#is it clear that i love 15k one shots?
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avatrice au fic recommendations:
i don't think there is a single avatrice au fic that i haven't read so here are some my favorites. i tried to find ones that weren't as popular, so hopefully there are couple here you haven't read.
I want to believe by puppybusby @yashastrongarms - x files au - basically 23k of avatrice flirting while being incredibly reckless with alien shit. unfortunately, it is only a one shot that doesn't delve into their relationship, but it is so worth it. and the tension. woof.
Truly a Steadfast Love by StoicLastStand - medieval au - they have a whole series of ficlets, but this is one of my favorites. there's a tournament to win ava's hand in marriage, ava goes undercover to fight for her freedom, but she ends up falling for the very knight who everybody wants to win. i also love their lucifer au, Greater Sacrifices.
a lover, or something of mine by Smokestarrules - reincarnation au - each chapter is a different life with a different story, and i promise you, if you have anything that even resembles a heart, you will cry. i keep going back and rereading chapter 4 because apparently i love to hurt myself. i also love the world is just illusion (trying to change you) by them, it's a road trip au.
i should love you (and i swear i do) by Noteveryonefitsintothebadbitchgenre - harry potter au (fuck jk rowling) - its that trope where they're married and they talk about each other constantly but nobody actually knows they're married. their students all think that professor silva and professor young have a friendly rivalry, but there are a couple of moments that don't add up.
purple by sxftmelody - hitman au - technically, but really it's just sad, i always cry at the end. beatrice helps ava run away after a job, and slowly they open themselves up and start to fall in love. tw: major character death. also love turning page by the same author, mercenary/princess au.
in our corner of the world by definitelynotthere - roommate au - i know, i know, there's a thousand roommate aus, why would i recommend a fic that isn't even finished and will probably never get finished? i don't know, i just really love this one, and if you're like me, you'll go "ooh, two cakes" and read it anyway.
The last hero of Ogygia by jessnope - percy jackson au - specifically calypso au, ava is calypso and beatrice is the flirty hunter that washed up on her shore. it's super cute.
stay there, 'cause i'll be coming over (while our blood's still young) by britishngay - spiderman au - ava's character voice is actually designed to be spiderman, and bea is the perfect doctor lady that patches spidey up when she gets hurt. plus beatrice telling lilith to "shut up and sit down" will never not be iconic.
sunday people (sunday shines for you) by gilligankane @piratekane - another roommates au - jealous ava is back again and out for blood, specifically jenn-with-two-ns blood.
this is my prayer (I'm in love with you) by nyxtyka - my best friend's wedding/spies au - i'll be honest, this fic went to my marked for laters to die. i don't know if it'll ever be finished, but it is one of my favorite aus, i promise it'll be worth the pain.
spellbound by onomofication - witch au - beatrice is the witch in the woods that ava goes to to finally find a way to explore the world like she has always wanted to. but as she gets to know the surprisingly kind, serious, kinda-sorta witch, she discovers that maybe the world was smaller than she had once imagined. i also love another fic by this author, hit me with you best shot, which is basically a cupid au, where ava runs around trying to stop jc, a cupid, from shooting the love of her life, beatrice.
the celestial glow is blinding by understreetlights - firewatch au - did i think ava and beatrice sitting around, looking at trees, and falling love with each other through walkie talkies was going to be interesting? no, but the world loves to prove me wrong.
too cold, it's withdrawal by KatieQgle - captain america au - give this one a chance, even if you don't like marvel. beatrice is hot as fuck as bucky and honestly the winter soldier plot line needed a little sapphic yearning. come on, avatrice in the army in the 1940s, being badass and fighting nazis together? who wouldn't love that?
i have a ton more, reach out if you want them!
#is it clear that i love 15k one shots?#i'm sorry for all the unfinished ones they're just too good#and hey maybe you can manifest them updating#just don't harass the writers#fic writers are like cats stuck under a building#you have to lure them out with gentle words and treats#warrior nun#avatrice#warrior nun fanfic#avatrice fanfic#avatrice fanfiction#avatrice fic#avatrice au#also i'm sorry if i didn't tag everybody on tumblr i just suck at tumblr sometimes#some accounts i just couldn't find#if there's an account that i forgot to tag please let me know
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you cut your hair, and take some space.
pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader
synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 1 of 2 !
warnings. no use of y/n, age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, officer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, so much crying ( reader spends half her time crying over javi p which is honestly a mood ), violence, undetailed depictions of sa ( not javi ), smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !
word count. 15k
hyde’s input. this was written over the course of four months and could easily be used in court to prove i am, in fact, unequivocally in love with one mr. javier peña. if you take the time to read it, just know i appreciate it so much. i really poured my heart and soul into this and, as someone who's been writing for years, it's been so long since i've written something so self-indulgent that's brought me nothing but joy to write. as the fic has surpassed 30k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it, i've decided to post it in two parts. part two will be posted within the following weeks.
(it'a nearly 4 am as i post this, please look the other way at any typos or editing errors.)
“i told you, corazón mia (my heart),” he can't meet your eyes. “made it clear from the start i wasn't looking for anything serious.”
“i know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “but if it wasn't serious, why'd you treat me like it was?”
I cut my nose to save some face
You cut your hair and take some space.
The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.
Where there are usually your eyes, there’s a discoloured splotch of brown. A crack runs down the left of what should be your face. Someone’s taken it upon themselves to draw a cartoon penis just where your mouth is. But in your drunken haze and laser focus, you don’t care enough to notice. All you see is the spot where your nose is, a tiny ball of silver nestled just above your right nostril.
It’s something new to fidget with.
On the flip side, it stings like a bitch. Or, more appropriately, like the tequila shots that led you to this run-down tattoo parlour.
You wonder if, come the morning and mental clarity, you’ll regret it.
If you do, you’ll blame him.
Your night was going fine. Good, even. And, with a lack of good nights in the recent week, that was an accomplishment.
You’d dressed up, let loose, had fun. A friend on either arm and a drink close at hand, you’d giggled and gossiped your way through this impromptu girls’ night.
They’d ambushed you, in a way, forced their way through the barricade of tissues and take-out boxes into your apartment. A skimpy dress tossed at your head and four hands dragging you, limb by limb, into the shower.
Get some dinner, hit the town, get fucked up. That was the plan they set out for you.
You skipped dinner, dove head-first into the town.
You were careful all night to never speak of him.
One part fearful it would summon him, another part embarrassed to admit just who you’d gotten tangled up in. A third part, tucked away in a locked closet, ready to do it all over again.
And then it happened.
You didn’t say his name, no.
Not aloud.
You thought it, for just a second, hearing the person beside you at the bar order the same drink you’d watched him nurse time after time. It wasn’t him but, instead, a man far too short and a clean-cut kind of handsome to even begin to compare to the ex-agent.
But it was enough to make you want to leave.
Giving up your space, you’d made your way back to your girls and made up some little white lie, surprised neither of them called you out on it- what kind of bar doesn’t have white wine?
They left to find someplace with wine, you left to find some peace of mind.
The bar they dragged you into was familiar, the setting of many of your father’s stories. It only took you walking through the door, tugging down the dress-too-short, to hear your name called across the floor.
“Hey kiddo!” Your dad’s a tell-tale kind of drunk, his eyes giving away even the smallest sip of alcohol he has. He was just tipsy, scooting his way out of a tattered booth to wrap you up in his arms. It felt as nice as it did guilt-inducing, knowing you’d been avoiding his calls all week since The Incident. A punishment to yourself more than one aimed at him. “You here yourself? Could join us for the night, if you like. Ain’t that right, boys?”
It was only then that you’d realised two men were sat within the booth, collars undone and ties loosened after a week’s work.
There were usually three of them.
"We’re just waiting on Peña." Oh god, it makes you feel sick. Heart in your throat, stomach at your feet. His name no longer feels real, not when spoken by anyone but you.
“And raising bets on his tardiness,” one of your father’s friends said. You recognised him from a few of the barbecues and Christmas parties your dad's thrown. He's nice, responsible. Married, to a woman his own age. “I’m saying he’s chasing some tail. God knows he could use some stress relief. Boy’s been wound up all week, nearly bit my head off for asking him about some files."
It’s a wonder none of the three men- one a retired lawyer, the other two members of the force- noticed the blood drain from your face.
“My guess is he’s pulled some muscle in his back and can’t get himself out of bed,” a nudge from your father’s elbow, delivered straight to your ribs. “Whatcha think, kiddo?”
You didn’t have an answer.
You didn’t get to give an answer.
“You need to quit speaking ‘bout me like you’re not a whole decade my senior, viejo (old man),” it came from behind you and threatened you to look. Like the foolish final-girl in a slasher, you ignored your basic instincts and glanced over your shoulder.
You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you know what you were hoping for.
Tired eyes, chewed lips, unkempt facial hair. A twitch of sadness drawn between his brows and the stains of cigarette ash on a worn-out suit.
Javier Peña was none of that.
The suit, grey. One that fit him all too well and had you wishing you could stain it with your drink.
The signature moustache, perfectly groomed, sitting perched above the bow of his pouty lips, rosy-red and fresh for picking.
His eyes have always given him away but, staring down at you in that moment, they read only as passive, unaffected.
It was like, nothing.
And, yes, that’s what you’d asked for- from now on, whenever you see me, can you at least pretend that none of this happened?
But he's smart enough to know you didn't mean it, right?
“Hey officers, sorry to interrupt but,” a hand curled around your arm. It tugged and you let yourself be inched away from heavy brown eyes and your father’s smile. “She’s ours for the night. We’re going clubbing!”
That was never part of the plan.
Neither was skipping dinner, though.
You caught the back of him as you were dragged away, some pleading from your father to take it easy and call me in the morning, and noticed it only then.
His hair, freshly cut.
“‘S getting too long,” a mumbled sort of thing, hidden in your neck, spoken against your pulse. A kiss placed upon it, and then another for extra measure. Fingers dragging through his hair, ridding him of the knots your very same hands had worked into them an hour of passionate touching ago. “Lo sé (I know).”
A pause of silence. The blissful moan birthed from nails on his scalp. And, then, “no. It’s nice, I like it.”
That puppy-dog stare, so particular to the cool-down moments between you, meets your own, chin propped up on your sternum. He’s sweet like this, honeyed skin and pleasant smiles.
“Yeah?” He asks, like he even needs to. “You like it, corazón (sweetheart)?” You opt for a hummed confirmation, finger tracing over the arch of his nose. “Guess I better keep it this way, then.”
Now he’s gone and chopped the overgrown curls off.
In a way, it feels like he’s cut you off with them.
We don’t speak cause it’s too tricky
But if I’m tricky, why’d you kiss me?
The next time you see him, a wedding is taking place.
He sits on the groom’s side, you sit on the bride’s.
It feels unreasonable to be surprised by his presence. Why wouldn’t he be here, sitting four rows from the back, at his cousin’s brother-in-law’s wedding?
The bride is gorgeous, the groom is in tears. The priest drones on a little too long.
Somewhere between the exchanging of vows, and the ceremonial kissing, and the cheering of guests, your instincts get the better of you and you glance back at him.
He’s already staring right back, eyes ignited with something that weakens your knees and shakes your confidence. The newlyweds walk down the aisle, cut through your line of sight. He’s still staring at you when they’ve passed.
The reception takes place in the events room of some glammed-up hotel, the kind you can barely afford the one night you’re booked in for.
An open bar, a local band. The catering is tasteful, handpicked by the couple, and the table you feast at is so far away from his that you don’t get that chance to see if he chose the chicken or the beef.
You find a friend behind the bar, in the shape of a bottle and toothpick-impaled olives.
You dance till your feet hurt, slip away to your table, take off your heels. You’re back on the dance floor in time to catch the bouquet, too busy basking in the envy of the other women to notice his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.
If it weren’t for the dent in your bank account made by the room you booked, you’d gladly dance away the whole night. But if a bed with a view costs double your rent, you’ll be damned if you don’t get to sleep in it.
So you stumble to the elevator.
Clutch your heels and flowers to your chest, struggle to remember your floor number. The fifth floor seems to ring a bell, but it might’ve been the eighth floor. Your room key! Maybe, you hope, that’ll have your floor number on it. You struggle with your purse’s zipper, trying your best to pry it open.
You succeed, but at what cost? Heels and bouquet tumble to the floor, thumping and clunking as they knock against it, flower petals falling loose.
You try to bend down, stretch your fingers out to grasp the clasps, seize the stems. A wave of exhaustion mixed with too much alcohol washes over you and you stand up straight again. Take a calming breath, do a little song and dance before reaching down again.
“Déjame. (Let me.)”
Scuffed shoes come into view as you’re halfway down, bent at the waist and holding your balance with one arm against a wall. You stand up straight, too fast, lose your balance and stumble forward.
He catches you.
For a moment, it feels like you’ve never left his arms.
“C’mon, let’s get you to your room.” You hate the way he ends his sentence, no term of endearment and no impure intentions.
He asks for your floor, you give him your key. He punches the number into the elevator and it shakes to life.
Neither one of you makes an attempt to part. There’s a chance he pulls you closer to him. You let yourself melt, regardless, muscles relaxing and sinking into his arms.
He’s still warm. He’s still steady. but his cologne’s different and it makes your eyes sting.
You’d warned him he was about to run out of his signature bottle, made a note to buy him another one for his birthday or Christmas, whichever came first.
“You look like you had fun,” he rasps out, eventually, as the elevator slips past the fifth floor.
“I did,” you tell a partial truth. You would have had more fun, if he’d stood at your side, ate at your table, danced in your arms. But you can’t say that, because he doesn’t want that.
“I’m glad.”
It turns out your floor is the ninth. He’s careful to guide you out the mobile-box, hand on your hip, pressing you to his side. Your heels dangling from one of his fingers and the bouquet gripped in his palm, smacking against his thigh every other step. A little down the hall and there you find it, your precious and expensive home for the night.
It’s easier to let him open the door, he tells you.
It’s easier to let him guide you to bed, you tell yourself.
Dropping the heels on the floor, he disappears out of your line of sight and you stare motionless at the ceiling above, buzzing in your brain and pain in your heart.
You’ve never shared a space like this with him, one that’s hollow and decayed. The shell of a creature that’s long abandoned it, grown too big for its home.
Your eyes sting all over again, this time enough to brim with unfallen tears.
A thud against the nightstand.
You roll onto your side and find he’s still here, a glass of water and some painkillers lay to rest at your bedside. The first tear gives way, running down your cheek and dropping to the crisp white sheets below. Even more fall as he raises a damp cloth to your face, wiping away smudged mascara and bringing your lips back to their natural colour.
The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.
Fingertips drag down each inch of skin released as he unzips the back of your dress, tugging it down and folding it by your heels. The weight off your chest helps you breathe as he unhooks your bra. Left only in your underwear, the sheets ruffle as he drags them up your tired limbs and tucks them under your chin.
“Get in bed, please,” you plead like you have any right to ask that of him. “Javi.”
It’s the first time you’ve said his name since that night in May. His shoulders tense and release, his fingers smooth down his moustache. He looks like he’s going to fulfil your request, slip in behind you and wrap you up in his soft but steady embrace.
He looks like he wants to.
His back cracks as he bends down and presses a kiss.
Against your forehead, lips that linger.
Then, he stands up straight and walks out the door.
On the forehead, way up north
Pressed the scar and found the source
Vermont, ‘98.
That’s where it all began.
Your dad, turning fifty.
Javi just hit forty.
It was someone in the station who had the wild idea they celebrate it together. The sheriff and the station’s rookie- really, a hardened, inching-out-of-a-fresh-retirement former DEA agent your father manipulated back into the force, some promise of a light workload and a hefty pension. With no need for money, you wonder why he ever accepted the offer.
Plans were set, money was put in a pot, and a wheel of fortune was spun. It landed on the northern state, a downpayment to rent a ski lodge placed within a matter of twenty-four hours.
Somewhere along the way, you’d been roped into joining this boys-only trip. Your dad argued you needed a break from studying. Your mother argued there needed to be a responsible adult to supervise your dad. and, well, a free holiday never hurt nobody, right?
Wrong.
The final evening, with a constant pounding of a hangover never-quite-nursed, a litter of bruises down your back from falling and a firmly closed chapter on any possible career as a ski prodigy you may have had, you trailed your way down to the only bar in the tiny ski town.
Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.
A half-drank glass of cabernet, an empty plate.
Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.
The cheer of a frat-boy out in the wild warrants the same response as hearing a lion’s roar in the dark of the Saharan night.
The kind you hear them before you see them, spilling through the door in their obnoxious jerseys and their face-painted cheeks. one wore the badge of honour, a giant Soon To Be shackled Married printed poorly onto the back of his jersey.
You put your head down, breathed more subtly.
The pride stormed their way over to the bar, pounding their fists onto the surface and gnashing their teeth, spit spilling down their mouth as they brutally tore into the bartender, demanding pints of beer and rounds of shots.
The key was to avoid eye contact, keep low and out of sight.
They dispersed through the area, sniffing out free booths and the occasional local to irritate out of their seats.
One of them found the jukebox and wasted his coin on blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. The group of older women playing bingo scowled and made their way out of the joint, calling it for the night.
You got up to follow suit, hands slowly packing up your belongings and slinging your bag over your back.
Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.
“Woo! Look at you,” just as you were close to slipping out the door, a single member of the pack spotted you, prowling his way over. He already had his chest puffed out by the time you turned around. “Ain’t seen an ass like that since we left the city!”
Hardly charming. Tame, compared to other things frat boys have said to you.
“Why don’cha come join me and my buddies over there?” He nodded back at them, like they weren’t the obnoxious centres of everyone’s attention.
You were not scared of him, exactly. But you’ve seen where things can go. Heard about it, countless times, from your own father.
So you spoke with caution, gripping your bag a little tighter, “thanks, but I’ve got an early flight. Have a nice night-” He told you his name, like you cared. “Yeah, thanks, bye.”
And then you were stepping out into the quiet of the night.
Fresh air, cold enough to sting your lungs. You breathed it in like it was going out of fashion.
You barely got a moment to compose yourself before that grating voice was back in your ears.
“Oh don’t be a buzzkill!” He whined, you cringed. Took a step back, watched him move an inch. “It’s early, stay. Have a drink.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“To have fun?! C’mon, it’s too cold to be out here by yourself.”
“I have an early flight.”
“It’s just one drink, sweetheart. I ain’t asking you to sign your life away.”
A couple bumped past you both, weaved their way between you. His eyes trailed after them, your feet twisted around, carrying you away from him slowly, carefully. Best not to make yourself look like prey, not to this predator.
“Hey!” He called after you. Your steps sped up. “Where you going, sweetheart?”
It didn’t even matter that you were walking in the opposite direction of the ski lodge. You told yourself you would find your way back, once this lion was off your back.
“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”
The lion pounced, sank his claws into your back and ripped through you.
Your hand flew out to break your fall, the contents of your bag spilling out onto the sidewalk.
Pain, the kind that stings. It nipped at your knees, and your hands, and your eyes. Pushed it down, pulled yourself up.
He froze, maybe surprised at his own actions, maybe waiting on the chance to pounce once more, this time with his fangs instead of his claws.
You wouldn’t give him the chance. Filled your bag, collected your senses and ran.
It was tricky on frozen ground, trying so hard to not look back.
He followed and you knew it, heard it. Roaring and growling, chasing you down streets you’d never walked.
You slipped, momentarily, slammed into a wall. A crossroads, go right or go left.
You don’t remember which direction you turned.
“Quit running, you bitch!”
He was still following, how was he still following?
Caving in, you glanced over your shoulder and saw the blurry figure of him running after you.
He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.
You came to a screeching halt, body smacking into something solid. Eyes shut, mind alive. You feared the worst, hoped for the best, expected to open your eyes and find yourself trapped in a dead-end, nowhere to run from this predator.
Instead, you heard your name. Called softly, at first. Gentle, coaxing you to pay attention. The second time it was more urgent, worried and aggressive. You sank deeper into the wall, felt your feet shuffle on the gravel below.
“...Gotta let me know, nena,” the wall pulled you back from it, a firm grasp on your forearms. Your eyes opened and met his. “Fucking Christ, look at the state of you.”
You’d not known much about Javier Peña at the start of the trip.
Your dad had mentioned something about a family ranch. Your mom let it slip that he’d enjoyed the pumpkin pie she’d brought to the station’s Thanksgiving feast.
There’d been one time you’d caught the end of a conversation between him and your dad. Nothing concrete, just some shameful mutterings about Colombia and Los Pepes. You’d left once you heard your dad start to comfort the man, deciding your intruding on the moment had already gone too far.
You now knew he liked his whiskey, no ice. His coffee, no milk. His bread, no butter.
He didn’t like the mess of mixing things, and you had to wonder if it had always been this way. Or had he learned his lesson, the hard way? Mixed the wrong things, burnt his own blessings?
“You’re bleeding,” he announced it, fresh news for you.
A pleasant warmth thrummed through your veins as he took hold of your hand, inspecting it under his scrutiny.
His thumb swiped over your palm.
Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.
He held you in place.
Something visceral shifted in him, enough to coax you to glance at him.
He was looking past you, eyes a deadly killer stalking their prey. You followed their line of sight and found the lion at the end of the street. Standing still, arms at his side, eyes a little wider than you remembered them. You’d not really been looking, in the first place.
The former agent twisted you behind him, an effortless shield. Took an urgent step toward the frat boy, and then another three.
You grasped at his sleeve and tugged him back, didn’t let him stray too far.
“I’m fine,” you lied. He didn’t believe you, furrowing his brow. “I’m just cold.”
He seemed to hesitate, softened by a tremble in your voice.
He glanced back to see the lion was retreating, staggering his way back to the pride of frat boys. A perfect opportunity for him to attack, from behind and unexpectedly.
“Leave it, he’s not-” The sting in your eye got the best of you and a tear tracked itself down your cheek. You wiped it away with your scraped hand, leaving behind a smear of gravel and blood. “It’s not worth it.”
You said it not for the agent’s sake, but the boy’s.
The agent puffed out a breath of frustration, then followed your plea. Turned back to you, licked his thumb and swiped off the dirt on your cheek. Pulled you in, against him once more, and pressed a deliberate kiss against your forehead.
It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.
He did it because that seemed to be in his nature: to nurture.
“C’mon, the lodge is this way,” he pointed in some direction.
You didn’t bother paying attention, more than willing to follow wherever he led.
“Put this on.” It was not posed as an option, not when the agent tugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.
Somewhere along the path, you realised you’d lost your key to your cabin. Your dad carried the other.
Officer Peña offered to take you to him, drinking down in the ski lodge’s bar with the rest of the men.
You shook your head, told him your dad couldn’t see you in that state.
He took you back to his own cabin instead.
Cleaned up your hands, put on the fire, poured you a drink.
Then fucked you into his bed, till you clawed and sobbed around him.
If you don’t love me,
Why’d you act it?
Late june brings nothing but gloom.
You get bored quick, no college to fill your days. Pick up extra shifts, hope to combat the empty feeling in your chest with the rush hour traffic that torpedoes it’s way through the cafe.
Friends invite you out, you rarely go. They tease you’re becoming a recluse, and that just makes you want to shut yourself in even more.
Tonight, you’re appeasing them.
Some line dance event, downtown in a bar that’s only gimmick seems to be a worn-down mechanical bull. It’s missing a horn and no one seems to know why.
Truth be told, you don’t want to go.
You want to stuff your face with take-out while you melt into your couch, watching reruns of the first season of Friends and drooling over Joey till you forget about another smooth-talking, raven haired man.
Here you are instead, fighting against the cheesy cowgirl hat till it sits on your head correctly.
In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.
The clock sits at eight forty-seven.
They’re 2 minutes late.
You give up, decide to pretend you want the hat this way. Slip on your jacket, do a sweep around your apartment: windows locked, flat iron off, fridge closed. Grabbing your purse, you unzip it and wrestle around in it’s contents, searching for your keys.
You pull on something and- it’s a pack a gum.
Dive back in, search again.
An empty tube of lipbalm.
Third time’s a charm, you think, and try once more. Something scratches your fingers, coaxes you to tug it out and inspect it.
A broken earring.
A familiar car honk’s outside, you stay frozen in place, staring at the broken hoop and counting one, two, three.
Bile burns the back of your throat.
He opens on the fifth knock.
Any other night, he practically rips the door off it’s hinges and tugs you in, before you can so much as raise your fist for a second knock.
Maybe he was busy, on the toilet or on the phone. You don’t think too much into it.
He steps aside, lets you in. Stands so far away, it’s hard to read his eyes.
The air’s uncomfortably quiet.
You think’s it’s all in your head, self-doubt at an all time high after a bad day.
“My earring snapped today,” there’s a growing pit in your stomach, just from staring at him. He looks so distant, not present. Mind a galaxy away. "Your favourite ones, too. You know, the little hoops with-”
“The hearts dangling from them.” He finishes, on your behalf, and it’s the first green flag you see. Green enough to lull yourself into a faux calm.
The silence returns.
You rock backwards on your heels, glance around the apartment. Try to find what has changed, because this no longer feels like the place you’ve grown so familiar with. And neither does the man observing you from a distance, hands glued to his sides.
He should be touching you by now, in any way he could: his foot bumping against yours under his dining table, his hand trailing patterns over your shoulders as you settle into his side on the couch, his tongue delving between your folds as you lay splayed out on his sheets.
You notice his bedroom door is shut.
It’s never been shut before.
“Is- Am I-” You don’t have to find the words, but the courage to speak them. “Do you have someone over?”
He blinks, slowly.
It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.
“Because if you do, that’s fine!” It’s not. “I understand,” You don’t.
He doesn’t answer.
You keep talking.
“Totally chill, I’ll comeback some other night. Or, you can just come by mine! Yeah, actually, that sounds better. Won’t risk interrupting again-”
“This needs to stop.”
You don’t have to question it.
You do, anyway.
“What?”
“Us. This-” He’s pointing between you both, a little haphazardly. It’s like he’s rushing to get the words out, get it over with. Get you out his apartment. “Thing we’re doing. It’s done.”
“I don’t underst-”
He cuts you off with your name. “Why’d you come here tonight?”
He’s stern.
Not in the way that makes you want to bend to his will and indulge in all his sins. But in a way that makes you feel dirty, wrong. A child scorned for touching fire and getting themselves burnt.
“I,” you’re beginning to wish there was someone else in his bed, so she could stroll out of his room in one of his stupidly soft shirts and interrupt this conversation. “Uh, I had a bad day.”
“Okay,” he nods. Smooths a hands over his chin, pops out his hip. “What’s that got anything to do with me?”
Everything, you want to tell him.
For every single thing that went wrong throughout your day, seeing Javi gave you something to look forward to.
“I just thought-”
“You thought, what?” His face twists up, just like your insides. He’s angry and you’re the one to blame. “This isn’t a- I’m not your boyfriend.”
I know, you mouth.
Because you do know. Repeat it to yourself all the time.
When he calls to make sure you got home safe.
When you sneak off to pee in the middle of the night and are welcomed back to bed with a forceful tug into his chest, a sleepy, gruffed out ‘where’d you go?’ whispered into your neck.
When he picks up on the things you say, remembers silly things like your favourite toilet paper brand and the exact milk to cereal ratio you enjoy.
Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.
So why does he act like it?
“Look, kid, you’re young, and I know-”
Kid.
That makes you angry.
He wasn’t calling you kid when he bent you over your parents’ bathroom counter.
“Don’t call me kid.”
“And I know,” he pushes through your protest, keeps up the distance. “This can be a lot at your age. Don’t blame you for getting caught up. But whatever you think you’re feeling for me, it’s not-”
“Is this about the p-” The word won’t come out of you, so your change the verbiage. “The hospital? Because I told you, Javi. We’ve been safe. Safer than a pair of purity-ring wearing teenagers-”
“No, this is about me needing to do the right-”
At this point, you’re just interrupting one another.
Fighting to get in the next word, frowning at what you do hear.
He tilts his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, a groan leaving his cracked lips. You’d imagined him doing that tonight, but not like this.
Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.
Silence.
You take the lead.
“So, what? That’s it just... over?”
“I told you, corazón mía (my heart),” he can’t meet your eyes. “Made it clear from the start I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”
“I know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “But if it wasn’t serious, why’d you treat me like it was?”
It takes him a few minutes to answer. There’s a twitch, in his hand, reaching up only to drop back down at his side.
Usually, he wipes your tears before they get chance to fall.
The rug at your feet turns darker with each wet spot that drops.
“I got caught up,” his eyes seem so sad, so lost. Staring across the ocean of his living room, searching for a lighthouse to pull him safe to shore. But he won’t let you be that. “In the way you deserve to be treated, instead of some sleazy secret.”
He breathes out your name, the most painful melody you’ve ever heard.
“This has to end,” you’re unsure if it’s only you he’s attempting to convince. “Before someone gets hurt.”
Too late, you want to say.
You’re already being torn apart by his hands, and he’s standing ten feet away.
“Corazón, I’m so sor-”
The car honks, again.
You breathe in, and find it’s hard, snot piling up in your nose and tears splashing down your cheers.
Another honk.
You never make it to the line dance.
You curl in on yourself, instead, and fall asleep to the sound of Joey and Chandler’s bickering.
Love’s a verb
And not a bandage
In retrospect, it’s hard to tell where the lines begin to blur.
A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.
Whenever you think about it, for too long, your mind carries you back to the same night. A few months after Vermont, you don’t recall the exact date.
All you remember is a pounding at your front door.
1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.
You nearly trip over discarded shoes, curse earlier-you for assuming you would remember their existence. Undo the bolt, grab the key and then-
Pause.
This could be anyone, anything.
You check the peephole, find exactly who you were hoping for.
He’s on you like a moth to a flame, pressing you flush against him the instant he can fit through the crack in your doorway. Mouth on mouth, hands on waist. The door thuds as he closes it behind you both, you’re too distracted to notice.
You let him invade your senses.
Smell his aged leather and nicotine thrill. Feel his strong arms and bulging crotch. Hear his laboured breaths and muttered pleasantries. Taste his whiskey tongue and metallic lips-
You pull back. He follows.
It’s flattering, his inability to get enough of you, but you halt him nonetheless.
Cup his cheeks, pull down his face, and stare.
“My dad finally figure out who those panties in your glove-box belong to, Peña?” It’s meant to be a joke.
There’s nothing funny about his bleeding lip and split eyebrow.
He graces no response, dives back into you and submerses himself in your touch. Kisses you slow, with deliverance, his final mission to arrest all your sense of self till you turn yourself in to his embrace.
Only as you pass by those discarded shoes do you realise he’s inching you both deeper into the dark of your apartment.
This time, you do trip over them.
It’s okay though, Javi’s there to catch you.
He finds refuge in your neck, burrowing in deep, mouthing at the skin like a dog does a wound. Your arm shoots out to find a light-switch. A warm glow fills the apartment, bathing you both in an orange hue.
The gold of his skin shines brighter.
The red on his skin appears darker.
“What happened to you?” You don’t need to worry about him. And, yet, doing so comes naturally.
“S’not important,” it’s spoken against your skin, as if he intends to seep his gravelled tone into your pores and have it grow a new life for itself within you. A gentle scraping of his teeth sends a shiver down your spine. “I’ll tell you later.”
Later with Javi never seems to come.
‘If you’re not busy, I’ll make you dinner later.’
‘Keep it up and I’ll be fucking that attitude out of you later.’
‘I’ll get these back to you later.’
He’d never made you that dinner.
He’d dragged you into the station’s bathrooms and fucked the attitude out of you only seconds after.
You’d never gotten those panties back.
You decide to grant him no time for later. Shove him down into a seat at your dining table-for-two. Roll your eyes as he asks if you’re “gonna put on a show for me, corazón?”
The makeshift first-aid kit put together by your mother resides at the back of a cupboard, hidden by mugs and cups. It takes several minutes and a smashed glass to manoeuvre it out. You step over the pieces of glass and head straight back to the table, dumping out the contents.
You click your tongue, point your finger. He scoots the chair back from the table and you slip between the space. Press back against the surface, stand between his parted knees and do your best to not look down at the jeans that grant him no modesty.
Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.
He’s insisting he’s okay, yet he’s hissing when you dab at the tears in his flesh with betadine. His hands find a place upon your hips and give a tight squeeze as you press butterfly stitches to his no-longer bleeding brow.
“I,” he starts up, an indefinite time of silence passing between you both. He shakes his head.“It’s stupid.”
“Javi,” you stroke your finger over his jaw, tilt his head back to meet your eyes. “The less you tell me, the more I’ll worry.”
It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.
“I was just wanting one drink, was gonna head home... Or to you, after. I had a shitty day at work and... You probably don’t care about that,” he has no idea you’ll hang onto those words for the weeks to come, wondering how to lighten his workload, ease his tension. “Heard some loud-mouth kid beside me at the bar, he was talking to this girl. She gets up to leave, he follows. I was just gonna go back to nursing my drink but-”
He hisses.
You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.
There’s no malice in his eyes as you pull your hand back, only soft and tender. He must sense your remorse for hurting him, chasing after your fingers and grazing a gentle kiss upon them.
A splotch of red stains your skin.
“Corazón,” he croons, shifts himself closer to you. His hands grip the backs of your exposed thighs, his chin presses into your lower stomach. A few movie-strand hairs cover the molten brown eyes that stare up at you. “You’re exhausted. Vamos, basta de preocuparte (C'mon, stop worrying), I’m fine. I just wanna crawl into your tiny bed so I can wake up to your bedhead and more back pains.”
It’s a tempting offer, and one you’ve given into far too many times acceptable for the casual agreement you both share.
A deep breath. Your hand lands on his cheek, his eyes flutter shut.
There’s bags under them. Heavy, dark. Bearing the exhaustion he hides behind charming winks and dashing smiles. Your thumb grazes over one and you ache to give him the rest he deserves, the rest his body craves.
“But, what?” You persist, pleading for him to continue his story.
Javi sighs, gives in.
He always gives in, to you, eventually.
“I just- I don’t know, it’s crazy, but I kept thinking of you,” his eyes reopen, sorrow buried deep in his soul and a worry-line etched into his brow. “In that bar. Alone, in Vermont, when you...”
He doesn’t finish his sentence.
He doesn’t need to.
“So what did you do?” It’s best to keep him talking, drag his mind away from whatever dark thoughts those memories bring up.
“I followed them outside,” he admits with a tinge of shame. “Tried to be subtle about it. Lit a cigarette, took a few drags, scoped out the street. Neither of them were around,” you’ve long abandoned the first aid kit, transfixed by the tight grip he holds you in, his hands smoothing up and down the backs of your thighs in an attempt to soothe himself. “I thought I’d maybe read into it wrong. Maybe she was into him, and they’d got a cab back to her place. Or his.”
He’s rambling.
Stumbling through words he deems unimportant, rushing to push out the thoughts that clog up his brain pipes.
You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.
“It was just as I turned to go back inside that I heard something,” his hands no longer dance over your skin. They sit stagnant, halfway up your thigh, fingers flexed and nails digging into flesh. He’s burying himself into any part of you he can, rooting himself in your solid figure. “Rustling, or something. Coming from the alley. And I just... I felt my stomach drop. Followed after it. Found them, him-”
He chokes.
On his words, on his breath, on his failure.
You run a hand through his curls, soothe the lines off his face.
Bend down, drag him up, press your lips to the arc of his nose.
“Didn’t think, I just dragged him off. Punched him, a few times. Felt his nose crack under my fist.” He’s still pushing through, his earlier unwillingness to talk now a streaming fountain you can’t switch off. “I must’ve tripped on some glass, lost my balance. Gave him the space to get a few hits in, and-”
“Did you arrest him?” You cut him off.
He nods.
“Did you help her?”
Another nod.
“Did you get her someplace safe?”
This time, a reply.
“An officer checked her in at the hospital, stayed till her friend arrived.”
“Then Javi,” you make a point of saying his name, remind him of who he is when he’s not on duty. Not parading around with a badge and a gun, and answering to Officer Peña. The shift in his stare tells you it helps. “You did enough.”
A weight slips off his shoulders and he slumps further into you, eyes squeezing shut.
“I didn’t,” frustration steals the show, coursing through his voice.
“What more could you have done?”
“I don’t know... I could’ve-” He groans, like something pains him, and purses his lips. “I should’ve helped her sooner. Followed them, the minute they left. Shouldn’t have let...” A whiff of whiskey reaches your nostrils. Javi pulls you in tighter, breathes in the mixture of sleep-sweat and lingering cologne on the shirt you wear- Pink, the top buttons undone, left behind by him. “Shouldn’t have let you go out alone.”
You whine out his name.
The air is miserable, dragging through your lungs and staining them.
The chair creeks at the loss of his weight, knees straightening him up to his full height. Instinctually, you lean back into the table, head tilting to meet his broken eyes.
He’s searching for comfort, in the only way he knows how.
Slap a bandage over a bullet-hole, place a kiss upon his gaping-heart.
“Not everything about that night was so bad,” you play into his game, splay a hand upon his shirt. Trace a finger over a stained blood spot. “If I hadn’t gone out, then maybe we wouldn’t be...”
The words catch in your throat.
Partially because you don’t know what you are anymore. Boundaries crossed, lines blurring. Hands that hold and eyes that linger. Too close to be nothing, too reckless to be something.
But mostly because he kisses you.
Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.
He’s a man on a mission, to consume your soul right out your willing body. Unravelling you where you stand, he takes pleasure in peeling his shirt off you.
Hot mouth to hot skin, the tip of his tongue meeting the peak of your breasts. Your hands pull at his hair and he grips at your waist.
The descent into madness is quick, bodies melting together in a dance that’s unique, improvised, and yet always in sync.
He tugs at your panties and you undo his belt. He hooks your thigh over his hip and you anchor yourself to his chest. He teases you with a pinch to your clit and you torture him as you cup his heavy balls.
When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.
The table thuds and scrapes along the floor with each punctuated thrust he gives, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your welcoming cunt, the coarse hairs at its base gifting you the occasional thrill of friction on your aching clit.
He’s slurring out curses and pet-names, lavishing you with delightful proclaims of what a pretty girl you are when you 'shut up and take my cock'.
When he does manage a full sentence of logical wording, his forehead’s pressed to your shoulder, his cum coats your thighs and the sweat between your frantic bodies holds you both together.
“There’s not a universe where this doesn’t happen, corazón,” you feel him softening against your thigh, yet you still delight as he drags a finger coated in his own spend up your folds. “Want you too damn much to miss out on you.”
Curling up into your bed that feels too big these days, you grip at the pink shirt and wonder when that changed.
When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?
And I’m spiritual cleansing (but the truth)
Is I’m good at pretending (oh and you)
By July, things change.
The stud in your nose is traded out for a silver ring.
The lonely nights in your apartment turn into stumbling back home from some nameless club in the early hours.
Boredom leads to hobbies.
At first, you try pottery.
Four plates broken and a crumbled mug later, you put on your dance shoes.
Slip. Almost break your arm. Wrestle with the doom placed on your budding dance career. Throw out the dancing shoes, bring home running shoes.
You hate it, running.
You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.
But when you’re gasping for a breath and your feet pound into concrete ground, you don’t think about it.
The heartache.
The headache.
The agent.
You drop a few pounds, tone up your muscles. Watch your body’s shape outgrow your wardrobe, investing in a new one while clinging onto the items you love too much to lose.
Like the dress that now rests just below your ass, instead of it’s usual place mid-thigh. Or the sweater that once hung loose, that now hugs new curves and creases. The jeans that were tight now sliding off your hips.
The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.
But you’re not thinking about it, or it’s previous owner.
Not right now.
Now, you’re balling your fists and counting your breaths. Music blasting through your headphones, sweat dancing on your forehead.
The sun is warm on your back, even as it makes way for night to begin. This is the best time to run, dusk, you’ve discovered.
No kids loitering on park grounds, no threat brought on by the dark, no slow-walking pedestrians crossing your path.
You run your self-made circuit with freedom, switching off all your senses and emptying your mind.
Today, however, it’s more challenging.
The thought of him creeps through, no matter the effort you put in to fight it. Your father’s the one to blame.
You have to come, kiddo.
The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.
Because it wouldn’t be the same without you there.
You’d wanted a better explanation than that.
Then, you tried some lame excuse of already having plans.
You had no plans.
Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!
You nearly groaned out loud at his enthusiasm, but held back. Your father’s light didn’t deserve to be dampened by your shadow.
C’mon, kiddo! I’ve not hosted the annual barbecue since you were still wearing your braces!
You bit your tongue. Fought against telling him that, back then, there were no pretty-eyed, heart-breaking agents for you to worry about.
The whole station’s gonna be there, you have to come!
He said it, like that would persuade you.
Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.
The more he spoke, the less you wanted to go.
Just last night Javi was asking how you’re doing!
You’d hung up.
Immediately.
Called back, 3 minutes later. Mumbled an apology and an excuse- I lost signal!- and ultimately agreed to going to the damn barbecue.
Now, you run from the phone call, from the impending doom it brings.
All this heartache and pain, it’s not good for the soul.
Of course, being dumped is a lot easier when the person isn’t your dad’s closest confidant.
It gets hard to breath. Each pound against concrete shakes the cassette player glued to your hip. There’s a sting of tears in your eyes.
Until you come to a screeching halt.
Double over.
Place your hands on your knees.
Dry heave.
You pay no mind to the figure sitting a few feet away on a bench.
Nor to the dog that’s chasing it’s ball back forth between it’s owner’s throws.
You let the sadness flood your soul, deflate you like some discarded party-balloon.
You’ll have to see him.
Spend time near him.
Watch him laugh, and smile, and share beers with your father.
It’s unfair, and you hate him for putting you through this.
For not quitting the force.
For being your dad’s friend.
For not wanting you the same you wanted him.
Want him.
You wipe your face with the back of your hand. Try to stand up straight, get lost in the knots you’d tied into your laces. Sloppy and uneven.
You’re usually more careful.
You catch, in your peripheral, the figure on the bench move. Take it as your sign to compose yourself, get over yourself.
You pick your pace back up.
Manage only a handful-or-two steps.
Your feet fly out in front of you.
Land ass-first on the gravel below.
Beneath the sounds of Olivia Newton-John demanding you get physical, you hear a muffled sorry! yelled out. Spot as the dog rushes to grab it’s ball, halfway down the path thanks to your kick.
You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.
You’re met with a hand in your face, palm open and waiting for you to accept the open offer. You take it, no hesitation.
Big mistake.
The hand tugs you.
You glance up.
And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.
“Easy, tiger,” he coughs up a laugh, like you don’t wind him as you slam into him, full-body force, nerves on fire and all systems shutting down. “You trying to break my ribs?”
It’s no less than you deserves, you think.
And instantly regret it, heart turning blue at the thought of him hurt at your hand.
You take a few steps back, create a safe distance where you can’t smell the remnants of his last cigarette or count the eyelashes that line his eyes.
He asks you how you’ve been, and tries his best to smile.
It comes off as awkward. A crooked line across his lips.
You try to remember the last time he smiled at you and meant it.
You come up empty handed.
Maybe it was back in April. A hospital hallway, one hand clasping yours, the other peeling through the leafs of some medical pamphlet.
Or, was it after, on the drive home, back to his apartment, hand still holding yours while the other spun the wheel?
There’s a vague memory that toils in the depth of your mind.
Sharing an elevator, your heels in his hand, his lips on your forehead.
Wedding attire, a post-party glow.
It’s toyed with you since you woke up in that hotel room, driven half-mad by an image you can’t quite form of him tucking you into bed.
Had he smiled, then?
Had he even been there?
Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-
His fingers grasp your chin, no warning, and tilt your face.
His eyes don’t greet your own. Instead, they’re focused on the centre of your face, inspecting you like a piece of evidence.
“Hmm,” he’s so close, you smell the mint of freshly bitten gum on his breath. Dart your eyes down, catch the glint of his badge poking out his pocket.
He’s still on duty, a tailored uniform contrasting the hair roused by stress. Maybe at his desk, in the office next to your father’s, hands running through his tresses to express frustrations, tensions.
Were they his own hands, or someone with longer, brightly painted nails? Your stomach turns at the thought, your loins warm at the memory of writhing in his desk chair, legs thrown over his shoulders whilst his own dug into the ground below, eager to please mouth and a happy to taste tongue working you to a orgasm muffled by your own hand.
He’d slapped your ass, kissed your cheek and sent you out his office door, wiping your own wetness off your cheek just in time to greet your father.
“You suit the ring,” his voice and a gentle breeze bring you back to the present. To the park. To the heavy feeling that hangs between you both. “I prefer it to that stud.”
“I- What?” Confussion.
You furrow your brow, wipe your sweaty palms over your thighs.
He just smiles, still crookedly, and brings his hand up to your nose.
Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.
It’s hard to breath, but you do it anyway.
Thank him, in a struggle to find your voice, with a whisper.
His eyes bore into your own, chase them as you look off to the side, watch the dog still chasing it’s ball and failing to catch it.
You wonder if it’s a cruel metaphor sent by the universe, a symbol of you and Javi.
And then you wonder if you’re the dog or the ball.
Or both.
“You never answered me,” his voice, honey, sweet on your ears. It melts away your other senses, turns you blind to anything other than him. “I want to hear how you’ve be-”
“Peña, if you don’t report your skinny ass to my office in 5 minutes and share a celebratory drink with me, I’m putting you on cleaning duties at our next poker night.”
A static-filled voice blares out his walkie-talkie.
Your father’s voice.
It’s enough to set things right, force your body to retreat from his.
He’s not your Javi anymore, desperate to hear about your day and kiss any aches away.
He’s Peña, your dad’s best friend, meant for nothing more than to be a passing figure in your life.
His eyes are heavy with emotion as he fishes out the device.
Maybe it’s sadness you see.
There’s definitely remorse.
Guilt, too.
“We... Your dad caught the guy that’s been breaking into college girls’ apartments.” He tells you, shares information that should help you sleep better at night. You’ve not done that since the last time he lay next to you. You watch him press down on the call button, hold the speaker up to his mouth. “Do that and I’ll shit in your shower, pendejo (asshole).”
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d commit an indecency within your parent’s bathroom.
But none of that matter, anymore.
You’re already walking away.
Wringing your hands and hoping the tension in your limbs falls out.
He calls out your name, loudly.
Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.
People who know fine well who your father is, who Javier is.
You turn in time to see him half-jog, half-pace his way over to you.
He reaches out for your hand.
And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.
“I’ll, um,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, grinds his teeth in an attempt to say something. “I’ll see you at the barbecue, right?”
He knows the answer.
You still give him it, “yes.”
Smile, uncomfortably brightly, before you turn and walk away once more.
You feel his eyes on you.
And pray he takes no notice of the sob that shakes your shoulders.
Broke me big time
It’s funny and I’m laughing baby
You think I’m alright
You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.
A courtesy, a polite gesture. A signal that you’re still listening, despite tuning out her voice five minutes ago.
She’s a nice lady, someone who works alongside your father. Specialised in forensics, she balances the darkness of her job with the brightness of her wardrobe.
Today, she’s paired a lemon-yellow skirt with a vibrantly orange camisole. She looks like a walking cheese cube.
You’ve known her since you were a kid, even if you can’t remember. She claims you used to stand on her desk, make a big spectacle out of nearly matching your dad’s height.
You’d got to talking to her after she helped you wipe ketchup off your chin.
That was half an hour ago, and the discomfort of wanting to be anywhere but here is finally settling in.
It’s not her fault. You know.
She’s not the one who roped you into going to this barbecue.
Your dad is.
And right now he’s stood on the other side of his backyard, half-drunken beer bottle in one hand and Javier Peña’s shoulder clapped under the other.
Even from here, you can hear him bragging.
So then Peña’s on his ass.
Chases this guy, whilst he’s driving down the street!
Catches him at an intersection, physically rips him out the car.
All while the man in question shrugs, sheepish. Dismisses your father’s praising.
He’s exaggerating.
The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!
He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.
Sweat lines his forehead, shirt-sleeves hug his biceps, joy wrinkles his eyes.
He’s happy, at ease. Enjoying himself, in a way he was always meant to.
Something about him fits so perfectly in this picture: laughing with your father, complimenting your mother, playing fetch with your dog.
If you step inside the frame, it cracks.
Shatters.
And maybe he knows that.
Knew it all along.
Broke things off before you could try find a frame large enough to fit you all in.
And, though it hurts, you see why things had to end between you and feel relieved it happened before it was too late.
The feeling lasts all but four seconds.
“Kiddo!”
Your father’s voice is obnoxiously loud. Several of the party-goers turn their heads, follow his line of sight. Spot you, frozen in place, glass full of watered down lemonade and a belly full of dread.
It takes a moment, but you wave.
“Come over ‘ere!”
Not the response you were hoping for.
Still, you do as he asks. Smile at your mother, shuffle your feet, make your way across the yard. Do everything in your power to not look at Javi.
Even if the weight of his stare threatens to crumble you.
“You having a good time?” Your dad’s got this smile, big and dopy and oh so caring, that you can’t bring yourself to ruin with the truth.
“I’m having a great time,” you barely manage out before he’s squeezing you into his side.
The condensation on his bottle of beer seeps through the shoulder of your top, his arm secured safely around you.
He must be tipsy already, a buzz in his veins making him more affectionate than normal.
“I can’t believe it,” he laments, speaking to no one in particular.
In your peripheral, you fail to ignore tight jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.
It’s hardly buttoned, the top three undone and leaving a golden plain on display.
Perhaps you’re going crazy but he seems thinner, skin drawn a little tighter against his ribcage.
It’s not a sight you want to see.
It fills you with dread.
Pulling you out of your own head, you father continues to drone on.
“My little girl’s spreading her wings soon, going on her first adult holiday to-”
“London.”
Javi’s voice, interrupting your father, finishing his sentence.
All eyes snap to him.
Your own, wide and panicked. Scared. Trying so hard to dismiss how intensely he’s staring back you.
Your mother’s, amused and curious. Flicking back and forth between his face and her husband’s.
Your father, confused and perplexed, “I- Yeah...” He speaks slow and the arm on your shoulder slips down. “How’d you know?”
“I’ve been, you know?” Two hands dance in front of you, somewhere in the dark, intwining and unwinding. It’s a nervous habit, of Javi’s. You welcome the contact of soothing touches. “To London.”
That peaks your interest.
Enough to shift positions. Rip your hand out his own, roll onto your side and rest a hand under your propped up head. Your other, inevitably, finds its way upon his warm chest, rests over his no-longer-racing heartbeat.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve been a few times, actually. I’ve got some friends out there.”
With Javi, friends could mean anything.
A fellow agent, a government official, a moonlight lover.
For all you know, this friend could be the Queen of England.
So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.
“Where do you recommend I visit then, Mr. Bond?”
“Mr... Bond?”
The room is dark, but you still notice the furrow in his brow.
You can practically hear it, in his voice.
“You know, like James Bond.” That’s the thing about jokes, explaining them makes you realise how dumb they are. “‘Cause you were an agent and you like London, and he’s an agent in Lon-”
He cuts you off in the way you like best: his mouth against yours.
The kiss is brief, and leads no place further than the simple act of wanting to silence you.
And, though it goes unaddressed, because it’s been too long since he’d last done it.
Even if he’d done so less than an hour ago, naked bodies intertwined on ruffled bedsheets.
“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard, corazón,” somehow, the words don’t bruise your ego.
Instead, they make you giggle and burrow your heated face into the crook of his neck.
His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.
“I’d need to write you a list of places to go, too many for me to pick one.”
“Maybe I need a tour guide,” a hand of his greets your back, strokes soothing motions back and forth. It’s lulling you to sleep, at last. “Y’know, show me all the places a real Londoner goes.”
“I could,” he pauses. Clears his throat. Pulls you a little tighter against him, till your limbs are tangled and it’s hard to tell where he stops and you start. “I could check my calendar. See how many holiday days I’ve got left. Could come with you, to London, if you want me there.”
It’s too late though.
You’re already snoring against his skin.
“How does he know?” Your mother shatters the silence, tone incredulous. “I mean, seriously, are you blind!?”
For a minute, it feels like she knows.
She knows why Javi knows.
You should be panicking.
Both of you should.
Should look away from one another, should wipe the guilt off your faces, should already be working on some excuse for when your mother exposes what once was between you.
But you aren’t. Neither of you are.
You’re just staring at each other, as if you’re working to commit each other’s face to memory.
“He knows because you won’t shut up about it!”
Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.
Your mom rolls her eyes.
Javi takes a sip of beer and looks off to the side, eyes breaking contact from your own at last.
“Ok but,” your father’s back to talking before you can fully work up the courage to leave. At least that’s the excuse you try give yourself, anything to distract from Javi. “I bet I’ve not told you what she’s decided to do on her travels!”
“You have,” your mother’s tone is pointed.
Javi laughs, sputters up a little beer back into the bottle. Tilts his head back, accepts his own backwash.
There’s a worn-out cigarette box squeezed tight inside the front pocket of his jeans.
You try ignore the fact he’d promised you he was working on quitting.
“Shh,” your father waves a hand in your mother’s face, dismisses her teasing with a playful wink.
Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.
Gives both you and Javi a display of what a relationship is.
Open, celebrated, acknowledged.
Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.
Javi cuts the tension with a chuckle and a gentle shove to your father’s arm.
As his hand retreats back to his side, his knuckles brush your skin.
“She’s gonna get herself a christmas-tree decoration every holiday,” your father reveals. You’re frozen at the fact he even remembers you mentioning it. “What was it you said again, kiddo? So in the future, when you’re decorating the tree with your kids, you’ll think of the places you’ve been and tell them all about it?”
Your heart drops.
Javi’s seems to do the same.
For a moment, you worry he’s stopped breathing.
Till his chest rises and falls, no thanks to your father’s stupid rambling about you, and the future, and kids.
“Uh, yeah,” the ground can’t swallow you sooner. You’re already planning your exit, from this conversation and, hopefully, this party as a whole. Your dad’ll understand. You just need to tell him something came up. Or came out. Tell him you’ve got food poison. Blame it on some dodgy take-out the night before. “Something like that.”
But I’m actually bloody
Motherfucking batshit crazy
There are moments in one’s life where they must question their own sanity.
You’ve lived plenty of such moments.
But none quite like right now, half-crouched in the middle of a grocery store aisle, peeping into the next one through a gap between two cereal boxes on the shelf.
And all because you heard his voice.
“This is what you’re craving?” Through the crack, you see him wave about something in his hand. It’s hard to see what exactly he’s holding, though.
He’s facing a woman.
She’s pretty.
With dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that not even the shelves and produce between you both can block the shine of.
And a well-rounded belly.
“No, Javi, this,” she doesn’t say his name the same way you do- did. There’s a jovial tone, but there’s no awe, no seduction. Maybe that’s just what your bias hears. “Is what the baby is craving.”
You’ve never seen her before.
Not on the mantel of photos that line Javier’s television. Not at any of the station thrown parties. Not in his wallet, tucked behind the picture of his mom.
She’s a total stranger, to you.
But that doesn’t mean she’s a stranger to him.
A very pregnant, non-stranger.
“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”
His hand rests on her bump.
She welcomes it, placing her own against it to hold him in place.
The image of the American dream, a beautiful woman and a handsome man. The promise of a child, soon, half her and half him.
The blood drains from your face. There’s a lump in your throat and a sting in your eyes.
You won’t let it fester.
Take deep breaths, pretend there’s no shake in your exhales.
It’s not enough to stop the vicious thoughts that sink their jagged ends into the soft tissues of your brain.
Was she the reason things between you and him ended?
Had he got her pregnant, decided to stand by her, and found love along the way?
Was he with her, all along, while he was with...
Surely, he couldn’t have.
But, then, why couldn’t he have?
You were never exclusive.
You were never anything.
“Did-” Somewhere, between the aisles, Javi speaks in amazement. The smile is practically dripping off his words. “Did it just kick?”
Your heart’s palpitating.
Your hands are sweating so badly, they threaten to drop the box of Cap'n Crunch in their grasp.
Jealousy turns to misplaced anger, irrational in every form but impossible to conform.
Because, how could he do this to you?
Make a mockery of you, turn you into the other woman?
Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?
Settle down with this woman and her baby, yet run from you at the first scare of a-
“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”
At first, you think it’s spoken to you.
But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.
A third person enters your view through the window in the shelf.
He’s handsome, in the typical sense.
Blonde haired, a nice smile.
There’s a little girl in his arms, resting on his hip, half asleep and clinging to a worn-out giraffe doll.
“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.
“Don’t get him started,” the woman seems to beg, rolling her eyes.
The man nods, pride on his face, “I’m telling ya, Peña, it’s gonna be a boy. It needs to be a boy, ‘else I’m gonna be overrun by little girls.”
The woman must give him a pointed look, or a gentle nudge, for not two seconds later he’s following his words up with a tickle to the sleepy girl’s side and “little girls who I love very much.” Pause. He leans closer to Javier, hand covering one side of his mouth as if to block the woman and the child from hearing him. “I still want a son, though.”
“Olivia,” the pregnant woman strokes a hand over the little girl's head, coxing her to keep her eyes open. It’s hard to tell if there’s a drool mark on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show uncle Javi your favourite toy?”
The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.
The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.
Here you are, going stir-crazy over a man who never wanted much of you in the first place, raising your heart-rate at the thought of him moving on from something that never even existed.
And there he is, fine as can be- in every sense of the word-, sharing laughs and exchanging smiles with old friends in the grocery store.
Friends his own age.
Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.
Through the gap, you watch him lean down to the little girl’s eye-level. A twinkle in his eye, he happily tugs at the stuffed giraffe’s tail.
“Glad you liked it, Olive,” curse him, and his soft voice, and his gentle touch and his everything, for still forcing you to swoon over him, knees weak and ovaries treacherously screaming. “I had to go all the way to Africa to find him.”
The little girl perks right up at that.
Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.
“Really?!” She’s amazed, and how could she not be? Javier Peña is beaming at her, ear to ear.
“Mhmm,” he nods, feeds into his own lie, ignoring the disapproving looks from the other man. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go back next year and get you a zebra.”
“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”
Javi, undeterred from keeping the little girl’s smile, rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at her father, huffing under his breath “Your dad’s a right grump, Olive.”
You begin to wonder how long Javi’s known this couple, how he knows this couple.
“Just wait till you’ve got your own kid and I’m feeding it lies.” The man punctuates his empty threat with a dull punch to Javi’s forearm. Javi barely flinches, unfazed. “Speaking of, when are you making me uncle Steve?”
In sync and apart, you and him both physically freeze.
Your breathing stops.
Javier stands up straight. Rolls his shoulders, scratches at the back of his neck, clears his throat and, “not any time soon.”
“Really? What about that girl you’ve been seeing, the-”
“That- We- It didn’t work out, we wanted,” you begin to see cracks in his facade. Fake laugh, solemn eyes. “Different things... I want, wanted to settle down but, yeah, no it was for her best that we-”
“Sorry, can I just,” your heart jumps in your chest, flying back so quickly from your peep-hole that you nearly knock over the person behind you. “Grab one of those?”
You nod, gain composure, watch the stranger pick up a box of cereal off the shelf.
They walk away and you’re left alone, again.
Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-
He’s no longer standing on the other side.
You turn on your heel, ignoring your half-filled cart and book it out of the store before you fall apart.
Try as you might, you can’t shake off the weight of his stare as you pass by the check-out.
I kept it in, but it wrecked my organs
So pour the gin and call Graham Norton
You wake up early.
You tell yourself it’s because you’re seizing the day.
Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.
The early bird gets the worm, and all that proverbial bullshit.
The truth lies in that you can not sleep.
Jetlag. Your body clock is at odds with the timezone.
Which lands you here: strolling upon the cobbled streets of Notting Hill.
A quarter past six.
Its barely light out, the sun still fighting to rise over the horizon and the streetlights still shadow your every step.
Colourful houses, cosy shops, a melodic thud each time your feet meet the ground.
It’s picturesque, straight out of a romantic comedy.
Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt more gloom.
In the silent bustle of a city awakening to a new day, you’re startled.
Trip over a cobble, nearly meet the floor, and just about save yourself from rolling your ankle.
Your ringtone is the culprit.
Loud, imposing. It scares a flock of birds off a wire and gains you a stare from a man stepping out his home.
Scrambling to get the clunky cellphone out your bag, you spare the screen a fleeting glance.
You question if it’s one of your friends, awakened back in your shared hotel room to find you’re not there, and press the green button.
“Corazón.”
It’s funny how one word can drain the blood from your face.
You swallow the lump in your throat, made of equal parts anger and sadness.
Anger that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier Peña’s voice in nearly two months.
Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.
“I- Shit, I can’t tell if I’ve even dialled the right number...” He’s muttering in your ear, confused and at odds with himself, mouth a fountain his thoughts pour out of. “... Probably changed it or- Can she even receive calls all the way in-”
“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.
It’s enough to shut him up.
Silence rings down the line, a static buzz that reminds you of the distance between you.
“You’re in London,” he states.
“I am,” you affirm.
He hums, sips something.
Ice clinks against glass, and you feel a little sick.
“How have-” His voice sounds strange. Muffled. Different. Maybe it’s the poor connection. “Was your flight okay?”
“Yeah,” you spare him the details.
The truth.
The boredom, the turbulence. The fact you’re dreading the flight home.
“I’m glad,” he sighs the words out, worry going with them. “Know you’re not the biggest fan of planes, kept thinking of you alone and afraid on it.”
“I wasn’t alone,” it’s defensive, and ironic.
You sure felt alone.
“That’s right, corazón, you weren’t,” something slips, rolls, smashes. Glass shatters and is met with cursing anger, an oh, shit! followed up by hollow laughter. “You’re never alone.”
“Are you...” The street’s a little brighter, a few cars have begun to back out of driveways and you’re still there, frozen in the middle of the street, phone pressed to your ear. “Drunk?”
“No, I’m javi.” If his laughter is anything to go by, he thinks himself the comic of the century. “Had a few drinks with your dad, sweetheart, that’s all.”
For a moment, it feels like you shouldn’t be here, in London.
You should be home, in Laredo, dragging a drunken Javi to bed.
Stripping him of his clothes, kissing his rosied cheeks, urging him to go to sleep. Leaving him a pair of painkillers and a glass of water for his breakfast before curling yourself into his soft arms.
You blink, and feel the familiar weight of a tear on your lashes.
“Why’d you call me, Javi?” It’s a desperate plea.
For answers, for clarity, for closure
“I wanted to hear your voice,” that’s too vague of an answer, too unfair of an answer. Your heart swells nonetheless. “Wanted to go to London, with you. I should be there.”
“It’s your fault,” that’s as cruel as you can bring yourself to be towards him.
Even then, it kills you to do so.
“’S half my fault. Joder (fuck),” you can picture him, leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You wonder how much he’s drank, and if he spoke to any women. Maybe he took one home, fucked her nice and good before dialling your number. “Wanted to give you my answer, too.”
Someone bumps your shoulder on the street, walking past you.
You pay them no mind, vision blurred to the world around you.
“What answer?”
“Where you should visit, Mrs. Bond,” he says it, like it doesn’t send you into cardiac arrest.
You miss the nights like that one, tangled in your bed, smelling him on your sheets and feeling him against your skin.
He’d woken up first the next day, coaxed you out of bed with the promise of homemade pancakes and his head between your legs.
“There’s this little bar in Inslington, called the Distillery Club. The owner, he makes his own gin. You like gin, don’t you, corazón?” You nod, and it’s almost like he feels it. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Or the inside, either. But it’s some of the best gin I’ve ever had, in the greatest company.”
You try to picture him, sat amongst friends you’ve never met. Friends who don’t know your dad.
You try to picture yourself, next to him, scooting your bar stool closer to his.
The image doesn’t quite form.
“Want you to go there, get yourself a drink. Tell him Javier Peña sent you, and that you’ve not to pay.”
It’s like he’s given you a piece of his soul. A piece of his history, someplace he’s sought out refuge in his lowest moments.
Refuge he’s willing to share with you.
That tear finally gives way, dropping off your lash and rolling down your cheek.
You wipe it off with the sleeve of your sweater, before anyone can see.
“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”
Your reply is instant, “I promise.”
“Ok, I’ll let you go,” it’s solemn, regretful, devoid of truth. You almost beg him not to, but that didn’t work last time. “Enjoy yourself, okay? Come home, safe.”
“Javi, I-” the line cuts off, disconnecting before you even finish. “Miss you.”
I’m gonna throw you down the river
Your mum can watch it over dinner
“How you feeling, kiddo?”
You startle awake at your father’s voice, eyes heavy with exhaustion.
Before you can give him an answer, you erupt into a fit of coughs.
“Not good,” he grimaces and slowly steps into your room. “Got it.”
Stepping off the plane, you’d managed only one night back in your own bed before the fever had taken over.
All it took was hearing your nasally voice over the phone for your mother to demand you come stay with them.
Just till you’re back on your feet, she’d said, like she ever needed an excuse to have you over.
She’s not quite adjusted to being an empty-nester.
Neither of them have, really.
“Actually,” your tone is matter-of-factly. “I almost smelt something earlier.”
“That’s great, kid!” And he means it, you know he does. Even if his shoulders slump at any sign of you feeling better and returning to your apartment. “Now we just gotta figure out if it’s your sinuses unclogging or your stench just growing more rancid.”
Try as you might to aim the pillow right at his head, he still manages to catch it inches from his face.
“Hey, I’m just saying! You’ve got the flu, you ain’t dying! Could be a little courteous to those who’ve gotta be around you and take a shower.”
“You’re literally in my room!”
“Which is literally in my house!”
Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.
Likely, she’s telling you both to shut up and to quit behaving like children.
Making eye contact, you both can’t help the roll of laughter that comes out.
He steps a little closer, and that’s when you spot it.
Tupperware, clasped in his hand.
The contents are hard to decipher.
Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.
“Your mom said ya wouldn’t be up for eating much but, if you’re hungry,” he pauses, at the foot of your bed. Tugs a little on the homemade-blanket you’ve had since you were in grade school. You wonder if he remembers making it with you. “One of the guys down at the station made you some stew.”
Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.
The prospect of a hot, boiling bowl of brothy stew suddenly peaks your interest.
In fact, you can’t think of anything better.
“It’s a family recipe, he said it would cure ya right up.”
He’s popping the lid open, presenting the delicacy before your eyes.
Immediately, you spot chicken.
Some corn cob, a couple lumps of potato, flakes of chilli.
You wish you could smell it, ingest it through your nasal canal and get a taste of it before you even put it in your mouth.
Your father continues, practically talking to himself.
“What’d he say it was called again, ga-sue-lay day ah-vay?”
“Cazuela de ave.”
A change into warmer, drier clothes.
Your hair still sits wet upon your head, but it no longer drips puddles onto his floor.
Thirty minutes it took him to drive from where he’d spotted you, walking soaked upon the sidewalk.
It would’ve only taken him seventeen minutes if he’d dropped you at your apartment.
And that fact is partly what warms your insides.
You watch him, tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone, strutting around his kitchen.
Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.
Yet the word somehow doesn’t seem like it’s enough to summarise him, when he’s making his way round to you, two ceramic bowls in his hands and a look of pride in his eyes.
He put his own bowl down first. Sloppy, uncaring, spilling a little of it’s contents over it’s edge.
And then yours. More careful, slowly, both hands guiding it down.
The scent alone is enough to have you salivating.
Warmth and care, all encased in a bowl of brothy goodness.
“It smells delicious,” you inhale deeply, for dramatic effect.
And to get more of that meaty, comfort-food goodness.
Javi sits on the opposite side of the dining table, and you try hard to stop your mind from wandering off to visions of you both sat like this, out in public, in a restaurant.
A real date.
Only, this isn’t even a fake date.
You guys don’t do that.
“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”
Frozen in place, you wonder if the shock spills over your face.
He’s never mentioned his mother.
Or much about his family, really.
There’s the occasional comment about projects he takes on at his dad’s ranch, and tid-bits of information you hear across a dinner table that's set by your mother and seated by your father.
But you’re no fool blind enough to not realise the obvious.
A worn-out polaroid in his wallet, his mother smiles brightly in permanent ink each time he opens it. It contrasts her impermanence in the real world, dead and gone long before you became so much as a ripple in the lake of Javier’s existence.
Across the table, he’s relaxed. At ease.
Open.
His eyes, his mind, his heart.
And so you try venturing inwards, test his waters with a dip of your toe.
“Was she a good cook?”
Lukewarm, they appear, when he favours you with a tiny smile, his eyes staring somewhere off in the distance.
“No,” and he laughs at his own admission.
Not just a scoffed out chuckle, or a gesture meant to feign joy.
A full, hearty laugh, that shakes his shoulders and splits his cheeks.
It’s disturbingly beautiful.
You wonder if there’s a life where it could be like this, always.
Javier laughing at his own jokes, you smiling at his visceral joy, plates of homemade food filling the space between you.
“No, she, uh,” he restarts, relaxing a little bit. He wipes under one of his eyes with the back of his palm, a rogue tear breaching his waterline. “She was awful. She burnt every slice of toast she made, and even served an unbaked cake at one of my birthday parties. This dish is actually one of the few she knew how to nail.”
You can picture it, a young Javi, party hat on his head and a cheesy grin topped by rosy cheeks, eating away at gooey batter mix sprinkled in icing.
It’s hard to imagine him complaining, or getting angry at her.
In spite of his reputation, and the career he’s undertaken, Javier Peña is a gentle soul, who nurtures and protects anyone he can.
A modern-day hero, a knight who’s exchanged his shinny armour for form fitting jeans and unbuttened shirts.
“Tell me more about her,” the words are out before you can reel them back in.
Because you like this feeling, and you like this Javi, reminiscing on his late-mother.
“She not only was awful at cooking, but she had the worst coordination too.” It’s like he’s been waiting to tell you this, with how easy he slips into doing so. “She was forever falling and tripping over herself. And her driving, god! Pops used to dig out his rosary each time she’d be out on the field, driving the tractor.”
There’s something intimate about him recalling details so many would see as flaws, whilst he sports the most earnest, heart-wrenching smile.
Like nothing about her was wrong, all of her perfect and angelic.
“She was brave, too. I’d like to think I’m just like her in that respect. She didn’t let anything stop her from doing things she set her heart on, and she never let her inabilities hinder her,” he’s getting a little emotional now, you can hear it in his voice, see it in the lump he swallows back. You stretch a hand across the table and watch as he leans on you for support, fingers interlocking with your own. “There was this one time when I was a kid, I was swimming in a river and got stuck in a current. She dived right in to save me... She didn’t even know how to swim!”
You don’t know what to say.
You opt for saying nothing, silence speaking more than a thousand words.
Give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feel him squeeze back harder.
Your stomach rumbles, but it doesn’t ruin the moment in the way you feared it would.
“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”
Both of you settle back in your seats.
You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-
“Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”
Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.
When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.
And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.
Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.
Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.
You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.
“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”
Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.
“She would have liked you.”
You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.
They’re as open as before.
“Really?”
“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”
“Kiddo?”
You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.
“Hmm?”
“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.
“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”
“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”
Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.
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afterglow | pedro pascal [2/3]
"tell me that you're still mine, tell me that we'll be just fine, even when i lose my mind"
previous chapter: [1]
summary: being nominated for an oscar was a dream come true, until you had to spend the rest of the night near your deceitful ex who still loved you.
pairing: actor!pedro x actress!reader
genre: acting world!au, enemies/exes to lovers ?? au | angst, fluff, fighting, mature
word count: 15k
status: 2/3 complete
author's note: SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT LOVES. even though its gonna be three parts lol i still want you to want more. i've been confused on my writing because tbh- i feel like i could do better and keep rushing with these storylines and end up regretting them AFTER they are posted lol. not edited- it really isn't.
"Let's cut the chit-chat and get some real answers, why did y'all breakup?"
"Andrew!"
"Three days have passed, she's fine now," he defended, shrugging as Florence shot him an irritated look by his prying behavior.
It has indeed been a few days since the terrible night that consisted in you meeting your favorite artist, crying beside her, running awkwardly away right after, having a screaming match with your ex, and then passing out in the car.
So, you couldn't deny it wasn't a memorable night.
The past three days could've been better to say the least if your management team stopped spamming you with text messages concerning the fight, maybe even ignoring the loads of pictures of your crying face.
Oh, the pictures. Not a fun sight to see.
Luckily for you, the pictures were only ones inside the party near Andrew- not Pedro. Unfortunately, though, your picture was turned into a 'crying in the club' meme.
You couldn't exactly be mad over it, you loved memes.
Thank the Lords the paparazzi were clueless and never ended up catching your argument with Pedro or you wouldn't know how to cover it up.
You could never get away with the typical 'friends fighting' after he shouted how much he loved you.
And bless the celebrities near you for minding their business.
To clear up your meltdown, you took it upon yourself to send out a quick tweet the next morning with a "i'm sorry i'm an emotional drunk. one second we're talking about 500 days of summer and then...well you already know how THAT ends."
In that moment you couldn't care less if people believed you or not, this was going to pass fast anyway.
Now here you were, sitting in front of your kitchen bar as Andrew and Florence decided to pay you a visit because they missed you- or so they say.
Realistically, they wanted to see if you were still a hot mess.
Which you weren't, obviously.
Shailene would have tagged along, but she was busy doing grown up things, such as working on her latest project Andrew claimed which was a slight bummer. She was the mediator, now who else was going to stop the arguments calmly between your two friends.
Florence disagreed, shaking her head. "You can't just ask her that, it's impolite."
Sighing, Andrew sent you an apologetic glance. "Okay, I am sorry." Not taking his eyes off you, you could feel his curiosity and eagerness from the other side of the kitchen. "But we're all thinking it."
Judging by how unresponsive Florence became, you could tell she wasn't going to fight him on this. And well, she was secretly on his side because your fight with Pedro was seriously excessive.
She just wanted to know what he could've done to make you so angry, it didn't make sense to her if he did cheat. He didn't seem like the type, but some people do the most surprising things- so she couldn't really tell.
"Do you want the last reason or all of them?"
Widening his eyes, Andrew shares a glance with Florence for a swift second before finding your eyes. "Last reason?"
"The last fight we had that led us to finalize our breakup."
"Finalize," he giggled, leaning on the marble counter. "This isn't a divorce process."
"For a person who is so concerned about my relationship crisis, you seem to be catch on to the most irrelevant stuff."
"So you admit you still want to be with him," Andrew declared, giving a smug look as you tried to process his words. "If you're still stressing over him, it means you don't want to let him go."
"I never said I was stressing over hi-"
"Did she or did she not just claim she was undergoing a crisis-," Andrew interrupted, slightly raising his voice. "-a relationship crisis, to be exact."
Florence sheepishly looked your way, capturing your stern expression before slowly nodding.
Your male friend clapped his hands loudly before bursting out a wider grin, happy someone had his back. "There we have it, if he's on your mind that much to turn into a crisis- you still love him!"
Furrowing your brows, you didn't know how to respond. It was true, you had many moments where Pedro agitated you even when you haven't been near him for quite some time.
But isn't being wound up over an ex part of healing?
Truth be told, you knew your feelings for Pedro hadn't completely disappeared, but love? You weren't even sure love existed by your past experiences.
"I do not love him," you hiss, vigorously snatching the water bottle on the counter and aggressively opening it. "How can love be real? It's baffling."
"Questioning the real question with a question," he sneers, making Florence and you become confused as ever. "You're so in love him."
Florence cuts in, squinting her face in puzzlement. "Wait- what's the real question she's supposedly questioning with a question?"
"Love!" he cheers happily before placing his hand on his palm, dreamingly gazing at you. "You have your doubts on what love may be, but without knowing it you're having them because you're questioning your love to Pedro since you're too scared to admit you still love him."
"I don't get it."
Rolling your eyes, you swiftly turn away and head towards your living room to lay on your couch. You were not in the mood to have someone else tell you what your feelings were when they weren't you. "I'm done with this conversation."
Hearing a low slapping noise, following an irritated hiss, you could make out Florence's displeased voice. "See what you did! Now she's not going to tell us."
"So much for moral support, you really are nosy," Andrew fought back, whispering loudly.
A minute or two went by since you couldn't make out what they were saying before rushed footsteps soon made their way near you as your friends awkwardly smiled, hoping they didn't upset you too much.
Because they really wanted to know the drama.
Pushing him roughly from behind, Florence sent you an innocent smile as Andrew landed near your side of the couch, trying his best to hold his composure and not turn back around and start another fight.
Placing a light hand on your shoulder, you blankly glance at it before meeting his attention. "We just wanted you to know we totally understand if you aren't comfortable...expressing your past-"
"Get your hand off me and let's get this over with so you two can leave already."
Florence quickly sat right beside Andrew, both not offended with your statement because they were fully aware of how annoying the were becoming.
Before you could say anything, Florence quickly spoke aloud. "Start from the beginning!" Andrew slowly looking back to her, he sent her a confused look. "So we aren't lost, of course."
Laughing lightly, you nod before adjusting yourself on your seat. It was going to be hard to remember all the details clearly because there really wasn't an exact time issues occurred, it kind of just naturally appeared here and there.
Now that you think of it, majority of the tiny disputes during the earlier days of your relationship were probably on the same level as when you two were splitting, but maybe the dense ones created towards the end really made it hard to continue.
"If I'm being totally honest, we never really had problems when we first started dating. He was really great," you begin, clutching onto a pillow you found right beside you. "And he would always make sure to watch me make it inside my house before leaving, that was when I knew he wasn't some fling."
Andrew smirked, nodding proudly. "Classic move."
Smiling at the thought, you focused your mind to uncover the ugly truths that slowly tore you two apart.
"But then one day, I wanna say a few weeks after our second anniversary, we just started...fighting?"
Tilting your head, you look down as sad memories began pouring through your mind completely. "It wasn't our usual small fights over who left the bathroom floor wet or dropping his ipad in the pool-"
"-you dropped his ipad in the pool?" Florence coughed, bewildered by your scandalous actions.
"He wanted to know if it was waterproof," you defended.
"Was it?"
"No," you nervously reply, avoiding their eyes. "But he had it backed up and I bought him a new one!"
"That was kind of a bitchy move," Andrew muttered, catching your pissed gaze. "But at least you made up for it!"
Maybe it wasn't that great of an idea to just throw it in, but he did say he was really curious and wanted to dump it under the sink.
"Anyway," you start back up again, making Andrew lowly sigh in relief. "Our fights were never that serious, or at least not until he started filming for that new tv series he joined."
Florence spoke up, lightly questioning "The Last of Us?"
Nodding, you shrugged. "I guess it's normal to say the time apart did cause a rift in our relationship, but it wasn't too bad. He always made sure to call and facetime at least once every two days."
"But one day when he was visiting during his week break he just...snapped?" you frowned, not even wanting to visualize the tiny argument.
You had to for your own good.
"He had been home for maybe two days before he suddenly became moody. Like- his attitude was insane, I have never seen him like this ever," you sigh, closing your eyes for a second before continuing. "He didn't want to go out to eat, didn't want me to make him food, and when I offered to have it delivered he slammed the bedroom door on my face and claimed he was going to bed."
"Woah, why would he do that?" Andrew asked, seriousness splattered all over his face.
You wish you knew.
"Not sure, I just thought maybe work was stressing him out so I wanted him to have his alone time to clear his mind."
"Did that work?"
Sitting up straighter, you send a sorrowful smile. "For the rest of that week-yes. He ended up apologizing to me when I tried going to bed and said his manager was being tough on him for some scenes they had done."
You remember the moment you walked inside your bedroom, disappointed that he was awake. Not wanting to cause more tension, you planned to sneak under the covers and deal with the incident in the morning.
But his arms slowly wrapping over your waist as you had your back facing him said otherwise. Pulling you closer, you remember the soft "please don't be mad at me" he whispered near your ear, making sure you felt his tight embrace as if to prove you were his.
That night ended with you turning your body over to face him, accepting his open arms as a way to answer his pleading way of forgiveness.
Like always.
"Once he went back to work, we still talked- but I could tell he wasn't fully engaged like he always was," you sulk, remembering the first time you caught him not listening. "It got to the point where I purposely stopped answering his calls."
Your friends quickly send you a shocked look, you continue before they could intercept. "I couldn't handle his lack of attention, I would rather have him panic from the rejected calls than just tell him why I was upset."
It wasn't your best move, but you were frustrated. It wasn't fair that he was the one who got to treat you poorly and you had to accept it.
You admit, maybe if you communicated with him about these issues you could've prevented many future arguments and even saved your relationship.
But you were human and sometimes humans act human.
"Then what happened?" Andrew asked, a curious appearance plastering his face. "You continued ignoring him?"
Laughing lightly, you shake your head. It was the plan, but plans don't always work out. "Actually, he secretly took a flight back home one weekend and confronted me."
Gasping, Florence jumped up in her seat and moved her leg under her. "No way!"
"Yes, way," you sheepishly reply, embarrassed at the memory. You can still picture the way Pedro stood in your shared bedroom as you stepped out of your bathroom, jumping at the sight of him.
Standing with his arms crossed with his bags thrown by the door, he was determined to figure out what was going on with you.
"I wouldn't say we engaged in a heated argument, but it was surprisingly really emotional."
Andrew leaned his body closer, too interested not to let his questions slide. "Were you guys never emotional? I feel like every couple experiences those moments together- it's what makes them stronger."
It should've made you two stronger, but instead it made you weaker without you realizing it.
"Pedro and I had our minor instances, but it never involved problems we were facing," you began, sighing slightly. "All I remember was finding him standing near the bed with no emotion- none. I couldn't read what he may have been feeling, he just looked so....empty?"
"Empty? That's not good." Florence commented.
"That could mean a lot of things, not necessarily anger," Andrew added, trying to make you feel better.
"I knew deep down he was mad, as he should be- I was the one ignoring him," you defended him, taking full responsibility over your childish actions. "But I could tell he was more hurt that mad."
"What did he say?"
"What's going on?" Pedro questioned, his eyes not daring to leave yours as you freeze- stopping your attempts at brushing your wet hair, extremely confused as to why he was here.
He wasn't supposed to visit for another month, or so he said.
"Pedro?" you squint your eyes, still not sure if he was really in front of you or maybe you were daydreaming. You were high off many shots of espressos, it's finally hitting you. "Is that you?"
Still staring plainly at you, he stays right where he was. In any other circumstances he would have run up and wrapped his arms tightly around you, but this night was different.
He looked disorientated, out of place. His eyes lacked intensity as his body followed, looking as stiff as ever. Even his breathing matched his energy, calm yet unsettled.
You left him confused and he did not like that. "Answer my question."
Batting your eyes faster, you realize what was going on and where he was. Gasping, you do the exact opposite of what he wanted. "What the hell are you doing here?! You're not supposed to be home- you could get fired a-"
Taking a hold of your arms, he stills you and ignores your rambling. "What-" he begins, moving his right hand to the back of your neck and forcing you to focus on him only. "-is going on?"
Freezing, you try to back your head away from his grip but he tightens his grasp, making sure to not be too rough so he doesn't actually hurt you- he would never do such a thing. "I don't understand-"
"You haven't been answering my calls, what else is there to understand?" He sternly recalls, not wanting you to bullshit your way out of this. "So you either have been ignoring me on purpose to be petty or this is your way of hinting you don't want to be with me anymore."
Shaking your head frantically, you try to talk but he cuts you off again. "-And don't say you've been busy. You and I both know I would have figured out if you had added projects to your schedule- your mom tells me everything."
If this were a good time, you would have laughed at his side comment regarding your mother, but it wasn't.
"Not everything," you spit out, causing him to squint his face and release his hands from you.
"Are you trying to tell me something? Are you not happy? Is that why you've been avoiding my calls?" he questions, tilting his head in bewilderment, not liking your attitude at the moment. "Because if you really don't want to be with me you should've told me sooner than leaving me feeling fucking clueless while I'm out in another country working."
"I'm not saying I don't want to be with you-"
"But you aren't denying it," he intercepts, firmly nodding in realization. "I get it, I'm just glad I know now and won't have to wait another month to finally understand how you're feeling."
Walking away from you, Pedro walks towards his bags and reaches down for them. You scoff at his disturbed demeanor. There is no way you should be the only one at fault here- you both made mistakes.
Pushing his backpack off his hands, he watches at it lands on the floor before instantly finding your eyes. "Are you seri-"
"Just because I'm avoiding your calls doesn't mean I want to end our relationship" you shriek, glaring at him as his eyes soften at your hidden truth.
Your angered expression and stiff posture hits him like a brick, there was something really bothering you and he was too oblivious to acknowledged it until you began overlooking him.
Taking a deep breath, you watch as your boyfriend intently examines you as if he's trying to read your impractical mind. Sometimes, he wished you would speak up when something was bothering you, in fact- he has told you many times in the past to do so.
But the idea of patiently waiting until it erupts is what he's sure you've normalized in fear of desertion. Or maybe refusal of reality- the two of you weren't perfect.
"What's going on?" He calmly questions again, dropping any signs of fury and replaces it with worry and concern. Reaching out to you, he softly clasps your shoulder before moving in a few inches. "Am I making you upset?"
Slapping his hand away, you cross your arms over your chest in agitation. "I'm mad at you!"
Blinking a few times, he couldn't believe how fast you spilled and chaotic your energy was. He's never seen you act this hysterical and to be honest, he was really debating asking if you were on your period or not. "Why?"
Pursing your lips together, you release your arms and let them fall on your sides. "You know why!" With that, you turn your back to him and make your way back to your bathroom to hide.
At this point, you felt it was acceptable to act unbearable- he left you feeling insignificant and you weren't going to hold it in anymore.
If you stayed there any longer you knew you would break down into tears. Showing your vulnerable side this early into an argument was too easy, you have to show how bold you were in order to get your point across.
Or anger across.
But it was really hard to hold a grudge, he was just so- loving, despite your recent incidents. Deep down, he did care about you and wanted to validate your feelings- or as best he could.
Grabbing anything you could find near your sink, you begin opening some moisturizer and splatter it around your hands to keep you busy. You could feel Pedro come inside your shared bathroom but you don't dare to peep his way.
"Honey- please," you heard him release a soft sigh as he stood behind you, watching through your huge mirror in front of the two of you. He could make out your distressed appearance and you were absolutely not fine. "You can't just steer clear from this, we need to talk about it-"
Slamming the poor jar on the counter, you swiftly twist your body to his front and feel all the rage taking control. "But did you want to talk all those times I called you?! No, you didn't give one fuck about me or Leia!"
"You named your dog after Princess Leia? That's smart," Andrew butted in, grinning. "You know, since he's in the Mandalorian and Star W-"
"We get it."
Maybe it was wrong to bring your beloved corgi into such a serious topic, but she was abandoned by her father too.
"I did talk to you! I made sure to call you whenever I had time an-"
"I'm glad I made it into your schedule- but maybe if you considered adding some compassion and empathy it wouldn't feel like I'm just another business call you hate!"
Panting, you send daggers his way as his eyes widen. Did you just say he doesn't care about your calls? Impossible- he loves your calls, it makes his days better.
"You aren't a business call and you know that. Honey, please understand- hey!" He cuts himself off once you finally had enough of his poor attempts to defend himself, trying to flee but he ends up being quicker on his feet and yanking you back to his arms.
But once you were wrapped around him, even though it was for pure captivity and not warmth, you instantly broke down. He didn't know you were in tears until he felt his shirt become damp and still then he just thought you were trying to spit on him out of anger.
Hearing your tiny whimpers, he immediately glanced down and lifted you up to catch a clear view of your face, despite your protests and blockings. "Baby, I-I didn't mean to make you cry-"
"You don't mean a lot of things," you spit out, swatting his hands that dared to reach your face. You weren't in the mood to make up, all you wanted to do was sleep your troubles away, especially with the draining work day you had.
Continuing your pulling, Pedro began becoming annoyed with your strong protests against his affection. Isn't this what you wanted? "Why won't you let me hold you? I want to console you, can't I be your boyfriend for the night and tomorrow you can continue hating me?"
"You see my tears and now you want to hold me but admit we'll still be out of place tomorrow? That's acceptable for you?" you laugh ruthlessly, allowing space to be brought in front of you. "Do you hear yourself?"
Groaning, he rubs his face hard before speaking his mind, trying not to sound too furious and scare you. "What do you want me to do? I admit, I did lack some energy-"
"Some?" you snort to yourself, your face still wet.
"Don't interrupt me," he declared, shaking his head at how rude you were becoming. "I wasn't the best partner, okay?! There, I admit it, but you don't understand how it is working constantly and not being able to see family and friends and-"
"It's like you don't even know me at all," you ignorantly chuckle over his nonsense and walk towards your bed.
What a way to dismiss your feelings.
"That's not what I meant," he sighs, following after and stopping you from opening your covers and hiding underneath them. "It's just hard being away from everyone I love, I'm in a different country. It's not like I can drive an hour away and suddenly see them!"
"I can't do that either!"
"Can't you just please, please, please- consider that my mindset is not good right now," he declares, his eyes filling with sadness as his arms slowly find your waist. Taking a deep breath, you watch as he looked up at the ceiling before biting his lip. "I know I am not being the best partner right now- or for the past few months, but I am trying."
As soon as uncertainty flushed your face, his hands tightened as his expression deepened into an emotion you never seen him explore before- dejection.
"I can't promise you I'm suddenly going to wake up and give you 110% every interaction we have," he began, his voice lowering as he tried to keep his emotions in check. "But I confess- I am being a little shit and I am willing to work on that. Just please- please don't push me away. Try to understand my situation."
He wasn't wrong, his life switched around once he accepted the role of Joel Miller and you should've known from the start he would face some difficulties. Maybe you were being too self-centered and invalidated his feeling too, not just him.
Sometimes he wasn't good with words when expressing himself and made you feel as if you weren't as popular as him, but you knew it was never his intention to hurt you like that. He had a heart and loved to use it.
Fighting over work should never be a reason to be miserable especially when it's how you both get your income.
"I-I understand," you lightly speak up, watching as his eyes light up by the sound of your now calm voice filling his ears. "I just want you to know that it didn't make me feel good-"
"Of course it wouldn't make you feel good, I was being horrible," Pedro intercepted, pulling you into a tight hug and landing his face in your neck. "And if I wasn't thousands of miles away I would totally spoil you with kisses and chocolates as my sorry."
"Chocolates are still in favor," you joke and feel him softly swat your bottom in disapproval.
Pulling away, he leans his face closer to yours and plants a sweet kiss upon your lips before backing up an inch and whispering softly, "I love you, you know that right?"
Smiling, you slowly nod and surprise him with a deeper kiss before answering him back with a familiar, "I love you, too."
"You better," he smirks, pulling his body on top of yours, hearing your light squeaks once your back hit the mattress and his lips snuck their way into the crook of your neck.
"Did you end up getting chocolates?" Andrew immediately questioned once you finished your long recollection of memories.
"That's not important," Florence rolled her eyes.
"I mean he did promise her it."
Chuckling at his curiosity, it amused you how focused he was about some candy. "Yes, he did- for like a month and then I got over them."
"Understandable," Andrew replied, looking down at his lap.
Florence jumped over him, making herself sit closer to you as he winced at her sudden movements. "Then what happened?! I mean, there had to be more right?"
"My god woman, I hope you're not working for TMZ," Andrew joked.
She shushed him before leaning closer to you, signaling you to continue on with your memories. "After that fight, things became pretty normal again. We would call each other with far more energy than before and he would even fly back home often to keep our communication strong."
"And how long did that last?"
Frowning, you took a small breath. "Like three months- then we started fighting more."
"Over?"
Rubbing your face, you groaned. "He went back to lacking energy! But that's not even the worst part."
"Please don't tell me he cheated," Andrew begged, covering his eyes with his hands while pulling a sorrow look. "I would never be able to look at him the same."
"I don't know if he did cheat- but I did find out two months before we ended things that he stayed the night at his exes."
Loudly gasping, the company you had began freaking out with their jaws dropping- literally. Florence angrily furrowed her brows, "you've got to be kidding? How is that allowed in a relationship?- It's not!"
Crossing your legs, you shrug as a way to answer her. You really did wonder what was going through his head when he did that. Sadly, you couldn't believe a word he said after you found out what he did.
Maybe that's why you were fine with ending things- because the trust was slowly disappearing.
"Not to mention he would always be with her and ditch plans with me," you form a tight smile, trying not to make things awkward but it was too late.
Who could possible hear this and not feel embarrassed for you? Classic move on his part to follow the 'being friends with my ex is okay' stereotype, but it only left you feeling unwanted and flawed.
Were you not good enough to be in his arms all those times he ditched you for her? And why couldn't he tell you what was really going on- unless he was truly hiding something unspeakable.
"Spill the beans."
Hearing a door slam, you jump up in a daze. You could feel sleep still linger on your body as you crank your neck to the side, capturing the bright '12:47 pm' located on top of your nightstand.
Slowly yanking your body up, you don't stretch as you hurry out of your room to the living room in search of the mysterious person who was either your missing boyfriend or an intruder.
Catching sight of his bright yellow t-shirt as he opens the refrigerator, you could feel your body boil up. "Where have you been? You snuck out last night without even telling me- do you even understand how worried I was?!"
Watching as he gradually turns his head to face yours, Pedro closes the fridge before leaning against the kitchen counter- completely relaxed despite your current state.
"I was out with friends," he declared, grinning to try and take pressure off from you- it didn't work. "I'm sorry, I will tell you next time. I didn't mean to worry you, my love."
Placing your hands on your hips, it pains you that you secretly don't believe a word he's saying. Normally, if this were the case, he would text you if you were sleeping or call you in the morning to inform you with what he'd done.
He did neither one.
Maybe you should test him? Ask him questions and see if he'll freeze up?
"And who were you with?"
He smiled, grabbing a cup from the pantry while easily answering, "Diego and Oscar- we had a couple of drinks and Oscar thought it would be best I stay the night."
Nodding swiftly, you examine him to see if there were any signs of him lying- there weren't. Fuck, you forgot he was an actor. It's literally his job to control his emotions! "And why didn't you call or at least send a simple text?"
After hearing your words, Pedro sends you a small smile before gently placing his cup down. Walking up to you, he opens his arms. "Baby, is that why you're so upset? Because I didn't call?"
Before you could answer, he engulfs you in his arms before swaying you both around. Feeling vibrations as he let out light giggles, you instantly dropped any suspicions you may have had because he had to tell the truth- he would never lie to you.
It's surreal how easily you could throw any convictions out the window when he touched you. It's like he jogged your memory.
"Well, why didn't you at least text?"
Removing his head from your neck, he squeezes you waist and sends you an amused smirk . "Because I was insanely drunk and if I would've used my phone it probably would have resulted in me leaving you hundreds of drunk voicemails confessing my love for you."
"And that's bad?"
He chuckled, shaking his head before pinching your side. "No, but it sure as hell is annoying."
Standing up straighter, you cautiously nod at his answer and watch as he lovingly smiled down at you. "Okay, I believe you."
"Did you really believe him?" Andrew asked.
"I call bullshit," Florence confidently declares, strong on her view that Pedro was not an honest person.
"Let me finish the story!"
Loud footsteps could be heard near your hallway as you stood behind the oven, trying your best to not burn these damn chocolate chip cookies.
Such a basic recipe yet so complex- it was truly aggravating.
"Y/n? Where are you?!" you heard you assistant squeal from a distance.
Trying to properly put your mitten on, you murmur a small "kitchen" before preparing yourself to open the oven. The amount of times you burned yourself thinking it was cool enough not to wear protection-
Point is- always wear protection.
Opening the oven door, you pull the tray of freshly baked cookies towards you as the footsteps became clearly audible. Right when the cookies were in your grip and being lifted, you heard your assistant yelp-
"Pedro was caught leaving his ex's house two days ago."
Throwing yourself up into a standing position, you forget about the tray of cookies until you feel the burning sensation upon your left arm. You accidentally pulled the tray too close to you. "Ow!"
Instantly panicking, your assistant rushes to your side in support and grabs a towel to fill with ice. Pressing downwards on the wound, you wince at the pressure that was building.
"What the hell are you talking about?" you still question, extremely curious to uncover what this situation was.
His ex? That's absurd, he hasn't dated anyone in years when you first met. It's definitely not like he was in contact with them when you made it official, he was always firm when it came with communicating with past relationships.
That was a big no-no, especially when one of your ex's tried reaching out after your last movie dropped. Pedro made it very clear how unhappy he was when he made an appearance at your premiere- your boyfriend not daring to leave your side and even blocking your view whenever your ex had the chance to gawk you up close.
At the time, people thought Pedro only attended because he was close with the director and has always been friendly with other actors. Little did they know he was being extra friendly with you behind the curtains.
"Someone snapped photos of him outside of her door! It looks like he just woke up, too." Grabbing the phone from her hands, you pull it closer to your face and watch what the screen uncovered.
There he was, your boyfriend of two-years smiling brightly as he steps outside her door in the clothes he wore the night before. The same ones he manipulated you with about being with Diego and Oscar that night.
Not just that, but peering on the side of the door was indeed his tall, beautiful ex who definitely aged like fine wine. Hell, she was gorgeous and everybody knew that.
And the fact that they broke up due to their long distance, at the time, did not help this situation. Now that they lived a few cities away, what now? Were you just a doormat he could walk all over and eventually throw away whenever he wanted something new?
Placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, you refuse to take your eyes off the screen as your assistant begins speaking. "Did you know he slept over?" Glancing up, she takes your downcast face as an answer and swiftly pulls you in a tight hug. "Oh no, I'm so sorry."
You were sorry for yourself, too. How could he lie right to your face so easily knowing he was doing it- intentionally. And the most fucked up part was he probably knew you would believe him- just like all the other times you did.
"I saw that picture!" Andrew exclaimed, bewildered at his recollection. "I thought the paparazzi caught him lacking after a hook-up- damn, I wish I would've known you were together sooner."
"Same, I would have unfollowed him," Florence added. "And nobody would've known it was because of you- since you two never been public."
Forcing a smile, you give her a tiny nudge on the arm. "Gee, thanks for being so considerate."
"Continue!"
"Open the god damn door, y/n. You are being overdramatic- it was one night! Nothing happened!" Pedro yelled, pulling the car handle harshly as you searched through your bag that sat on your passenger seat- looking to see if you had everything you needed before your flee.
Let's just say, things were pretty...eventful once you discovered his scheme.
For starters, after bawling your eyes out on your poor assistant's shoulder, she made her departure in order to clean up the spare bedroom she offered you to take if you weren't comfortable staying at your own place.
You accepted.
Once she was out the door, you fled to your bedroom and grabbed any suitcase close by and began stuffing it to the brim, not caring how disorganized it was professing as you reached for more clothes.
You were almost done packing your second bag full of makeup and bathroom necessities when you heard your front door open. Jumping up, you felt your eyes widen once you heard your name being chanted on by your boyfriend. "Y/n?!"
"Fuck," you whispered to yourself, drastically glancing around your now messy bathroom to make changes to your plan- only take things you really need.
Seconds pass and you find yourself zipping your bag and rushing out the door, that was until your body roughly collided with another- causing you to drop your belongings and land on the floor. Groaning, you hesitantly rise, immediately finding your boyfriend's body nearing yours as he pleads to help you off the ground.
"Baby, I'm sorry! I didn't see you coming out," he apologizes, using his fingertips to clasp your forearms to level you. "Look, I need to tell y-"
"Get off of me," you grit, forcibly slapping his palms off you, causing him to cease and stare stunned. He has never seen you once be this aggressive. Sure, you would reject his embrace whenever you two fought here and there, but slap? Not ever.
Brushing roughly past him, you gripped your larger suitcase by its handles and made a beam to the closest exit. You couldn't be around him, not when thoughts of him being unfaithful constantly drowned your head.
A strong tug of your makeup bag made you halt your movements, not by choice, as Pedro made sure to tighten his grip to prevent you from leaving. Glancing down at his now white, clenched hands, you glare. "Let go."
Shaking his head, he stared you down- irritated that you would just pack up and leave so quickly without even hearing his side of the story. Yes, he should have told you what really happened that night- but he knew how you'd react.
It was better to keep it sealed until he was ready to unveil- or so he thought.
"You let go," he hissed, raising one of his hands and smacking yours with it. You hate how much stronger he still was while only using one hand while you had two- fuck his strength and your poor muscles.
Groaning, you dig your feet onto the ground harder as you continue your tug-a-war charade with your selfish boyfriend who didn't seem to believe space was an understandable coping mechanism after he shattered your small heart.
"Fine," you yelp, shoulders falling slightly as he eases his grip- still holding on though. "We both let go on 3."
Tilting his head, he suddenly grew suspicious by your random middle ground. He knew you well enough to know you don't give up that easily, especially when he's fully sure, by your bolting efforts, you saw the picture. "How do I know you won't just run off after?"
"You're faster and stronger than me, you'll catch me eventually."
Internally agreeing, he knew you had a point. Even if you did escape, your little legs weren't going to get you far- he knows from all the times he tackled you down after you countlessly would steal his food.
"1," you begin, eyeing him to see if he would follow.
"2," he stared at you back, cautiously watching your every step.
Taking a deep breath, you count again. "3!" With that, you release your grip from your bag and watch as he still clutches on to the strap. "What the hell- we agreed on 3 we'd both let go!"
Nervously chuckling, he placed the bag on the ground and sheepishly smiled at you. He was glad to see you finally calming down. "Sorry, I didn't think you would actually do it."
Sending him an annoyed glance, he scratches the back of his neck for assuming you wouldn't follow your word. "Trust me, I always tell the truth."
Wincing at your cold tone, he frowns by your hard demeanor. "About that- I was going to tell you-"
Softly placing a hand over your head, you release a sound of discomfort and miss the way his eyes wander in curiosity.
"Can we talk about this after I take my supplements? I am not feeling too good," you cut him off, slowly touching your forehead as you watch his concern grow. "I forgot to take them this morning."
"You know you get bad migraines when you don't take them," he declared, sighing as he raised his hand and began softly rubbing your temple in ease.
He believed you were being serene because you weren't livid and allowed him to stop you from leaving- how wrong he was.
"I know but I had a crammed morning-"
"This is why we need to hire someone to walk Leia, we don't have enough time majority of the week!" he exhales, making you stare at the floor for the point taken. But there was no way you'd hire someone to walk your dog, that's ridiculous and a waste of money. "We'll talk after, let me grab them- stay here."
Sadly nodding, you allow him to flee towards your bathroom in search for your medicine. Peering you head a few inches to the side, you wait till the coast is clear before slowly, but firmly, grabbing your once lost bag and dashing out of your bedroom.
"I almost forgot about Leia," you muttered to yourself, instantly feeling bad at the thought of how quick you were to forget your baby. How terrible of a mother were you.
And what even was more mind blowing was how Pedro didn't catch your innocent acting. Truthfully, he must be trying to be extra helpful so you would believe him. Too late.
Finding your white corgi near the kitchen, you whistle lowly for her to follow as you peddled your way to your garage. "C'mon doggie, if daddy notices our escape plan he won't let us leave that easil-"
"Y/n?!"
Jaw dropping, you shoot a glance of panic to your dog, who only blankly stares back, before rushing to your parked car. "Just like Batman and Robin- now jump in," you hushed, opening the back seat so you could not only throw your bags back there- but also your tiny-legged corgi who struggles at first, but eventually makes it in.
Once you jumped into your seat and turned on the car, you catch a breathless Pedro rushing out through the door to your side. "Fuck."
"You tricked me!"
"You slept with another woman, asshole!" you yell back, glaring as he rolled his eyes- outraged by how unreasonable you were becoming. All he wanted to do was sit you down and have a normal conversation about this, but instead you kept running away.
Once again, he thinks you need to work on your communication skills.
"You used your failing health to your advantage- how sick are you?" he yelped, offended.
"They were gummy supplements!"
Touching your car door, he sternly peers at you as you quickly lock your doors in case he tried opening it. "I did not sleep with another woman," he started, inhaling strongly before releasing it. "Why would I do that when I am in a committed relationship? Huh? Do you think I am capable of cheating?"
Shrugging innocently, you pull a sarcastic face. "Not sure, I do know you're capable of lying- maybe infidelity is the cherry on top?"
Mouth gapping, he sends you a look of hurt and for a second you feel terrible by your choice of words. In your heart, you wanted to take it back- but your head thought otherwise.
"I would never be unfaithful to you- that's not who I am," he firmly states, feeling like absolute shit that you would even accuse him of being with another woman when you were all he thought about every single second of the day.
Dryly chuckling, you nod along to his words. He feels his heart ache, as if hundreds of knives jabbed through the delicate muscle by your painful mien. Did you really think that lowly of him?
"That's who you are to me now."
Once those words flew out of your mouth and he was able to process it clearly, he paused. Whole body turning stiff and cold, he scolded you profoundly before fiercefully charging towards your car door and pounding for entrance.
It was like a nerve was touched and he was not willing to be forgiving anymore. You struck him hard and he knew you meant it out of pure anger- not genuinely, but his awareness soon became replaced with treachery and he so badly wanted you to pay for your foul words.
"Open the god damn door, y/n. You are being overdramatic- it was one night! Nothing happened!" Pedro yelled, pulling the car handle harshly as you searched through your bag that sat on your passenger seat- looking to see if you had everything you needed before fleeing.
Mentally checking off your items before departure, you inhale sharply before lowering down your car's mirror and pressing your garage remote- allowing the door to gradually rise and Pedro to panic.
Cursing in his head, he couldn't let you drive away or else he might never see you for days and he couldn't bear the thought of you moping around in agony without at least hearing from him- the man in the picture- what actually happened that night.
Pressing on the lever and angling down to reverse, you nervously press on the gas and allow your car to drift back as your poor dog watched through the backseat his dad embarrassingly urging you to not go.
You prayed the neighbors couldn't hear a thing, if the cops came you're sure you would never go out in public for at least six months.
Realizing that it was now or never, you see from the corner of your eye a figure running towards the back of your car before a loud thump was heard.
Shakily, pressing on the brakes and putting your car on park, you jump out in horror by the sight of legs near your back tires.
You hit him.
"Shit!" you gasped, involuntarily sprinting- as if your body just knew how to react- and dropping down to your boyfriend's lifeless body-
"You ran him over?!" Andrew and Florence shrieked, interrupting your storytelling, causing you to glare and shush them.
"Shut the fuck up- it's getting to the interesting part!"
Hugging his body tightly, you could feel your face began to fall down and your body slowly begin to tremble. In a matter of seconds, you just knew your garage wasn't going to be a pretty sight to see.
Hitching your breath, you run your hands to your boyfriend's chest and shake him softly in hopes he would open his eyes- he didn't. With tears flushing down your face, you sniff as you grip onto him harder. "Please w-wake up," you begin, trying your best to keep your touch on him but you were a jittering mess. Not being able to stay still, you press your ear over his chest to see his he still had a pulse.
Sighing in relief, he did.
Squeezing his face, you frown as his expressionless face stills. Realizing he might have passed out over a concussion, your lips begin to tremble as you finally breakdown in tears and cradle him.
Leaning over from his side, you bend your body and embrace his head into your neck. "I am such a-a fucking idiot," you squeak, your eyes shutting as you don't have the power to keep them open. "I-I love you- I should've just stayed and t-talked-!"
Cutting yourself off, you ironically feel like the lifeless one despite your literal unconscious boyfriend being in your arms at the moment. Bitch, you really had the nerve. Swiftly kissing his cheek, you plunge yourself into his neck and cushion him with your body- being as fragile as ever when handling him.
Quivering in misery, you keep a strong grip onto him before you felt pressure along your side. "It's been minutes and you still haven't called 911? I could've been dead by now."
Screaming, you instantly drop the figure once on top of you and force your thighs to back up, causing you to sit perplexed on the concrete floor.
Glancing back up, you find your boyfriend brightly grinning your way, using his arms to hold his upper portion up as you looked back in confusion. Didn't you hit him?
"I was my own stunt double for some scenes," he speaks up, smiling to himself proud as you continued staying still, confused as to what had just happened. "As long as you have the right mentality- you can take a pounding."
Registering where he was going with this, you scoff and quickly allow your feet to hit the ground. Following after you, Pedro jumps at your unpleased sight and watches as you cooly open your back door to let your dog jump out before marching towards the door to your house.
"Wait? Are you mad at me for that, too?" He calls out, tilting his head in question and proceeds to get his answer by the slamming of the door behind you. "Never mind."
Angrily storming through your hallway, you accidentally run into the wooden desk placed against the wall. "Ugh!" you scream, turning around and giving it one hard kick before making your way towards your destination- the kitchen.
"What did the desk ever do to you?" Pedro mumbled to himself, stopping right by it once you were out of sight and fixing it back up against the wall, making sure the books settled on top were nested properly before going after you.
"So that's why one of the legs is chipped? I noticed that-"
"Shut up, Andrew."
"Sorry, go on."
Finding you near the blacked marbled kitchen bar, Pedro ceased his movements. To be honest, he was nervous to confront you. Not only did you find out he slept at his ex girlfriend's house, but he made you believe he was dead.
This was not going to end well.
"How could you do this to me?" He hears you ask, you back being in his peripheral view as you leaned your body over the counter, hands gripping the ends roughly.
"Do what?" he idiotically responds back, mentally slapping himself for having the audacity to question something he surely knows.
Slowly turning around, capturing his soft yet worried eyes, he catches onto your tear ones and breaks down on the inside. "Tell me the truth." you gulp, averting your eyes to your feet as you sense him bobble his head. "Did you sleep with her?"
Choking on air, he frantically shakes his head in dismay, not believing you would actually think that despite the past half an hour of him comprehending that you might so. Maybe he just couldn't believe it would ever come out of your mouth- but this whole situation made him nauseous.
Steadily finding his balance, he inched towards your frail body as you kept your contact with the floor strong, not daring to move it even when the sight of his shoes play in your mind. "Honey," he lowly calls out, lifting his fingers to your chin and hastily bringing your vision to his own. "No- I did not sleep or engage in any sexual nor romantic activity with her."
"Then why did you go to her house and not tell me?!" you cried, nudging his hand off your face, him immediately aiming towards your waist to still have you near. "Why would you do this to me? Why would you sleep over when you know how I would feel?"
"I can't tell you," he confesses, whispering softly. Feeling your face fall, you erupt into tears again as you lift up your palms to hide behind them.
Hiccuping, your hands twitch as they support your weight and force you to fall on top of the counter and continue watering your tears there. Everything was unfair and he couldn't seem to realize how bad your fights have progressed throughout the months.
"If you really care about me," you whimper, still behind your hands as he rubs circles on your waist. "You would consider my feelings and understand why I should know what you did with her."
Sighing, he releases you waist and rubs his forehead in frustration. Pedro wasn't the type to hide things in relationships. In fact, he was amazing when it came to expressing feelings and being honest while you were the same- but you typically took longer to reveal your troubles than he did.
But no matter how loyal he was to you, it wasn't his place to share someone else's business no matter who the association may be.
"I know, baby. I know- believe me," he whispers, pulling you in for a hug and lifting you off the counter as your sobs were felt among his chest. It broke his heart. "But I can't betray her, she needed me and trusted me to see her. I can't just deceive her."
"But you can do that to me?" you reply, catching him off guard as he shuts his eyes tightly by how accurate you were being. "It's okay, I understand."
"No," he shakes his head, groaning before staring you down. "You don't understand, hell- I don't understand this either. But what I need you to know is I did not kiss, flirt, wink, tease, or touch her in any sexual way. We did not have sex - there was no removing of any clothing-"
"Then why did you sleepover?!"
"She needed me," he simply replies, causing you to laugh ridiculy.
"I needed you and you left me," you spit out harshly, not believing how he could defend himself and think you would ever fine with it.
Grunting, he runs his hand over his hair before pouring all of his stress onto you. "What do you want me to do? I told you what happened- she needed me, I helped her, it took longer than expected so I fell asleep on the couch- do you want to touch my knotted back for proof? Because you can!"
"Why am I the one being yelled at?" you respond, watching his face fall in disappointment.
Staying in your position for a minute or two, you continued examining him as he did the same, not knowing where this was headed. That was until he motioned with his hand for you to move closer.
"Come here."
Furrowing your brows, you pause at his words. Did he think hugging was going to solve all of your problems- because it wasn't. "No-"
Feeling his arms glide up along your upper body and finally wrapping around your shoulders, he pressed you up against his chest into the warmest bear hug you might have engaged in.
It was...peaceful.
Sighing, he felt your body soften by the touch. Relaxing, you closed your eyes as he made it his mission to not ease up on his grip. "I didn't do anything with her," he whispers, laying his face comfortably on your shoulder. "I promise, I love you."
Sadly, his confession made you break down more as tears flooded your face and your body fell upon his grip. Easily wrapping his palms on the back of your head, he cradled you tightly and never left your sight once the rest of that day and week.
And that's how that fight ended- with you trusting his sweet nothings and letting him take over your body with his hugs and kisses because he somehow made you believe him.
Every single time.
You wish you could have moved on from that topic that night as you allowed him to show you how much he loved you, but unfortunately that wasn't an option.
Especially when paparazzi exploited more pictures with him and his ex the following weeks later.
"And what about your last fight? You know- the one that ended things," Andrew started, making you halt. "What happened then?"
Quickly standing up, you brushed your sweatpants down before sending him a tight smile. Now that you talked about sad memories you hadn't really thought of in months, you knew the mention of your last fight would only break you.
You weren't ready to undergoing the same pain you felt that night.
"I didn't know these talks about my past would take a toll on me, but they have. I don't want to talk about it, but I appreciate the two of you checking up on me- I really do, but I think its time for me to take a shower and maybe nap- it's been a tiring day."
Feeling your discomfort, Florence and Andrew exchanged a weary glance before looking back up to you, hesitantly nodding. Probably an intense memory, they were determined not to mention it again unless you came forward.
"Alright- but give us a call if you ever need a shoulder to cry on or just plain old company!" Florence smiled, wrapping her arms around you for a quick hug before pulling back. "We can even have a sleepover."
"Count me out on that one," Andrew joked, bending down to give you the same hug. "But for real, you can cry on my shoulder any time."
"Thanks," you giggle, soon following them towards your front door as they say goodbye to your dog before departing in their own cars.
What an emotional day it has been.
-
"Do I really have to go? It's no use- I already seen the film. I don't want to rewatch it," you whine as your manager hushes you.
Walking down the side of the theatre, you clutch onto the oversized, black leather jacket you were wearing as your manager and assistant walked on either side of you, directing to to the entrance of a random theatre in the city.
Since the Oscars, nothing has really changed. It's been about three weeks now and there wasn't chaos anymore- it seemed like news about that night had already faded.
Regularly, you did chat with Florence, Shailene, and Andrew on the phone- individually at times throughout your past weeks- but nothing too crazy.
You all had your busy schedules and your manager was still being as hardworking as ever trying to exploit more of you to the press and on the screen. Safe to say, every time she had news it would always be something impressive.
Except for today, when she proudly announced after barging into your house during breakfast that there was a new film premiere you had to attend.
It's not like you opposed the idea- but you watched the film when the production team invited you to their private screening. It would be useless watching it again.
But as persistent as ever, your manager claimed there would be great press and directors attending the public's premiere, following with "an Oscar-nominated actress like you must make themself remembered."
As dramatic as always- but at least she was highly active in your career.
She did everything to make you get noticed, especially when you were at your lowest point mentally after your breakup.
Now onto past relationships, you hadn't heard any news regarding Pedro since you last saw him. Not that you wanted to, but for some reason he was still on your mind. Due to the fact you did sit with your friends ranting about your shared troubles, that's likely the reason.
But all jokes aside, you seriously can't stop thinking about him.
However, you were too scared to admit this to anyone. You tried telling Florence, but every time you mentioned his name she would immediately disregard him, pissed by how he treated you.
Which you loved that she had your back, but you needed someone else to have his own- oddly.
Maybe it was your head deep in thoughts that revealed how you were feeling, but your assistant seemed to notice that you weren't okay- mentally.
After checking in and finding a small crowd, you accepted that maybe most of the audience were in their seats already despite the film starting in almost an hour. Nudging you once your manager left to find one of the producers, you glanced at her as she motioned you to move towards the wall.
"What's up?"
She made a face, practically laughing at your question before continuing on. "Why don't you tell me 'what's up?' The whole ride here you've been silent and I know it's not because you were tired- you slept all afternoon, what's really up?"
Chuckling, you roll her eyes at how nosy she was being- but you knew she only wanted to help you. After working together for years, it was a ritual both of you performed: don't let the other be sad.
Surprisingly, it worked every time. She would hide you from people who upset you while you let her have more vacation days whenever she felt the same.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You're thinking about him, huh."
Eyes widening, you shake your head quickly as she laughs at your poor attempt of denying her idea. But she knew right from the moment you got lost in your head that he was the one to blame.
"Don't worry, I won't tell," she whispered loudly, causing you to shove her as she laughed louder.
"Shut up, someone might hear you," you hiss, watching as she tried holding her breath to stop herself from cackling again. She just looked like a fish in need of water.
"Don't think about him then," she teased. "If it's making you lost in your thoughts! Wait- why is he in your head? I thought you hated him?"
Coughing, you shake your head. "I don't hate him- I could never."
"Never?" she raises a brow in shock. "I think we're seeing some progress here. You're falling back in loveeeee with him."
"No way," you scoffed as she grinned heavily. "I'm just thinking about the Oscars since that was the last work-related event I've been to since today and you know- he was there so he ended up in my mind...for a little."
She slowly nods, teasing a smug as makes it pretty clear she did not believe one word you said. Your assistant has seen everything, so she is quite familiar with your thoughts regarding Pedro.
She knows when your happily, sadly, angrily, and crazily daydreaming about him. In this case, she's stuck between happily and crazily- not seeming to find any hints of fury and sorrow through your expressions.
But definitely warmth and frustration- all due to him not being able to leave your head.
"When are you just going to admit you still love him?" She blurts out, causing you to snap your heard towards her. "Everybody sees it, you obviously have a soft spot for him if you let him be near you."
"Near me? He's never near me," you laugh. "And I never show signs I want him back, I don't. I made it clear for months now after perfectly avoiding him at all costs."
"Yeah, but he's still on your mind- that must mean something," she declares, causing your small grin to fall into a tight line.
That must mean something.
Did it?
Shaking that thought away, you reject her idea. "It means he traumatized me."
"It means you're in denial and scared to be with him again," she replied, placing her hands on her hips. "Look, I just know you two are meant to be. Next time you see him, talk to him. Tell him how much you care for him- even if you don't want to admit it in a lovey-dovey way. It can be friendly!"
Giving her a strange look, she lowers her energy quickly before looking around the room, making sure no one saw how enthuastic she became.
"You get the point!" she rolls her eyes. "Just be nice, maybe the both of you can form a friendship or just drift apart knowing there's no hard feelings."
"But there is hard feelings," you declared, pointing out the obvious.
There is a reason why you two broke up, like there is also a reason why you despise him. It all comes down to history and actions, which you've both experienced- which is why, again, you broke up.
"Just..." she started, thinking about it for a second before sending you a sincere glance. "-give it a shot. If you don't hate him, like you said, it wouldn't be terrible to be civil."
Slowly nodding, you understand where she's coming from. This tension between Pedro and you was getting old, and the fact it was only you adding fuel to the non-existent fire since you've broken up is sad.
Especially when all he's been around you was sweet and considerate of your feelings, leaving you alone when he felt your energy- except for that one night, but you have to admit that was your fault for riling him up.
The roughness of heels came marching your way, forcing the both of you to instantly lift your head- finding your manager striking a fake breaming grin with two men beside her. She was trying too hard.
"Girls! This is Greg and Shawn- the writers of the film!" she exclaimed, fluttering her lashes rapidly as both men awkwardly raised a hand, waving it.
Releasing a tiny chuckle, you do the same as your assistant walks closer, sticking out her hand to fully gain their attention and introduce herself.
What can you say- she was a charmer.
Wrapping an arm around your shoulder, your manager slightly pulls you closer to the strangers and strangely bobbles her head- preparing whatever gibberish was about to spit out of her talkative mouth.
"Y/n- the boys thought it would be a great idea to sit in the vip selection among other A-listers- isn't that just lovely? We are very grateful for your offer-"
Boys? Oh god- now she was bonding for her hopeful chances of getting a call for an audition.
Compelling a sweet smile, you feel the only possible response you could give them was a meaningless 'thank you so much' after she literally put you on blast to communicate more. The funniest part about this situation was- you already watched the film!
Clearly you never met these writers- but instead the director himself! Your manager should be satisfied enough with that.
"Would you look at the time,-" Greg- you believe, softly gasps while raising his arm to examine the tiny apple watch planted. "Guests are probably filling up in their seats by now, terribly sorry- but we should probably go."
"I hadn't realized how close we were to showtime- we certainly must continue off our conversation after the film is over!" Shawn proclaims, making your manager nod far too quickly. "I look forward to meeting again."
With that, the two men inclined their motions of farewells before taking off down a dimmed hall, likely finding the exact destination set to premiere their comedic film.
Sighing, you send daggers to your managers who barely blinks before coughing out a swift, "What?"
"You really couldn't wait till after the film was over to sweet talk them?"
Dramatically rolling her eyes at your annoyance, she waves you off by your sudden introversion. It was her job to throw her best compliments about you too them, and she knew you were still too young to understand that everything she did was for a cost.
You.
"C'mon grumpy, let's locate the theatre before you start whining that your feet hurt, too."
Feeling your mouth slightly drop from her remark, you hear your assistant cackle right beside you, using her right palm to hold in her giggles while you mentally prepared for what comeback to throw her way.
You got nothing.
Huffing, your legs followed hers as she guided the two of you towards the same hall the men approached minutes before. The closer you've walked, the larger the capacity gathered around.
For such a low-budget film, it sure did gain quite the crowd.
As the rolling of the ending credits flooded the screen once you sat the last two and a half hours trying to act as if you didn't know what was coming next, you wish you had it in you to say the second time made up for the first- but it didn't.
There we have it, tonight was just not your night and endlessly enough- you couldn't blame it on some silly excuse of watching the same film over again.
Not even your assistant's sneaky offerings of her red licorice lifted your blues- and that speaks enough volume to say the least.
"That wasn't so bad, now was it?" the whole-heartedly voice of your manager's voice filled your ears as the three of you sat in the same lobby as before, still not finding a way to escape a cold room.
Oh how you abominated the sharp hits of the air conditioning- it frankly made coming to the theaters a horror unless layers of clothing and a blanket was tagged along.
"Why can't we leave? The film is done and people are walking out."
"We still have to talk to Shawn and Greg!" your manager declared, presenting a look of pure determination to get her way with their levels of skill.
Groaning, you throw your head in absolute exhaustion. Fairly, if your manager hadn't had made such an early visit during the morning hours you're sure you would've been in a better mood.
It was like the more you interacted, the less energy you had to give.
In order to survive the next few hours, you needed your phone or who knows how your fake laughters will sound.
And you call yourself an actress.
Sliding your hand to the back of your pockets, you wait for the feel of your large iphone to surface- but that moment never comes. Swiftly, you check your leather jacket ones just in case you slipped it there without realizing.
You didn't.
Anxiously glancing towards your assistant, your trembling hands find her arm. "Have you seen my phone? It's not on me."
Examining your hands before meeting your eyes, she shrugs it off. "Relax, no need to have a nervous breakdown- I'm sure you left it in the car with your bag-"
"No, I had it on me during the previews."
"We did go to the bathroom, too- why not just go check those two places?" she suggests. Concerned filled you, hoping nobody was capable of actually stealing your phone- it would be such a hassle getting another one. "I'll check the bathroom, you check our seats."
Agreeing, the two of you sneakily escape your manager when her back was turned, unpleasantly speed walking down the familiar hall before parting ways to your needed locations.
Opening the thick, black doors and striding up the long runway, your eyes are met with the same darkened seating area you were in less than twenty minutes ago.
Then and there, you use this desertion in power- running towards the middle rows consider 'vip' and begin your inspection. Fuck, you wish your had some form of light to help- you couldn't see shit.
Sliding your fingers among the seat, you lift up the cushions in hopes it mysteriously pops up, but all you find is pieces of popcorn and gum glued down.
Gross.
Feeling your eyes begin to water, you were sure you were seconds away from crying like a little kid over the loss of your beloved possession before you heard a deep voice call out for your attention.
"Is this yours? I heard it ringing when I came back in and- uh," the person froze, not having the ability to finish off their sentence as you gradually lifted your body off the floor into their view.
Hopelessly praying the stranger was regarding your phone, your eyes search for their hands first and there it was- your phone!
The corners of your mouth lift up, as well as the creases around your eyes as you internally cheer for your discovery. However, it faltered once you noticed a familiar tattoo laying on one of their palms. Moving your eyes up, you're sure your smile completely disappears once you recognize those brown eyes.
How did you not catch onto his voice from down there?
"Uh- yeah- that's mine," you nervously reply, choking on your words that probably made you sound like you were about to lose consciousness by how strung you were, and hesitantly reach out for the device.
Pedro quietly lets you grab it, not saying one word as your hands collide for a split second before the object was back in your own. You didn't miss the name that appeared on the lit up screen when touched- your assistant must have tried calling you to see if the phone would ring in the bathroom.
Smart.
Avoiding awkward farewells, Pedro swiftly turns around and makes his way down the theatre stairs, not daring to continue on with the barely existing conversation you shared. He's leaving, that fast?
Thinking about all your past interactions, he would always try to chat with you- even when you did give him the coldest shoulder of all time- because that's who he was: kind.
But now he's...walking away?
"Hey- uhm," you begin, following clumsily after him, almost tripping on one of the steps as he reaches his final steps and doubtfully turns your way. Once you stood another step ahead of him, you feel that swirling feeling in your stomach again.
You were nervous- you've never felt this way around him during your breakup- never.
Adjusting your arms inside your jacket, a small smile is extracted out of you as you watch his stay flat. He did not look interested one bit and it frightened you to death. "Thanks for finding my phone- I-I was really scared there for a minute."
Not reacting to your little laugh at the end, he replied- dull. "I didn't know it was yours, I would have given it to guest services if so."
Ouch, you're sure you're hurt expression was recognizable on the outside as much as it pained you on the inside. He really did not want to talk to you, even when you're showing your appreciation.
He really was over you.
"I know," you squeak out, not missing the way his eyes tiredly scanned your own as his body stood there stiff as ever. "I just wanted to thank you, that's all- you saved me a lot of trouble."
Coldly laughing from that, he nods. "I'm sure I have."
Your body tingled with rage as he carelessly ignored your warmth and threw jabs in return. "What's with the attitude? I'm doing nothing wrong here- I'm trying to be friendly."
Inching up, his face presents a sullen one and you immediately feel intimated by the height he owned and used as his advantage. Just the first few seconds before he spoke alone made you feel his displeasure. "And what about all those times I was friendly? I received shit so forgive me for allowing you to experience the same treatment you give others."
Loss for words, you were speechless and didn't know what to say back. For one, you were alarmed by his hard demeanor he gifted to you. Second, humiliation soared throughout as he called out your imperfections.
In other words, he wanted you to know you were a bitch.
"And I take that back but-"
Pedro was about to burst out laughing in front of your face, but he held himself together in sake of your feelings. Can you believe that, despite the misery he still cared for your state of mind. "Taking back isn't apologizing."
Sneering, you cross your arms as his eyebrows furrowed in irritation. "Apologize for what? You were the one who fucked my life over."
Scoffing, he shakes his head in vexation by your lack of empathy- as always. "Countless of times we would contemplate our faults and how we could move on and now you're discounting your wrongdoings- typical."
Pedro did not want to have another unpleasant argument with you, especially in a public setting again, and decided it was best to just walk away. If he kept his mouth shut, he wouldn't make this altercation worse.
Meeting his broad back, you lightly gasp as he ignores you altogether and makes his leave far too early for your liking. Charging towards him, you feel his back solidify once your fingers yank him to a halt.
You were not done with this conversation, but you did know once you got home you were definitely going to regret how toxic you were radiating in the room.
"Typical? What do you mean by that?"
"Knock it off and let me walk away, y/n," Pedro warns, still facing his back towards you after blocking your attempts of moving him. "We both know how badly this will end."
You know, but for some reason you don't want him to leave. Was that so bad?
"No, I wanna hear exactly what you have to say about me- maybe it'll make me recognize the ignorant ego I have."
"You're talking out in anger, you're trying to cause a fire that I won't let you ignite," he simply replies, his eyes still not found by his hidden appearance.
Very poetic.
Scowling profoundly, you don't realize what you're doing until you're finally met with his provoked display after. Stalking around his body, you stand in front of him and jab a finger towards his chest. "You're preventing me from bettering myself, isn't that what you always wanted?"
Leaning down until his face with inches away from yours, you make out his hard features clearly now. His face expressed discomfort as his eyes creased while lifting- even his lips stayed hard as a rock. "I'm going to tell you one more time, let me go."
Ignoring his cold shoulder, he inhaled a sharp breath before taking matters into his own hands. You don't want to listen? Fine. But he wasn't going to let you drag him into this any further.
Right as you push another finger up against him, your wrist was taken and roughly pushed down by your side as Pedro's body practically belted against yours. "Get off me!"
"Not until you stop fucking around," he grunted, immediately widening his eyes in realization. He knows you don't like when he casually curses directly to you- even when he doesn't harm. "Sorry- I-I meant when you stop playing around."
Praying that a smile doesn't escape you, it made you feel some type of way capturing his manners and how even though you two were on rocky terms- he still had some respect for you.
"Why are we even fighting right now?" you sigh, slowly softening your muscles in forfeit.
"You tell me- it sounds like you want my attention," he casually replied, releasing your hands and stepping back an inch. "Considering you won't let me leave."
"I'm just trying to have a normal, polite conversation! Is that so wrong?"
Softly laughing, he shakes his head in disappointment. "You don't get it."
Scrunching your face, you become lost by his words. "Get what?"
Scanning the wall before meeting your eyes again, Pedro motions his hands between the two of you. "What do you think will come out of us having a conversation? Acquaintances? Maybe a friendship?"
Thinking about it for a second, you feel your head eventually nod as he squeezes his eyes shut in return. Was that not what he's been trying to do- end in good terms? "It's what's healthy for us."
"Us?!" Pedro groans, sending you a tired gaze that had you weak to the knees. "There is no 'us' anymore. You made that perfectly clear after causing a scene last month in front of your friends."
"I didn't plan on that happening a-"
"I'm even letting go the bigger scene you caused inside the after party- isn't that enough to understand why I feel this way?" he adds on, frustrated that you would think otherwise.
You were the one who caused the attention and brought a bad look on his name. He should be shouting at you like you would have done to him if the roles were reversed.
"I'm not saying we should get back together, all I want-"
"-is a friendship? Some sort of relation that won't make us strangers?" he interjects, causing you to stay silent. That was all he needed to understand what you really wanted: not to let him go. "Look, we had our history, but I don't think it's good we keep in contact anymore."
You swear you felt all air leave your body as your face felt cold. Was he breaking up with you- in life itself?
"I-uhm don't- I don't understand," you cough, scared to make a bigger fool out of yourself. You're sure you probably look like a ghost by how much color you've lost since his recent reveal and again- you were grateful this room was dim. "Why can't we at least be friends? Not even that- why can't we at least know we have each other in our lives? Why end up as strangers?"
"What do you mean? We hadn't talked to each other in almost a year till last month! We basically are strangers," he exclaimed, causing you to look down at your feet as your heart ached.
He wasn't wrong- you just hadn't realized he's been right. And to blame was you, not him. You pushed him away in the first place, he was only kind enough to oblige.
And it was surely pathetic how now you wanted him back in your life, even if it meant not even talking just to assure yourself he still had your back.
He didn't.
"Y/n..." he sadly muttered, trying his best not to hurt your feelings as you were still continued to stay downwards- not wanting to disclose more hurt. "You didn't even say happy birthday to me, how can you be considered a friend? Friends don't do that, not to me at least."
This caused you to glance back up to him, disagreeing immediately as to what he was trying to get at. Of course you knew it was his birthday, you celebrated two with him in the past! "I didn't want to make things weird-"
"You never do but still avoid me like the plague and breakdown whenever I'm too close to your liking. I'm sorry for trying to do what's best and leave us in the past,-" he explains, closing his eyes in discomfort, "-but I can't keep letting this go on. I'm too old to be going back and forth as if this is some high school relationship- it's not."
High school relationship- you never knew simple three words could have you shrinking in guilt.
"And I know things will be easier for you when the time comes- I won't be around to nag you," Pedro tries to lighten up the mood but you can't break the line upon your lips. You were emotionless and it made Pedro upset.
Why would he be upset? You finally deserved learning your lesson after treating him as if he was nothing to you. But despite all your flaws, he still cared for you.
He cares so much that he's willing to let you go so you can do better things in life- without him.
Trying to find the right words to say, you give up. There isn't much to discuss now that he wants nothing to do with you.
You fucked up- for real this time.
In fact, you shouldn't even be hurt- you wanted this. Or at least that's what you thought before last month when he wasn't on your mind 24/7.
Maybe it was the way he begged for your forgiveness after not seeing each other for so long that made you realize how badly you adored him nearby.
Maybe it was the attention he was giving you after you continuously rejected his pleads, furthering the argument until he stormed off in the end.
And maybe you should've took his concluding estrangement announcement seriously before he left you last month.
But just like they say, you never know what you have until it's gone.
"I see," you quietly respond, slowly nodding as a faint grin forms among Pedro's lips, appreciating your cooperation over this mess. "Maybe it is best if we stray away from each other- you can even delete my number."
"I already have," he accidentally blurts out, not realizing how bad that sounds until he hears it himself and cringes. Your sufferable reaction didn't make things better.
"You know what," you fake a laugh, trying to calm your voice as you feel it about to crack any second. The tears were heading your way- you just knew it. "Fuck you."
Pedro's face falls, taken back by your inappropriate language. "Excuse me?"
Noticing your rushed attitude, he wanted to stop you and tell you everything was alright. That everything was going to be easy and how the two of you would get passed this.
But he knew he'd be lying.
"You heard me, fuck you," you casually slip out, scoffing as his eyes darken. "For someone who's so kind to others, I would have thought you would know what words were right to say."
"You're one to talk, sweetheart," he chuckled, staring at you in repulse. "Every time you talk you always have to neglect someone else, I'm fucking glad I don't have to witness that ever again."
"Me too, my family was right- you are a joke who wasted my time."
With that, you make your leave to have the chance of having the last word. Maybe if you left this room faster he would forget about your comment. You knew it was harsh but you didn't know what else to say.
You wanted him to hurt- but to what extent?
Your arm was instantly tugged as Pedro pulled you back, not letting his grip go as his face was still filled with resentment. "And your team was right, you are a bitch."
Freezing, you stare at him in shock as his face doesn't fall once. What the hell is he talking about? "Get away from me or else-"
"Or else what? Weren't you the one physically blocking me from leaving minutes ago? What has changed?" he tries to smirk, manipulating you into believing how ruthless he could be when really he was dying to tell you the act he was pulling. "Cat got your tongue?"
Your face felt hot with rage as you yanked your arm off his hand, catching him by surprise as you glared at him. "I'm so glad I never took you back, you're fucking pathetic."
"And I'm insanely glad you didn’t, saved thousands returning that fucking ring."
Those twelve words made you halt and even made Pedro speechless. By the staggered look planted on his face, you could tell he didn't mean to say that.
Ring? As in, an engagement ring?
Weakly failing to stand straight, you felt your voice crack. "You were going to propose?"
Shaking his head, he swiftly backed away. "I need to go." Before you could stop him, he was already out of the theatre and probably near larger gatherings of people that would only prevent you from talking about this more.
Holding your face with your hands, you couldn't even cry. You didn't know what to do, you were utterly lost for words.
If he was really going to propose like he hinted at, what meaning did your last fight have? Nothing made sense and you don't know how you could move on from this now that he wanted you out of his life completely.
Hearing doors open, you instantly averted your gaze in hopes he had come back in and planned to properly finish what he started.
Instead, you manager came barging in while gripping onto your assistant's wrist harshly.
"Where the hell have you been?! I've been looking for you everywhere and to find out your stupid assistant-"
"Don't you dare disrespect her," you sternly cut her off, watching as her face falters by your sudden tone. "If you're here to pester us some more, feel free to walk home."
Laughing in shock, your manager tilts her head at your rudeness. "Excuse me? It wasn't my fault your assistant wondered off. After everything I have done to protect you and your career you feel the need to throw me out-"
"Did she hurt you?" you cut her off, focusing on your assistant who has gone quiet. You notice the redness on her small wrists before she slowly nods, looking down in fear your manager would try something else.
"You're fired," you simply state, pushing past your frantic ex- manager as you lightly guide your assistant out the door.
You ignore the rage your ex- manager unveils as you make it back to the lobby. Ignoring the waves random people sent your way in hopes of finding your destined car sooner so you could help your assistant with her injuries and be home already.
And in bed to think about what the fuck just happened tonight.
+
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#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal imagine#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal x you#joel miller#tlou#tlou joel#pascalispunk#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal angst#pedro pascal fluff#pedropascaledit#fanfiction
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Okay I’ve seen Driven (2020) starring richard Speight Jr and I’ve taken some notes to share with the class;
It is not very cinematic. 98% of the shots are very boring. Obviously it’s a very low budget film and that’s not to rag on low budget because a lot of low budget films become cult classics because they have a charm to them that comes from a movie with little money but a lot of love ie. Blair witch project ($60k), paranormal activity (15k) a lot of horror movie franchises start really low budget and it makes them super campy which is what makes them so beloved. But this is boring cinematically. And they don’t commit to what kind of style they want to go with filming and it jumps from very clear steady shots to shaky hand held footage without much rhyme or reason. I think they could’ve done a lot with very little and just the car by incorporating the fact that she’s an “Uber” driver through use of security footage found footage style. Viewing the story from a rear view reversing camera, a passenger camera- those kinds of things and it would’ve given a more visually interesting angle than smack bang in the middle of the dash board and never moving. In a movie that’s comprised 97% of shots of the two of them sitting in a car dialoguing there’s a distinct lack in dynamic shots to spice up the monotony.
Personally I would’ve liked to have seen more of the story happening in the background of things, I think it would’ve been visually fun to see her driving around in The beginning and viewing the oncoming disaster through her windows while she’s distracted with her own personal problems, a little like Shaun of the Dead if you’ve seen that, it’s got this great scene where it’s a one take where he just strolls through town with havoc going on in the background while he’s so self obsessed he doesn’t notice, then we could be part of the journey opposed to getting a lot of information dialogued at us.
The plot is very nonsensical and feels like it was given about 10% of the love and attention for what makes up 90% of the movie while the rest of the care was put into the bantering- which is very good. I will give them that the bantering between the two of them was VERY funny, though I think sometimes they need to know when to let a joke go (toilet spoon).
The two leads aren’t bad actors though, and sometimes that’s really all you need to make something watchable is if the people you’re watching are capable of making a dull script and character interesting to watch, they bounce off of each other with a very natural chemistry on a set where everyone else im going to assume is getting their first big break (no shame, everyone has to start somewhere) because they’re NOT good. Especially Jess who stands there dead eyed and delivers her lines like she’s reading off a teleprompter… that was the worst part of the whole movie, she’s unwatchable it was terrible. It’s a pivotal part of the film, the emotional crux of Emerson coming to terms with needing to self realise that she’s what’s holding her back and Rodger is a dick but his words cut because they’re true. And she’s crying on one side of the car and her ex girlfriend is just “😐 you didn’t… fight for us😐 you sit 😐 in the car of our relationship😐”
It’s very typecast of RSJ to play this kind of guy who’s a little awkward but very flirty and quippy- sassy, I suppose. And he does it VERY well like not just being a Gabriel girlie I always find his joke telling very compelling, but there’s the big emotional climax of the movie where he turns on a dime and snaps at Emerson and it’s MEAN. And I think he’s quite capable of branching out into a more serious type of character role and I’m not sure why he doesn’t, maybe he just likes to play the funny guy and that’s fine but he’s very good at being a little bit crazy and sadistic and I think he could play a good bad guy at some point if he wanted, I think he’s capable of portraying that kind of emotional depth.
The best part is obviously the bi4bi energy going on in this car. They’re both quite awkward and the “my ex girlfriend” rolled off the tongue like it was a very normal thing to say. You know sometimes you watch something and there’s a tense beat and then it’s like “my… girlfriend,” and you’re supposed to go ooooh this is hard for you :( there was none of that. She just spat that out like she was shooting the breeze with someone chill who would just get that, and later brought up an ex boyfriend and there was no needless discussion about bisexuality we’re just expected to get it in the way that Rodger literally could not give less of a fuck about it you know? Cool you’re bisexual, can we get back to hunting demons??? There was no awkward straight guyness to it. He didn’t go “oh? Oh!” Or ask crude details about girl on girl action- you know, the usual stuff. He instead shared his own personal love life strife or lack there of. Bi4bi energy. And chaotic. Love a good bi4bi chaotic duo. Their relationship was the best part of the movie I enjoyed watching them start tense and awkward and quickly bloom into a friendship BECAUSE they’re tense and awkward, it’s fun! There wasn’t a change in character, no suaveness, she does standup comedy it’s dorky it’s cute I think they’re perfect.
And those are all my thoughts, I’d give it a 4/10 just for the distinct amount of missed opportunities they skate on by but it’s not unwatchable, I just certainly would never recommend it to anyone
#driven (2020)#sorry for the long analysis my friend is training me into a cinephile#this was good practice at least at really trying to engage with a movie on more than just an absolute surface level#Richard Speight jr
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Hey There! A little birdie told me you’re anxiously awaiting the fic. I am also anxiously awaiting this fic to finish. What was going to be a cute little 8k one shot has now exploded into something that’s 25k+ or maybe more by the time I'm finished editing.
Oops.
Good news is you’ll definitely get the first half by the 22nd (est…15k...probably more words, so hopefully that's a good chunk for a part 1). I’m a slow editor and want to do this ship justice since there’s not enough content about Emerie and Mor in this fandom.
The second half will come first week within the new year if not sooner. There’s some smooching and some other stuff that needs to happen. You know?!
The better news is the Gale-off went well... just in case you were wondering. When I'm revealed, I'll fill you in on the details!
Also a hint to my identity is you know me.
Here’s a little snippet btw:
Emerie stood at the entrance to the clearing for a moment and cleared her throat.
"Didn't realize you'd be out here."
Morrigan gave her a playful grin, "I would eat all the chocolate otherwise."
“I don’t know. Gwyn is a big fan of it too." Emerie said. Mor gave an exaggerated scoff at her teasing.
"
Consider this as me giving her a head start before I show up, then." The two laughed and Emerie’s unease seemed to melt away.
"Why are you out here? I thought you'd be with Nesta,” Mor finally asked.
Emerie's wings twitched a bit at this. "I needed a bit of air, things are getting rowdy in there."
“Already?” she smiled.” Emerie shrugged, though Morrigan wasn’t surprised. Cassian hadn’t stopped talking about the ceremony for days and she was certain Rhysand had already cracked open some champagne. She knew Rhysand had asked Nesta for her preference and she hadn’t cared. She wouldn’t partake but she didn’t mind if others did. Thank the mother for small favors.
"You can come sit if you'd like, '' Morrigan said, patting the seat next to her. "I don't bite." At this, the Valkyrie rolled her eyes.
"I'd like to see you try." she murmured.
I’ve been telling everybody that will listen that I’m anxiously awaiting the results of the Gale-Off 😂😂 I’m very heavily invested in this low-stakes drama in your friend group, okay? Some of us don’t have lives.
ALSO THAT SNIPPET IM
I’M FERAL BUT ALSO GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET IN THE OFFICE AT WORK JESUS CHRIST I’M NOT OKAY
I NEED FRIDAY TO COME SO THAT I CAN KISS YOU WITH LOTS OF TONGUE IF THIS SNIPPET IS FEEDING ME SO WELL I CAN INLY IMAGINE WHAT 25K IS GONNA DO TO ME
Also I’m 👀👀👀 at that hint 👀👀👀 excuse me while I spend my whole shift trying to piece it together (and probably fail miserably)
SERIOUSLY THANK YOU SO MUCH THIS HAD ME SO EXCITED
There is NO RUSH at all but I am soooo looking forward to reading this and giving you ALL MY LOVE. I am so glad you’re taking your time to do them justice and from that snippet that time is PAYING OFF
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Set My Soul Alight Part Ten
Guys... I can't believe the final chapter of this fic is here. It's been such a fun ride with you all, and I'm still kind of in shock at the sheer amount of love and support I received over this fic. SMSA started as something like a passion project for me that I initially thought would be a 15k one shot, and the fact that it turned into a 60k+ fic astounds me. Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who left kudos, commented, subscribed, reblogged, and cheered me on from the sidelines -- y'all are amazing and I hope this final chapter was worth the wait. Until next time ❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥
♕♕♕♕♕
The next week passed in what felt like a blur. Things were so busy at Court that Nesta felt like she hardly saw Eris; most of the days he’d already risen for the day before she’d woken up and was fast asleep by the time she managed to come to bed. Having so many fae suddenly defer to her was strange, but she bore it all with a smile as she attempted to put out whatever fires Eris couldn’t manage, including making the proper arrangements for Beron’s funeral. She’d been in constant communication with the priestesses to make sure it was done properly, at least for appearance’s sake, and if that was something she could take care of to ease her husband’s burden, she would do it for as long as she had to.
If it had been up to her, though, she would’ve incinerated him and let Eris’ hounds play with his bones.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t wholly up to her, so she was forced to pretend she cared about Beron’s soul being properly laid to rest. The priestesses seemed to have most of the rites taken care of, and because they were having trouble getting in contact with the former Lady of the Autumn Court, Nesta was the one who made some of choices historically left to the family. She opted for the providing him with the most minimal comforts she could get away with, and if anyone had a problem with it, they didn’t dare voice such concerns with her. She got the feeling no one had such concerns, anyway; Beron’s death had been a cause for celebration in large swaths of the Court, and her only regret was that she couldn’t be out there celebrating with them.
The morning of Beron’s funeral dawned bright and clear, a picture-perfect autumn day that seemed far too lovely for the male whose life they were supposed to be mourning. The Forest House was buzzing with preparations, from the priestesses making final arrangements for the funeral to the servants making sure the halls were spotless.
Nesta hadn’t wanted to have anyone disturbing her and Eris if they didn’t have to, so she bathed and dressed on her own before sitting down at her vanity to do her hair. She was keeping things simple today, going back to her familiar braided coronet since she didn’t have the help in managing a more complicated style, and used the fire pins her husband had gifted her all those months ago to make sure her hair stayed in place.
Eris had bathed and dressed before her, his hair bright against the dark fabric of his mourning clothes. He’d been quiet since they’d woken this morning, but Nesta didn’t begrudge him that. Grief did strange things, but she would support him through it no matter what. If that support included letting him watch her braid her hair and decide where to place her pins, that was fine with her.
“Nesta,” Eris said once she’d finished braiding her hair. He was sitting on the edge of their bed, and she watched him walk over to stand behind her in the mirror.
Nesta made eye contact with him in her mirror, not liking the sad twist of his lips. “What is it?”
Keep reading on AO3 here!
tag list: @dustjacketmusings | @burningsnowleopard | @a-court-of-valkyries | @rarephloxes | @jaskierismyrideordie | @vidalinav | @ssardothien | @theladyofbloodshed | @lyzriel | @my-fan-side | @iamreykylotrash | @theeternalstruggle | @meher-sumedha | @sv0430 | @wannawriteyouabook | @separatist-apologist | @aaajvgjki | @embersofwildfire | @acotar-anna | @envytheearth | @arinbelle | @sugardoll22 | @adelainaasher
#acotar#acosf#Neris#nesta archeron#Eris Vanserra#nesta archeron x eris vanserra#moodymelanistwrites#set my soul alight
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Villainous thing Ch. 5
And I don't think anyone knows
[AO3] | [ Series Masterlist > | Ch. 4 ]
Rating: Explicit
WC: 1.6k | 15k
Tags: Temporary Amnesia, Falling In Love, Retrograde Amnesia, Caretaking, Anxiety Disorder, Eventual smut, Choking, Consensual Kink, Face-Fucking, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Cane Porn
Fandom: Sorcerer’s apprentice (2010)
Ship: Maxim Horvath x Reader
Disc: Finding a man in an alley, unable to even remember his full name, you couldn’t help the offer of help. In NYC, people got hurt a lot, if they weren’t looked out for, and in your neighborhood, people helped each other when they could. Somehow, you knew that the moment the smartly dressed man had stumbled onto your bed, things would change. Things would be vastly different. If only he could remember who the fuck he was.
His hand was at the back of your neck, pulling your head forward, his cock deep in your throat, taking pleasure without letting you breathe. It only made you feel wetness pooling between your thighs, used as little more than a toy for Maxim. Long gone was the embarrassment that such a thought would have offered you before, and you couldn’t help the moan that built in your throat.
Your lips bet the base of his cock, straining for breath as he held you down, holding air from your lungs.
“That’s right, Bunny,” he whispered. “Choke.” After a swallow, you did, his cock buried deep in your throat, your lungs finally burning. But you swallowed to push the urge down, the heavy feeling on your tongue too much to pass up.
He pulled out only enough for a loud, gasping breath around his shaft, before he started to properly fuck your mouth. Saliva fell from your lips, his thrusts too much to even try and hold back how much your mouth was watering from the feel of him.
Maxim pulled you off vastly too quickly, the sudden emptiness forced a whine from your lips, looking up at him expectantly. The tears staining your cheeks were brushed off by his thumb, a nearly cruel smirk on his lips.
“You look so perfectly pretty with tears falling from your eyes,” Maxim suddenly praised, leaning down to press his lips to yours.
“Please, sir,” you begged once he pulled away, blinking away the last of the tears.
“Keep begging. You sound beautiful, sweetheart.”
“Please, sir, please. Fuck me.” Your thighs rubbed together to punctuate the words, and Maxim pulled you up with a strong arm, half throwing you on the bed. His hand slipped from your arm to your wrists, pinning both together on the sheets. His other hand pulled your ass up, your knees spread just enough to show you off for his eyes.
“Don’t move your hands.” You quickly nodded against the bed, turning your head to look at him.
“Yes, sir.” The tip of praise was clear on his lips, but he held it back, only smirking again. He shifted behind you, hands running over your hips, appraising the way you were positioned for him. It was a shock when one hand pulled back, only to slap your ass, a sudden flare of pain ripping through your body. It just didn’t seem to be enough, not yet. Your ass pushed back the slightest bit you could, and your hips shook to the sides to try and entrance him.
“I can take more, Sir.” The sudden bold statement was enough for Maxim’s hand to flash against your ass in quick succession, pain suddenly much higher than the last slaps. The pinch on your hip was what got the whimper to fall from your lips.
“You can take more, is that it?” In the sudden silence, you heard the soft whisper of leather and fabric running against each other, and the very, nearly inaudible tap of leather layered over itself.
The next crack against you shot pain up your spine, a yell soon turning into a moan.
“Yes, Sir. For you.” There was a moment of pause, before another strike fell. The mixture of pain and pleasure that started to whip through you made you lose count, and lose the pretense of knowing anything more than what Maxim was doing to your body.
It wasn’t until his bare hand was resting between your shoulder blades that you realized he was done, pressing your chest into the mattress below you. You were quickly back into the position he wanted, thighs spread open for his view, shoulders deep in the blankets under you.
“Don’t you dare move.” His fingers finally slipped into you, not even hesitating to slip in two at first, spreading your cunt open. He started to work the coil inside you rougher than he’d ever done before, his other hand moving to your clit. Each thrust of his fingers and circle of his thumb had you whimpering, almost ready to fall over the edge.
Until Maxim’s fingers pulled out of you, and spanked you again, the sudden pain forcing your body to thrust forward, trying to get away. His wet fingers were on your hip, slowly guiding you back. Every second was a moment to build the realization that he’d forced you to break his rules.
“I told you to stay still.” Your muscles tensed, trying to keep yourself from moving again. You didn’t even think of moving again until his fingers were back in you, playing with your pussy as he wanted. Each movement let lust rise in your head again, trying to keep yourself as still as you could for him. He demanded obedience, and you were hell bent on offering it to him.
But he left you on the edge again, pulling his fingers out with another spank. You didn’t jerk forward this time, only turned your head into the blanket and bit the fabric, hard.
A soft crack of magic sounded over your head, and when your wrists twisted, you realized Maxim had made ropes out of the blanket you had just been biting.
A new sensation was inching its way up the inside of your thighs, moments later, warmth fading into a coolness of metal and mineral. His hand was on your lower back, sliding the head of his cane against your slit.
“Do you think you can take more?”
“Yes, please, sir.” He let the grip move to your clit, carefully rubbing out some pleasure into your body, before the ridges slipped into your cunt. Each crease of metal was glorious, and when he started to move the cane in you, stars appeared on the edges of your vision. The metal warmed up inside you, and moans started to spill from your lips on each thrust.
“You’re on the edge, aren’t you, Bunny?” A quick nod against the blankets, and the cane slipped from you, only to be thrown next to you on the bed. Maxim didn’t take time to press his cock into you, his hands moving from your back to your wrists, easily pressing you to the bed with his strength, his lips on your neck. You bucked under him, trying to find that pleasure again.
Maxim’s fingers moved to your clit, his hips flush against you, and you were quickly at the edge again.
“Cum,” Maxim demanded, and you did, pressing your hips as far back against him as you could, thighs trying to jerk closed and keep his hand pressed against you. His knees pushed yours open, opening you back up for him.
He finally fucked you in earnest, and if it wasn’t for Maxim pinning you, you knew that you would have been pushed forward on the bed too far. He was ravenous, and when his hand wrapped around your neck, the only thought you could find was to open your neck further for his grip, effectively cutting off more air.
“Are you going to cum that quickly on my cock?” His words were venomous, and your head nodded in the little bit that you were able to. “Go ahead, my sweet little slut.”
You couldn't help finishing again, pressing harder against his hand to cut off your breathing. His hand really fit perfectly against your throat.
Maxim pulled out of you with a suddenness that was almost painful. His hand flipped you over, still tied up to the blankets. His hands took your knees, spread your legs open, sliding back into you as he placed your ankles on his shoulders, his sigh musical. When he laid down to press your legs against your torso, you almost whined at the strain, until his hand slipped to trace a line down your throat. His eyes finally met yours after too long, the power in his eyes taking over any complaint you may have had.
“Do you have one more orgasm for me, Bunny?” His hips started to move, thrusting against your sensitive walls.
“One more,” you whispered in promise, and your hands tightened into fists for just a moment, before relaxing, looking up at him with tears in your eyes again. You tried to lean up just slightly, wanting to catch his lips. His hand finally wrapped around your throat again, pressing you into the bed, cutting off any hope of a final kiss.
His thrusts were rougher this time, fucking into you with abandon. It only took a rush of air into your lungs for you to cum a final time, your thighs trembling with the pleasure you were overloaded with.
You weren’t out of it enough to ignore the feeling of Maxim’s cum striping into you, his head thrown back in a groan. He leant back down, hand moving to his cane, and the ropes fell from your wrists, his hand guiding your arms to his shoulders, your legs falling around his waist.
“Time to clean you up, Bunny.” You merely nuzzled into his neck, hardly registering when his arm was under your knees, the other behind your back, carrying you to that glorious tub that you’d since found out he could fit into with you.
He’d brought you to his business, at last. At first, you’d assumed all the puzzle pieces you’d been given were mangled and coincidental, but as you were starting to find out with him, the universe loved coincidences too much for accidents.
After all, Horvath was a pretty common last name, as you’d found out.
The logo behind the secretary’s desk was vastly familiar to you. Elegant gold lined black onyx, a bold, capital I over an H just as bold and hard.
Horvath Insurance.
Without a thought, without even considering the repercussions, you turned and looked up at Maxim, and slapped him, the satisfying slap ringing around the room.
“Maxim Horvath, do you know how much money you’ve been costing me the last few months?!”
But Love, your music requires no wings.
To the common breed
It clings, and it sings:
“Heave on earth is Heaven indeed.
This is my creed.”
E.e. cummings
Tags! @randomfandomtrash28 @emotrash1 @unitedfandomsoftheworld @arandomnerdsblog578 @overlookedfile @yesalwayswelles
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hello
can you recommend some long tae os?
Hi. I'm not sure what you consider a long one shot, but I listed here fics with word count > 15k. There's about 20+ fics here so I've put it under the cut.
* s - contains smut
WC > 15K - 20K
Dick on the Go by jeonggukingdom - one shot (s) / wc~20.7k / childhood friends au, PWP
Summary: It was all shits and giggles when you and Taehyung were desperate seniors in High School, having no idea what to do with your lives, wondering if you’d ever find a decent job or even graduate in the first place. It is not so funny anymore when you come home from the big city to enjoy your vacation time and you find his sex-shop right in front of the house you grew up in when you were a kid. “If nothing works out I’m just gonna open a sex shop and call it something obnoxious like ‘Dick on the Go’ or something with a stupid zucchini logo flashing on top of the building.” He had said one time. Shit, you had no idea he actually meant it.
Four Weeks by gukyi - one shot / wc~20k / enemies to lovers, college au, roommates au
Summary: Four weeks. That’s how long you’re trapped on campus after missing your flight home because of a grossly overtime final. And as you’re walking around your empty campus, thinking that you could sink no lower, you find yourself alone in the art building with a certain freshman-year-dorm-neighbor from hell, and he’s got an offer that you don’t think you can refuse: he’s staying on campus this winter break as well, and he’s happy to let you live with him. Or, four weeks is all it takes to fall in love.
Get You the Moon by bymoonchild - one shot (s) / wc~19.6k / enemies to lovers, college au
Summary: Life has its ways of fucking with you, but you know you’ve hit 50 feet below rock bottom after being tasked to do a profile feature on Kim Taehyung, the varsity football captain, for your school newspaper. Pure torment awaits you, but this is alongside glassy eyes, pink cheeks and conflicted feelings that you’ve never dared to imagine with the likes of the devil incarnate.
Holding You Like This by jimilter - one shot (s) / wc~18k / club owner!Taehyung, journalist!reader, exes to lovers
Summary: Taehyung didn’t anticipate seeing you tonight, least of all with a date by your side, but he guesses it’ll be okay because it has been over five years since he last saw you and he has moved on. But the air is far from cleared between you both. So when confrontations start to happen, all of the pain from his past he thought he had overcome makes itself known, unwelcome.
I'll Break You In by prolixitae - one shot (s) / wc~16k / established relationship, PWP
Summary: Your boyfriend has a virgin kink and a vivid imagination. Which means you’re subjected to giving your fake virginity to your hot professor by means of roleplay.
Let It Snow by suga-kookiemonster - one shot (s) / wc~18.8k / FWB
Summary: It all started by accident, but it continues by choice—even before you began sleeping together, things with your friend Taehyung have always been comfortable and easy. Simple, and this new arrangement between you is certainly no exception to that rule. Well…that’s definitely what you thought before a major snowstorm traps the two of you in his apartment over the holidays. Now? Now, it is quickly becoming apparent that things are a bit more complicated than you realized.
Love is a Foolish Thing by whitesparrows97 - one shot (s) / wc~20k / FWB
Summary: Falling in love… it sounded so simple. Falling. Like one wrong step, a small stumble and you were deeply in love. But there was nothing easy about love.
Moon Breaker by magicalsalamander - one shot (s) / wc~17k / werewolf au
Summary: Tales as old as time were passed through the werekind. If a human and a kind were to be mates, the moon would take them, the misfortune, to serve the Goddess. Taehyung, a kind, had always heard of the tales told by his elders. The alpha of his kind. He didn’t expect to find his mate, one of the non-kinds. Would the moon reap her back?
Not That Good by taleasnewastime - one shot (s) / wc~20k / strangers to lovers, college au
Summary: It’s not that he’s always had rave reviews and it’s not like he is so into himself to think that everyone is into him, but he’s never failed to make a girl orgasm before. At least until you. And at least he thinks he’s always managed to please the people he’s been with. But you’ve planted a seed of doubt in his mind, made him think that maybe he doesn’t quite have the moves he thinks he does, and now you’ve worked your way into his head he can’t get you out.
One of the Boys by littlemisskookie - one shot (s) / wc~20.2k / childhood friends to lovers
Summary: All your life you wanted only one thing- for Kim Taehyung to like you. You did everything you could to make this happen, from picking up his hobbies and rejecting anything feminine. But who do you start to become when you stop trying to impress him?
Paper Cranes by aquaminwrites - one shot (s) / wc~18.3k / friends to lovers, college au
Summary: It is said that if someone folds 1000 paper cranes, they will receive one wish. Kim Taehyung has been folding you paper cranes since he was six years old. He won’t tell you what he’s going to wish for once he reaches his goal, but even into your twenties, all you know is that he’s been wishing for the same thing every time.
Saudade by chateautae - one shot (s) / wc~16k / choreographer!reader, established relationship, idol au
Summary: A demanding idol lifestyle was something Taehyung and yourself were all too familiar with. It wasn’t so hard when considering your unconditional love for one another, but lately, Taehyung wasn’t the same anymore; and you decide it’s time to find out why.
Slowdance on the Inside by floralseokjin - one shot (s) / wc~20k / friends to lovers
Summary: Taehyung has liked you as long as he can remember. He’s unsure when the line blurred from friendship to romantically, but it’s about to get a lot worse when he’s forced to watch you date his friend, Jungkook…
Tripping on Skies, Sipping Waterfalls by jimilter - one shot (s) / wc~19.2k / established relationship, college au
Summary: One drink too many at Hoseok’s Halloween party, and you’ve blanked out on the entire night that followed. Now, who’s gonna fill you in when Taehyung looks one second away from breaking into tears when you bring it up with him? From running across the university campus in remnants of your vampire outfit, to dealing with your downtrodden boyfriend’s disappointed stares - you’re left with one hell of a day, and zero recollections.
Truth and Consequences by iamjungkooked - one shot (s) / wc~20.5k / vampire au
Summary: When Kim Taehyung makes his existence known to you, you're enamoured, enraptured and bewitched by him. You can’t get enough of him. Finding yourself in a relationship you are unable to label, you realize you’re ready to lose yourself and everything that matters to you if it means he’ll be a part of your life. But what happens when Taehyung isn't ready to face his truth and neither its consequences?
WC > 20K
Always the Bridesmaid by kookingtae - one shot (s) / wc~34.1k / enemies to lovers
Summary: When you first meet Kim Taehyung, you’re determined to find every reason you can to hate him—or maybe he’s just looking for ways to get on your last nerve. But when a turn of events has the two of you working the wedding of the man you’re hopelessly in love with, you’re too late to realize the real reason to hate Kim Taehyung is because of the latest column he’s secretly writing: “Always the Bridesmaid, Never the Bride”, and it’s all about you.
Cheap Skate by gukslut - one shot (s) / wc~25.2k / established relationship
Summary: Granny Park’s Gossip: Who doesn’t know Taehyung and his lady? Cutest couple in town, I’d say, and have been since they started dating in their college days. Oh, that was a while ago, though. And still, they’re happy as can be in that place they have together. Almost hate seeing one without the other, y’know, it’s like seeing just one testi- oh, right, I’m not supposed to talk like that. Anyhoo, I only say that because I saw Taehyung at a jewelry store the other day while I was buying my sweet Jiminie his presents. Maybe that boy’s finally gonna pop the question, but I do hope he’s got a good plan for it. Something sweet and romantic. Maybe I’ll find out after Jiminie gets back from that cabin he’s visiting.
Exchanging Heat by jinfizz - one shot (s) / wc~25.1k / college au, roommates au
Summary: When your roommate drops out right before the end of the semester and leaves you high and dry for next month’s rent, you’re forced to turn to craigslist to find an absolute stranger to save you from financial ruin. The shy Korean exchange student you find to replace her seems nice enough despite the language barrier, but what will happen when the heat cuts off one fateful evening, and you’re forced to turn to each other for warmth? Alternatively: “I want to sleep with you.” ‘You what?”
Farmer Boy, I Love You by strawberrynamjoon - one shot (s) / wc~35k / childhood friends to lovers, farming au
Summary: Needing change in your life you decided it would be a brilliant idea to move to your uncle’s small farm, helping him and your cousin Jimin with the daily work. What you didn’t plan was to fall in love with your beautiful yet very annoying neighbour Taehyung, who seemed to make it his personal mission to tease you every chance he got. And what you expected even less was that he seemed to like you too.
Love Me or We Both Go Down by gukyi - one shot (s) / wc~32k / enemies to lovers, arranged marriage
Summary: After going through with an arranged marriage to please his parents and secure his inheritance of the family business, Kim Taehyung thinks he’s got it all figured out. He doesn’t. Apparently just being married to you isn’t enough, not when everybody and their mother can pick up on the fact that the two of you absolutely loathe each other. But Taehyung wants his inheritance one way or another, so he decides that desperate times call for desperate measures: the two of you need to fall in love, and you need to fall in love fast.
Office Politics by taleasnewastime - one shot (s) / wc~27.7k / enemies to lovers, coworkers au
Summary: Starting a new job is never easy and nerves course through you when you enter your new office. But when everyone is really nice and you enjoy the job, you assume that everything is fine and there was nothing to worry about. That is until you bump into the man that seems to know all about your past, a past that you have been trying so hard to hide.
Rubies and Roses by min-youngis - one shot / wc~40k / strangers to lovers, fake dating
Summary: Being a fake girlfriend slash fiancée slash wife for hire is a very lucrative business, and quite straightforward. But none of your previous clients have been Kim Taehyung, who wants access to his trust fund and thinks he can convince his parents that he can be responsible with it by proving that he can hold down a mature, completely normal and not-at-all fake relationship. This isn’t any job, and the boundaries between customer and something more are about to get increasingly blurry.
The Holi-Date by kpopfanfictrash - one shot (s) / wc~40.5k / fake dating, neighbors au
Summary: When your ex-boyfriend becomes engaged to his new girlfriend at your annual Holiday party, you admittedly are not in the best place. Which explains why you down six shots of alcohol, enthusiastically drop it low on the dance floor and – oh, yeah – tell everyone you are also dating someone. The only problem? You are obviously not. Good thing your neighbor happens to be cute and in need of a ride to work every morning.
Upstream Colour by honeymoonjin - one shot (s) / wc~22.7k / strangers to lovers
Summary: Escaping to Venice for a break from your strenuous job was meant to be simple. Go there, decompress for two weeks, and return feeling invigorated. But the soulful gondolier you meet on the docks in Saint Mark’s Square has you wanting to never leave at all.
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hi hi taku my love!! <3 this is the k polycule ask plus i remembered that i’ve been writing a bajiharu fic and i also wanna talk about that hehe. actually i’ll talk abt that first bc the k polycule is all happy and the bajiharu fic.... not so much. and you deserve healing :)
btw btw beware this is long. really long. i copied this message into a wordcounter and it’s 1.5k without the paragraph you’re reading rn... whoopsies. i insaned a little on my ramble. do tell me if i should shorten it bc it’s too long, and take all the time you need to reply afhjfdgjjgdfh
so okay the bajiharu (baji x sanzu just in case that’s not clear for some reason) wip is currently sitting at 15k and. wtf man 15k ?? i wrote that ?? damn. anyways idk how many of my posts abt it you’ve read but it’s p much a giant character/relationship study of the two. basically bajiharu across the years and timelines. canon compliant too, which sadly means that baji is dead most of the time but oh well. it is VERY angsty (i mean baji is dead that’s where the angst is starting already... and i mean sanzu’s canon life) and uh. i keep describing sanzu dying in nearly every future timeline but i’m having a ton of fun :D also it’s gonna be angst with a happy ending when i’m finished and probably around 30k words. a 30k one-shot. i don’t think i can even chapter it.... welp. accidents happen. yk this was supposed to be a maximum of 5k of bajiharu in the og shin timeline (the one in which he lives and mikey has the accident and ends up dying and stuff) and the final timeline but. uhh. uhm. yeah honestly idk what i did but my brain wouldn’t let go of them so here we are lol
i would summarise the plot of the fic but there hardly is one ?? like it’s just random excerpts from their lives. i mean some of them are like 3k long too and def have plots in and of itself but there’s no greater plot to be summarised 😭
tho what i can say is that they actually are somewhat together in the og timeline and they are.. happily together. they are NOT happy in fact they are miserable but they love each other in a tender way yk. but but they WILL be happy in the final timeline. and happily together too!! i just need them to be happy pls okay thanks. in between baji is dead so not many feelings on his part (😭😭) but sanzu is a miserable wet cat. also i have the most tragic death planned for him in the bonten timeline bc i am a ‘‘weird on-off-ish romance-ish but they don't wanna admit it's that even though it very obviously is and there is so much emotional (and sexual) tension and my god how can they live like this’’ bonten rinzu truther. wowie. and wouldn’t it be really fun if rindou accidentally shot sanzu on a mission gone heavily wrong that ends in sanzu dying in his arms? yeah <3
also!! akashi siblings!! i very much plan on writing abt them too in some timelines. specifically i think i’ll have sanzu move in with senju in the manila timeline before mikey kills him off (i am so excited to write this you don’t know istg) and i’ll have him move back in with takeomi in that one timeline in which izana takes over and naoto & takemichi end up dying in the future bc i hc that senju was shot dead in the past and sanzu has nowhere else to go after mikey’s death (bc he’s actually dead in that future...) so yeah. akashi siblings <3
also in case you wonder what my current 15k cover so far (i’m forcing myself to write chronologically for once bc i really wanna finish this and i’ve got a lot of scenes i’m excited to write i can use to push through the others), it’s the og timeline, the timeline in which draken gets killed by kiyomasa, one of the two following timelines in which draken survives and ends up on death row (i decided to cut one of them bc imo they’re too similar to write abt again), and some past stuff happening before that. which. is not a lot. just now realising how unmuch that is actually wtf it feels like sm more- okay anyways i plan on writing about the bad toman timeline with takemichi as executive, the manila future, bonten future, the future timeline after that with izana, and naoto & takemichi dying, possibly some tenjiku timeskip stuff, and then ofc the final timeline. (i. i gotta say i hope those 30k aren’t lowballing it by like 10k bc if you consider that i’ve written for three timelines plus some inbetween bits and i’m planning for another five whole timelines with inbetween stuff-- ayayay bajiharu is gonna be the death of me)
uhm this is already mUCH longer than planned help buuuut some k polycule stuff bc i love them and they love each other and they are happy. okay so ik you read my posts abt them so i’ll just start with them in their mid/late thirties, finally settled down somewhere they feel safe and they actually like :3 cough cough switzerland mayhaps ? cough cough. yk it can’t be japan anyways... and switzerland is far away...... and i know it well....
okay. they adopt a cat. or maybe two. probably two actually. two cats for them bc they’d like some company other than themselves and kazutora loves cats anyways. i believe that koko is actually more of a dog person bc inupi, but he’s the type of guy to go ‘‘ofc YOU GUYS can get a cat. it’s gonna be YOUR cat. YOU will have to take care of it. i won’t (unless absolutely neccessary.)’’ and then a month or smth after they get a cat kazutora & kakucho are away for a weekend for.. work or smth idk and when they get home koko & the cat are sleeping on the couch while he’s hugging the cat close to his chest, and there’s cat toys all over the floor bc he spent hours playing with the cat. he will still refuse to admit how much he loves the cat but he continues to play and snuggle with it whenever his bfs (husbands? i feel like they’d wear matching wedding rings and call each other husbands even if they legally aren’t bc poly marriage is forbidden) aren’t there to see. also this is really random but kakucho is the small spoon, kokonoi the middle spoon, and kazutora the big spoon. or two of them just sleep hugging the third person.
kazutora would work at a pet shop again i think. maybe he’d even study medicine to become a vet assistant? tbh i’ve always seen him doing that more than chifuyu or baji (tho i love vet student baji too <3). struggling with giving the other two jobs bc after bonten i don’t think kakucho would still want to work with kids (tho i def see him doing some kind of charity work in his free time) and kokonoi... he can’t sponsor anyone like this nor could he do finances for anyone, and he would never ever work at a bank. he’d still like a high paying job/smth at least loosly related to money tho. maybe like some sort of secretary for someone in finances? idk. very open to ideas for these two bc well i am stuck lol.
i think they’d mostly just try to take it slow and enjoy their more peaceful lives now (well kazutora’s life was pretty peaceful before too.. but kokonoi & kakucho) without having to worry about illegal and dangerous and whatnot else stuff. they deserve it okay they all had to go through too many things 😭
also more random stuff about them. kokonoi is banned from the kitchen not because he’s a safety hazard or because he burned down the kitchen once or smth but because he keeps wanting to cook overly expensive gourmet foods, and while they do taste good they are way too expensive and take way too much. plus he HATES having other people in the kitchen with him (he straight up locks them out) and refuses to leave the kitchen while he’s cooking even if he has to wait two hours for something to slowly simmer on low heat so essentially he AND the kitchen are gone for half a day if he wants to make dinner. he doesn’t really mind the kitchen ban though so it works. i think kakucho enjoys cooking the most, but he and kazutora both cook a lot. and sometimes kokonoi forces himself to wake up extra early on weekends (like. 6am. and then he’s done at 7am. and the other two wake up at 9am when early, more like 10am to 11am bc weekend and kokonoi has to wait with his beautifully prepared breakfast for hours) to make pancakes for them all <3
uhh that’s everything in my brain rn i think. i hope. and this is already a fucking essay so whoopsies. anyways that was it, i very much hope you enjoyed my long ass rambles <3 fr fr i missed writing these rambles for you,, but aa i can do that again!! :D
hello elys my love <333 but allg!! i actually read this whole thing a few days after u sent it initially but ive been rlly drained these past like 3 weeks so i hadnt been able to get to it :(( apologies again my love
no cuz fr 15k crazy!!!!! good job!!! no cuz like that lil description of ur rinzu is actually so real.... (this is making me miss my tokyorev hyperfixation so bad ngl) but ur bajiharu fic sounds so good!! the idea and concept of it is so well thought of i applaud u so muchhh
NO CUZ FR WRITING ABT THINGS UR FAMILIAR WITH >> its like u know it so fuckin well which means u can go into rlly good amounts of detail like !!!!!!!!!! ok so first paragraph is so :333 koko being a softie for the cat is so sweettttt omg
i think the jobs u chose for them are good !! suits them all very well but yes agreed they most definitely deserve it <33
ofc its kokonoi doing that, but u cant blame him fr hez just being a good husband </3333
it was fun having this in my inbox again !!! i miss doing these too and i hope the late reply doesnt discourage u <333
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heyyyyyy. haiiiiiii. can u do all the genshin asks please >.<
ALL of them? freak thing to ask
1. Who did you choose as your traveler?
Aether
2. Who is your favorite character?
Xiao
3. Your favorite party?
Zhongli Xiao Ayato Kazuha
4. Which characters do you have (count all of them)?
42! Traveler, Amber, Kaeya, Lisa, Jean, Sucrose, Albedo, Klee, Noelle, Mona, Razor, Diluc, Barbara, Rosaria, Diona, Fischl, Bennett, Xiangling, Chongyun, Xingqiu, Xinyan, Yun Jin, Ningguang, Keqing, Yanfei, Qiqi, Zhongli, Xiao, Beidou, Kaedehara Kazuha, Kujou Sara, Shikanoin Heizou, Sayu, Thoma, Kamisato Ayato, Sangonomiya Kokomi, Gorou, Kuki Shinobu, Collei, Tighnari, Tartaglia, Aloy.
5. The character you don’t have but you want soso bad?
VENTI
6. The character you have but you never use?
Aloy. sorry girl.
7. Who is your least favorite character?
is it a cop out to say Aloy again. In terms of personality, definitely Xingqiu. In terms of playability, Kuki. In terms of performance, Itto.
8. Favorite nation?
Gotta be Liyue. but Mondstadt feels like home.
9. Least favorite nation?
Inazuma. or Enkanomiya if that counts.
10. Favorite element?
Anemo in spirit, Geo in lore, Hydro in practice.
11. Least favorite element?
Pyro for petty reasons. why does my own pyro not fend off sheer cold on dragonspine. Why does fire (on grass specifically, after being hit by my own pyro) hurt pyro characters. i hate it
12. Favorite combos of element?
Dendro+Hydro (Bloom) + Bloom+Electro (Hyperbloom)
13. Favorite enemy?
those little squishy jellyfish mushroom guys! the cute ones! I also quite like fighting ruin hunters and pyro fatui agents (god i hope we get elemental variants of the pyro agents like we have with the electro/cryo cicin mages). i like fighting the black serpent knights too. nobushi/kairagi are my faves to farm.
14. Least favorite enemy?
samachurls and whopperflowers. theyre all bastards. i dont like the plain brown mushrooms in sumeru either. and spectres are still annoying as emotional residue from before they were nerfed
15. Do you kill animals when you pass by their sides?
yeah man always. need that meat. sometimes i cant be bothered to chase them but if i got a clear shot? goodnight sweet prince.
16. Walking or using teleport?
teleport. best feature of the game
17. Favorite mission?
destroy hilichurl towers. easy as fuck takes 10 seconds. simple
18. Least favorite mission?
defending slime balloons. the worst. that and whenever Lan wants me to do anything. find someone else i do NOT feel like going to guili plains.
19. Do you like gliding?
so much that im surprised and annoyed when other games dont have it
20. Who is the most useful character in your opinion?
Kazuha . baby i love that i can use your E in mid air . i love you
21. And the least one?
diona . hatred simmering
22. Your favorite character’s design and the least one?
Venti. Kuki
23. Bow, Sword, Polearm, Claymore or Catalyst?
polearms have my least favorite designs on average, but i like polearm characters.
24. Your party formation? (DPS, Healer, Tank, Support)
for my main party, tanky support, dps, sub dps, dps
25. How much lucky are you with Wishes?
it varies widely. i dont have average luck it's either really really good or devastatingly bad
26. Do you usually focus on your mission or you go around to find items?
i grab things on the way to wherever i'm going, if possible
27. How much do you cook? If you do it.
once a week mainly for the battle pass but probably more often in general than i think
28. What is your Adventure Rank?
57 (almost 58. probably 15k away)
29. And your characters’ level?
all of my characters are 70+. a large handful are 80 and my 6 or so mains are 90
30. Something you like in general.
every character's fighting move animations are unique, even amongst similar weapon types and character models
31. Something you dislike in general.
artifacts. artifact grinding culture.
32. Something you’re waiting for.
playable dain <3
33. Domains or Bosses?
bosses !!!!
34. What do you think of Paimon?
i dont even call her emergency food because that seems too much like a friendly in-joke. if there was an option to play genshin without paimon i would take it. sorry paimon
35. A random headcanon.
zhongli was fine with seafood before the archon war but having to defend liyue from ocean attacks on the shore made him associate the smell with Badness
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Will you be updating any of your fics soon? No rush! I’m just thirsty 😂
I’m sitting at just about 10k for part 3 of engagement series for burnerraccount. Hoping to keep it under 15k!
Who knows abt how fast I’ll be tho. It’s the girlbossing time of year at my job and it’s harder to write on top of other commitments 😵💫
Once that’s done I’ll hunker back down on love doesn’t burn. Particularly chapter 12 and 13! Once that gets a rhythm I’ll post chapter 8 and get back to regularly scheduled updates for that.
Hopefully then part 4 of engagement fic might come around the bend during/after that? I’m thinking of focusing a lot on Kate, Violet and Mary in that one, but it doesn’t have a clear path.
I also have a fun little modern one shot idea atm so who knows if I do that too!
In the meantime, enjoy an excerpt from part 3 of my engagement fic series.
Funnily enough, this passage takes place right in the middle, in the mind of our dear Mr. Dorset before he makes a chaotic decision:
When Mr. Dorset first heard that the royally-sponsored wedding between Lord Bridgerton and Miss Edwina had been broken, he was not wholly surprised.
Any scandal of that degree was something to raise one’s eyebrows at and his acquaintance with both parties of nuptials did not change that. However, in the proximity of his position Mr. Dorset privately thought that if there was an engagement in the ton to be broken, it was that one.
He did not claim to be a mind reader. His expertise was in anatomy rather than psychology, after all, but it was plain to everyone who cared to notice (and it seemed that Miss Edwina didn’t) that Lord Bridgerton was rather obsessed with the elder Miss Sharma and not his betrothed.
The man inelegantly ogled her figure whenever she was in sight and even went so far as to cradle an ungloved hand around the back of the Misses frame at the public venue of the ascot races.
As a gentlemen, Mr. Dorset’s first instinct was to separate the two of them, but he suspected lord Bridgerton would leech himself back to her side in that dismissive way of his the second they broke contact.
Not that he could blame the man. And quite frankly, neither could any gentleman in the ton with functioning eyes. When word broke that not one but both of Lady Danbury’s wards from abroad were beautiful beyond belief, the dash to their doorstep was more vigorous than the ascot itself.
The fact that the elder sister was six and twenty may have deterred the younger or more superficial men, but Dorset found that many shared his belief that her striking visage was more than enough to make up for the detractor. Even then, after her unconventional parentage was made clear, Miss Sharma’s insistence that she was not interested in a match of her own did not stifle interest.
It was only when these factors were coupled with rumblings that she was passive-aggressive in nature and unnervingly measured in her control of incoming suitors, did men begin to consider her affection more trouble than it was worth. Mr. Dorset, however, knew privately that these men deserved to be on the opposite end of such scrutiny. In his mind, it only made her more attractive.
Mr. Dorset did not care to control and he did not care to be controlled. He only wished for the independence to pursue his studies alongside someone who had the independence to see to her own aspirations. Miss Sharma’s quick wit yet startling care for her family only complimented these qualities all the more—that, along with the luscious thickness of her hair.
This found Mr. Dorset as sympathetic to Lord Bridgerton’s keen interest as any, but he thought his own methods of expressing that interest far more logical and polite, as well as within the limits of propriety.
The real puzzle of the situation was Miss Sharma herself. Despite her fervent dislike of the viscount, she did not shy from his untoward if not absentminded advances; they seemed to go below her notice altogether.
After he flubbed the day at the races with his immature deception, Mr. Dorset did not care to think about it very much. But once the engagement with Miss Edwina was announced he did consider asking Lord Bridgerton if he could study his brain. How a man of such intelligence in other areas could make such a foolish decision was beyond him.
It was no surprise then, that mere weeks after the (not entirely surprising) broken engagement and Miss Sharma’s subsequent fall, that Lord Bridgerton was again leeched to her side at every opportunity.
Though murmurs had indicated she was still to set off for India despite Miss Edwina’s unwed state, it seemed that she was settling in England after all.
Mr. Dorset wondered if he should ask her himself. He also wondered that, if it was all true, if he really wanted to know why. Because the way that she looked at the viscount as she floated around the dance floor in her stunning gown at the Motram ball—well, Dorset was no fool.
With the Queen’s abrupt proclamation that she was, in fact, the one to call off the match between Lord Bridgerton and Miss Edwina, there was little beyond gossip stopping Miss Sharma from marrying the viscount herself. It would be silly for Dorset not to take heed of that, considering their past and the image right in front of him.
And yet…Mr. Dorset still found himself hoping for a moment alone with her. For a dance. To feel her stern yet playful stare trained on him as heated interest pooled in his limbs.
He, once again, could not blame Bridgerton as he escorted Miss Sharma to the floor for their second dance of the night.
She was by far the most impressive and formidable woman in the room, but she had a free, devoted spirit as well. And the jewels and dresses she wore coupled with her wit, her shining eyes, her soft curls against her knife-like features…it was mesmerizing.
An utter pity that he never stood a chance.
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KUWSK is killing me with cuteness like I literally feel my heart clench with every one shot. I was wondering if you could maybe do a lil one shit on the aftermath of the aftermath of the router incident 😭 after obi-wan clarifies he does in fact love the kids and doesn’t want them to leave…I just need anakin to tell obi-wan he wants to stay… love this sm
oh bless, i'm happy to hear you like them!!! this is a bit sappy and also um definitely unedited so 🙈🙈but i think this includes the most obikin content of them all so far which is wild seeing as how my google doc for KUWSK is literally 15k at this point.
(here is the aftermath of the Router Incident, for context)
(1.6k)
Comforting and calming the children, that’s the easy part. Children forget grievances like water rolls off a duck’s back. Adults are trickier.
Adults don’t just forget and forgive.
Obi-Wan finishes the book he’s been reading to the kids. Last night, they had been on Chapter Two. Tonight, the kids are asleep by Chapter Four, but he keeps reading, all the way through the denouement at the end of the book. He knows he’ll have to go back to Chapter Four tomorrow night, knows that he may have bought himself some time but not enough time to make a difference.
But if Anakin really wanted to leave, there was nothing on God’s green earth that could stop him.
He places the book on the nightstand between the two beds and quietly stands, adjusting his glasses.
Finding and signing a lease can happen very, very quickly. He suddenly wants to wake the kids up, just to read another chapter. There are so many books left to finish, but finding and signing a lease can happen...can happen very, very quickly.
How many more chapters do they have left?
The entire time he spends walking down the stairs, he’s hoping that Anakin will have already gone to bed. But the light in the living room is still on, which means Anakin doesn’t want to keep ignoring the elephant in the room, which means in turn that either Obi-Wan can continue down the hall at the bottom of the staircase to his own room and just pretend that he doesn’t know Anakin’s waiting up for him, or he can confront the situation and perhaps even act his age.
He goes to the living room. If he only has a certain block of time left with Anakin in his presence, he’s not going to waste any of it hiding in his room.
Anakin is standing with his arms crossed, looking at the mantle of the fireplace and the photos lined up there. His face is hidden from view, but his posture is stiff.
“The children are asleep,” Obi-Wan says, mostly to announce himself. Which he knows is stupid, seeing as how Anakin most definitely heard him come down the stairs. But suddenly he wants Anakin’s eyes on him quite desperately. He will, in fact, do most anything to have the man look at him. His eyes are so expressive. His eyes are so beautiful.
Obi-Wan shakes the thought from his head and reminds himself of what’s very quickly become his mantra over the past few months. You will not make your housemate into your rebound.
It had sounded so logical when Quinlan had suggested it. So easy to agree to.
“Thanks,” Anakin says, turning to face him. It’s awkward. Anakin hasn’t thanked him for putting the children to bed for months.
“Of course,” Obi-Wan replies, coming into the room completely. “I--”
“I--” Anakin starts, but cuts himself off when Obi-Wan speaks. “You go.”
“Ah,” Obi-Wan stutters. “Well. I. I meant to say. That I...I understand. Obviously. If you were to. Want to leave. You must have had time by now to...have found a place that could. Better fit your needs.”
Anakin clears his throat. “I guess,” he says. “Yeah. I’ve. I’ve looked.”
“You have?” he asks, much too quickly and with much too much painful interest dripping off the words. “And have you? Found a place?”
Anakin hesitates and looks askance at the frames on the fireplace. “No,” he admits. “Not a place that’s. That’s anything like here.”
Obi-Wan’s smile feels so forced on his face that it actually hurts to hold. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, Anakin.”
Anakin looks at him as if he’s lost touch with reality. “Obi-Wan, come on, you have to know.”
Obi-Wan stays quiet. He doesn’t know anything. Just a day ago he had wondered absentmindedly how they were going to deal with a teenaged Luke and Leia both wanting the singular second floor bathroom in the mornings before school.
And now--well.
“You have to know,” Anakin insists in the face of Obi-Wan’s silence. “I would stay here. If it were up to just me.”
“If not you then who is it up to, Anakin?” he begs and then tries to pretend that he isn’t begging by rubbing a hand over his beard and turning away. He’s faced immediately with a picture of the twins on Christmas morning, passed out in the foreground as Obi-Wan is in the background trying to put together one of their new toys.
It had been one of the most frustrating mornings of his life. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.
“Do you...do you really think...that I don’t--that I hate the twins? Anakin, you have to know I love them--”
“No, I’m sorry,” Anakin quickly says. “I never said that, Luke was just--he--”
“He made his own conclusions,” Obi-Wan finishes.
The other man nods gratefully. “Obi-Wan, I know you love the kids, I know you do. It’s not. It’s not the kids.”
“So if it’s not you, and it’s not the children, it must be me,” Obi-Wan concludes dully. Of course. Of course it’s him.
Anakin doesn’t immediately say no, and that pause is enough of an admittance that Obi-Wan has to pause to take several deep breaths to regain his composure.
“You’ll get tired of it,” Anakin finally says quietly. “You never signed up for us, for this for this long. I don’t want to impose. I--” he turns away to stare at the mantle, where a picture of the four of them after one of the twins’ school plays sits proudly in the middle. “I don’t want to see you growing to resent m--us. You shouldn’t have to tell us to leave. It’s your house.”
“Anakin, if you think it’s just my house still, after all these months, then I don’t know what to tell you,” Obi-Wan scoffs. “Other than to look around. “There’s stains on the ceiling I didn’t put there, we never managed to get Leia’s crayon drawings fully off the walls in the hallway, and I can’t walk twenty paces without tripping over some sort of mechanical part I have no idea what to do with if I try to pick it up off the floor. I haven’t thought of this as my house in months.”
Anakin ducks his head, as if he’s being scolded. “I’m sorry,” he says, barely louder than a whisper.
“I’m not,” Obi-Wan wants to yell, but he’s mindful of the children asleep just a floor away. He walks closer to Anakin instead, and speaks with a quiet sort of intensity. “I’m not, Anakin. And if you leave, it will still not be my house. It will just be--”
He purses his lips and sets his jaw.
“What?” Anakin asks, coming forward to meet him in the middle of the room. His hand twitches as if he wants to reach out and touch Obi-Wan, but he doesn’t.
Obi-Wan shakes his head and swallows, but he figures he’s already committed to this sort of confession. There’s nowhere else to go from here. “A house I live in,” he admits quietly. “A big, quiet place that I’ll dread coming home to.”
Anakin looks speechless, and Obi-Wan tries to smile. He can’t--he shouldn’t pressure Anakin. He’s said his position. If Anakin truly had only been afraid of overstaying his welcome, surely Obi-Wan has assuaged those fears.
But the fact that he hasn’t said anything must certainly mean that Anakin harbors other reservations. Ones he doesn’t want to share with Obi-Wan.
Very well.
“I will not...pressure you,” he tells the man. “I understand. I do. I--”
Anakin cuts him off and grabs his shoulder. “Obi-Wan, I want to. The children want to. I don’t want to leave. I’ve never had…”
Obi-Wan waits on tenterhooks for the end of the sentence, as Anakin searches for the words.
“...a home that feels like this,” Anakin finishes quietly, his hand slipping off Obi-wan’s shirt. Obi-Wan misses the muted heat of the touch immediately.
“Then don’t leave,” he pleads, crowding forward into Anakin’s space. “Anakin, stop looking. Would it help...would it help to quiet your fears if we were to draw up some sort of lease?”
“A lease?” Anakin asks, sounding strange as he looks down at Obi-Wan.
“Just something that says we’ll talk about this every year. To check in and make sure we both still want to live here?” Obi-Wan knows his answer won’t change. Probably won’t ever change. But if it’ll help calm Anakin, he’ll sign whatever.
Anakin seems to think about this for a minute, mouth pursed and eyes downcast. Obi-Wan wants to thumb at the moue of his lips, wants to press against his wrinkled brow until the skin smooths out.
No.
No.
“Alright,” Anakin finally agrees. “We can draw up...a lease tomorrow then. But it won’t be legally binding, alright? As soon as you want us out, tell me and I’ll start looking. Please, Obi-Wan. That’s my only condition.”
Anakin’s only condition to stay is that Obi-Wan will tell him as soon as he wants him to leave?
Does the other man know the extent that Obi-Wan would have tried to go to convince Anakin to stay?
“Alright,” he says, instead of anything else he’s thinking. “Of course. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Anakin repeats. “Okay. Um,” he backs up. “Goodnight then, Obi-Wan.”
Obi-Wan reaches out and grasps his wrist as soon as he turns to leave. He doesn’t know why. He just. He wants. He doesn’t want to see Anakin go yet. The idea of being alone right now terrifies him in a sort of undefinable way.
“Sit with me?” He says, instead of what he really wants to say, which is thank you, thank you, thank you.
Anakin gives him a sort of half-smile that’s impossible to read. “Sure,” he replies. “I’d like to hear about your day.”
Obi-Wan winces, thinking about how much of his day was spent fretting in Quinlan Vos’ office. “Oh, I’m not entirely sure about that, dear one,” he laughs self-deprecatingly, and Anakin’s smile grows, and Obi-Wan knows that everything is going to be okay.
#u know what#i've noticed in my writing#that i'm just too southern to always pull of obi-wan#the other snippet said something about butter not melting in his mouth#and this one says god's green earth#but i was like 'i Do Not Know How Else To Phrase This'#asks#KUWSK#they finally talk a bit#i think the struggle with them is that both of them think they have the most to lose#which means neither of them wants to risk saying anything#in case they lose something#which is just what i love the most about mutual pining and idiots in love#so im glad it's the dynamic in KUWSK
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Master List
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Bad Things Happen Bingo!
Updated on: June 9th, 2022
Hey! Please mind the tags on any of my fics! I enjoy writing angsty and dark themes quite often. Don't Like; Don't read. Stay Safe!
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#my writing#fanfic#fic rec#fic list#mha#bnha#mha fanfic#bnha fanfic#mha fanfic recs#bnha fanfic recs
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