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Now why the hell did i see a PRINCESS TIANA X NANAMI FANART IN INSTAGRAM?! Who… who is that for?? Do people ship them???? Is… am i missing something?????
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Ok so this might be the single most passionate Ive been about a project… I literally have made up the deepest lore about the main character and its like so fuckin badass… I hope people like it when it comes out cuz Im just gonna keep hyping it up until then
-Em ✌🏽✌🏽✌🏽
Ok so after seeing alot of people be like “OMG THE SAG LOOK IS GIVING PERIOD PIECE SOMEONE PLEASEEEEE WRITE A PEDRO PERIOD PIECEEEEEEEEE” I decided oh… so… I write? And then, just now, while watching the hobbit for the MILLIONTH time, I decided I WRITE!!!! Im gonna bring 2 things Im super passionate about, LOTR/Hobbit and Pedro pascal, together and hopefully make a super romantic fantastical story. I havent thought of plot but all I know is i will have his handsome ass on a horse at some point….fuck why do i do this to myself😭😭😭 ᵒʰ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵃᵈʰᵈ
Anyways… lets hope I actually write it instead of writing like 2 pages and just abandoning it.😬😬
NOTE: they’re black… im making the main character melanated im sorry guys but… theres barely any brown people in the LOTR and… the idea of an elf with locs? I mean like think about it… thats so fuckin hot like think about it!!!
#pedro pascal fluff#pedro x reader#lotr x pedro pascal#lotr#black!y/n#black!reader#black!elf!reader#SAG Awards Pedro
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Ok so after seeing alot of people be like “OMG THE SAG LOOK IS GIVING PERIOD PIECE SOMEONE PLEASEEEEE WRITE A PEDRO PERIOD PIECEEEEEEEEE” I decided oh… so… I write? And then, just now, while watching the hobbit for the MILLIONTH time, I decided I WRITE!!!! Im gonna bring 2 things Im super passionate about, LOTR/Hobbit and Pedro pascal, together and hopefully make a super romantic fantastical story. I havent thought of plot but all I know is i will have his handsome ass on a horse at some point….fuck why do i do this to myself😭😭😭 ᵒʰ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵃᵈʰᵈ
Anyways… lets hope I actually write it instead of writing like 2 pages and just abandoning it.😬😬
NOTE: they’re black… im making the main character melanated im sorry guys but… theres barely any brown people in the LOTR and… the idea of an elf with locs? I mean like think about it… thats so fuckin hot like think about it!!!
#x reader#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal x you#joel miller#the hobbit#hobbit#lotr#lotr x pedro pascal#sir pedro pascal#black! reader#elf!reader#poc!reader
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🚨UMMMMM THIS IS NOT AN DRILL 🚨 I REPEAT THIS IS NOT A DRILL🚨🚨 I JUST GOT FCKIN FOLLOWED BY THEEEEEE BEEFRO!!! @beefrobeefcal
Damn now i HAVE to write my unfinished fanfics😭😭
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TIME TO EQUIP ALL MY KNOWLEDGE FROM ALL THE YEARS OF WATCHING MY MOM WATCH AMOR REAL EVERY OTHER MONTH OF HER LIFE!!!!
(for those of you who dont know amor real(said ah•more reh•al) is a period piece novela from the early 2000s set in 19th century mexico)
I love getting inspired to write fanfics that i will either never finish or never post on time😌😌😌😌
Yes and SOME OF US (me) have been saying this for some time and have plenty of ideas that don’t involve Austen or a British setting so, y’know, I’m a historical gun for hire on this one.
I’m just feeling very validated that people are seeing my vision.
#amor real#novela#novela type beat#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal fic#19th century#fashion icon#i wanna kiss his big ol head#muwa kithy kithy kith
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UGHHHH HE NEEDS TO STOP LOOKING GOOD! Everytime i se a pic thats a different vibe i instantly have the perfect fic made up in my head… only issue is I NEVER GET TO FINISH WRITING THEMMMMMM😭😭😭😭
I’m so proud of him
# I had happy tears for him
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I bet you can guess who this next fic is about👁️👁️
And before anyone says “but what about AMAMOA???” I haven’t COMPLETELY given up on her. I started chapter 3 back in December and then my laptop fell and broke so Ive kinda been without a computer for a bit (and i know i can just post from my phone like I usually do but i feel better typing out fics in my computer and then pasting them into tumblr.
But yeah joel fic coming at some pointttttt im still fleshing out the idea idek the details of whats going on just like… somethings…. But let me know what you think so far!
Em out🫶🏽🫶🏽✌🏽✌🏽✌🏽
(If you click the red text it’ll send you to the prologue of my current fanfic thats on hold for the moment “A Man After My Own Art” a Professor/Boss! Pedro X Teaching Assistant/Employee! Reader fic)
#x reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal x you#joel miller reader insert#joel miller x y/n#joel x y/n#joel miller fluff#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel x reader#joel the last of us#joel miller#joel tlou
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THIS NEEDS TO WRITTEN!!!!
Should i👁️👁️
(And before you say “don’t you have another fic that’s unfinished?” Girly(gn) thats the adhd she(me) has lost interest LMAO i can do both tho😎😎👁️👁️)
PEDRO PASCAL as LUCIEN FLORES in THE UNINVITED dir. Nadia Conners
#pedro pascal#lucien flores#the uninvited#you definitely cant fix him#but he will make you worse.#x reader#pedro pascal x reader#ppascaledit
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(Mainly reposting because i keep losing it when tumblr refreshes on my phone🥺🥺🥺)
Vampire Waltz - Epilogue
Max Phillips x female reader
Co-written with @absurdthirst
A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...
Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+
Word Count: 13.9k
Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* Pregnancy. Some healing of generational trauma, reconciliation, regret, past pain. But mostly fluff.
Summary: In the time after returning to your original timeline, life seems to have many more surprises left for you and Max.
Notes: Editing this chapter has been a good old fashioned cry at my laptop, I will admit that entirely. This little family has given us such a wild ride, and we are so grateful to each one of you for reading along for every twist and turn. Please join us for Hummingbird Has Landed, starting next week!
Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Ch 16 ~ Ch 17
Six months fly by in the blink of an eye, and before you know it the day of the wedding has arrived. Seacliff has been thrown open for the occasion, decorated top to bottom in roses accented with spring wildflowers and with every curtain thrown open to let the sunlight in. At the end of your second trimester, you tend to get tired earlier in the night so you and Max had opted for an afternoon wedding with sort of an high tea theme for the food. The music is all perfect for dancing to, of course, and everyone from the dance studios you now frequent to the girls from the coven to your extended vampiric family has been invited. He’s even made a few friends at the firm where he now works, opting to go into real estate this time around. After spending a hundred years building different houses, he knows a thing or two about it.
Allison and Eddie will be the ones to stand up for you today, of course, as Allison learns each day a little bit more of what it means to be a vampire who has kept her humanity through every step of the change. You and Max had stood up with them at City Hall a few months ago and helped throw their more laid-back wedding reception at Chateau-sur-Mer. Now everything is set up for today’s success as well. All that’s left, really, is for Max’s surprise to arrive.
Max hovers, a habit that he’s developed even more as your stomach has grown. In love with the slow heartbeat of his child in your stomach and the sweet smell of your blood. He craves you more than you know, but he’s refused to drink from you since finding out that you are carrying his child. Not willing to risk anything, even after decades of taking your blood.
“Everything’s fine, love.” He’s always been a doting partner but for the last few months it’s increased exponentially and somehow you’re even more in love with him for it. “We’ve had weddings before. Everything will be just fine.”
“I know.” He does know that, but for some reason, this is the one that is making him nervous. “I’m excited.” He admits quietly. “This one is us. Our original timeline.” He pushes away the pang of sadness that seems to be creeping up every time the baby moves, or he thinks about being a father. The loss of his family is more poignant in this time because there’s no good reason they are not here.
“That’s why this one is exactly what we wanted. Good music, good food, not too fancy but not too casual.” You reach out and squeeze his hand, rubbing gently along his arm. “It’s the Goldilocks of weddings.”
“Are you comfortable?” He asks, shaking away his disappointment that parents who don’t care about him aren’t sitting on the groom’s side and focuses on you. “You should sit before the ceremony.” After so many years together and so many weddings, it seems ridiculous to observe the ‘no seeing the bride before the ceremony’ tradition. “The baby was really active last night; I know your sleep wasn’t the best.”
“The baby’s excited.” Over your second trimester you’ve started to get the feeling that your little witch-vampire pup can sense your emotions, and he knows you’re excited for today. “And Tracy brewed me a little potion for today. Energy without caffeine so I won’t get too tired and I can enjoy the day.”
He eyes you, but he doesn’t say anything. Always wary about portions because he’s paranoid, not because he doesn’t trust the witches that make up your very supportive coven. “Do you want a little massage before we start?” He offers, knowing how much you enjoy the back and foot massages he’s gotten pretty good at.
“It’s perfectly safe,” you assure him, but you’re already sitting back in your favourite chair with bare feet ready for rubbing. This is not going to be a day for silk stockings or anything delicate like that. “It’s one of Lina’s recipes. Tracy is having fun going through her grimoire.”
Max chuckles at how quickly you move when you are offered a massage. It’s cute how much you enjoy being pampered and he loves to remind you that you are the absolute love of his life. “Honestly? I trust them. I’m just worrying to worry.” He tells you as he sits down on the little foot stool. “Have I told you how fucking gorgeous you are today?”
"Hmmm, only once." Max starts in on your swollen, achy feet right away and you hum happily, sinking back into your chair and letting your hands cradle the large bump that threatens to take over your entire torso. Max Phillips makes big babies, apparently. "The grey suit is one of my favourites, by the way," you hum, referencing the three-piece heather grey suit he chose for today with dark red accents that match your bouquet of roses and Allison's red bridesmaid dress. "You look like a dream."
“Not nearly as dreamy as my pregnant, gorgeous, glowing wife-to-be.” He teases, winking at you. Since the beginning of the week, he’s called you his fiancée or wife-to-be. The new ring on your finger would never replace the original that has so much meaning for the both of you, but he has always given you new rings for every wedding. “But I have to try to look my best when I will be by your side.”
"I hope you don't mind." Holding up your other hand, you show him the original engagement ring he gave you in 1885 sitting on your finger, like a family heirloom accenting the beautiful sapphire ring he chose for you in this timeline. Your something blue, he had told you with a grin. "I felt like this time was the time to wear both."
“Whatever you want.” He promises with a grin. “Eventually we will have enough rings you can wear a different one every day.”
"I'll have a very full jewelry box for our son to pick from when he eventually proposes to his soulmate." Finding out you're carrying a little boy had had both of you crying in the doctor's office, overwhelmed and emotional about the next generation of your family to come.
“Very true.” He presses his thumb to the arch of your foot and he grins when you groan.
"I'm so glad I decided not to wear heels today," you huff, laughing slightly as your head falls back on your chair.
“Me too.” Max snorts. The sparkly white shoes you have chosen are cute and practical. “Although I still like the barefoot and pregnant wedding idea.” He teases with a wink.
"Maybe next time." That draws a deep laugh from you, and you lean back even more. "We'll have that one in summer, when being barefoot doesn't mean stepping on cold floors."
“Next time.” He agrees, although he doesn’t know if there would be a next time. All that matters is your comfort. “We still have an hour and a half before the ceremony.” He chuckles. “Maybe we’ve become too efficient at getting ready for these things.”
"Probably. Sixth time's the charm, I guess." You both laugh, enjoying the quiet and the comfort of being together upstairs in your bedroom. The Taylors, Renee, and Mr. Finchley were all invited to come today as guests but they had balked at the idea of not helping to put together today's event. As a result you've had twice the staff in getting the house ready today and everything is ready ahead of schedule. "Although..." you glance up at the clock and realize it's almost time. "I did plan a sort of...surprise for you today."
“Sweetheart…” he tilts his head and pouts at you adorably. “I thought we said that we were going to keep it low key?” He huffs. “Now my surprise is just going to be a normal wedding gift exchange.”
"I know what we said, and your wedding present is entirely separate." The photo album isn't technically complete anyway, since it has photographs of your first five wedding days already set in it but has left plenty of room for your sixth. "This is just for you."
“Is it something kinky?” He asks with a wicked grin on his face. “I can get behind that. Unless you want to get behind me???” He jokes.
"Not until this little pup comes out to greet us," you laugh, knowing your maneuverability isn't great these days.
“I don’t know, you were pretty kinky last night.” He reminds you. “Or was that someone else that wanted to ride my cock while I gave her tits all the attention?”
"Oh no, that was the horny pregnant woman you're marrying today." And damn last night was a good night.
“I know, and I love her.” He laughs and looks around. “So tell me about this surprise?”
As if on cue, there is a knock at your bedroom door and your own housekeeper clears her throat gently on the other side. "Mrs. Phillips? It's time."
"Thank you, Mrs. Moreau. We'll be down directly." Thankfully your shoes are nearby, and you flash Max a small smile. "Ready, love?" You ask, knowing that he has no idea what's waiting for him downstairs.
“Sure.” He shoots you a suspicious look but quickly applies himself to putting your shoes on. “You’re lucky you don’t have stinky feet.” He teases and pats your knee when he puts your foot down, both of them now wearing comfortable shoes.
The result of about three months' worth of phone calls is waiting downstairs, and you take Max's hand to walk downstairs together. There's a chance he'll be upset with you. Angry, even. But you've known him for long enough now that you don't think he will be – or at least you hope that he will see the gesture for what it is. A loving attempt at bringing him the happiness that you know he's been missing from his life.
He’s curious when he sees that the formal parlor is where you are guiding him. Wondering what you’ve had delivered and he stops dead when he hears a voice he has not heard for a lifetime. He wouldn’t recognize it for the fact that it was permanently attached to a thousand different childhood memories.
"I reached out about three months ago," you explain, feeling him stop dead beside you in the hall. "I told them that we were getting married and that we're expecting, and honey...they miss you so much."
“They— you called them?” He asked dumbly. “That’s— that’s my parents in there?” He asks, feeling like he’s in a dream even though he’s not dreamed since he’s been changed.
"I'll let them tell you everything." He isn't shouting or refusing to see them, so you're taking his quiet wonder as a very good sign. "But...I obviously left out the whole time travel, magic, and vampirism part of our story. I did tell them we're Wiccan, though. So they wouldn't be confused by the handfasting today."
He nods but he doesn’t say anything. Still process the fact that his parents are beyond those doors. People who had abandoned him when he needed them most. Part of him wants to run away, to refuse to see them, but you are squeezing his hand and looking so hopeful when he finally looks at you.
“If you don’t want to, it’s okay.” They’ll be disappointed, and so will you a little, but you’ll all understand. “I just knew that if I asked you about having them over, you would refuse on principle.”
“No.” He chokes out, shaking his head and for a horrible moment, he thinks he might cry. “I just can’t believe they came.”
“Well…” When you look up at him again, you offer him the softest, gentlest smile possible. “They wanted to apologize in person.”
“What did you say to them?” He asks, unable to believe the people who had disowned him, told him they never wanted to see him again, want to apologize.
“I actually did very little of the talking.” You nod to the door and squeeze his hand again, ready with a handkerchief if he ends up needing it. “Do you want to go in?”
“Um, sure.” With his free hand, he meticulously straightens his vest and his hair before he moves. He’s nervous and honestly a little afraid his parents want to ruin today for him.
When the door opens there are two people standing by the windows, looking down the lawn where your wedding ceremony will be and out to the sparkling ocean. Jeff and Maria Phillips stand together in a moment of awe before Maria is rushing forward and stops still in front of Max with one arm outstretched. “Max.” Her instinct is to call him honey, but she doesn’t know just how much he would hate that. “You—we tried everything we could think of to find you and we’re—” She chokes up almost instantly, The regret painted on her face as obviously as daylight.
“We’re so sorry, son.” Jeff has come up behind his wife and put his hands on her shoulders. “We should have taken you at your word when everything happened and we didn’t. That’s—we can’t undo it, Max. But we’ve regretted it every day.”
“Why?” That is the question that plagued him for years. The thing that had broken his heart and confused him. His parents weren’t the warmest people, but he had thought they had loved him enough to believe him. “You told me I was a disgrace to the Phillips name, that you wished I had never been born.” He reminds them. “Why?” His hand lets go of yours and rests on your stomach protectively. “I can never imagine telling my son something so cruel.”
“We received a phone call from the young man who…who accused you.” Usually quite a proud man, Jeff Phillips flounders in explaining himself to his son — a fully grown and obviously proud man in his own respect. “And from the Dean of your college, as well. We were told the proof was irrefutable and we knew you were ambitious, it all just…” he stops, shaking his head and letting it hang in a moment of shame. “Your great-grandfather, my grandfather, had done a lot of very unfortunate, mostly illegal things to get ahead in his lifetime. I tried to raise you as far away from that kind of life as I possibly could, and it—it was a lie that hit too close to home. And I thought I’d failed you. Instead of taking responsibility for that, I lashed out. And I don’t expect you to ever forgive me for it. But your soulmate reached out to us and said you were getting married, so we wanted to at least tell you that we love you on your wedding day.” The gift they had brought was out on the table in the foyer with a few others that had been mailed — an heirloom for the baby with a long letter of explanation and apology. That way even if Max didn’t want to see them, they could at least leave him with words of love in another way. The Phillips family crib and baby blankets made by Max’s grandmother belonged with him now.
Max swallows harshly, knowing that before you, before his time in the past, he would have sent them away for the pure pleasure of watching them hurt the way they had hurt him. To lash out and make them feel the rejection and heartache he had lived with for years. Except, he had to watch history repeat itself in a sense. Knowing the path that was before a headstrong daughter and equally stubborn parents. Watching the silent heartbreak and pain when their daughter distanced themselves from them. Knowing the further heartache that was awaiting them. He had sworn that he would be better than his parents and if he sends them away, what does that teach his son? His parents only have a small amount of time left, should he deny himself that time out of some childish need for punishment? Over the centuries, Max would like to believe he’s matured.
He frowns, looking at the table that has the gifts on them and then looks back at his parents. “Are you staying?” He asks, unsure if they wanted to stay or if they just wanted to make peace.
“We’d like to,” his mother offers, eyes flickering once over to you and then back to her son. She knows the decision isn’t theirs or yours. “But only if you want us to.”
“What made you look for me? Do you think that I’m telling the truth? Or—” Max has to know, he has to know what changed their minds.
“We tried to look for you just a couple of weeks after everything happened.” Maria takes a small step forward, so deeply hopeful that Max will forgive them. “The school said they couldn’t tell us anything besides the fact that your transcripts had been forwarded to another university, and there wasn’t a Find My Phone or anything like that, that we could use to try to find you.” Her voice wavers, obviously emotional, and she sniffles softly. “We realized that the son we’d raised…you didn’t deserve to be shunned even if you had made a mistake. We’d just been so shocked that we reacted on instinct.” Another small shake of her head comes with a few small tears that Maria quickly wipes away. “We should have believed what you told us over anything else. Over any other fear or story. The more times we talked through it, the more we realized…cheating was never the shortcut you were going to take. You always worked too hard for that. And we’d pushed you away for nothing.”
“I had to go to Romania to find a school that would accept me.” Max tells them, biting his lip and closing his eyes as he wrestles with himself. “You lost the son you knew there.”
Your hand slips gently over his, holding it in yours and wondering if this was a mistake. You know how much Max misses his parents, but some hurts are just too deep. It would be truly unfortunate if this was one of them.
“It’s obvious you’ve become a good man even without us.” His father acknowledges, nodding sadly. He knows he failed his son in so many ways, and he really doesn’t have anyone to blame but himself. Maria had fought him in the beginning and brought him around to the truth in time. “But if you’d let us, we’d like to get to know the man you are now.”
“There’s something you need to know before you make that decision.” Max opens his eyes and looks at the older man who is so much like him, even though he has his mother’s ears. Then over to his mother who looks like she is about to break down sobbing. “I’ve wanted you in my life for years, but I won’t let you back in only for you to run away when you find out.”
“Whatever you want to share with us, we want to hear.” It’s a promise, and Jeff Phillips doesn’t take that lightly after all this time.
“Technically….” Max squeezes your hand gently. “Your son, I— died in Romania.” He admits quietly. “I was turned into a vampire.”
The quiet in the room could be cut by a knife, and you hold Max’s hand tightly while his parents process what he’s just said. It’s confusion — deep confusion — more than anything else, but after a seemingly interminable few minutes, Maria nods. “Are you happy?” She asks, aware that her husband must be looking at her like she has three heads right now.
“I am.” Max nods. “I have my soulmate and our child. I’ve done things you would never believe. And now, I am seeing you again.” He gives her a small smile. “After I— was changed, I came back. I saw you from a distance.”
“The world gave you a witch so you would have someone to understand you.” Maria observes, nodding solemnly. You had explained the pertinent parts of being Wiccan to his father over the phone months ago but hadn’t had that conversation directly with his mother so you hadn’t heard her reaction personally. “When did you come to see us, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart. It’s a term he hasn’t heard from his mother in over ten years in this timeline and it makes him bite his lip. “August 14th, 2013.” He gives a small shrug. “Your birthday.”
It’s heartwarming, and unexpected, to know that he had missed them too. Just because you had said so in your call — it did not mean it ran deeply. But Max and his mother had always shared a mutual fondness for birthdays. “I wish you had come inside,” his mother admits, although she smiles in a sort of lopsided way. “Although…could you have? If we had not invited you? You’ll have to tell us what is real and what is legend.”
It’s curious that his mother automatically believes him, and he wonders if they think this is some kind of test. He’s testing to see they will believe him and chosen the most outrageous thing. “I don’t have to be invited in.” He laughs.
“Do you remember Vera?” His mother asks, seeing skepticism in her son’s eyes before looking back at her husband too. “The woman who lived next door and would babysit for us when Max was little?” To you she explains, “He would get off the school bus and go to our next-door neighbor’s house for a few hours until Jeff or I got out of work. Whichever one of us got home first would go next door and tell him we were home.”
“Yes?” Jeff frowns slightly, wondering why his wife would bring up a neighbor that was long moved away.
“When Max was a baby, and I would go over to her house during the day for a little change of scenery?” She pauses and looks back over at you with a smile. “Maternity leave can make you feel like your mind is melting sometimes. Find a safe place to get out of your own house. Even if it’s just someone else’s house.” The advice to you seems decent enough, and you barely have time to smile in acknowledgment before she’s looking back to her husband and son again. “Vera used to tell me stories from home,” Maria explains. “And…folktales are always founded in a little bit of truth, aren’t they?”
“She was Romanian.” Max remembers suddenly. “She told you about vampires, didn’t she?”
“She did.” Maria nods, but ends up shrugging reluctantly. “I thought she was an eccentric old lady, but I was grateful for the company. Now…I wish I had taken notes.” Stepping forward one more time, Maria takes a chance and reaches out for Max’s free hand. “We already lost you once, sweetheart. If this means we’ll never lose you again? That your soulmate and your son will never lose you? Then it’s a blessing.”
“I just— I didn’t want you to find out and throw me away again.” Max murmurs quietly. “I had planned on honoring your wishes, to never see you again. But— I— I’m glad you’re here.”
"We never should have said those things." Jeff was the one who said most of it, and he's been humbled enough by regret over the last decade to just...accept whatever it is that life puts out in front of him and his family. He may not understand it, but better to be confused and follow his wife's good example than to risk losing everything all over again. "We missed you, son."
Even though he doesn’t need to breathe, Max exhales loudly, trying to keep from crying. The whole in his heart that he’s refused to acknowledge since the day they had disowned him, finally starting to heal. “I’ve missed you too, Dad.”
The hesitation is cut from the room as Max's parents lurch forward to throw their arms around him and hold on to him tightly. As much as he hates to let go of your hand, he does, needing to basically catch his parents as they hug him. Closing his eyes and trying not to bawl like a baby as he inhales the scent of the people he had never imagined being close to again.
Maria is the one who cries, being dainty about it because she doesn't want her makeup to run or to stain her son's immaculate suit, but she can't help herself. It was not so long ago that she thought she would never get to even see Max again, let alone hug him.
The embrace goes on for longer than he had ever imagined until they break apart and Max turns his head towards you to find you crying quietly into a handkerchief. “Dolly, come here, my love.”
"I'm sorry," you murmur, laughing at yourself a little as you dab at your eyes. This is the reason you hadn't done your eye makeup yet. "Pregnancy hormones."
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” As soon as you are close, you are bundled into his arms and he is pressing his lips to yours. “I love you. I can’t believe you did this for me.”
"I'd do anything for you." And as many times as you've said it, the meaning always holds true. You would turn the world upside down for him – and you even have the power to do it after a hundred years spent honing your magic. "I love you so much."
“I love you too.” He promises gently. Kissing you once more before he turns to his parents. “Let me properly introduce you.” He offers. “Even though you’ve spoken on the phone.”
"We want to know everything." Max's father has handed his wife his handkerchief and is obviously stifling his own emotional reaction – and doing a very poor job of it.
Max pulls you closer to his side and his other hand is proudly protective on your stomach. “This is Dolly.” He does mention your real name, but wants them to know that you prefer your nickname. “My soulmate. The most wonderful woman in the world and the woman I will waltz through eternity with.”
Maria moves to embrace you without hesitation, but Jeff’s head tilts in obvious confusion and curiosity. “Waltz?”
Right. He had never really danced when he was with them. It was picked up in Romania. "I started ballroom dancing." He explains. "An elective in Romania. Dolly also ballroom danced competitively. My favorite thing to do is to waltz with this beautiful lady." He admits proudly.
“We choreographed our first dance,” you tell them proudly, as soft as ever at Max’s side. “You’ll see. He’s an exceptional dancer.”
Maria bites her lip, aware of missing so much time with her son because of their foolish mistake and she nods. "He is exceptional." She reaches out for one of his hands and squeezes it gently. "And you seem so happy." That's all that matters to her.
“We are.” If anything, that is the thing you can promise them. That you’re happy and living the very best, most fulfilling life you possibly can be. “Max is the best thing that ever happened to me.”
"And...his being a vampire is what caused you to meet?" Jeff asks, curious to how the two of you met and trying to wrap his head around the whole situation.
“My grandfather was one of Max’s professors in Romania.” This is the part that is going to get careful explanation, as you hadn’t gone into it over the phone. “He is also Max’s sire. That is…the vampire that turned him. My grandfather took Max under his wing, and even brought him to live with my grandmother here in Newport before she died. I met Max when I moved into that house, as well.”
"I see." There's obviously more to the story, but he won't pry. Right now, he is just glad the boy is talking to him. He knows that Max inherited his stubborn streak, and he could have been rightfully turned away with an expletive and he would have deserved it.
“You’ll meet him today, if you stay for the wedding.” There are still a few more months on Yayo’s ticking clock to join his wife and daughter in the afterlife, but he is waiting until your son is born to leave this world. He had smiled when the decision was made, telling you that wanted to bring good news to Cookie and Annie in the next life. “My grandfather is…a little dramatic,” you smile, stifling a laugh. “I’m afraid it’s a family trait.”
Max chuckles. "And since he is a vampire as well, he looks younger than you, Dad." He warns the other man. "However, Dolly's grandfather is the first vampire. The oldest in existence and has walked the earth for thousands of years."
“It’s a bit of a long story.” The expressions on both of his parents’ faces are something like an undergrad trying to work out a complex math problem, and you shake your head while running a soothing hand over your belly. “Can I offer you a tour of the house?” That, at least, is semi normal. Even if your house was built in 1888 and is still a functional Gilded Age mansion.
“It is beautiful.” Maria nods instantly and Jeff shakes his head. “Do you mind if I speak to Max privately?” He asks you before looking at his son. “Would you, son?”
You look to Max for his confirmation, and when he nods and leans over to kiss you, you offer him an encouraging smile. “I’ll show your mother the library first.”
Max nods, his eyes following you out of the room and he wants to follow you, but he is curious to what his father wants to say privately. Only when he can't see you anymore, do his eyes turn towards Jeff and he arches a brow.
“She’s quite a girl.” He says after the door closes, gesturing to where you have escorted his mother from the room with grace and surety.
"Yes she is." Max will always agree with that. His proud little smile on the corner of his mouth shows his happiness at being matched with you. "She's been through a lot and is still the kindest woman I've ever known."
"When she called us the first time, your mother thought she was an angel." Jeff smiles at that, his wife always has been the gentler out of the two of them. Just like with you and Max.
"In a lot of ways, she is." Max nods. "I normally call her Queenie, as another nickname." He tells his father. "And she is amazingly graceful, carrying a half vampiric child."
"And her..." his father clears his throat. "Her grandfather is...also a vampire?" He's not willing to go against a single second of this, his son is too precious to him after all this time, but he wants to at least make sure that he has everything he's being told straight.
"Yes." Max looks at his father. "I would have met her at Vanderbilt. Discovered that we were soulmates there. I actually had a blind date with her the day I was kicked out." He reveals. "But that didn't happen and luckily her grandfather recognized her birthmark on my arm and changed me." He slides his hands into his pockets, a defense against the hurt that is still there but slowly lessening. Ever more so now that his parents want to be in his life. "He arranged for us to have the meeting we should have had nearly fourteen years ago."
"Jesus..." If his wife was in the room, Maria would scold him for taking the Lord's name in vain, but Jeff just shakes his head. "I..." Jeff blows out a breath. "I know saying that I'm sorry will never be enough. But I really...I'll never stop saying it, if that's what it takes for you to believe how much we regret what happened."
"I believe you." Max has become closely acquainted with actions taken in anger and regretted later. He believes that your mother would have eventually broken the magic binding if she had lived. "Dolly and I talked about reaching out, but for a long time, I was so hurt, I wouldn't have come to you for anything." He sighs softly. "My wife doesn't have much family left. Her parents are gone, and I know she wants as much love for our son as possible. It doesn't surprise me that she contacted you."
"She said she lost her parents, and that you shouldn't have to lose yours as well." It's sweet, Jeff thinks, that his son already refers to his soulmate as his wife on the morning of their wedding day, but he doesn't say anything. It seems like your lives are complicated and he doesn't want to judge. On that, he has learned his lesson. "Max, you should...you should know..." He clears his throat again and casts an eye around the room. "I never actually changed my will. By the time I came out of the fog enough to even talk to our lawyer, I realized the mistake I had made. But it was already too late to find you."
Max frowns slightly, wondering why that would matter to him. Why he would be concerned with his father's will, but then it clicks. His father wants to talk to him about some kind of inheritance. He tilts his head curiously. "I see...."
"Obviously you don't...you don't need my help." The house his son lives in now is a literal mansion. It's far bigger and better than anything that he and Maria were able to give Max growing up. But there is a matter of principle and pride in making sure that they leave what they can to their son when they leave this world. "I had a cousin. A distant cousin, I mean. Who died two years ago. And the guy left behind a big plot of land as well as some assets. Combined with what your mother and I had planned to leave you...it's pretty substantial." He shrugs his shoulders a little, hands in his pockets in a posture that mirrors his son's. "Do whatever you like with it. It's yours. Or maybe your boy's, who knows?"
"Dad...I appreciate that." He promises, meaning it. He had long written off the idea of anything from his parents. "More than you know."
"Maye we can all take a trip together sometime?" He's lost so much time with Max that even being called Dad again has him close to tears, but he shakes it off for now. The day is already emotional. "I guess my mother's side of the family had some money, so it's a nice piece of land in upstate New York. Tuxedo Park. 'Pullman House', I think it's called. Can you imagine having enough money that your house has a name?" He chuckles at the idea, not realizing that his son’s current home most definitely has a name, and shaking his head.
Max freezes for a moment, his eyes widening slightly and he has to take a moment. "Pullman House?" He asks, remembering visiting the house, the last time being a very somber affair. "I— are you serious?"
"Yeah." Jeff nods, taking out his phone to pull up the pictures of the house and grounds that the estate lawyer had sent over. "Have you heard of it?"
"I— I didn't know we were related to the Pullman's." He admits, never looking into his family tree when he was back in time with you. He hadn't wanted to. "How?"
"My grandmother was a Pullman." He doesn't quite see why it matters, but Max seems to recognize the family name so he hands over his phone with photographs of the sprawling mansion. "They made train cars, I think? Back after the Civil War. Must have made quite a bit of money at it, to have a house like that, but it's not in the best shape now. We, uh...your mother and I thought, we could invest a little in it now to fix it up and rent the house out while we're alive. And once we're gone it's yours to do whatever you want with."
"I've been there before." Max tells him with a nod, "I mean, in the area. Tuxedo Park. It's gorgeous from what I remember." He lifts a brow and decides that maybe he should put forth an idea of his own. "It could be something we do together?" He offers. "Dolly and I love historical architecture. Obviously." He chuckles as he glances around the room. "We can start the restoration and see what happens?"
Jeff obviously hadn’t expected that kind of enthusiasm, and when he nods he put his hand out to his son to shake. “I’d like the chance to get to know the man my son has become,” he agrees, on the verge of being choked up again. “And I’ll never say no to getting to see my grandson. It sounds pretty perfect.”
Max looks at the offered hand and reaches out to shake it firmly. "That sounds good." He tells him. "But first, I need to make sure that my soulmate officially carries the Phillips last name." He jokes.
“Why don’t we catch up with our soulmates before they start making plans of their own?” His father suggests with a chuckle, knowing that Maria’s sweet disposition means it could very well happen.
"I'm glad you came." Max admits softly, frowning slightly even though he's completely happy. He's frowning so he doesn't cry, but there's a certain mistiness to his eyes.
“I’m glad, too.” On instinct, Jeff tugs gently on Max’s hand and gratefully holds onto his son once more in a strong hug. They’re both emotional, but if there was ever a time for it in their lives — this seems as appropriate a time as any to shed a few tears in each other’s presence. “I love you, Max. I’m sorry it’s not something you heard often when you were growing up.”
"Always thought I had done something wrong." Max confesses. "If I made the team, you'd love me. If I graduated with honors, you'd love me." He flashes an amused, self-deprecating grin. "If I was a ladies’ man, you'd – at least be proud of me." He snorts. "Always wondered why it was never quite enough. If I was just that much of a disappointment. So instead of talking about it, I decided being a cocky shit and show that I didn't really care what people thought of me."
“I pushed you hard because I knew you were going to do something incredible one day.” They’re both teary, standing together in that room, but it’s okay. It’s always been okay to show his son what he feels, he just didn’t know that. “Your Mom, um…she’s had me doing work on myself. I mean, we’ve been doing it together, but it’s mostly for…” He huffs, rolling his eyes at himself. “She comes to therapy with me a lot. Got plenty of shit to work out and I don’t want it to affect you anymore. And I really don’t want it to affect my grandson. So I’m…I’m working on me. I just really hope it helps. Because you were always enough, Bud. And I always loved you. I just didn’t know how to tell you that.”
"I understand." Max nods. "I've done my own bit of therapy." He doesn't mention it was back before therapy was a thing and it had been with his sire. "Dolly has insisted on it, because of her own issues and it's a good thing. To be the best version of ourselves for each other and our son."
“Do you have any names yet?” Motioning to the door, Jeff means to walk and talk if they can, trying to make the most of every second he has with Max. Of course there’s probably things to finalize before the wedding starts, but they at least have time to catch up to their soulmates.
"We were thinking Johnathan, for Dolly's grandfather and my sire." He smiles slightly. "Johnathan Jeffery Phillips." He watches his father, wondering how he would react to the middle name.
It’s instant, the way Jeff tears up all over again, and this time two thick tears escape his eyes before he can stop them. “Really?” He has to ask, wondering if his son had forgiven him long enough ago to have considered naming his son after the father who had made such an enormous mistake.
"We had long talks about it." Many hours spent talking while you laid in his arms and later when he was stroking the rounded stomach that houses his child even now. "If my son couldn't have his grandfather in his life, at least he would carry a piece of him with him." It was how you had phrased it and Max had nearly cried then too.
“Well goddamn.” Gobsmacked, Jeff wipes his hands down his face and then claps Max on the back with a sigh. “I don’t even know what to say. Except thank you.”
There's nothing else to say at the moment, so Max just nods as you and his mother come into view. "There they are." He hums, smiling at the sight of you absently stroking your stomach as you chat with Maria.
“Hey, my love.” In your wedding dress, all ready for the day, you have been telling your mother-in-law a little about the history of the house and showing her some of the older books in the library. Seeing Max’s softened expression though, you reach out to him immediately. “Everything alright?”
“It’s fine.” He loves that you worry about him, it makes him feel loved. “I was telling my dad about the name we’ve picked out for the baby.”
“Ah,” you hum, leaning over the bump between you to kiss him softly. “Hence the tears?”
“A little emotional.” Max admits shamelessly, enjoying the bump of his heart as he presses his lips to yours.
“That’s good.” You tilt your head to kiss his nose as well and wink. “It’s our wedding day after all.”
"You are amazing, you know that?" He asks softly, kissing you again. "I can't believe you did this. Thank you, my love."
“You deserve to be happy.” The gentle reminder comes with a smile, and you squeeze his hand. “And I know you missed them.”
"You know me too well." He smirks. "Almost like you've lived with me forever."
“Hmm.” Humming a little, you end up giggling instead. “Almost like.”
There’s an inside joke there somewhere, making Jeff and Maria smile awkwardly as the two of you share a moment. “Did you tell Mom?” He asks you, wanting to make sure everyone was aware of the name.
“Not yet.” You look back at his parents but shake your head. “I thought you would want to tell them.”
He flashes you a grin, knowing you are aware that he still has a love of attention, but this is truly special. “Our son is going to be named Johnathan Jeffery Phillips.” He tells Maria, rubbing your belly gently.
“Sweetheart.” His mother is nearly in tears all over again, reaching for Max with overwhelming affection just as earnestly as her other hand goes to her husband. “Is it…” her hands are occupied, but her eyes move to you. “Was Johnathan your father’s name?” She asks as gently as she can.
“It’s my grandfather’s,” you tell her, touched that she would think to ask. “We think we’ll call him JJ for short, but we wanted him to have family names.” JJ is also a sort of family name; in a way you can’t really explain. Lina’s youngest son — little JJ Astor — was sort of your spiritual godson after he wanted to start learning his magic as a young man. You mourned him as dearly as the rest of his family did after the Titanic went down, even though you knew it was coming. That didn’t stop you from missing him.
“I— it’s a beautiful name.” Maria assures you. “JJ is a proper little boy’s name and then he can decide if he wants to keep it or go by Johnathan.” She is so touched that Max would include them in the naming of his child, despite the troubles from before. It will be one of the greatest regrets of her life.
“No matter what, he’ll always be loved.” Your hand smooths the underside of your belly as JJ himself makes an appearance in the conversation, kicking happily to show his approval — or at least his enthusiasm.
Max chuckles proudly. “He’s always so active. Giving mom his opinions on everything. He seems to like his name.” He tells his parents.
“I hate to interrupt, sir. Madam.” The petite figure of your housekeeper appears in the open library doorway. Mrs. Moreau has been with you since the house was finished in 1888, a determined and intelligent middle-aged woman-turned-vampire from Louisiana that prided herself on her skills as a caretaker. “But the other guests have begun to arrive. Mr. And Mrs. Perez are asking for you.”
“Of course.” Max nods and looks towards his parents. “I would like you to stay.” He tells them. “Please? We can talk and if you haven’t booked a hotel, you are welcomed to stay here.” He glances at you for confirmation, but he’s well aware that you’ve probably already planned for such an event.
“I already asked Mrs. Moreau to make up a guest room.” Obviously you had been hopeful that this reunion would go well, but you had really asked your housekeeper to make sure a few guest rooms were ready just in case anyone over indulged at the wedding. Safety first.
“Oh, well – are you sure?” The last thing they want to do is intrude on their son on his wedding night, but they also aren’t ready to let him out of their sight for too long as well. They hadn’t booked a hotel in case he refused to see them; the heartbreak would have been too much.
“We insist.” This is the outcome you were hoping for, after all, and you’re glad to see that Max and his parents are going to be able to patch things up. However slowly it happens, the work has begun. And that’s what matters most. “We aren’t leaving for our honeymoon for another week. And we’d like very much if you stayed.” The little train ride down to Washington DC will be welcome, and you had planned to take in museums and eat good food for a week or two before coming home again and making sure you have everything you need for the baby.
Maria bites her lip and looks at Jeff, wanting this more than anything. She’s missed her son, her only baby and now she’s being given another chance. “We accept.” She tells you with a happy grin. “As long as we can help in some small way. However we can.”
“I’m sure we’ll think of something.” You assure her, but for now you link your fingers through Max’s and smile. “We’re going to go finish getting ready. Please have a drink if you’d like and enjoy looking around a little before you take your seats in the garden. Mrs. Moreau will help you get settled.” There’s something to be said for having come into your own as a woman and a hostess in the Gilded Age, and with the help of women like your grandmother, Mrs. Astor, and Mrs. Vanderbilt. It has made you gracious and thoughtful, and very well prepared.
“Thank you again.” Jeff nods, looking at both of you as he compares the boy he had last known and the man and father-to-be that stands in front of him. “We will speak later.”
“We shouldn’t keep Eddie and Allison waiting.” A squeeze of his hand reminds Max to walk with you, and you hurry upstairs quickly to avoid being spotted by your newly arriving guests.
“Any other surprises that I need to be aware of?” Max asks with a smirk as he keeps his hand on your back, just in case.
“I talked my grandfather into cutting his toast in half.” The grin on your face is unrepentant. At the first of your weddings, Yayo’s reception toast was early forty minutes long. “Surprise.”
Laughing, Max shakes his head. “Yeah but now, we might have to have a speech from my father.”
“I’m rather looking forward to it.” At the top of the stairs, you can hear your brother and sister-in-law in your bedroom, humming over flowers and such. “I love you, Max. Forever. And I take that promise very literally.”
“I love you too.” Max stops you and cups your cheek. “You continue to surprise me, and I will never take you for granted one day during our existence.”
******
There are things about returning to Tuxedo Park that make you very nostalgic in a way that you cannot express to anyone besides Max. You came here together for Emmanuel’s funeral, supporting your grieving mother as her friends. It had been his parents’ wish to bury him here on the property, and now a large weeping beech tree oversees a small family plot on one end of the acreage. The distant cousin Max hadn’t known was buried here also, and had stored generations of family heirlooms inside the many rooms of Pullman House.
Going through these rooms is a lot of organizational work, but thankfully you can do quite a bit of it sitting at the dining room table with JJ in his Grow-With-Me chair beside you, kicking at musical keys and playing with the knobs, soft toys, and multicolored rings that the stationary play station has for his little mind to engage with. He seems to like the house well enough – although he did not like the drive here – and is currently staring and babbling happily at the far corner of the room while you look through old staff records and maintenance books kept by the superintendent.
“Hey love.” Max breezes into the room, taking on the role of handyman seriously, complete with walking about the house in flannel shirts with the sleeves rolled up and a tool belt around his hips. Not that he was really using it right now, but you seem to enjoy the view.
“Hey Daddy.” You stretch your neck to invite a kiss and he leans over obligingly as your six-month-old gurgles happily a foot away. “Are your parents back from town yet?”
“Just pulled in.” He grins and presses his lips to yours several times. “How’s my favorite girl. And my little biter?”
“He’s got a favorite spot on the wall to babble at and I’m reading through staffing records. Apparently the house got hit hard by Spanish flu and lost a few people.” You bite your lip, almost hating to say his name, but you have to. “Emmanuel’s nieces both died, and a few members of staff.”
Max sighs softly. “It feels like he should walk through the door.” He admits quietly. “Asking if we have time to check a design he had built and give our opinions.”
“Is it weird that I’ve always wished I could introduce him to my father?” The two men your mother had loved definitely had had more in common than not. Which makes sense, of course, in that your mother had a type. “I just know they would have been friends.”
“It’s not strange.” Max shakes his head. “Just like you shouldn’t feel bad for loving Emmanuel like we did. I think they would have loved each other.”
“I don’t feel bad. I mean it took some adjusting to…to realize that I miss him as my friend and he very well could have been my father.” You shrug slightly, reaching out your fingers to adjust one of JJ’s toys in his chair. “Being here just brings it all back. I’m sure if we were in the house I grew up in, I’d be thinking about my Dad instead.”
“Of course you would.” Max nods seriously. “Have you thought about my offer?” He asks softly.
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, actually.” Ever since reuniting with his parents and the birth of his son, Max has been fully family oriented. He’s been endlessly helpful in every aspect of adjusting the way you live to make way for more family, and that included a very generous suggestion a week ago. “I think I’d like it very much, honestly. Bringing Mom and Dad back to Newport seems…it seems right. The family plot at Island Cemetery has plenty of room and it would be nice to not feel so disconnected from them.”
“You would be able to visit her whenever you want.” Max agrees. You’ve visited your parents’ graves a few times, but it’s too far to travel now that JJ is here. “I will have all the arrangements made.”
“Thank you, love.” A half-smile graces your lips, which grows when JJ babbles at the corner again happily. “And when we’re here, we can visit Emmanuel.”
“What is he babbling at?” Max wonders, looking over at his son with a curious pride. “It’s like he’s talking to someone.”
“I don’t know, he’s been at it the whole time I’ve—” But turning your head to actually look at the area where your son is focused makes you almost swallow your tongue. “Oh gods…”
“What?” Max’s fangs descend in a flash and he’s speeding over to JJ to whisk him into his arms. He might be a little overprotective, but this is his son.
"Emmanuel?" The ghostly figure in the corner is unmistakable, his tousled hair and immaculate clothing exactly the way he looked in life, if significantly more transparent and...somewhat more sad.
“What?” This time Max’s eyes are wide, not fearful or protective, but confused. “What do you see?” He demands again, staring at the spot where JJ has been babbling.
"I see Emmanuel," you repeat again, more carefully, seeing the figure of your old friend looking back at you. "That...that is you, isn't it?" The fact that Max can't see him makes you think it must be your and JJ's witch's blood at work, and you stand up from your chair carefully. "Can you see me, too?"
"Oh..." The shadowy memory of Emmanuel sighs quietly. "I can see you. And hear you. It's...I didn't know you could see me," he admits.
“What’s he saying? Is he talking back?” Max asks, looking back and forth between the corner and you.
"He didn't know that we could see him," you explain to Max, tears brimming in your eyes to see your old friend again. "But I—I don't understand." When you look back to the corner, Emmanuel has taken a step forward. "How long have you been here? I had no idea someone who had been a vampire could become a ghost."
Max tilts his head as you seemingly talk to thin air, but Emmanuel has to be there if you say he is. “Since I was destroyed.” He admits quietly, eyes darting back and forth between you and Max. “But you are here and— Annie? She’s your mother?”
“I suppose there’s…a bit to explain.” You glance back at Max where he is holding JJ close to his chest and bouncing your son gently in his arms. “This is when we are originally from. One of my powers is the ability to time travel, and I brought us back to your time by accident. But…yes. Annie was my mother. And the Browns were actually my grandparents.” You smile softly, almost laughing in disbelief. “And this is our son, JJ. Who apparently could see you all day today and simply couldn’t tell me.”
Emmanuel bites his lip as he stares at you. “I— I thought I was doing the right thing.” He tells you, having had decades to reflect on his mistakes.
“So did my grandfather.” Although you nod, regret sticks in your throat as though you were somehow complicit in the decision to sire your mother’s soulmate purely because you didn’t stop it. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“Is that what happened?” Emmanuel asks softly, frowning fiercely as he tries to remember those last moments. There was just a fog, a hunger he had never felt before and then seeing Annie’s eyes filled with regret and pain. Realizing she had staked him. “I— I could never hurt her. She is my world.”
“I know.” Magic isn’t merciful enough to let you touch him — hug him — to offer him comfort, but at least you can give your friend some kind of reassurance. “And Mom knew that, too. That it wasn’t you, when it happened.” Maybe that’s how he ended up a ghost, instead of moving on? You can’t be sure. “No one who ever saw you together could ever doubt how much you loved each other.”
“I— oh god.” He closes his eyes, pain etched across his face. “I hurt her. I— I just wanted to live through eternity with her. To give her the world. I would have never…” Regret laces his words, fills his tone and he wishes once again, that he had never changed.
“Emmanuel…” Cutting him off softly, you find yourself reaching out a hand to him even though you know you can’t touch him. It’s just instinct. “It’s—it’s done with. And…even if you had lived on? It’s…Annie died in a car accident when I was eighteen. She was still mortal, Emmanuel. Despite having such a long life. There’s just… there’s nothing that any of us can do sometimes to prevent tragedy. I know that might not be the most comforting thing in the world, but please don’t torture yourself thinking that she’s still walking the earth in pain.”
“She’s— Annie is gone?” He chokes out, the pain of knowing his soulmate no longer exists, blooming. He had thought he couldn’t feel the crushing pain of loss as a ghost after so many years of haunting Pullman House, but apparently he could. “Dolly— I— she’s gone?”
“I’m sorry.” Maybe you should have eased into the news a little, but you had honestly thought it would be comforting to know she wasn’t in pain anymore. “It’s been almost fifteen years now.”
“Why am I still here?” Emmanuel asks, unable to ask the question to anyone else since he has shown up here to haunt the halls.
“I don’t know.” You tell him honestly. “I’ve…you’re the first ghost I’ve ever met.”
He nods and his eyes slide over to Max and JJ. “Is he—?” He asks, eyes longing as they look at the child. The child that in his mind, should be his grandchild. “Are you happy?”
It almost feels rude to tell him just how happy you really are, but there is such a small chance that knowing your family is happy and healthy might actually help him somehow — and you cannot lie to your friend. Not anymore. You’ve already kept so much from him. “Yes,” you nod, knowing that Max is right behind you with JJ in his arms and that every moment your family has together is not to be taken for granted. “We’re still very happy.”
“Good.” Emmanuel smiles and looks back at the baby again. “Your son?” He asks. “He’s bright. He saw me right away.”
“He’s six months old today.” You can’t help the immensely proud way you beam when talking about your son. JJ is your pride and joy and you absolutely will talk about him from dawn until dusk. “Seeing you is…it’s the first sign of magic he’s shown. And I’m so very glad.”
“Does he...need blood?” He asks curiously.
“Some.” And you’re grateful you had been prepared for that, otherwise it would have been a very rude awakening. “But according to Cookie, Annie stopped needing blood after she stopped growing.”
“And you?” He asks, curious as to what you experienced as a child. “Did you need blood?”
“Not that I remember.” It isn’t impossible that you were given it as a baby and simply don’t remember, but even with your memory as clear as it is you don’t recall any sippy cups of blood in your childhood. “But I do take some of Max’s now. To prolong my life.”
“That is good.” Emmanuel nods. “You deserve a long life. You were always so kind to me. Even if you obviously knew what my fate was.”
“You loved my mother.” It’s as simple as that, to you at least, and again you just desperately wish you could hug him. “And you were a wonderful friend to Max and to me. You deserve as much kindness as every other good person in the world. I’m just…I’m very glad that I could be one of the people you find it in.”
“I am sorry.” Emmanuel murmurs softly. “For all the pain I cause your mother.” He’s had plenty of time to regret his change and now that he knows that he had hurt her, he is even more so.
“I wish it didn’t torture you the way it does.” It’s a sort of vain hope…or least a far-fetched one, but it is honest. “We are all of us only human, after all. Even witches and even vampires. We still make all the same mistakes and have all the same feelings.”
“I just hope that she was happy.” Emmanuel confesses. “After my time with her had ended.”
“In my memories of her, she was very happy.” It would be cruel to harp on the fact that your father was a good man and a good partner for her, and you won’t mention him at all, but you do smile reflexively. “Life when I was growing up was simple, and quiet, and happy. I can promise you that.”
“Good.” He smiles, nodding at the imagery you are producing. “That is all I can ask for.”
“You should know.” Stepping away from the topic of your mother or his regret for a moment is the gentlest thing you can think of in this moment. “Max and I…we’re helping his parents restore this house. They own it now. So we’ll be here, in and out, from now on.”
“Truly?” His eyes light up, delighted to maybe have company at some points during his existence as a ghost. “Would you— perhaps we could talk more? Not always, but some moments when you have time?”
“Of course we can talk more. And as JJ gets older, he’ll be able to talk to you, too.” His joy makes your heart ache, just like the very idea that you might not want to talk to him is absurd. “We’ve missed you, Emmanuel. Very much.”
“I’ve missed you too.” He promises with a small, sardonic smirk. “Although it’s amusing that Max cannot see me.”
“We’ll have to talk about him while he’s in the room,” you tease, throwing a grin back at your soulmate. “It will drive him crazy.”
“Don’t you dare talk about me.” Max huffs, frowning fiercely at the idea.
"Love you, babe." A grin over your shoulder tells him you're only teasing.
Max huffs and rolls his eyes. “Keep it up and I’ll start calling you ‘Manny’.” He threatens his old friend, not meaning a word of it.
“You’ll do that anyway,” Emmanuel replies, knowing his friend can’t hear him but enjoying the comfort that you can. You’re the first person to ever see him and actually hear what he says and it’s more comforting than he can possibly say.
“He says you’ll do that anyway,” you pass the message along with a grin.
Max tries to look innocent but fails miserably when he grins. “True.” He snorts and steps closer to the corner with the baby in his arms. “I can’t see you, but I’m glad that you’re— not gone.” He settles for that and shrugs. “I don’t know what to call it, but I’ve missed our billiards games.”
“It’s hard to play billiards without a body,” Emmanuel chuckles. “But maybe your wife will be kind enough to help us play chess.”
“He says I should help you play chess.” Translating between them makes you smile. Something you never expected but it warms your heart. “And I happily agree.”
“We will have to do it.” Max nods and gives a small chuckle. “No cheating though. I know you.”
That makes you snicker, but you hold up both hands in innocence. “I promise I won’t help him cheat,” you vow, wiggling your fingers in his direction. “Now, can I hold our son, please?”
“Sure.” Now that there’s no danger, Max has no problem handing over JJ to you. The boy goes easily, babbling happily and pointing at the corner.
"Sweetheart, I want you to meet somebody." Cooing to your son, you press a kiss to JJ's forehead and carry him a little closer to where Emmanuel is standing, past the table and past the chairs you had been sitting on all day. "This is Uncle Emmanuel." How much of what you're telling him is actually sinking into his curious little mind, you can't be sure. At six months old, he's definitely not piecing together a family tree in his mind. "He lives here, so we're going to be very nice to his house, okay Bud?" Picking up his little hand in yours, you grin when your son giggles approvingly. "Wave hi, Bud! Hi Uncle Emmanuel!"
JJ has learned to wave and he throws his entire body into it. Babbling and gurgling with a giant grin on his face as he damn near wiggles out of your arms.
If Emmanuel could still cry, he would have tears in his eyes. But as it is, the emotion sticking in his throat gives him away. “He is a blessing.” He manages to say, regarding the little boy in your arms.
“Yes.” You will agree to that every time, and never contest it for even a moment. “He absolutely is.”
******
Despite it being over 100 years of you sleeping beside him while he stays awake, Max doesn’t leave the bed. Too content to hold you as your breathing is nice and slow. Unless JJ is fussy and then he leaves you sleeping to handle the baby. He slips out of the bed as you groan and turn over to hug his pillow.
Your dreams have gotten slightly stranger since starting to take Max’s blood — the strangest were during pregnancy, but thank the gods that’s over — but it wouldn’t be uncommon to dream of magic or anthropomorphic anything or even create entire other universes in your mind. That makes this dream, as Max slips out of bed to rock your fussy son in his arms, all the more remarkable for being normal. Just a dream of your grandparents and parents sitting around a table playing cards like nothing had ever happened between them.
Your grandfather is the first to notice you, turning and smiling at you, just like he had your entire childhood when he visited you in your dreams. “Muñeca, you have come.” He stands and waves you over to the group.
“Yayo?” It isn’t the first time you’ve dreamt of your grandfather since he left this life, but it feels so much more real. “Am I late?”
He shakes his head and moves to gather you into a hug. “You are just on time. Come. There are others who have waited so long to see you again.”
You can see your family in the room, but at your grandfather’s bidding it’s like a veil lifts and you step further into the dining room at Chateau-sur-Mer to see your parents beaming at you as your abuela starts to deal you into their card game.
“Come sit with us.” Cookie hums in delight. “It has been so long since I have talked to you, my darling.”
“Are you…” Aware of your grandfather’s power, you don’t hesitate to go to the table, but you do look back at him before reaching out to hug your grandmother. “Are you all really here?” You ask, already choked up at the idea of it.
“After death, hard feelings are not nearly as important as family.” Annie admits, reaching out and taking your hand when you sit down. “I have so much to apologize for, sweetheart. So much.”
“You did what you thought was right, Mom.” Being able to see her again — touch her — call her Mom instead of Annie? It’s such a gift. It’s more than you ever dared to ask for, even knowing what is possible in the world. On her other side, though, you fly out of your chair to go to your father. It’s been the longest since you saw him, let alone spoke to him, because talking to the photos on your vanity at home don’t count as much.
“Hey pumpkin.” The fact that you are grown makes no difference as your father folds you into his arms and pulls you onto his lap for a hug like you are still six years old. “I have missed you so much. Been watching over you.”
“I miss you, Dad.” Such easy words to say, even as they shake through you, and you cling to him for a hug. “I miss all of you, but…gods I’m so sorry I didn’t come to see you when I was in the past. I was terrified of changing the timeline.”
“Honey, we understand.” Your father reassures you, kissing your forehead like he would have when comforting you from a bad dream. “I am just glad you got to see your mother. Your grandparents.” He pulls back and smiles at you. “Now you get to see me.”
“I wish you could’ve met Max.” Looking up and casting your eyes around the table, you soften again. “And JJ. Yayo is the only one who got to meet JJ, and you would all love him so much.”
“We’ve met JJ.” Your father admits with a smile. “Dreams, just like now, with you.”
“You can…with JJ?” It shouldn’t surprise you, not after last week’s revelation that your six-month-old can already see ghosts, but you smile in relief. “Good. I’m glad he’ll get to dream of his family.”
“We won’t monopolize his dreams.” Cookie promises. “Just drop in from time to time.”
“How are you still able to visit us?” This question is for Yayo, who is quietly looking through his hand off cards with a small smile. “If you…passed on? How do you still have your powers?”
“We are waiting.” Yayo tells you simply. “For Emmanuel.”
“Then I think you might be waiting for a while,” you tell him, guilt creeping into your voice as you look around the table. “He’s…he didn’t cross over. We’re at Pullman House right now. And he’s still here.”
“He has to forgive himself first.” Annie murmurs, looking sadly over at your father and then at you. “But he will. And then we will all be together.”
"He's heartbroken that he hurt you." It's so important for your mother to know this. To completely wrap her head around it, even if you understand that she probably forgave him long ago. "He barely even remembers when it happened. We've...talked through it. Extensively." Call it Ghost Therapy, but you had been hoping that trying to remember might somehow help him move on.
“Tell him that I— we— are waiting for him.” Annie requests, looking over at her husband, your father, and smiling. “Your father is looking forward to knowing the man that I loved before him. That I still love.”
“I…always thought you would be such good friends if you could meet.” It feels odd to admit it to your father, but it’s honest. It’s how you’ve felt since very early on after meeting Emmanuel.
“I know we would be.” Your father chuckles and looks at Annie lovingly. “She has told me about her soulmate.”
“Did they…tell you about Max, too?” It might be selfish, to wonder if they’ve talked about you and your happiness — but this is your family. Your parents and grandparents. In your heart your hope they’re at least happy for you.
“Absolutely.” He assures you with a proud smile. “I’ve watched how he cares for you, loves you.” He bites his lip. “He’s the kind of man I always hoped you would be with.”
“I wish you could visit him, too.” You admit, smiling softly. “But he doesn’t dream. Or sleep, really.”
“Yes, he’s too busy watching over his family.” Your grandmother hums in approval.
“You made a good choice, Yayo.” Of that, you can assure him. “Eddie and Allison are doing so well.”
“They are, aren’t they?” He smiles the satisfied little smirk of contentment before he picks up Cookie’s hand and kisses the back of it. “They are made for it, so I have cashed in one last favor from the devil.”
“Oh?” To hear that he had any left at all is a surprise, and you sit up at the table.
“Yes.” He hums, arching his brow and letting the moment sit just a touch longer for the dramatic effect. “They will walk the earth for eternity as soulmates.”
“Yayo.” The well of tears behind your eyes is instant, tears spilling over onto your cheeks as you think of how much that will mean to them. “You—they’ll be ecstatic,” you sniffle, wiping away the dripping tears.
“I thought they would like my last gift to them.” He nods, and holds up a finger. “But tell them that they should still treat every day as if they have just discovered each other.”
“I promise I’ll tell them.” Is it possible they don’t know yet? That it hasn’t happened? You’re certain that Allison would have called if she and Eddie had suddenly gained each other’s marks on any random afternoon. “And…” you look to your mother but have to wipe tears away all over again. “I’ll talk to Emmanuel. To tell him it’s time to finally forgive himself. Because you forgave him a long time ago.”
“I wish for him to enjoy this eternity with us.” Annie adds, nodding happily that you understand and there seems to be no hard feelings.
“I’ll tell him,” you promise again. For all the lifetimes that you knew your mother — whether she was your mother or your friend Annie — you have been able to love her through all of them. It’s oddly gratifying that you’ll be able to send her soulmate to her now. So that she can be loved all the more.
“Thank you, love.” Annie beams at you. “I am so grateful that you came back to visit during my youth. That I know you as the woman you are as well as my baby girl.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t tell you while we were there.” It would have been too much. Too complicated and too risky. But at least you had been able to know your mother for many more years.
“Oh sweetheart, I understand.” Your mother shakes her head and gives you a sad smile. “It would have changed things if I had known. And while I wish that I had not made mistakes, I did. I just hope you can forgive me for them.”
“I don’t think there’s a single person at this table who hasn’t tried a little too hard to protect the people they love.” Too much pressure, spellbinding, and accidental time travel all seem to be varying levels of the same misguided leaps into protection. It seems to be a family trait. “I understand why you did it. I’d do anything to protect JJ, too.”
“Just don’t repeat the mistakes we have made.” Yayo cautions you wisely. “Learn from our follies so you can make all new mistakes.”
You can’t help but laugh at that. The idea of all new mistakes being both daunting and very realistic. “I’m sure we will. That’s parenthood, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is.” All of the adults chuckle, well aware of their own parental mistakes and your father strokes your back gently. “You are a good mother. You will be for all the children to come.”
“I hope it will be several,” you admit with a grin. “I’m really enjoying motherhood.”
“It will be.” Yayo confirms with a knowing smirk. He has his ways of knowing that his family will be happy and healthy for generations to come.
******
The sun rises right into your bedroom window at Pullman House, bringing you out of your dream gently but without question. The baby monitor is gone from the nightstand on your side of the bed and your husband is nowhere in sight, so he must have gotten up with JJ in the night to make sure you could sleep. Sometimes he’s fussy for blood and sometimes for a bottle, but either way Max is able to take care of him.
They’re sitting together, father and son, at the table in the breakfast room when you come downstairs in your favourite old t-shirt and jeans after taking a steaming hot shower. Any chance to actually take a lengthy shower and feel human again is not something to be undervalued as a new mom, you have found.
JJ squeals happily at the sight of you and you sweep into the room to scoop him up out of his seat. “Hey Bud,” you croon, kissing his little forehead before leaning over to kiss Max as well. “Were you good for Daddy this morning?”
“Say ‘of course I was, Mommy’.” Max answers for him. “Nothing short of perfect, my son.” He winks at you playfully. “Takes after his father.”
“Mmhmm.” Even if you smirk skeptically, it’s full of nothing but love. “So that means he wanted blood last night, then?”
“So much that I’ve been thinking of creating a ‘Little Biters’ line of baby products.” He snorts jokingly. “The mascot of the line will be Cutie.”
“Mommy’s little menace,” you tease, placing another kiss on JJ’s head before moving around the kitchen to pour yourself a bowl of cereal. “I…had a dream last night.” Looking back over your shoulder, you shoot Max a meaningful look. “A family dream.”
“Really?” Max straightens up and his brow furrows slightly. He’s curious at the timing, especially since Emmanuel’s appearance. “What was it about?”
“Yayo had some messages to deliver.” Your grandfather’s mastery of the dramatic never ends. “I played cards with my grandparents and my parents and we talked.”
“Bridge?” Max asks, having spent many hours playing with your mother and grandmother back in the day.
“Of course.” The smirk on your face is because you got very good at the game over the decades. To the point where you were almost better than your abuela. “Dad and I switched out. Apparently he never quite mastered it the way you did.”
“Was this….a visit? Or a dream?” He asks seriously, knowing that stranger things are possible. He’s currently feeding one of them.
“It was a visit.” The distinct, you grant him, is important. “Apparently Yayo still has a little pull where it matters. Don’t I think this will be the last one.”
Max chuckles and shakes his head affectionately. “Of course the old bastard does.” He huffs.
“They told me they’re waiting.” The reality of it feels heavy, weighing on your shoulders like Atlas balancing the world. “They haven’t crossed over yet because they don’t want to leave Emmanuel behind.”
“That’s…sweet.” Max admits, his expression soft and yearning. He has been a little put out that he can’t see his old friend, but you have been enjoying talking to him. “Very sweet.”
"You know the old chestnut about ghosts having unfinished business?" With a bowl of cereal now in hand and enough milk to satisfy you, you sit down at the table with Max and set JJ back down in his own seat. "Mom says Emmanuel has to forgive himself so he can move on."
“Yeah?” Max shakes his head. “How are you going to convince him to do that?” He asks. “Although, telling him that Annie is waiting for him is a good start.”
"Hopefully being able to tell him directly from Mom that she has already forgiven him will give him the permission he feels like he needs to forgive himself." It's your best theory, anyway, and the fact that your friend has been so tortured over what happened for more than a century grieves you in a way you didn't know what possible. "Dad wants to meet him. Wants to wait for him, too. It’s...actually incredibly sweet."
“I told you it was.” He huffs at you playfully, reaching out and taking your hand. “Were you happy to see all of them together? Especially your dad? Since you didn’t get more time with him?”
"It was really nice to see Dad." To see him, to hug him, even if it was only in your dream. Dreams in your family have always been a little more intense anyway – but visitations are step above and beyond. "I think..." You glance up at your soulmate with a little grin. "Maybe we name the next little boy after him?"
“Next little boy?” Max perks up, considering you haven’t really talked about having more kids, and you had cursed him blue while in labor with JJ.
"I'm not saying giving birth was my favorite leisure day or anything." You snort at the idea, letting yourself enjoy a bite of your breakfast while you chuckle silently over the very idea. "But Yayo heavily implied a little insight into the timeline, and the fact that JJ will have at least a couple of siblings at some point."
“Can we start making them now?” Max asks, waggling his brows at you suggestively.
Shoving Max's arm playfully at the table, you make a soft if slightly non-committal noise at him and have another bite of your breakfast. You haven't been intimate since JJ was born and that's the longest you've gone in your entire relationship, but the doctor had been adamant that you needed time to heal and Max had agreed to follow medical advice without hesitation. "Let's see what the doc says when we get back to Newport," you tell him, that beaming grin overtaking your face again. "It took a hundred years to get JJ. Who knows how long we'll have to wait for the next?"
“That’s a hell of an age gap.” Max snorts, imagining JJ as a grandfather and becoming a big brother at the same time.
"It would be," you agree, laughing almost to yourself in silent little huffs. "Hopefully it won't take as long next time."
“Whenever you’re ready.” Max insists. He had even suggested wearing condoms when you were ready to have sex again.
"I love you." As many children as you many or may not have, as many different houses as you may live in, and as many decades or centuries as will ever pass between you -- this is the thing that holds it all together. The fuel that keeps your life going is right here at this table. And you can't help but be caught up in it a little when he slides his hand into yours and smiles. "Come on," you urge, pushing your cereal bowl away and nodding toward the belly of the house. "Come dance with me." It wouldn't be the first time he's twirled you around the dance floor at eight in the morning and you're sure it won't be the last, because the two of you never seem to tire of the waltz.
______
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My Masterlist!
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal fanfic#max phillips#max phillips x you#max phillips x reader#max phillips x female reader#max phillips x f!reader#bloodsucking bastards#soulmate au
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EDIT: ITS BACK UP GUYS!!
AHH AO3 IS DOWNNN AND I WAS LITERALLY KNEES DEEP IN A REALLY GOOD FIC😭😭😭
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Hey guys so i struggle a little with consistent upload schedules but now that i have more time to write i was wondering how often i should be uploading parts of my story??? Once a week??? Twice a week?? Whenever the next part is ready??? Let me know!!
-Em out✌🏽🫰🏽🫰🏽
#x reader#fanfic opinions#fanfiction writing#fanfic writing#fanfic issues#fanfiction#AMAMOA#pedro pascal x reader
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(AMAMOA) Chapter 2: People Are People
Professor!Pedro Pascal x Teaching Assistant!Reader
Words: 1073
Masterlist
*All Pictures used (unless stated otherwise) will be found on my pinterest linked in the masterlist*
Story Warnings: MDNI 18+ (mostly in the off chance that I choose to explore heavy themes later on. This will obviously be updated at a later time) Crocs(yes that has a warning, i’m kind of obsessed with wearing crocs and currently own 2 pairs hopefully more in the future)
Story Content Tags (most of this is mentioned in later chapters.): Meet-Cute, First person perspective, Age-gap(F28/late 20s/early 30s x M40/late 30s/early 40s), Art references, new york nonsense written by a non-new yorker, spanish/spanglish, Lots of college technical talk, this was kinda based off a dream, crocs, College AU, AU where pedro isn't an actor/famous, slightly proofread… sorry for typos i'm trying guys😭😭😭
Chapter Summary: Reader comes to a possibly devastating realization on the way to the gallery, however Pedro remains his goofy-golden retriever self. Also Sarah Paulson is there, she’s a fellow professor at NYU and seems to be friends with Pedro… maybe more?
LATE JUNE(PICKING UP AFTER CHAPTER 1):
With my outfit layed out, I slept like a baby with dreams of that sharp nose and bronze skin. The soft caress of his fingers against mine, those gentle puppy dog eyes like pools of warm cocoa. Pedro was in my dreams that night and the anticipation to see him again was almost palpable. I woke up that morning almost with a start, a jolt to rise from the sweetest slumber I had ever had. I got dressed and went about my day completing some lighter chores that I had left till the last minute. With a belly full of breakfast and a latte in hand, I slipped on some shoes at the door and went on my journey to see the man that’s invaded my dreams. On the way to the gallery I had a lot to think about, mostly the fact that when I looked at the fliers, both for the TA/Professor gallery and Pedro's…it was the same flier… I knew I had seen the flier before but I didn’t think it was the same flier I had seen earlier that day. In the back of my mind, despite having only thought about Pedro the whole morning, there was still a creeping feeling that the goofy loveable handsome Pedro I met yesterday…. Is my boss… or pseudo boss?? Or whatever, is the same Pedro that emailed me… the painting professor. It’s not exactly wrong if, per say in future, we were to pursue a relationship… IF that ever happened, not saying it would, but it wouldn't be bad if it did. He’s not my teacher… he’s a coworker… that’s higher up than me but he’s not the one ‘signing my checks’, sort-of-speak. The whole situation is conflicting, I mean there’s no denying that Peter/Pedro from the cafe is Peter/Pedro from my emails, he said it himself, his job has to do with painting and it's the same flier. There’s no way that they’re not the same person… there’s no way that there’s 2 Pedro’s/Peter’s both doing a job having to do with painting, having an art gallery AT THE SAME TIME IN THE SAME PLACE WITH THE SAME FLIER AREN'T THE SAME GUY. I worried about these intricate details, wringing my hands anxiously before texting him to ask if he wanted a coffee on the way there; just another way to delay the inevitable. I arrived with my watered down latte and his 6 shots of espresso over ice, still can’t believe he drinks this. The place was lively, there was light music playing in this brownstone walk-up that sat between an apartment and a warehouse turned studio. It wasn't too far from where campus resides, we were about a 10 minute walk in the direction of greenwich. I sent him a text letting him know I arrived and that I’d wait outside for him with his coffee.
Out walked the man of the hour. He strutted out in a fuzzy cardigan, no shirt underneath, his messy mop of hair now a quaffed wave of tresses trickling down the back of his head like a soft waterfall. A gold chain adorned his neck surrounded by a light smattering of chest hair. His dress shoes clicked against the concrete as he lifted his sculpted arms, fingers decorated with rings, to pull me into a warm hug. “Oh my god! I’m so glad you could make it! AND you brought me coffee!?” He exclaimed holding me out at arms length, inspecting my outfit and face almost like he’s committing my look to memory. “I mean it was on the way and I wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity to celebrate my new friend!” my worries were still in the back of my mind, but on the forefront was how good he looked and how I should be enjoying myself. “By the way I hope you don’t mind, but most of the people here are colleagues from work plus some grad students that’ll be working alongside us for the semester. I mentioned I’m a professor right?” He gestures to the people inside and then looks around as he speaks, ultimately stopping to stare at me as he says the words that I dreaded the most. “Um no, you didn’t! But… there’s actually something I wanted to-” As I get to the topic that’s been flooding my mind, we get interrupted. “Hey! Sorry to cut in! Pedro we’re ready to have like the speech thing, everyones mostly here. Except for your TA… she RSVP'd but like I dunno.” What I’m assuming is a fellow professor, mutters the last part as though thinking out loud. “Oh! Ok thanks! Um Y/N this is Sarah Paulson, a theatre professor at NYU and a super close friend of mine. Sarah, this is Y/N, we met a couple days ago, remember the girl I told you about?” He introduces us as he holds both our hands. They talked about me…wait..they talked about me? THEY’RE CLOSE FRIENDS AND THEY TALKED ABOUT ME?! “Oh yeah, THIS clumsy bitch loves to make people bust their asses! It’s like the spacial awareness isn’t there or something.” Sarah laughs, wrapping her arm around his shoulders, head leaning against his, as she busts his balls about his goofy behavior. “Why don’t we go inside so you can see some of the pieces, maybe you can make some more friends while I have a short convo with some of my coworkers and the grad students?” He leads me in, his large hand guiding me by my lower back as Sarah strides in front of us. The warmth from his hand spreads throughout my whole body just as he levels himself to whisper in my ear “Don’t worry about her, she loves to tell people how much of a mess I am, while being a mess herself…that’s probably why we’re soulmates in a sense” the last part is muttered in thought, almost like I wasn't meant to hear it. Soulmates? Well that complicates things...more so than they already were…
Now's the best time to tell him, otherwise I'll never get to say it. “Hey so before we walk in there’s something I need to tell you…” I pull him aside so as to not block the entrance. “Yeah? What’s up?” he says, those puppy dog eyes boring into my soul, concern written all over his face. “So..”
To be continued…
Note: If you can’t find chapter 1 for whatever reason (it doesn’t wanna show ip in the pedro pascal x reader tag for some reason) you can find it on the masterlist linked above alongside the prologue and this chapter and any future chapters.
#x reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fic#tumblr#art professor! pedro x ta!reader#meet-cute#professor!pedro#art professor! pedro x reader#pedro pascal fluff#pedro pascal x you#pedro x you#pedro x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedrito#professor! pedro pascal#pedrohub#pedroispunk#y/n#pedro x y/n#pedro pascal x y/n#occ!pedro#oc!pedro#where do i find a 5’11 chilean actor who may or may not br several years older than me who gives off daddy vibes and is goofy#this all started because of a dream#the title is a depeche mode reference#yes i made him a golden retriever#i know he would MOST DEFINITELY not act this way#AMAMOA
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Hey so you may be wondering (if you even are) is em gonna EVER update this story??? Well i did chapter 1 and saw literally 0 traction and it literally won’t even show up in the Pedro x Reader tags (not sure why) I might think about going back to it, i have been super busy with work and all my personal time (the small amount that i receive) i spend in bed asleep or playing the sims 4. So if anyones actually interested in reading this story just shoot off in the comments and ill continue writing.
-Em out✌🏽✌🏽✌🏽🫰🏽🫰🏽🫰🏽
(AMAMOA) Chapter 1: Did we just meet... AND cute?
Professor!Pedro Pascal x Teaching Assistant!Reader
the idea is ultimatly mine however i do not own the concept/the person that is Pedro Pascal and major warning because this an AU he will be a little OCC
Words: 1937
Story Content Tags (most of this is mentioned in later chapters.): Meet-Cute, First person perspective, Age-gap(F28/late 20s/early 30s x M40/late 30s/early 40s), Art references, new york nonsense written by a non-new yorker, spanish/spanglish, Lots of college technical talk, this was kinda based off a dream, crocs, College AU, AU where pedro isn't an actor/famous, slightly proofread… sorry for typos i'm trying guys😭😭😭 (By the way I mention “cheeks flushing” and I don’t mean in a blush pink kind of way, I mean in a your cheeks warm up kind of way but I had used the word warm way too many times in that paragraph. I try to make the “Reader” as featureless as possible other than the fact that they are AFAB. However, if you notice any instance where I don’t follow this rule I’ve set, please let me know and I’ll fix it right away.)
Story Summary: You (the reader) have moved to New York enrolled in NYU’s Graduate program, a dream you thought you’d never achieve in an apartment you thought you’d never have. Fate works in funny ways sometimes and you might find love in an unexpected place. You might not.
Late June:
After 2 weeks of packages trickling in, major furniture pieces being built, and my life scattering to the winds throughout my apartment, I can officially say I… am settled in. I wouldn't say I’m officially a new yorker though, after only surviving 2 weeks here, especially since I barely went outside, but I sure am relishing in the lifestyle…from afar. I wake up every day to the sun streaming in and warming the concrete floors, the busy industrial beat of the city down below on the street level, the background music to my mundane daily activities.
*Ping*
An email came in as I was making breakfast, an activity I didn't always do in the past but with the new scenery, I think it's justified to at least try and have new habits. “Welcome Email? Must be from the professor…the profile pic’s a painting..must be his” I think out loud as I walk over to my computer to read whatever correspondence that just came in.
“Hello and Welcome! I’m Pedro Pascal-Balmaceda (Students usually call me Mr. Pascal/Balmaceda or Peter. I’m not against the familiarity) and I wanted to formally introduce myself before the semester starts! I’ll essentially be your boss (Sucks, I know ;-P) over at the art department. As you may or may not know, I’m the painting 1 professor you’ll be assisting throughout the semester, as per your TA application. To get more acquainted with our TA’s, on behalf of the department, I am extending an invitation to a gallery viewing/hang out amongst peers to get to know you and the other TA’s better before we start working alongside each other. Hopefully, we get to see each other and I hope we have a great semester together! Have a great day and rest of your week!
-Prof. Peter/Pedro B. Painting 1 *Details Attached*”
As I mull over the email, I give the gallery flier a once over, trying to decide if I should finally leave the safety of my home. “It's not far and it wouldn't hurt to go. I mean what if I make some cool friends? I won't be doing much of that cooped up inside my lovely abode.” I think on it, leaning towards the side of going, the only issue is…what am I going to wear!?
After some heavy consideration and a lot of “Art Gallery Outfit” searching on pinterest, I went bumbling around manhattan looking for a thrift store finding the perfect articles that scream “I’m cool and open to friends”.
*note: I found these outfits on Pinterest so credit to the people who made them. I also have a pinterest board linked on the chapter page for the story with other options lined up for ideas but you can always imagine what you would think to wear for the gallery*
After finally finding my look I start to walk back home *Grumble Grumble* My stomach SCREAMS for some food so I decide what's better than going to an overpriced cafe and getting what might be a delicious snack or sandwich or SOMETHING.
I walked into a place that had some pretty good reviews on apple maps (then again who can trust that app, it's not that great), the bell dings as the door opens, the scent of warm coffee wafts into the air with the underlying whiff of freshly baked pastries; this is perfection. I get in line behind a familiar looking head of hair at least I think it’s familiar… I swear I’ve seen that…. slept in..unruly…shaggy hair before… I shake the odd feeling of familiarity and move up in line. “Can I have 6 shots of espresso over ice, please?” The familiar stranger says, LIKE A CRAZY PERSON who needs THAT much coffee “Any sweetener or cream of any kind?” the barista asks and the heathen replies “Nah, ya know the saying I like my coffee like I like my partners ... cold, bitter, and keeping me up at night!” he chuckles. I cover my mouth, knowing that otherwise I probably would've busted out laughing… hard. The barista chuckles “ and the name?” “Pedro? Or Peter? Whatevers fine.. Maybe even ‘awful joke guy’ if you feel like writing all that…” Huh…everyone’s named Peter or Pedro these days…weird. “What can I do for you?” Huh? “Huh? I- Oh um…. A croissant anddddd… Um can I get aaaaa” I look up at the menu. “Can I get a large iced vanilla latte ... 3 shots of espresso, lots of cream and…by the way I’m sorry this is so complicated… maybe like 8 pumps of the vanilla syrup… and um make it an ...affogato??” I finally look up, extremely embarrassed by my overly complicated drink. I guess that guy's order was better than mine… much easier…straight to the point. I felt bad so as I was paying I gave the barista a 5 dollar tip.
At the window, lit perfectly from the warm beams of the sun sat the PERFECT seat and it was EMPTY! I walked over and pulled out the chair just as someone was pulling out the chair behind it causing them to collide and in the process pinching my fingers between the seats. I grunt and quickly retreat my battered knuckles, clenching them between my thighs to create a safety barrier of sorts. As I hiss out a soft Fuck the person pulling out the seat starts to apologize. “Oh my god! I’m sooooo sorry I wasn't- Wait… Oh wow how do we keep MEETING this way!?” I look up..”Holy shit…” I whisper. IT’S THE STRANGER FROM THE FOOD TRUCK! Wait… THAT'S WHERE I KNEW THAT BACK OF HEAD FROM!! “Oh hey! Why DO we keep meeting like this I mean-” “It’s like we’re-” “Meant to meet.” “Super accident prone.” We say at the same time, the words seemingly stumbling out. “Oh uh yeah that's what i meant.” I say chuckling as I wave my hand by my side trying to shake off the pain “Oh shit, yeah your hand! Um sorry.” he grabs my hand and starts to stroke my knuckles, trying to soothe the throbbing. He’s holding my hand… A PERSON IS HOLDING MY HAND “Oh I’m-” “ORDER FOR PETER!” “Yeah..that's me...I’m gonna go get that.” he smiles at me as he strolls over to the counter. He walks back with his drinking hand that awful awful drink. I don’t know how anyone could possibly drink that much espresso and be fine in the cardiac department “but yeah, it seems like we’re just destined to slightly inconvenience each other.” He says as he goes to sit down. “ORDER FOR (Y/N)!” “Oh that's me… do you.. mind taking care of my table??” “Yeah don’t worry it's the least i can do… after making you fall on your ass AND breaking your fingers!” His laughter trickles out, full of mirth. God hes so goofy…. Its really cute. Wait- I grab my order and then walked back over. He’s already staring at me, expectantly.
“So do you usually get this hurt when you go out?” Pedro says, turning his chair slightly in my direction.”No, that’s just a lucky coincidence.” I chuckle, sitting down and laying my tote bag and thrift bag out on the table. “Would you mind if I sat with you?” He asks, staring me right in the soul with those soft brown puppy dog eyes ...god his eyes are gorgeous in the sunlight. “I-uh yeah you can sit with me.” I stammer trying to make room on the table. “Oh you went to the East Village Thrift on 2nd ave?” He points at my bags as I put them away. “I love that place! Great place for getting cheap frames for paintings” He leans on his hand as he expresses enthusiastically. He’s goofy…cute.. Thrift’s AND paints?! The sun hits his aquiline nose, tan skin warmed by the rays as the light catches off his lashes. “Oh you paint?” My cheeks flush under the skin, the heat radiating off my face as I try not to stare directly into his eyes. “Oh yeah! I mean I love it but it's also kind of my job. Why? Do you?” If he were a dog, his ears would’ve stood on end at the mention of painting and the mere idea that I could possibly share this passion with him as well.
“Yeah, that's actually really funny because it's kind of my job too… I mean not really but kind of? I mean I haven't started yet but…yeah.. Yes.. I paint.” The words stumble out about as awkwardly as the smile that stretches across my face, straight in a line, not an actual smile but also not exactly a wince from the cringe oozing from my pores. “Wait! Oh my god really!? YOU SHOULD COME TO MY GALLERY!!” The volume he emotes at may be considered a little too loud for the peaceful cafe environment as a person or 2 in the near vicinity looks over. The slight draw of attention causes a chill of anxiety to trickle down both our spines. “I-uh sorry, I- yeah I have a gallery viewing... You should come” He says in almost a whisper as he smoothes the hair on the back of his neck. He digs into his canvas bag pulling out a flier printed on a neon yellow paper “Oh I actually just got invited to gallery viewing for tomorrow.” I say having looked away but still taking the leaflet. “Oh really? Damn that’s when mine is. Well maybe if you have time, you could stop by?” Those puppy dog eyes bore into me, almost pleading that I go or maybe I’m just making that up… I look at the flier and examine it. Why is this familiar? Why do I keep getting deja vu today?
“I can try and swing by before my other plans. Ya know it’s really nice knowing I’ve made my first friend in New York by being a clumsy mess.” I giggle a little as I fold the flier and tuck it into my tote. “First friend? Oh, are you new to the city? Well, I’m glad I can fill in the spot as your “Native New Yorker Guide” and hopefully show you the ropes.” He says as a smirk spreads across his face. I look at the time and notice the sky is starting to look a little darker than when I first arrived at the cafe, much less people surrounding us than before. “Well I’ll have to take you up on that offer at a later date. It is getting a little late though I should start heading home” I smile down at him as I start to get up. His eyebrows raise as he softly takes me wrist in his hand “Wait um could we maybe exchange numbers so you can let me know when you get to the gallery tomorrow? And maybe we can hang out sometime?” I halt my exit as he pulls his hand away, pulling out his phone, slowly rising to get up and stand alongside me. “Oh um It's..” I rattle off my number as I watch him, in full concentration type it in and send off a text, my phone vibrates. “Ok! I got your text.” I say as I add him to my contacts “🫣Peter🤭” “Well I better head off.” I say after having put away my phone. Pedro checks the time and starts collecting his things. “I’ll head out with you, it is getting a little late in the day to be just sitting in a cafe, ya know?” He says and we start to walk side by side to the exit, he holds the door open and we wave goodbye at each other as we part ways, going in opposite directions.
Today was a good day… I hope tomorrow is as good, if not better.
AUTHORS NOTE: Sorry for the wait guys, I got a new job, I lost the desire to write, I almost lost the desire to even be in the Pedro Pascal X Reader fandom in general but life goes on and I had a super random urge to write and decided to continue writing this story so I hope you continue reading I'll try my best to continue writing but the chapters will definetly be real spaced out due to me working literally everyday so HAVE A GOOD DAY AND IM GLAD YOU READ ALONG!
#artist!reader#fem!reader#afab!reader#reader insert#fluff#meet-cute#oc!pedro#off model!pedro#i do understand i very much doubt he'd be this golden retriever coded but fck it we ball#amamoa#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal fic#pedro x you#pedro x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#professor! pedro pascal#pedro pascal fluff#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal#the tags are fucking me over#please read this id super appreciate it!
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(AMAMOA) Chapter 1: Did we just meet... AND cute?
Professor!Pedro Pascal x Teaching Assistant!Reader
the idea is ultimatly mine however i do not own the concept/the person that is Pedro Pascal and major warning because this an AU he will be a little OCC
Words: 1937
Story Content Tags (most of this is mentioned in later chapters.): Meet-Cute, First person perspective, Age-gap(F28/late 20s/early 30s x M40/late 30s/early 40s), Art references, new york nonsense written by a non-new yorker, spanish/spanglish, Lots of college technical talk, this was kinda based off a dream, crocs, College AU, AU where pedro isn't an actor/famous, slightly proofread… sorry for typos i'm trying guys😭😭😭 (By the way I mention “cheeks flushing” and I don’t mean in a blush pink kind of way, I mean in a your cheeks warm up kind of way but I had used the word warm way too many times in that paragraph. I try to make the “Reader” as featureless as possible other than the fact that they are AFAB. However, if you notice any instance where I don’t follow this rule I’ve set, please let me know and I’ll fix it right away.)
Story Summary: You (the reader) have moved to New York enrolled in NYU’s Graduate program, a dream you thought you’d never achieve in an apartment you thought you’d never have. Fate works in funny ways sometimes and you might find love in an unexpected place. You might not.
Late June:
After 2 weeks of packages trickling in, major furniture pieces being built, and my life scattering to the winds throughout my apartment, I can officially say I… am settled in. I wouldn't say I’m officially a new yorker though, after only surviving 2 weeks here, especially since I barely went outside, but I sure am relishing in the lifestyle…from afar. I wake up every day to the sun streaming in and warming the concrete floors, the busy industrial beat of the city down below on the street level, the background music to my mundane daily activities.
*Ping*
An email came in as I was making breakfast, an activity I didn't always do in the past but with the new scenery, I think it's justified to at least try and have new habits. “Welcome Email? Must be from the professor…the profile pic’s a painting..must be his” I think out loud as I walk over to my computer to read whatever correspondence that just came in.
“Hello and Welcome! I’m Pedro Pascal-Balmaceda (Students usually call me Mr. Pascal/Balmaceda or Peter. I’m not against the familiarity) and I wanted to formally introduce myself before the semester starts! I’ll essentially be your boss (Sucks, I know ;-P) over at the art department. As you may or may not know, I’m the painting 1 professor you’ll be assisting throughout the semester, as per your TA application. To get more acquainted with our TA’s, on behalf of the department, I am extending an invitation to a gallery viewing/hang out amongst peers to get to know you and the other TA’s better before we start working alongside each other. Hopefully, we get to see each other and I hope we have a great semester together! Have a great day and rest of your week!
-Prof. Peter/Pedro B. Painting 1 *Details Attached*”
As I mull over the email, I give the gallery flier a once over, trying to decide if I should finally leave the safety of my home. “It's not far and it wouldn't hurt to go. I mean what if I make some cool friends? I won't be doing much of that cooped up inside my lovely abode.” I think on it, leaning towards the side of going, the only issue is…what am I going to wear!?
After some heavy consideration and a lot of “Art Gallery Outfit” searching on pinterest, I went bumbling around manhattan looking for a thrift store finding the perfect articles that scream “I’m cool and open to friends”.
*note: I found these outfits on Pinterest so credit to the people who made them. I also have a pinterest board linked on the chapter page for the story with other options lined up for ideas but you can always imagine what you would think to wear for the gallery*
After finally finding my look I start to walk back home *Grumble Grumble* My stomach SCREAMS for some food so I decide what's better than going to an overpriced cafe and getting what might be a delicious snack or sandwich or SOMETHING.
I walked into a place that had some pretty good reviews on apple maps (then again who can trust that app, it's not that great), the bell dings as the door opens, the scent of warm coffee wafts into the air with the underlying whiff of freshly baked pastries; this is perfection. I get in line behind a familiar looking head of hair at least I think it’s familiar… I swear I’ve seen that…. slept in..unruly…shaggy hair before… I shake the odd feeling of familiarity and move up in line. “Can I have 6 shots of espresso over ice, please?” The familiar stranger says, LIKE A CRAZY PERSON who needs THAT much coffee “Any sweetener or cream of any kind?” the barista asks and the heathen replies “Nah, ya know the saying I like my coffee like I like my partners ... cold, bitter, and keeping me up at night!” he chuckles. I cover my mouth, knowing that otherwise I probably would've busted out laughing… hard. The barista chuckles “ and the name?” “Pedro? Or Peter? Whatevers fine.. Maybe even ‘awful joke guy’ if you feel like writing all that…” Huh…everyone’s named Peter or Pedro these days…weird. “What can I do for you?” Huh? “Huh? I- Oh um…. A croissant anddddd… Um can I get aaaaa” I look up at the menu. “Can I get a large iced vanilla latte ... 3 shots of espresso, lots of cream and…by the way I’m sorry this is so complicated… maybe like 8 pumps of the vanilla syrup… and um make it an ...affogato??” I finally look up, extremely embarrassed by my overly complicated drink. I guess that guy's order was better than mine… much easier…straight to the point. I felt bad so as I was paying I gave the barista a 5 dollar tip.
At the window, lit perfectly from the warm beams of the sun sat the PERFECT seat and it was EMPTY! I walked over and pulled out the chair just as someone was pulling out the chair behind it causing them to collide and in the process pinching my fingers between the seats. I grunt and quickly retreat my battered knuckles, clenching them between my thighs to create a safety barrier of sorts. As I hiss out a soft Fuck the person pulling out the seat starts to apologize. “Oh my god! I’m sooooo sorry I wasn't- Wait… Oh wow how do we keep MEETING this way!?” I look up..”Holy shit…” I whisper. IT’S THE STRANGER FROM THE FOOD TRUCK! Wait… THAT'S WHERE I KNEW THAT BACK OF HEAD FROM!! “Oh hey! Why DO we keep meeting like this I mean-” “It’s like we’re-” “Meant to meet.” “Super accident prone.” We say at the same time, the words seemingly stumbling out. “Oh uh yeah that's what i meant.” I say chuckling as I wave my hand by my side trying to shake off the pain “Oh shit, yeah your hand! Um sorry.” he grabs my hand and starts to stroke my knuckles, trying to soothe the throbbing. He’s holding my hand… A PERSON IS HOLDING MY HAND “Oh I’m-” “ORDER FOR PETER!” “Yeah..that's me...I’m gonna go get that.” he smiles at me as he strolls over to the counter. He walks back with his drinking hand that awful awful drink. I don’t know how anyone could possibly drink that much espresso and be fine in the cardiac department “but yeah, it seems like we’re just destined to slightly inconvenience each other.” He says as he goes to sit down. “ORDER FOR (Y/N)!” “Oh that's me… do you.. mind taking care of my table??” “Yeah don’t worry it's the least i can do… after making you fall on your ass AND breaking your fingers!” His laughter trickles out, full of mirth. God hes so goofy…. Its really cute. Wait- I grab my order and then walked back over. He’s already staring at me, expectantly.
“So do you usually get this hurt when you go out?” Pedro says, turning his chair slightly in my direction.”No, that’s just a lucky coincidence.” I chuckle, sitting down and laying my tote bag and thrift bag out on the table. “Would you mind if I sat with you?” He asks, staring me right in the soul with those soft brown puppy dog eyes ...god his eyes are gorgeous in the sunlight. “I-uh yeah you can sit with me.” I stammer trying to make room on the table. “Oh you went to the East Village Thrift on 2nd ave?” He points at my bags as I put them away. “I love that place! Great place for getting cheap frames for paintings” He leans on his hand as he expresses enthusiastically. He’s goofy…cute.. Thrift’s AND paints?! The sun hits his aquiline nose, tan skin warmed by the rays as the light catches off his lashes. “Oh you paint?” My cheeks flush under the skin, the heat radiating off my face as I try not to stare directly into his eyes. “Oh yeah! I mean I love it but it's also kind of my job. Why? Do you?” If he were a dog, his ears would’ve stood on end at the mention of painting and the mere idea that I could possibly share this passion with him as well.
“Yeah, that's actually really funny because it's kind of my job too… I mean not really but kind of? I mean I haven't started yet but…yeah.. Yes.. I paint.” The words stumble out about as awkwardly as the smile that stretches across my face, straight in a line, not an actual smile but also not exactly a wince from the cringe oozing from my pores. “Wait! Oh my god really!? YOU SHOULD COME TO MY GALLERY!!” The volume he emotes at may be considered a little too loud for the peaceful cafe environment as a person or 2 in the near vicinity looks over. The slight draw of attention causes a chill of anxiety to trickle down both our spines. “I-uh sorry, I- yeah I have a gallery viewing... You should come” He says in almost a whisper as he smoothes the hair on the back of his neck. He digs into his canvas bag pulling out a flier printed on a neon yellow paper “Oh I actually just got invited to gallery viewing for tomorrow.” I say having looked away but still taking the leaflet. “Oh really? Damn that’s when mine is. Well maybe if you have time, you could stop by?” Those puppy dog eyes bore into me, almost pleading that I go or maybe I’m just making that up… I look at the flier and examine it. Why is this familiar? Why do I keep getting deja vu today?
“I can try and swing by before my other plans. Ya know it’s really nice knowing I’ve made my first friend in New York by being a clumsy mess.” I giggle a little as I fold the flier and tuck it into my tote. “First friend? Oh, are you new to the city? Well, I’m glad I can fill in the spot as your “Native New Yorker Guide” and hopefully show you the ropes.” He says as a smirk spreads across his face. I look at the time and notice the sky is starting to look a little darker than when I first arrived at the cafe, much less people surrounding us than before. “Well I’ll have to take you up on that offer at a later date. It is getting a little late though I should start heading home” I smile down at him as I start to get up. His eyebrows raise as he softly takes me wrist in his hand “Wait um could we maybe exchange numbers so you can let me know when you get to the gallery tomorrow? And maybe we can hang out sometime?” I halt my exit as he pulls his hand away, pulling out his phone, slowly rising to get up and stand alongside me. “Oh um It's..” I rattle off my number as I watch him, in full concentration type it in and send off a text, my phone vibrates. “Ok! I got your text.” I say as I add him to my contacts “🫣Peter🤭” “Well I better head off.” I say after having put away my phone. Pedro checks the time and starts collecting his things. “I’ll head out with you, it is getting a little late in the day to be just sitting in a cafe, ya know?” He says and we start to walk side by side to the exit, he holds the door open and we wave goodbye at each other as we part ways, going in opposite directions.
Today was a good day… I hope tomorrow is as good, if not better.
AUTHORS NOTE: Sorry for the wait guys, I got a new job, I lost the desire to write, I almost lost the desire to even be in the Pedro Pascal X Reader fandom in general but life goes on and I had a super random urge to write and decided to continue writing this story so I hope you continue reading I'll try my best to continue writing but the chapters will definetly be real spaced out due to me working literally everyday so HAVE A GOOD DAY AND IM GLAD YOU READ ALONG!
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For some reason its not showing up in the latest tab😬😬😔😔😔 so heres the little obligatory reblog to get traction -Emery✌🏽✌🏽
(AMAMOA) Chapter 1: Did we just meet... AND cute?
Professor!Pedro Pascal x Teaching Assistant!Reader
*DO NOT REPOST*
the idea is ultimatly mine however i do not own the concept/the person that is Pedro Pascal and major warning because this an AU he will be a little OCC
Words: 1937
Story Content Tags (most of this is mentioned in later chapters.): Meet-Cute, First person perspective, Age-gap(F28/late 20s/early 30s x M40/late 30s/early 40s), Art references, new york nonsense written by a non-new yorker, spanish/spanglish, Lots of college technical talk, this was kinda based off a dream, crocs, College AU, AU where pedro isn't an actor/famous, slightly proofread… sorry for typos i'm trying guys😭😭😭 (By the way I mention “cheeks flushing” and I don’t mean in a blush pink kind of way, I mean in a your cheeks warm up kind of way but I had used the word warm way too many times in that paragraph. I try to make the “Reader” as featureless as possible other than the fact that they are AFAB. However, if you notice any instance where I don’t follow this rule I’ve set, please let me know and I’ll fix it right away.)
Story Summary: You (the reader) have moved to New York enrolled in NYU’s Graduate program, a dream you thought you’d never achieve in an apartment you thought you’d never have. Fate works in funny ways sometimes and you might find love in an unexpected place. You might not.
Late June:
After 2 weeks of packages trickling in, major furniture pieces being built, and my life scattering to the winds throughout my apartment, I can officially say I… am settled in. I wouldn't say I’m officially a new yorker though, after only surviving 2 weeks here, especially since I barely went outside, but I sure am relishing in the lifestyle…from afar. I wake up every day to the sun streaming in and warming the concrete floors, the busy industrial beat of the city down below on the street level, the background music to my mundane daily activities.
*Ping*
An email came in as I was making breakfast, an activity I didn't always do in the past but with the new scenery, I think it's justified to at least try and have new habits. “Welcome Email? Must be from the professor…the profile pic’s a painting..must be his” I think out loud as I walk over to my computer to read whatever correspondence that just came in.
“Hello and Welcome! I’m Pedro Pascal-Balmaceda (Students usually call me Mr. Pascal/Balmaceda or Peter. I’m not against the familiarity) and I wanted to formally introduce myself before the semester starts! I’ll essentially be your boss (Sucks, I know ;-P) over at the art department. As you may or may not know, I’m the painting 1 professor you’ll be assisting throughout the semester, as per your TA application. To get more acquainted with our TA’s, on behalf of the department, I am extending an invitation to a gallery viewing/hang out amongst peers to get to know you and the other TA’s better before we start working alongside each other. Hopefully, we get to see each other and I hope we have a great semester together! Have a great day and rest of your week!
-Prof. Peter/Pedro B. Painting 1 *Details Attached*”
As I mull over the email, I give the gallery flier a once over, trying to decide if I should finally leave the safety of my home. “It's not far and it wouldn't hurt to go. I mean what if I make some cool friends? I won't be doing much of that cooped up inside my lovely abode.” I think on it, leaning towards the side of going, the only issue is…what am I going to wear!?
After some heavy consideration and a lot of “Art Gallery Outfit” searching on pinterest, I went bumbling around manhattan looking for a thrift store finding the perfect articles that scream “I’m cool and open to friends”.
*note: I found these outfits on Pinterest so credit to the people who made them. I also have a pinterest board linked on the chapter page for the story with other options lined up for ideas but you can always imagine what you would think to wear for the gallery*
After finally finding my look I start to walk back home *Grumble Grumble* My stomach SCREAMS for some food so I decide what's better than going to an overpriced cafe and getting what might be a delicious snack or sandwich or SOMETHING.
I walked into a place that had some pretty good reviews on apple maps (then again who can trust that app, it's not that great), the bell dings as the door opens, the scent of warm coffee wafts into the air with the underlying whiff of freshly baked pastries; this is perfection. I get in line behind a familiar looking head of hair at least I think it’s familiar… I swear I’ve seen that…. slept in..unruly…shaggy hair before… I shake the odd feeling of familiarity and move up in line. “Can I have 6 shots of espresso over ice, please?” The familiar stranger says, LIKE A CRAZY PERSON who needs THAT much coffee “Any sweetener or cream of any kind?” the barista asks and the heathen replies “Nah, ya know the saying I like my coffee like I like my partners ... cold, bitter, and keeping me up at night!” he chuckles. I cover my mouth, knowing that otherwise I probably would've busted out laughing… hard. The barista chuckles “ and the name?” “Pedro? Or Peter? Whatevers fine.. Maybe even ‘awful joke guy’ if you feel like writing all that…” Huh…everyone’s named Peter or Pedro these days…weird. “What can I do for you?” Huh? “Huh? I- Oh um…. A croissant anddddd… Um can I get aaaaa” I look up at the menu. “Can I get a large iced vanilla latte ... 3 shots of espresso, lots of cream and…by the way I’m sorry this is so complicated… maybe like 8 pumps of the vanilla syrup… and um make it an ...affogato??” I finally look up, extremely embarrassed by my overly complicated drink. I guess that guy's order was better than mine… much easier…straight to the point. I felt bad so as I was paying I gave the barista a 5 dollar tip.
At the window, lit perfectly from the warm beams of the sun sat the PERFECT seat and it was EMPTY! I walked over and pulled out the chair just as someone was pulling out the chair behind it causing them to collide and in the process pinching my fingers between the seats. I grunt and quickly retreat my battered knuckles, clenching them between my thighs to create a safety barrier of sorts. As I hiss out a soft Fuck the person pulling out the seat starts to apologize. “Oh my god! I’m sooooo sorry I wasn't- Wait… Oh wow how do we keep MEETING this way!?” I look up..”Holy shit…” I whisper. IT’S THE STRANGER FROM THE FOOD TRUCK! Wait… THAT'S WHERE I KNEW THAT BACK OF HEAD FROM!! “Oh hey! Why DO we keep meeting like this I mean-” “It’s like we’re-” “Meant to meet.” “Super accident prone.” We say at the same time, the words seemingly stumbling out. “Oh uh yeah that's what i meant.” I say chuckling as I wave my hand by my side trying to shake off the pain “Oh shit, yeah your hand! Um sorry.” he grabs my hand and starts to stroke my knuckles, trying to soothe the throbbing. He’s holding my hand… A PERSON IS HOLDING MY HAND “Oh I’m-” “ORDER FOR PETER!” “Yeah..that's me...I’m gonna go get that.” he smiles at me as he strolls over to the counter. He walks back with his drinking hand that awful awful drink. I don’t know how anyone could possibly drink that much espresso and be fine in the cardiac department “but yeah, it seems like we’re just destined to slightly inconvenience each other.” He says as he goes to sit down. “ORDER FOR (Y/N)!” “Oh that's me… do you.. mind taking care of my table??” “Yeah don’t worry it's the least i can do… after making you fall on your ass AND breaking your fingers!” His laughter trickles out, full of mirth. God hes so goofy…. Its really cute. Wait- I grab my order and then walked back over. He’s already staring at me, expectantly.
“So do you usually get this hurt when you go out?” Pedro says, turning his chair slightly in my direction.”No, that’s just a lucky coincidence.” I chuckle, sitting down and laying my tote bag and thrift bag out on the table. “Would you mind if I sat with you?” He asks, staring me right in the soul with those soft brown puppy dog eyes ...god his eyes are gorgeous in the sunlight. “I-uh yeah you can sit with me.” I stammer trying to make room on the table. “Oh you went to the East Village Thrift on 2nd ave?” He points at my bags as I put them away. “I love that place! Great place for getting cheap frames for paintings” He leans on his hand as he expresses enthusiastically. He’s goofy…cute.. Thrift’s AND paints?! The sun hits his aquiline nose, tan skin warmed by the rays as the light catches off his lashes. “Oh you paint?” My cheeks flush under the skin, the heat radiating off my face as I try not to stare directly into his eyes. “Oh yeah! I mean I love it but it's also kind of my job. Why? Do you?” If he were a dog, his ears would’ve stood on end at the mention of painting and the mere idea that I could possibly share this passion with him as well.
“Yeah, that's actually really funny because it's kind of my job too… I mean not really but kind of? I mean I haven't started yet but…yeah.. Yes.. I paint.” The words stumble out about as awkwardly as the smile that stretches across my face, straight in a line, not an actual smile but also not exactly a wince from the cringe oozing from my pores. “Wait! Oh my god really!? YOU SHOULD COME TO MY GALLERY!!” The volume he emotes at may be considered a little too loud for the peaceful cafe environment as a person or 2 in the near vicinity looks over. The slight draw of attention causes a chill of anxiety to trickle down both our spines. “I-uh sorry, I- yeah I have a gallery viewing... You should come” He says in almost a whisper as he smoothes the hair on the back of his neck. He digs into his canvas bag pulling out a flier printed on a neon yellow paper “Oh I actually just got invited to gallery viewing for tomorrow.” I say having looked away but still taking the leaflet. “Oh really? Damn that’s when mine is. Well maybe if you have time, you could stop by?” Those puppy dog eyes bore into me, almost pleading that I go or maybe I’m just making that up… I look at the flier and examine it. Why is this familiar? Why do I keep getting deja vu today?
“I can try and swing by before my other plans. Ya know it’s really nice knowing I’ve made my first friend in New York by being a clumsy mess.” I giggle a little as I fold the flier and tuck it into my tote. “First friend? Oh, are you new to the city? Well, I’m glad I can fill in the spot as your “Native New Yorker Guide” and hopefully show you the ropes.” He says as a smirk spreads across his face. I look at the time and notice the sky is starting to look a little darker than when I first arrived at the cafe, much less people surrounding us than before. “Well I’ll have to take you up on that offer at a later date. It is getting a little late though I should start heading home” I smile down at him as I start to get up. His eyebrows raise as he softly takes me wrist in his hand “Wait um could we maybe exchange numbers so you can let me know when you get to the gallery tomorrow? And maybe we can hang out sometime?” I halt my exit as he pulls his hand away, pulling out his phone, slowly rising to get up and stand alongside me. “Oh um It's..” I rattle off my number as I watch him, in full concentration type it in and send off a text, my phone vibrates. “Ok! I got your text.” I say as I add him to my contacts “🫣Peter🤭” “Well I better head off.” I say after having put away my phone. Pedro checks the time and starts collecting his things. “I’ll head out with you, it is getting a little late in the day to be just sitting in a cafe, ya know?” He says and we start to walk side by side to the exit, he holds the door open and we wave goodbye at each other as we part ways, going in opposite directions.
Today was a good day… I hope tomorrow is as good, if not better.
AUTHORS NOTE: Sorry for the wait guys, I got a new job, I lost the desire to write, I almost lost the desire to even be in the Pedro Pascal X Reader fandom in general but life goes on and I had a super random urge to write and decided to continue writing this story so I hope you continue reading I'll try my best to continue writing but the chapters will definetly be real spaced out due to me working literally everyday so HAVE A GOOD DAY AND IM GLAD YOU READ ALONG!
#fluff#meet-cute#amamoa#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fic#x reader#pedro x reader#pedro x you#professor!pedro x reader
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I POSTED CHAPTER ONE FINALLY PLEASE GO READ! Have a great night/day!!!
HERES THE LINK TO THE MASTERLIST FOR FUTURE POSTS!!
AND HERES THE LINK TO THE FIRST CHAPTER BUT I SUPER RECOMMEND READING THE PROLOGUE!
Just gonna soft launch my fic.... its a Professor! Pedro Pascal x TA! Reader story. The reader speaks/understands spanish. AU where obvi pedro isnt an actor and instead is a professor at his alma mater, NYU, where the reader happens to be doing their grad program at along with being a Teaching assistant as preperation for when they hopefully become a professor. Very much meet-cute kinda situation strangers-to-lovers kinda deal professor x student but not really but kind of but also boss x coworker but also not really. Just some cutesy fic based off a dream i had back in February. I hope youy guys enjoy it. At the moment, I only have the prologue and first chapter written and will definitly fleshing it out as I go, I mean i will be partially planning it since I have the time but its kind of off the cuff. Alongisde the fic, I have a Pinterest and Spotify where I'll have playlist and pin boards inspired/inspiring the story that I will link below but it will also be in my bio and on the masterlist in the form of a pinned post. Like I said, Hope you guys like it!
-Emery, Out!
#professor x ta#latine/x!reader#meet-cute#fanfic update#fanfic writing#pedro x reader#professor! pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x you
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GUYS CHAPTER 1 IS OUT FINALLY AFTER HAVING NOT POSTED IT FOR LIKE… SEVERAL MONTHS I LET YOU KNOW WHY IN THE AUTHORS NOTES BUT PLEASE READ AND I HOPE YOU LIKE IT AND GIVE ANY FEEDBACK WHETHER THAT BE CREATIVE CRITICISM OR COMPLIMENTS OR WHATEVER IN THE REPLYS!! ALRIGHT HAVE A GREAT DAY -Emery!✌🏽✌🏽
(AMAMOA) Chapter 1: Did we just meet... AND cute?
Professor!Pedro Pascal x Teaching Assistant!Reader
*DO NOT REPOST*
the idea is ultimatly mine however i do not own the concept/the person that is Pedro Pascal and major warning because this an AU he will be a little OCC
Words: 1937
Story Content Tags (most of this is mentioned in later chapters.): Meet-Cute, First person perspective, Age-gap(F28/late 20s/early 30s x M40/late 30s/early 40s), Art references, new york nonsense written by a non-new yorker, spanish/spanglish, Lots of college technical talk, this was kinda based off a dream, crocs, College AU, AU where pedro isn't an actor/famous, slightly proofread… sorry for typos i'm trying guys😭😭😭 (By the way I mention “cheeks flushing” and I don’t mean in a blush pink kind of way, I mean in a your cheeks warm up kind of way but I had used the word warm way too many times in that paragraph. I try to make the “Reader” as featureless as possible other than the fact that they are AFAB. However, if you notice any instance where I don’t follow this rule I’ve set, please let me know and I’ll fix it right away.)
Story Summary: You (the reader) have moved to New York enrolled in NYU’s Graduate program, a dream you thought you’d never achieve in an apartment you thought you’d never have. Fate works in funny ways sometimes and you might find love in an unexpected place. You might not.
Late June:
After 2 weeks of packages trickling in, major furniture pieces being built, and my life scattering to the winds throughout my apartment, I can officially say I… am settled in. I wouldn't say I’m officially a new yorker though, after only surviving 2 weeks here, especially since I barely went outside, but I sure am relishing in the lifestyle…from afar. I wake up every day to the sun streaming in and warming the concrete floors, the busy industrial beat of the city down below on the street level, the background music to my mundane daily activities.
*Ping*
An email came in as I was making breakfast, an activity I didn't always do in the past but with the new scenery, I think it's justified to at least try and have new habits. “Welcome Email? Must be from the professor…the profile pic’s a painting..must be his” I think out loud as I walk over to my computer to read whatever correspondence that just came in.
“Hello and Welcome! I’m Pedro Pascal-Balmaceda (Students usually call me Mr. Pascal/Balmaceda or Peter. I’m not against the familiarity) and I wanted to formally introduce myself before the semester starts! I’ll essentially be your boss (Sucks, I know ;-P) over at the art department. As you may or may not know, I’m the painting 1 professor you’ll be assisting throughout the semester, as per your TA application. To get more acquainted with our TA’s, on behalf of the department, I am extending an invitation to a gallery viewing/hang out amongst peers to get to know you and the other TA’s better before we start working alongside each other. Hopefully, we get to see each other and I hope we have a great semester together! Have a great day and rest of your week!
-Prof. Peter/Pedro B. Painting 1 *Details Attached*”
As I mull over the email, I give the gallery flier a once over, trying to decide if I should finally leave the safety of my home. “It's not far and it wouldn't hurt to go. I mean what if I make some cool friends? I won't be doing much of that cooped up inside my lovely abode.” I think on it, leaning towards the side of going, the only issue is…what am I going to wear!?
After some heavy consideration and a lot of “Art Gallery Outfit” searching on pinterest, I went bumbling around manhattan looking for a thrift store finding the perfect articles that scream “I’m cool and open to friends”.
*note: I found these outfits on Pinterest so credit to the people who made them. I also have a pinterest board linked on the chapter page for the story with other options lined up for ideas but you can always imagine what you would think to wear for the gallery*
After finally finding my look I start to walk back home *Grumble Grumble* My stomach SCREAMS for some food so I decide what's better than going to an overpriced cafe and getting what might be a delicious snack or sandwich or SOMETHING.
I walked into a place that had some pretty good reviews on apple maps (then again who can trust that app, it's not that great), the bell dings as the door opens, the scent of warm coffee wafts into the air with the underlying whiff of freshly baked pastries; this is perfection. I get in line behind a familiar looking head of hair at least I think it’s familiar��� I swear I’ve seen that…. slept in..unruly…shaggy hair before… I shake the odd feeling of familiarity and move up in line. “Can I have 6 shots of espresso over ice, please?” The familiar stranger says, LIKE A CRAZY PERSON who needs THAT much coffee “Any sweetener or cream of any kind?” the barista asks and the heathen replies “Nah, ya know the saying I like my coffee like I like my partners ... cold, bitter, and keeping me up at night!” he chuckles. I cover my mouth, knowing that otherwise I probably would've busted out laughing… hard. The barista chuckles “ and the name?” “Pedro? Or Peter? Whatevers fine.. Maybe even ‘awful joke guy’ if you feel like writing all that…” Huh…everyone’s named Peter or Pedro these days…weird. “What can I do for you?” Huh? “Huh? I- Oh um…. A croissant anddddd… Um can I get aaaaa” I look up at the menu. “Can I get a large iced vanilla latte ... 3 shots of espresso, lots of cream and…by the way I’m sorry this is so complicated… maybe like 8 pumps of the vanilla syrup… and um make it an ...affogato??” I finally look up, extremely embarrassed by my overly complicated drink. I guess that guy's order was better than mine… much easier…straight to the point. I felt bad so as I was paying I gave the barista a 5 dollar tip.
At the window, lit perfectly from the warm beams of the sun sat the PERFECT seat and it was EMPTY! I walked over and pulled out the chair just as someone was pulling out the chair behind it causing them to collide and in the process pinching my fingers between the seats. I grunt and quickly retreat my battered knuckles, clenching them between my thighs to create a safety barrier of sorts. As I hiss out a soft Fuck the person pulling out the seat starts to apologize. “Oh my god! I’m sooooo sorry I wasn't- Wait… Oh wow how do we keep MEETING this way!?” I look up..”Holy shit…” I whisper. IT’S THE STRANGER FROM THE FOOD TRUCK! Wait… THAT'S WHERE I KNEW THAT BACK OF HEAD FROM!! “Oh hey! Why DO we keep meeting like this I mean-” “It’s like we’re-” “Meant to meet.” “Super accident prone.” We say at the same time, the words seemingly stumbling out. “Oh uh yeah that's what i meant.” I say chuckling as I wave my hand by my side trying to shake off the pain “Oh shit, yeah your hand! Um sorry.” he grabs my hand and starts to stroke my knuckles, trying to soothe the throbbing. He’s holding my hand… A PERSON IS HOLDING MY HAND “Oh I’m-” “ORDER FOR PETER!” “Yeah..that's me...I’m gonna go get that.” he smiles at me as he strolls over to the counter. He walks back with his drinking hand that awful awful drink. I don’t know how anyone could possibly drink that much espresso and be fine in the cardiac department “but yeah, it seems like we’re just destined to slightly inconvenience each other.” He says as he goes to sit down. “ORDER FOR (Y/N)!” “Oh that's me… do you.. mind taking care of my table??” “Yeah don’t worry it's the least i can do… after making you fall on your ass AND breaking your fingers!” His laughter trickles out, full of mirth. God hes so goofy…. Its really cute. Wait- I grab my order and then walked back over. He’s already staring at me, expectantly.
“So do you usually get this hurt when you go out?” Pedro says, turning his chair slightly in my direction.”No, that’s just a lucky coincidence.” I chuckle, sitting down and laying my tote bag and thrift bag out on the table. “Would you mind if I sat with you?” He asks, staring me right in the soul with those soft brown puppy dog eyes ...god his eyes are gorgeous in the sunlight. “I-uh yeah you can sit with me.” I stammer trying to make room on the table. “Oh you went to the East Village Thrift on 2nd ave?” He points at my bags as I put them away. “I love that place! Great place for getting cheap frames for paintings” He leans on his hand as he expresses enthusiastically. He’s goofy…cute.. Thrift’s AND paints?! The sun hits his aquiline nose, tan skin warmed by the rays as the light catches off his lashes. “Oh you paint?” My cheeks flush under the skin, the heat radiating off my face as I try not to stare directly into his eyes. “Oh yeah! I mean I love it but it's also kind of my job. Why? Do you?” If he were a dog, his ears would’ve stood on end at the mention of painting and the mere idea that I could possibly share this passion with him as well.
“Yeah, that's actually really funny because it's kind of my job too… I mean not really but kind of? I mean I haven't started yet but…yeah.. Yes.. I paint.” The words stumble out about as awkwardly as the smile that stretches across my face, straight in a line, not an actual smile but also not exactly a wince from the cringe oozing from my pores. “Wait! Oh my god really!? YOU SHOULD COME TO MY GALLERY!!” The volume he emotes at may be considered a little too loud for the peaceful cafe environment as a person or 2 in the near vicinity looks over. The slight draw of attention causes a chill of anxiety to trickle down both our spines. “I-uh sorry, I- yeah I have a gallery viewing... You should come” He says in almost a whisper as he smoothes the hair on the back of his neck. He digs into his canvas bag pulling out a flier printed on a neon yellow paper “Oh I actually just got invited to gallery viewing for tomorrow.” I say having looked away but still taking the leaflet. “Oh really? Damn that’s when mine is. Well maybe if you have time, you could stop by?” Those puppy dog eyes bore into me, almost pleading that I go or maybe I’m just making that up… I look at the flier and examine it. Why is this familiar? Why do I keep getting deja vu today?
“I can try and swing by before my other plans. Ya know it’s really nice knowing I’ve made my first friend in New York by being a clumsy mess.” I giggle a little as I fold the flier and tuck it into my tote. “First friend? Oh, are you new to the city? Well, I’m glad I can fill in the spot as your “Native New Yorker Guide” and hopefully show you the ropes.” He says as a smirk spreads across his face. I look at the time and notice the sky is starting to look a little darker than when I first arrived at the cafe, much less people surrounding us than before. “Well I’ll have to take you up on that offer at a later date. It is getting a little late though I should start heading home” I smile down at him as I start to get up. His eyebrows raise as he softly takes me wrist in his hand “Wait um could we maybe exchange numbers so you can let me know when you get to the gallery tomorrow? And maybe we can hang out sometime?” I halt my exit as he pulls his hand away, pulling out his phone, slowly rising to get up and stand alongside me. “Oh um It's..” I rattle off my number as I watch him, in full concentration type it in and send off a text, my phone vibrates. “Ok! I got your text.” I say as I add him to my contacts “🫣Peter🤭” “Well I better head off.” I say after having put away my phone. Pedro checks the time and starts collecting his things. “I’ll head out with you, it is getting a little late in the day to be just sitting in a cafe, ya know?” He says and we start to walk side by side to the exit, he holds the door open and we wave goodbye at each other as we part ways, going in opposite directions.
Today was a good day… I hope tomorrow is as good, if not better.
AUTHORS NOTE: Sorry for the wait guys, I got a new job, I lost the desire to write, I almost lost the desire to even be in the Pedro Pascal X Reader fandom in general but life goes on and I had a super random urge to write and decided to continue writing this story so I hope you continue reading I'll try my best to continue writing but the chapters will definetly be real spaced out due to me working literally everyday so HAVE A GOOD DAY AND IM GLAD YOU READ ALONG!
#artist!reader#fem!reader#afab!reader#reader insert#fluff#meet-cute#amamoa#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro x reader#oc!pedro#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fluff
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