#jen x daniel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

queers-gambit · 8 months ago

Text

Adore Her, Dior Her

prompt: ( requested ) what good is having all that money if he can't spend it on the woman he loves?

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 4.3k+

warnings: author foams at the mouth for Mafia AUs, overwhelming fluff, cursing, not edited.

"That's the one. That's one we should get!"

"You've said that about the past three dresses, Buck!" You groaned, smoothing your hands over the skirt. "We need to narrow this down, okay? The wedding's in a month!"

"Why did we even agree to go?"

You glared, "'Cause we love my brother and we're supporting him."

"But she's just so - "

"Jen. Her name's Jen."

Bucky nodded, leaning back on the cushioned chair, "Well, Jen's just wrong for him. Literally the definition of toxic."

"Does it count if they're toxic together? To each other?" You sighed, standing on the pedestal and turning to look in the three mirrors beside the dressing room.

"Of course it does," he stood, buttoning his suit jacket out of habit. He approached you, head cocking as he looked your body up and down to get the full view of the gown you tried on. "You're really okay letting him marry her? Turn this way a bit, baby, lemme see the front."

You scoffed, but took his offered hand and twisted on the small platform towards him, "You were there at Christmas, he doesn't listen to reason. So, if Daniel's convinced Jen's for him, as his sister, my only job is be supportive."

"They literally abuse each other," he pointed out.

"Well, he's not changing his mind. Okay? It's been three years, he won't budge, whenever someone brings up them breaking up, he goes into hiding - so, I don't know what else I can do," your hands slapped your thighs when you shrugged, "except just be there for him. Now, focus, please, help me narrow a dress down."

He shook his head as you turned to face the mirrors again, "Actually, you know what? I don't think anything in this store is for us."

The attendant perked up and scurried over, rushing, "Oh, well, we have a much larger selection in the back, Mr. Barnes - "

"That won't be necessary, Barbra, thank you, though," he nodded. "Doll," his hand planted on your waist, head over your shoulder as you still looked yourself over in the mirrors, "go get changed, I know where we need to go."

"Bucky, no, there's plenty of options here," you argued, twisting on the wee little pedestal to face him again. "We don't need to drop a stack on a dress - "

"You let me worry about the price tag," he smirked, leaning in to peck your cheek. "Just go change, pretty girl, c'mon. Step-to!"

You offered Barbra, the attendant, an apologetic smile as you shuffled back into the changing room; quickly stripping from the dress. When you exited in your street clothes, Bucky was tipping the aged woman for her effort in gathering your options, but the moment he saw you, his hand was extending to hold yours tightly.

"What was wrong with that store?" You asked when you stepped onto the noisy and busy street to approach the sleek, tinted car Bucky drove for day-to-day errands.

"We're not shopping at David's fucking Bridal."

"You literally drove us here," you laughed.

"Yeah, and then I had a much better idea," he smirked at you, unlocking the car and opening your passenger door. "C'mon, princess, just gotta trust me."

"Last time you said that - "

"That wasn't my fault," he groaned, cheeks flaring red in embarrassment. When you opened your mouth to retort, he rushed, "Aht, nope, don't say shit. C'mon, I'm taking you somewhere special so get that pretty ass in the car."

He grinned when you laughed and did as bid, feet safely inside when he closed the door after you were settled. Bucky easily jogged around the back of his car, New York busy this time of year as traffic flew past on the street and forced Buck slow. He dropped into the driver's seat, sniffling slightly.

"Reminds me," Bucky smirked as he pulled onto the street, "how would you feel about us going to Aspen this winter?"

You sighed, "Why?"

"You wanna stay in New York for Christmas?"

"Well, yeah! It's so magical."

"Okay, so, we can go over New Years?"

You sighed, "You know, we don't have to go anywhere..."

"Sweetheart," he cleared his throat, "I actually have some business in Aspen, this will just help determine when I schedule the meetings for."

"Oh," you nodded slowly.

He sighed, "I know my job isn't orthodox, but business is business, right, sugar?”

"No, yeah, yeah, I get it. It sounds kinda nice, maybe we can go skiing."

"You know how to ski?"

"No, but I'm sure someone in Aspen could help teach me."

Bucky grinned. The drive was full of easy conversation, neither you nor Bucky dwelling on his business dealings, always feeling as if it was taboo given his station in the Mafia. So when he pulled up in front of a designer store, you gawked. "Now, if we can't find something here - "

"Um, absolutely not," you laughed. "Bucky, I can't even afford to walk into a place like that!"

"Good thing I'm paying," he smirked. He assisted you out of the car, tossing his keys to one of his security guards who had been following in a separate, tinted vehicle. When you both entered the dimly lit store, you were blown away by the gorgeous minimalist design; warm lighting, open floor space, and racks of different clothing options.

"Ah, Mr. Barnes! Hello, hello, hello!" A new attendant greeted with more enthusiasm than you would've greeted any of your clients, approaching you two. She shook your boyfriend's hand vigorously, "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

Bucky wrapped his arm around your waist, "Looking for a dress to wear to a wedding."

She offered you a forced smile, telling your boyfriend swiftly with her teeth on full display, "You came to the right spot!"

"See?" Bucky smirked at you. "All right, Valeria, what's first?"

Valeria waved you both onward to a private changing room, offering complimentary sparkling waters, coffees, teas - even offering to go retrieve anything you two would want from the Starbucks down the block. Valeria took your measurements and dress size, making idle chit-chat with Bucky and making it obvious he was a regular in the store, then scurrying off to collect an armful of options.

"This is - wow," you nodded in impression, petting the material of the display dresses hung along the wall.

"Like it?"

"It's growing on me," you eased with a small shrug, hearing Bucky chuckle and for his phone to chime. You perused the place as he became glued to the little device, sat in front of the dressing rooms.

Valeria returned with another attendant carrying coffees. "Right this way, Mrs. Barnes," Valeria directed you into a changing room, missing the giddy look you sent Bucky over your shoulder at being called his wife. "All right, so," she sighed, hanging up the dresses she selected, "I think these are modest enough for a wedding, but still glamorous to turn a few heads."

You hummed, "They're kinda short, don't know if that's the energy I want to be giving off at my brother's wedding."

"They'll fit differently once on but we can always accommodate," she assured, pulling one from the hanger. "Here we go," she assisted you, zipping you in and looking you over. "Oh, it's just darling on you! Look at that, not a single hair outta place, right?"

You giggled lightly, "It's certainly pretty."

"Shall we show Mr. Barnes?"

You nodded, following her out to reveal Bucky sitting on a plush loveseat, sipping his coffee. His eyes widened when he saw you, nodding, "Oh, yeah. This is what I'm talking about."

"Hush, we're only buying one."

His eyes rolled, "I'll buy the whole damn store if I want."

"You don't own it already? Hm," you teased, perking your brows.

"Keep sayin' shit, I'll cut a check right now - "

"Bucky," you tisked, moving to the runway mirrors. "It's a little tight, isn't it?"

"It's snug," Valeria agreed. "Is there a color scheme for the wedding?"

"Um," you paused, "I'm not sure - I just know it's in winter, like, in a month."

"Maybe a pretty powder blue?" She looked to Bucky, who nodded. "Or how about a pale green? Like an olive tone?"

"She looks gorgeous in anything," Bucky smirked from behind you, taking another pull of his coffee.

"What about that brown number?" You asked, ignoring the way his compliments made you feel like the only girl he's ever seen in the world.

"You have a very good eye, Mrs. Barnes," Valeria nodded. She asked her coworker to go find your size, taking you back into the dressing room. You narrowed down the options without changing again, not wanting anything black or dark since it was a wedding and not a funeral. Though, you knew Bucky would disagree.

You showed your boyfriend a pretty little green dress, but he shook his head. "I thought the black was nice," he told you.

"I'm not wearing black to a wedding," you laughed lightly. "It screams bad luck to me, don't you think?"

"Think it's more of a statement, sayin' the entire event is a sham and they shouldn't be doing this," Bucky snickered, the other attendant, Laura, returning with a pretty brown dress. "That satin?" He asked, rubbing the material when it was presented to you both.

"It's very fashionable now," Laura nodded, "and it's not too dark."

"Since when is it a rule to not wear dark colors to a wedding? I miss the memo?" Buck leaned back to his seat.

All three women offered him a small look, you chuckling under your breath before Valeria was leading you back into the changing room. "If I may, Mrs?" She spoke softly, "I've known Mr. Barnes for a number of years but he's never brought anyone into the store. Then, one day, he tells me he needs a new suit because the 'girl of his dreams' had agreed to a date, and every time since then?" She smiled softly at you, "He's sang your praises. I'm very honored you're trusting me with helping you today."

"Oh," you blinked in shock, giggling nervously, "well, thank you very much, Valeria, now I know why his suits are always top of the line." She waved you off, making you add, "And for the record, I'm not Mrs. Barnes, guess that'd be his mother, wouldn't it?"

"Oh," her eyes widened, gasping softly, "oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I just - he talks so highly about you - "

"No, it's okay, it's okay," you rushed, patting her arm. "I actually kind of like it..."

She hummed, zipping you into another dress, "You know, he's the reason my girl and I are together."

"Really? How'd that happen?"

Valeria chuckled, "He's very bold, your man. We were getting coffee one day, discussing his wardrobe for a business trip he had in Hong Kong, when my lady walked in. I went all silly and stupid, and Mr. Barnes just," she shook her head with a fond smile, "brazenly asked her out for me, in front of the whole shop."

"Oh, Jesus, yeah - sounds like him."

"Well, luckily, it worked, else I don't think he would've come back for my assistance. I was so embarrassed, you have no idea, but my lady - Charlie - thought it was charming and cute. Mr. Barnes hasn't let me live it down since. Says he demands an invite to the wedding." She met your eyes through the mirror, offering, "And I'd be really happy to give him a plus one, hmm?"

"You're so sweet," you whispered, turning to survey the dress. You spent the better part of three hours there, trying on dress after dress, nitpicking almost everything as you just weren't sure what to wear. Bucky wasn't much help, he just approved everything.

So, it was up to Valeria and Laura to help you; bringing out iPads and design books, trying to piece something together that best fit your comfort and the vibe of the wedding. You didn't want to look like a walking money bag since your family wasn't by any means wealthy, thinking it would be a slap to their faces since your boyfriend could spend his money without ever thinking about it. You didn't want to give your family any reason to talk behind your back.

"I like the brown satin," Laura offered softly, looking you over in the mirror. "But the blue is just wow, it really looks like it was made for you, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but I think the green compliments her eyes more," Valeria cocked her head in thought. "Are you wearing your hair up or down?"

"Up," you answered, trying to mimic the look by pulling your locks off your shoulders, "with thin jewelry, I think."

"Diamonds?"

"Pearls, if I can find a dress that looks nice with it," you smiled, seeing Bucky's reflection in the mirror watching you with a soft smile on his face; head titled in thought before his phone chimed again and warranted his attention. "Maybe we could try the pink dress?" You looked to the two women for an opinion.

"No," Valeria shook her head, "it washes you out. And pink in winter? Oh, sweetie, I'd lose my job if I let you leave here with that. Guess that means you'll have to come back in the spring, right?"

You grinned in response as Laura chimed in, "The green's actually really nice, but the brown looks much better with your body type." Then she turned to Bucky, prompting, "Mr. Barnes? Final decision - which dress?"

Bucky paused, musing, "Lemme see them all again, get one last taste. It's between the green and brown numbers?"

"Or the blue," Valeria nodded. "C'mon, sweetie," she offered her hand to help you off the wee runway you were perched on in front of the magnificent mirrors.

"You look sensational in them all, doll, how the hell am I supposed to choose just one?" Bucky teased, his canines on display from the broad grin that stretched his lips.

"You'll find a way," you answered.

"Awh, telling me Mr. Big-Tough-Manly-Business-Man who makes impossible decisions everyday can't choose a simple piece of fashion?" Valeria tacked on.

"You guys can't pick either!" He laughed, "And you do a helluva lot more shopping than I do!"

Laura, Valeria, and you paused to exchange looks, you pointing at Bucky and relenting in a drawl, "Touché."

When you were escorted back into the dressing room, Laura waiting outside the door for your privacy with Valeria, Bucky sat back on the plush loveseat and extended his one arm over the back of the seating. He smirked to himself, shaking his head as if in disbelief - but he was. Bucky was in disbelief.

How did a rugged Mob boss find himself here? Watching his girl like a private fashion show?

His whole life, all he knew was turmoil, pain, drama, and fear. He knew he would inherit his father's well-built organization after he passed and knew what this life would entail; having no preconceived notions about a quiet life. He knew he would have to be tougher than tough, adaptable, intelligent, and confident in his role as the head of the 3-6 Brooklyn Mob. Knowing the idea of a family was farfetched, knowing he'd never know the simple pleasures in life, that he would constantly be on the move - in-able to form real, sentimental, emotional connections. He knew, in this life, he'd remain alone for everyone's best interest and safety, indulging in a series of flings and one-off relationships that couldn't haunt him.

Yet they did. These encounters reminded Bucky how alone, how stranded, how isolated, how different he was. Instead of satisfying an unquenchable thirst, these fleeting partners became heavy anchors to Bucky's reality and reminded him that there was no such thing as love - nor was there any room or logic.

And then... He met you. Bucky's lips silently spread in a grin as he remembered meeting you at a bakery; purchasing the last slice of coconut cream pie to your absolute chagrin. He thought you were gorgeous, something ethereal and unobtainable; authentic, raw, and unfiltered - things his one night stands could never measure up to. So, he offered you the slice of pie if it meant giving him your number as currency.

After that, it was impossible for Bucky to consider ever being alone again because you were the sun; center of the universe that drew everyone into your orbit. He was smitten, content, excited to date you, turned on by the fact you had no idea who he was - a rare occurrence in the city. You were pure as fresh snow; sweet, kind, affectionate, attentive, and borderline overly empathetic.

Bucky knew he was in love with you after only a few weeks when he had shown up at your apartment, dripping in blood. You didn't panic like he feared you would, just checked up and down the hallway before yanking him into your home. You cleaned him up, tending to wounds, offering a safe space for him to relax in; making mindless conversation to help distract him from the pain he endured.

And now? Now, Bucky was sat in Dior, giving his opinion on your wedding guest dress; wondering how he allowed himself to get to this point of being domestic. Bucky wasn't a man to give his opinion on dresses, what color nail polish you should use, to send fresh bouquets of flowers every other week. Yet here he was, sipping too-expensive coffee, deciding between brown, green, and blue dresses that he never would've batted an eye at.

However, that was just the domino effect you caused in his life. You were sweeter than apple pie, becoming Bucky's one tether to reality that saved him from losing himself in this dark, criminal mindset he adopted. You didn't know it, but you had transformed Bucky from a brooding asshole into a boyfriend; someone you were proud to claim and never hid from - never shied away from. He admired the way you came to terms with his job, knowing it was a hard pill to swallow and yet noting the way you just accepted him as he was.

Bucky realized in that moment that he adored this new aspect of life after thinking it was impossible to obtain. He adored sitting here, offering opinions on dresses, his security left outside instead of hovering over him like a brutal reminder he was seedy. He loved having you to come home to, he loved being part of your mundane world - a person who went to weddings, who drank Starbucks, who asked her boyfriend his opinion about how she looked in dresses. Who thought bouquets of flowers were romantic, who baked him homemade cakes for his birthday, who worked overtime in order to afford his Christmas or birthday presents, who walked to the takeout place instead of paying for delivery.

All that you are, Bucky adored deeply; falling in love with you each and every single day. All he wanted to do was protect you, share his life with you, even pick out outfits for weddings you would attend. He knew if any of the men in his organization knew the extent of his affection, they'd surely weaponize it against him... Or at the very least, tease him relentlessly. Yet he never cared, knowing you wanted to be loved out loud instead of hidden away in a storage closet; but did care if it meant his enemies could use you to get to him. It was a risk, an occupation hazard for loved ones to become targets, but that only made Bucky so much more protective of you.

Laura glanced at Bucky and saw the fond smile soften to let his teeth trap his bottom lip, smiling at the Mob boss looking soft, content, smitten being there. She knew most boyfriends would never put this much effort into helping their girlfriends in the fashion department, thinking he must've been truly in love to look so at-ease. Plus his enthusiasm through the entire ordeal assured her that Bucky was genuinely enjoying himself.

Once again, you slipped into the blue dress and showed Bucky. He hummed and snapped a photo, asking you to turn this way and that. Then you tried the green dress, him taking another photo, and finally, you changed into the brown satin dress, facing Bucky for his final verdict.

Bucky hummed in contemplation, swiping through the photos. "You know what?" He asked, looking at you with a grin. "You look delectable in everything, I can't decide - so, let's just get them all."

"Bucky, no - "

"We'll take all three, Valeria, please," Bucky interrupted you.

You waited until the attendants left you alone with a knowing look shot in your direction to ring up the desired purchases, hip cocking and hands to your hips. With an underlying exasperation, you questioned, "What the hell, Buck?"

He grinned and stood, again, buttoning his suit jacket, "C'mon, princess, this is fun, right? Being spoiled?." His arms wrapped around your waist, looking down at you as if you hung the very sun that sucked him into your orbit. "What's the point of all my money if I can't spend it on you? Huh?"

"You can save it for a rainy day?"

He shrugged, "Not necessary."

"Maybe pay to send some underprivileged kids to go to college?"

"Well, there's a thought," your boyfriend mused, "but I already do that through the Stark Foundation. I sponsor a few scholarships."

"Okay, well, buying all three still doesn't help me decide what to wear," you chuckled, you mimicked his action and wrapped your arms tightly around the base of his ribs. Due to his height, your head had to tip backwards to meet his eyes with a small smile.

You could look at this gorgeous man all day, everyday if God ever permitted such an act. Why wasn't dating a paid activity? You'd be the top earner with the way you were absolutely enthralled with all Bucky Barnes was. And what an honor it was to earn his mutual adoration.

"We'll figure it out at home. Gotta get you moving in the material to make an honest judgement," he offered softly. "But you look gorgeous in all of them, baby, seriously. Like, drop dead gorgeous that makes every girl brim with jealousy. Shit, doll, you're gonna run the risk of outshining the bride."

You sighed, "Look, Buck, I appreciate what you're doing, but three designer dresses? Where the hell am I ever gonna wear them? What kinda event calls for overpriced fashion statements?"

Buck eased with a soft expression, "Guess I'll just have to take you out so you can put them all to good use, huh?"

"That's not a solution!"

"Is to me," he let a hand drift to roughly palm the meat of your ass cheek over the brown satin; another symptom of him being whipped, his comfort over public displays of affection. "Seriously, doll, how the hell did I get so lucky?"

"Hmm?"

"Just look at you, my girl," he chuckled lightly, "radiant in anything you put on. It's almost unfair, makes me wonder what I did so right to have someone like you I can call my own. I can't wait to show you off in those dresses, just look so Goddamn tantalizing. I mean, damn, baby, I'm gonna have to fight off men with my gun and the jealous women with a stick."

"You do realize we're already dating, you don't have to lay it on so thick."

"And you do realize being with you makes me the luckiest bastard in the city, right? Least I can do is spoil you, I've already got everything else I've ever wanted."

Your heart swelled at his words, sighing gently as your chin rested on his chest to keep your head tilted. Softly, you admitted, "I don't think you're the lucky one, pretty sure the honor's mine. I couldn't ask for anything more in a man - in a partner. I'm so fucking in love with you, Bucky, it honestly doesn't make sense."

He nodded, asking, "Know what else doesn't make sense?"

"What's that?"

"You refusing those dresses, I mean, c'mon!" He laughed, you groaning and releasing your hold; making his tighten to prevent you from escaping. "Those dresses look phenomenal on you, you really gonna reject my gift? C'mon, you know the rules, doll, if you adore her, you Dior her." You were ready to retort, but Bucky smiled, "For the record, I think you should wear the blue dress to the wedding."

"Blue it is," you smiled, lifting onto your toes and hooking a hand around the back of his neck to meet his lips in a scratchy kiss. "Thank you so much, baby," you whispered, feeling his lips spread against yours before he brought you back in for a much-more passionate kiss. "Hm!" You hummed, pulling away to scold, "But no more, all right? You spend too much money on me - I mean, who the hell needs three designer dresses?"

"You do," he whispered, "you deserve all of this, sugar, and I'll do what I can t'spoil you the way you should be. Might as well get used to it, I got no plans on stopping."

Your eyes rolled in good faith, excusing yourself, "Yeah, yeah, all right. Lemme get changed and we can - "

"Nah," he shook his head, petting the skin of your back exposed from the brown satin dress with his fingertips, "know what? Stay in the dress, I wanna take you out and show you off."

Your lips found his in a breath-sucking kiss, trying to convey your appreciation and giddiness over never having been spoiled like this in your entire life - feeling grateful, refreshed, and privileged for a man like Bucky in your life. Whatever greater force there was in this world, you thanked repeatedly for choosing you to love this man and for this man to love you. There was no telling what you did to deserve him, but blessed be those heavenly powers.

requesting rules and masterlist

MCU masterlist

2K notes · View notes

coffeeshades · 3 months ago

Text

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART VI

—echoes of desperation

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). mentions of sex. angst!!! cursing, age gap, mentions of drugs and alcohol. asshole!pedro maybe? no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hi everyone, happy reading <3

masterlist!

October 19, 2019

Newport, Rhode Island

The crisp autumn air greeted you as you arrived at your friend Jennifer's wedding. The historic estate, bathed in the soft golden light of the setting sun, seemed like the perfect backdrop for such a special occasion. The large, opulent estate, adorned with seasonal flowers and fairy lights, buzzed with the excited chatter of guests.

Daniel was by your side, his arm casually draped around your waist. You’d opted for a classic blue dress, elegant and understated, which seemed to enhance the sparkle in your eyes and the quiet grace in your movements.

Jennifer greeted you with her usual infectious energy and a hug that felt like a balm to your nerves. “You two! I’m so glad you could make it!”

The ceremony had taken place 40 minutes earlier, outside in the estate's lush garden, under a canopy of white roses and twinkling lights. And now the reception was in full swing. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air.

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't have missed your wedding for the world," you replied, returning her hug. "Everything looked amazing, and you were absolutely stunning in that dress."

She beamed at the compliment, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

"Congratulations, Jen," Daniel said, raising his champagne flute. You looked at him, his brown eyes shining with genuine happiness, and smiled. Jennifer took notice of this and grabbed your hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. "Thank you both so much for being here," she said, her voice filled with emotion. "And who knows, maybe you two will be next to tie the knot."

Both of you laughed at the suggestion, but you couldn't help but feel a warm flutter in your chest at the thought. A strange warm flutter, something you haven't felt in months; sadness, perhaps?

No, it couldn't be.

For the past six months, everything with Daniel has been nothing but perfect. He's been the perfect boyfriend: supportive, caring, and always there for you. You couldn't imagine being with anyone else right now. So the idea of marrying him didn't seem too far-fetched at all. On the contrary, it made perfect sense. So this feeling of unexplicable warmth and ache must've been nerves and excitement, nothing else.

The time for your speech arrived, and you took a deep breath as you were handed a microphone. The room fell into a respectful hush, the chatter and clinking glasses fading as the guests turned their attention to you. You glanced around, taking in the elegant decor and the sea of faces, many of whom you recognized. The soft, golden light from the chandeliers cast a warm glow over the gathering, and the atmosphere was filled with anticipation.

You adjusted the microphone slightly, feeling its cool metal against your fingers. You didn’t feel nervous; instead, a calm confidence washed over you. After all, you were good at this—pretending you were the best.

“Good evening, everyone,” you began, your voice clear and steady as you introduced yourself. "I have the distinct honor of speaking about our beautiful bride tonight.”

The crowd responded with polite applause, and you smiled, taking a moment to find your rhythm. "Jennifer," you continued, “where do I even begin? From the moment I met her, I knew

she was someone extraordinary. It’s not just her infectious laugh or her incredible talent that stands out, but her heart. Jennifer has a way of making everyone feel like they’re the most important person in the room.”

A soft chuckle rippled through the audience, and you saw Jennifer’s cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. You continued, weaving in anecdotes about your friendship, each story punctuated by a touch of humor and warmth. Laughter filled the room, and you finally caught Pedro’s eye momentarily. He was sitting at a table near the front, his gaze soft and attentive. The first time you saw him that night was when you arrived at the ceremony; he was already deep in conversation with someone.

You couldn’t quite read his expression, but you felt a flicker of emotion as your eyes met for a brief second. As you moved towards the more emotional part of your speech, your tone grew softer and more reflective.

The room cheered and applauded as you wrapped up your speech. Jennifer got to her feet and walked to the front, her eyes glistening with emotion. You stepped down feeling a sense of relief. The reception continued with lively music and dancing. You and Daniel enjoyed the evening, laughing and dancing with the other guests.

The joy of the celebration was palpable, but it couldn’t completely erase the tension you felt every time you glanced in Pedro’s direction. Exhausted from all the drinking and dancing and seeking a brief reprieve, you excused yourself to the bathroom.

"I'll be right back."

You give Daniel a quick kiss, his hands coming to rest on your waist.

"All good, baby?"

"Marvelous," you reply before slipping away from the crowd and into the quiet sanctuary of the bathroom. Its marble countertops gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, the delicate scent of lavender soap mingling with the faint aroma of champagne and floral bouquets from the reception. You stood by the sink, staring at your reflection in the polished mirror, your fingers tracing the edge of the elegant marble as if it could ground you amidst the chaos of your emotions. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the flutter of unexpected anxiety in your chest.

The silence was briefly interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

Well, so much for peace and quiet.

The door creaked open, and Pedro walked in with his usual confident stride, albeit slightly unsteady. His suit was pristine, the dark fabric impeccably tailored to his frame. Yet the disheveled state of his dark hair and the slightly rumpled collar of his shirt betrayed a night of indulgence. The contrast between his polished exterior and the evident effects of alcohol made him appear both charming and vulnerable.

Pedro’s eyes softened as they settled on you, taking in the sight of your dress—a stunning creation that clung to your form in all the right places, the deep hue accentuating your features. He stepped closer, his gaze lingering with an almost palpable mix of admiration and regret.

"I was looking for you," he said, his voice low and filled with a hint of longing. "And I saw you come in."

He locked the door behind him, the click echoing in the quiet room.

“You look incredible,” he said, his voice carrying the telltale tone of someone who had enjoyed a few too many drinks. “But then again, you always do.”

The compliment hung in the air, unacknowledged. You kept your focus on the sink, pretending to be absorbed in the intricate patterns of the marble. Pedro’s gaze remained fixed on you, sensing your reluctance and frustration.

“Not going to say anything? I come all the way in here to tell you how amazing you look, and you give me nothing,” he said, his tone a fragile blend of irritation and desperation. The words cut through the silence, revealing the cracks in his façade.

You remained silent, and the quiet only seemed to fuel his frustration. Pedro leaned against the wall, his posture both defiant and defeated. His eyes were filled with a mix of sadness and exasperation, reflecting the weight of the emotions he struggled to keep in check.

“What’s with the silent treatment?” he pressed, his voice barely more than a whisper. “We used to talk about everything, and now you can’t even respond to a compliment?”

The tension crackled like electricity in the confined space. Pedro’s dark and aching eyes betrayed the vulnerability he usually masked with confidence. He took a step closer, closing the distance between you with a sense of urgency.

“Is this how it’s going to be, then?” he asked, his voice a tremulous echo of desperation. “We’re just going to ignore each other until it all blows over again? pretending like everything’s fine when it’s clearly not.”

His proximity made your heart race; the warmth of his body and the intensity of his stare were both electrifying and suffocating. The room, once a refuge of privacy, now felt like a cage closing in on you, amplifying the emotional turmoil swirling between you.

"If I remember correctly, we already had this conversation," you finally said, your voice steady. “You come and go as you please, and then you act like nothing happened. How am I supposed to handle that?”

Pedro’s eyes filled with regret as he reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they touched your arm.

"I’ve been trying to move on, like you told me to, but it’s impossible when you’re always on my mind." His touch was hesitant, the warmth of his hand a stark contrast to the coldness you felt inside.

As the minutes ticked by, the two of you remained locked in this intense, silent exchange. The muffled sounds of the party outside felt like distant echoes, drowned out by the gravity of your shared history and unresolved feelings.

Pedro’s eyes, dark and glassy from the alcohol, bore into yours as he closed the distance, his body pressing lightly against you. You could feel the heat of him, the scent of whiskey clinging to his breath, mixing with something familiar—him. Your pulse quickened, the rush of emotions swirling uncontrollably as you met his gaze.

“You’re drunk,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, but it came out softer than you intended. The barrier you’d built so carefully maintained was beginning to crumble under the weight of his presence.

“And you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his breath grazing your skin. The way he said it, with that low, gravelly voice, made your heart stutter.

You wanted to hold onto the anger, to remind yourself of the hurtful words exchanged and the distance you had fought so hard to maintain, but his nearness was intoxicating. The warmth of his body, the brush of his fingertips against your arm—it was all too much. His scent, the alcohol, his desperation—it clouded your judgment, making everything hazy.

His gaze flickered over your face, searching for something you couldn’t name. “Do you love him?” he asked, and though he didn’t say Daniel’s name, the weight of the question nearly took your breath away.

You froze, refusing to answer, instead turning your head to the side, your eyes seeking solace in the marble counter or the door—anywhere but him. But Pedro, in his drunken determination, wouldn’t let you escape so easily. He gently tilted your chin up, forcing you to face him, his fingers warm against your skin.

“Look at me,” he whispered, the words barely a breath. “Tell me.”

Your eyes, betraying you, flickered to his, and in that moment, you felt everything unraveling. The years of history, the on-and-off again, the unsaid things—they crashed over you, threatening to drown you in their intensity.

“Pedro,” you managed, your voice shaky. “You’re drunk. Stop it.”

He ignored you, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a rawness that made it impossible to turn away. “No,” he insisted, his voice low and thick with emotion. “Answer me.”

The weight of his words pressed against your chest, squeezing the air from your lungs. You could feel your eyes starting to burn, the overwhelming need to cry pushing at the edges of your control. His touch was maddening—pulling memories to the surface that you’d spent so long trying to bury.

“Tell me, princesa,” he said, his voice barely a whisper now, the nickname slipping from his lips like a plea. “Do you love him?”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. The question lingered between you, suffocating the space; the answer too painful, too heavy to voice.

Finally, the words came, slow and trembling, barely louder than a breath. “I don’t know.”

The admission hung in the air, fragile and heartbreaking, and you could see the way it struck him, deep and unguarded. For a brief second, his hand dropped from your chin, and the look in his eyes—the sorrow, the regret—cut through you like a blade.

But still, he didn’t move. Neither did you. The gravity of everything left unsaid, everything unresolved, weighed too heavily, pulling you both into a moment from which there was no easy escape.

“Would it change something if I said no?” you asked, your voice sharp, cutting through the charged air between you both. The words were cold, edged with bitterness, the hurt simmering just beneath the surface.

Pedro’s reaction was instant—he grabbed your face with both hands, rougher than usual, though not enough to hurt. You didn't feel afraid; he could never make you feel as such. His grip was desperate, trembling slightly with the weight of everything unspoken. His eyes, though hazy from alcohol, searched yours with an intensity that made your heart pound harder. He was trying to find an answer, a way to salvage something, but you weren’t done.

“Would it change something, Pedro?” you pressed, your voice rising as you spit out the words like venom. “Would it? If I said no, would that make all of this—" you motioned between the two of you, your chest tight “—would it make this easier? What if I told you I don't love him? What if I told you I still think about you all the time? What would you do?”

Each question hit him like a physical blow, and you could see the pain etching itself deeper into his face with every 'what if' you hurled at him. He didn’t respond, but his grip on your face tightened, as if he could somehow hold onto you through the force of his hands alone. His silence only fueled your fire.

“No,” you finally said, your voice trembling but firm, “it wouldn’t matter because you're too late, Pedro. It wouldn’t change a damn thing. You think saying something now and asking me these questions will make up for all the times you left, all the times you didn’t say anything? We’re broken. And it’s too late to fix it.”

Pedro's breath was uneven as his fingers dug into your skin, not with malice but with a desperation you hadn’t seen in him before. His face crumpled for a brief second, his lips parting like he was about to say something—something big, something important—and you stopped him.

"Don't. Don't say it, not now," you whispered. "It wouldn't change a thing, so don't."

You were suffocating under him, until a sudden banging on the door jolted you both out of the moment. A voice called from the other side, followed by impatient knocks.

“Let me go,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. The words were for more than just this moment. You needed him to release you—not just physically. But in that bathroom, right then, it felt like the only thing you could control.

Pedro didn’t move at first, his hands still gripping your face as if he couldn’t quite let go. His thumbs grazed your skin, and for a moment you saw the flash of something behind his eyes—fear, maybe, or regret—but then it passed, replaced by the same helplessness that had filled the space between you for years.

“Let me go, please,” you said again, softer this time, but it felt like more than a request. It was the final thread holding the two of you together, and cutting it felt both terrifying and necessary.

His hands slowly dropped, the warmth of his touch leaving your skin cold in an instant. It felt appropriate, almost painfully so, that this was how it ended—here, in a bathroom at a wedding, with a banging door and the realization that no matter how much you wanted it, there was no going back.

You turned away, your body trembling, unsure if it was from the confrontation or the emotional weight pressing down on your chest. The moment felt fragile, like something you needed to step away from before it shattered completely.

You weren’t sure if it was the right decision, but in that moment, it felt like the only one you could make because someone else was involved now, and the consequences of continuing down that path were too great to bear.

November 10, 2019

Los Angeles, CA

Pedro’s day had started much like any other, but there was an added weight hanging over him, like the prelude to something significant. He woke up to the sound of light rain tapping against his windows, a rare occurrence in LA and a subtle reminder of the calm before the real storm—the Mandalorian premiere later that evening. He spent some time with his nephews, who had flown in for the event. They were excited about the premiere, already talking about how "cool" their uncle looked as The Mandalorian—though he couldn't show them much yet.

The early afternoon was a blur of preparations: phone calls from his team, final wardrobe checks, and trying to keep his mind from wandering too much into places he didn’t want it to go. Places that involved you.

He chose a classic black suit with a beige shirt, effortlessly tailored—the kind of look that made him feel composed, even when he wasn’t. The nerves were creeping in.

As the car pulled up to the red carpet, Pedro felt the energy shift—flashes of cameras, the buzz of fans, all converging in one chaotic, yet intoxicating, atmosphere. His nephews were with him, their excitement helping ground him. For them, this was magic; for him, it was part of the job. But he couldn’t deny the thrill of it—the anticipation of seeing the first episode on the big screen with an audience.

And then, there you were.

You stepped onto the carpet in a buttery yellow dress that made you look radiant—warm, untouchable, yet familiar in a way that left him breathless for a moment. The dress was soft and flowing, but the way you held yourself was sharp, like you had an invisible armor. He could tell you avoided looking at him at first, but when the group photos began, there was no choice but to stand next to each other, cameras clicking, people cheering. You posed for pictures together, smiling for the crowd, playing your parts.

Pedro could feel the space between you—so small, yet it felt like a chasm. The cameras didn’t catch that. He stole a glance at you as you laughed at something the director said during the photo op. You looked happy, at ease. He wondered if you were.

Inside the theater, the atmosphere was electric. The cast and crew gathered on stage for a brief panel discussion before the screening. Dave talked about the legacy of Star Wars and Jon about the vision of the show. Pedro listened, nodding along, just grateful for the opportunity to be a part of it all.

When it was your turn to speak, he watched you, waiting, unsure of what you’d say. Your voice was steady, confident as always, but then your words shifted.

You spoke about him.

“Pedro is... well, he’s a scene-stealer, as you’ve all seen from the trailers,” you joked, earning laughter from the audience. “But seriously, finally working with him has been one of the highlights of my career. His dedication, his talent, his kindness—it’s inspiring. I’m lucky to share this with him, and I hope we get to keep doing this for a long time.”

Pedro’s heart swelled at your words. He wasn’t sure if you meant it or if you were just saying what the audience wanted to hear. But for that moment, he let himself believe it was the truth. That you did still care, even in this small, professional way. But then again, this was your new normal—co-workers, partners on-screen, and nothing more.

December 25th, 2019

Perth, Australia

Christmas in Perth was like stepping into another world, a sun-drenched, easy-going atmosphere that felt miles away from the traditional snowy scenes of the holiday season. Daniel’s family welcomed you with open arms, not that you were expecting any less. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, fresh seafood, and eucalyptus from the trees outside, creating a kind of domestic vibe that you hadn't realized you craved until you were in the middle of it.

Daniel was relaxed too—his racing season over for a few weeks now; he was finally at ease, the stress that usually clung to him gone. You spent every moment together, just soaking in each other’s presence. He even traveled with you to your last film shoot, attending your workdays like you had attended some of his races, a seamless give-and-take in your relationship that made everything feel, well, easy.

It was bliss.

On Christmas Day, after the exchange of gifts and an extravagant lunch, you received a call from your mom. You sat on the veranda, watching the cicadas buzz lazily in the midday heat, and spoke to her about how things were. She asked about Daniel, about his family, and about how you were doing with everything. You promised to visit soon, reassuring her that you were fine, happy, even.

But later, as you scrolled through Instagram, something pulled you out of that happiness, if only for a moment. A post from the Rise of Skywalker premiere a couple of days ago, you assume—a photo of Pedro and Oscar standing side by side, their smiles broad, their laughter captured perfectly in the shot. Pedro, inexplicably, was wearing... pajamas? Or maybe a robe? It was such a bizarre choice, so utterly him, that you couldn’t help but laugh aloud at the sight of it. The sound surprised you, breaking through the blanket of serenity you'd wrapped around yourself. But the pang that followed was sharper, unexpected. You scrolled past quickly, trying to ignore the ache it left behind.

•••

As New Year's Eve approached, the festive atmosphere grew louder, more carefree. You found yourself caught in the whirl of it all—the parties, the lights, the endless laughter—but always with Daniel by your side. On the night itself, amidst the dancing and celebrations with his family and friends, you received a call from Oscar and his wife. They both wished you a happy new year, their voices warm and full of affection. You exchanged pleasantries, caught up for a few minutes, until Oscar, in his usual thoughtful way, asked gently, “Have you heard from him?”

You paused, knowing exactly who he meant. “No, not really,” you said, your voice steady, but there was a crack in it that even you could hear. “But it’s okay.”

Oscar hesitated on the other end. You could feel his discomfort, the weight of watching two people he cared about drift into something neither of you could quite name. “I’m sorry,” you told him quietly, not sure why. Your words were soft, almost lost in the noise of the party around you.

“It’s no one’s fault,” he said, trying to comfort you, but it didn’t land quite right. There was a shared understanding, though—one that didn’t need words.

The conversation ended soon after, and you returned to the celebration, but it felt like a weight had settled back onto your chest, one that hadn't fully disappeared, no matter how much love surrounded you.

Later that night, as the party raged on downstairs, you and Daniel snuck away to your room, laughing softly as you closed the door behind you. The moment between you shifted quickly, from playful to urgent, as his hands found your skin and yours found his. It was quick, hot sex—an eruption of need in the midst of celebration. Afterward, he whispered, “Happy New Year,” his breath warm against your ear, and you nestled into his arms, letting yourself be wrapped in the comfort of his embrace.

But as you lay there, the world outside falling quiet, that familiar ache gnawed at your chest again. No matter how happy you seemed or how full your life felt, the longing never fully disappeared. It clung to you, a ghost from the past, waiting in the shadows for moments like this to remind you it was still there.

You wished, as you lay in Daniel’s arms, for the ache to go away with the old year. To leave behind all that hurt, all the unanswered questions, and move forward into the new year with nothing but joy.

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t how it worked.

a/n: a like, reblog or comment, anything is very much appreciated <3 next part coming very soon!!

#pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #my writing #love is complicated fic

142 notes · View notes