#everything is new but I still feel like I'm falling back into old habits.

[spocks-kaathyra]

feeling very fish tank by june henry recently. u know it's bad when u start relating to a song that's also on ur garak playlist

[stevesgother]

Little Red Lighthouse - S.H

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings - exes to lovers, second chance romance, angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort, idiots in love, so much pining, cursing, alcohol & drug use, mental health themes

WC - 1.3k

AN - this was originally gonna be a super long oneshot, but in typical emma fashion I'm making it into another mini series

Divider by the amazing @strangergraphics <3

The Alcott. That was your favorite bar in Hawkins; and it was all you could think about sitting outside this shitty bar in Chicago. A mere few hours from home, and yet entirely too far. Just having finished school; it was an education completely orchestrated by your parents. A college you didn’t want to attend, a degree you had no enthusiasm for.

This was how you seemed to be spending most of your days post-undergrad: sulking and ruminating. Everything you could’ve had, but don’t.

–

“Steve, this is insane. That’s like a 15 foot drop!” 

You say as you peer over the bridge, shivering slightly in just your underclothes. It was only the cusp of Spring, the weather in Indiana hardly what you would consider “warm”.

“Oh c’mon. You said you would!” He barked a laugh.

“I told my mother that if you jumped off a bridge that I would too as a hypothetical.” You deadpan, even though a smile still tugs the corners of your mouth.

He looked lovely, always did. Moles adorning his cheeks, scattering their way down his back and into his boxers where your vision couldn’t reach. He shot you a grin only reserved for you.

“3..2..1 JUMP!”

“Wait!-”

Steve gripped your hand, pulling you down with him into the icy water below the bridge. Unable to decipher if the sinking feeling in your gut was from the rapid fall of his skin on yours. The shock of the bitterly cold water knocked the wind out of you.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His smile gleaming at you. Water dripped from his eyelashes, beading on the apples of his cheeks.

 “It’s freezing!” you gasp as you surface. He starts to grip your shoulders in his warm hands, then pauses. A sudden nervousness settled and he was staring. You nervously wondered if there was something else in the water with you both. He never broke his stare. Your best friend for a million lifetimes, beautiful as ever. Looking at you as if you hung the moon just for him.

“I think I'm in love with you.”

–

When Steve finally peeled open his eyes and glanced at the blinking red of the alarm clock it read ‘3:00 PM’. His breath tasted of stale liquor as he slowly rose from his unmade bed. Skull pounding, he blindly reached for the painkillers he had made a habit of keeping on his nightstand, for afternoons like this.

Your old friend group planned a ‘welcome home’ party in anticipation for your return to Hawkins. Where you had gone to college out of state and made a new life for yourself, Steve hadn’t seemed to be able to keep his ahead above the violent current that was the trauma he endured here, in your hometown.

--

As you rested on the train back to Indiana, walkman in hand, you felt an air of nausea.You had started to regret leaving your car at your parents house 4 years ago; unsure whether the knot you felt in your gut was the result of motion sickness, or the thought of having to face him again.

Admittedly you were excited to see your friends again. You hadn’t come home for Christmas, for Thanksgiving, not even for summer breaks – always opting to stay as far away from that living nightmare as possible. You told yourself little lies. That it wasn’t because Steve Harrington still resided there, and with him, everything you lost. Everything you know you can never get back.

--

The air in Steve’s office was stiff and smelled of stale coffee. Robin sits in a less than lady-like position across from him in a chair unofficially designated for her. A plaque that reads “Chief” sat crooked between them from where Robin had set down the paper bag containing their lunch.

“You’re going to have to face her at some point, Steve.” Her voice snaps him out of his dissociative state.

“Yeah, I got it.” He sighs irritably, all traces of enthusiasm drained from his tone.

“I’m just saying,” she starts, “it's been four years. I’m sure she’s moved on, man. No bad blood.” It’s meant to be reassuring, but she doesn’t understand that that's entirely the problem. He gives her a skeptical stare. “Look, we’ll all be there. You have a ton of buffer people. Just stop by for a few minutes? For me?” The childish pout she gives in an attempt to guilt-trip is enough to push him over the edge.

“Rob- okay, fine. Stop making that face. For an hour. Not a second longer.” He points a finger at her, not unkindly.

–

As your car crunches over the gravel in the parking lot of Robin’s apartment complex, you can’t help but notice it’s already filled with cars despite you being perfectly on time. All the windows you knew belonged to her unit were lit a glowing yellow behind sheer curtains, allowing you glimpses of mingling silhouettes. You wonder briefly if this was intentional, or if in your never-ending brain fog, you managed to jumble the times.

A quick glance around the lot reveals that your friends still have the same cars they did all those years ago. Jonathan’s Ford LTD, Nancy’s Volkswagen Cabrio, and an achingly familiar maroon BMW 733i. Your heart jumps to your throat when you see it, accompanied by a sharp twist of betrayal in your chest as you don’t recall Robin ever mentioning he would be here. You suppose you can’t blame her.

You stop to take several deep breaths at the front door. You can hear the bass of an old, classic tune bumping inside and you try to time your breathing with it. In three, hold three, out three, and repeat. You raise your fist to knock before thinking it silly, so you just give the knob a tentative twist and walk in.

The room erupts in ‘Hey!’’s and ‘There she is!’’s. It’s a relief to realize they don’t hate your guts, even though they’ve always made it clear that they don’t. A nauseating guilt settles over you as you’re reminded of how long you’ve left them with barely any word from you at all– the pain of this town and everything that happened in it just too much to bear; even if they were your best friends.

Back then, talking to them sounded like long, mucousy vines that strangled and trapped. It sounded like the bitter cold and emptiness of your hometown mirrored just beneath your feet. It sounded like watching chunks of flesh be ripped from the stomach of the boy you loved. It sounded like his screams for your help and you just couldn’t– you needed time.

Now though, as they wrap you in hugs and you smell the homey scent of your best friends apartment, it feels less like then and more like now. Over Nancy’s shoulder, slightly obscured by her usually wild curls, you catch the eye of the one person not dogpiling you, and fight the grimace threatening to surface. You don’t hate Steve, not by any sense of the word– you just can’t look at his stupid, beautiful face without remembering what you did to him.

When everyone disperses, satisfied with their greetings, you can really take in Steve’s appearance in front of you. The years haven’t been unkind to him, but he looks tired. Day old, maybe two, stubble shadows his usually bright face. He fills out the red sweater and light wash Levi’s he wears nicely. You think he’ll always have that boyish Harrington charm, but he looks more like a man than when you left him.

You walk towards him hesitantly.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

[mosaickiwi]

Home Away From

I love hopeless agony almost as much as tooth rotting fluff??

Post-kidnapping Angel adjusting (badly) to the new normal.

might do a part 2 where it gets even worse idk ← my last words before i get thrown out of the plane

Kidnapping, imprisonment, codependency, etc.

proceed with caution

Eyes straight forward, you had to keep yourself occupied fiddling with the edge of a couch cushion. Every single one had a few loose threads from how often you worried away at them. 

Twelve… thirteen… fourteen neatly aligned book spines on the lowest shelf behind the dark haired man kneeling in front of you. A full, hardcover collection of your favorite webcomic, each book signed and dedicated to you. Maybe you'd force yourself to read them all again. For the third time since your arrival.

"Angel."

It was hard to keep track of how long you'd been here—in this house far removed from Corland Bay, with everything you ever wanted in a forever home. All those wild, fantasy-ridden dreams you joked about with Ren, and then [REDACTED], were true now.

And yet your supposed fiancé carried you over the threshold of that forever home kicking and screaming. 

"Still not talking?"

His hand reached for yours, fingers gently lacing between your own before you eventually pulled away. You saw their real reaction in the corner of your vision. By now, you knew him as obsessively as he knew you—there wasn't much he could hide anymore. The pain in his blue eyes lingered for too long this time.

It hurt. You hated to see that look on his face. But you hated being trapped here so much more than that. Why couldn't he understand?

Realistically, a silent treatment would get you nowhere. A few hours had turned to days, then weeks, and he was still soft-spoken and doting towards you. There was hardly a difference in the man you proposed to, and the one that bolted the front door shut from the outside on the few occasions they left for supplies.

You were too used to domestic life, too docile compared to that first day—sometimes you'd lose yourself and forget you were a prisoner. All your old hobbies still occupied your days while he sat nearby, and it just felt natural to include the only person you ever saw. To call his name and read a passage from a book aloud for him to laugh, or casually scoot closer to him for warmth during a movie.

Those moments when you forgot felt like they could slot in between all your old memories with ease.

"I'm sorry, love. I only wanted t'keep you safe," he whispered.

His breath almost tickled your legs, followed by the feel of his forehead resting against them. The urge to brush a hand through their hair—an innocent gesture you did at least daily back home—hurt just as much to ignore.

Were it not for their words of apology, even now could've been another memory. Who could fault you for falling into habits of comfort with the one who lived for you, and you alone?

The silent treatment was the best you could do.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Tired and disoriented, you woke up alone in your bedroom. The pink haired plushie you normally cuddled had disappeared somewhere, probably tossed to a corner of the room in your fitful sleep. Your usual replacement for a space heater was nowhere to be found, either.

Had he stayed up late? You called their name. "Ren?"

A muted commotion in the hallway outside, then the door creaked open. "Angel?" your beloved hacker answered back cautiously.

"Are you coming to bed?"

There was no response for a long moment. But soon enough, his familiar footsteps sounded against the floor.

You sat up and pulled the blanket to the side for them. As he settled in, you cuddled close, resting one arm over their chest while your head laid in its rightful place atop his shoulder. You managed to lean up and find their lips for a quick kiss before closing your eyes.

Though you couldn't see his face, you imagined the blush that painted his cheeks at every piece of affection you gave. With the thought fresh in your mind, you drifted off.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Hours later you woke again, your rest this time far more peaceful in their embrace. A pitiful, lazy groan left you as you stretched, then opened your eyes to greet your partner.

[REDACTED] was silently looking down at you, propped up on one arm. 

You reached up to cup his cheek and smiled at him. He leaned into your touch like always, but their usual loving gaze was laced with hesitation. As if waiting for something. Anxious of what could bother him, your hand followed the line of his jaw down to their neck, past the tattooed heart of your name, and settled on a piece of jewelry. 

Was that correct? It felt off. A long moment passed as you fiddled with it, trying to figure out what was so out of place about that silver chain, until it hit you.

The golden ring was back on his necklace, instead of on your finger where it belonged. Where it used to belong.

Weeks, or maybe even months ago, when they kept you in a careful hold while locking the bedroom door behind them—you'd thrown that ring in his face the second he let you go. 

For all the scratches and bite marks you'd put on his arm, tearing at skin that was already long scarred, he hadn't shown a hint of worry. Not until they bent down to get the ring that hit their chest and clattered to the floor.

It was the same worried face you saw now.

Your hand stilled, and before you could even whisper the words you wanted to yell, he slipped from the bed to give you space. The door clicked shut behind them to trap you in with your thoughts.

How could you be so stupid? Weak? They didn't have to try at all to wear you down; you did it all on your own. He tore you away from friends and family, yet here you were, forgetting yourself to play house with him. Then you took it a step further and let him sleep in your bed.

Nails dug into the pillow under your head, but instead of throwing it you squeezed it tight to your chest. You bit your lip to hold back the tears, glaring down at the empty spot on your ring finger that had only now begun to match the skin around it.

Another foolish dream to pile with all the others.

As much as you wanted to hope they would see reason one day and bring you back home to make things right—a thought far past irrational by now—you had to mourn the life taken from you.

You knew them, you knew them. Always seeking your favor so quickly that any argument quelled before it had a chance to begin, but stubborn when he felt it necessary.

If the first answer was a no… the next one and the next one wouldn't change. You should've accepted it the second he locked the door.

Ren was the only person you'd ever see again.

[pandagyaru]

What we use to be..

Pairing: Jasper x Implied Nonbinary/Male reader (Not really specified but like its a major plot point here that the reader isn't a woman)

Rating: None

Type: Angst to fluff

"Get away from me. I never wanna see you again" The words. His tone. The hatred in his eyes. It still haunts you to your core, even tho it was centuries ago. You'll never forget the way he made you feel that night. You pleaded with him, asked him to give you a reason to his sudden coldness; but he didn't answer. All he did was slam the door in your face and cast you aside, like some poor rabbit you drained the blood of. Now centuries later, you move to a new area. Pretending to be a high school student. You just needed to leave your last home, throwing away everything that you kept to remember him by; all but one thing. A locket he gifted you with a picture of him in it. The picture is old and faded now, yellowed and on the verge of withering away but you keep it dearly, can't bring yourself to part with it. It clings to your neck like a lifeline, you sometimes fidget with it out of habit.

You sit in your classroom alone, the bell hasn't even rang yet but you stare out the window; watching as rain drops race each other to the window sill. Students start pouring into the class, taking their seats. You look over to see a girl with long brown hair sits next to you. She smiles at you and waves awkwardly.

"I'm bella" She says, laying her notebooks down on the desk. You smile at her and raise your hand to her. She takes it.

"Im (Y/N), I just moved here" You state. She chuckles a little and gives you a jokingly weird look.

"out of all places to move, you pick forks? this place is like the last place I'd wanna move" She says, tucking her hair behind her ear. You look away from her and sigh.

"I needed a fresh start, and I quite like the doom and gloom of this place" You half joke, turning to her and smiling wide. You don't know what it is about this girl, but you like her. The bell rings just as the teacher steps in the room, ending yours and Bella's playful chatter.

By the time Lunch rolls around, you're hanging by Bella and her friends. They seem to take a liking to you immediately. You like them also, they bring a nice aura around that you need. That is until, you feel eyes on you. You look around to see gold eyes staring at you. Bella looks over with you.

"Don't mind him, that's my boyfriend Edward" She explains, slowly waving at him. He waves back. but you're not really paying attention him. If you had a heart, it would've stopped again. There sitting next to Edward, was Jasper. He has a pretty brunette attached to his arm, he looks happy. You feel a pang in your chest at the thought, he's over there happy and you can't get over him. You grab a hold of the locket on your chest, rubbing the metal on it to calm yourself. You look away from him, missing the way that Edward gets his attention.

"Do you know them?" Edward asks him, pointing to you. Jasper looks over and thinks. You lift your head a bit to look at Jessica as she compliments your locket. Jasper's eyes snap to it, it looks so familiar to him; yet he can't place it. Then he sees it, the big J carved into it messily. His mouth falls open slightly and he stands up. His chair scrapes the floor slightly and it catches the attention of your whole table. You and Jasper make eye contact, he has no doubt that it's you. You still look the same as the day he lost you, to his own thoughts and insecurities. He walks over to you and grabs your arm, lifting you up and dragging you to an empty room. You try to break free, yelling at him to let go. He pins you to a desk and just stares at you. You push at his chest, God you're lucky you can't cry or you'd be sobbing right now. He grabs your chin and makes you look at him.

"What are you doing here?" He whispers to you. You blink at him and don't answer. He looks so pretty in this light, even when he's practically holding you hostage. He shakes you slightly "ANSWER ME" You flinch and look him in the eyes.

"Why'd you leave me?" You mutter. He breaks eye contact with you and lets go of your wrists. He paces the space in front of you.

"it was 1861, people weren't exactly open to what we were back then" He mutters, but you catch it. Of course you do.

"We could've worked it out! Clearly were both here now! We could've lasted Jasper!" You yell at him. He looks over at you, slamming you into the desk again.

"Did you suspect we'd both be here now? 142 years later?!" He shouts in your face. You look down.

"No, I never thought i'd see you again. I thought you'd only live on as a memory or a photo I kept" You whisper. He looks down at the locket, he grips it and opens it. There it is, a picture of a 17 year old him. He stares at it and then looks at you. He grabs your face, kissing you. You freeze and stare at him. Slowly your eyes close and wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer. That is until you remember the girl that was attached to him, you push him away; wiping your mouth.

"What about the girl that was hanging onto your arm?!" You say, staring him down. He looks at you, thinking and then he starts laughing at you.

"That girl is one of my sisters, I swear nothing like that is going on. I haven't been able to stop thinking of you. ever since that day I lost you, due to my own selfishness" He says, grabbing you and just embracing you. You lean into him and hug him back.

"We'll be okay?" You ask. He looks at you.

"We'll be okay"

So uhm, how was that? I've got bad Twilight brain rn and I think its cause its fall. Yes, they are implied to be a fated pair, even before they were turned. also I'm sorry if its bad, I haven't written in forever.

LOVE YA

[druid-for-hire]

an autobiographical comic. it happened to me one night

this was developed for the Static Fish Fall 2024 comic anthology, purchasable at MoCCAFest!

(id under the cut)

[images id: a six-page digitally drawn comic titled "Emergency," by druid-for-hire. The subtitle reads, "The events depicted took place on August, 2024."

The first page shows a homely-looking, warmly-lit living room in the middle of the night. The digital clock on a TV cable box reads "2:43 AM." A figure sits on the couch on their laptop, at ease. The narration reads, "Of my family, I am the latest to sleep. The rest are all in bed by midnight. Maybe 1 AM at a stretch, or if it’s a holiday. After that, the house falls to me."

The second page shows a cable TV menu tuned to the channel "MeTV." There are drawings of the narrator from The Twilight Zone; Columbo; and Captain Kirk and Spock from Star Trek. The figure is lazily working on their laptop. The narration reads, "One summer, I developed a particular habit. Every night, when my parents were done watching the news and went to bed, I’d throw on MeTV. They aired nothing but shows from the 50s through to the 80s. Some of it was good. Twilight Zone. Columbo. Star Trek. Most of it I didn’t care about, but it didn’t actually matter; I just wanted the noise. I found vintage television comforting. I was soothed by 32mm film and STC mics." Then there is a sudden blue light shining on them from offscreen, and they look up. The narration reads, "One night…"

The third page shows an enormous blue screen with white bold text at the top reading "Emergency Alert System," the figure small in front of it. They look up in horror, lit all blue in darkness. The narration reads, "... there's an emergency."

The fourth page shows the figure still lit all in bright unnatural blue surrounded by darkness, scrambling for the right TV remote. The narration reads, "It's dead silent. All of a sudden, I can feel the darkness in the house. I don't care how important it is. I'm not getting the news like this. I'd get a panic attack before I got anything useful. Besides, the alarm is going to wake everyone up soon. I have to turn it off." Words appear on the screen, but they refuse to look and their head is blocking the words from the viewer. The narration reads, "Words appear. I can't even look." They turn it off with a click. Warmth and light returns to the room. They take a moment to breathe, then glance back up at the blank screen, and turn to their laptop and start typing.

The fifth page shows a portion of a history reading searches such as "is there an emergency alert in my area," "emergency alert system today," "breaking news nj," "weather in nj," and "emergency alert system august." The person looks nervous. The narration reads, "Nothing. If it's not some 2AM breaking news, it has to be nothing. I'd see it if there was. I lie near the city. Was it a test? EAS tests happen in the dead of night all the time. But the tests make sound. That's the whole point of them. This one didn't, even when the text came on. It just..." One more search says, "how old is the eas screen..." The narration reads, "Was it part of the recording? Couldn't have been. They say this EAS type is from 2016. After five minutes, I check if it's still on." There is a brief panel of blue with bold white words cut off and obscured by the silhouette of the figure. They turn it off again. "Still no sound. I can't look."

The sixth page shows the figure waiting in front of an enormous dead screen. Numbers from the digital clock on the cable box read "2:48," then "2:58." Tentatively, they click the remote and turn the TV on again. Star Trek is on the screen. The figure looks on in apprehension and subdued terror. The narration reads, "Star trek is back. Everything is fine. But I can't shake this feeling... like I missed something." end id]

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART III

—old habits die hard

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who are obliviously in love.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 13.5k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). filthy smut. angst. cussing, age gap, mentions of drugs and alcohol. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: i know i made you guys wait a lot for this but i wanted it to be perfect and i was really busy but it's finally here now! thank you for the love on the first two parts, i love all of you. happy reading!!!

masterlist with next parts!

"Oh yes! I forgot about the most exciting part. It's your friend, Pedro Pascal."

You're not sure who it's exciting for, because it's certainly not you. Sure, Jon had no idea what had happened between you and Pedro, but you were hoping he did at the time. Because if he did, he wouldn't be gushing about how exciting it is that the two of you are going to collaborate.

You try to hide your dismay and muster up a smile as Jon continues to talk about how great Pedro is. You can't help but wonder how you're going to make it through this project without letting your personal issues with Pedro get in the way of your work and finally driving you into insanity. 

Regardless, you know you have to remain professional and focused. It's just a job.

"Does he know about me?" you hesitantly ask.

"Yeah, he's known for awhile." Jon replies, "We asked him not to mention anything, but I've gotta say I'm surprised he actually didn't."

"I've got to say I'm surprised too."

•••

For the next few weeks, the only thing on your mind was Pedro. You couldn't stop thinking about what he might have said or what he thought when he found out you were going to work together. This war between you and your brain was pretty stupid because you could just call him or send him a quick text.

Hey, guess what? We're finally going to work together! :)

Simple as that.

The problem was that you didn't want to be the one to bring it up first. You weren't the type to hold a grudge over trivial matters, but here you were, silently punishing him for what he did last month.

One of your last shows on the tour was in New York, and as usual, you invited most of your friends. Even though Pedro had been living in London for the last few months, you still sent him a text inviting him. He had taken a flight for other stuff, so it was safe to assume he would make the effort for this as well.

You: Hey! I know you're in London, but my show at MSG is next week, and everyone's coming. I would like for you to come too :)

Pedrito: Hi, my schedule here is pretty tight for next week. I'm sorry. Next time?

You: Bummer. Sure.

Despite your disappointment, you understood the situation perfectly. His work schedule has become quite hectic recently, as he has been traveling and shooting movies in various locations such as Hawaii, Boston, and now London. Your schedules no longer seemed to be in sync, and neither of you made an effort to rearrange your plans to fit the other. 

Those months he spent filming with Oscar in Hawaii were by far the worst. Mostly because they were having fun and you weren't part of it. To put it mildly, the FOMO nearly killed you. The group chat and his Instagram were filled with pictures of them surfing, hiking, and exploring the island while you were miles away alone.  

The night of the show arrived, and everything went smoothly as planned, leaving you with a feeling of relief and satisfaction. That later changed when, backstage, in the midst of winding down, Oscar approached you with a smile, "Too bad Pedro couldn't make it, he would've loved this outfit."

You smile as you look down at your own stage outfit, knowing he'd like it because of its purple color.

"Too bad he's in London," you reply back.

Oscar's face falls slightly as he responds, "London?"

You nod as you chug down the last of your water bottle.

"No, he got here days ago," he says, huffing a laugh. "I called him so we could ride together, but he never answered. I figured I would run into him here."

"Oh."

Oscar's expression is slightly puzzled, as if he's trying to connect the dots between the two statements. "Is everything okay between you guys?"

You wanted to lie so bad; say yes and play it cool. After all, that's what you two have been doing for the past nine months: playing pretend. But this whole exchange has caught you off guard, and you're not sure if you want to continue with the facade or finally be honest about the situation.

"I don't know anymore."

Your attention snapped back to the present.

For days, you tried to brush it off and convince yourself that it was no big deal, but deep down, you couldn't shake off the feeling of disappointment and hurt. He had been there and chose not to go. Not even a call or text to explain or apologize. Nothing.

So, no. You weren't going to text him first, were you?

Manhattan Beach Studios, Los Angeles.

October 2018.

If somebody had told Pedro three years ago that he would be starring as a bounty-hunting badass in a signature Star Wars series, he would've laughed in their face. But here he was, about to start the table read for the first episode of The Mandalorian, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves as he waited to see how his character would come to life on screen.

It was a pinch-me moment. He had come a long way since his early days as a struggling actor, and he was grateful for the opportunity to work with such talented people on a project that was sure to be groundbreaking. As he looked around the room at his fellow cast members and crew, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment.

Until his eyes landed on you.

He then felt shame and guilt for how he handled things a month before. He knows he fucked up. You're sitting across from him, the heavy, discerning quality of your gaze sending shivers down his spine. It's as if you're peering right through him, past the gleaming politeness to the rough edges beneath. If looks could kill, he'd be a dead man.

Your expression says, "Wipe that smile off your face. There's nothing to be happy about."

He was convincing himself that he didn't exactly know what drove him not to tell you the truth about his availability. Except he did. His time away from you had allowed him to get you out of his system, and he didn't want to fall back down the maybe-I-have-feelings-for you rabbit hole again. So in true Pedro fashion, he avoided it.

He knew he'd be back in New York for your concert when you texted him. Yet he boldly lied. And it bit him in the ass.

He couldn't throw away all the progress the two of you had made, so he knew he had to make amends for his behavior before it was too late. He made a mental note to talk to you after the reading was over.

•••

The reading was over in what seemed like an eyeblink. You were so thrilled to be part of this, and even given everything that has happened between you two, you would be lying if you said you weren't happy you're doing this with him.

Though you weren't doing a particularly good job of displaying it. You barely talked to him when you got here, quickly exchanging hellos and moving on to something else.

You were settling into your trailer with your agent, going over some details, when you heard a knock. Your agent quickly rises to unlock the door as you continue to put some of your things in a drawer. When the door opens, you hear him before you see him. "Taylor, Taylor, Taylor!"

Taylor couldn't help but laugh at his antics, and you can't either. A smile formed on your lips as you closed the drawer before collecting yourself and remembering that you were really mad at him.

"Pedro, long time no see!" she says as they hug and exchange pleasantries.

Taylor looks my way. "I am going to get some of those snacks we saw earlier," she says, "I'll be back in a bit."

As she exits the trailer, you make your way to the door. Pedro is standing there, dressed in a black sweatshirt, olive green trousers, and white sneakers, which you can only describe as attractive.

Needless to say, he was making it difficult for you to hate him right now.

•••

Pedro's mind goes completely blank when he sees you; it's as if he has forgotten everything else around him and all he can focus on is you, making it hard for him to form coherent sentences.

"You cut your hair," he blurted.

"Yes."

"It looks very pretty; I like it."

"Is that why you came here?" you inquire, "to tell me my hair's pretty?"

"No, I came here to apologize," he replies back as he steps into the trailer and closes the door behind him. He watches you sit on the edge of the sofa that adorned the room, hands on each side of you, waiting for him to continue.

He takes a deep breath. "I know I messed up and hurt you. I just wanted to make things right, kid."

"Why?"

"Because you’re the last person in the world I want to upset. That would be, like, devastating."

"Hmm," you hum, a blank expression on your face, "you're not doing a very good job at it."

Pedro couldn't help but smirk at your jab, "Clearly. You looked like you were plotting my murder in there."

"Oh, I already know where I'm going to hide your body."

His laugh fills the room, and your face softens. He began walking towards the couch, and you both slumped back into it at the same time. "It's nothing really; I'm over it," you say, staring at the wall.

Pedro tilts his head to look at you, "When will you learn that you're so bad at lying that it's not worth even trying?"

You face him, your beautiful eyes catching him off guard. "This is the worst apology ever, by the way."

"I know, princesa," he says softly. "But I mean it. I'm sorry I didn't go, and I'm sorry it took me this long to apologize."

You slowly nod, your face displaying a hint of uncertainty. As if you're trying to figure out whether he's sincere or not, which he wishes you didn't have to even wonder about. "It's okay if you didn't want to go; I just wish you would've said that instead of lying and making me look like an idiot, P."

No, no, no. I wanted to go, but I'm a fucking coward.

Your words pierced him like a dagger, and the pang of guilt washed over him again. He's been drowning in it for the past few weeks, but to actually hear the disappointment in your voice is a completely different beast.

Before he could even muster up a response, you speak again, "But I forgive you."

Pedro's breathing slowed down as you placed a hand on his thigh, and he heard those words. He reciprocated the gesture and then put his hand over yours, gripping it softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Good," he says, "because now we can properly freak out about this," excitement overflowing through him as he couldn't keep it in anymore.

He needed to share this with you. When the creators of the show approached him, you were the first person that came to his mind. One of the things you've always wanted to be part of was Star Wars, so he knew you would be jealous to find out he was cast in this and couldn't wait to give you a hard time, just like Oscar did when he got the role of Poe.

That plan quickly fell apart when the creators revealed they were bringing you aboard, and even though it meant he couldn't torture you any longer, he was overjoyed you were going to be by his side in this.

“You must be ecstatic,” you tell him, your hands still connected, "this is a big deal."

"Yeah, who would've thought?"

"I did," you attempt to correct yourself, but it’s too late. Pedro has already saved the words for later in his mind. "I mean, we did! We all did. Your friends, I mean. We knew things were only going to get better for you. Even before I met you, I knew you were going to do great things. Sarah talked about it all the time, too, and we're pretty sure this is only the beginning."

He's stunned at the rambling explanation of your thoughts about his rising career. He looks at you with gratitude in his eyes, feeling fortunate to have supportive people like you in his life who believe in him.

The lack of hesitation in your voice did the opposite of what your words had done; it cooled down the hope that had lit up like a flame in his chest.

"Now, come on, let's find Taylor and those snacks," you tell him as you rise up from the couch and extend your hand to him, "I'm hungry, and we still have costume fittings," you add. He puts his hand in yours, restraining himself and letting you struggle to pull him up as you try your hardest to do so.

"You asshole!" you yell, tightening your grip on his hand, "Stop that and get up!"

He can't stop laughing as you finally manage to pull him up. "you need to work on your strength, baby," he says between chuckles.

You scoff and playfully hit him on the shoulder, "My strength is fine, thank you."

"Ow! Who's the asshole now?" he exclaims, rubbing his shoulder.

“And don't call me baby,” you tell him. "I forgave you, but that doesn't mean I'm not still mad at you."

"I don't think it works that way, baby."

"José Pedro!" you exclaim, clearly irritated.

"Sorry, old habits die hard."

The next two months were amazing, to say the least. It's as if all the two of you needed was to work together on a TV series to realize how much you needed to be together. Just like your on-screen characters, you two were tied to work together by a third thing, that thing being, of course, the child.

Speaking of the child, you were obsessed with it. You couldn't believe a green, Yoda-like animatronic puppet could win your heart in such a short period of time, but here you were. It was magical. Truth be told, everything about The Mandalorian was magical.

Every day you had to step on that immaculate set that's built and surrounded by volume, which creates an infinite sort of visual experience in terms of skies, planets, space, ships, and all kinds of things, was magical.

It just felt like you were stepping onto these highly sophisticated amusement park rides, with very little being left to the imagination because of how incredible the design work is from all the departments.

Another magical thing was seeing Pedro bring the character to life. His ability to convey so much depth and complexity to a character that is mostly hidden behind a mask is truly impressive. From crafting his "Mandalorian" walk and stance to his deep, jarring voice.

That voice.

That voice was made to torture you and send shivers down your spine. That voice made you forget all of your life's problems. Actually, that voice was made for one thing and one thing only, the bedroom.

"Oh my god, it doesn't sound like a bedroom voice!" he protested, as he highlighted lines in his script.

You were joining him and the creators in the recording booth for his voiceover session.

"It does! It's a sexy bedroom voice." you teased, making everyone laugh. "That's not very Disney of you, P." 

He gets closer to the mic and whispers, voice altered because of the modulator, "Bite me."

"See? It works perfectly."

•••

You were having as much fun as you could. Simply put, you two were menaces on set.

You could tell Jon, Dave, and the rest of the crew were patient with your antics, but it was clear that they were also entertained by your on-set dynamic. It's not everyday that you get to work with your best friend, and you two made it everyone's problem.

Although sometimes you have to admit you take it a little too far.

"Catch me if you can, Boba Fett wannabe!" you scream.

Pedro was chasing you through the set with a prop sword, trying to get you to stop teasing him about his costume. "You are one insult away from getting a taste of this sword!"

"Okay, tin can man!"

You were running away from him as fast as you could, hoping to find a place to hide before he caught up with you. You quickly hide behind one of the makeup trailers and peek out to see him come to a stop, catching his breath. He was wearing his Beskar getup, minus the helmet.

“Give up yet, old man?"

He laughs. "We're being extra cruel today, huh?"

Taking advantage of his momentary pause and facing away from where you were hiding, you slowly inch closer to him, trying not to make a sound. As you get within arm's reach, you draw one of your prop knives from your costume pocket and hold it to his back. Using your free hand to hold him steady, you lean in and whisper in his ear, "I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold."

He turns his head slightly, and you can see the smirk on his face. "That's my line, thief."

Before you could pull away, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you back toward him. He takes hold of you and tightens his grasp on your waist. "Let me go, P!"

You struggle to break free from his grasp, but he only holds you tighter. "I am going to squeeze you so hard you will fart," he chuckles.

You snort. "You have such a way with words."

As you try to wriggle out of his grasp, you accidentally elbow him in the face, causing him to release his hold on you and stumble into a piece of plywood that had been propped up.  

"Aw, fuck!" he cries out, clutching his nose.

"Holy shit, I'm sorry!" you rush to him, cupping his face. "Are you hurt?"

He removes his hand from his nose, revealing a cut and a trickle of blood. "It's alright, just a bloody nose," he says calmly.

You touch his nose gingerly, and he winces in pain. "Nevermind, I think it is broken."

•••

You begged Jon to let you ride to the hospital with them; after all, this was your fault. When you get there, the doctors rush to Pedro's side and begin examining him.

If you weren't preoccupied with being mortified over this, you'd laugh.

The scene before you is straight out of a sitcom, with Jon frantically explaining the situation to the doctors, Pedro in full costume with fake injuries and blood that you were pretty sure the doctors thought were real, and you standing there with an expression that screamed: Hey! It's me! I did this!

After a couple of minutes of clearing up that it was an accident and that the blood coming out of his ears was fake and not the cause of a brain hemorrhage, one of the doctors led us to a room to examine his nose.

"It's not broken," the doctor said, as she prepared to clean the wound. "He's just going to need a couple of stitches."

"Oh great, we still need to finish a scene, and they're waiting for us." Jon replies.

"This will take 15 minutes, tops," she says, grabbing a tray of medical supplies. “I will be fast.” 

"I'll call the guys," Jon tells you as he exits the room.

You nod in agreement and stand in a corner as you silently watch the doctor carefully clean, anesthetize and stitch up the wound. You feel relieved that it wasn't anything more serious. 

After she finishes, Pedro thanks her, and she nods with a smile. "You're going to need to take some analgesics for the pain. I'm gonna go grab my prescription pad. I'll be right back."

She exits the room, and you walk over to Pedro. He moves his head slightly, showing off his nose.

"How does it look?" he asks teasingly.

Your cheeks warm with embarrassment. "I can't believe I ruined your perfect nose."

"Who said it isn't perfect still?" he says it as if it were a challenge. His brow is arched, with the tiniest smirk hidden in one corner of his mouth.

"Don't start. I'm mortified."

"Tranquila, princesa. I said it was okay after you apologized 20 times on our way here," he reassures you. "Plus, now we have a funny story to tell during our press tour next year."

You sigh. "I guess you're right."

"You know," he says, "what hurts right now is that today is our last day of shooting. I can't believe it's been two months already. Time fucking flew."

Your heart sinks as you're once again reminded that this amazing experience is coming to an end. The day you've been dreading for weeks is finally here, and you're not ready to say goodbye. It's not like you already know you'll be back next year for the next season, but you're not ready to say goodbye to him and the daily routine you've formed, which mostly consists of breakfasts together, long hours on set, and late-night movie marathons. 

"Yeah, I'm trying not to think about it," you muttered, "gonna miss our little routine."

Pedro studies you. "Maybe we can extend it for a little while longer."

Not knowing where this is going, you raise an eyebrow inquisitively. Pedro smiles, "I..I was thinking maybe... maybe you could come with me to Chile for Christmas with the family." 

Your heart skips a beat as you process Pedro's words. You open your mouth slightly to say something, but you close it again, momentarily speechless, overwhelmed by the unexpected invitation. 

"Uh… I know you probably have plans with your family,” he interjects, “but I thought this would be a good time for you to finally meet my father and the rest of the family, and—" 

Before he could finish, you nodded eagerly, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of spending Christmas in Chile with Pedro and his family, “Yes, I would love to." 

You've never seen him smile as broadly as he does now, and you know that you have made the right decision. 

New York City

December 15, 2018

“Dude, he invited you to his hometown with his family, and you still think that man has no feelings for you?” 

“Taylor...” you paused, picking up a clothing item that had fallen to the floor. “It's just a friendly gesture.”

“Yeah, I'm sure he invites everyone to his hometown to spend the holidays with his family. Sureee.” 

You didn't want to go there; you'd promised yourself that you wouldn't get entangled in what ifs, so your friend's teasing wasn't helping you keep those thoughts at bay. 

“I told you, he doesn't like me like that. I know he doesn't,” you say, suddenly remembering that night when you overheard him telling Sarah how he felt about you. “Plus, as my agent, you more than anyone know I can't do relationships right now; my life's too busy." 

Taylor finished zipping up the last of your bags for the trip and gave you a reassuring smile. "I know, but it doesn't hurt to have a little fun, does it? And who knows—maybe he has changed his mind. Just enjoy the trip and have fun." 

No, he hasn’t changed his mind. 

“Yeah, I just want to have a good time, really. Things have been so good between us these past couple of months, It just feels...right again. I don’t wanna mess it up.” 

"Understandable, bestie. However, I think you’re both making a huge mistake.” 

You shake your head in amusement. “Thanks for helping me pack.” 

“Thanks?” she scoffs. "I'm expecting a raise." 

Santiago, Chile

December 20, 2018

After the chaos of the day leading up to the flight, it was actually a relief to be sitting here. The large, comfortable seat, with your feet tucked up under you as you gazed out the jet window, felt very much deserved.  

While the gentle buzz of the flight filled your ears, you laid your head against the window of the plane and watched the clouds and the seemingly endless expanse of sky fly by.

As you began to drift off, you did your best to keep your attention on what was outside the plane rather than allowing your mind to wander to what would await you once you arrived at your destination. The mixture of excitement and exhaustion lulled you into a peaceful slumber, dreaming of the journey that lay ahead. 

•••

The taxi ride from the airport to the Balmaceda-Pascal's was a blur of unfamiliar sights and sounds, but you couldn't help feeling a sense of wonder and curiosity as you took in the new surroundings. As the car comes to a stop in front of the house, you shoot Pedro a quick text. 

You: I'm here, tonto. 

Pedrito: I'll be right outside, tonta. 

Since you still had a few things to attend to in New York, he had arrived two days earlier. After insisting like a madman that he could pick you up from the airport and you insisting like a madwoman that you could easily get there on your own, he gave up and let you take a cab. 

The driver has already gotten out of the car to wrestle the luggage from the trunk. You clamber out after him into the brilliant sunlight, the heat instantly making your travel outfit—which consisted of a pair of black leggings, a sweatshirt, and Pedro's Freaky Tales green hoodie—feel suffocatingly thick. The change in temperature is a shock to your system, having just come from New York's freezing climate. 

“Hey you!” Pedro's booming voice interrupts your thoughts, “Nice hoodie. Where'd you get it?” 

“Um, someone left it at my place a while ago, and I decided to keep it. It's really comfy.” 

Pedro smiles and nods, "It suits you. You should wear it more often." 

“Thanks, but not here,” you tell him, your face flushing from the heat. ”It's burning hot."  

“Welcome to Chile, where it's scorching hot during the winter and freezing cold during the summer,” he says in a joking tone, as he tucks a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “Let's get inside, it's cooler.”  

The moment you stepped into the house, you were greeted by a refreshing blast of air conditioning. The house was lovely. You take in the Mediterranean decor style and the large windows that let in natural light as you look around. On either side of the foyer, stone archways lined the way up two stories to an ornate ceiling.

As you make your way to the living room, you catch a glimpse of the various family pictures that adorn the walls. The living room was spacious and inviting, with plush couches and a fireplace that made you feel right at home. 

Dropping your bags next to the stairs that led to the second floor, Pedro places a hand in your back and gestures you towards a hallway, “C'mon, everyone is out back.” 

At the back of the house, tangled trees press close, the forest extending as far as you can see, and off to the left, in the meadow, a gazebo adorned with wild grapes stands within a smaller thicket of trees. Bright glass-shard wind chimes and cutesy bird feeders swing in the branches, and the path cuts past a row of flowering bushes before curving onto a footbridge and then disappearing into the mountains on the far side. 

It's like something out of a storybook. Charming, picturesque, and perfect. 

“You're here!” A familiar voice drew your attention back to earth. “And right on time. How was your flight?” 

Pedro's sister, Javiera, lit up with a smile as she hugged you tightly. You returned the embrace, grateful for her warm welcome. "It was long, but good nonetheless," you replied with a smile.  

“Well, if it isn't the infamous best friend I keep hearing about?” you turned around to see Pedro's father approach you with a friendly smile on his face. 

"Yup, that's me," you reply, extending your hand for a handshake. 

"I'm glad to finally meet you," he says, shaking your hand. "Pedro talks about you all the time."

“I hope good things,” you chuckle, “and it's great to finally meet you too, Mr. Balmaceda.” 

“Oh, please call me José,” he tells you, waving his hands. Just like his son, you notice that José has a warm and welcoming personality, making you feel at ease. “And please, make yourself feel at home; we're thrilled to have you.” 

“No, he's thrilled to have a world famous superstar staying at his house,” Nicolás, Pedro's brother, retorts back at his father. Making everyone laugh and leaving you feeling a bit embarrassed. 

"Oh, I don't know about being a superstar," you say lowly. 

“Are you kidding?" Nicolás cuts you off as he takes a seat, "Don't be modest. It's literally an honor to have you here." 

“Yeah, you're sooo cool,” Javiera's older son added. 

"Okay, alright, that's enough." Javiera must have noticed your embarrassed expression. She reached out to you and held you by the shoulders, reassuring you. “Let's not overwhelm her with too much praise. Let's give her some space, she must be tired." 

And she was right. The almost 12 hour flight has left you feeling exhausted, jet lagged, and in need of a very long nap. 

"Vamos princesa, I'll take you to your room." Pedro turned around and led the way towards the room while you followed him closely, trying to keep your eyes open and fighting the urge to just collapse on the floor. 

As you reached the second floor, your attention was drawn back to the house. “This place is so gorgeous, P.” 

“We got it a couple of years ago. We wanted something a little bit bigger so we could have everyone over for vacations, and we also wanted something that felt like home, you know?” 

“I love it,” you tell him.  

“This is your room,” he says, jerking his chin at the door on the right, “and this is mine.” 

He opens the door to the room on the left. His room, much like mine, is absolutely huge. The bed is along the wall immediately to your right as you enter, a recklessly comfortable looking king size bed doused under the weight of a fluffy duvet and an insane amount of pillows.

The bedding is bright white and contrasts sharply with the dark wooden floorboards. "Your bed looks like a big fluffy cloud," you say, giggling. 

"It feels like one," he says, smiling. He can tell what you're thinking by the look in your eyes,"Go on, I know you want to." 

Like a little kid, you start running towards the bed, feeling the softness of the plush carpet under your feet. As you sink into the bed, you realize that it's even more comfortable than it looks, and you can't help but let out a contented sigh. 

“P, I’m never moving again,” you say, your voice drifting over to him. 

"Ha. You’ll have to.”

“Hmm, why exactly?” you turn over onto your stomach and lean against your elbows to face him. 

"Because it's my bed," he simply states, "and I have plenty of plans that don't include you spending the entire trip in my bed."  

Bravery takes over, and you give him a playful smirk. "Well, I guess I'll just have to make sure those plans change then."

He chuckles and shakes his head, “Good luck with that, sweetheart.”

You know this is cruel. You were torturing yourself. Being so optimistic was cruel, but because of your longing and deep, hidden desires, you couldn't help but indulge in silly fantasies and play along. 

“Alright, I'll go to mine,” you say with a forced smile as you get off the bed, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice. “I need to nap right now, or I'll die.” 

“I will, uh, come get you for dinner later.” 

“Sure, boss,” you tell him, patting him on the shoulder as you walk past him to leave the room.  

“Sweet dreams.” 

In the past four days, you've learned many things.

First, Chile was sickeningly beautiful. The vibrant colors of the buildings and the breathtaking scenery of the Andes Mountains made you feel like you were in a dream. It spread out beneath you like a patchwork quilt, with each square representing a different aspect of its culture and history. From the bustling city streets to the serene beaches.

The food was also a highlight, and you're pretty sure you gained a few pounds from indulging in the delicious local cuisine.

“Here, try this one.”

“That's the biggest empanada I've ever seen in my life,” you exclaimed as you took a bite of the savory pastry, filled with juicy meat and vegetables. “This is so fucking good.”

Pedro chuckles. “It's filled with a mixture called Pino.” 

“Okay, forget the manjar. This,” you say, mouth full, “is my new favorite thing in this country.” 

Pedro gasps. “I thought I was your favorite thing in this country.” 

You grin and give him a playful nudge. "Okay, fine. You're still my favorite, but this empanada might take the top spot."  

“That's better,”  you look up at him, trying not to melt then and there at the signature wide grin spread across Pedro's gorgeous face. “But you know, there's still plenty of time for me to prove that I deserve the top spot.” 

You chuckle at his remark, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "We'll see about that, Pascal," you reply, taking another bite of the delicious empanada and secretly hoping he succeeds in his mission. 

•••

Second, Pedro's family were the warmest hosts you could have imagined, eager to share their traditions and stories with you. They accepted you as one of their own and made you feel like a member of the family.

They took you on various adventures throughout the city, showing you hidden gems that only locals knew about. The tradition of taking a trip to a hiking site outside the city whenever all of them got together was in motion and this year it was the Valley of the Moon's turn.

“That hike was so worth it, guys," Nico says, a little out of breath from climbing up the steep trail. 

Damn right, it was. As you're standing atop a giant sand dune, you're bewildered by what you're witnessing. The view as the sun slips below the horizon is out of this world. The ring of volcanoes and surreal lunar landscapes of the valley are suddenly suffused with intense purples, pinks, and golds. It's the most beautiful sunset you've ever seen. 

You quickly grab the camera that's hanging around your neck and start taking pictures, trying to capture the breathtaking moment before it fades away. “Guys, get together!” you shout, “A family photo with this stunning backdrop is a must.”  

As you finish taking the pictures, Pedro's voice breaks the silence, “Javi, grab the camera and take one of us, please.” 

You comply and hand the camera to her. Pedro sneaks a hand around your waist and pulls you close, “Smile, princesa.” 

“Don't tell me what to do,"  you playfully retort, leaning into him and smiling for the camera. 

•••

And third, Pedro has always had a thing for theatrics. Today, some of you decided to take a trip to the beach. The heat was unbearable, and the cool ocean water sounded like the perfect way to beat it.  

He would often come out of the ocean dramatically, splashing water all around and pretending to be a sea monster to scare his nephews. As soon as he saw the waves, he ran towards them and jumped into the water with a loud roar. His nephews laughed and cheered him on as he swam towards them, pretending to be a giant creature ready to attack. 

After spending most of the day in the water, you were sitting down on the sand, attempting to make sand castles with one of Pedro's cousins. The sound of waves crashing against the shore was soothing, making you feel relaxed. “My god, he's like a kid,” you tell her, looking at Pedro as he continued to play with his nephews, now closer to the shore. 

She laughs. “He's always been like this. As a child, he was always playful and energetic, and he never lost that spirit as he grew up. It's one of the many things we love about him."

The sandcastle you were working on was slowly starting to take shape. Pedro's cousin continued to build it and tell you stories about him, letting nostalgia wash over you.

She told you about his grandfather and how he used to take them to watch double features of old movies, and how that heavily influenced Pedro's love for storytelling and cinema. You didn’t know him then, and you'll never understand why it feels like you did. “But you know, one of my absolute favorite memories is when he recited Hamlet here on the beach with Grandpa." 

“Actually, it was Death of a Salesman, cousin.”  

His voice startles you as you turn to see him standing behind you, a small smile on his face. "I do remember that day," he continued as he lowered himself onto the sand behind you, legs on each side of your body. He places a hand on your thigh for a brief moment as he settles behind you before removing it.

You want nothing more than to reach out and put his hand back on you, to insist he keep touching you but you don’t. 

He starts helping you with the sandcastle, and your breath catches in your throat as you feel his familiar warmth spread through your body. Droplets of water from his hair fall onto your warm skin, and the small elephant tattoo on his right inner thigh catches your eye as he reaches for a shovel,  "I was about 14 years old. I videotaped it but lost the fucking camera on the trip back to the States.” 

“Damn, I would've loved to see that.” 

He chuckles in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “Maybe I can reenact it for you.” 

“Please do.”  

•••

Pedro suggested you two go outside and stargaze with a glass of wine after returning from the beach. The evening summer breeze was much cooler than the daytime breeze. You were both sitting on the back porch, leaning back on the cushioned chair, the wooden floor creaking under your weight.

“Want me to open another bottle, princesa?”  

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Pedrito?”

You can't help but stare as Pedro throws back his head, a bellowing laugh escaping him into the quiet night air. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he shakes his head, still chuckling. "No, I just want to make sure you're enjoying yourself. And if that means another bottle of wine, then so be it." 

He reaches for your glass, hands touching briefly, and pours you some more. Even in the dark, the blinding white of his smile and the twinkle in those achingly beautiful brown eyes are impossible to miss.

With the moon low in the sky, his silhouette was even clearer to you: the way the bridge of his nose dips into the top of the large glass, the delicate hold of his fingers on the stem, and the mess of his hair.

Cicadas screamed into the night air as the taste of the rich, velvety wine danced on your tongue. Now, slightly tipsy on the red wine, you were nearly too lost in your memory of the moment to notice that Pedro had turned his head from above to look at you. Clearly, your staring had captured his attention, but you went to stare resolutely at the night sky again. 

He sobered quickly, but his eyes never left you. You felt the weight of his lingering stare and were thankful that the darkness of the night and warmth of the fire covered your suddenly flushed cheeks. “Excited for Christmas tomorrow?” you ask softly, trying to break the tension with a light-hearted question. 

“Yes,” he replied with a small smile, "but I'm more excited that you get to spend it with us."

A warmth filled your chest, and if your cheeks weren't already blushing already, they certainly were now, but you wouldn’t look away from him. The meaning wasn’t lost on you. “Thank you for inviting me, really. I thought I was going to be sad, but you guys have made me feel at home." 

Pedro frowns. “What do you mean? About being sad.”  

“I kind of hate this season now because it reminds me how lonely I am,” you chuckle, gripping the wine glass slightly tighter. “And don't get me wrong, I love my family and my friends, but after you spend years with someone, Christmas just feels different without them around, you know? It's like...” you trail off, trying to put into words the feeling of emptiness that lingers within you. “Like there's a void that can't be filled no matter how many people are around you. And-and it's not like I miss that person in particular, I just miss having someone.” 

His unblinking eyes hadn’t left yours, and you continued, feeling vulnerable but also relieved to finally get that out of your system. “I know it sounds silly, but I think it’s just a reminder that things change. you meet people and you love them, and then you lose them. It's inevitable, and it happens to everyone.” 

It falls quiet between you again, the familiarity of the years of friendship meaning you are both comfortable with it. The weight of what you just said still hangs heavy in the air until he nods slowly, breaking the silence. “I get it. I feel the same way somehow,” you tear your eyes away from the constellations above to stare at him quizzically, a raised eyebrow telling him to elaborate. 

He huffs out a laugh, as if he's amused by your confusion or embarrassed by his own vulnerability, and continues, “I guess that's one of the reasons why I don't date. I'm saving myself from that.”

“Yeah, I guess now I am too,” you respond, nodding in understanding.

"Also, not to sound like an arrogant asshole—" 

“Which you probably will anyway,” you add in a playful tone. 

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” he says mockingly. “But my schedule is busy, if I wanna be involved in something, I want to pay attention to it and nurture it. It takes energy to be with someone.” 

“It's not arrogant, it's the truth. I was telling Taylor the same thing the other day,” you tell him. “I can't date because I don't have the time to, but...” 

“But what?” Pedro interrupts. 

“Don't rush me, dude,” you chuckle. “But I'm also human, and I have needs sometimes, and it sucks that I can't just go to a bar like a regular person and sit on the barstool, have a drink, and wait for someone to approach me so we can go to their place and have sex and forget about it the next morning,” you finally admit, staring down at your finger swirling over the rim of your glass. 

“No strings attached," he adds, his voice scratchy. “I, um, ha. I wish I could do that too. You're not alone.”

“Hooking up with someone like that in our world would involve lots of NDAs,” you say, laughing. 

“Oh yes, very romantic stuff.” 

His eyes were doing the thing, the Pedro thing, and you did your best to ignore the way your heart lurched. The moment was charged with tension, and you both knew that there was more to say, and since neither of you dared to break the silence, someone else decided to break it for you, clearing their throat loudly and making you both jump. You turn to see Javiera standing by the door, looking amused and a little bit smug. 

"I just wanted to let you guys know the rest of us are going out for dinner, in case you're interested in joining us," she said, her eyes flickering between the two of you. “Uh, no. Thanks, I'm beat. The wine has made me sleepy.” 

“I'm gonna have to pass too, sis,” Pedro tells her. “You guys have fun.”

“Yeah, you too,” she says with a sly smile. “We'll be back late!” 

After she leaves, you stand up and stretch your arms, feeling the effects of the wine yourself. “Woah. Too much wine,” you chuckle. “I should head to bed now before I regret it in the morning.”

“Me too,” he breathes out as he gets up, collecting his glass and yours. "Goodnight, princesa," he adds with a smile before you head towards the door. “Goodnight, P.” 

•••

As soon as you entered your room, you immediately hopped in the shower, hoping to wash away the exhaustion from the day and also the dirty thoughts that had been lurking in your mind.

The warm water cascading down your body helped ease the tension in your muscles, and you let out a contented sigh. After a few minutes, you stepped out and changed into fresh clothes. 

As you lie in bed, the conversation you had an hour before with Pedro seems to replay in your mind. 

I wish I could do that too. You're not alone.

You promised yourself you wouldn't cross that line again. The last time you took that black, bold line and made it gray, it came with consequences. But you're not known for making the best decisions when it comes to these matters anyway. 

You start to feel anxious and restless, unable to quiet your thoughts or fall asleep.

Perhaps a glass of water will help.

As you walk out of the bedroom, everything is dark, meaning everyone is still out for dinner. You have only the soft glow of the city outside the large windows to guide your way. 

Hesitating as you walk through the hallway towards the stairs, you slow your steps, not entirely trusting your eyes to keep you from running into anything in the dark, unfamiliar space in such low light. Before you reach the stairs, you notice the light underneath Pedro's room, casting a faint glow onto the hallway carpet.

He's still up, you thought. 

Before you even realized what you were doing, you were heading toward his room. 

“Pedro?” you call out his name as you gently knock on the door, “You up?”

“Bathroom! Come in!”  he screams. You reach the doorknob and push it open. The sound of water running fills your ears as you step inside. You plop down sideways on his bed, legs dangling off the edge, and wait for him to finish his shower. The chilly night air seeps in through the slightly open door of his balcony, making you shiver. 

“Can't sleep?” His voice is soft and soothing as he walks out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry and wearing only black boxers. You avert your gaze, trying to ignore the way just looking at his face, with his golden skin from all the sun exposure, the shadow of dark scruff on his cheeks, and his brown eyes crinkled by a soft smile, makes your heart race. 

“Nope,” you mumble. “Too much on my mind, I guess.” 

“Enlighten me, please,” he quickly replies, returning to the bathroom. You get off the bed, take a deep breath, and try to compose yourself, but the sight of him in those boxers makes it difficult. You know that if you start talking about what's really on your mind, things might get even more complicated between the two of you. 

“Uh...” you huffed out a laugh as the scenario played in your head, your legs almost giving out as you felt your guts twisting. Your mouth fell slightly agape as he stepped back into the room, “What's so funny?” he inquired. You fidget with your fingers and look at him, still chuckling a bit, “That conversation we had earlier. I can't stop thinking about it," 

Pedro leaned against the bathroom door, his face puzzled, reflecting that he had no idea which of the many conversations you two had today you were referring to. “The one about hooking up, I mean. And how you wish you could do that too," you continue, not bothering to try and hide the small beginnings of a smile from Pedro's watchful gaze, entirely more interested in testing the waters than anything else.

“Oh?” is all Pedro gives by way of a reply, not that you mind much since that works just as well as a real answer theoretically could. “Oh," you confirm. This could go either way, but as of right now, you're willing to take the risk. 

His gaze is fixed on you, and you go back to lying on the bed, closing your eyes as if you're bracing for the impact of the unknown. “I was wondering if—and I might be making a complete fool of myself by saying this—but what if...” you trail off. "What if we..?” you can't bring yourself to finish the sentence, suddenly realizing that once you say it, you can't take it back. 

“Fucked?” he interrupts, and your eyes shoot open, surprised by his bluntness. You sit up on the bed, heart racing as you try to gather the courage to speak. “I mean, we-we know each other, and we're both horny, and we wouldn't have to sign any NDAs,” you joke, trying to lift the weight off the air.  

"That's true," Pedro quips quickly, though any hint of eagerness in his reply is tempered by the softness of his voice. You feel the blush that rises in your cheeks at the implication in his words and you look away, seemingly breaking the trance you’ve been in. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” you repeat, dumbfounded.

“Would you rather have me say no?” he chuckles, crossing his arms as he leans one shoulder into the doorframe and deciding that for now he’ll stay where he is, knowing he looks like a smug jerk but unable to help himself. 

“No!” you tell him, rather eagerly. “I mean, of course you can say no. We don't have to do this if you're not into it,” you add softly. 

He says your name and looks into your eyes, "My answer's yes.”

“Okay, but I have some rules,” you get off the bed, body tensed with anticipation. “Of course you do,” Pedro says, arching his eyebrow and giving you a knowing smile. 

“No feelings. This can only happen while we're here. Once we go back to our normal lives, this never happened,” you tell him. He nods, taking a slow step forward and then another, and although there’s still a great deal of space between the two of you, you can feel the tension building. "Also, we can't tell anybody about this, not even our closest friends,” you continue.

He's closer now, feeling his breath on your face, and his hands find their way to your waist. "It's our little secret," he whispers, and you grab his shoulders to steady yourself.

“And no nicknames. No princesa, no baby, no love,” you try to sound stern but your voice betrays the excitement you feel. 

He grins mischievously, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “But there's no fun in that.” 

“Fine. You can call me whatever you want,” you give in, finding his amusement endearing.  

“Well, that was easy,” he chuckles, his grin widening. “Are you done with your rules?” 

“Yes, I guess so,” you stammered, feeling a bit embarrassed for being so easily swayed by his charm. 

“Good,” he says, and you feel a shiver run down your spine as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “So I can start doing this,” he whispers, his hand sliding down your pajama shorts, sending a wave of goosebumps across your skin. "And this," he adds, as his lips press against your neck. 

When you finally make yourself let go and stop fighting for some false sense of restraint for even one second longer, you notice that something changes in the way Pedro touches you, as if he's more confident and sure of himself.

His free hand moves up to hold the back of your head to hold you in place. You do the same, your hands finding their way to his broad shoulders for support. The tip of his finger under your shorts traces over where you’re slick and too ready for him. His mouth is tantalizingly close to yours, brown eyes staring into yours, pining and desperately waiting. “Can I?” he asks. 

It's humorous and sweet even that he's asking permission to kiss you when one of his hands is already under your pants. Every rational thought disappears, and you crush your mouth against his. 

Everything is slow and heavy, and he never lets his finger slide into you even when you silently beg for it. Just dragging it over and back—too little and too much all at the same time.

He presses the pad of his finger into your clit, and you have to break away from his mouth to groan, overwhelmed, knees wobbly. Pedro laughs quietly and nuzzles against your neck so his beard scruffs. 

“Mi princesa,” he whispers against your neck, kissing it softly, “you make such pretty sounds." 

There is a real chance you could spontaneously combust into flames just from the sound of his voice and his sweet nothings. He continues to draw circles on your clit making you moan and writhe in pleasure, feeling like you're about to explode with ecstasy. As he whispers more sweet words in your ear, you can't help but surrender to the intense sensations he's giving you.  

“Is that good?” he asks, his voice rough, “Does that feel good?” 

“Yes," you whisper, a hand traveling to his hair, tugging it tightly. “Yes.” 

Just when you're about to come undone, he suddenly stops. Your eyes quickly find his for some explanations as to why he decided to put on hold the very satisfying and impending orgasm that was building up within you. “Oops,” he simply states, a grin plastered on his face.  

“I fucking hate you,” you whine, pulling away from him. “I was so close! What you do that for?”

"I have some rules, too."

“Now?” you ask him, clearly frustrated with his antics. “Well, go on.” 

“Actually, it's just one,” Pedro says, arching his eyebrows and giving you a knowing smile. His reaction is met by narrowed eyes, like you’re making sure to watch him closely until you figure out where exactly he’s going with this. "You do as I say. Which also means you come when I say." 

“Sounds—” you're regaining your footing, regaining control over yourself, trying to reinstate some power, but the way he just said those words has taken away any sense of authority you thought you had. His voice is commanding, with no room for compromise or disobedience. “Sounds dangerous, but... alright.” 

“Good girl, now get on the bed,” he says, and the timbre of his voice nearly kills you then and there, the dropping pitch making the words come out rough and serious. Pedro still sounds like himself, since his normal voice is more than enough to make you a little weak at the knees on a regular day, this new variant is a completely different monster. 

You lay there, waiting for his next instruction, as the shadows danced on the walls and the sound of his footsteps echoed in the silence. Once he reaches the bed and fists his hands in the sheets on either side of your thighs, bending down until he’s face to face with you, your eyes level with his. You let your hands roam over his broad shoulders and down his torso, feeling his tense muscles relax under your touch. 

“I need you now, P,” you mumble, and you move your hand lower to hold him through his boxers. He twitches into you. 

“What did I say?” his dark eyes are fixed on you as he reaches for your hand and pins it above your head. "I don't think you fully understand the consequences of disobeying me. We'll do this my way," he whispers menacingly.

This dark side of Pedro is one you've never seen before. The Pedro you know is a sunshine. However, the man on top of you right now is a completely different person, and you're more than the ready to get to know him. 

“Keep your hands above your head. No touching."

Your body is aching for him, all willing and open, but he’s sliding down you, pushing your shorts down as he goes. His soft hands trace your thighs and stops at your knees, “Open up for me.” 

"So pretty," he says, voice thick. You look down to see his face, pupils blown wide. “Can't wait to taste you, baby.” 

You're a wreck. A writhing, moaning, shaking wreck. Shit. You don't even need to be looking at his face to know how arrogant he is right now, not that you could—it's buried deep inside between your thighs. You're desperate to grab his hair just to see where misbehaving will take you, but you settle for the headboard. 

He kisses your cunt, messy and hot. A groan rumbles in his throat and he moves his tongue in circles, exploring every inch of your wetness. You arch your back, lost in pleasure, as he continues to devour you with his mouth. When you look down again, his brown eyes are staring back at you as his fingers slide into you, finding the right spot in milliseconds. It's fucking game over. 

His pace increases as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, perfectly coordinated with his tongue and his goddamn nose. “Pedro...” you whimper, out of breath. “P-Please let me cum." 

“Not yet, baby," he chuckles, fingers continue to expertly tease and stroke your sensitive areas, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of orgasm. "I know you can hold it for a little longer,” you cry out, gripping the bedsheets as you desperately try to move your hips to ride his fingers. Your eyes are watering slightly from how good he’s making you feel. 

“You can cum now.”

Every part of your body spasms, and you scream, everything buzzing and vibrating as you tighten around him, bucking and thrashing, pleasure and electricity flooding your body. Removing his fingers, he starts kissing the inside of your thighs, all the way up to your belly and lips. As you try to catch your breath, he whispers in your ear, "That was just the beginning. I want to make you cum again and again."

You can tell Pedro loves the way your face heats up at his words. “Please do,” you tell him, grabbing the waistband of his boxers, and your wandering hands are met by bare, warm skin and the short, neatly cropped hair that grows thicker the further down your fingers dare to venture.

“I know you said you're in charge, but I really need you to take this off,” you say, losing your ability to wait for orders. To your surprise, he complies and gets off the bed, slides down his boxers, just as you get rid of your t-shirt. You can't help but admire the sight of him fully exposed and ready for you, moving to the drawer to pull out a condom, tearing the packet and rolling it onto himself. 

“You can take a picture, it'll last longer." 

“Don't get cocky.”

Pedro settles between you once again, and you grab his face. His eyes glistened, his hot breath on your skin as he leans in closer. Your thumb brushes against the tiny white scar on his nose. “You've marked me forever,” he chuckles, as he cradles your head and kisses you, his nose brushing against yours. 

You grab his length and give him a slow, steady stroke from base to tip, then back down. His mouth leaves yours as his dick twitches in your firm grasp, causing him to groan involuntarily. The pace of your hand up and down his length never picking up or slowing down, instead maintaining the same teasingly slow pace.

“Are you sure?” he whispers softly.

“Yes.” 

Pedro guides himself over you, the head of his cock slipping over where you’re open, up to rub on your clit so your fingers dig into his shoulders. His nose nudges gently against yours, “I'll be gentle, princesa.” 

“I don't want you gentle. I want you rough.” 

“Is that so?”

You moan, eyes closing. You can't even remember how to breathe, let alone speak. Pedro pushes only his head into you, opening you before pulling out, leaving you contracting around nothing. “I'm going to fuck you roughly, and you'll take it like a good girl, won't you?”

“Yes, P,” you rasp, hands sliding across his back. He's playing with you and knows how to make it almost unbearably good. He pushes deeper into you this time, and you can feel your body resist, protesting that he's too big, too much, and he pulls out. He drags his cock over where you're slick and messy before thrusting forward as far as he can. Your nails sink into his broad shoulders, back arching and pushing your stomach into his. "Oh my God.”

“You feel so fucking good, baby. Like you're made for me." 

Your legs wrap around his hips, ankles crossing at the bottom of his back, to keep him there, deep inside you. His head drops to your shoulders, pressing his lips to your collarbone. You're close, again.

“Please...” you beg, moaning like you've lost all sanity, his mouth pulls away slightly, his breath hot against your skin. "Please what?" he asks, his voice low and husky. 

“More, please, I need more."

The way Pedro's fucking you right now borders on dangerous, making you question lots of things—things you'd rather not think about right now, as he reaches for your hand and places it on your lower stomach. “Feel that?” 

You're not sure who moans louder: you when you realize why he's put your hand here, or Pedro when your walls clench involuntarily around his cock at the sensation. Your entire body tightens as you cry out, coming undone once again. 

He presses his lips against your forehead and rolls you over, his cock still buried inside you. 

“Pedro…that was…” you pant, body on top of his. “Did you come?”

He smirks. “Not yet, because you're gonna ride me now.” 

Despite the fact that your body is weak and spent, the simple thought of being on top of him is enough fuel to make you feel a surge of energy. You straddle his hips, feeling his hardness against you, and sinking down on his dick. 

“Like this?” you ask as you begin to move your body in sync with his, Your hips swirl and grind down, and Pedro's face is filled with pleasure. “Yes, mi amor. Just like that.” 

Every rock of your hips and the way Pedro's pushing into you are the perfect rhythm. His hands grip your hips so tight, you're pretty sure it'll leave bruises for days. You lean down, his mouth close by your ear, as he fucks into you, hearing him whisper things only you get to hear. “you feel so good, baby, taking my cock so fucking well.”  

Everything is so overwhelming—your body responding to his every thrust and word. It's a moment of pure ecstasy, and you never want it to end. Collapsing onto his chest, your fingers reach up to grip his hair. The satisfying sound of slapping skin echoes through the room, and you're suddenly glad there's no one in the house. 

Pedro slaps your ass as you're still rocking back against his thrust. “You're gonna cum for me again, baby?” 

“Yes, yes, yes!” you moaned as your body trembled with pleasure, mouth crashing into his, squeezing him so tight he can't hold back, and you feel him spill into the condom. He curses out your name as he's twitching and spasming inside you.

The post-sex haze settles over you both as you lay there, catching your breath and basking in the afterglow. After a couple of minutes, Pedro finally slips out of you and heads to the bathroom. You manage to get up, body aching. As you gather your clothes from the floor and dress up, he emerges from the bathroom, his face puzzled.

“What are you doing?” 

You chuckle, “Leaving.” 

Of course you didn't want to leave, but since you agreed this was just sex and nothing more, staying sounds like a dangerous situation.

There's no need to make this situation more complicated than it already is, even if you gaslight yourself into thinking this is fine as long as you're both on the same page. 

“No,” he interjects. “Stay.” 

“Pedro, we said—"

“I know what we said, but stay. Just for tonight.” 

You give him a warning look, and he gives you the same look back. “It'll make me feel dirty if you leave." you burst out laughing, and his face turns red. How's this the same man that just minutes ago was whispering the filthiest things into your ear?  

“Okay, I'll stay.”  

The next morning, you woke up to an empty bed and no signs of Pedro. If you weren't lying on his bed, legs hurting like you ran a marathon, and your body wrapped in his warm blankets, you would have thought it was all a dream. Because in your dreams is the only place you are together, it's where you come home to him and he comes home to you. 

You could still feel his hands moving over your skin, his breath on your neck, and the way he whispered in your ear, making you feel like the most loved person in the world. 

Except it wasn't lovemaking; it was just sex. 

The warmth of the hot chilean sun spilled through the bedroom window, casting a golden glow on the walls and illuminating the dust particles that danced in the air. The distant sound of soft music and laughter from downstairs made you smile as you sat up against the headboard. 

The sound of the door opening interrupted your thoughts, and you looked up to see Pedro wearing the coziest looking sweater, his dark hair all over the place, and presumably a cup of coffee in his hand. “Good morning, solecito,” he says sitting down next to you. "I made you a cup of coffee, just the way you like it." 

You take the cup from his hand, fingers touching. “It can't possibly still be morning,” you rasp, voice still hoarse. 

“No, it's not," he tells you. “It's 2:30pm.” 

The fear in your face is palpable. “Fuck, did I miss the gift exchange?” you blurt out.

Pedro's pursed lips and guilty expression made it clear that you, in fact, missed the happiest time of the day. “No...” you dragged out, “Why didn't you wake me up?!” you demanded, hitting him on the shoulder.

“I didn't want to disturb your sleep, you looked so peaceful," he replied with a sheepish grin. "But if it makes you feel better, everyone loved what you got them." 

You groan in response. “I hate you so much.”

“Are you always this mean when you wake up?" 

You shrug, bringing the cup to your lips. “Eh, only when I have to deal with people who make me miss the fun part of Christmas." 

“Let's talk about how my dad got the better gift, by the way,” he tells you, moving his hands energetically. “And how I'm definitely not jealous at all.” 

“I had to impress him, and you can never go wrong with a Rolex,” you remark with a grin. “Plus, you deserve it after doing the most evil thing you could do to me.” 

“You mean caring for your wellbeing and letting you rest after the very... eventful night you had?” he says teasingly. “Shut up,” you reply, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him. In true Pedro fashion, he dramatically dodges the pillow and grins slyly, "You can't silence me that easily."

“I have other ways,” you quickly reply.

Oh, how you love to play with fire. 

Pedro raises an eyebrow and chuckles, “Is that so?”

You hum. The tension is palpable in the air as you look into his eyes, trying to read his face. You wonder if he can hear the rapid beating of your heart. 

“Wanna see what I got you?” he asked, breaking the silence that had settled, his eyes still on you. 

“Dying to,” you say, pretending not to notice how he changed the subject, setting the coffee mug on the nightstand, “but first I need to shower before I go downstairs.”

“No need,” he reaches for his front pocket, pulling out a small wrapped package. You eagerly take it from him, eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Espero que te guste.”

Tearing the paper off and opening the black box, you find a beautiful necklace with a delicate gold chain and a small emerald pendant. “Now I feel like an asshole,” you say, immediately regretting getting him a bunch of funny socks. Your eyes are still fixed on the necklace. 

Pedro laughs, your favorite sound in the world, “Hey, I love my socks. You didn't have to get me so many though,”

“I didn't know which ones you'd like better, so I got you a bunch of ‘em,” you say, a hint of embarrassment in your voice. “This is so beautiful," 

“It's your favorite gemstone," he says softly, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, everything is okay.

You rush forward to embrace him, catching him off guard by the way he chuckles and says oh. He wraps his arms tightly around you, and you nuzzle into his neck, feeling the soft fabric of his sweater and the familiar scent of his cologne. “Thanks so much, P,” you say, voice drowning on his skin.  

“Merry Christmas, mi amor."

No strings attached, spontaneous, fun, and only while you're here. That's what you and Pedro agreed upon when you decided to have sex five nights ago. But the way he has you pinned against the shower wall and making your legs tremble with pleasure right now has you thinking of a way to make him not want to do this with anyone else.

The slick, wet sounds of Pedro's fingers pumping in and out of you filled the bathroom as you moaned in bliss. “Can you be a good girl for me and be quiet?” his nose brushes against yours, “We don't want them to hear us, do we?” 

You shake your head, blown away, feeling suffocated, as he drags two fingers over your swollen clit. Your jaw sags as the pleasure floods your body as he applies more pressure to it, causing you to grumble in pleasure. As two fingers slide into you, deliciously stretching you, he covers your mouth with his, absorbing your satisfied moan.

He pulled his mouth away from yours, and the water slipped through his hair, dampening it and sticking it back on his forehead. "Open your mouth," he says, a glint in his eyes as you look at him, bewildered. He presses two fingers against your tongue and the sweet-salty taste fills your mouth as you suck on his fingers. “See how fucking good you taste.”

You hum, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I need to feel you inside me."

Pedro lets his hand wander around your hips and slowly drags it down, lifting your leg and securing it around his hip. He took the space between your thighs, aligned himself with your entrance, and pushed in, giving you a split second to adjust before pulling out and thrusting back in.

He was moving faster, and you felt like a ragdoll in his arms, so euphoric from your high that he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to you and you'd gladly accept it. 

“F-faster, please,”

You've had sex in a variety of positions over the last few days, but there was something about this position and the access it provided that you found incredibly satisfying. His wet, solid chest pressed against yours, his hand tight against your thigh as he buried himself deep within you.

Pedro let out a low groan, one you were all too familiar with by this point, indicating that he was about to finish. His hips trembled and he let out a final grunt, his breaths ragged and heavy as he came inside of you, mouths meeting in a kiss. 

The two of you stood there, still in that proximity for a moment, full of love and softness because above all else, he was your best friend. 

“Can I wash your hair?” 

“Only if you let me wash yours after,” he replies, reaching for the shampoo bottle.

“Deal.” 

Since they had a low-key Christmas consisting mainly of hot chocolate, fuzzy sweaters and movies, the family decided to plan a big New Year's Eve celebration to make up for it. Which prompted you to take a quick trip to the city yesterday in search of a dress because you hadn't packed anything fancy. 

Pedro insisted that you didn't have to stress over that, to which you obviously objected.

“Sorry, but I'm not taking fashion advice from someone who has like three t-shirts and a pair of jeans,” you said, scrolling through your phone in search of stores. “You wound me, baby,” he replied, putting a hand on his chest in mock pain. “But if you insist on shopping, let me take you.”

“No, you still have to help Javi with the party,” you said, getting up from the the couch. “I'll drive there, and I'll take Pedro and Bruno with me.”  

Pedro looked at you slowly, processing your statement, looking uncertain.

“Google Maps is a thing, and we'll be fine. Now give me your keys.”

“I like it when you're bossy,” he said, his voice lowering with a hint of a smile. “They're on the counter."

And thanks to the heavens, you decided to make an effort and find something suitable for the occasion because they went all out. 

The bass pounded through the walls as the guests danced and laughed, enjoying the party. The colorful decorations and delicious food made it a night to remember.

“Oh my god, they're gone,” Javiera groans, referring to the tray of now empty lemon bars that were apparently the highlight of the dessert table. “I wanted another one!” 

“I made another batch, I hid them in the oven,” you quickly tell her, feeling a little proud of yourself over the fact that people were enjoying what you made. “I'll go get them.”

“I will come with you.”

Once you both reach the empty kitchen, you go straight to the oven, pulling out the tray of lemon bars and setting it on the kitchen island. 

“Thank you for taking Pedro and Bruno out yesterday, by the way."

"I had so fun much with them. They're great boys and even better fashion advisers,” you tell her, gesturing to your burgundy dress. 

“Glad to know I've taught them well,” she says laughing. 

As you cut the bars into perfect squares, Javiera grabs one and takes a bite, savoring the tangy sweetness. "These are amazing, you should consider selling them," she exclaims, closing her eyes in content. 

You smile. “In another lifetime, I own a bakery in a small town with a living unit attached to the top. I have a beautiful green kitchen, and I don't feel the need to prove myself to people."

Javiera gives you a warm smile as you grab the powdered sugar. “You know,” she says reluctantly. “I see things and I feel things,” you stop what you're doing to look up at her, confused. “My brother's just scared.” 

Confusion is quickly replaced with clarity as you realize where she's going with this. You open your mouth to say something, but she shuts you down. “He's created this wall to protect himself, he's been through a lot, and he has convinced himself that this is enough, that he doesn't need more, but I know better.” 

A sigh leaves your lips, all of those feelings bubble up until you can't get a good breath, until you’re drowning. She continues, “I have seen you two together, friends don't look at each other like that." 

You know that she's right, but things aren't so simple. Not when it comes to this. 

“Maybe in another lifetime," is all you tell her, grabbing the lemon bars and heading out of the kitchen. 

•••

The backyard is a wonderland of string lights and bunting, the air is filled with the sound of laughter and music as people dance under the stars. You were lost in conversation with Pedro's father. He shared more stories of his youth, what got him to pursue medicine, and how he met Pedro's late mother, leaving you feeling nostalgic for a time you never knew. 

He catches you looking away, follows your gaze straight to Pedro, and smiles knowingly. “I hope you have a good flight tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” you say, blushing a little at your own transparency. “Thank you for everything, really.”

“We hope you come back soon, It was a pleasure to have you,” he tells you, placing a hand on your shoulder, reassuring you. He walks off, pausing for a moment to talk to Pedro. Smiles were exchanged, and then he continued his way.  

Pedro looks exceptionally good tonight. Hair perfectly styled, white shirt perfectly stretching over his back. You drink up his movements as he approaches you, a smile plastered on his face.

“Who did your hair?” you ask him, knowing damn well this was someone else's doing because he didn't know how to do it. “My sister,” he replied, chuckling. 

“She's doing the Lord's work,” you tell him, folding your arms, feeling exposed by the way he's staring. It's comical that you feel this way, as if he hasn't seen you naked for the past week. 

“I'm gonna have to hire someone to do my hair at all times if you like it this much.”

“I like it either way,” you admitted, "but I just think it looks extra good when it's styled like this." 

His mouth splits into quite possibly your favorite of his various smiles, the one that makes it look like there's a secret tucked up in one corner of his mouth. “Dance with me?”

“Always.” 

You take his hand and pull him to the deck, beneath the twinkling lights and away from the crowd, while the Bee Gees' “How Deep Is Your Love” plays like the universe just wants to mock you. Pedro folds your hand up in his warm palm, and you rest your cheek against his shoulder, closing your eyes to focus on how this feels. 

It feels right, it feels perfect, and it feels like it's gonna end. 

He nestles his mouth into your hair and breathes you in as you sway. His sister's words ring in your ear once again: My brother's just afraid. 

You allow yourself to imagine this feeling lasting. A world within a world just for you and Pedro, where people just let you both be. Where you belong to each other. And then you invite reality forward to change the story. 

You're working all day, taking endless flights to different locations, because you're trapped in a cycle of wanting to do more and never feeling like it's enough. Pedro exhausted from long days of shooting, press, taking endless flights, and getting pulled down by gravity. 

Unaswered texts. Missed calls. Grief. Hurt. Distance. Missing each other. Fighting. Falling apart. 

And you realize you're afraid too and this can never be.

“Pedro.”

There's a lengthy silence. His voice is a raspy, growly mutter. “I know. But don't say it.”

You don't look at each other. You just need to hold on to each other because if you look, you'll see that this make-believe game is over. You both feel the warmth of each other's embrace and the unspoken words between you. The silence is comforting yet suffocating.

His arms squeezed around you as everyone started to countdown. Cheers filled the air. Fireworks broke out over the sky in a thousand different colors. He tells you happy new year, and you say it back, never letting go. 

Even though you never said it to each other, you both knew. The love was there, and it didn't change anything. 

Maybe in the future, maybe in another lifetime.

Reblog or like if you enjoyed it, thank you for reading :) (i know this ending feels like this is it for them HOWEVER i will be making several other parts because i can't stop writing about this lol)

[lilcriceta]

I've been going crazy with Collector AU (by @cutepotatook) lately and I made this babi :> I want to show her off a bit :>

My English is very bad so please don't criticize me if you find any wrong grammars or words ;v;

★ My baby is Collector! Astray. She is a 10 year old little girl :>

★ Her design is slightly based on Collector Y/n's design ;v;

★ Ngl when Astray has great affection or admiration for these two people :>

★ Anyway, Layra by @softlantern :>

★ About Astray's lore, she was born as a creation of God. From childhood, she was always pampered and cared for very carefully by them (God in A's universe has no defined gender). Because of that, she has a great love for her God and is very attached to them like a child would do to its mother.

★ Until one day, the God created new creations, took care of their new children and gradually spent less time with Astray. At first she didn't mind much, but gradually she had a hunch that God was probably spending too much time with her new siblings. One time she asked for a hug from the God, they ignored her, making her feel a bit sad. Even though she told herself that everything was okay, a part of her was harboring jealousy. Astray's jealousy grew stronger and stronger as she observed the children being lovingly cared for and cherished by the God, she could not hold back her jealousy.

★ When she couldn't stand it anymore, she committed a heinous crime. She lured another of her siblings to a secluded place, and with a weapon in hand, she used it to vent her anger brutally on that child. Whatever comes must come, Astray's crime was discovered by the God. They were angry and punished her by causing her body to be tormented in extreme pain, her soul to pieces, she lost all her memories, was banished to a terrible place and forgotten by everyone (the two pictures above are when Astray was banished to the terrible place called The Void Realm). The little girl was banished there with many bleeding wounds in the shape of sparkling stars shining on her body, she was completely exhausted.

★ The Void Realm where she was banished to was not a good place. It is a place where there is no sun, not a single ray of light, it can be said with certainty that nothing like that exists. The Void Realm is a space covered in pitch black (the whole sky is black, the surface is only black water). Due to her exhausted state, she was unconscious there for an unknown amount of time (but let's just say it was a long time). Luckily, she was found by Collector! Wally was in a state where her body was floating on the water. Then Collector took Astray home and let Helper! Wally takes care of her wounds while he tries to put the pieces of her soul back together. The two of them took care of the little girl until she woke up, letting her live in the Collector's mansion :>

★ This is just a silly little comic where the duo encounters someone who wants to harm the little girl :> The truth is that Astray falls asleep very easily when she is in someone's embrace, no matter how big or small the embrace is, she will still fall asleep. Collector and Helper often witness such things, but I think they will simply put her to bed😭😭😭

★ A small fun fact is that Collector often calls Astray by cute nicknames like: Little Dove ; My Angel ; Little one ;... when she got used to life here. As for Helper, he simply calls her by her real name ;v; As for Astray, she often calls Collector Mr. Collector and Mister (she is used to using honorifics, a habit when she used to live in heaven) and with Helper, she calls him Mister or Mr. Blueberry (she calls him exactly what she thinks of him :P)

★ Woof the family trope so much hmu- I think Collector, Helper and Astray fit the family of three, the warm and happi one🥹🥹🥹 (don't mind me, I'm being silli now���😔😔)

[runespoor7]

hiii! for the ask game, an au where jc gets de-aged post-canon to his freshly traumatized 17 year old self? playing happy family in cloud recesses, wwx is brutally pulled out of his ‘the past is in the past’ bubble when he finds out. for extra knives, maybe wn tells him

1. I think it should be JL, and not WN, who tells WWX. JL is invested in JC (and in JC and WWX’s relationship)! WN is mostly invested in #getwreckedSLJ.

WWX doesn't really understand what JL expects of him - WWX’s heart leaped when he understood the content of JL’s letter, and his belly twisted as though he was going to be sick, but he managed to calm down enough to write a reassuring letter back to JL. (Surely that was what JL expected, right?) WWX had to sit on his own hands to keep from doing something stupid like grabbing a sword and flying off, and then he had to ask to LWJ to distract him, because it keeps buzzing, buzzing under his skin.

There's no new letter from JL. WWX forces himself to think it means everything went back to normal. And makes himself distracted (he loves his husband!) before his mind trips down the path of what if not. (JL wouldn't write then. He'd show up.)

2. There’s no second letter but JL shows up. WWX, who's been thinking that there was no reason for JL to come but if things had gone worst with JC, doesn't know what he looks like when he sees JL and doesn't really register the sound of people sliding their swords out.

“You have to come, why didn't you come! I had to leave jiujiu because you weren't coming, and I'm going to have to return to Jinlintai once I’ve brought you back, so grab your things, shibo. Oh, you don't need to take much, LP will put you up with what you need. What matters is going back so jiujiu can see you.”

JC is alive. JC is alive. Once the news break through the dull rushing sound in WWX’s ears, tension he didn't know had frozen his body seeps away.

The Jin disciple accompanying JL puts his sword away, under the misapprehension that WWX isn't ready to leave right away. LWJ says WWX’s name and presses his arm, and WWX nods fiercely. No time to waste, is there? Now JC wants him there.

3. There’s a disciple of YMJ as a welcoming committee when they fly down, or maybe two; WWX doesn't pay attention, he leaves JL and LWJ to deal with them - “hey, wait!” JL yelps, “do you even know where you’re going?”

WWX’s feet slow, stop. LP is changed. WWX isn't even sure JC left the infirmary where it once was.

JL catches up with an annoyed, worried huff. He sounds just like JC. “Here, this way.”

4. JC looks– JC looks.

WWX’s legs give up from under him.

JC looks at him with an intense frown, features almost twisted in desperation - WWX’s name on his lips. WWX scrambles on the ground, knees banging on the polished wood, fingers feverishly untangled as he reaches for the long-lost shape of WWX’s shidi, crumpled as discarded hopes, slight as a memory.

“You– why are you here?” JC's words fall like stones on WWX’s bones before WWX can reassure himself JC’s real. “They told me you live in Gusu. You don't even look like yourself, why did you come back?”

How like JC! One thousand words to cut through WWX like one thousand blades. WWX ignores him, fists his hands in JC's robes, presses his face against JC’s thighs. He needs to feel the warmth of JC’s body, make sure he’s not a ghost, not a dream.

JC's hand on his shoulder, shaking. WWX is suddenly reminded of JC’s hands pushing him down, this same JC throttling him. It feels like the last time they touched, did JC ever touch him after that, did WWX let him?

5. “I’ll fix it – I promise, JC, I’ll make it right,” WWX breathes, recklessly, helplessly. How easy it is to fall back into these old, dizzying habits!

JC’s eyes are full of shattered distrust and cloudy hopes, like he’s been told WWX lies, like he still believes WWX first.

[junkdrawerfics]

Swan Sisters (Part 1)

Jasper Whitlock X Reader

Bella Swan and Sister!Reader focus

Request:  Hello :D, I did like to make a request where Jasper's mate is Bella's older sister that lived with Charlie instead of going with her mother, so she was turned into a vampire even before Bella comes back so when she moves to Forks the reader avoids Bella for some time.

Note: I have attempted, though it definitely ran away from me! Part 2 coming soon, because I felt like it was getting too long. I really loved this request, and I hope I'm doing it justice.

Word Count: 3962

Warnings: None that I can think of! Maybe a bit jumpy, also does not really follow the book timeline, so apologies to any hardcore fans out there! There's gonna be discrepancies.

---

“Bella’s gonna come live with us for a while.”

“What?”

Your head shoots up, eyes impossibly wide as you stare at Charlie, your father.

“Yup. Your mom’s hitting the road with Bill, so Bells is going to come stay here,” Charlie explains as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“His name is Phil, dad,” you snort, though you still can’t wrap your mind around the news.

“Close enough,” he grumbles as he goes back to his paper.

You let out a heavy sigh, an old habit, and wring your fingers together.

This is really not good. Really really not good. 

You haven’t seen your younger sister since you were turned. It’s hard enough being around Charlie, you had to go on a month long “roadtrip” to adjust, which was actually just a month at the Cullen’s Alaskan home with Jasper. It’s easier when you’re with him, since he helps keep you in control. Everything is easier with Jasper by your side.

But you can’t have him at your side all the time here, in your home. Charlie wouldn’t like that. You cope for the most part, since you just graduated and work from home. Billy and Jake are the only ones who visit, and they don’t exactly smell all that great. Besides them, it’s still a struggle to be around other humans, and the thought that you might hurt Bella? It makes your chest hurt.

“I’m going for a run,” you mumble, throat tight, and you can’t tell if it’s thirst or anxiety. Either way, the buzzing under your skin is only getting worse the longer you do nothing.

“Take some mace with you, there’s been some weird animal activity in the woods recently,” Charlie calls as you head for the door.

“Sure thing.”

You tuck the canister of mace into your pocket despite knowing how pointless it is. You could handle anything in the woods with your bare hands, but if it helps Charlie feel at ease, you might as well.

You get a few paces from the house before you take off like a bullet. The forest whips by, blurry and focused all at once. Every deer, every squirrel, every spider, you can feel it, hear it as clearly as you can hear your feet pounding against the ground. And you can hear voices ahead of you as you near the glassy house tucked deep in the forest.

Alice must have seen you coming, because Jasper is waiting on the doorsteps, dark eyebrows set in concern, jaw tense. You come to a stuttering stop in front of him, practically falling into his arms when he opens them for you. The moment they wrap around you, all the anxiety, the worry, the fear, dims into a low hum, replaced with something warm and comforting and so Jasper.

His question rests heavily in the silent moment you take to compose yourself, to just breathe in his scent. Old books and gunpowder. He hasn’t touched a gun in ages, but somehow it lingers, and you love it. It reminds you that everything turns out for the better, just like you and him.

“Bella’s coming to stay with us,” you confide into his neck, fingers curling in his sweatshirt.

Jasper’s arms tighten just a fraction around you. “You’re scared.”

“More like terrified,” you breathe and pull back to look into his eyes, golden just like yours, like the sun. If you didn’t feel so much like crying, you’d bask in it, but you can’t do either now, and all that comes out is your voice, broken and shaky, “I don’t want to hurt her, Jas. She’s my little sister. I can’t hurt her.”

“You won’t,” Jasper insists softly, hands coming up to hold your face, fingers cool and smooth against your cheeks.

“How can you be sure?” 

“Because, darlin’, you care too much. Under this fear, you’re all…stubbornness.” The corners of his lips quirk up. “But if you’d like, we could take another trip, jus’ you and me. I hear Brazil’s nice this time of year.”

You shake your head, “As much as I love the sound of that, cowboy, I don’t think my dad will be such a fan of me disappearing again.”

“That’s a shame, I sure wouldn’t mind seein’ you-”

“Jas.” You narrow your eyes, and the vampire smirks.

“Yes, darlin’?”

“Let’s stay on topic, shall we?” You chirp, resisting your own urge to smile.

“My apologies, ma’am.” Jasper gives you a mock bow and takes your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles, eyes dancing with mirth as he looks up at you.

This does get you to smile, “You are ridiculous, mister.”

“And you’ve calmed down.”

You pause, check in with yourself. Jasper always seems to be more aware of your feelings than you are thanks to his ability. And he’s right, you do feel calmer. Your mind is clearer and the urge to run has dimmed. The worry is still there though.

You can’t let her figure out what you’ve become, or what the Cullens are. You don’t want to leave Forks, after all, and you can’t leave Charlie behind. So you’ll just have to make sure she doesn’t figure it out. Shouldn’t be that hard, right?

---

The moment Bella steps into the house, you realize just how wrong you are.

The scent of fresh blood hits you like a truck, or perhaps something worse considering you could handle a truck now. A werewolf maybe. It makes you falter, chest completely freezing as you stop breathing all together.

You were very, very wrong.

“Hey, Tinkerbell,” you greet her, forcing every bit of warmth into your voice despite the pain creeping up your throat.

Bella rolls her eyes, but a smile pulls at her lips as she sets her suitcase down, “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Sorry, but it’s a forever thing, hun,” you chirp and move to give her a quick hug. She accepts it far too awkwardly, which you’d tease her for any other day, but you’re more focused on putting some distance between you. “So, how was the trip?”

Your sister looks at you for a moment, something unreadable in her eyes, which makes you shuffle your feet out of habit. Did she notice the cold skin thing? You’d put on several layers though, and you’ve both always run cold. Maybe your eyes? No, no you’re wearing the contacts. 

“You look different.”

Crap.

You feign innocence, casting her a confused glance, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know…”

“Your sister’s on a big health kick, she’s looked different since she started.”

Thank God for Charlie.

“Health kick?” Bella raises an eyebrow at you, far too smug for your liking.

“All you’re nagging finally paid off,” you huff, secretly relieved.

“Not on me,” Charlie points out, almost proudly.

This takes most of the attention off of you thankfully, as Bella turns to chastise your father and they fall into an all too familiar debate. She’s still the same Bella, and Charlie is still Charlie. You’re the only one who’s changed.

Something twinges in your long-still heart.

You don’t regret your decision, you could never regret choosing Jasper, but looking at your family, you can’t help but realize how temporary this will all be. While you will end up disappearing with some elaborate story, they’ll keep living, keep aging. They’re human and you’re not anymore.

Another breeze catches Bella’s scent, the fire in your throat flaring back to the front of your mind. You swallow dryly.

Focus, (Y/n), focus.

Without a sound, you busy yourself grabbing Bella’s bags and taking them to her room. It’s all you can do to stop the hunger from taking you away. It’s like you didn’t just feed a few hours ago, like you haven’t fed in weeks. You haven’t felt this bad since you first turned.

If only Jasper was here. It’d be so much easier if you could just tuck yourself into his chest, forget the world for even a moment. But then he’d be struggling just as much as you are. You could never ask that of him.

So you tuck yourself into your room, shouting down the stairs that you have some work to do. Even when Billy and Jacob drive up in the truck Charlie bought for Bella, you merely perch at the window and watch on. Billy must feel your gaze because he glances up to you, his lips pinching into a thin line when your eyes meet.

Is it even possible for someone to look more disapproving? You can’t imagine it, looking down at Billy right now. To think, the man used to be like a second father to you. And then you turned, and suddenly you were on opposite sides of a longstanding war.

You miss him, and Jacob. So much.

All that’s left of that relationship is a curt nod, a small sign of respect, before Billy turns back to Charlie as if nothing happened. At least you know he won’t say anything. That would hurt Charlie more than you.

With a soft sigh, you watch as Bella hops into her truck. She leans forward, obviously looking for something in the house. You lift a hand, catching her attention. Bella sends you a relieved smile, waving back, before she shifts into gear and backs out of the driveway. Off to school, you guess.

You take a deep breath, letting the clean smell of your room fill your senses. It helps sooth the pain in your throat, enough that you can think a little clearer.

You need to stay as far away from Bella as possible. At least, for the time being, until you get used to her scent. She’ll probably notice, your sister has always been more perspective than you give her credit for. After all, it’s no diet that’s changed the way you look. 

You’ll just have to be even more careful.

---

“What?”

You blink owlishly, glancing between Jasper and the rest of the coven to Edward, who looks more nervous than you’ve ever seen him look. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look nervous.

“She’s his singer,” Alice explains softly.

“Bella?”

“Yes.”

“My sister?”

“...Yes.”

An indescribable feeling burns in your chest as you cast another glare towards Edward.

I’m going to kill him.

“I didn’t do anything!” He exclaims, holding his hands up defensively.

“She’s my sister, Edward,” You growl, temper simpering.

“It’s not like I have a choice in the matter,” he snaps back.

You lunge for the man, only stopping when a pair of arms circle around your waist like iron bars. You snarl, struggling against the bonds, clinging to the anger burning in your chest when a flood of calm water rushes in to wipe it away.

“Let me go, Jasper,” you bite out, but his grip only tightens.

“Calm down.” His voice is firm, his ability cloaking you further with calm calm calm.

You grit your teeth, eyes clenching as you shake your head, as if that can rid you of his powers. You don’t want to be calm. You want to tear Edward limb from limb. Every morsel of your being is screaming at you to protect your sister, protect your family, even though you know Edward would never hurt someone.

It’s impossible to hold out long against Jasper’s ability though. You’re one of the few that actually can resist, if only for a short time. But eventually, you have to give in. You slump back into Jasper’s hold. The last strands of your fury melt away, soothed when your mate presses a kiss to your temple with a low hum.

With one final deep breath, you turn back to Edward, “So, what are you going to do?”

“I can’t stay here,” he murmurs, voice tight, “Not with what Alice has seen. I’ll go to the Denari, stay with them for a while.”

“For how long?”

“However long it takes.”

You purse your lips and nod, “Be safe. And don’t be long okay? I may want to kill you now, but I’ll miss you.”

Edward flashes a snarky grin your way before nodding to the rest of his family and disappearing to go tell Carlisle. The others disperse as well, probably wanting to occupy themselves after such a crazy day. You huff softly. 

It must be difficult for all of them to be separated from him, since they’ve been together for so long. Even after just a few years, you’ve come to love Edward like the brother you never had, which makes you feel all the more conflicted about all of this.

Instead of facing it, you turn to Jasper and wrap your arms around his waist, chin propping against his chest as you gaze up at him,“How did you feel today? Everything okay?”

“Besides the constant concern from my siblings?” He sighs, and you brush your fingers comfortingly along his jaw. Jasper leans into your touch, kind of like a content cat. “I find myself still struggling with certain…urges.”

You hum softly, “I hope you’re not ashamed of that.”

Jasper perks a brow at you.

“I just mean that you should keep in mind how hard you’re working,” you elaborate, “Give yourself credit for that, Jas. You may have to work twice as hard as them, but you’re doing so well. I mean, look at us. You knew me for years as a human, and I know how hard that was for you, but you never, ever hurt me.”

The blond purses his lips, glancing between your eyes for a silent moment. It’s only when he feels your sincerity, a feeling akin to a warm blanket on a cold day, that the tension drips from his shoulders.

“You really are something, darlin’,” he murmurs, lips pulling into a slanted grin as he ducks down to press a kiss to your lips, “Worryin’ about me when you’re facin’ your own problems.”

“Well, I can always just come here when Bella’s home, you’re stuck in that school. I’m sure she’ll notice me avoiding her, but that’s better than her ending up dead, right?” The words send a pang through your chest.

“Based on today, I’d say your need to protect her far outweighs your thirst, sweetheart,” Jasper drawls, a touch of humor in his tone, “You looked this close to killing, Edward.”

“Oh, I would have. If he even touches her, I still might.” Jasper grins amusedly down at you, despite how serious you are trying to be. You set your lips into a stubborn frown to hide your own smile. “Seriously! I need you to keep an eye on him at the school when he comes back, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” You huff and stretch onto your toes to press a kiss to his curled lips. Jasper chases after you as you pull away, but you cover his mouth before he can draw you into anything more. A giggle breaks past your facade when his brows steeple, eyes narrowing at you. “Sorry! But I need to go home, mister. I may have to keep my distance, but goodness knows Charlie can’t cook, and we don’t have food to make anything, so I need to make sure that girl gets something good to eat.”

“You can get there in seconds,” Jasper grumbles through your fingers, grip tightening around your waist as he pulls you even closer.

“Yes, but we both know that I won’t be leaving anytime soon if you start something,” you point out, a teasing smile on your lips, “And it’s not like I’ll be gone long. I’ll come back tonight, okay?”

That’s when the sad puppy look comes out. For being the strong, southern hero type, Jasper is secretly a sucker for some soft attention, and he’s figured out exactly how to get it. He quickly mastered the puppy-eyes once he realized how they weaken your resolve. The little, conniving devil knows exactly how to get to you.

“Don’t give me that look,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut, “Please, Jaz? I promise I’ll come back.”

“...fine.” Jasper relents, you can feel his grin under your fingers. “I’ll be waitin’ for you, darlin’.”

“I love you, Jazzy.”

His laughter fills you with a warmth you no longer have. You’d be a blushing mess if you could, especially when he kisses your palm, all gentle and soft, eyes alight with mischief.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I already was.”

“I swear-”

---

The next week goes by miraculously, somehow, between you avoiding Bella and Edward being gone. You get away with a few lies whenever Bella tries to talk to you.

Oh, I have some work I need to finish tonight.

My boss is about to call, can we talk later?

Sorry Bells, work is just killing me this week.

Each time, when you have to watch her face fall, guilt claws viciously at your chest. It’s not like you want to avoid her. If anything, you wish you could just sit down, spend hours talking, about school, about boys, about everything. But everytime she gets close, the familiar burning feeling comes back. Weaker and weaker each time, thank the heavens, but you still can’t bring yourself to linger.

Bella doesn’t seem too keen on being patient though, as she corners you one evening while you’re cooking dinner.

“Do you know the Cullens?”

Every muscle in your body goes still, but only for a millisecond, before you force yourself to keep moving, breathing, blinking.

“Kind of! As well as most people, at least.” Not exactly a lie. “I knew of them while I was in school.”

“How about Edward?”

Ah. You recognize that tone. The slight interest, a touch of curiosity. 

It’s exactly how you felt when you first learned about the Cullens, when you met Jasper.

“What, are you into him?” You cast her a glance, eyebrow raised teasingly.

“What? No!” Oh, she’s blushing. Now you really have to keep an eye on Edward. “He’s a total weirdo anyways.”

You snort, “Yah?”

“I have biology with him, and he just…I don’t know. He was so weird, and then I caught him trying to change classes after school. I think he hates me, but I don’t know why.” She looks so put out by the idea, an all too familiar pout on her lips.

“I doubt that’s the case, Bells,” you chime, “Edward’s not that kind of guy.”

“I thought you said you barely know him?”

Whoops.

You smile down at your soup nervously, “I don’t, I just meant that he doesn’t seem like that kind of guy. The Cullens are weird, but Dr. Cullen is a kind man. Dad likes him.”

Plus, you know exactly why Edward acted that way, not that you can tell her. It’s far from hatred, you think bemusedly.

“So you don’t think it’s a coincidence? Him asking to leave the class the day I start? Or that he hasn’t come back to school since?” Bella crosses her arms, staring you down with the stubbornness of a bull. She really is Charlie’s daughter.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Tinker Bell. Maybe he just got sick?” You force a smile, despite the pit opening in your stomach from the lie. “Boys are weird, take it from me.”

“Does that mean you have a boyfriend?”

“And dinner’s ready!” You squeak, dancing right past that question, “Could you go tell dad?”

“Sure.” Bella gives you a look that says this conversation definitely isn’t over, but does as you asked anyways.

You breathe a sigh of relief once she’s out of the room.

Of all the things to start talking about, of course she would pick the Cullens. You can’t blame her, you really can’t. When they first showed up in Forks, everyone was inexplicably drawn to the vampires. Not so inexplicably, you guess. You were drawn to Jasper the moment you laid eyes on him. His quiet, almost shy demeanor did you in, and the accent. To this day, you still swoon over that deep, southern drawl.

And now it’s like you’re watching it all from the start. The disappearing. The self-doubt. The intrigue. Except it’s Bella and Edward instead of you and Jasper. 

“So, what’s for dinner, (Y/n)?” Charlie rubs his hands together as he shuffles into the kitchen.

“Tortellini soup, old man. Low sodium, but plenty of chicken, just for you,” You tease as you put a bowl in front of him.

“Dad, does (Y/n) have a boyfriend?” Bella follows close behind, and you can’t help but quawk at her.

“Bella!”

“She sure does,” Charlie snorts as he blows on his soup, “That Cullen boy.”

Bella shoots you a look, something between a glare and something smug. You cringe away, busying yourself with cleaning up. You’re screwed, you’re so screwed.

“Which Cullen boy?” She presses.

“The blond one. Not too bad, that kid.” And Charlie is completely oblivious! He’s supposed to be on your side here!

“I thought you said you barely know them?” Bella prompts, brow raised in accusation.

Think quick, (Y/n).

“They’re a private family, Bells, and you don’t understand how people are here.” You dig into old emotions, one’s you’ve long since buried. Hopefully it’ll make her uncomfortable enough to stop. “When it came out in school that Jasper and I were dating, people were horrible to me. I don’t like talking about it.”

It brings back every pain seeded in your heart. You faced it all. Jealousy, hateful notes shoved into your locker, obscene rumors whispered as you walked down the halls. Everyone you grew up with, everyone you loved, turned on you, just like that. You had no one except the Cullens and Charlie after that.

“I have work to do,” you mutter, grabbing a bowl of soup to pour down your sink later. “Enjoy the food.”

“(Y/n)-”

“I’m sure he’ll come back soon, Bells. Give him the benefit of the doubt when he does.” You give her a gentle, sad smile. “He is a good guy.”

And with that, you disappear upstairs, every step like a heavy weight, pulling you underwater.

It’s not supposed to be this hard. You’re supposed to be able to tell her everything. That’s how it’s always been. Even when your parents divorced, even when they moved to Arizona, you and Bella never drifted apart. You told her every tiny detail of your life.

Until high school.

When it all happened, you were just so…embarrassed. You’re the older sister, you were supposed to be strong, set a good example, show her that she could do anything. But you just ended up drowning, with Jasper as your only source of air.

So you’ll do anything for him, for the Cullens, even if that means lying to your sister. And it’s protecting her too, you remind yourself as you settle down at your desk. The less she and Charlie know, the safer they are from the Volturi.

You can do that, at least. Protect them. Both the Cullens and your family. No matter how many lies you have to tell, or creative answers you have to whip up for Bella’s sure to be unending number of questions, you will protect them.

And who knows! You perk up, trying your hardest to be positive. Maybe this won’t be exactly like you and Jasper. Maybe this is just a passing curiosity that will let up once Edward comes home, and you can forget it all in a week. Eventually you’ll be able to talk to her about Jasper, just without all the bloody details.

Yah. Once she’s safe, from you and the looming threat that comes with this truth, everything will go back to normal. Hopefully.

---

I'm struggling a bit with this one but I'm really enjoying the concept! There's just so many ideas to go with, and I want to write them all! Who knows how far it'll go haha.

Part 2

[meandhisjohn]

News from a crazy mind...

Sherlock, mental health and the support from a fandom.

When Sherlock becomes what the doctor ordered....

100 days lie between those moments.

100 days since I wanted to die.

100 days since I emailed Dignitas.

100 days full of struggle and hope.

100 days later I made it out of hell again.

A handful of people who showed me unconditional love during the hardest setback of my disorder career.

I will love them till the day I die.

And once again the Sherlock world saved my soul before I destroyed it myself.

A fandom full of kindness and support and a detective and a doctor who saved me in more ways than they can ever imagine.

Had a doctors appointment on Friday and I have one hell of a doctor.

Not as good as John Watson but highly supportive of anything that increases my strength.

We talked about a little miracle.

A miracle that sounds so incredibly stupid but it is such a huge thing.

For the past five years I have to take besides my regular medication in mornings and in the evenings a little extra cocktail of meds in the afternoon to keep my extreme nervousness in check.

I'm nervous and tense 24/7 and it takes a toll on my body sometimes.

It makes it very hard to sleep and to find a way to sit still.

So the extra meds are necessary..

Ten days ago I started to listen to Podfics and quickly discovered a new way to enjoy the Sherlock universe.

I'm 43 years old and retired since I was 39 because my body couldn't take the stress anymore.

I have some free times during the day and I made it a habit for the past ten days to listen to Podfics in the afternoon and again at night.

And suddenly I could sleep and, and here comes the miracle..

I forgot to take my afternoon meds.

Even more my body relaxed in a way I haven't experienced in decades.

My body was obviously as surprised as I am because since a few days I have to drink a coffee in the afternoon, otherwise I would fall asleep.

I can only drink coffee without caffeine which tastes awful but otherwise my nervousness goes through the roof and I shake like a leaf.

But now instead of taking an extra dose of anxiety relief pills I take a real good old black coffee full of caffeine after listening to Podfics.

And that sounds incredibly ridiculous but for me it is a miracle because for the first time in over 15 years I feel calm and not because of a chemical reaction but because of a human reaction.

I know @totallysilvergirl had no idea what would happen by telling me about Podfics but I will never forget it!

Back to my incredible doctor who saw the change from a person who was determined to end this endless circle of depression and anxiety to a person who smiles again.

Now he ordered a six months try of daily Podfics ( no joke) to see if my blood levels improves and accordingly my medication can be reduced.

He knows that in the past three years my disorder was always better during my Sherlock highs so he is actually happy about the new development.

Long story short ( too late I know)

Do whatever feels right for you!

Invent your own therapy!

Do what makes you happy no matter how unconventional it might be.

Because you matter!!!!

I attach you my new and exciting Podfic collection for you.

Maybe you will find something you like.

Of course everything is available in Reading form as well.

Be happy in your own, weird, wonderful way.

@keirgreeneyes @discordantwords @a-victorian-girl @bewitched-bullet @lisbeth-kk @whatnext2020 @inevitably-johnlocked @barachiki @babaybo @jobooksncoffee @rey-jake-therapist @missdeliadili @helloliriels @podfixx @johnlocky @johnlockpodficclub @johnlockficclub @peanitbear @strawberrywinter4 @chocolate1elise @kettykika78

[dearmantis]

There's no love like our love

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x wife!Reader

Summary: When the Royal Family finally turns on the Grisha, you find yourself caught in the crossfire. Alone, of course. You're always alone, it seems.

Warnings: murder, death, canonical persecution of Grisha, violence, mentioned death of children, sexual harassment, slutshaming, mentions of sex and cheating, suicidal thoughts, self hatred

Word Count: 6.6k words

Authors' Note: I DID IT! HERE IS YOUR PART TWO FOR A LOST EMBRACE! IT ONLY TOOK 76 YEARS! BUT I GOT IT DONE BEFORE THE END OF APRIL (this is also very not edited, and I'm still not a native English speaker).

Also, funfact: I cut the ending of this, just like I did with part 1. There was a whole other ending, but that was basically just a lot of fluff. I wasn't sure if people would want that from this series/twoshot specifically so I cut it. I can't tell of cutting the ending is a good or a really bad habit.

The title is from Lights are on by Tom Rosenthal!

Part 1: A lost embrace | Masterlist

The universe is filled with light. Billions of beautiful stars, all different sizes and temperatures, burning brightly and sending their energy out into the universe to bring warmth and light.

But there is even more darkness in the universe than there are stars, filling the space between the celestial bodies. An all surrounding nothingness that acts as a playing field for all of the beautiful, weird and wonderful things hiding in the endless sky. A canvas for everything else in the universe that hugs and surrounds all.

And one day, at least according to the most popular theories, the last stars will die and the universe will be entirely engulfed in darkness.

It began with a loud burst of light, and it will die quietly in shadows.

That knowledge used to bring you comfort and a feeling of belonging. The darkness became your new home, a special, safe place right next to your husband, but there is no safety and love to be found in the darkness now.

It was predictable, honestly. You should've known the second Vasily allowed the Darkling to travel Ravka to search of the Sun Summoner with only a few First Army soldiers for protection, but you simply didn't pay attention to the signs, too caught up in your own frustration and bitterness.

He didn't realise it either, it seems, because he simply left without even saying goodbye, leaving you behind to run the Little Palace in his absence. One night you fall asleep next to him, back turned towards him to visibly reject his presence, and the next morning he is gone, his side of the bed made and all of his most important belongings gone. No letter, no announcement beforehand, nothing.

Maybe his head was simply too focused on Alina to even remember that he still had a wife.

It doesn't matter anymore.

You're still awake when they come, three nights after the General left the Little Palace.

You're laying in bed, humming an old lullaby – one of the really old ones that you learned because he sometimes sings them to you when you can't sleep – while working on fixing the embroidery on the kefta of one of the younger students.

The disappearance of the Sun Summoner has led to chaos in all of Ravka, and there hasn't been a calm moment in the palace in weeks. You are forced, just like everyone else, to work until you pass out while keeping up appearances in front of the royal family. Everything needs to be immaculate despite the fact that the whole country is in a state of emergency, so you push small detail work like this into every free second of your day in hopes of doing something good.

You're so focused on your project that you don't even hear them approach your windows from the outside.

They sneak around, quietly taking out the guards until they're sure that they won't meet too much resistance, and then, suddenly, everything is very loud.

You don't remember what happens. Just flashes of memories. Little pieces that simply aren't enough to form a full picture, as if your body simply wasn't able to take it all in. Or maybe it refuses to remember.

Glass shatters, loud and unfamiliar steps echo like thunder through the halls of what was supposed to be your home, men with bad intentions are in your bedroom, in your house, in your garden.

And your husband is nowhere to be found.

The air smells like fire, panic and fear crackling in the air like electricity and the screams of the Grisha you swore to protect as if they were your own children echo through the building and outside.

Shots are fired in the distance, you're on the floor, the barrel of a gun pressed tightly against the back of your head.

There are more screams slicing through the night. You think you hear someone yelling your name, but before you can answer, one of the men who broke into your room slams their heavy gun against your head, and darkness welcomes you into it's familiar embrace.

When you finally wake it's to the sound of a gun shot ringing through the air, and though the bars of your new cage you watch through bleary eyes how one of your fellow Grisha runs away, his bright purple kefta unfortunately doing very little to hide his movements between the trees. You can't tell who it is, not in the dark.

A second shot gets fired. You see how it hits the Durast in the head, his body falling to the ground and staying there, unmoving. Nobody goes to check if he's dead or to drag him off and bury or burn his corpse. It's just left right there, next to a large ash tree.

Someone whimpers and sobs, begs for their life, but you can't take your eyes off the corpse. The way it just lays there, like it's nothing.

You haven't seen an actual battle in centuries. The Darkling is too paranoid to let you go, convinced that his enemies will target you in a fight and take you away from him. The thought alone used to turn his eyes cold and hard like ice, his whole body shaking with anger at the idea of you being in a dangerous situation. You haven't seen death like this, so fast and seemingly insignificant, in forever.

There is no triumph visible in the body language of the soldier that shot the Durast, but no shame either. A job done, nothing more. He doesn't celebrate or pat himself on the back. He just sits back down next to the fire in the middle of the camp and takes a sip of water, like the life he just took was worth less than even the life of a rabbit.

The other guards move to check the handcuffs of the others after that incident, making sure that everything works and no one is able to use their powers. Your heart races so fast it makes you dizzy, the fog in your head thickening and threatening to drag you back into unconsciousness.

It's hard to stay focused enough to take the whole situation in, but you try anyway, tearing your gaze away from the corpse. There are nine cages, including yours, one of them now empty.

The Grisha in the cages are, just like you, handcuffed with their hands far apart. Three of them are wearing their keftas - two of them being Alkemis, and you ask yourself if the Materialki were all still down in the workshops when the raid began - but the others, including you, are wearing whatever you wore to sleep that night. All of you are dirty, and you pray silently that none of them are hurt. It's hard to see with the lack of light. The cages all stand a bit too far away from the fire to truly see much.

The men who guard you, on the other hand, all look like they dressed up for a military parade. Their First Army uniforms sparkle almost, their faces clean shaven or decorated with carefully trimmed beards. This was planned. This whole raid was planned, probably for weeks, and you didn't notice. The idea most likely came up as soon as the General returned from the Fold, and no one ever picked up on it.

It feels like a relic from a time you're supposed to have left behind, a time you didn't even experience and only heard about from the Darkling and on rare occasions his mother.

The First Army doesn't hunt Grisha anymore. The king doesn't put you into cages. They just hate you, insult you, and harass you, but they don't physically harm you anymore. Yet... here you are.

Ravka isn't supposed to be like Fjerda, like Shu Han, like Kerch. The Darkling had made sure of that, worked for this one singular goal for centuries, and dedicated his whole life to it.

The thought of him makes your heart sting painfully, and you suppress the urge to worry for him, to wonder where he is and if he's safe. You have bigger issues than him right now. He's fine. There's no room for argument. He has survived wars and centuries of persecution. This won't kill him. He's probably out there somewhere, completely safe, trying to track down his sun summoner while you rot in this cage alongside the others.

After the handcuffs are checked you watch as four of the five soldiers walk to the cages of the two Alkemi, Ivanna and Ole, and pull them out, the fifth still sitting at the fire and watching the whole situation with mild interest.

You hear one of the guards make a suggestion on how to deal with them, and your stomach turns.

In your mind, you are 12 years old, hiding behind your mothers skirt. Her hand rests on your head, trying to soothe you as you watch with the other people your village how a woman gets dragged out of the cage they kept her in. You remember her face. She works as a seamstress. She gives you pretty ribbons to tie around your wrist or into your hair whenever your mother buys something from her.

The man – was he the mayor? The village head? You don't remember what he called himself – who pulled her out of the cage pushes her to the ground, right in front of a large rock, and motions for someone hiding in the crowd to come closer.

Another man steps forward, the blacksmith, in his hands the biggest hammer you have ever seen.

The woman starts screaming now, her voice breaking under the force of her violent sobs. Her body shakes horribly, and your own shaking hands dig deeper into the material of your mothers skirt.

"Please, please, I swear it. This is a misunderstanding. I did nothing wrong. I swear it. Please, just listen to me," the woman begs while the mayor grabs the thick rope attacked to her handcuffs and pulls her arms and hands to rest on the rock.

The noise the hammer made when it slammed down on her hands haunts you for centuries, just like her screams do.

Just like the screams of the Materialki probably will if you survive this when the guards push them to the ground. The only difference is that the soldiers have no large hammers to break their hands.

You can't move, can't speak, can't do anything, completely frozen in fear while the soldiers hold them down, each of them pressing an arm down onto the cold ground. The two have no chance to defend themselves.

The man at the fire finally stands up slowly, grabbing one of the rocks lining the fire to prevent forest fires, and walks over to the six people on the ground.

You watch him do it. You have to. You failed to protect your Grisha, and the least you can do is witness the horrors they have to go through because of your own mistakes.

Because you should've known. You should've known. Of course the royal family would turn on Grisha. Of course they would send the Darkling away before they raided the Little Palace. He is the last line of defence for the Grisha in this country.

You should've noticed the signs. You should've talked to the General about it, maybe even with Baghra. You should've started to prepare to evacuate the whole Palace, organized a place to hide with food and beds and water.

But you didn't. You didn't because you were too blinded by your own stupid quarrel with the Darkling. This is your fault. Every drop of blood that was shed that night, every bit of pain and suffering that your Grisha experienced, clings to you.

It's all your fault.

When the soldiers are sure that they broke every bone in Alkemis' hands, they put the cuffs back on and throw them back into their cages.

And then they walk back to the fire in the middle of the camp and begin to eat, ignoring the sobbing of the Grisha only a few metres away from them and the corpse still peacefully resting between the bushes and trees.

You wake up the next morning with aching muscles and the knowledge that you probably won't get out of this camp alive. Because as much as you would like to pretend otherwise, these people know you. If Vasily gives the command to have you killed, these men know that you're their target. And he would. You can't even blame him for it. You're the wife of the General, just as much of a symbol for the Second Army as the Darkling. Killing you would be a message to all of Ravka.

They don't treat you much differently than they treat the others, to your surprise. You get starved like the others, glared at like the others, and dehydrated like the others.

You could almost believe that they somehow don't know who you are if it wasn't for the insults.

Every Grisha gets insulted, some more creatively than the others. Especially the two Alkemi get made fun of for their broken, swollen, and discoloured hands by the soldiers, like they aren't the reason why they look like that. Other insults directed at other Grisha in the camp, on the other hand, are overused and boring, like when they asked Lena, an Inferni, where her spark is, why her fire has disappeared.

"I thought Infernis are always so hot-headed? Come on, give us a show!" One of the older men in the camp says to her on your second day awake, and it makes your skin crawl. You wish you could claw those mens eyes out, make them bleed.

But the insults they direct at you, those are personal. They prove that they know exactly who you are despite never saying your name once.

The Darklings slut. That's what you are to them.

His favourite toy. A bedwarmer. A plaything. A whore to entertain him. A distraction from the war. A thing he can let his frustrations out on.

That's who you are in their eyes. Nothing more. Certainly nothing that deserves respect or should be feared. The fact that you and the other Grisha can't use the small science makes them braver.

The worst insults are the ones they come up with after the third day in the cage, right after the soldiers get a quick visit from one of Vasilys messengers, because their words are suddenly no longer insults. They are observations and a horrible, new truth that convince you that their earlier insults are true, working hand in hand with the thoughts and fears you had before any of this even started.

"Don't look at me like that, whore. Everybody, even us fools in the First Army, know how enamoured your husband was with the sun summoner. How many times do you think he fucked her before she ran? Probably did it right behind your back in your shared bed, you stupid thing. I bet she was the last thing he thought of before the guards that accompanied him shot him in the head."

The soldiers celebrate the news of the Darklings death like they just won the wars with Fjerda and Shu Han and tore down the Fold with their bare hands, drinking alcohol and eating freshly hunted deer meat while you and the other Grisha grieve and starve. You don't allow yourself to cry like the others, but you can feel your soul rip itself apart.

You begin to lose yourself after that.

Your sanity runs through your hands like sand, your mind desperate to escape the smell of the Durasts rotting corpse that the soldiers never bothered to remove, the insults, the screams of the other Grisha when they get pulled out of their cages (one a day, always only one a day, like they're trying to drag it out), the desperate hunger that burns in your stomach, the thirst that tears your throat apart, the death of your husband: reality in all it's horrible shapes and colours.

First, you spend a few minutes caught up in a nice memory, like a short conversation in the gardens of the Little Palace, drinking tea and leaning on his shoulder while he tells you about his day. Then the daydreams get longer and take more control over you until you spend days staring at nothing, buried so deep in your own mind that you're no longer aware of what happens around you.

A small part of you hopes that they'll kill you while you're in that state, caught up in the past. Everything is better than reality, and with every second that passes when you're fully aware of your surroundings, that reality becomes more unbearable.

You love remembering the time before Alina the most. You know that her only sin is shining a light onto the lies, destruction, and rot surrounding you, but without her light, you were able to pretend.

You are good at pretending.

The light just makes it harder, and sometimes you slip up and accidentally sink into a more recent memory, your mind racing through different thoughts so fast that you're unable to stop it.

Like how the girl whose kefta you repaired that night, little Bibi, probably ended up dying without it after working so hard to prove to everyone that she earned it. And now her corpse lays somewhere in Ravka with no one to take care of it, to lay it to rest.

The kids are easily the worst thing to remember. Every time you do, it feels like the guilt eats your heart or whatever is left of it right out of your chest, ripping and tearing on the muscle like a wolf on a bone.

How many of them got out of the Palace in time and are now hiding somewhere, probably scared and alone with no one to help them and no idea how to get to other Grisha or back to their families? How many of them are stuck in cages just like you, starving and terrified of the First Army men who are only waiting to get the command to kill them? How many of them didn't even make it out of the Little Palace and died at the hand of the soldiers during the raid?

How many children were buried and burned that night?

Your husband isn't much better to remember either. The words of the First Army soldiers burn themselves into your mind like hot coals. You don't want to think about it. You've never wanted to think about something less in your entire life, but no matter what you do, the pain of losing someone you've known for almost your whole life feels like a knife stuck in your chest.

"... guards that accompanied him shot him in the head."

It's odd, really, how all consuming grief can be even if a part of you hates the person you lost. Almost surreal.

There have always been chapters of your life subtitled with "before the Darkling". There aren't supposed to be chapters subtitled "after the Darkling", not even a single one. It's wrong. It's entirely wrong. He's supposed to be a constant. Something that doesn't move, doesn't change, doesn't leave. He was supposed to be here until the end of everything.

He wasn't supposed to leave you behind. You can't do this without him. You can't lose him. This isn't right.

It's the last piece. The last drop required to convince you that giving up might not be the worst option. If they succeeded in killing the Darkling... what can truly be done anymore? What can you do? You can't free the Grisha in your camp, not with your hands cuffed so far apart from each other that your arms regularly start cramping, and a stomach so empty that it feels like your entire body is trying to collapse in on itself to fill the void. You can't convince the soldiers to free you. You can't save the children and rebuild Ravka into a safe place once more, not alone. You can't do anything on your own. You are nothing.

So why shouldn't you die? Why not join your husbands soul, wherever it may be now? What is left for you to do here? What can you do?

Death haunts your sense of smell and vision. It haunts your mind, and it haunts all of Ravka. Why not let it carry you off? Away from the pain, the suffering, the fear and grief and rot.

There is only more to come. More horrors that linger in the unpredictable future, and no one left to fix it. You certainly can't do it, Baghra - if she still lives, that is - doesn't care enough about others to even attempt to fix anything, and the sun summoner evidently can't do it either. All she can do is shine light on the evil lingering in the dark, but she's not strong or persuasive enough to improve and change the nightmares she exposes.

The Darkling could've done it. He would fight tooth and nail, drench his hands in blood and ash to free the others. He has fought his whole life, after all. He could've done it again.

But you can't. You can't take his position in this war, as much as you wish you could. You can't even get your hands out of your stupid cuffs, no matter how hard you try.

Baghra was right in the end, it seems. You really are too weak to stay at her and her sons side as their equal. You are dust, nothing more.

Now that you're here, stuck in a cage and unable to defend yourself in any way, you ask yourself once more how she and her son could've possibly survived this long. How did they not give up? What do they have that you lack?

"When the entire world hates you and wants you dead, the best thing you can do is live."

That's what she said back then, but you simply don't understand how she found the strength to keep going. You can't find it in you, no matter how much you look. Your whole life is gone. Your friends are probably all in cages or dead. Your husband is dead. Your home is gone. There is nothing left, no reason for you to continue.

Your husband would want you to keep going, a voice in the back of your mind answers, and you can feel the sharp stinging in your chest return at the thought.

You miss him. You miss him so much that it feels like you're being torn apart from the inside. And if you're really honest with yourself, you have to admit that you have been in this state for a while.

All of that anger and jealousy was just your bodies way to avoid facing the fact that you were lonely. No wonder you immediately fell back into routine like a desperate little cat when he finally gifted you some attention after Alina fled. Your entire being was begging to get him back.

And now you will never have him again because you were both too stubborn to simply talk with each other. He will never understand how much it hurt to see him obsess over someone else, and you will never know why you suddenly weren't enough for him anymore.

You will never hear his voice again, or knit him a new scarf for winter, or wash his hair for him after an exhausting day. You will never be comforted by him when you have a headache or watch the first snow of the year cover the grass outside of the Little Palace. You will never fall asleep next to him again, his arms wrapped around you and your face pressed against his chest as his heartbeat and calm breathing lull you to sleep.

He will never hug you again or surprise you with breakfast. He will never help you choose jewelry for an event again, give you his cloak when you're cold, kiss you, laugh at your horrible jokes, or moan your name into your ear, his voice raspy with love and desire while he tries to bring you to another orgasm before his own crashes down on him.

You will never do anything with him ever again.

Turning your head slightly, you stare at the soldiers sitting at the fire, eating some form of stew. You can't smell it. The stench of the decomposing body is too strong, and you wonder how the soldiers can stomach food in this environment.

You can barely breathe on some days without gagging every few seconds. It's so horrible that it drives tears into your eyes.

They talk and laugh about some servant girl, and you silently ask yourself what fate the servants of the Little Palace met. How many of them died that night? How many fled? Did any of them try to help the Grisha that might've fled? And saints, what happened to the Oprichniki?

Slowly closing your eyes again, you pray that the wind changes direction and starts blowing the smell away while you try to think of something that gives you strength.

The first thing that comes to mind is your amplifier.

You haven't thought about that day in a while, not since Alina came to the Palace and your heart and soul drowned themselves in jealousy and hate.

But it's not right to forget something so special. You should remember.

Who else in all of Ravka got proposed to, not with a ring but with a barn owl and a knife?

He has been gone for months, looking for something in West Ravka, choosing to trave through Fjerda and around the Fold to avoid going through it, and the constant worry that he would be discovered keeps you awake on some nights. He sends a letter once a month and promises you over and over that he would be back in the spring, but you still end up surprised when one of your friends drags you out of your bed in the middle of the night and ushers you towards the Generals quarters.

And when you open the doors you find him leaning against his desk, a knife next to him on the table and a barn owl sitting quietly in a cage, large eyes looking at you curiously, but you don't even see those things. Not at first, at least.

You just see him.

"You're back!"

Quickly jumping over to him, you throw your arms around him and press your face against him, a deep laugh bubbling in his chest as he moves to embrace you tightly.

"Careful, my love," he murmurs, his hands finding the back of your neck and pressing you closer to him.

You stay like that for a while, holding each other tightly while he whispers soft words into your ear.

"I'm so happy to see you. I missed you so much, little love. I hope you weren't too lonely without me," he coos, pressing a long kiss onto your head.

You're about to answer him when the bird finally makes himself known. Turning your head quickly you look at it, and the owl turns it's head to the side as if it's trying to do assess you carefully as well, it's dark eyes looking you over a few times. You feel a bit self-conscious in your night dress, but instead of shying away, you decide to let it look.

"Is that what you were looking for in West Ravka?" you ask, gazing back up at him.

"I did a lot of research over the past year, and I think this amplifier would be strong enough," he explains, his voice as soft as a feather.

"Strong enough?"

"To keep you with me. I didn't believe it at first either, but this little bird could give you forever. Time would no longer be able to take you from me. I could keep you for eternity."

Tears well up in your eyes, your hands moving to hold onto the front of his kefta as he reaches over to the knife and holds it out to you.

"You don't have to do it right now. You can get to know the owl and see if it feels right. Think about it for a while. It's a big commitment, after all." His empty hand moves up to cup your face, and the tenderness in his gaze makes your heart race. "If you chose the amplifier, I will stay with you. I will be at your side until the end of everything, I promise it. I will take care of you when you're hurt, hold you when you're sad, and laugh with you when you're happy. I will fight at your side, protect you with my life, and take care of you until I die."

Biting your lip weakly, you look up into his eyes, somehow darker than the night sky. "And if I don't choose to take the amplifier?"

"Then I'll still do all of those things. I will just have less time by your side, but I will cherish that time just as much, sweet girl."

You don't know when it happens because you start to loose track of time after the first week is over, but at some point in a random night one of the soldiers goes into the forest to get fresh water from a nearby river and doesn't return.

You're not conscious enough to notice it, and the soldiers are too caught up in their preparations for tonight's entertainment.

You don't even notice how they move through the camp, their eyes looking at each and every grisha they have, and judging who would be able to provide the most fun tonight. You just wish you were lying on the floor.

If you laid down, you could pretend that the heaviness on your chest is your husbands weight and not a heavy mountain of grief that tries to drag you down into the heart of the world.

He liked to do that. Lay on top of you to make sure that every single centimetre of you touched him in some way. You used to jokingly complain about it, but he never stopped. Every time he knew you needed comfort he would lay down on top of you, his heavy, strong body pressing you deep into the mattress while he talked, either asking questions about your day and whatever might be bothering you, or telling you about his, always carefully pressing small kisses onto your face and neck.

He must've known that his weight comforted you, made you feel safe. You've never wanted to be crushed into a mattress by him so badly in your whole life.

You don't hear it when they discuss if you're weak enough now to remove you from the cuffs. You don't even hear it when they open your cage, the old metal screeching loudly.

You don't realize that anything is wrong until one of the soldiers unlocks the cuffs and your body falls to the floor like a wet sack of flour. A loud groan leaves your mouth, your voice rough from lack of use.

The soldier grabs your ankles and drags you out of the cage, your upper body dragging over the floor. After being hung up for so long, you realise very quickly that you can't move your arms at all. The muscles start twitching as soon as you even attempt to bring them together, and a horrible, sharp tingling sensation makes itself noticeable. You bite your teeth together to stop yourself from screaming out.

A wave of panic crashes over you as soon as you fully understand what's going on, trying to kick the man dragging you closer to the fire, but none of your movements seem to really bother him.

As soon as you're close enough to the fire, someone flips you onto your stomach and buries their hand in your hair to pull your head up. Your back bends horribly, and you hiss out in pain as your eyes find those of the soldier who broke the Alkemis hands with a rock.

He doesn't say anything. He just looks at you, eyes taking in every flinch and twitch in your face.

You stay like this for a few seconds staring at each other, when he suddenly spits directly into your face, a wide grin splitting his face into two a few seconds later before he slaps you. Your head drops to the ground quickly.

"Let's get started. Markus can join us later when he's done," someone says. Three seconds later, before you have time to register what he means, you have a small knife in your back.

A blood curdling scream leaves your throat and tears well up in your eyes. You want to beg, to humiliate yourself even further and kiss their shoes in hopes of escaping this, but the last shred of pride left in you won't let you.

One of the soldiers steps onto one of your hands, twisting his shoe a bit in the process to make it hurt more. Someone else grabs your other arm and twists it behind your back until you scream out once more. This time, you scream your husbands name, unable to stop yourself in time. It's a broken, pathetic sound that echoes through the trees like a gunshot.

You know he won't come, but something about saying his name again feels almost cathartic, so you continue to scream it out with your full heart and soul. With every hit, every kick, and every stab wound, you scream the real name of the black heretic out into the endless night and beg death to bring you to him.

When the first gunshots get fired into the forest, you mistakenly assume that they're shooting at you and tightly close your eyes. Your heartbeat rushes loudly in your ears, and your mind replays the events of the first day when the Durast got shot. You can't even stand up and run. Your whole body is consumed by pain.

This is it, you think. Loud screams pierce through the air, gruelling, blood curling screams that scare you half to death.

Your mind races, trying to quickly find a last memory to remember before a bullet pierces your chest or head and kills you, something sweet and soft and perfect, like your wedding night, or your first kiss, or your-.

A loud scream rips itself out of your throat when a bullet hits you right into your leg. The man who shot it is dead seconds later, torn to shreds by darkness itself, but you don't see it, your eyes still rightly closed as you wait for the next bullet to hit you.

It never comes.

Instead someone yells your name, and you think it sounds familiar.

"Ivan!" the man screams, and a second later, someone carefully turns you onto your back and falls to their knees next to you, pulling your head up into their lap, their large hands cupping your face.

You don't want to die. You're not ready.

"My love, my love, it's me. Can you hear me?," he speaks. Fabric ruffles and something wide is dropped over your shaking, weak form, and your whole body feels warm for the first time in days. A familiar scent enters your lungs, somehow overpowering the stench of rotting corpse and fresh blood.

"Sasha?" Squinting your eyes, you look up, trying to focus on the blurry face hovering above yours. He's easy to recognize. The ink black lines over his face are unique to him, almost out of place in this world, just like him. You want to reach up and touch him, but you can't. Your muscles won't cooperate.

"I'm here, my little love. I'm right here. I found you. And I'm so proud of you. So, so proud of you. And I'm sorry," Aleksander answers. His eyes sparkle like stars, tears rolling down his face and dripping onto yours like raindrops. In the back of your mind, you realize that you've never seen him cry in front of people like this before. Only ever in private. Now his voice is almost breaking, his sobs so loud it drowns out the noise of your own hammering heartbeat. It must be a dream. He would never allow himself to show weakness like this.

Ivan appears next to him like a ghost, his hands covered in blood as he carefully lifts the thick black cloak Aleksander covered you with from your legs to look at the injuries there.

"Sasha," you rasp out again. You want him to hold you so badly, but you can barely speak. All you want is to be held by your husband.

"Right here. I'm so sorry, sweet girl. So sorry. I promised I would protect you, and I failed. I'm so sorry, I will never make that mistake again, I swear. I'll never take you for granted again. I'm so sorry for being late."

You want to respond, to calm him down, but he doesn't give you a chance to talk. He just continues with his panicked, slightly hysterical rambling, his whole body shaking under the force of his sobs.

"I'll take care of you. I'll make sure you're safe, and I will never leave your side again. No one will ever hurt you again."

His thumb strokes your cheek gently, and the love in his gaze almost feels like a punch in the gut. He looks absolutely in love and absolutely devastated as well. "I thought I lost you. I kept looking for you in every camp I found, but you were never there, and none of the soldiers would tell me where you are. I was so sure they killed you. I was so scared. I thought-"

Aleksanders voice shatters like glass, his body almost curling in on itself as he presses his forehead against yours. You recognize the breathing pattern he uses, an old trick he taught you a few years ago when you were still new to your position as the Darklings wife. He's trying to stop a panic attack from taking over.

"I'm so proud of you. You're so strong and brave, my darling girl. My lovely wife. I love you so much. You're so good, so good for me. I don't know what I would do without you. What I would do if they... I'm so sorry. I don't deserve you. I'm sorry."

He sounds broken, you notice. You've never heard him like this in your entire life. Tears flood your eyes, and you take a deep breath, more of his familiar scent entering your lungs. Rosemary and ash, with a hint of something sweet.

"I'm never going away again, I promise. I will never leave you again, sweet girl. Never again. You will never be able to get rid of me. I will bind myself to you, body and soul, until the end of everything, I swear it."

You're starting to get dizzy. Everything is so overwhelming.

"Am I dead?" You hear yourself asking, your vision dimming slowly, and you're sure you will be dragged back into unconsciousness by your body soon. Aleksander laughs, and it's oddly light and relieved, considering the context.

"No. No, you're alive. You survived. We both survived."

You smile.

Part 3: So I stayed in the darkness with you

Taglist: @savagejane1 @deadunicorn159

[morganski-19]

This the second part to my post about the Buck and Tommy break up scene, focusing on Buck's mindset on all of this.

This relationship was new, and exciting, but what new relationship isn't? Just because this is the first relationship with a man doesn't discount his excitement for being in a new relationship. It doesn't mean that Buck is in this relationship just because Tommy was the person who helped him realize he was bisexual.

However, that also doesn't mean that what Tommy said isn't true, in a way.

Buck is still figuring out who he is. Which is very much ok. Sexuality is something that is so hard to figure out, especially when you discover it later in life. It might take a while to fully unpack that, and figure out what that means for you.

And I think Buck attributed all of that growth within himself to this relationship. Much like how he attributed a lot of his growth while dating Abby to that relationship.

Relationships can help us grow as people, however, it is what we do to help ourselves grow that is the reason we change. Not the person, no the relationship, not the outward motivation to want to do better. A person can have all of that and never change. It is up to the person themselves to determine if they are going to change.

With Abby, Buck had the support to grow, to transform. I think he forgets that it was him who pumped the breaks when Abby first called him, it was him who hit the gas when he knew he wasn't going to fall back into old habits. It was Buck that grew because he wanted to, not because of Abby.

The same can be said with Tommy. Yes, Buck didn't know he was bisexual before Tommy. It was after that first kiss that he realized he liked men. However, again, it was himself that worked through that. It was himself that decided to explore this part of himself. Tommy made it very clear in the beginning of their relationship that he didn't think Buck was ready. Buck chose to show him that he was. Buck chose to reach out again and keep trying.

It wasn't Tommy that transformed Buck, much like it wasn't Abby that transformed Buck. It was all him.

And then Buck did what Buck does best and made an impulsive decision before he was ready because he thinks that's what he needs to do to gain affection. He feels like he has to make these big actions, especially after he feels he did something wrong, to be heard, to be seen. He's begging for Tommy to know that he's all in.

And it backfires. Tommy left, without a chance for Buck to explain himself properly. Bringing back that feeling of abandonment all over again.

I'd also like to address why I think Buck was never going to be the one to pull the plug on this relationship, and how it connects to everything I stated above.

I'd like to compare this to something that happened to a friend of mine. I'm going to keep is very brief for anonymity and privacy sake. Essentially, she knew that the relationship wasn't working but wanted to stay because he was her first. She felt indebted to him in a way, and thought that the connection they had was worth fighting for, even though she wasn't happy.

That's essentially what's happening here. Buck felt indebted to Abby, which is why he stayed so long even when it was clear the relationship was over. The same can be said with Tommy. He felt indebted to him because he helped Buck figure out something big about himself, and thought he needed to stay. Which is why he wouldn't have pulled the plug, as much as we all wanted him to.

I truly don't know where this is going to go for Buck, or how it's going to further the storyline. I have my hopes that it will allow for Buck to do some self reflection, and to continue to unpack his sexuality and what that means for him. And I can further hope that he can unpack what Tommy said, and realize why Tommy wasn't going to be his last. But other than that, it was just the same tune of someone abandoning Buck suddenly without any warning, and I'm tired of hearing it.

[steddieas-shegoes]

if youre still doing the headcanons- "what is he doing here?"

Steve hadn't seen Eddie in two years. Hadn't talked to him in nearly three. He'd worked pretty hard to not have to hear anything about him or see any news about him for most of that time, too.

So when he sees him sitting on Dustin's couch, lounging, as if he belongs there, he gets a little pissed.

"What is he doing here?" He asks Dustin through gritted teeth.

Dustin failed to mention that anyone else would be at his house for their monthly dinner, let alone that Eddie would be here.

That Eddie was even back in Hawkins.

Eddie overheard him, sitting up on the couch quickly and staring at them both.

"Eddie's in town to visit with Wayne and he stopped by to say hi."

"And he's leaving?"

Eddie looked down at the floor.

Was he...sad? He looked sad.

Steve refused to care, he couldn't care. Not with how Eddie left.

No note, no phone call, just an apology through Dustin as if he should have ever been put in the middle of whatever they had.

But if he was this sad, maybe something was wrong with Wayne? Steve admittedly hadn't checked in with him in a few months, his questioning about what happened between them often leaving him feeling drained.

"No, he's not leaving." Dustin looked between them with an angry glare. "Neither of you are leaving actually. Not until you at least talk about things like adults. You don't have to be friends or whatever, but you damn sure can't keep doing what you're doing. Steve's miserable, Eddie's pretending he isn't. Fix it before we all tie you down and make you."

"Dust-"

"No!" Dustin held his hand up as Eddie tried to speak. "Fix it. I'm going to call Suzie and when I come back, you better at least be able to look at each other."

The next few minutes were silent. Awkward.

Painful.

He noted every physical change in Eddie, saw how thin he was, how the dark circles under his eyes had somehow gotten worse despite the fact that he'd left to make it big and succeeded. He should be happy.

He should be thriving.

He got everything he wanted.

He left Steve behind so he could.

"I guess we should at least talk a little," Eddie finally said, voice much quieter than Steve had ever heard it before.

"Sure."

Steve sat on the other end of the couch from Eddie, looked straight ahead so he could avoid making eye contact.

"I don't know if you keep up with me or anything-"

"I don't."

It was harsh, harsher than Steve actually meant to be. He saw Eddie flinch out of the corner of his eye, resisted the urge to apologize.

"Um. Okay, yeah. Makes sense." Eddie sighed. "I'm kind of. Okay, so I'm in Hawkins for more than just visiting Wayne."

"Okay."

"I'm here because the label isn't happy with my writer's block and they told me to take a couple months and write an album or they'll consider the contract voided."

"Mhm."

Eddie was bouncing his leg, an old anxious habit that clearly hasn't gone away.

"I'm hoping being back here will help. But I also just. I want to spend time with the people I care about. I miss everyone."

"Yeah, I bet."

"I miss you."

Steve's head turned to see Eddie looking at him, unshed tears building in his eyes.

"Eddie-"

"I know I have no right to say it. Or to even be here. I didn't just leave you, I left everyone. And I barely gave any explanation and I've barely kept in touch with anyone except Wayne and Dustin because I'm scared. I'm so overwhelmed all the time and I have so much pressure on me and I didn't want any of that I just wanted to make music and see the world. I haven't slept more than a few hours in two years. When I told our manager, he said to start taking cocaine. Taking it! Like it's medication! And I did actually use it a few times to stay awake. I hate it, hate the way I feel after, but it was that or fall asleep during photoshoots. And this sounds like I'm whining, but I'm just trying to keep it together long enough to make sure Wayne doesn't see how much I hate this and how much I just want to be here playing music at stupid bars and going fishing with him even though I hate fishing and playing D&D with the guys and kissing you."

Steve was biting back his own tears as Eddie's fell.

No matter what, no matter how he felt, no matter what Eddie had done to hurt him, it still hurt to see someone he loved hurting like this.

And wasn't that a thought.

He knew he still loved Eddie, he always would.

He just didn't think he would ever have to face it head on like this.

"Eddie, I." Steve cleared his throat. "I'm sorry things aren't what you wanted, but. I can't. I can't let you in again. I spent a year trying to tell myself you'd be back. A year watching your every move in newspapers and tv interviews. Waiting for the day you'd mention me or come visit and apologize for leaving like you did. But you didn't and I had to accept that. I had to force myself to believe that you didn't care because thinking that you did hurt worse. I couldn't love you the way I wanted to, so I had to tell myself you didn't love me, even though I'm pretty sure you did. I'm pretty sure you still do. But it wasn't enough then and it wouldn't be enough now, and I can't let myself settle for not enough. I've done it before, you know how that fucked me up. I can't let it happen again."

Eddie nodded once, then stood up.

He was leaving again, Steve knew it.

But then, Eddie sunk to his knees in front of Steve, placed his shaking hands on Steve's knees.

"If you tell me to stay, I will."

"Eddie-"

"No. Please. Tell me to stay. I don't want to go back and I need you to tell me to stay. Even if you never talk to me again, I need you to be the reason I give the guys when I tell them I can't do it anymore. They'll understand if it's you. They always knew it would be you."

"Stay. You need to stay."

Eddie sobbed as he dropped his head down, resting his forehead against Steve's knee.

Steve placed a hand on the back of his head, biting back a sob as Eddie's hands squeezed his legs.

Steve couldn't do this right now, he didn't think Eddie could either. Emotions were too high, Dustin was in the room down the hall, and Steve knew there would be yelling, and crying, and words said that might lead to regret.

But it was something to have Eddie here, something to have him begging for Steve to be the one to tell him to stay, something to know that Eddie missed him the way Steve missed them.

[jacarandaaaas]

I remember seeing something in your tags where you said you had a few ideas for episodes for the Encanto series. Do you mind sharing them with me? if you want of course. (I've already written the basic premise for seasons 1-4 but I'm happy to hear any ideas you got)

ooh of course! these are just some brainstormed thoughts nothing substantial but

- mirabel gets her new room (because we didn’t see it in the movie)

- julieta cooking with her daughters as a bonding exercise

- bruno goes out into the town with his sisters and they talk to the townspeople about everything

- mirabels having nightmares/flashbacks of casita falling on her and starts thinking there’s cracks everywhere

- antonio and Dolores doing literally anything I love them

- alma falls back into old habits but the family’s there to steer her in the right direction

- luisa gets a fun part in her room! (Based on the concept art)

- the husbands + bruno have a boys night out !

- isa and Dolores have a heart to heart when they plan to spend the day together

- camilo and Bruno put on a play for the whole community and the whole family helps!

- pepa brings bruno around to try new things since he’s missed so much

- madrigal grandkids have a sleepover

- triplets flashback to when they first get their gifts and it’s the first week of absolute CHAOS in the encanto

- day of little candles themed ep where alma and the family go to the river and alma tells them all about pedro (maybe a flashback to life before dos oruguitas)

- isabela adjusting to her new identity and the villagers still subconsciously think of her as her “perfect” version

- someones birthday and the family throw the best party ever

- mirabel and bruno reflect on what’s changed and how the future can be scary

- this one’s entirely self indulgent but mirabel goes to the local seamstress to get advice and ends up being taken on board as an assistant

- camilo and Marco get all the town kids to partake in the ultimate encanto football match

- luisa having a day off where the family do everything for her (she deserves it)

- christmas ep because why not!

- flashback to grandkids as younger for some preteen Dolores and isa moments

- antonio starts school and is super nervous and struggles a bit but he has his family for support

- mirabel not being used to having attention on her all the time and feeling like she has to live up to new expectations because she’s “the miracle” (this isn’t her being a leader or anything this is literally just her brain assuming they expect stuff from her)

- triplets bday!! (Can be from any time)

- mirabel and Antonio have a picnic

- Dolores and Mariano get a date set up for them by camilo

- madrigal sisters talk about their feelings from when mirabel went missing

- agustin and julieta have an anniversary coming up so agustin wants to make it the most special ever (shenanigans insue)

- pepa and felix go out for the night and pepa is insanely talented on the dance floor

- all the parents go away and Bruno is left to babysit

- isabela wants to make some friends after not having many due to her wanting to keep up appearances

- Dolores wants a new outfit and goes to mirabel for help

- luisa stands up to the donkey man

- julieta and alma moments

I cant think of more on the spot so if anyone wants to leave suggestions in comments!

[justmystyles]

hi there !! so i have a bit of a heavy request for you.

could you maybe do a hurt / comfort with harry where he finds out you’ve self-harmed and he comforts the SHIT out of you?

been going thru a bit of a rough patch lately , i hope this isn’t too much :)

have a good day lovely!!

Scars

check out my other works!

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

word count: 2.2k

summary: can harry be the comfort you need after falling back into old habits?

warnings: self-harm

a/n: so i woke up to this ask first thing this morning, i usually stay away from heavy topics like this, just because they require a special amount of care, and i don't know that i can do them the justice they deserve. but i was so moved that this lovely anonymous user asked me to help them through thier rough patch that i got to work on it immediately.

anon - thank you so much for asking me to help you through this time. i know we don't know each other, but if you ever need someone to talk to, i am right here. and that goes for any of you. i know i'm new here, and just a faceless username on a website, but i am always happy to be a listening ear, or do whatever i can to be there for you.

tags: @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @blue-ballad @brightlightsinlife @creativelyeva @cute-as-ducks420 @fanficismydrug @gem1712 @golden-hoax @gothmingguk @groovychaosavenue @hillzrry @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jng4kook @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @lexiecamposv @n0vaj3an @ravenclawdirectioner @stylesfeverr @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tiaamberxx @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @youknowwhaaat

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at your bare torso as you ran your fingers along the fresh marks. It had been years since you’d found yourself in this place, and you were silently cursing yourself for getting here as the tears streamed down your face. 

The first time this happened, it was a complete accident. You had been so frustrated at something or other, you honestly couldn’t remember the initial catalyst at this point, that you had clenched tiny crescent shapes into your palms. As you watched the blood emerge, you felt a sense of calm. At least this pain was tangible. If you were going to be hurt, you wanted to at least see it. So that’s what you did. 

For a long time after that, when life became too much, when you were feeling alone or misunderstood, you would mark yourself. You always knew it wasn’t the best way to handle things, but it gave you a sense of control you didn’t otherwise feel you had in your life. 

You were usually pretty good at concealing the scars. Tucking them away the same way you did with your emotional struggles. Until you were asked to be a bridesmaid in your cousin’s wedding. The dress was gorgeous, your cousin knew about your body image struggles, and took the utmost care to find something that would be flattering for you, something you would be comfortable in. And then you tried it on, unprepared for the slit that went up to your mid-thigh, showing off your collection of scars. Nobody said anything at the fitting, even though they all noticed. A few days later, your cousin spoke to you privately, and you broke down, telling her everything. She was incredibly supportive, and worked with you to make sure you got the help you needed. 

But here you were, years later, feeling like that sad, scared girl from all those years ago. You weren’t sure how it escalated to this point, you had been through a rough couple of weeks at work. Late hours, nonstop meetings, more criticism than praise. Your family were all so busy with their own lives that you barely had the chance to speak with them. And then there was the one person that was supposed to be your rock, Harry. 

Harry was incredible. You had never felt so loved, so cared for. You still remember the first time you showed him your scars, and told him about your past. He listened with rapt attention, tears pooling in his eyes. When you finished, all he could do was place soft kisses to each of your scars, muttering apology after apology and promising to protect you from ever feeling that much pain again. 

But he was on the other side of the world right now, he couldn’t be there for you in the way you needed. Between the time difference and your busy schedules, you felt like the two of you were merely pen pals. It wasn’t his fault, this was his job. You knew that, it was what you had signed on for when you started seeing him. That didn’t make you feel any less alone though.  

You were startled out of your thoughts by your doorbell. You furrowed your brow as you checked the time on your phone. Who would be bothering you this late? You splashed some water on your face to hide your tears, and grabbed your shirt off the towel rack, throwing it on before moving to the door. 

You left the chain on the door, opening it a sliver to see who was on the other side. The moment you were met with Harry’s sparkling green eyes and wide smile, the tears made their return. You stood in silence, the door partially opened as your brain tried to process that he was here, standing at your door. 

“I think I’ve successfully proven I’m not a nefarious stranger, think you could let me in now?” He joked. 

You closed the door just long enough to remove the chain before opening it wide, sniffing and wiping your eyes as you took him in, really took him in. Before you could react, he had charged over the threshold, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck. “I missed you, angel.” He murmured against your skin as his lips left soft kisses against you. 

“I missed you too,” you say as you pull back. He looks at your tear stained face, bringing his hand up to wipe the wetness away. “But what? Why? How?” You’re at a complete loss, he wasn't supposed to be back for another week. 

Harry chuckled at your flustered state, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “I was able to get things wrapped up early, so I’m here to surprise you.” 

After a few more hugs and whispered I missed yous, the two of you got settled on the couch, turning on the television for background noise as you caught each other up on the past few weeks. 

Once he had gushed about the projects he had been working on, and you had shared some minor details about your world, you got settled in his arms and the two of you started watching television, just enjoying the feeling of being with each other again. 

As the evening went on, Harry’s hand absentmindedly traveled under your t-shirt, stroking the skin on your hip before moving around and running up your stomach. You were half asleep, the comfort of being in his arms making you forget your actions from earlier in the day, so you didn’t register what was happening until he softly said your name in a questioning tone. You hummed in response. 

“What happened here?” He stroked over the marks once more. 

Your eyes went wide and you sat up, pulling your shirt down to ensure he couldn’t see anything. “Nothing.” 

“Y/N,” Harry said in a gentle warning tone. He reached for the hem of your shirt, but you scooted away from him on the couch. “Please?” His tone was less of a warning and more of a plea this time. 

You took a deep breath and lifted your shirt, holding the hem just below your bra line. Harry’s eyes went wide at the sight, running a finger down your stomach as tears immediately began to pool in his eyes. “Y/N, these are fresh.”

You open your mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a guttural sob. All of the pain, loneliness, everything from the past few weeks being released at once. Harry is on you in an instant, wrapping you in his arms allowing you to cry against his chest as he strokes your hair and holds you for as long as you need. You both know this is something you will need to discuss, but you’re also in no state to have that conversation right now. 

“Shhh,” Harry coos. “It’s alright baby, I’m right here. Let it all out.” He holds you tighter, wanting to make sure you knew he was there, and he wasn’t going anywhere. His own tears begin to fall as he continues to listen to your wails, and feel your body shake against his. 

The only words spoken for the remainder of the night are Harry’s assurances to you that he’s there, and that he’s got you. Eventually, the two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms on the couch. 

The next morning, you stretch your body as your hand comes to your eye, wiping the sleep away. You can feel that your face is still puffy from your tears, your head pounding. You look around and see that you’re alone. You stand from the couch and head out in search of Harry. You immediately hear the sizzle of a frying pan and make your way into the kitchen to see Harry’s back to you as he stands over the stove. 

“Harry?” Your voice is raspy and low. 

He turns immediately, greeting you with a sad smile as he takes you in. “Hey baby.” He steps up to you, placing a gentle kiss on your lips before bringing his hand up, brushing your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Go sit at the table, alright? Breakfast is almost ready.” 

You nod and take your seat, watching as Harry disperses the scrambled eggs from the frying pan to two plates that are already stacked high with pancakes. He brings them over, placing one in front of you, and the other at the setting beside you. He then goes to the refrigerator, pulling out a bowl of fresh fruit, putting it between the two of you. 

“Juice?” He asks, wanting to make sure you have everything you need before he sits down. 

“Um… water please?” He nods, kissing the top of your head before going back to the refrigerator and getting you a glass of water. 

When he returns, he takes his seat beside you and the two of you eat in silence, Harry occasionally reaching over to squeeze your thigh gently. His way of reminding you that he is there. You know a conversation is coming, but you don’t dare speak first, hoping to put it off for as long as possible. 

Once you have finished eating, Harry clears the plates, putting them in the sink for later. He comes back to your side, taking your hand as he sits. “Baby,” he says softly, searching your eyes. “What happened?” You shake your head, dropping your gaze to the floor, he immediately slides his finger under your chin, bringing your eyes to his. “Talk to me. Please.”

You feel a lump in your throat when you hear the desperation in his voice. “I’m sorry.” You choke out. 

“Hey hey hey,” he moves his hand from under your chin to cupping your cheek. “Don’t be sorry, you have nothing to apologize for. I just want to help you. But I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.” 

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch and take a deep breath. The warmth of his hands on yours gives you the push you need to start. You tell him everything, all the things that have gone wrong over the last few weeks. The overwhelming feelings of hurt, loneliness, inadequacy. It feels so good to get it off your chest. You look at Harry as you speak, and you see no judgment in his expression, you know that he’s taking in everything you’re saying, and that his brain is working overtime to figure out how he can fix it, how he can make everything better.  

Once he’s sure you’re finished, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his lap placing soft kisses along your jaw. “Baby, I wish you had told me. No good can come from keeping this all to yourself.” 

“You were busy. I didn’t want you to worry about me.” You wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his neck.

He tilts his head, pressing a kiss against your temple. “Angel, no matter what I’m doing I am never too busy for you. I want to be here for you for everything, the good and the bad. We’re a team, right?” He feels you nod against his shoulder, he places his hands on the sides of your neck, pulling your face back to look at him. “I need to hear you tell me, baby.”

“We’re a team.” You say softly. 

“That’s right,” he brings your face to his, kissing you softly on the lips before kissing away the tears that had fallen. “One of the things I love most about us, about you, is that I know that no matter what is happening I have you. I can run anything by you at any time. Right?” You nod in agreement. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if everything was one sided like that? I came to you with my stuff, and you just took it on while also managing your own, all by yourself.” 

“I don’t want to be a burden on you.”

“Y/N Y/L/N, you are anything but a burden. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.” He assures you confidently. “Just you saying that proves how selfless and giving you are. But in order to take care of me, and everyone else who loves you, you need to properly take care of yourself.” 

You nod in understanding. “Thank you.”

“No my love, thank you.” He said with a soft smile. “Thank you for trusting me with your heart. I promise you, no matter where I am or what I’m doing, if you pick up that phone and tell me that you need me, I am going to do everything in my power to give you whatever you need. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

He pulls your face to his, kissing you deeply. Enough to feel all of the love that he has for you. He doesn’t just want to tell you how much you mean to him, he wants to show you. When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “Do you want me to run you a bath? I think you could use some relaxation.” 

“Will you stay with me?” 

“Of course, my love. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.” 

[ochrearia]

More RGBFverse shenanigans

I wanted to write a one-on-one with Beefer (cs!BF) and Yourself. cs!BF is one of my versions of BF, from my Fossil Fighters AU that I'm totally NOT neglecting rn. It's okay. Also Peacock (SFA!BF) is mentioned like once and he belongs to Shed!!! yeah

Caeru jumpscare.

Coming into his room to find he was not alone was the last thing Yourself had originally been expecting. But he supposed when he’d made the choice to tell his other selves they were allowed around whenever they needed, paired with their better versions of mirror-walking, there were going to be times where he came home to find obnoxious intruders. Beefer was the only one here this time, so at least it wasn’t everyone at once. YS would rather be notified ahead of time if everyone was going to show up. He didn’t mind one or two.

“Most people would, you know, send a text telling me that they’re coming to visit. I’m not prone to experiencing heart attacks when I’m surprised and find something that wasn’t here when I left.” YS snarked lightly, falling into the usual banter that would normally go on. Though when he crossed the room, he could tell something wasn’t right. “You okay?”

Beefer was curled rather pathetically around himself on YS’s bed, eyes half-lidded and sad. “Slipped away, for a little bit. Things are still… bad, with my situation. Feels like it never ends, like one day stretching out over months and months and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“It’s not your job to fix something you didn’t cause.” YS said slowly, moving to sit next to him on the bed. “Has nothing really changed? Haven’t you gotten to talk to your Pico and Cherry by now?”

“Hah. As if. Living on the run now, I have to be jumping through puddles to mirror-walk. At least any reflection works… They don’t know I’m gone. Maybe that’s for the best anyway. I don’t know how to talk to Pico right now, and Cherry… I messed up, she saw. My Alectro convinced me to vent to them and I didn’t originally mean to fall asleep after, but I did. They told her everything. I didn’t want to give her more guilt, she already has enough. I can’t talk to them.”

Making a face, YS extended his hand out and let it rest gently on the top of Beefer’s head. “Venting is good, you know. I told you not to bottle shit up. It’s not healthy. You clearly need someone to talk to but you’re not letting yourself have that. Someone that isn’t one of your dinosaurs. Vivosaurs? Is that what they’re called?”

“Yeah.” Beefer sighed, shifting slightly. “Vivosaurs. They’re better listeners than you might think. I know you can’t understand them, only Dinaurians can. But… that’s kind of why I came here. I’m pretending to be okay with being changed into something completely alien. Pretending. But I don’t really have anyone else who’d understand that. Pico is… complicated. I don’t know if I can trust him right now. So that leaves you.”

“Me, huh?” YS chuckled softly. “Well, I’ll do my best to understand then.”

“You do understand.” Beefer looked him in the eyes with an almost unnerving look. “Takes one to know one, YS. I’m not human anymore. And you never were.”

The taller one stiffened. “How…?”

“Do I know that?” The Dinaurian finished the question. “Maybe it’s a Dinaurian thing. They spend so much time disguising themselves to look human, using technology to create physical lies. Something about that makes it second nature to see through fake humans. Instinct, maybe. You look human but you’re not. You’re supernatural. Not necessarily in the same category as an alien, but still not human. Peacock is too, but he’s new to this whole fucked up family thing. You’re a better choice.”

“I… don’t follow on how I would understand your predicament the way you’re implying.”

“You’ve lost your wings, haven’t you?” Beefer asked bluntly. “I’ve seen the way the muscles on your back move sometimes. Like an old habit. Trying to move something that’s no longer there. Where I have gained, you have lost. Both changed in an instant to be something unfamiliar.”

Well that was… uncomfortable to say the least. YS hadn’t really been planning to tell any of the others about his whole fallen angel thing, and realistically he didn’t want to talk about the way he lost his wings to begin with. Secrets weren’t the greatest things to keep, especially from yourself, but it was a traumatic event and he was more than within his rights to choose not to reopen that wound. Didn’t seem like he could avoid it anymore, not with this self at least.

Beefer took his silence as a go-ahead to keep talking, though. “Maybe it’s not the same really, but… I don’t have anyone else. I really can’t justify saying I have Pico right now and Cherry doesn’t get it. Is- does it get any better? You seem to be more or less tolerating the fact you’ve lost something important to your body. You know you’re not the same anymore but you seem to handle it way better than I do, and- please tell me it gets better. I feel so fucking alien and it’s like… yeah, I literally am an alien now. God, I don’t really know how to word this. I don’t feel like myself.I feel like I’m a spectator in my own body. It’s probably dysphoria and I really didn’t think I would ever experience that, and it’s weird because sometimes I look at myself and I don’t mind. I don’t mind because I know I did this to myself, deciding to be a fucking idiot and almost get myself killed. And sometimes the features really are cool. But then I think again, and suddenly everything is so fucking suffocating. You know it still hurts?”

YS blinked, trying to process everything. “Hurts? What hurts?”

Beefer sighed, grabbing onto his shoulder and pulling up the sleeve of his Dinaurian suit. The suit was designed to camo as the skin underneath, always throwing the rest of them for a loop, and it was weird to see it peeled back like a second skin. It seemed like even the suit had its limits on what to mimic as, though, because rolling the sleeve back revealed a nasty patch of a scar in the shape of a dinosaur’s fang. He looked between YS and his arm as he continued speaking. “It wasn’t exactly painless. Kind of like a vaccine booster but 100 times worse. I didn’t have to focus on it for long because I was busy throwing up all the poison that was literally killing me, but… sometimes it still hurts. And it reminds me every time it does. Cherry offered to let me use the human disguise device, but that feels awful in my head too. Because it’s a disguise. It’s not me anymore.”

This… was a first. Yourself had tried to get the alien to open up more about how this had happened, he only really knew bits and pieces. Knowing how gruesome and traumatic it actually was, he was surprised how well he was pretending to hold it all together really.

“Please just- tell me it gets better. I know you don’t know the future, and you don’t know everything. But you’ve had extreme changes to your body too. Just tell me it gets better. Tell me that with time I’m not going to constantly flip between being numb and accepting of this and violently hating myself the next second. I don’t know what I’m doing-”

Having heard more than enough, YS shook his head and pulled Beefer in for a tight hug. “Shit, man, you have it so much worse than I thought. Sorry. I- I don’t think I know how to really help you. That’s… a first.” He paused. Of course he didn’t know how to help. He didn’t have an experience like this. Having your wings torn off was one thing, but he still at least looked like himself in every other aspect. Beefer had gone through an entire body transformation just to keep himself alive. “It… it can get better. I’ve never really gotten over losing my wings, and I don’t think lying and saying I have will do any good. Not for you. Losing a part of yourself is never not going to be tough. And you feel like you’ve lost all of yourself, not just a part. Am I correct?”

Beefer nodded into the taller’s shoulder. His arms were curling around his back, funnily enough right below where YS knew his long healed scars were. Nails were bunching up parts of his shirt, but he didn’t care.

“I can’t pretend to know what that’s like physically. But I think it can get better. This is all still very recent for you and a lot more traumatic than you’re letting yourself think about. And the way you talk about your Pico and Cherry, you’re not letting yourself have a support network either. Because, what? You think they’ll only feel more guilt? Push you away more? I’m still pissed at your Pico to be honest but that’s not really my place or relevant right now. What I’m saying is let yourself have some time. Time to process. Mourn what you’ve lost and then work on going forward.” YS sighed, worrying his lip. “The rest of us BFs are normally just… shitters, really, because that’s just how we are. But I know all of them have the capacity to care and want to care. If you really need someone to talk to I think asking any of them would be successful. And yeah, none of us are going to know fully what to say. You’re the only instance so far that is a dinosaur alien. Dunno if there’s gonna be any more but. I would say hopefully not, but maybe I should say hopefully so. At least that way you’d have someone who knows exactly what you need.”

The two fell into silence, and for a moment YS wondered if he was really at all helping. But he could feel the smaller start to melt against him, mainly out of exhaustion. He was clearly tired, holding in a lot more than he was letting on. Having been cut off from any sort of comfort when he desperately needed it.

“It’s funny.” Beefer said after a while, not moving his face away from where he buried it into the crook of YS’s arm. “You really remind me of my brother, the more that I think about it. He’d probably say the same thing.”

Never has his blood felt like it froze faster than it had done now. Yourself’s grip tightened, seemingly unnoticed by Beefer- or he just didn’t care. His jaw clenched. “Brother…?”

“Yeah.” Beefer said, finally pulling away a little. “My brother. Shit, I didn’t mention him before did I? Oh… I haven’t seen him since everything happened either. He’ll be worried sick about me I think… But yeah. I have an actual adopted older brother. Caeru, that’s what he insists on being called. You remind me of him so much. He kind of looks like you too, honestly. Just like, way cleaner and put together.”

Caeru. Does this idiot think I’m fucking stupid? Latin for blue? YS thought bitterly. Well, maybe ‘idiot’ was rude, but he wasn’t talking about Beefer. He was talking about ‘Caeru’. BFs don’t have brothers aside from Ritz in some cases. Not a single world I’ve looked into has ever mentioned having a brother named Caeru. That’s not a brother. That’s another BF, and that’s not just any other BF. That’s a fucking ME, isn’t it? Using Latin?

“You alright? You’ve gone silent.” Beefer asked. “Something wrong?”

YS startled quickly, burying his thoughts and lying once again. “No, nothing. It’s fine. Just… thinking. Look, take as much time as you need here for now. I don’t mind.” Fucking stay out of your world when another one of me is fucking running around and apparently pretending to be your brother. Jesus christ.

He’d hoped there weren’t other versions of him that aligned with him specifically. So there really was more than one universe where something happens, something so devastating they became a Yourself kind of BF, huh? And Beefer clearly didn’t know. So that one was lying more egregiously. That was dangerous. Protect Beefer. Oh, what am I saying, Beefer can handle himself. I just don’t trust another instance of me that’s like me. Guess there’s another I have to keep tabs on without alerting this one of his brother being a liar.