeeze, letting your fingers linger. He squeezes back.  

As the boat begins to move, gentle ripples breaking the canal’s glassy surface, Pedro pulls out a chair for you. “Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice warm. “Let’s make a night of it.”  

The conversation flows as effortlessly as the water beneath you. Pedro pours you a glass of wine, the deep red liquid swirling in your glass as you sip and listen to him recount stories from set—his voice low, expressive, endlessly captivating.  

You find yourself laughing a lot, warmth bubbling in your chest.  

“You laugh when you’re nervous,” Pedro notes, watching you over the rim of his glass.  

You blink. “I do not.”  

His lips twitch. “You so do.”  

You huff, taking another sip. “Maybe you just make me nervous.”  

The words leave your mouth before you can think better of them, and your face burns as you realize what you just admitted.  

Pedro stills. Then he leans in, elbows resting on the table, gaze darkening just slightly. “Yeah?”  

You swallow hard. “I—”  

He tilts his head. “Is that a bad thing?”  

Your pulse skips. “No.”  

A slow smirk spreads across his face. He doesn’t push further, just settles back into his chair with a knowing look that should be illegal.  

The boat rocks gently, candlelight flickering between you.  

For a moment, neither of you speak—just watching, feeling, knowing.  

Then Pedro shifts, reaching for another piece of bread. “You gonna sketch this later?”  

You roll your eyes, grateful for the reprieve from the intensity of his gaze. “Oh, absolutely. I’m going to document the exact moment Pedro Pascal got all smug on our first date.”  

He barks out a laugh, then leans across the table, voice teasing. “First date, huh?”  

You freeze.  

He grins. “That mean I get a second one?”  

Your heart thunders.  

“I—” You clear your throat, gathering your composure. “I guess that depends.”  

“On?”  

You chew your lip, watching the way his gaze flickers down to your mouth.  

“On whether or not you’ll keep making that stupid face at me.”  

Pedro laughs, full-bodied and warm, before leaning back with an easy shrug. “Can’t promise anything, sweetheart.”

He pours the last of the wine into your glass, his fingers brushing yours as he sets the bottle down. It’s nothing, just a casual touch, but it still sends a shiver up your spine.  

He notices.  

His eyes flicker over your face, his smirk softening into something quieter, something warmer.  

“So,” he says, tilting his head, “you already know way too much about me. Feels a little unfair.”  

You raise a brow. “Do I?”  

“Oh, absolutely,” he says, grinning. “You’ve seen me exhausted. You’ve seen me half-asleep, drooling on your pillow.”  

You let out a tiny laugh. “You don’t drool.”  

“Cariño, I definitely do.”  

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “Fine. What do you want to know?”  

Pedro’s lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually ask. Then he leans in, resting his chin on his palm, considering you.  

His voice dips, softer now. “What made you want to do what you do?”  

It’s such a simple question, but the way he asks it—the genuine curiosity in his voice—has you gripping your wine glass a little tighter.  

You shrug, exhaling. “I guess I always liked… creating things. Bringing ideas to life. It never felt like a choice, really. More like something I had to do.”  

Pedro hums, like he understands.  

“Plus,” you add, a little teasing, “it keeps me busy. Gives me something to do when I’m not babysitting actors.”  

Pedro laughs, head tipping back slightly. “Ouch.”  

You grin. “You set yourself up for that one.”  

He shakes his head, eyes bright as he watches you. “You’re dangerous.”  

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach flip.  

You swallow, setting your glass down. “What about you?”  

Pedro blinks.  

You tilt your head. “Why acting?”  

He exhales, running a hand through his curls. “I mean… I could give you some poetic answer about storytelling and human connection, but honestly?” He leans in slightly, eyes twinkling. “I just really loved movies as a kid.”  

Your heart melts.  

“That’s it?” you ask, smiling.  

Pedro shrugs, but there’s something earnest in his gaze. “I wanted to be part of them. That feeling you get when you watch something really good—when it stays with you? I wanted to do that for someone else.”  

You don’t realize you’re smiling until Pedro mirrors it, his own expression softening.  

There’s a lull, comfortable and easy, the boat rocking gently beneath you.  

You should be relaxed.  

But suddenly, your chest feels tight.  

Because you want this.  

Not just tonight. Not just stolen moments in hotel rooms or quiet laughter over takeout. You want—  

Him.  

All of him.  

And that realization terrifies you.  

Because you know what this means.  

If you and Pedro were to actually—god—date, you’d have to go through HR. There’d be paperwork, meetings to ensure everything was above board. And then there was PR.  

You knew how this worked. You’ve watched enough rom-com movies and read so many romance books. The moment someone snapped a picture of the two of you—walking too close, looking at each other too long—it’d be everywhere.  

And what if—oh god—what if it didn’t work out? What if everything unraveled and suddenly the easy, warm thing you had with Pedro turned into something awkward and painful and—  

“You okay?”  

His voice pulls you back.  

You blink, realizing you’d gone too quiet. Pedro is watching you, head slightly tilted, concern flickering across his face.  

You inhale sharply, pasting on a smile. “Yeah.”  

His gaze lingers and he reaches for your hand, fingers tracing over your knuckles, grounding you.  

And you let him.

Pedro’s fingers brush against yours, absentmindedly tracing circles on your skin. It’s distracting, in the worst—and best—way possible. Because while your brain is busy spiraling into the logistics of dating him (HR, PR, and the absolute circus that would come with it), your body is attuned to something else entirely.  

The warmth of his touch.  

The way his thumb skims your knuckles, slow and deliberate.  

The fact that he’s still looking at you, waiting.  

You should pull away.  

You don’t.  

Instead, you let yourself revel in the moment—the quiet intimacy of it. The unspoken something humming between you.  

Pedro tilts his head slightly, his voice dipping into something lower and softer. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”  

Shit.  

You wet your lips, glancing away. “Nothing.”  

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “Liar.”  

Your fingers twitch beneath his, but Pedro doesn’t let you go. If anything, he tightens his grip, his thumb grazing along the inside of your wrist. Your pulse stutters beneath his touch, and the bastard notices.  

His mouth quirks. “You gonna tell me, or do I have to guess?”  

You exhale, trying for nonchalance. “I was just thinking about… logistics.”  

Pedro’s brows lift. “Logistics?”  

You nod, keeping your eyes trained on where your hands rest between you. His are warm, calloused, steady—while yours feel like they’re trembling.  

He waits, because he’s patient.  

You swallow. “You and me.”  

That catches his attention. His fingers still against yours. “You and me?” he repeats, as if he needs clarification.  

You nod again, throat tightening. “If we—” You hesitate, glancing up at him. “I mean, if we—”  

Pedro leans in, smirking. “Sweetheart, if you say ‘if’ one more time, I’m gonna start thinking you don’t actually want this.”  

Your face warms. “That’s not—”  

“Because I do.”  

That shuts you up.  

Pedro watches as your lips part, but no words come out. He squeezes your hand gently, his voice quieter now. “I want this. I want you.”  

Your breath hitches.  

He’s serious.  

Gone is the teasing, the playful back-and-forth you’ve come to expect. Instead, there’s something raw in his expression. Something real.  

It terrifies you.  

It thrills you.  

Because god, you want him too. You want the hand-holding and the stolen kisses. The nights spent talking until dawn, and the mornings where he’s still half-asleep, murmuring your name against your skin.  

But it’s not that simple.  

Your job. His job.  

The entire world watching.  

You press your lips together. “Pedro—”  

“I know,” he says, before you can voice the fear curling in your stomach. He squeezes your hand again. “I know what you’re thinking. The press, the attention, the PR nightmare.” His lips twitch. “HR paperwork.”  

You groan. “It’s a lot.”  

“It is.”  

You glance up at him, finding nothing but understanding in his gaze.  

“But,” he continues, voice steady, “none of that changes how I feel about you.”  

Your heart lurches.  

He exhales, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. “Look, we don’t have to figure everything out tonight. We don’t have to rush into anything.” His lips curve. “But I do think we should stop pretending like this isn’t happening.”  

You bite your lip, hesitating.  

Pedro watches you for a moment, then—so softly—he murmurs, “I mean, we’re literally on a date right now.”

You exhale shakily, still nervous, still unsure.

But when you meet his gaze, all you see is him.

The man who stays with you every night, who takes care of you, who watches you like you hung the damn stars.

And suddenly, the choice doesn’t seem so complicated.

You nod. “Okay.”

Pedro grins, squeezing your hand once more before lifting it to press a lingering kiss to your knuckles.

“Good,” he murmurs, against your skin. “About damn time.”

The night air is cool against your skin, a crisp contrast to the warmth still lingering between you and Pedro. You stand beneath the glow of the streetlamp, hands tucked into the pockets of your coat, shifting on your feet as you both wait for the car to pull up.  

The date had been perfect—sweet, intimate, just the right mix of playful and real. And now, in the quiet of the evening, with the city humming softly around you, the weight of it all settles in your chest.  

You glance up at him. “Thank you for tonight.”  

Pedro turns his head, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Of course.”  

“I mean it,” you say, voice softer now. “You didn’t have to do all this.”  

He raises a brow, smirking. “Sweetheart, it was a date. That’s kinda the point.”  

You huff out a laugh, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “Yeah, but I would’ve been just as happy staying in bed, cuddling and watching TV.”  

Pedro tilts his head, considering. “Noted.” He slips his hands into his coat pockets, rocking back on his heels. “So next time, we skip the fancy dinner and go straight to you wrapped up in my arms?”  

Your face heats. “That’s not—”  

“Because that’s exactly what I’m hearing.”  

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “I walked into that one.”  

Pedro chuckles, stepping closer, ducking his head slightly so you can’t hide from him. “You really did.”  

You peek at him between your fingers, and he’s watching you with that same look—the one that makes your stomach flip, the one that makes you forget about all the reasons you shouldn’t be doing this.  

Sighing dramatically, you drop your hands and shake your head. “I’m probably gonna have to put all my social media on private after this, huh?”  

Pedro snorts. “That or just straight-up deactivate.”  

You groan again. “Great.”  

“Hey.” He nudges you this time, his smile teasing but fond. “I’ll protect you.”  

You roll your eyes. “Oh, sure. From the merciless Twitter discourse?”  

He grins. “From everything.”  

Your breath catches.  

Because he says it so easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.  

Like he means it.  

The car pulls up, but you don’t move, and neither does he. The world around you feels smaller somehow, quieter, like the streetlamp glow is its own little universe where it’s just you and Pedro, standing too close, staring too long.  

And then—so softly—he says, “C’mon, let’s go back to the hotel.”  

And you do.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING 

The ride back to the hotel is drenched in a thick, unspoken tension. Not awkward, not uncomfortable — just heavy with the weight of what now?.  

You sit next to Pedro in the back of the car, closer than you probably should be, his thigh pressed against yours, his arm casually draped along the seat behind you. Every bump in the road shifts you slightly closer to him, and neither of you do anything to stop it.  

Your heart hasn’t stopped hammering since dinner. Every time you glance at him — out of the corner of your eye — you catch him already looking at you. Smiling that soft, fond smile like he’s already memorized the shape of your mouth, the slope of your nose, the exact way your eyes light up when you laugh.  

And god, you’re fucked.  

Because now you want him. Like, really want him. Not just in the dreamy, faraway way you did when you first met him — but in a raw, aching, desperate way. You want his mouth on yours again. You want his hands gripping your waist like he can’t get enough of you. You want him in your bed, in your space, in your life.  

But you also know what happens if you let this happen. The HR meetings. The PR nightmares. The rumors. The tabloids. And oh god, what happens if someone already snapped a photo of you tonight? Did you already trend on Twitter without knowing it? Did DeuxMoi already post something? Is your inbox about to implode?  

You feel sick.  

Pedro must notice the shift in your expression because his hand gently grazes your knee. “You okay?”  

Your head snaps up. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m just—thinking.”  

He smiles. “About?”  

About how I want you so bad it’s physically painful.  

About how I’m probably already in love with you and I’m gonna ruin my entire career if I act on it.  

About how you’re gonna kill me when you find out how unprofessional this is.  

“…Stuff.” You force a laugh. “Good stuff. Don’t worry.”  

Pedro’s quiet for a beat, like he can see right through you. Then, softly — “You’d tell me if something was wrong, yeah?”  

Your throat constricts. God, why did he have to care so much? Why did he have to be so good and sweet and thoughtful — it just made you fall harder.  

“Yeah,” you rasp. “I’d tell you.”  

The car slows in front of the hotel entrance. Your stomach flips. Pedro shifts, his hand grazing your thigh as he reaches for the door. “C’mon.”  

You step out into the evening chill, and Pedro is already there — waiting for you, like he always does. His hand brushes the small of your back as you both head inside, and it takes everything in you not to lean into it.  

The lobby is quiet, warm light casting golden shadows across the marble floors. You barely register the receptionist’s polite smile as you pass. All you can think about is him. The warmth of his touch. The scent of his cologne. The way you’re about ten seconds away from inviting him upstairs.  

The elevator doors open. Pedro gestures for you to step inside first.  

And the silence kills you.  

Your heart is a hammer. Your pulse is thick in your throat. Neither of you speak, but you can feel it — the tension, the pull, the gravitational force tethering you to him.  

Finally — just to break the silence — you clear your throat. “Thanks again for tonight. Seriously.”  

Pedro’s mouth curves into a small smile. “I should be thanking you. I haven’t had a night like that in… a long time.”  

Your chest aches. “You didn’t have to do all that, y’know.”  

“I wanted to.” His voice is quiet but firm. “I wanted to take you out. I wanted to see you laugh. I wanted to… just be with you. Is that so hard to believe?”  

You don’t answer. You can’t.  

The elevator dings. You almost jump.  

Pedro steps out first, waiting for you. The walk down the hallway is agonizing. Not because it’s long — but because every step feels like a countdown to goodnight.  

You reach your door. Your hand fumbles with your keycard. “So, um—” You force a laugh. “I guess this is—”  

Pedro cuts you off. “Do you want it to be?”  

Your mouth goes dry.  

“…What?”  

“This. The end of the night.” He’s watching you like he already knows your answer. “Do you want me to say goodnight and leave?”  

The air crackles. You physically cannot speak.  

“…No,” you breathe. “I don’t.”  

Pedro’s mouth quirks. And then — without breaking eye contact — he slips his hand into his back pocket and pulls out your spare room key.  

Your jaw drops. “You still have that?”  

He twirls it between his fingers, smirking. “Told you. Your bed’s better.”  

“Oh my god,” you choke out, covering your face. “That’s not even—”  

“I’m serious.” He steps closer. Close enough that your breath tangles with his. “I don’t wanna leave. Not yet. Not when I finally have you here — really here — with me.”  

And that’s it. That’s all it takes.  

Your mouth crashes into his before you can stop yourself — desperate, hungry, wild. His hands find your waist, pulling you against him with a groan, like he’s been starving for you all night. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, and Pedro growls into your mouth.  

“Jesus fuckin’—” he gasps, dragging you toward the bed. “Been thinking about this all night, sweetheart.”  

“Same,” you breathe, your back hitting the mattress.  

Pedro laughs, low and rough. “Yeah?”  

“Yeah,” you admit, breathless. “You—god, you have no idea how bad.”  

His mouth devours yours again, tongue brushing yours in a kiss so deep it leaves you lightheaded. His hands are everywhere — your waist, your hips, your thighs. You whimper when his mouth moves to your neck, and he smirks against your skin.  

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re killing me.”  

“Good,” you rasp, clinging to him.  

And god, it’s perfect. It’s heat and teeth and hands tugging at clothes and whispered please, please, don’t stop. You’re pretty sure you’re seconds away from completely falling apart when—  

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.  

You barely hear it. Just the faint vibration of your phone somewhere across the room. You ignore it. Pedro doesn’t notice.  

His mouth is on your throat, and you’re gasping, arching into him when—  

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

“…Shit,” you pant, barely coherent. “Phone.”  

Pedro groans, not even slowing down. “Ignore it.”  

“Okay.” And you do. Because right now, nothing else matters except his mouth on your skin, his hands in your hair, and the undeniable pull of yes, yes, yes.  

But it doesn’t stop.  

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.  

Yours. His. Both phones — vibrating frantically, insistent and loud.  

“…The fuck?” Pedro pants, finally pulling back. His hair is wrecked, his lips kiss-swollen, and he looks utterly ravished.  

You groan, covering your face. “Oh my god, we’re so fired.”  

Pedro laughs breathlessly, reaching for his phone. “It’s probably nothing.”  

It’s only after your shirt’s halfway off and Pedro’s mouth is dangerously close to your collarbone that his phone won’t stop buzzing.

“…Jesus,” he groans, reluctantly pulling away. “Who the fuck—”

You groan, rolling onto your back, panting. “Just — answer it. Before we actually get arrested or something.”

He groans dramatically, dragging himself off you and fumbling for his phone. “Swear to god, if this is Joseph asking about football—”

But he freezes.

Staring down at his screen. Mouth slightly agape.

“…Pedro?” you frown.

He doesn’t answer. His face has gone completely blank.

Your stomach twists. “What’s wrong?”

“…They’re not calling about us.” His voice sounds distant. “It’s not about the dinner or the kiss.”

Your brow furrows. “Then what—”

But your phone vibrates again. And this time, you actually look.

Missed calls. Texts. Notifications. From everyone. Your supervisor. Pedro’s publicist. Omar. Daisy. Random work contacts.

And then you see it. The text from your manager that stops your heart.

Supervisor: They’ve reviewed the footage. Call me immediately.

Your stomach drops.

“…Pedro,” your voice cracks. “What footage?”

He’s staring at his phone like it just shattered his entire world. Pale. Breathless.

“…The accident,” he finally says. “The day the light rig fell. They — they must’ve gone through the security footage. And now—”

You freeze.

And then, from the corner of your eye, you catch a name flash across your screen.

Rob Beggs, Safety Manager. Incoming Call.

Your throat locks.

“…Oh my god,” you whisper.

And that’s when Pedro looks up at you — his face drained of color, his throat tight — and all he says is:

“They have news about what happened... about the accident on set last week.”

The phones finally stop ringing.

And the silence that follows feels like it could crush you.

End Notes:

LOL I HAVE BEEN HIBERNATING

I hate midterms with a burning passion.

I apolocheese with the cliffhanger but it had to be done with this chapter LOL

also OOOOOO A LITTLE STEAMY CHAPTER... who am I??

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 @churchofjoemiller @pascalitobarnes @ccmoonshine @its-different-for-girls66

[tinytinyblogs]

Hello!!!

I saw your request is open and would like to ask for one! (I apologise if it's not)

Can you please write Stray kids' reactions to their s/o pulling up this prank on them? https://www.instagram.com/reel/DABkBvONJRd

Thank you!

Does My Shirt Smell?

Prank them by asking them to smell your shirt, only to lean in and kiss their forehead instead—then watch their reaction!

Hyung line, Maknae line(coming soon)

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

Without thinking much, Chan leaned in to check the smell, only to be met with a soft kiss on his forehead. A wave of warmth spread over him, and he couldn’t hide the smile that formed on his face. His lips curled into a wide grin as he looked at you, clearly delighted. He loved this kind of affection—it was unexpected and playful, just the way he liked it. "Darling, you play dirty," he said, chuckling as he spoke. His voice held a playful tone, and it was clear he enjoyed the surprise. His arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace, pulling you close. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, mimicking the action you had just taken. "I'll take my revenge," he said with a twinkle in his eye, a teasing promise in his words. You couldn’t help but smile at his playful nature, but before you could respond, he began to pamper you with a flurry of kisses all over your face. The sudden onslaught of affection caught you off guard, and you laughed, trying to push him away gently, but he was relentless. His kisses were warm and full of affection, each one making you melt a little more. You soon gave up, surrendering to the sweetness of the moment, your laughter filling the room.

Chan pulled back slightly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Feel this—the power of my kiss," he said, his voice still playful. "Your shirt doesn’t smell bad at all. In fact, I can only smell love between us, and it’s strong." He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, his joy unmistakable. You couldn’t help but smile at his words, feeling a surge of affection for him. His playful teasing only made you love him more. But he wasn’t done yet. "And next time," he continued with a mischievous grin, "I’ll be the one giving you this cheesy prank. You better be ready." There was something about the way he said it—half teasing, half sincere—that made your heart flutter. You knew it would be impossible to say no to him, especially when he was in this playful mood. His energy was infectious, and the way he showered you with love, even in the form of jokes and pranks, made you feel cherished and special. As you looked at him, his eyes still filled with a twinkle of mischief, you realized that moments like these were what made your relationship so unique.

Minho

It’s silent after he receives the kiss on his forehead from you. Minho stands there, caught off guard, his fingers still holding the shirt he was sniffing to check the smell as you had requested. His expression shifts subtly, the confusion in his eyes gradually giving way to realization. You can almost see the moment it clicks—he knows you pranked him. For a second, he looks like he might say something, but instead, his lips twitch upward into the faintest hint of a smile, though he tries to play it cool, as always. Before you can react, he takes a step closer, his movements deliberate and unhurried. His hand reaches out, lightly brushing against your arm, and in one swift motion, he pulls you into a kiss. His lips meet yours, firm yet tender, catching you by surprise. The kiss lingers just long enough to leave you breathless, but he doesn’t pull away completely, his lips hovering close as he speaks. “You could just ask if you really wanted a kiss,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. A smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, one he’s barely able to suppress.

He’s trying to maintain his usual air of indifference, but it’s a losing battle. The sparkle in his eyes betrays him, revealing the amusement and affection he can’t quite hide. He liked it—the prank, the attention, and the love you gave him—even if he didn’t show it often. Minho leans back slightly, his hand still on your arm. His gaze locks onto yours, and he tilts his head, studying your face. “There you go, another kiss,” he says softly, his tone playful yet warm. “Or should I stop?” His dark eyes glint with mischief, and you can feel the challenge in his words. You laugh, your cheeks warming, and shake your head. “Don’t stop,” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible. His smirk deepens, and he leans in again, this time pressing another kiss to your lips. It’s softer, slower, as though he’s savoring the moment. When he finally pulls back, his thumb brushes your cheek. “Maybe my darling is craving my attention so badly they had to come up with this silly prank,” he teases, his voice dropping to a hushed, affectionate tone. “You’re lucky I love you.” He finishes with a kiss on your forehead. “Next time, just ask. You’ll get all the attention you want.”

Changbin

Once you kiss Changbin's forehead, he freezes for a moment, caught in the middle of trying to smell your shirt. His confusion is short-lived as laughter bursts out of him, loud and rich, echoing in the room. That laugh of his—it’s something you’ve always adored. It’s vibrant, warm, and so uniquely him, filling the air with joy. It’s obvious your little prank has completely amused him. You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting back your own laughter. You’re determined to keep an innocent expression, as if you have no idea why he’s laughing so much. His sharp eyes catch yours, twinkling with playful accusation. “Is that your way of sneaking a chance to kiss me?” he teases, his voice thick with amusement. His grin grows wider, and the way his laugh lingers makes it harder for you to hold your composure. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, barely managing to keep a straight face. Changbin doesn’t buy it for a second. Shaking his head, still grinning, he steps closer. “Alright,” he says with exaggerated patience, his tone light but teasing, “you want a kiss? Here you go.”

Before you can process his words, his hands find their way to your waist, his grip firm yet gentle. He pulls you closer, the warmth of his presence immediately surrounding you. His movements are slow, deliberate, as if he’s giving you a chance to change your mind—but why would you? He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss so soft, so tender, it sends a shiver down your spine. The world around you seems to fade as you lose yourself in the moment. When he pulls back, just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes lock onto yours. Those eyes—dark, intense, and filled with love—make your breath hitch. They seem to hold an unspoken promise, a quiet devotion that makes your heart swell. “Better?” he asks, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “Or do you need more?” Before you can answer, a mischievous grin spreads across his face. He raises an eyebrow, the playful spark in his eyes unmistakable. “Or should I just attack you with kisses? You can count it as my revenge for that sweet little prank of yours,” he adds, his tone mock-threatening. Then, with a smirk, he leans in even closer, his voice low but full of teasing. “Get ready, love,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I don’t have mercy when it comes to this kiss attack.”

Hyunjin

The first thing you see is Hyunjin’s irritated eyes and playful glare as you kiss his forehead. His lips purse as he dramatically wipes the spot where your lips just landed, a mock display of disapproval. “Come on, where do you even get these silly ideas?” he asks, but the lightness in his tone gives him away. There’s no real bite in his words—just a playful exasperation that makes you grin. Before you can reply, he continues, “You really need to step up your prank game. Maybe something more creative... like a kiss in the right place.” His finger points directly at his lips, and despite his effort to appear serious, a grin spreads across his face, a little too wide to be convincing. You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool, but he catches the slight flush on your cheeks. “Oh, don’t act like you’re not tempted,” he teases, his grin now bordering on mischievous. “But okay, I’ll let it go for now.” Before you can process what he means, Hyunjin pulls you down onto the couch with him, his arms wrapping securely around your waist.

The sudden closeness catches you off guard, and you yelp as he pulls you tighter against his chest. His legs wrap around you too, locking you in place as if you’re some sort of oversized teddy bear he refuses to let go of. The warmth of his embrace and the weight of him pressing against you is both comforting and slightly overwhelming. “See? Now I’ve got you right where I want you,” he murmurs into your ear, his voice dripping with teasing affection. You can feel the vibration of his words against your skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine. Hyunjin tilts his head to meet your gaze, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “I’ll make sure you get that kiss you’re so desperate for,” he says, his tone light but laced with a hint of challenge. His grin returns, mischievous as ever. “But don’t think you’ll get away without paying the price. Maybe I’ll keep you here all night... you know, to make sure you don’t try another silly prank on me.” And just like that, his laughter fills the room, pulling you into a moment you wish could last forever.

[littlelamy]

first date with rafe

author's note: my last "with rafe" post :(

rafe cameron didn’t usually go all out for dates. he didn’t need to—most of the time, he had everything he wanted handed to him. but with you? this was different, and he didn’t quite understand why yet.

he spent all week planning, which wasn’t like him. he even asked sarah for advice, though he’d rather jump off a cliff than admit it. when saturday finally rolled around, he was a mess—his usual confidence nowhere to be found. for once, he wasn’t the guy who showed up late with a cocky grin and no regard for anyone else.

when you opened the door, he couldn’t even hide the look on his face. you looked incredible, unbelievably hot, and that was saying something because you always looked good. “goddamn,” he muttered under his breath, trying to play it cool but failing miserably.

“you look good too,” you said, smirking at him. it was the kind of smile that told him you already knew how much effect you had on him, and it made his stomach tighten. “you clean up well, cameron.”

“yeah, well,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets, “only for you, princess.” there was that cocky glint in his eyes, but his cheeks were a little flushed from the nerves he was trying so hard to mask. “don’t get used to it.”

the drive to wherever the hell he was taking you was quiet, but in that charged kind of way. he kept glancing over at you, unable to stop his eyes from trailing over the way you sat there, looking perfect and so goddamn out of his league. “you good?” he asked, his voice rougher than he meant.

“yeah,” you said, a little teasing in your tone. “but you’re kind of quiet, rafe. weird.”

he shot you a quick glance, raising an eyebrow. “you just wait, sweetheart, I’m saving all my charm for later.”

when he pulled up to the beach, the sunset glowing over the water, you raised an eyebrow. “seriously?” you asked, surprised at his low-key yet thoughtful choice.

“what, you think I’d take you to some cheesy dinner spot?” he asked, opening the truck door for you with a grin. “I’m not that basic.”

“uh-huh,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you hopped out. “we’ll see if this ‘non-basic’ choice actually works out for you.”

he laid out the blanket on the sand with a prideful smirk, like he’d just pulled off the greatest move of his life. “bet you didn’t see this coming, huh?” he asked, watching you carefully as you set down next to him. “I know how to treat a lady.”

you gave him a playful look, but your heart was melting just a little. “I’m not so sure about that,” you teased, but you couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“oh, I know what I’m doing,” he replied, leaning back on his elbows and glancing at you with a cocky grin. “you’re gonna love this.”

as the two of you settled in, the conversation was easy, with the usual sarcastic remarks and banter between you both. but there was an undercurrent to it now—a tension neither of you wanted to acknowledge yet couldn’t ignore.

“this is nice,” you said, taking in the view, but your eyes were on him as you said it. you caught him staring, that usual cocky expression replaced with something more vulnerable.

“yeah, it is,” he agreed, but his voice was softer than before. “even better with you here, princess.”

you chuckled, still not used to how this guy could go from teasing to genuine in a second. “you’re such a flirt,” you said, nudging his shoulder lightly.

“you like it, don’t lie,” he shot back with a cocky smirk, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “besides, you’ve been trying to flirt with me for weeks.”

you raised an eyebrow, rolling your eyes. “oh, really?” you teased, leaning back and looking at him sideways. “how about you prove it?”

“oh, I’ll prove it,” rafe said, that trademark confidence sliding back into his voice. his hand found yours easily, fingers intertwining with yours, and you could feel the heat of his touch even in the cool air.

“you’re really something, you know that?” you said, your voice softer now, giving away the hint of the affection you’d been hiding.

“yeah, I know,” he said, his voice low and teasing as his thumb traced circles over your skin. “you’re gonna have a hard time getting rid of me.”

you didn’t know whether to roll your eyes or kiss him, but before you could decide, he leaned in. his lips were on yours in an instant, gentle at first, then hungry as if he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had.

he pulled back slowly, his breath ragged and his lips curling into that signature smirk of his. “told you I wasn’t basic,” he murmured, his voice husky. “that was worth the wait, don’t you think?”

you smiled, feeling that familiar heat flood your chest. “yeah,” you said softly, “I think I’m gonna need another one.”

with a cocky grin, rafe pulls you in for another kiss, this one even deeper than the last. this was definitely the start of something real, and he wasn’t letting it slip away.

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[loveluvrs]

heaven l lando norris x reader

request/summary – reader being clingy with lando in the mornings

author's notes – a little blurb while im doing finals. please keep sending me requests!!!

I groan as I reach around for Lando in bed, but feel nothing. I open my eyes, just barely, to see that his side of his bed has the blanket pushed to the side, an empty space where my boyfriend usually is. With a sigh, I sit up in bed, putting on my glasses. I drag my feet outside his room to find him humming in the kitchen. 

I sit on the kitchen counter next to where he’s working. His face lights up and he gives me a big smile. “Morning, baby,” he says in that raspy morning voice of his, “‘m making pancakes for us. That okay?”

“More than okay,” I say softly with a hum. I reach out my arms towards him to signal for a hug. He immediately paused what he was doing as he came over to stand between where my legs were swinging, his arms wrapping around my waist as he leans in for a hug. “Did you sleep well?” He asked softly since he knew about my all too frequent sleeping problems. 

I hummed in response. “Yeah, I did since you were there. I love you,” I say softly with a contented sigh. “I love you too,” he says softly as he gives me a squeeze in the hug before letting go, placing a kiss on my forehead. I pout as he goes back to making the batter for the pancakes. “Lan,” I say with a whine, “come back, I want more time with you.”

He laughs. “Love, would you rather get your hug a few minutes later or would you rather us starve because I was too busy giving you a hug?” He asks playfully. “Starve,” I say with a deadpan expression. He scoffs and playfully rolls his eyes at my answer as he says “you’re so annoying.” I giggle. “Yeah but you love me for it,” I tease, “now let’s go, you owe me my morning cuddles. I’ll help you finish the pancakes later.”

He reluctantly caves in, only because I had a pout on my face that he absolutely could never refuse. He tucks himself into bed, his arms open to wrap around me. I scoot in close to him, my head in his chest as he places a kiss on the top of my head. His hand runs through my hair as we settle into a comfortable silence. 

“You’re so beautiful, seriously,” he says in a quiet whisper, in awe of the sigh in front of him. He could see his beautiful girlfriend, all messy and tired and sleepy, wearing one of his hoodies, with the light streaming in from outside perfectly catching onto her hazel eyes and lighting up her whole face. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of this, even heaven might be a letdown compared to this,” he says lovingly as he pulls me up into a kiss. “You’re a sweetheart, and also too far head over heels for me,” I tease softly. He hums with a bright smile. “Only for you, baby,” he says with a loving look. A look that made my insides melt and made me want to stay in this moment for the rest of my life. I could miss out on everything else and it wouldn’t matter, not when I had the love of my life here with me. 

I giggle at his cheesy words and Lando felt like his heart might burst at the sound, his favorite sound, from his favorite person. He looked into the same beautiful eyes he’d been seeing for three years now, with the way he loved it when his girl’s eyes lit up and cirinkled every time she laughed and smiled. That smile of yours, god, he could see only that for the rest of his life and he wouldn’t ever complain. In fact, it was at this moment he realize he did want to see only that for the rest of his life, from the only girl he’d want to spend forever with.