#to throw that much money into Looking Cool For The International Press And Tourists

[runespoor7]

Olympic Games reporting taking the place of the rest <<<<<<<<<<<

[witchlyboo]

Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.—Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

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Thanks for all the love and support, if you have opinions, suggestions, or want to be part of the tag list (Or don’t want to be part anymore) let me know, I appreciate every message.

[84reedsy]

Betray/Forgive - Part 2 - A Bam Brown Fan Fiction

Enjoy the finale!

Pairing: Joshua Bam Bam Brown/OC

Rating: R (suggestive content)

She’d doubted that he’d find her out in the cavernous hills of the Rockies. She’d stayed put for 3 weeks. Surviving on only what whe’d brought or what she could forage. It was the reason she’d come to this place. She had another week to go and initially was feeling wonderful. She’d willed herself passed the feeling of being used and discarded. She’d thought a time or two to descend back into the valley, into the town and confront him and tell this woman what exactly her significant other had been up to, but she’d decided against it.

She wondered if she knew. If they had some sort of agreement and she already knew about her. What if he told her what they did and laughed about her technique or…or something. She didn’t want to face further humiliation so she let it go. She let it go. She tried to let him go.

It was difficult to fathom, but the hardest thing was shaking memories of him. She couldn’t figure it, they’d spent less than a full 24 hours in each other’s company yet she still felt as if she missed him.

“How can I miss someone I don’t even know…” She surmised aloud to the crackling fire in front of her. It did not provided an answer other than to slowly turn another log to ash. She threw a stick into the flame, frustrated.

“Lexi….you fool…” she said watching the flames choreograph their own moonlit dance.

Near the ending of the third week, she was wondering if she could even finish the next week she’d had planned; for a few days now she’d been periodically down. She worried she’d contracted some bug, some parasite or had eaten a misidentified leaf. But she would then suddenly feel better. The inconsistency baffled her, however throwing up every morning was beginning to take it’s toll.

As she decided to call the trip early, she had a dreaded thought. She paused in the middle of rolling her sleeping bag. No she thought, No, no, no, no, no!

“I…how could I have been so stupid!” She yelled at herself, her only audience was the cold, stony faces of rock that surrounded her, only echoing her frustrations.

Back in civilization, at her new place that she’d settled only weeks before taking off on her trip, she stared at the pregnancy test and it’s two glaringly blue lines. And there it was, another plus. She flung it into the sink basin, where it clacked against the other dozen or so tests she’d taken throughout the day. All of them. Every.last.one. Was positive.

She slunk to the floor. What was she going to do. Here she was, alone in a new city, a new state. She didn’t have the mentality to be a mother right now. This was not anything like what she was expecting. The move to Denver had been about new beginnings that were her choice, HER decisions. She was for once in life putting herself first. She was in no position to take care of a baby. Tears flowed from her eyes but she knew she was getting rid of it. Termination was her only option right now. The thought tore at her soul; it wasn’t that she didn’t want kids. She did. But she wanted them to be with someone she loved and respected and reciprocated those feelings. Not someone who used her for sexual amusement in the absence of his full time lover.

She had a short window and the cost, thanks to the bureaucracy, was astronomical. She gripped the pamphlet in her hand as the doctor gave her a rundown of options. She could pay for it, but then be strapped for months while she hoped no other emergencies occurred and would have to work overtime just to make ends meet…maybe. The doctor was very kind, and gently suggested that often the cost is supplemented by the other party. The other party. In order to do this she’d have to find him and ask for the money. Ask. The thought was ridiculous. He was just as responsible yet here she’d have to beg him to help her.

It was that or adoption. She made a deal with herself that she’d face him, she’d ask, but if he refused, she’d suffer through the pregnancy alone and give it up for adoption. She hoped it would stop there. She didn’t want him to have it. The thought of him using her as a baby machine turned her stomach even more than the turkey sandwich she’d just regurgitated. She shook the image of Bam and that woman cooing over a baby that she’d made, coveting it.

“Stop it….stop thinking like that. He’ll want this gone. He’ll want to move on from his mistake and make it go away,” She pep talked herself, “Just like I do…”

But there was something inside her, a small voice in her head that didn’t agree. A small voice energized each day as her endless nights of dreams concluded each morning. Dreams of Bam, remorseful and humbled, begging her forgiveness but insistent that his feelings were genuine. Each dream, each night seemed to rub a bigger and bigger ache in her heart. She tried to write it off as hormonal, knowing the dreams felt to real to be entirely fiction.

“Maybe he’s having the dreams too,” her subconscious reasoned, “Maybe he’s trying to reach you the only way he can.”

She shrugged off the thoughts as she finally boarded the train bound for Cortez. He’d said they lived nearby, maybe she’d run into him again as easily as she had the first time. Though she was sure this time he wouldn’t follow at such a distance; he’d either approach her immediately or possibly run for the hills.

She tried to let the visually stunning images she passed distract her mind from the task at hand, enjoying the low cost and better views that train travelling afforded her.

It did little to vacate her thoughts. Every grove of evergreens reminded her of their picnic in the woods. How he’d tenderly catered to her, refusing reciprocation. She scolded herself as she realized she was grinning at the memory.

“Perv…” She mumbled, trying to write him off.

When she arrived in the town, it was quiet. She didn’t expect much in the middle of the week, the busy tourist season already past. The streets had just a handful of people. The wind had just the slightest cool to it, but the overhead sun kept the day from being unpleasant.

She felt a little foolish now. Her plan ended here. She had no idea how to find him, she wasn’t even sure she could find a phone book and if they were even listed at that. She surely doubted it. She wandered the streets for a couple of hours, window shopping at all the places she’d seen this past summer. She felt a sense of guilt and longing as she passed a baby boutique, quickly leaving.

She sighed as she reached the end of the downtown area, the trailhead of the hike they took was dead ahead past the parking lot. She turned the other way, unable to think of the moments again. And there he was.

Walking up the street with a coffee in his hand. He was alone, he looked almost sullen. Her extremities went numb. His hair was down, long and flowing, even with sunglasses on she could see his perma-scowl, the one she’d lightly teased him about.

As she willed herself to move, she was stricken with fight or flight, her toes itching to carry her away from the impending confrontation. But her heels felt like lead weights. Somehow her feet moved, she was almost surprised to realize they were carrying her towards him. After only a few steps, she stopped as he looked up. His scowl disappeared as his face went blank. He turned almost paler than normal.

“You…” He almost mumbled, taking a few more steps towards her, “You…You’re here…” It was then she noticed his face almost looked relieved. Relieved? Surely she was reading him wrong.

“Yes, I am. I have something I need to talk to you about. It’s important.” She tried to make it sound business-like, but he stared at her as if she were heaven-sent. And he kept moving slowly to her.

THe slowness gave way to a sudden movement as she felt his body press to hers. His arms were around her and she felt his rough, bearded cheek against her ear as he embraced her. She was so shocked by this that her arms hung limply at her sides.

“I was hoping you would come back. I was. I needed to tell you so much, I needed to explain.” He murmured into her ear. She tried to maintain her strong front, nudging out of his embrace.

“I need to tell you something, too. I need to say mine first.” She tried to remain as businesslike as possible, “I’m…Bam, I’m pregnant.” The words left her, but she felt like a 3rd person in her own body as they came from her mouth.

His body went slack as the words sunk in. He stuttered out, “P-Pregnant? Wow….really? Pregnant?” She had expected anger, worry, indifference, but awestruck? She wasn’t prepared for his lack of indignance. His hand slid backwards over his hair, repeating the word to himself as if it would make it more real.

“Yes. Pregnant. I came to you….well…because I need $500 to…to get rid of it. For an abortion.” The words were harsh from her own admission. She cringed internally. But she needed to be blunt, as devoid of emotion as possible if she wanted to make it out of this with any scrap of dignity.

“It’s $1000…since it’s half yours, I think it’s only fair you pay half.” She reasoned as if she were asking to split the cost of dinner.

“Get rid of it? You…you’re getting an abortion?” The sadness on his face surprised her as well.

“I don’t want to raise a bastard child of an adulterer.” She wanted him to get upset, she didn’t want it to be amicable. She wanted a reason to hate him. She needed a reason to hate him.

“Hey…don’t.” He sounded as if he warning her, “It’s not what it seems like. And….really, you’re pregnant?”

She was tiring of his surprise and his lack of panic. She’d hoped this would throw him for a loop, rock his world, upend all of his plans like it was about to do for her.  

“Are you going to give me the money or not.” She didn’t need to know about his life, she didn’t want explanations or details. She wanted $500.

“Can we please, go somewhere? Talk about this?” He sounded pleading now, “ I’ve …I’ve been looking for you…for weeks. Please.”

“Is that code? Looking for another easy lay? Gonna cash in your chips and ask me to blow you?” She put up a facade with her crudeness, not wanting him to trigger her bleeding heart.

“Stop.” He said it with a demanding tone, taking a step towards her. He softened slightly as if begging for her to soften for only a moment, “You weren’t that to me. You were more than that. Things are complicated. Please let me explain.”

She huffed in aggravation. She rolled her eyes and looked off to the side, anything to emit a feeling of annoyance. But she couldn’t deny him. As much as she hated herself for it, she just could not bring herself to reject him completely.

“Fine.”

He took her a different way from the trail, walking along a road abandoned years ago that led into the forest. The cracks in the worn pavement housed sprung plants and creeping vines sprawled as nature was taking back the path. The road looked as broken and worn as she felt. She listened quietly as he explained that the girl she’d seen with him, his wife, had cheated on him, continuously.

He’d wanted a family and she’d agreed to try. It never happened and after medical intervention, it was discovered that it wouldn’t happen. She couldn’t bear him children. He’d been broken hearted over that fact, but remained committed to her.

She however felt that with not having to worry herself with pregnancies, she was free to sexually gratify herself with any man she came across it seemed. Each time she’d apologize, and wail her undying love and manipulate him into staying. Each man had a different excuse for why. Each one broke him a little more inside.

He told her he’d stopped caring about being true to her; his love for her was broken and he’d told her so that last day when she’d arrived. When Lexi had fled to the hills. Her name was Amanda and she did not respond well. She spent days refusing to leave, even at his insistence.

“It was very confusing,” he said, “ For her to be so committed to remaining with me, but refusing to hold herself accountable for any of it.

“You helped me make that decision, you know.” He looked at her, a small smile on his lips. She did not smile back, she did not want him to know, to believe that he brought her any joy. Her mind flashed an image of joy he’d brought her as she writhed on the picnic blanket, his words praising her taste.

She shook it from her memory, angry that she’d let that surface.

“I helped you? Apparently I am just all sorts of help.” She tried to be snide, but it came off more sad and dejected.

“You did. Even when things were good. At their best. Even when we met. I never felt…I never felt what I should have. I thought she was love, I thought she was what I wanted. But I was really, really wrong.

“When I saw you…I realized any other woman in my life had been a mistake. I’ve been looking for you to tell you that.” He was shaking a little. He hid his trembling fingers in his pockets.

“You expect me to believe that you realized you loved me that fast.” She scoffed again, immediately regretting it when she saw the pained expression cross his face and the lump in his throat he swallowed.

“I don’t expect you to believe me, or forgive me…but I had to tell you.” He looked defeated, his shoulders slumped, “You mean…you really didn’t feel it too?” He looked a little hopeful but like he was preparing for those hopes to be dashed. “I thought…I thought maybe you’d been having the dreams too…”

She shivered. The dreams. The same dreams?

“Dreams?” She couldn’t help herself, she had to know.

“Yes. Every night, you’re in them. I beg you to forgive me every night. Sometimes you forgive me…sometimes not,” he swallows again, “ But I see you in them so vividly, it’s like you were real. Even though my heart broke half the time, I still got to see you every night.”

She tried to steady her rapid breathing. The same dreams, they’d had the same dreams. She hated the nights she’d dreamt she’d forgiven him, because her heart ache in the morning was that much worse.

“Are you going to give me the money?” She asked again, but her voice wavered as she asked, not nearly as strong and unmoving as she’d wanted it to be.

He took his sunglasses off, replacing them with his wire-rimmed frames. His eyes, he was much more human now that she could see them.

“She’s gone. She’s out of my life. I know…I know I fucked up. But please…give me a chance not to lose you, too.”

“Lose me? Bam we weren’t even together. There wasn’t an us to lose.” She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself just as much as him.

“Maybe,” he continued as if he didn’t believe she was convinced either, “ Maybe that little baby…that life inside of you is the universe’s way of telling us that this is worth trying.”

“That sounds far-fetched.” She hugged her arms around her, as if the motion would protect her from feeling any more emotions. Her eyes looked away, unable to look into his deep blue eyes and not yearn for him.

“Maybe. Maybe it is. But…you consume me, Lexi. I can’t ignore that. I dreamed of us. I dreamed of a baby, a child. We were so happy.” He reached for her, his fingers grazing her skin.

She felt a hot tear escape her eyes as she remembered the same dream. Laid out again on a picnic blanket, but this time with a toddler. He laid on his side, she laid with her head resting on his stomach as the child toddled towards them, wobbly and unsure, but smiling and happy. Bam retold the dream as if he’d been inside her own head.

“You know. You had it too, didn’t you?” He reached for her hand, taking it in his. Her non-response answered his question.

“I was so mad at you, Bam.” She sniffled as she fought back a sob, “I felt so much for you. I knew it was foolish….after one day. But then I saw you and her….you have no idea…how shitty that made me feel.”

He looked pained again, but nodded, letting her finish. His thumb rubbed the top of her hand the entire time.

“And then getting pregnant on top of all of that. My life has been a mess since I met you. And all I want is for that to stop.” a few more tears flowed down her cheeks.

“Let me help. Let me make it right, let me try, please.” He boldly reached up to her cheek with his thumb, wiping a tear track away. When she didn’t reject him, he slowly sank to his knees.

“I will do anything, anything if you’ll just give me a chance. GIves us a chance,” He took a big breath, letting a shaky one back out. He lifted his hand and placed it on her stomach, “Give this baby a chance.”

Suddenly she couldn’t remember her plans. The careful plan she’d figured for herself. It all blurred away. All she could see now was him, in front of her, begging for her love. She felt his hand against her belly, his touch igniting a realization inside her. She realized what she’d been fighting all this time. All the words of hatred she’d spewed was a lie, it was just her trying to convince herself of what she knew was true. She’d fallen in love with a man she’d known for 20 hours. Running was easy when she thought she couldn’t have him. But now here he was offering himself, risking humility and she couldn’t find one single iota of her being that wanted to run.

“You are crazy.” She bit her lip, overwhelmed, “What if…what if it doesn’t work.”

He looked down at the dirt for a moment, collecting himself before returning his gaze to her.

“Then we tried. And as for the baby. No matter what I will always be there for it. I’ll support you any way I can….even if we aren’t together.”

She knew a lot of guys said things like that, but not all of them followed through. But something about the sincerity in his voice, the mistiness in his eyes stifled her worry.

They walked out of the woods, back into the town a few minutes later, this time hand in hand. She felt emotionally raw. He gently spoke when he did speak to her, but mostly was silent, not wanting to push her too much. He watched as she placed her own hand on her stomach as they walked, rubbing it.

She realized she hadn’t done that at all since she’d found out she was pregnant. She never contemplated actually keeping it, having it, raising it. Even though her heart was a jumble, she had a feeling deep inside of her that surmised that indeed, everything would be alright.  Maybe he will care for her like he said. Maybe they will make a beautiful little family. Maybe this is the universe crashing them together for the sake of both of them. Maybe the universe was right after all.