#procrastinating on my midterms once more

[lemonerix]

cue star tripping (reimagined) by kevin atwater feat. allison ponthier

god fearing closeted teens trying to wrap their minds around things further than war and religion 🥲

[dilf-docs]

I Recall Late November, Holdin' My Breath

husband!pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: becoming an actress has always been your dream, and this job you've taken to be elvira lind's assistant is a step closer to doors of an industry so far has only given you meaningless extra roles, but you get more than you bargained for.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, dry humping, fingering, humilliation kink (ooc but a girl can dream for a man to be mean on bed and cute outside of it), mutual pinning, hurt/comfort, holy trio of angst + jealousy + possessiveness, ptwt cameos went on vacation for this chapter, lots of pov change, why is this so long and tortuous omg my bad if it's shitty but my current delusion/pain is pouring into my works.. if y'all don't comment ill unalive myself didn't pull an all nighter with my statistics hw and this for nothing

word count: 12,515 words

side note: inspired by a comment left in the og call it what you want and this req. finally, this became a series! y'all love this couple too much and so do i! for the record, this has been imprisoned in my drafts since jan 20; i have no shame. i reallyyyyy tried to let it out of draft asylum for his bday―THAT BEING SAID HAPPY (four days late) BIRTHDAY TO MY 50 YEAR OLD BABYGIRL―but it got too long and i'm too tired with uni and midterms coming up. my procrastinating inconsistent slow updater ass is to blame as well, my bad ++ i made an edit because i love p a normal amount

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You hated parties.

Scratch that. You hated parties where you didn't know anybody.

It isn't like you were anxious or an extreme introvert, and though you valued a lot the time you spent alone, it's more in the sense you can't help but overthink in this type of events, especially given the industry you're in. And so far, that industry had only given you meaningless roles. But it was better than nothing, of course, and you were glad to at least be in Netflix's call sheet for extra roles.

Your dream, however, was very much still alive. Hence, this job you've taken: working as Elvira Lind's PA, wife of famous actor Oscar Isaac. Did that guarantee you something? No, but it was closer than you were months ago. It is also the same reason why you're stuck in this party: Oscar Isaac's birthday, which you planned. You were forced to stay, both insisting it was unfair you did all that effort and didn't get to enjoy it. You didn't mind it, really: you loved planning parties. Thought, you felt in no position to deny the couple of anything, so you agreed.

Which brings you back to now, where you lay against one of the walls of the garden, sipping your drink: away from the music, chatter and people.

Today, the last thing you need is this.

You stare at your nails, bitten to the very finger in an anxious self-hating manner. It's a cruel reminder of today's failure: the audition, rejection burning in your back like a second skin.

You're growing tired of it: the closed doors in your face, the look of pity to let you finish even if you won't get the role, the condescending tone of I'm sorry, you're not what we're looking for.

You glance back at the party, your boss obviously having a good time with her husband. Well, at least she did. Sighing and trying to stay far away to be a Debbie Downer by yourself and not ruin the mood, you empty the glass in your hand in one gulp. Hey, maybe the alcohol will make the rest of the night more tolerable. Your aunt said you were a fun drunk once; you haven't seen her since you move to LA.

Isn't all this too depressing for a birthday party?

"Fuck" you exhale out loud, closing your eyes and letting your head rest against the wall.

"Rough night?"

You pay no mind to the new voice, deciding to sulk in private. So you keep your eyes close, humming as to answer: not out of wanting to engage on conversations or politeness, but because you hate silence.

"Looks like it"

More silence settles in. You refuse to open your eyes, hoping they're gone.

Despite it all, you find yourself replying. "You have no idea"

"At least there's a free bar" their voice is laced with mischief. "Very mindful of the person who organized this. And I know it wasn't Oscar, maldito tacaño" (fucking cheapskate)

Maybe it's because you shouldn't laugh, since it's your boss' husband. Or it's the way they haven't been deterred by your dry demeanor, or the fact that the voice sounds... familiar, for a reason you can't quite place.

"I did"

You open your eyes, turning to the person who decided the lonely sad looking woman on the pathetic silent corner of the garden was more interesting than the party going on behind.

"Ay, carajo!" you jump, soul practically leaving your body. You swear, after such shitty day, your head is playing games with you, and for some reason has decided to imagine your favorite actor as a coping mechanism. "Pedro Pascal?" (oh, damn)

He laughs, "Unless there's another way of calling me I'm not familiar with"

Of course he would be here. You organized the whole thing: went through the food and drinks as much as you went over the list of guests. But Elvira said that he probably wouldn't be able to make it, so of course, there was no reason to expect him nor try to put an extra effort in your look and plaster a fake smile.

Yet now he stands before you, and it's like your brain has crashed.

"Uh- You okay?"

"Definitely no" you're quick to answer, your voice sounding distant. "Now less"

"Oh!" he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, as his face flushes a pretty pink. "Is it my fault?"

He looks genuinely sorry about it, making you borderline distressed.

"Yes" Pedro raises his eyebrows, "but not how you're thinking. Yes, in the sense you're right here, right now, when you weren't supposed to. Ms. Elvira said you wouldn't make it but oh- Don't feel bad. This is my fault, for acting weird" you start rambling. "It's just, you're my favorite actor, and I we met while I'm wearing the worst dress in my closet on my worst day ever"

Pedro gives you a shy smile. "I would've never guessed"

You quirk an eyebrow, heart slamming against your chest, agitated.

"Guess what?"

He shrugs, as to mantain the mystery. "It's up to you to decide"

You look down, to your dress. You play with a loose thread as you speak.

"It's definitely not about the dress"

He laughs, but the sound is small, as if it was for you only. Like he wanted you to be the only one to hear it, like a secret of yours to keep.

"Can I tell you something?" he leans in, and the smell of clean and his cologne get in your nostrils. "I think you're the prettiest sight I've seen in a while"

The air is knocked out of your lungs at his breathless confession. The party goes quiet, and for a second, the cold of the condensation that spills from the drink and mingles with that of the night's wind is gone. All you know is there's a warmth you've never felt before, one that is settling in your chest like it's making itself a home, like he is entering your life for it to be felt now ever since.

Everything has changed.

"Please, stop talking" he looks shocked at your harsh words for a moment, but then your face turns redder by the second. "I think I'm going to throw up and I haven't even had a full drink yet" your glass sweating as much as you now a testament to this.

"Oh-" he sheepishly looks down. "I'm sorry"

It's been a long week. You still can't believe this is happening. How could anyone in their right minds believe so?

"I don't know you"

He offers you a small smile.

"I thought you said you were a fan"

You can't choose what burns more: your face, lungs or chest. It's like he's breaking you, little by little. You're folding. And it's the unknown that terrifies you: you're not exactly a control freak, nor a cold person, but this is all too new and too soon. All he had to do was look at you, make you feel seen, and you don't know if it's years of fighting to be noticed or the way you easily believe in every word he says. He might as well just caught you the moment he first spoke, world stopping to hear his every breath and your shaky heart.

You look at him, sternly, trying from a different angle.

"You can't just say things like that"

"Why not?" he tilts his head, "last time I checked, lying isn't bad"

You gulp, hardly.

"You don't mean it" you insist.

"Why not?" he repeats. "Is it that hard for yourself to believe you're pretty?"

"It's rather hard to believe Pedro Pascal of all people rather spend his time complimenting me in a room full of pretty and famous guests"

"I suppose I like telling things the way they are. And how I see it, no matter how much you try to downplay yourself, you're still the most interesting person in this room"

Your stomach can't decide if to tie in a knot or let the butterflies fly.

"You're trying to tell me I'm pretty?"

"It's even better when you say it" he purses his lips together, satisfied. "Don't you think?"

He leans against the wall, next to your small wallflower spot.

"Pretty" he whispers into the air, his exhale condescending into the night.

"I still can't believe you'd choose to be here" he looks at you, eyebrow raised. "I mean, how interesting can your friend's wife's PA be?"

He laughs, loudly. You don't think what you just said is that funny.

"What?"

"They did said you had a bit of a character"

You scoff, pouting lightly. Pedro sees your posture relax a bit, shoulders less tense, and smiles.

"My boss talks behind my back?"

He shots you a look. "Don't you do the same?"

You place a hand on your chest. "I'm actually a honest person. If I don't like you, I'll say it to your face. Same if I do"

"And how are you liking me so far?" he asks, smirking.

Pedro knows he's playing with dangerous waters, seeing the conflict in your eyes torn between letting go or holding back, but he can't help it. Ever since the moment he went through the door and caught your lonely figure in the back, away from the noise and the livelihood of the party, he was drawn to you, intrigued by your guarded posture. Like you were bracing yourself.

"Who's that?" Pedro asked Oscar.

"Elvira's new personal assistant" he answers. "I told you about her"

"You did?"

He's surprised about that. He thinks he'd remember.

"Yeah, y/n. Rings a bell?"

Oh, that y/n. "The one who got you the costumes for your kids last Halloween?"

He thinks of the picture Oscar sent him, the words accompanying the photo carrying love and pride for his children, all dressed up. The costumes were nice, detailed, like the person behind them just knew what they were doing.

"Yeah, she did them herself. Pretty smart and useful girl; been working with us for a while. Seems part of the family by now"

He nods, distracted. Oscar gives him a knowing stare accompanied by a smirk.

"Hey, why don't you go talk to her? Está toda solita, ¿no ves?" Oscar nudges him. "Use that nice smile of yours. She's had a pretty rough day" (she's all by herself, don't you see?)

Despite his interest in you, complimenting you (more like flirting) hadn't been exactly his plan, yet as soon as he went by your side, your perfume clouded his judgment and the sight of the silhouette of your curves under your flimsy dress made him dizzy. All common sense went out the window, and by Oscar's earlier reaction, something tells him his friend expected this to happen.

"So, the rumors are true" your voice breaks his train of thoughts, "you're a heartthrob"

The tip of his ears go red. God, he loves the way your eyes lit up with fierce passion, as if accepting some kind of game he isn't aware of. That fiery crack, spark of yours was all too consuming. Pedro finds himself drawn to the fire of your spirit, not minding the burn.

He can handle the heat, anyway.

"Look how the tables have turned" you say, smirking. "Am I making you nervous?"

Maybe not that much.

But your smile, victorious grin on display, carrying the same illusion of a child on a Christmas morning, brings him down to his knees. He finds himself wanting more of it, being the one to provoke it.

"Very" he decides to reply. "But it's a good thing"

"We're good then"

"Pedro Pascal" he offers his hand. "But you know that"

"Y/n" grabbing his hand makes something settle deep in your bones. "But judging by how Elvira and Oscar look at us, I think you do too"

"Jesus" Pedro murmurs, "what are they up to?"

"Nothing good, I suppose" you look in their direction, and they both play clueless, looking away. "Don't worry, they'll pay for that"

"Oh, look at you" he teasingly touches your shoulder. Even if for brief seconds, your skin feels on fire. "Little evil thing, who would've thought?"

You barely contain a smile. "There's a lot to me you don't know"

He leans in closer to you. The lingering smell of alcohol on his breath gets under your skin. Talking about it, you need another drink, fast.

"Well, I'm interested in learning"

"Are you?" you taunt.

"Trust me. You aren't getting rid of me"

Pedro was many things: funny, charming, loyal, educated and hot. Like, offensively handsome. But he was also honest and a man of his word.

Just as told, he kept his promise to stay, committed to the whole knowing me, knowing you bit.

Months had passed and he had stayed.

You went from talking about coffee orders with way too many shots and the weather to political stances and failed auditions. Dreams and secrets. Things you'd probably never say outloud to anyone else. It had begun with loud laughs and conversations turned to hushed whispers under the palm leaves of his house. He invited you to his home: gave you a chance to enter the most kept part of his life, away from the noise and cameras, and let you settle inside, like you always belonged. Let you carve a space on his heart and mind, where you where for most of the time if you weren't sitting on his couch, two big for one person but that now felt complete, dipping under the new weight of someone else. Someone to keep.

(He told you about missing Chile and his family. You told him you had always wanted to be a mother. Spoke in Spanish sometimes like the language belonged only to your world. He shared his brief swimming career. You told him about your first kiss; bad. Said your fears, like heartbreak and the sharp solitude of being forgotten. Fame. Failure. Pedro told you to be patient, no one better to tell you so, but allowed you to break down in tears as you mumbled a What if it never happens? as he whispered back a It will, sounding so sure, your heart quieted and you allowed yourself to believe him. You always would, ever since his first promise: You aren't getting rid of me)

Oscar and Elvira, of course, had noticed. How could they not? Their most trusted and professional employee and one of their closests friends had fallen together in the slow delicious burn of the amber flame of love.

It was obvious to everyone but you. Or maybe you knew, teetering around the edges of a delicate friendship that pressed with a hurting softness on your ribs, trying to remind you it shouldn't be like this if it only meant that. Perhaps you were scared of the sharp corners that threatened your frail dancing around the real, big question:

What are we?

Maybe summer was the answer: with it's sun, salt air and sweat on shirts of flimsy material. He had already your spring and your winter. New Year's was at his house. Happy New Year, he had whispered, so close to your lips, it felt like a kiss. A silent I want you here, for all year promise behind his hushed tone, just for you to hear, no matter the fireworks and the glittery noise of music and mellow conversations of excited purposes with new chapters to be written. It was just you and him, as when you sat on the Santa Mónica Hills, white Hollywood sign below your feet, or when the poppies on that park he took you to brushed your feet with the sweet blossom of spring.

He'd taken all your cold and daises with him. The leaves growing and falling. Growing again. The smell of grass that reminded you of when you were young, running around with your brother without a care in the world. Safe. You weren't religious, but believed in a God out there who heard your prayers for Pedro to be by your side all the time.

You'd give him all your seasons. All your life.

"Nice view, isn't it?" Pedro asks, leaning to your side.

His smell, one you wore as your own, the hugs (wasn't he touchy as hell?) and fleeting lasting touches to blame, fills your nostrils. Your body stiffens at the closeness, never allowing yourself to relax at how close you were: to hearing his breath, to mapping all his face... But he always managed to amuse you, like today: his moustache was a tad bit unkempt, new greys here and there. So was his hair, yet managed to look breathtaking as the scenery below you.

"Listen, if you were going to peak this much all the trip, you could've taken the window seat" you chastise with no malice behind your soft voice. "I offered you so"

"I wanted you to have it"

There it goes. The reason you had thought about him all the flight. But again, when weren't you?

"There's no winning with you, huh?"

"Oh, please" he makes a funny face, lips in a pout. "You love to be close to me"

"As if, old man" you joke. "Whatever suits your delusional ass"

This banter makes Oscar and Elvira, sitting in the row next to you, roll their eyes.

"If we knew you'd be this annoying, we wouldn't brought you along"

Life had been crazy right now. Lots of roles and filming, especifically Pedro finishing to film The Mandalorian, a series soon to hit Disney's streaming service and one that could make him a household name. You just knew it, despite how many times he looked insecure about it. Still, he was excited, probably more than he was with the Wonder Woman sequel. Yeah, the role Oscar convinced him to take was what got him excited for the rest of the year to come.

So, before Pedro went to film a Netflix movie he didn't want to tell you about (you wondered why he seemed embarrassed to talk about it, despite committing to the role, as always) and Oscar went to fully inmerse in Dune (God, you were excited for that one), Elvira had suggested to take a break, and as a Thank you for the almost three years working for her, they took you with them. Now, Pedro was a last minute addition, him being surprised about being invited at all, but judging by the continuous stares from the couple, you think this was their plan all along.

"We're about to descend, isn't it great?" Oscar shares, holding his wife's hand. "I needed this"

"We all do" she agrees, leaning on his shoulders. He hums happily, closing his eyes as the pilot's voice announces for seatbelts to be worn.

"Should we do that too?" you whisper to Pedro, wiggling your brows.

"Oh, we should" he agrees in an exaggerated sweet tone, grabbing your hand. You're used to it, but today, more than ever, your heart beats fast. You lean to him, closing your eyes to avoid his brown eyes that seemed harder not to fall into each passing day, so inviting.

"You're not funny" you hear Oscar's voice say. "What a weird sense of humor you have, my sweet girlfriend"

Pedro clicks his tongue. "You guys are gross"

"Right, you won't be saying that when you fall in love" Elvira adds.

"You'll have to die waiting" he says, still holding your hand. "You know I don't do that"

You tense, and he must've felt so.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I just hate the landing"

But your heart sinks like the plane over the tracks, crestfallen.

Despite the initial sadness, the blue of the sea took away the one in your heart.

Water had never seemed this alluring, so transparent you could see your feet pruning and the sand below your toes. You laughed under the sun, skin sprinkled with the salt of the sea and sweat.

"I wished the sea would swallow me away"

Outloud. Voice distant. The water isn't even at your waist, but Pedro looks at you. The couple are behind, sunbathing in their towels while music plays from their speaker.

"I would never allow that" sounding so serious. "I can't let you leave me"

You're taken back to your first night. You can't just say things like that.

"Right" you continue, "I'd do you a favor"

"The favor would be to stay. But I'd rather have it be a promise"

Promises. Funny. Why did Pedro say this things so freely, as true as a breath, when then he'd go and voice his fear for commitment and refusal for love in the next beat? Of course, you can't force nothing, nor have the right to change him. But it stings, that you no longer know what his initial promise meant. Friends. Yeah, could be that, but boy, didn't it hurt?

It isn't enough.

Your heart doesn't get the memo though, fluttering with his words.

"The promise to bother you forever?" you try to keep your tone steady.

"I can live with that if it means to keep you"

You suck in a breath.

"Look"

You kneel down, trying to avoid his face. Pedro should notice, he always does, but he's too busy staring somewhere else. Someone else. By God, this bikini you're wearing... It's making him insane. And hard. Under his swimtrucks, but you can't find out. He already feels like a creep, staring at your ass while you bend, giving him your back. Obscene images fill his mind, brain racing with filthy ideas of the position, reimagined.

He's a fucking joke.

"What?" he asks, mind elsewhere, somewhere between the tanning marks that have started to appear in your skin.

"A seashell" you hold your discovery to his face, giggling like a high schooler.

"It's cute" he murmurs, big fingers brushing past yours. He sees you gulp. "Like you"

You gulp again, this time with difficulty.

"Stop it, bobo" (dummy)

"You make it hard"

No, he made it hard by saying this things without a care in your poor heart.

You splash some water onto him, making Pedro laugh. Feisty girl, his deep voice rasps, making your cheeks flare up as your bottoms start to feel wet, and not by the shallow water. You remember then your menstrual cycle app. Fertile week, the notification said.

"If you ever say something like that again, I'll drown you"

"The compliment or the berating?" Pedro's quick to reply.

Jesus Christ.

"I'll tell Oscar and Elvira to send you home. Now"

"You wouldn't" he responds, laughing.

Your own laughter quiets down.

"That's right" with a soft, quiet acceptance. His laughter dies too at your tone, looking so deeply into your eyes, you feel dizzy. There's something you can't quite place in them. "I wouldn't"

A wind breezes by. The air has shifted. And the worst part is you both feel it.

Later that night, you joined the couple for dinner. Pedro was already there, changing his red swimming trunks for a Cuvabera shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and showed a weak peak of his soft silhoutte.

"Good you joined us"

"I wouldn't miss it" you reply to Elvira's sincere words, taking a seat next to Pedro.

What he wouldn't miss, is you. Holy fuck. Had you done this on purpose for him being a teasing ass to you earlier? No, how could you? You didn't know the effect you had on him.

The same effect that's making it so hard to ignore how your breasts are pushed up, and how it graciously adapts to your figure. He feels blood rush to his face and cock, and by Oscar's teasing snicker, he knows he's been obvious with the staring.

Nevertheless, conversation flows easily as the drinks and food. After rounds of wine and pasta from the hotel's restaurant, you feel a bit drunk. Nothing too alarming, just enough to do something stupid.

Like saying I love you.

"Are you okay?"

Despite being his usual loud self, Pedro's been spacing out here and there, and it always seems to happen when you talk.

"Yeah. 'M fine" you try reaching for him, but he stands up, abruptly so. "I just need some fresh air"

"I can come-"

"No!" his voice cracks. Fuck. Did he just yell at you? Judging by Elvira's glance, he did. God, and to your sweet offering and smile? He's going to hell. "Sorry, just better off by myself"

You flinch. Something like hurt makes its way to your face. He's hating himself more by the minute.

"Okay. Have fun"

But it's emotionless. You let him walk away, and it doesn't even take a minute of Pedro's back leaving the restaurant for the couple to gossip.

"Must be work stress"

"Sure it is, babe"

You don't like their tone, as if they knew an inside joke you aren't part of. Like you're the joke.

"I'll go after him"

You don't know what bothers you more: their silent stare or how they didn't stop you.

You find Pedro on an alleyway, propped against the wall. His features are lit by a dim glow.

"I thought you quit"

He blows some smoke. "And I thought I told you not to follow me"

You sigh, standing next to him.

"You smoke when you're nervous"

He doesn't look at you when he replies. "I don't"

You click your tongue. A beat.

"You do"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Expert On Me" he mocks, taking a drag.

"Fuck you" you retort, tired of his off-putting behavior during dinner and now. He gives you a bewildered look, making you angrier. "And don't give me that face, you're the one who's been acting weird all night. I'm just trying to be a good friend"

"If you were a good friend" he delivers the words in a way it feels like a slap to your face, "you would've leave me alone"

Pedro hardly lost his temper, yet now, his eyes burn with a barely contained rage.

"P..." you try one last time, never one to beg but finding yourself doing the impossible for him. Using that silly nickname as your last weapon.

"Go" is his last plead.

"Not until you tell me what is going on"

He loves how stubborn you can be.

He hates it.

"Go" he insists.

"No. You can't just- act like this! Shutting me out and..." you feel frustrating bubbling up your chest. "I don't know what's happening, just talk to me. Help me understand. Pedro, you can't treat me like I'm a nuissance when you have flirted with me hours-"

The words spill out before you can contain them. He lets out a cold laugh that chills your bones.

"Flirted with you?" Pedro takes another drag. "Jesus, y/n"

It's the way he said it that makes you want to vomit. Like the sole idea of it is offensive.

"Why do you say it like that?" you shove him.

His jaw tightens. Eyes red from the wine and anger. Cigarrette dangling from his lips.

"Like what?"

"Like the thought of it makes you sick, pendejo!" (Bastard)

"Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone!" he finally snaps, shouting. You stumble back slightly, almost falling due to your drunken senses. "See? This is why I told you to go. I say things I don't-"

"Don't you fucking dare blame this on me" you seethe. "It was your choice. To hurt me"

He hates how your voice cracks. Guilt creeps in.

"I don't want to" he runs a hand through his already messy curls. "I'm sorry"

"But you did. Why?"

Why do you hurt me when all I do is love you?

"Because I'm stupid" he leans against the wall, his regrets falling like the ash losing among the patters of the sand.

"You are" you stiffle a laugh. Without asking permission, you steal the half burnt cigarrette from his hands.

He let's you, without a word. He always has given you everything.

"We need to stop dragging this" you let out, flat. Decisive, as you stomp the cigarrette in the ground.

His heart beats so loud, it's the only sound on his ears.

"What's this?" voice barely above a whisper.

This means all those times he'd lean in too close, suffocating, because he'd always knock the air out of your lungs. When he'd hold your hand for too long, mind wandering to places it shouldn't. How your toothbrush stayed at his place, and he didn't tell you to take it back. How you changed the way the pillows on his bed where lined up, because it was comfier, and he never changed it to the way it was. You had changed his life in so many little and meaningful ways. He just couldn't imagine a life before you.

Without you.

"You know what this is" your voice is calm, accepting. "But you can call it what you want"

The moon shines above. The water crashes softly on the shore. The air feels humid and hot, but not smothering. Not anymore.

"I'm scared" is all he says. "Ever since one morning, I woke up feeling different. I just... I wanted you to be there. That your face was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes"

You always know what to say. Words seem to bloom out of you. Now they're stuck in your throat, choking you up like thorns.

"I think I've known for a long time, but you know... It's hard to accept something familiar yet foreign. Old but new"

You gulp. Your heart races.

"Pedro" your own voice feels foreign to you. "You don't have to-"

This was an apology. A search for answers. This is it. It's too much to take. You'd never guess you'd hear him utter any words that spoke about the nature of your relationship, made it clear, gave it a name, less to be under the pale moonlight.

"I'm not ready, but I want to. For you. Us"

His lips aren't as close as they have been other times, yet now, it feels it can end with a kiss.

"I can wait" you reply softly, cupping his face. Your fingers grace his two day stubble, focused on the small heart resembling patch where no hair grows. "For you, anything"

You'll kiss. Finally.

But then―

A ping. Small sound. You recognize it as the one you've designated for emails.

"What's that?"

You take out your phone, seeing the mail app icon badge on your notifications. With shaky fingers you unlock it, heart trembling. Pedro places his hand on your shoulder, as to ground you. Doesn't he know you well?

It's from your agent, the one Elvira had recommended you.

You suck in a breath. Casting call, reads the subject line.

"Oh. My. God" you cover your mouth with your hand. "P-Pedro! Fuck, look!"

He has always loved your victory face. It's the best view, even with the sea in front of him.

"I got the role" you whisper. Some tears of happiness show in your eyes.

"I knew you would"

"I-I got it" you jump in excitement, a scream lost in the night. "I got it, I got it, I got it!"

This time louder. Happier. More excited. He just watches mesmerized every little jump you do and how joy seems to ooze out of your body, the energy contagious. He finds himself smiling at you, something warm as pride settling on his chest.

"I would've personally hunt them if you got rejected"

You stop your celebration, looking at him between playful and breathless.

"Good thing they didn't"

You get close again. He doesn't know when, just that now he can see the acne scars on your face.

"Because they know what's good" he replies, tucking a loose strand behind your ear with a gentleness never known before.

You can't help but smile, your nose brushing with his.

"Don't we all?"

There's a kiss. Strong. Full of yearn, like the one on movies. On songs. This is what they want to write and sing about; try to put the feeling into words. He bits your lower lip and your tongue slides into his mouth, eager. His hands find their way to your hips, tight as a promise, pulling you even closer.

"God. You taste so good. So sweet" Pedro mumbles. Drunk. Wine or you, he doesn't care. It all makes him feel warm and fuzzy. "Need more"

With a sudden burst of movement, Pedro spins you around, pushing you up against the wall, pinning your wrists above your head with one large hand. His eyes are dark and breathing ragged, as if he's lost control.

Your heart jumps in your throat.

"W-what are you doing?"

His other hand slides down the curve of your side, over the flare of your hip, to grip your ass, pulling your hips flush against his own as he grounds the thick ridge of his erection against your core.

His voice drops.

"Don't be surprised, baby. As if you haven't thought about it"

He was right but also wrong. When you came looking for him, this was the last outcome in your mind.

Other nights, alone in your bedroom, however...

Your voice comes out in a breathless whisper. Pleading. "You know they could come looking for us any minute by now"

"Let them" he whispers, heavy breaths out of his mouth, mingling with your own. "Don't you want to properly celebrate, baby? Don't act like you don't want it. What if they walked in right now and saw their assistant grinding on their friend? Dripping all over my pants like the dirty slut you are?"

He whines as you grind your hips down on him.

"Then we better put on a show, don't you think?"

The khaki does a very poor job of hiding the wet patch already forming in the fabric over his tip, and if you had more time, you'd probably ask to suck him off; that's how equally horny and grateful you are now.

"Dirty girl"

So damn hot, your arousal pools into your now wet and sticky panties. Shout out to the dress: you don't think you could've handled the pulse of your aching cunt inside jeans.

"M'sorry for not being able to, you know-" he wiggles his eyebrows, smile soon strained by gritted teeth. "Wish I could just fuck you, here and now"

"Well, you can always come to my room tonight" and pull out the spare keycard the hotel gave you, taunting him with it like a hungry dog with a bone.

He gives you a hopeful look.

"You bet I'll be there" and bites it away from your grasp.

It's so sexy, but he's soon dropping it somewhere, falling with a soft click to the sand, because he's kissing you again, whole mouth devouring yours. Pedro makes little noises, all too strained and eager, groaning as his head falls back, your damp panties pressed intimately against the cloth of his shorts.

Pedro is fucking flying. Borderline ascending. All he knows is his cock throbbs hard as your clothed pussy grinds down on his lap while you rock your hips against his.

"Fuck-" he curses, "shouldn't wore such a small little frail dress while parading around me, baby. Es una puta tortura" (it's a fucking torture)

He grips your hips tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fights the urge to grind up against you. His large hands slid up your sides, skimming over the side of your ribs, the swell of your breasts. Pedro hums in satisfaction. Along blooms something akin to pride in your chest.

"You like it?"

"More than I should" he admits, cheeks flaring up.

"So that's why you were distracted" you laugh at him, playfully swatting his chest. "Couldn't handle the y/n charm?"

"Shut up" he mumbles, embarrased.

"Make me"

He rests his head down in your collarbones, stubble making light tickles as it grazes against your flushed skin, down in the crook of your neck, hiding his face there. Pedro breathes you in, musk mixed with sweat and the fading notes of your floral perfume, then growls.

"I don't know how I'll stop myself from not having you, baby. You've fucked me up, I swear" you moan at the intensity of each word that spills from his mouth, "might not care if Oscar and Elvira walk in now-"

"Pedro!" you yelp as his hips rolling to meet yours. A pink embarrassement washes over your face, not only at the thought but also at how you're not entirely displeased. "D-don't say that"

"Oh, please. Will you tell me you don't like the idea? Should've thought about it first, then, naughty girl" he rasps, voice a low, desperate rumble. "Don't you feel what you do to me? How hard I am for you?"

With each word, a new thrust of his hips, khaki shorts against your panties rubbing deliciously. He could feel all of your heat even through the layers separating you.

Pedro groans softly, hips rolling urgently against yours as he pinned you harder to the wall with his body, his soft planes molding with your own.

What a vacation.

(Dry humping with Pedro Pascal on a hotel room during a getaway with your boss, who happened to be Elvira Lind, wife of Oscar Isaac? After being handed a role you fought hard for? Never ever even dreamed of it)

"You want to come on my cock like this?" Pedro purrs in your ear. "Want me to dry hump this little cunt until you're coming?"

The thick bulge of his erection rubs right over your clothed slit. He feels your body tensing, breath coming in short gasps. One of those dies in your throat as you feel his fingers dipping underneath to touch your slick folds.

"Jesus, baby. You're soaked" he speaks as his fingers part your lips, delving deeper to stroke over your swollen clit. "Is this all for me, sweetheart?"

He circles your clit with the rough pad of his finger, feeling your hips buck and writhe against his touch. He can feel your walls starting to flutter, your body tensing as your climax approaches.

"Let me reward you, then, for bein' such a good girl" voice a low rasp in your ear. "My future movie star"

Pedro rubs your clit harder, fingers pumping in and out as he ground his cock against you, chasing his own desperate pleasure. He too was so close, balls tight, cock throbbing and leak on his pants.

"Fuck, Y/n... come on, baby. Come for me"

He feels your body stiffen and then fall against him as your orgasm crashes over you. He groans long and low as he feels your slick walls pulsing and fluttering around his rough digits.

It's not long before he comes, hard, his cock jerking and pulsing as he spills himself in his pants, seeping through the cotton and staining the fabric.

Now it's his turn to slump against you, pinning you to the wall with his larger frame as he struggles to catch his breath. His fingers still their movements, pulling them out of your soaked heat as he tries to even his breathing.

He nuzzles into your hair, wearing a lazy smile you can't see.

"That's my good girl. Came so pretty, all for me" Pedro praises. "Made a complete mess of yourself, didn't you? Even when you knew they could come looking for us, but that didn't stop you at all, dirty baby"

You chuckle, readjusting yourself.

"Time to head back, dirty boy"

"Boo, you're boring" he jokes. "But whatever my girl wants"

Pedro leans to kiss your hand, softly. You giggle.

"I like my men obedient"

"And I'm into submission" he winks, "so we're even"

Oscar and Elvira don't ask about your thirty minute absence, yet by their unspoken married couple secret language, it's like they know or at least guess what happened. And your shared glances and smiles give it away, anyway.

"I'm heading to my room" you announce after dessert, brushing your fingers with Pedro's. A small reminder.

"It's barely ten" Oscar replies with a strange tone.

"Tonight was fun but I'm tired" you offer a rather lazy excuse. "Goodnight"

The copy of your key burns in his pocket. He abruptly stands up, not even five minutes after. He is as obvious as impatient.

"Wow, slow down buddy" Oscar grabs his arm, forcing him to sit down again. His cock twitches, as pissed as he is. "Easy. There's no rush, is it? Or do you have somewhere else to be?"

He gulps down.

"Oh, look at them. Didn't I tell you so?" Elvira laughs.

"I thought so too!" Oscar argues.

The woman just gives him a glare. "Yet who came up with it first?"

"Fine, wife wins this round" he slumps on his chair. Then looks at Pedro, pointing her. "You can't win with this one"

She ignores him, leaning forward, elbows propped in the table.

"So, did you two-"

Pedro's cheeks burn. "I'm not gonna share that-"

"-Talk" she finishes, "but now I'm curious to know what you aren't meant to share"

"Secundo eso" Oscar chimes in. (I second that)

"I need to go, really" he insists, thinking of you. On your bathroom, propping yourself in the mirror, starring and smiling too much at your reflection.

"I get it, time's precious" his friend coincides. "You aren't getting any younger dude"

This is his banter with Oscar, all playful no damage meant. But his stomach sinks.

In a way, he's right, and some of the doubts that held him back come crawling and settling on his head. They whisper until their words cut deep and find home in the darkest corners of his mind, feeding from the shadows.

A young couple passes by him. He hadn't even registered he'd stood up until the perfume of the woman, fruity, wafts into his circle. Until the man's voice and laughter is clear, full of life and less burden of the years passed by. They look so good together, and then she leans in to whisper to him, looking at Pedro. The man turns around, smiling but then looking at her, lastly at the exit doors. And they're gone. Maybe they recognized him, but right now, it feels like the universe has sent him a message.

A cruel unwarranted blow of reality.

(Aching joints meeting your brand new. The coloring of his hair that hadn't started in yours. The rough of his skin against the soft of your own. The wrinkles you had of laughter and expression opposed to those he simply had because of time. His soft planes compared to your rigid body. The size difference. The age gap. That was his reality and it fucking sucked)

His phone chimes in on cue.

Thank you for tonight. That was amazing

Pedro smiles, sadly so, as he types an answer.

It was

In past. Fitting for an ending. A goodbye.

The key burns still. But he doesn't take it out, not even when the shorts drop somewhere on the pile of clothes on his room's couch. He just falls in bed, burying his face into the pillow until the pushing force of guilt and feelings lull him to sleep.

On the other side of the hotel, moon shines it's light into an empty room, waiting bed cold with deception, many questions asked to the silence, not sure if you want the answers.

You should always trust your intuition.

It didn't fail you when you decided to leave your country behind, despite the failure, homesickness and loneliness gnawing at your heartstrings season to season.

Now? You were about to star in one of Netflix's original romcoms, and while to others it may seem small, to you, this leap in your career from background roles to lead meant everything.

It also didn't fail you when it came to Pedro. Whom you caught his first stare across the room, holding it dearly to your heart like the night you met. The age gap, different stages in life, work... all of it blurred to the sound of his low laugh and voice.

I think you're the prettiest sight I've seen in a while.

You loved being right. You hated not being proved wrong now.

For the rest of the vacation, is like Pedro did a whole switch: he made it his mission to act like nothing happened, like you hadn't happened.

Maybe, the thrill or vacation release was what he wanted, and the hoping was only on your side. The deep connection you'd nurtured for months was gone in seconds, taken away from you before you even learned what loving was.

He was commited, you have to give him that. Even on the plane, in such reduced space, he managed to remain quiet, not even batting an eye at Oscar and Elvira's questioning stares. They were probably as confused as you.

It all stayed back in the island: the sound of waves, sand in your feet and the hot sun of stolen stares and whispers lost in the humid night. The hard of the wall pressed against your back. The moonlight over the sea as he said Us. And how he tasted, like the wine and cheese he glazed his pasta with. In every cup and serving, he will be now, not like you wanted but like a ghost. Haunting.

It was over.

So were your days working for Elvira, who had become sort of a mother figure to you, especially after being away from yours. In this new stage of life, being an assistant just didn't fit into your schedule anymore, and as grateful as you were to have met them―what the family did for you―, it was time to go.

This meant you'd still keep in touch, though. Still, the chances of seeing Pedro again were low, and you have yet to decide if that was good or bad, because what made you feel giddy had turned to dread.

Despite it all, you forced yourself to remain positive. Shooting for your role was about to begin and you weren't going to let a man ruin it. You hadn't let this things hurt before, why should they now?

Pedro was different.

If for fleeting time had your paths converged, you're aware you'll remember those weeks for the rest of your life. You know it by the way your digits twitch with need, his number ingrained into your mind due to the hours spent thinking about it. You called your parents all the time, as usual yet felt guilty because now, Pedro was the first person on your mind.

He was the one you wanted to speak. Talk about your day on set. For him to go through your lines with you, like he had done before your audition. Take this, and he gave you one of his hoodies that day, the Carrie one. I'll be there, Pedro said. Now you won't feel alone. You wish you kept it, just to remember his smell, gone weeks ago of your house, last reminder he once lived in here like it was his real home.

You hated driving across his house, not daring to step a foot inside. How leaves turned from green to yellow, the orange spicy cinnamon air of November's autumn welcoming your still broken heart. How the premiere for his series was around the corner, days away, and you kept staring at the phone for too long. To congratulate him. Ask how he's been. If he's nervous. If you'll watch the first episode together.

"Hey, y/n" you raise your head from your phone, fingers hovering over his contact, yet again. You turn it off, embarrased. "Got any plans for later?"

It's your co-star, Jordan Fisher. You both share a passion for dancing, something you do a lot in this movie, Work It. It had been fun so far, and you've met the two leads, him and Sabrina Carpenter, spending much more time with the latter as you play her bestfriend. While not being the main role, you would treasure this experience forever.

"Um, I don't think so" you answer, smiling. "Why?"

"I was going to grab some drinks in this café nearby. Want to come?"

You look at your phone, then at him. You tell yourself this is okay, even if a part of you is screaming in betrayal.

No, you deserve to be happy. To go out and not think about Pedro at all. Enough moping around when no one is looking. Enough of forbidding yourself from moving on, holding onto heartache like it's a crown or a badge to wear with honor.

"Sure" you stand up, throwing your phone inside your bag. For the first time, you truly smile and don't think about Pedro and the summer sorrow. "A coffee right now sounds perfect"

Pedro has been miserable.

Ever since you came back from your trip, the distance got even bigger. Not louder, quieter: long gone the loud laughter and endless conversations. You didn't question him, just gave him those eyes full of grief, pain and confusion he hated. He avoided your stare, knowing he would cave in the moment he gazed back. So you respected his silence and distance, helped the breach grow bigger. Pedro doesn't know what hurts the most: that you stopped trying because you respected his boundaries that much, without a question, or that you had given up on him that easily.

He's currently sat on his living room, some movie playing in the background as he scrolls through his phone. He never thought he'd be one of those people, but once the bad habit started, he couldn't quit it. You'd chastise him: Look at you, trying to fit in with the youngsters and our bad etiquette. Your voice was light, teasing, but now he's reimagining it with a cruel light to it, laced with mockery. Not joking with him. At him.

His phone chimes in. It's a text from Oscar.

Pedro. Have you seen this?

Three dots. Erased. Then again. Finally, he gives up and just sends a link.

Jordan Fisher And his Co-Star, Y/n L/n, More Than Friends?

He turns off the phone, unable to see more. His breathing turns frantic, lungs burning with each breath he takes.

Pedro turns it on again, like he wants to punish himself in a way. His fingers presses over the blue text, the article showing up in no time on his screen. If the title hurt him enough, the picture below kills him.

That smile he misses, again seen through a screen, as the one's he's captured and keeps on his phone, seeing them when it's late at night and the pain of your absence becomes unbearable. But he's not the reason why you smile. It's him: young and handsome, coffee in hand with the same logo as yours.

Did he know you preferred brown sugar just because you liked the color? It's my favorite color, while looking at his eyes. Does Jordan know you always buy extra whipped cream when you order it cold? How does he know what to say to make you laugh the way only he knew: eyes crinkled, corners wrinkled and that loud sound that lit up a room? It was his, in a way, a trophy as important as any award the industry could give him. But now he's staring at it through an article, a young man by your side.

You look good. Beautiful. A dark part of him wishes you weren't doing well, that it's just a facade, like him. That deep down, you can't sleep at night thinking of him, and when you close your eyes, he's the last thing you think of and the one you dream of.

He wants you to mourn this fight that went down with cold acceptance. For you to feel the same tug at your heartstrings when you look around you, because for him, you're everywhere: in every corner of his house and life, haunted by the brushstrokes your colors painted on his life. But now the paint has dried, cracked, and he's selfishly wishing you haven't moved on. That you think of him as much as he thinks of the sand, your moans and your sweet taste. Of being so close to paradise and letting you go.

That you're hurting just means it mattered to you, yet now, with the smile mocking him on his face, he thinks you never cared.

Worst part is he deserves it. He was the one who pushed you away.

His fingers hover over his phone. No, it's not the right time. It never feels like it is, regret washing away with cowardice his chances. He's dialing other number. It takes a while for the line to pick up.

"I was waiting for your call"

Pedro rolls his eyes. "Very funny"

Oscar scoffs. "I wasn't trying to be"

"Why'd send me that?" he's asking, knot on his stomach.

"Why do you think?" voice stern, acompanied by a matter-of-fact tone. "Usa la cabeza" (use your head)

"To torture me?"

He only laughs. "So you can do something about it"

And the only thing he did was grab the closest bottle and drink until the tears of his amber eyes melted within the mirroring liquid, world reduced to a quiet blur of ringing ears and broken heart on his lonely bed, missing your smell and how it dipped under your shared weight.

Grief turned to anger fast. A fury that went in burning circles of regret and helplessness.

How could you?

Why hadn't you fight more for...

How could he even call you both?

(Call it what you want, you said)

No. He had no right being mad.

But, was he that easy to forget?

Anger makes his face hot with embarrassement and rage. His fists turn white, curling and uncurling. His hair is a mess and he knows every breath he takes now reeks of whiskey. What he doesn't know is how he ends up in front of your house after months of not being able to even call you on the phone, same white knucles now relaxed into a bright pink that matches with the drunken blush of his face, falling into the peaceful familiarity of coming home, all pain gone for a fleeting moment as soon as he senses the faint smell of your plants in the porch. Daises are my favorite, the entrance to your house filled with them. He gave you one for your birthday last year.

"Pedro?"

Had he already knocked your door? He stares at his trecherous hand. Pedro doesn't even know what to say, his name called by you sinking into his chest.

Despite his slurred senses, he can see you: your soft hair, still damp from the shower. The roses and milk aroma on your skin he so dearly missed. The way the loose t-shirt hangs from your body, paired with your Cherry Blossom socks with Van Gogh's painting on their pattern. Your bare legs make him dizzy, as if the alcohol had not done enough damage to his balance already.

"Pedro" you repeat, "what are you doing here?"

Good question. He doesn't even know the answer.

(Or maybe he does, but damn, isn't he a fucking coward?)

"Are you with him?"

"What?"

"That guy" he tries explaining, his own voice sounding distant to himself. "Are you dating?"

You laugh, coldly. He takes a step back, like you've landed a blow across his face.

"What makes you think you have the right to show up at my door after months of ignoring me to ask that?" you lean on the doorframe, dismissive, but he feels you're blocking the entrance. Blocking him out of your life. "It's none of your bussiness"

"Y-you can't be with him"

Weak. Like a fucking beggar.

"I beg your pardon? Jesus, the nerve that you have-" you throw your hands in the air, a thing you do when you lose your temper, which is frequent to happen. As calculating and driven you were, you weren't a patient woman. "Did you think it was a good idea to come by and tell me what to do? On top of all that, drunk? Fuck, you're a mess"

His shoulders slump down with the weight of shame, running a hand through his messy hair, distressed. He looks up again and examines your features.

They're the same, and he doesn't know why he's relieved, as if you were to change in months. But to be loved is to be changed, and God knows he was scared of finding another version of you behind the door, one without free hair and floral scent: one that didn't belong to him anymore.

"You didn't even call for my birthday" he looks up to you, but you look at the floor, voice breaking. "I knew that's when it was over. For real"

"Y/n-"

God, you missed the way his voice would call you. But the hurt is too much to bear, months of piled up sadness forming a storm: the one you've always been, never a calm sea like the one in front of you when you kissed, but always roaring, each word aiming to hit like thunder.

You had spent so many hours, shrinking in fear under the force of pain, body trying to cry―to release, anything―and live through just another empty night.

He, the reason of your ache, now standing before you, looking as miserable as you feel.

"You need to go"

Final. No room for more to be said. He just hates how determined you are sometimes.

You're closing your door. Shutting him out. He can see the pain on your face, let's himself believe there's a chance as he tries to erase feeling so dumb for succumbing to harmless teasing words of his friend―mixing with previous fears, and the image of you, holding hands with another. Kissing another who gets to taste the flavor of those strawberries you ate so frequently and that of your gloss. To be whole with someone who isn't him.

But it's his fault.

His, his, only his.

He doesn't want to lose you. He can't. Even if love isn't natural for the likes of you and him, he knows it's yours and his.

It can't be over. Can't. He doesn't know nanything like you. Has got nowhere else to go.

"I love you" he tries, desperate.

Your eyes go wide, with surprise, then sadness and finally rage, one that's quiet, simmering and scratching the surface to let wrath go loose.

"You can't love me"

He might as well have already lost you.

"What you did to me" The silence. The betrayal. Closing off. Throwing away in the blink of an eye. Asking why's to a rusted dead line. "Not even a friend would do" your hand grabs the doorknob with ending resolution, but it shakes. With vitriol, tears or uncertainity, he doesn't know. "So don't talk about love like you mean it. You can't just say things like that"

The soft waft of alcohol in your breath. Petricor mixing with the smell of freshly cut grass. Your shy smile and light blush despite the flame of ambition in your eyes. Your words take him back. To the night you met. He would go back and tell himself not to be stupid, not to fuck the best thing on his life.

"Please" like it pains you to say it, "stand up. Don't make this harder"

He's on his knees, begging. For what? It's over. He not even prayed but is willing to sacrilege vows he hadn't taken to keep your love.

"I'm sorry" he buries his face in your thighs. Feels the humid of his tears running and the warmth of your skin combing through his hair. "I'm an idiot"

You chuckle weakly. "I know"

"One" Pedro holds tighter, wretched. "Just one chance"

"P..."

You feel his grip loosen.

"Don't" choked up, "don't say it like a goodbye"

You kneel down to his level, tilting his head with gentle fingers by his chin as he refuses to meet you in the eye.

"At least now you know how it feels" and brush a stray tear away.

"I love you" he repeats. "I'm sorry I didn't know how to deal with it"

You let him continue, hand still on his face, stubble rough, prickling your skin.

"When I found out... This is gonna sound very corny, but that one phrase about not knowing what you've got until you lose it? It's fucking real, baby" he laughs, humorlessly. "The moment I saw those images, all I could think about was our kiss and how I'd never get to kiss you again. How you were there for me, had me like no one before. How we talked for hours, and you listened, bringing things we said sometimes, like trinkets on a box or charms of a necklace. Tiny things and moments that belonged to us. And to think you'd share that connection, that- silence, that only comes when two people understand eachother... It fucking ruined me. I forgot about my fears, our age gap-" he cuts himself off, self-conscious. "All I could think about was saying those three words I've felt since we first spoke on Oscar's garden, but was to afraid to say. Even know. You have no idea how crazy my heart is beating right now" he breaths in, deeply. "I'm sorry for loving you and having no idea how to properly do so"

It takes a while for you to realize he's now cleaning your tears. That you've stayed silent for too long.

"Why?"

"Because you deserve someone better. Someone who isn't too old. One you waste your youth with. Like him" he can't even bring himself to say his name. "You looked so good together. Fitting. No one would say anything, no one would disgrace your name. But I'm selfish, I know. Didn't wanna see you with him. At all. Almost broke my phone screen"

Each word punctuated with a green colored hurt. And that, even in all this blues, makes you feel flustered.

"Pedro" you softly call him. "Look at me"

"I can't-" he whispers, browns elusive. "I'll never forgive myself for hurting you. I wanted you to be as miserable as me, but now that I see it to be true, I hate myself"

"Were you jealous?"

He can't deny it. "Fucking seething"

You laugh. God, he longed for it. Prays for it all to be back to how it used to.

"Happy birthday"

You laugh. "What?"

"Did he tell you that?"

"Jordan?" Pedro nods. "We just met. Shooting isn't over yet"

"Well, happy birthday"

"It was two months ago" you counter.

"Only I get to wish you so" face closer to yours now, whispered words ghosting over your nose.

"Silly" you smile, sheepishly. "Are you the birthday police? You can't decide who gets to congratulate someone on their special day, you little jealous freak"

"But I get to decide this"

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, pouring every ounce of his passion and desperation into it. The unsaid yearning and ache on his tongue. It delves deep, claiming your mouth as it tangles with yours in a dance of hunger and need.

Like a couple of young highschoolers on their mother's porch, breeze flowing by their little town. It smells as home. It's simple. It's real. It's extraordinary. It's just what you wanted.

Love.

"I missed you"

You feel a surge of love and lust at his breathless confession.

"I missed you too"

With rushed steps he takes you to your bed. Your room is still the same. Your picture stands on your nighstand.

"I'm surprised you didn't tear it"

His hands slide down to grip your thighs, pushing them apart.

"I'm surprised you think I would"

Clothes go off with the desperation of two people who have circled around eachother for too long. Your bed feels full, unlike the one of the hotel, where you waited until your tears dried in the pillow.

"Well, you're full of surprises" he adds, voice strained.

Pedro settles himself between your thight, the hard, thick length of him nestling against your slick, heated flesh, groaning into your lips at the feel of you. Warm, soft... Ready for him.

His lips mark a trail down your throat, teeth grazing your collarbone. He licks and nips his way down to your breasts, taking one rosy peak into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the hardened bud.

"Pero sí fui un pendejo" growled against the skin in the middle of your breasts. "Forbid myself of tasting you when you taste so fucking good. Could devour you for hours, baby, and never get enough" (i was such an asshole)

"Please, P. Just quit the fucking talking and make me yours"

A surge of emotion and desire wash over him. He holds your stare, seeing the longing and desperation on your face. This unbridled want, he felt it too.

"Shit, baby" he breathes, voice rough and thick with emotion. "You have no idea how badly I've wanted to do this. To feel you with me, next to me and under me"

You allow yourself to believe in him. In his words and touches, cracking a fire in their wake.

"Then do"

To show just how much he means it, he forces your mouths into a fierce kiss. Pedro pours every ounce of his love, his need, his desperation into it. His tongue delves deep, claiming you. Consuming you. Making you his.

All you've wanted.

"For the record, Jordan and I are just friends"

He reaches down to grip himself, lining the thick, hard length of his cock up with your entrance.

Pedro grunts, feeling the promise of warm tight walls taking his dick.

"I don't care"

He rubs the swollen head through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.

"You're not even looking at me" you tease. "He's getting married next year, by the way"

He groans into your mouth at the feel of you, so hot and ready for him.

"I don't care" he repeats.

"Said I could come to the wedding if I wanted to"

Right after the last word you speak, with one powerful thrust of his hips, he buries himself inside you. A broken cry comes out of your mouth, desire coursing through your veins like the most powerful and addictive drug there is ever to exist, only rivaled by him: he, who after years of being his fan, months of friendship, a summer of love and some other months of radio silence filled with unspoken terrifying truths, is finally yours.

"With how much you bring it up, I'd think you're in love with him"

"And by how much you refuse to listen to my words, even as you're buried inside me, I'd think you're jealous"

He hilted himself fully, cock throbbing as it stretches to fill you completely.

"Quit sayin' that, when you know it's the other way around" a broken wail leaves your lips at his girth inside of you, your folds trying to adjust to his size. "Got all giddy with him, at his dumb stories and jokes. But does he know how you like you coffee? No, but I bet you fluttered your eyelashes and laughed like a fucking attention starved brat when he handed you your order. Bet he's a whole gentleman who payed for your order. Probably offered you a ride home, but can't play any of your favorite songs. The ones I know" he throws his head back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat at the exquisite feel of your tight, wet heat enveloping him. "Yet the funniest part is he doesn't know you did all of this for me"

"P-Pedro" you plead, reduced to a moaning mess.

"Tell me you didn't, but we both know how the answer goes" he grabs you by your chin. "Tell me that you were desperate to get a reaction out of me. That you wanted all of my attention. That it's me who you really wanted and not that fucker. Say you did all that little flirty whoring show to make me angry, because guess what? It worked, you desperate slut"

You should be humiliated, but instead, your treacherous brain makes your mouth whine.

"Dirty baby" he whistles, amused. "You're into that? Like me to call out your bullshit, huh? You're a real bad girl"

"I'd call myself resourceful" your voice is strained, "a girl can only do so much for to get her supposed bestfriend who dry humped her last summer to talk to her again"

He laughs, a sound that makes you nostalgic.

"And I take full responsability for that"

"Why don't you fix it the best way you know?"

"Can I get a clue?"

"Shut your mouth and start moving"

He's so compliant is hard to watch and not moan just by his sheer obedience. Surrendering himself to you and your alluring voice clouded with lust. Pedro starts to move, his hips rolling and rocking against yours in a slow, sensual rhythm. He takes his time, savoring every inch of your silky walls as he slid in and out of your depths.

"Fuck, y/n" he pants, voice ragged. "You feel so fucking good, baby. So perfect, so right. Like you were made just for me"

He leans down to nuzzle into your neck, his lips brushing against your ear.

"I love you, y/n" he murmurs the three words again, tone low and intimate.

You tangle your fingers on his hair, pulling him closer for a kiss.

"I love you"

Feels good to put it out there, but maybe he's more excited than you are, given by the goofy grin that takes over his features, eyes shining like the stars on the starry night outside.

His heart soars at your words, and Pedro can't help but kiss you with all the passion and commitment burning inside him, pouring every ounce of his devotion into the press of his lips against yours.

"Three words and you've made me the happiest man on earth, baby"

He thrusts into you harder, driven by the overwhelming feelings on his chest. He wants to mark you, claim you.

"That's it, you naughty little girl. Getting yourself all worked up after your little devilish plan" he grunts. "Gonna make you mine now and fuck you until you can't walk. Until you become a mess. So dumb you can't speak anything but my name"

His hips snap against yours with each powerful surge of his cock, the wet, obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the bedroom.

"Mierda, you'd should be so fucking embarrassed, shouldn't you? Ashamed of opening your legs for a man who could be your father"

He can feel his release building, the hot, tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in his stomach. You pull him closer, arms around his neck, pulling him off his thoughts.

"I'm not ashamed" you purr in his ear. "In fact, I think it's fucking hot"

"Oh, yeah? Dirty girl likes old men?" he grits his teeth, fighting it off, determined to hold back until you cum first. "Loves to be stuffed up nicely by men old enough to be your daddy? Quit that moaning or I might just give you what you ask"

You whine, receptive to his words.

"That's it, baby. Cum for me. Cum all over my fingers like a dirty little girl. I want to see your pretty face and hear your pretty noises. Need to prove if they're better than I imagine as you clench yourself on my cock"

Pedro lets out a roar of triumph as he feels your pussy spasm around his cock, your scream of ecstasy pushing him over the edge. With a final thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside your warm cunt, cock pulsing and throbbing as he erupted.

"Take it, baby. Take every last drop of my cum like the hungry whore you are. Let me fill this hungry little pussy like you deserve"

He grunts and shudders as spurt after spurt of his hot, thick seed paint your walls.

"Now I get to show him and any other fucker who you really belong to"

He collapses against you after emptying himself, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he continues to twitch and pulse inside you. Pedro peppers your face with kisses, restless hands roaming over your curves, touching and caressing every inch of you with desire.

"Baby, listen"

His voice is soft with scary twinges laced within as he rolls to the side, pulling you with him so that you were draped across his chest. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, the silent vow to never letting you go on his strong grip.

"I know I keep making the same mistakes every time" he sighs, his hand stroking your hair. "Yet, it's worth it. The fame, my name, the press... It all reduces to nothing. Because when I look at you, I know at least I did one thing right"

He tilts your chin up, his eyes burning into yours with fierce intensity.

"Then run away with me" you say softly. "Where no one knows who we are"

"We can't" he laughs. "But I'd love to. For you to be mine, forever and always"

"To be with you, I would do anything" you lay on his chest, humming with approval. "I mean it"

"Well" he grabs your hand, "we can't exactly run away, but I have a close idea to it"

"I'm all ears"

He looks deep into your eyes, afraid of his own words.

"We can talk about it more later on but, how about keeping this matter... private?" your body gets goosebumps. "Just you and me. Some friends and our family. Teams too. But it'll be our little secret"

It's the start of something. That something that started on Oscar's birthday when he first called out your name. It was all about falling since then, never quite landing, not knowing what to say. Hiding behind silence the loud thoughts you wanted to shout, words you both couldn't get out, ones to be proud of.

Maybe one day you'd get to do so.

"Something to keep" you add as your way to agree. A promise, to follow him everywhere. To bring him home when he needed. To build something out of what you both feared: with late dinners, kitchen dancing, shared clothes, line reading, fleeting touches, long showers and deep kisses.

You lay again your head on his chest, content and at ease, feeling it go up and down, his heartbeat tranquil and your body soft against his rising and falling tummy. It feels right, like where you should be. Forever and always.

"Like you"

"No, Pedro" you whisper, lazily kissing him as sleep starts to lull you in to the best night you've had in months. "Like us"

It's only getting started.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @trashcora

[mindfulstudyquest]

❥﹒♡﹒☕﹒ 𝗴𝗼𝗮𝗹𝘀 𝗶'𝗺 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗱𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻 as an exchange student who's not a party animal

𝟭. study day by day ( 🪴 )

i am a big procrastinator and when it comes to exams, too often i have left it to the last minute and pulled all-nighters to get high grades, but due to the spanish school system, which includes many more partial exams and midterms than italy (actually there aren't any in italy at all) i will be "forced" to change this tendency of mine, the goal is to study the lessons on the very same day so as to have a greater margin for revision that will allow me to secure my knowledge.

𝟮. allow time to rest/recharge ( 🔌 )

i once read a sentence: "if you have two minutes to do something, it will take you two minutes, but if you have two hours, it will take you the whole two hours". concentrating for a few hours a day, but in an effective and meaningful way is perhaps my biggest dream, this year i will do my best to limit the hours of study and dedicate time to rest and tourist activities that my year in spain will reserve for me (parties and hangouts included).

𝟯. learning a new language ( ⭐ )

i don't speak spanish at all, but i understand it very well. studying and living here for a whole year will definitely help me develop my linguistic/grammatical knowledge to start a deeper study of the language. the more languages ​​you know, the better.

𝟰. get out of my comfort zone ( 🦋 )

as an introvert, i often find myself, especially during stressful times, retreating to my room, wrapped in the comfort of my favorite books and series. the real challenge will be to abandon the safe place for the unknown and finally embrace the idea that the unknown is beautiful, that it has breathtaking sunrises and sunsets, and that any scars that might come from it are as precious as diamonds.

𝟱. being proud of myself ( 🍋 )

realizing that i'm doing well, that the me from a year ago who was afraid of failing the university entrance exam has not only now completed her first year of architecture with excellent results, but now lives alone in a foreign country. a year ago i would never have believed it, so i should be proud of it, and not fear that i'm not enough. there is a lot to improve, but celebrating victories is equally important as aiming for the top.

[purecommemasolitude]

mathews family headcanon lore dump aka i'm writing a short fic with two-bit and his mom and i wanted to flesh out some of his family details aka i'm procrastinating midterm studying

i used to think of keith as something only his family called him, but after reviewing the passage where his nickname is described and thinking some more, i have revised my vision to the below

keith is his dad's name

he doesn't really talk about it (and is barely called that anyway) so most people have forgotten, but not the mathews family

his mom only calls him keith when she's unhappy with him

speaking of his dad, he left when two-bit was six

two-bit was a purposeful pregnancy. his sister was not. his dad didn't want to take care of another kid or the financial burden of it and walked a few months after she was born

he hadn't even wanted two-bit that badly, it was mainly mrs mathews who wanted a kid, but it helped that he was a "little man" instead of a girl

they met in their mid-late 20s and had been married for five-six years before two-bit was born

i haven't settled on a name for his mom but maybe alice

the reason they weren't expecting two-bit's sister (who we'll also call brenda) is because she was at an age where it's pretty unlikely to get pregnant, especially if you're not actively trying for it

she had two-bit a lot older than the curtises were when they had darry, and after two-bit befriended darry & soda she was a somewhat maternal presence to the curtises, although it was weird sometimes how they'd been parents for longer than she had

there would be occasional tension caused by the last thing, what with the duality of her being older than them but less experienced in child-raising, but neither curtis had a good relationship with their family and were more-or-less no-contact (+ mrs mathews is very easy to get along with) so they were still friends

they did nottt like the cades randles or winstons (besides the kids of course) and all wished they could take care of their children instead a little, but they a) know how things work in the neighbourhood and it's run of the mill to have shitty parents and b) could never be able to manage that financially or legally

she's pretty lighthearted with a good sense of humour like ponyboy describes her, but she does worry sometimes more than she lets on to others and especially outside of the house

as he grew up, two-bit became more aware of this and feels guilty sometimes over how little he helps her with the family, especially after seeing how darry & his brothers shape up post-crash

he tries not to bother her too much with his problems because of this, which is just fine because he also tries not to think about his problems

two-bit knows he's not a very good son and that's part of the reason why he hasn't given up on graduating yet, because he promised it to his mom and he'll be damned if he fails her in this too

mrs mathews does wish two-bit could be more of a help to her, but at the end of the day her main goal is that he is happy and loved (and doesn't turn out like Dally)

he very much dreads being in the same grade as brenda or being the last in the gang to graduate, but pretends like he's looking forward to bothering her in her classes

brenda used to look up to her cool older brother and they do still get along, but as she's grown up she's had a gradual rude awakening by how little he helps their mom and how much he drinks

two-bit is very much the "treat my sister bad and i shatter your kneecaps" person to anyone she starts seeing seriously once she gets older

she doesn't know for sure that she's the reason her dad left, but she's put the pieces together of how soon after her birthday he left

for this reason, she feels guilty about the state of their family and tries to minimize being a burden on her mom

she's vowed to herself to get a job to help out as soon as she's able because she thinks it's her fault they're in the situation they are, but she hasn't told mrs mathews about it because she knows she'd protest. this feeds into her slight resentment at two-bit's laziness

the curtis crash freaked everyone in their house out a lot, because other than the grief of losing your friends/friends' parents/friendly neighbourhood figures, it made them all reflect on whether or not two-bit would be able to do what darry did

mrs mathews thinks he could if he really pushed himself to it. two-bit and brenda do not think he could do it at all

they have not discussed this with each other though so it kind of festers in the back of their minds

[author-orchids]

A long winded announcement (I'm alive!)

Hi everyone! (All three of you!) I've disappeared from the face of the earth but I am not, in fact, dead, and I'm back!

So, why did I leave? I had been so stressed out about school that I just could't bring myself to post here. Nothing interesting like getting hit by a bus, unfortunately. Midterm exams were coming up at the time that I stopped posting and I just haven't had the energy to come back since then. Posting started to feel like a chore, and boy oh boy does my monkey brain love to procrastinate.

For the time being, I won't be able to post every week. I do this for fun and it isn't fun if I'm worried about my posting schedule. Once summer break hits, I will return to posting once a week. Until then, I will post when I can.

Right now, I am working on rewriting chapters one and two completely. Those two were really placeholders so I had somewhere to start from. But now, I know what I want the introduction to my story to look like, and so I'm writing it better!

What I'm writing in place of the current chapters one/two is likely going to end up being more than two chapters, so I will have to change alll the chapter numbers all the way down 🫠. And I'll be making some edits to at least chapter three so as to fit in with the new beginning. So, keep an eye out for the new beginning chapters and the updated chapter three/whatever number it ends up being! I'll post them as soon as they're done!

(Also, yay! killing Cornielus [or however I spelt is name] by completely writing him out of the story and instead introducing one of my favorite guys!)

[my-castles-crumbling]

hi cas career advice anon again

so a few days i slowly started bringing up the fact that i didn't really like the stem subjects with my mom and she just went "Do humanities study history and geography in 11 and 12 or maybe you can even study *my second language*" in like a dismissive type of joking way bc somehow it's turned into a running joke in my family about how i constantly get better marks in non stem subjects and how i should just go study them instead (derogatorily) and yeah i had plans to do stem and had those plans for a majority of my life but my parents treat humanities as just history and geography and therefore pretty useless. like i get that in our country, you're more likely to be better off if you take stem and probably even in the world in general but law is still pretty respectable and even if it wasn't law, but something else that was non stem, it shouldn't have been like such a big deal. i mean i could probably do well if i genuinely tried but i don't even like the stem subjects anymore so it's pointless. i just need to make it through next year and i can completely turn my back on it. i want to tell my parents by the end of 9th grade so they have some time to readjust their views by the time our subject selection for 11th grade happens. except judging by their reactions, i don't know how they'll take it. i don't think it'll be easy but i have to give them that time, especially if i need to convince them. also our school operates through a system of four electives besides our compulsory language classes from 11th grade and legal studies happens to be in the same bracket as physics so i'm keeping my fingers crossed about being able to take legal studies instead of physics.

i told my parents today. they have been going on about how i'm so unmotivated to study physics (they didn't know so yeah) and if my career goals had changed i should just tell them, so i did to get them off my back. they were understandably shocked bc who wouldn't be when they found out that their daughter had changed her mind about her career in two weeks after wanting to do something for practically her entire life. my mom wants (very badly) for me to continue with science after 10th grade and prepare for the law entrance exam on the side but my dad says he's fine with me leaving science for law of i'm absolutely sure about taking it bc science is very intensive in our country after 10th grade so it doesn't make sense for me to take it, not do well, and fuck up all my future prospects. my mom thinks i'm getting scared of science bc they're concerned about me not doing well recently and see, i'm kinda scared bc i'm concerned but that's not the only reason. my dad also wants me to go to a trial and see what the system in our country is like just in case i don't get to go abroad and have to work here before i make my decision, which is fair, considering that my country sucks in most aspects. however, my mom. that's a different matter altogether bc she says that she doesn't care if i want to do something other than science but she's of the very strong opinion that i should still continue with science until i graduate high school. she's like, "but you understand physics and you're smart your grades are just low because you don't practice." like, i don't practice because i find it boring and procrastinate because of that. my dad agreed with her because he's been teaching me physics for a month now after my practically failed midterm. i get that they're concerned about what could happen if i didn't like legal studies after i took it bc i can't retake science if i leave it once right? one of my friends left it and now she hates the subject she took instead of it. both she and my parents are concerned because what if that happens to me too, but see, even if i don't like it, i'd still be good at it because it plays to my strengths. that's the difference between legal studies and physics. and i made the rookie mistake of bringing up what one of my friends who's friends with a lot of seniors said about science being intensive. my parents said that i should think it over carefully and that this discussion is being tabled for when the decision has to be made, something which i want to avoid because then i won't have a lot of time to convince them. also, a legit conversation i had with my mom today:

mom: i always thought you were smart but now i'm rethinking it

me: why because i want to leave science?

mom: no because you're being too influenced by your friends (all my friends plan on leaving science or have already left it)

me: no i'm leaving science because i want to, not because of anything they said

mom: *my friend* said that science is intensive in 11 and 12 and you're basing your decision off that

me: she's friends with seniors and it honestly is

mom: yeah but millions of people take it every year and give the *engineering entrance exam*

me (in my native language): will you continue this until i take science or what

then she got mad and left. see, i'm just genuinely done with physics and without it, i can't take any of the stem field entrance exams. i always liked law, but since i wanted to go abroad and move around, i was concerned about retaking the bar every time, but now that i'm older and have actually researched it, i think it would suit me well. i get that my parents want me to keep my options open for the future and focus on the GCSE equivalents that i have next year, but i'm getting very frustrated especially because they keep saying that i understand physics well so they don't see why i want to drop it, especially my mom, and while i know that they only want what they think is the best for me, i'd genuinely appreciate it if they respected my decision and stopped asking me to reconsider it carefully. this was one of the major reasons as to why i didn't want to tell them, because while they've not explicitly said that they're against me dropping science, but they've made it very clear that i should continue to take it and how legal studies won't be easier either but like, my life, my choice except they don't seem to get it and they're getting on my nerves rn.

i'm sorry ik it's like way too long but i kinda just needed to rant

Hi!

You're always welcome to rant <3

It sounds like your dad is being a bit more reasonable than your mom? I would try to talk with him more, to be honest. Continue sharing your feelings and see if he can kind of come over to your side. Having an adult ally is always nice. Also, I think it's a great idea to see some real trials and stuff if you can! I know your dad might be wanting you to do it to 'be sure' but from an experience perspective, that's a really cool thing to talk about in future interviews.

I'm proud of you for sticking to your decision and doing what YOU want. Remember, even if you change your mind later, do it for YOU. Its your life, not anyone else's.

[pseudowho]

HAITCH HAITCH HAITCH!! I hope you are doing splendidly!!

I have my midterms coming up and I’m procrastinating🥲 anyhoo—in other news these days I feel confident in my writing and started enjoying it once I stopped obsessing over the likes it received.

Onto the questions—

1) which trope in the romance/smut genre do you think is overused and/or makes you cringe?

2) on a scale of 1-10 how good can you sing?

3) If you were to try a traditional attire of a different country what will you pick? Or what do you think will go best with your personal style?(Would you make Mr.Haitch match with you?)

4) what is the craziest but simultaneously the best advice that you have ever received?

5) for sillies out of all the species of cats listed here which one do you think your kids are (the one who likes to mimic cats esp) and which one do you think resembles you and Mr.Haitch the best?

That’s all—

Much loveeeee xxx

Hiiii! I'm so sorry, I've been busy, but now I find myself sofa bound with little to do 🤡 so...I'm delighted for your writing. Keep going, and growing, and improving 💕 I believe in you!

Hmm...while we all have our own separate tastes, I think dumbification is overdone. It's not for me, but I appreciate others like it.

3/10, great natural ear for notes, but sadly my voice is more suited for speaking than singing.

I feel like I would look lovely in a sari, or my figure would suit some African traditional clothes. In terms of what suits my style, though, I would undoubtedly look good dressed as some babe from the Scottish Highlands.

Probably from my grandad, who is up there as one of my favourite people of all time, who advised me that good deeds don't go unnoticed once they accumulate, but that making a point of everyone knowing your good deed reduces its value immediately. It's stuck with me, and I now have a deep loathing for virtue signalling and insincerity, and 'social justice warriors' whose main aim is personal recognition, over those doing it quietly, for truly altruistic purposes. He was right.

Mr.Haitch: Norwegian Forest Cat, Me: Tabby, Little Haitch #1 Bengal, Little Haitch #2 Ragdoll, Little Haitch #3 undecided yet.

Much love much loooove,

-- Haitch xxx

[aticklishpercivalwriter]

Update from Perz!

The quick version: This boy is tired and needs time to recover. Midterms were awful, but the worst of them are done.

Full version: Sorry for no updates. I'm just so drained this week. Statics mentally drained me. I had to end 5 minutes early because I "cheated" since my calculator has the capability to connect to the Internet. I would've gotten an F for the exam, but she's letting it slide as a warning. But my credibility with my prof is shot and any leniency is probably going to be pretty hard to get back. Ugh.

Also, my productivity seems to go down the drain if stuff like midterms come up. I procrastinate which I know is bad, but idk how to get out of it. Any tips you people have?

Last thing, I'm loosing an hour of sleep once the clock strikes 12am. Officially happened 😭. Daylight savings time in the States 😓.

About writing, I'm currently working on a fic. Pairing are lers Hei and Kazu and lees Ae and GamGam. Nicknames for Heizou, Kazuha, Aether, and Gaming respectively. A tickle chase!*

I'll get back to messages and any requests when I feel more in the mood. It's just a lot of priorities. My job interview is coming up this Friday too. Hopefully I can get the summer job 🤞

I hope you all are doing great wherever you are! Happy tickling :)

*More serious things about me below. No need to read if you don't wanna.

*Idk if I should say this. I decided to post it. This was written when I was very sleepy so just know that. Seems like my emotions come out during that time:

I hope you all like the tickling parts in my fics. Ngl, when I read other fics, I feel a bit inferior since a lot of you are very talented in describing scenarios, how the ler tickles the lee, a lee's reactions, and it doesn't feel repetitive and is unique. I tend to overthink and believe that my work isn't that good and I kind of can't bear to work because my brain is mean and tells me that my work isn't going to satisfy you, the readers, even though I get likes, reblogs and nice, encouraging comments, thank you btw ♥️. I usually fall short compared to other people no matter how hard I try. Though, your comments, likes, and reblogs ease my thoughts and bring me more confidence in my work. I just put high expectations on myself, so that's why I spend so long on things to try and make it perfect whether in school or my writing or just anything personal really. Maybe I should cut myself some slack since I'm brand new to the scene? I will not stop writing though because it's a chance for me to express myself and something to indulge in. But yeah, a little something to know about me.

[twyla19]

This is a long one (keep reading just cause its a lot)

This school semester has been absolutely shit. I am FINALLY getting to finish the last two finals, and then i will be done.

I started off dealing with losing a friend (to be homest i should talk with them) and then i had a friend stay with me, which he got locked out of my spare room, which turned into me finding out i wasnt allowed in there (i live in a 2 bed but paying for one cajse of my disability, so its stupid i dont have access) then that next week my car battery died, so i spent the day worrying about everything BUT class material.

A friend started leaving me on read and ghosting me. Then my friend left cause he needed to be back, and i could only host someone for 2 weeks. I started to try and catch up with schoolwork but am constantly anxious about everything all at once. Kept overthinking and worried cause of deadlines and midterms.

Then, after midterms, i dealt with two friends just leaving / blocking me. For no reason. Which i have dealt with like all of my fucking life and im sick of it. If you dont want to be friend just fucking tell me, which one did and mad respect. However, the other one literally stayed with me for two weeks.

So i was very depressed and just again stressed about school work. I lost motivation for everything but am still doing my best. Then, before i knew it, it was fall break. I was able to catch up on late assignments, i got in contact with a case manager, and now it's finals week. I am teeering on a C, which can pass or fail me with the essay i turned in today. I struggled to find my topic for this essay. And this same fucking class the professor is my advisor for my second major OH IM A DOUBLE MAJOR BTW so i had a 19 credit semester PLUS ALL THIS OTHER BS. Its like every week *something else* has to go wrong. Im just hoping and praying that i passed this class cause it's been a shitty semester, and i dont want to cry more.

I suffer in silence cause i hate taking from others positive moods, but damn do i want to finally be done. I have two more finals i have procrastinated and are due tomorrow night. So i have all day to get them done.

Im just tired. In all aspects. And it sucks. Once i get to my parents' house, i am gonna curl up into a ball in my room and just stay there for a while. Im so thankful for the people who have been in my life and have supported me (with or without knowing about this) and still love me through it.

I have not been more happy to say i love my friends so much, so much platonic love. It's so overlooked, but it means the world to me. I am so grateful. 💜

[stuteetime]

I said I'd be more active and then I wasn't yet again but I was actually on the grind for once omg WAS NOT PROCRASTINATING!!! I had my stats final today and I honestly think I did what I could. Like there were still some questions I didn't get or some I messed up on but I don't have any major regrets I really did put in the work I'm really really happy... I remember talking about how I felt really pathetic after my midterm because I didn't study hard or much at all and I think I was able to make up for that this time. Taking the night off and then I get to do math (a lot more exciting than stats, even though I've learned to enjoy stats a whole lot more than before)

[lovejustforaday]

2024 YEAR END LIST - HONOURABLE MENTIONS

Okay, now look guys (all four or five of you who read this blog).

I know that I keep getting later and later doing this thing every year. This year has also been the least that I've updated this blog since I started it like five years ago. But lemme explain myself.

a) I'm a serial procrastinator. Just ask all of those midterm poli sci essays that I started a bibliography for on the first day of assignment and then waited til 10:00 pm the night before it's due to write anything past the first three sentences. (How the HELL do I even have a bachelor's degree again?)

b) My December was kind of a shit show between the usual holiday season-related stress and biting off more than I could chew with some logistical stuff related to my current living situation. But I won't bore you with that.

c) I've been in a a bit of a rut in terms of becoming a creature of habit lately. Blame the adult working class life schedule, and the rewiring of my brain via doomscrolling through 2024's political hellscape and the enshitification of the internet. I haven't listened to this little new music since 2018, which was when I really first decided I would become serious about my record listening hobby.

I'm actively trying to change my habits, and I'm hoping to go back to doing more of the smaller things that bring me joy this upcoming year, while balancing my relationship, work life, social life, going to the gym, and trying to stay involved and informed as a local activist. Shouldn't be too hard, right? 🙃

In fact, I almost debated not even doing this this year since I feel like I missed out on a whole lot of good music. Folks keep calling this "the best year since 2016" or whatever for music fans. Meanwhile, I feel like 2023 was way bigger for me than this year in terms of music.

But then again, I honestly still listened to so much new good music this past year, and my passion to over-explain my favourite albums, artists, and bands is still so incredibly overpowering that if I didn't write it all down at least once a year, I'm pretty sure I'd just combust and then explode.

I didn't have enough stacked up this year to write 20 full reviews like last time, so I'm going back to the top 15 format. However, in the new year, I hope to be updating this blog a little more regularly again by doing more one-off reviews and putting less focus on making any other lists throughout the year. God knows when I'll get around to that Slowdive deep dive I hinted at the end of last year.

Anyhow, without further ado, some honourable mentions:

What Now - Brittany Howard

Main Genres: Psychedelic Soul, Progressive Soul

A decent sampling of: Neo-Soul, Psychedelic Rock, Funk Rock, Art Rock

Brittany Howard was someone my dad recommended to me forever ago and I never got around to a full record. I always knew she had insane range and powerful command of her voice like a lot of classic 60s soul singers like Aretha Franklin and Laura Nyro.

Previously most famous as lead singer of the Alabama Shakes, she's been putting out solo records since the turn of the decade. I think a guy I've dated even recommended her 2019 LP Jaime to me once. I guess I really gotta start actually taking on as many recommendations as I annoyingly dish out to everyone in my personal life. 2025 new years resolution, perhaps?

But I digress. What Now is Brittany Howard's latest LP, and boy oh boy this one is a doozy. True to it's cover art, this record is a flamboyant kaleidoscope of sonic colours and timbres that ultimately leans towards the warm, sunshiny ones. Retro psychedelic soul with a nice dirty guitar sound and smooth modern production. And of course, Howard's virtuosic capabilities as a vocalist and guitarist.

While this record did not properly make the cut of the top 15 list, the track "Red Flags" is most certainly in my top 10 tracks of the year, if not one of the top five. I didn't even realize how much a top favourite this one was until I noticed how excited I got every time it came on shuffle in my 2024 playlist. Insanely masterful song progression and production. The vocal riff is so funky and bold, yet even ritualistic and disciplined, like Brittany Howard is some master of an ancient musical form of martial arts. And that explosion of upward melody in the chorus, like she's breathing dragon fire into the air and setting the entire visible sky ablaze with a mad, fiery soul song. And the way the audio switches channels back and forth during the end of the chorus? Chef's kiss.

Honestly, nothing else here is quite on par with that, but there's a few other major highlights. I like the out-of-left-field house beat on "Prove It To You"; I wouldn't begin to imagine her as a dance music artist given her other work, but evidently she's proven that she could make that switch on the next record if she really wanted.

I feel the B-side drags a tiny bit as well, but the record is definitely worth a full close listen regardless, even if just for witnessing her talent as a creative and singular technical performer. Now time for me to go back and listen to all of her other stuff that people kept recommending me.

8/10

Highlights: "Red Flags", "What Now", "Prove It To You", "Earth Sign", "Every Color In Blue"

No Paradise - Lightning Bug

Main Genres: Indie Rock

A decent sampling of: Dream Pop, Alternative Country, Folk Rock

Lightning Bug are a pastoral indie rock band hailing from New York City (wait...what?). I've been keeping my ears peeled for a new record from these guys since 2021's A Color Of The Sky, which is still one of the better dream pop records of the 2020s so far.

A massive part of this band's appeal is Audrey Kang's vocals - yearning and delicate, with the wind as her melody, and her voice like a kite that goes wherever the breeze blows. She'd make an excellent sentimental folk singer/songwriter in the vein of someone like Townes Van Zandt if she ever decided she wanted to do a solo project.

No Paradise is quite a bit more upbeat and rock-focused than their last record. The main emphasis here is mostly on the warm songbird melodies and comfy woodland vibes of the instrumentation. A perfect soundtrack album for those rainy mid-spring afternoons, with pink and red blossoming flowers peeking out of cool greens, and the smell of petrichor on those gravel hiking trails.

"December Song" is the finest piece on the record, a perfectly naturalesque vignette of seasonal changes that represent the narrator's cycle of emotions, and the ways that someone precious can lift you out of your lowest lows.

There's many other little highlights too, like the delirious folk-waltz of "The Withering" or the echoing canopy of rock and growing ecstasy of "I Feel...". The record wears a bit thin towards the end, and there's a few moments that might be too saccharine for some, but overall this is a pleasant comfort album to put on your headphones and just get wonderfully lost in. A solid improvement on their already solid previous record.

8/10

Highlights: "December Song", "The Withering", "On Paradise", "I Feel...", "The Flowering"

Whispers From The Bloc Obscure - Katia Krow

Main Genres: Ambient, Drone

A decent sampling of: Electroacoustic

Katia Krow is the newer ambient and experimental music project of Odi Suood, an Emirati music producer that was previously active releasing projects under his own name. And yes, that is Emirati as in from the United Arab Emirates. Definitely among the most distant and obscure artists I've ever wrote about on this music blog.

Suood has been among my favourite ambient artists of the current decade for a good while now. His 2021 LP I've Called Off The Search, I Know Exactly Where You Are was a hushed, glacial and forebodingly somber undertaking, and the record took the inaugural spot on my 2021 year end list. His 2022 LP Julfar was also on my shortlist of considerations for its respective year's countdown, but didn't quite make the cut.

His latest LP this year was Whispers From The Bloc Obscure, a decidedly more warm and glowing record, and less claustrophobic, but every bit as surreal and isolating as his previous work. In fact, I'd say that this record is best suited to take place in desert wastelands, complete with hallucinatory night skies and some really gargantuan, alien-looking mesas.

The record is a pretty engaging listen all the way throughout, and it doesn't really fall into the common traps that make many other drone-style ambient records a slog to get through at times. In fact, I find this record feels like it's going by way faster than the actual fifty one minute runtime.

There are the clear highlights though, and "Sunburnt Iris" takes the cake. Granted, I'm a total sucker for freaky electroacoustic piano pieces, and this one is certainly no exception. I love the way it feels like the track is imploding in on itself, getting tighter and tighter, more desperate, more frantic. Kudos to both Odi and his guest star Dead for the chilling piano performance.

"Alya" is a standout too, more melodic and perhaps more emotionally resonant than any previous track in the Katia Krow catalogue thus far. A lot of the highlights are clustered towards the end, although the closing track is probably the only piece that overstays its welcome for me, if only slightly.

Anyhow, check this one out. Even if you're someone who finds ambient music "boring", I guarantee there's at least a couple tracks here that'll heavily resonate with any casual fans of "weird" music.

8/10

Highlights: "Sunburnt Iris", "Alya", "Tethered Lavender Waters", "Filth Atoll", Whispers From The Bloc Obscure"

[bloggingbio]

Day 103

Another incredibly late update with all kinds of news.

To start off, it's officially exam season. So far I've had only one midterm for biochemistry but I got an 81 on it which is slightly disappointing. The only reason it isn't entirely disappointing is the fact that I did not study for it and that I'm grateful to have not failed it entirely. However, there are more to come and I'm planning on spending these next couple days to really get myself organized and on top of things. I've already started this process but I'm hoping to not lose momentum as I go and that maybe I will get a second to breathe once the first round of tests are over. But in brighter news, at least a couple of my classes are going well which is reassuring. The only classes I'm concerned for are General Physics and Biochemistry, which barely a worry for Biochem lab (as these all have mid-80s for overall grades and this doesn't sit well with me).

This past month back at college I've relearned a lot of things about myself and my study process, and that I need to take better control of it if I want to excel at my tasks. A big concern is my inability to get work done when others around me, and that I'm not productive enough during the day and only at night. This sleep schedule can't continue and neither can being sidetracked. I'm reverting back to block scheduling and am going to try to move myself around more until I find more isolated study spots or learn to better adjust to others around me while I zone in on my work.

In addition to this, the rowing seems to be going well. Although I also need to make sure I leave enough room for rest and recovery in the midst of all my academics. It's been fairly imbalanced these past couple days due to exams and procrastinating on work, but hopefully with the block scheduling it will be unnecessary to stay up so late anymore and I can finally allow my body to relax and reset.

And finally, my living situation is so much infinitely better and I'm forever grateful. I know it may sound cheesy, but I'm trying to challenge myself at the end of each week to come up with golden moments from the past few days that make me smile or make me super grateful for everything in life. I think having this is great for putting everything into perspective and also just to uplift my mood sometimes. You can never go wrong with genuine positivity.

Anyway, wish me luck for fixing all my problems in a relatively short manner!

[fairyhaos]

IM SORRY IM LATE

but basically im banned from using my phone after nine pm now bc apparently getting 2 or 4 hours of sleep on average is not okay (smh)

oooOooh you have no idea how bad my romcom binge was during midterms, i watched every single romcom on netflix at that time.

im sorry there's people who would send you hate for having your own opinions ( i really hate people sometimes :( ) i cant imagine how it must be for you :(((

BUT OKAY LEMME TELL YOU MY FAV GROUPS FROM EACH GEN (i dont know that much so pls bear w me)

1st gen - no idea

2nd gen -

bg: shinee

gg: no clue

3rd gen -

bg: SEVENTEEN!!!!

gg: twice

4th gen -

bg: uhhh skz

gg: uhhhhhhh lsfm (or itzy its a really close tie)

5th gen -

bg: zb1 (tws as well but zb1)

gg: vcha or kiss of life (bc i was a predebut fan of vcha but never really kept interest and i saw like a few videos of kol but i dont even know the members so i really dont think this counts at all)

as you'll see im more of a bg stan 😭😭

OH YEAH and i forgot to mention i also fell down the zb1 rabbit hole and watched all conetnt in like the final 2 weeks of exams so (i got a total percentage of 73% and i might cry i did cry actually but yeah 😀👍) ah ill do better next year hopefully!!!

-🌱

omg no but u and i would get along so well bc half of my taste is romcoms 🫶 the other half is thriller LMAOO which is completelyy contrasting but hey. it is what it is yk

that's a really interesting list!! once again i can't rlly comment on best bc i feel it's always hard to compare objectively esp if you don't know many groups 😭 ur 4th gen column is really interesting to me tho :0 no particular reason jshfhd but my instinct would've been to put txt rather than skz but now in think about it and im like. other than the fact i stan tubatu more,,,, What is causing me to say that

ahhhh 73% is still okay!!!! i guess u can use it as motivation to work even harder in the future so that not even procrastination can bring you down ^^

[remushrts]

Early bird

— pairing: remus lupin x gn!reader

— a/n: i need something to get me through my midterms week, so yes this is self-indulgence at its best and/or procrastination at its finest, call it what you want!

— warnings: nothing, just pure fluff for remus <3

Even in your sleepy and dazed state, you can tell Remus is moving. The duvet that falls to his side is a bit of a tell, and your mattress creaks with the weight shift, doesn't matter how subtle. Your arms cling to him, pulling your weight on top of him, his arm automatically going for your waist. You hear his voice, raspy as his eyes flutter open. "Hi, dove." You mumble an answer, or you think you do.

"Don't go..." You can hear Remus smiling, the kind of soft and gentle smile that he always gives in the morning to you. The kind that always makes your heart flutter, like the best part of his day is this, something as simple was waking up by your side. It makes you feel special. "Don't plan on, dove, but my classes start in one hour. I have to go if I want to make it on time."

"Fuck classes." You mumble back, frowning at the mention. Your college starts in a little more than an hour too, but for now, you're willing to forget that. For now, there's nothing in the world more important than the arms of your boyfriend wrapping around you, the warmth of his body close to yours. "You can make it in forty, right?" You try again, your head resting on his chest letting you hear to his soft heartbeat. You peek an eye open, the sun lazily casting beams of light through your window.

"I can." He gives in, squeezing you just a little, the slightest pressure of his lips against your head, a kiss of good will. You relent on those. "I rather be early, though, you know?" He asks.

"No." You protest, whining as you close your eyes again. "Ten more minutes, and I'll leave with you." It's not a very good offer, but it's the best you can come up with right now. For Remus, it's the sweetest thing he ever heard. He smiles again, giving you a little nod, although he's not sure you can feel it.

"Alright, sleep a little more, sweet thing." Remus say, softly, running his fingers through your hair gently. Just like that, you give in, your breath in sync to his heartbeat, your fingers stopping tracing patterns on his chest to fall numb as sleep settles into you once again, world in your fingertips.

[tomasblog3152005]

Midterm Reflection

This semester, my biggest difficulty has been balancing the work from my other classes because when it feels like I have a lot to do it’s difficult for me to even figure out where to get started, and what I should be working on first. Something else that's difficult is when there's an assignment I didn’t know about because the teacher doesn’t say anything about it. I assume I’ve finished everything when I really haven't.

For me, the work itself has not been too difficult for me. I like that literally everything is online because once I got the hang of how to use canvas and everything else, I’ve been killing it. 

What surprised me is how lenient everything has been so far. I’ve been having a lot of fun writing about whatever topics are interesting to me and being able to choose how to structure my own essays.

If I could start this semester over again I would probably calm down a lot more at the beginning because things that were not as stressful as I thought they’d be.

For the second half of the semester I’m looking forward to new projects that’ll hopefully still have a lot of freedom.

So far I’ve noticed that I’ve been able to stop procrastinating as much as I would back in high school. I’ve learned that when I get into a routine that I’ve made for myself that is healthy and beneficial to myself, it’s really not too hard to stick to it.

[starlitheaven]

— DARK SPRING

pairing. yuuta okkotsu x fem!reader

summary. yuuta is having relationship troubles, and he isn’t sure how to go about it. 

tags. 18+, established relationship, college au, mentions of blood, murder, yuuta pov, mentions of sex

notes. been in a yuuta mood ever since the cockroach chapter, and @vamptomura just gets me when it comes to him. this is just me procrastinating on my other writing. this isn’t edited btw I literally wrote this in like two hours rn.

wc. 2k+

“Where were you? I stopped by the shop to bring you food, but they said you weren’t in today.”

The door squeaks softly on its hinges as you slowly close it behind you. Once the door is fully closed and locked in place, the doorway remains tensely silent. Yuuta watches as you turn to him fully with slightly widened eyes, lips opening and closing as you struggle to answer. 

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he finds himself relishing in the upper hand that he has over you right now. Just this morning you had told him on your daily phone call that you’d be busy at work later tonight. That usually meant you two wouldn’t see each other until the next day, but you’ve been so distant lately that Yuuta’s been yearning for you more than usual. He ached to see you, even if it was just picking up food from your favorite restaurant and dropping it off at the bookstore. It’s still packaged and bagged, now sitting cold on your kitchen counter. 

You weren’t at work when you said you’d be, and now you’re unsure of what to say. He’s caught you in your lie before you even respond, but Yuuta files it away at the back of his mind. Instead, he gives you an out. He smiles gently and takes your backpack from you to lessen the weight on your shoulders. “Did you get the days mixed up, angel?”

“Y-yes, I guess I did. Sorry, I was studying at the library.” you reply carefully, giving him a hesitant kiss on the cheek as you step further into your apartment. “I’ve just been a little stressed about the midterm coming up.”

Just like that, Yuuta eases you into a sense of relaxation like the good boyfriend that he is. He ruffles your hair and reheats your takeout for you as you go take a shower, which is something you used to do before bed and not right after coming home. It may be minuscule to others, but he’s always been observant of you. It’s how he keeps you happy and something you’ve appreciated about him, as he’s always attentive to you and your needs.

It’s also the reason he’s noticed that it’s not the first lie he’s caught you in lately. You’ve been a sneaky little thing; saying you’re someplace when you’re actually not, claiming you’ve gone to sleep but he sees you’ve read his text at 2am, staying out later but not informing him where, no longer asking him to accompany you to the laundromat, and taking more showers than usual. 

He pretends as if everything is alright, but there’s doubt stirring in his gut.

He asks Megumi about it. Megumi says to leave you alone as you’re probably dealing with something and don’t want to be bothered. He asks Maki afterward. She says to straight up confront you about what you’re hiding and talk it out like adults. He even asks Professor Gojo, who tuts at the fragility of young love but doesn’t give an actual answer. Then again, he’s chronically single. What would he know?

It leaves him at a deadlock. Maki’s advice is the most sound, but so is Megumi’s. Yuuta doesn’t want to push your boundaries and force you to confide in him, even if he’s your boyfriend and it’s what he desperately wants. But he also believes that being honest to you about his doubts could clear up these inconsistencies. 

He opts for neither. What’s funny is that it’s Professor Gojo’s nonsensical spiel that speaks to him most. Young love is fragile, and Yuuta is afraid of doing anything that will compromise your relationship. A misstep could cause an explosive argument and drive you away from him. It’s an outlandish thought brought forth by his deep affection for you, as you’re not that type of person at all. You’re level-headed, patient, sweet, kind, and just the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid eyes on. 

He can’t lose you. 

So what he does instead is he begins to follow you around. He watches as you enter the History building, where your night class is, and he remains outside for some time. He gives himself half an hour before he decides to go in, but the time mark doesn’t even pass before you walk out of the building. Through the side door. You’re not not carrying your backpack or books on you, and he wouldn’t have even noticed your dark clad figure if he hadn’t been intently watching.  

It’s easier to follow you through the dark night when you’re on campus, as there’s still several other students roaming about and allowing him to blend in amongst them. Yet, you eventually leave the university and take to the quiet streets. Yuuta curses inwardly and has to create a larger distance to remain undetected. It works in your favor as he eventually loses track of you, and he has to head back to his apartment. 

It’s not until much later, laying restlessly awake on his bed and staring at your fake goodnight text that he wonders what you were even doing. He could’ve headed back to the History building and waited there or asked your classmates where you were, but he told his own lie to even follow you in the first place, telling you he was spending the night with Toge. 

And as much as he’d love to follow your every move, he also has classes, a job he can’t ignore, and is a teacher's assistant to a pretentious man with a keen attention to detail. I’m following my girlfriend around to find out what she’s hiding, is not a valid excuse. Not even Professor Geto would accept it. As charming as he is, his mentor also has no lovers so he wouldn’t understand.

It’s not until weeks later on a sunny weekend that he finally has you all to himself. The two of you are having breakfast at a small diner, and his eyes are boring into the chunky TV mounted on the wall while you’re digging into your french toast beside him in the leather booth. He’s gratefully sipping on his black coffee and hoping it revitalizes his will to live, as he’s lost sleep over you ever since that first night he lost track of you. 

His hair is messier than usual and there’s dark circles under his eyes, which you sweetly fuss over and attempt to kiss away as if you’re not the reason for it. But you don’t know this, and Yuuta won’t place that guilt on your shoulders, so he basks in your affection and reassures you that he’s fine. The exhaustion is seeping deep into his shoulder blades as he continues to watch the news when his eyes suddenly widen at the screen. 

“Y/N, look.” he’s shaking your shoulder gently, and turns to you in a frenzy. “It’s—”

His teeth instinctively bite down, and a burst of sweetness lands on his tongue from the cherry you popped into his mouth. He’s treated to the delightful sight of you laughing at his surprise, and then you take another cherry from your dish and place it between your teeth. You look at him expectantly with the fruit still visible to him, and it makes his cheeks heat up. He knows what you want. 

Yuuta hesitantly looks around the restaurant and finds that the other patrons are paying you two no mind, most are looking in the direction of the TV. Once he’s reassured there’s no eyes on you in your small booth, he leans down and takes the cherry from your lips with his own. The red juice splits in half between the two of you and drips messily down your chins, but you both don’t care. 

He chuckles into your mouth, cupping your jaw as you swap the cherry in a deeply sensual kiss. It feels like ages since he’s laughed and trades kisses with you, so he’s bolder than usual, his previous bashfulness at PDA gone. He sucks on the juice from your tongue and curls his other palm into your waist, pulling you flush against him. The warmth of your body spurs him on, and he begins to nibble on your lower lip. You whimper and gasp his name into his mouth, your delicate hands grasping at his button up.

You spend the entire day at his apartment, not once leaving the bedroom. 

Yuuta thought that spending an entire day worshiping your naked body and painting your insides over and over with his sticky load—marking his territory—would ease his mind over what you’re hiding, but it doesn’t. Because it continues on, and Yuuta finds himself stuck on a cycle. He moves his entire schedule to have an opening, he follows you, and he loses track of you every single time. 

He even begins to call you every night to make sure that you’re getting home safe, as things have been shady around town. He offers to walk you home, even if his class schedule conflicts with yours and his job is on the other side of town. But you stubbornly decline, not wanting to impose on his already busy schedule.

The thing is, Yuuta is stubborn too. He’s tenacious once determined, something that Professor Geto says will get him far in life. So, he calls out of work and follows you closer than he has every other time. Even when he’s sure he’ll find you where he thinks, he rounds the corner to the parking lot behind an abandoned warehouse after minutes of silence and finds it empty of you. He’s greeted by the cold night air and the metallic smell of blood. 

Panic shoots up his body and has him running further until he reaches the end of the lot and his white sneakers almost step on a puddle of blood. It shines darkly under the moonlight, and it has Yuuta’s hands shaking as his eyes follow the small trail. He follows it to a large dumpster, rusty from who knows how long being unused. His heart is beating out of his ears as he looks down into the dark abyss, but it’s not you that he finds. 

Immediately, he sighs in relief and places a palm over his pounding chest before the realization kicks in. Because while it isn’t you, he recognizes who it is.

Well, he actually doesn’t know who he is. It’s the man who bumped his shoulder and tried to drunkenly start a fight with him one night when the two of you were walking to the movies after a dinner date. Yuuta was going to let it go and get you out of there as your safety was his only priority, but the man backhanded him while slurring obscenities. Still, he remained calm even as he flipped the man’s entire weight until he landed flat on the ground with a knee to his chest. The man’s friends nervously apologized over and over, but Yuuta only had eyes for you. Instead of responding to the blubbering idiots, he tenderly asked if you were okay and got off of the man when you nodded.

He got up, took your smaller hand in his, and never looked back. He really thought it was the end of that, but here was the man now. Rotting in a dumpster. The sight stunned him to his spot, and with shaky hands, he grabbed his phone and called you. Suddenly, that morning at the diner rings in his head like an alarm. He had been so charmed by your flirtations that the news headlines were pushed to the back of his mind. It was no coincidence, then.

Yuuta anticipates your voicemail after several rings when you finally answer. 

“Hello?”

“Where are you, sweetheart?” he asks lightly, eyeing the corpse. 

“I’m—” you paused, and it’s only then that Yuuta could hear you catching your breath. He turns and sees a small alleyway beside him as a side exit to this lot. “I’m walking home from work. What’s up?”

“It’s so late, baby.” Yuuta sighs, checking the outsoles of his sneakers for any blood. “You should’ve at least called me. I’m worried about you being out right now. You know, I heard that Miss Ito was killed recently.”

You click your tongue. “Ah, was she? That’s so scary.”

But you didn’t sound scared at all. Why would you? Miss Ito was the bartender at the local music venue who shamelessly flirted with Yuuta, continuously doing so even when you were there. She was a few years older and always giving him and only him free drinks, all while “playfully” trying to paint you as an immature girl who can’t keep up with him. 

“Mhm, it is.” Yuuta doesn’t know a lick of what murdering someone entails, but he assumes it’s tiring. He can hear it in your lovely voice, and he doesn’t want to add to it. “Call me back when you’re home, alright? I miss falling asleep with you.”

Your voice softens. “I do too, Yuuta. I’ll call you right when I get there. I love you so so much, you have no idea.”

Yuuta thinks he knows how much, if the stab wound right in the man’s neck is anything to go by.

“I love you too.” he smiles, sending you a little kiss before the call ends.

He stands like that for a few seconds before he crouches down and opens up a private tab on his phone and begins to search away. He learns how to scrub blood and footprints off of asphalt and other various methods to clean up traces. The box of rubber gloves under your bathroom sink flashes in his mind, and he knows that his girl is smart. 

Because this isn’t the first person you’ve killed. After that night, he begins to look deeper into other deaths in the area and the timeframe aligns with all the other times that you’ve disappeared from him. Some of the deaths are random, and others are personal. Mainly those who have wronged him in the slightest way.

All this time Yuuta was afraid of losing you, but you’ve been so devoted to him the entire time. So, he devotes himself right back to you just as he’s always done. He appears when you leave after a fresh kill and cleans up any little slip ups you may have missed, scrubbing away anything that can trace back to you. He’s diligent, like a guardian angel always at your shoulder.

He even catches you in the act one night. His dark eyes widen at the sights and sounds, but his heart beats only for you. He pays no mind to the dying person and worries for your aching body. Already, he’s planning to draw a bath for you and slip in behind you so he can scrub your back and wash your hair.

The thing is, Yuuta understands that what’s happening isn’t right. He knows that what you’re doing is vile and disgusting and should be punished. But he also understands that he just can’t let that happen. You’re his sweet girl who’s soft and has given him a home in your heart. The girl who wraps him in her arms when he can’t sleep and soothes him until he does. The one who patiently allowed him to grieve over his loss and never judged him for obsessing over a childhood love. 

Yuuta knows now that you love every part of him, and he’ll love every part of you as well. He’ll uplift you and strive to be the best future husband that he can be, and he’ll bury every single body you splatter on the ground.