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deadlyanddelicate · 7 years

Note

"i almost lost you" for pynch please

so this is 3 months late because i’m literally the worst but HERE ENJOY THIS THING that was gonna be a short drabble but devolved into 4k of angst/fluff. sorry for the wait anon, and thanks to @adamparrush for helping me navigate the intricacies of american high school schedules!

(you told me) this is right were it begins || read on ao3

‘Cause I clutched your arms like stairway railingsAnd you clutched my brain and eased my ailing

Is There Somewhere - Halsey

The aftermath of dealing with the demon leaves behind a wake of emotional debris they were not – couldn’t have been – fully prepared to tackle. They all have a lot on their plate: assessing the damage, picking up the broken pieces, allowing the wounds to scar over.

There’s the matter of Gansey, and what exactly he is now that he’s been brought back to life. There’s the matter of Noah, who had been fleeting and barely-there for a while, but is now completely gone, leaving the group to struggle with grieving someone who was already dead. There’s the matter of Henry, and how he fits into this new, fragile balance they have.

And, of course, there’s the matter of Gansey-and-Blue, and the matter of Adam-and-Ronan.

The first couple of weeks go by completely smoothly – dreamlike, almost. Adam goes back to school, and starts picking his jobs back up, shift by shift. Ronan drops out – officially, this time – and goes back to the Barns. Declan and Matthew come back to town for a short while, and Aurora gets a funeral, the elaborately carved white coffin as lovely and vacant as she had been in life. (Adam doesn’t really understand dream people, or what it’s like to lose a beloved parent, but he understands enough to recognize the fractures in the Lynch brothers: the cracks in Declan’s politician facade, the clouds rolling over Matthew’s sunny disposition. He understands enough to see Ronan break again: quieter, this time; with less anger than when Niall was killed. But he still breaks.)

They don’t talk about it, because they just don’t do that kind of thing – they never have; they wouldn’t know how. Instead of words, Adam offers himself: a shoulder for Ronan to rest his head on, lips trailing over his cheek, a hand lightly placed on his when they’re at Nino’s. Gentle, anchoring touches to keep him from spiralling into his grief. He drives down to the Barns after work and plays with Opal when Ronan is too heartsick to manage it; he lets Ronan crash at St. Agnes at 3 in the morning, when it’s pitch black outside and the world weighs hopelessly on Ronan’s shoulders, and shields him with his body, curled around the black hooks of Ronan’s tattoo.

Sometimes it’s enough. And sometimes it isn’t.

The fact of the matter is that before being Adam-and-Ronan, they were Adam and Ronan: two satellites orbiting planet Gansey, inevitably colliding with each other over and over, and only taking stock of the damage when the impact had already left craters in both of them. Even as they’d slowly become friends, then better friends, then something more altogether, Adam had never harboured any illusions that they would ever stop fighting. So, logically, he should not have expected them to stop butting heads now just because they were… whatever they were (…together? Boyfriends? That was something else they had not talked about).

But Adam hadn’t been thinking logically ever since Ronan had kissed him in his childhood bedroom, taking reason away and replacing it with soft white light and the foreign feeling of being loved, loved, loved. If he had, he might have seen it coming when their new, unspoken peace suddenly came unspooled around them on a winter night.

As it is, though, it’s ten minutes to midnight and Adam is tired. The end of the semester is fast approaching, Aglionby teachers apparently trying their best to fit as many test as they can in the last few days; his shift at Boyd’s has been relentless today, the garage drastically understaffed because three of the mechanics are home with the flu. He stayed up until 3am last night revising for an algebra quiz, skipped today’s lunch in favour of cramming in some last-minute Latin homework, and he knows tomorrow’s schedule is not looking any better. His stomach growls loudly, the grilled cheese sandwich he had for dinner not nearly enough to make up for the meal he missed, and all he wants is to crawl into bed and catch up on lost sleep, but he has college applications to write; he has sent out most of them already, but there are still a few he needs to finalise by the end of December, and they’re not going to write themselves.

He’s so absorbed in his work that he barely hears the first knock on the door, his head only jerking up when a second round of knocks comes, louder and more impatient. There’s no question of who it is – there’s only one person it could be at this time of night – and normally Adam would go greet him at the door, kiss him, pull him inside by his belt loops. Tonight, though, he’s just so exhausted and hungry and done that he can’t even bring himself to get up. “Come in,” he calls out wearily, scratching out a mistake in the rough draft of his cover letter.

Ronan walks in, bringing with him an eddy of cold night air and a metaphorical storm cloud over his head. Adam doesn’t know what it is, exactly – but something in him picks up on Ronan’s obvious bad mood, and his own already grim mood ricochets dully off it, grating at his patience.

“God, Parrish, how the fuck are you still working?” That tone, the bored, casually dismissive one, has not made an appearance since before – before the demon, before Aurora, before the kissing and this newborn thing between them. Adam can’t say he’s missed it, and his hackles instinctively rise with the muscle memory of a dozen previous fights.

“Because I have no choice,” he huffs, dryly. “I could’ve been more ahead of schedule if I hadn’t had to spend all of lunch break on Latin homework. I tried calling you to check if I had the vocabulary right, but you didn’t pick up.” As you never do, is the unspoken but still obvious add-on to that sentence. Adam knows it’s petty, but he can’t keep the petulance out of his voice. This is another thing he had expected to change after, even though he had no logical grounds for it, and it annoys him to be proven wrong.

“I was out,” Ronan shrugs, apparently unperturbed, but he has felt the silent barb, and his own defenses rise in response, in an all-too-familiar mechanism: guilt leading to self-deprecation leading to insecurity leading to anger. His shoulders are tense as he props himself down on the floor against Adam’s bed.

Adam watches him out of the corner of his eyes. Ronan is a spring coiled tight, the black cloud trailing after him apparently only getting denser and denser as he chews restlessly at the leather bands on his wrist. His eyes are bright and his cheeks are pink, as if he’d been driving with his windows down. As if–

Adam puts his pen down with deliberate calm.

“Have you been racing?”

Ronan snorts. “Okay, Gansey.”

Adam turns to look at him more fully, and despite the fact that yes, historically it’s Gansey who’s been the one dealing with a street-racing Ronan, Adam has still seen it often enough to know the signs. The adrenaline crackling in and around him, the restless way he taps his boot against the floor, the combative glint in his eyes.

“Well, have you?”

“So what if I have?” it’s a childish response, and once upon a time, Adam might have fired back something cutting for that alone, rolling his eyes at Ronan’s antics. Now, he knows better than to do that, but he’s unable to stop his thoughts from derailing frantically in another direction.

It’s mid-December. Even in Virginia, the weather has been hostile, especially over the past week, with on-and-off spells of merciless rain, which combined with the temperature dropping at night makes for a constant chill in the air. And it makes the roads freeze over at night.

There’s ice on the roads, and Ronan’s been racing.

Adam’s heartbeat picks up speed in his chest, going faster for every mile he imagines Ronan going over the speed limit, shooting down a poorly-lit country road, trying to outmaneuver some good-for-nothing delinquent.

“Are you an idiot?” he blurts out, before he can think better of it.

“What the fuck, Parrish? Just because you’re busy applying to fancy schools you don’t get to be all high and mighty with the resident drop-out,” Ronan sneers, but there’s a beat of genuine hurt under the sarcasm. Adam hears it, but he can’t make himself acknowledge it right now. His chest feels too tight, and his mind keeps reliving the same dreadful possibility.

Gas pedal. Gear shift. Wheels on slippery ice. Crash.

“I thought you’d stopped racing,” he says, forcing his voice to remain even.

Ronan shrugs. “It’s fun.”

That’s not a lie, not exactly; Ronan does love racing. But it’s a lie right now. Because this, this isn’t Ronan racing for fun. This is Ronan racing the way he did right after Niall died, or the way he did before he could master his night horrors. This is Ronan lost and helpless and grieving for his dead mother, reeling from almost losing his best friend, unmoored with the fear of Adam leaving for college. This is Ronan racing like maybe he doesn’t care so much if he wraps the BMW around a tree.

Adam slams his notebook closed. “Yeah? How fun is it going to be when you crash the damn car because you couldn’t be bothered to check if there’s ice on the ground?”

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Jesus, Parrish, can you relax and take the stick out of your ass for like five seconds?” he drawls. Adam knows, technically, that he’s just committed his first mistake: he’s getting angry, which means Ronan will act as infuriatingly aloof as he can to balance it out. But he can’t seem to stop himself, hurtling towards anger the same way he imagines the BMW skidding along a dark road to a fiery end.

He imagines Ronan on the ground, crushed under metal sheet and debris.

He sees Ronan on the ground, blood pooling around him as the demon unmakes him piece by painful piece, gasping for air and desperately creating with every ragged breath.

He can’t stand it.

“If you’re gonna be an asshole, you can just leave. I’ve got shit to do anyway,” he bites out, getting up and gesturing towards the door.

Ronan immediately gets up as well, hurt and rejection tumbling into anger. “Of course you do. Like you have time for anything apart from your fucking homework.”

“Oh, give me a break, Lynch” Adam exclaims, his voice rising in volume despite his best efforts. “Excuse me for wanting a future. Not all of us care so little about their lives they can just drop out of school and spend all their time racing cars.”

“What the fuck is your problem, huh?” Ronan shoots back, stepping closer to him in the cramped little room. “No, really, what crawled up your ass and died? It’s none of your business what I do with my free time now I’m not stuck in that shithole of a school anymore.”

It’s a sore spot – unlike Gansey, Adam has always recognised the futility of trying to force Ronan to stay in school against his wishes, but it doesn’t mean he agrees with the choice. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss him. He can’t help himself from leaning closer, into Ronan’s personal space, matching him step for step.

“Right, of course, because sticking it out a few more months in high school was gonna kill you, but speeding down frozen roads in the dark for shits and giggles isn’t.”

“Jesus Christ, would you get the hell off my back?! I’m fucking good at driving, and I know what I’m doing! Why the fuck do you even care if I race?”

“Because I almost lost you!” Adam all but yells at him. His fists clench spasmodically at his sides, and he feels the bite of it, wondering if he’s broken skin; he wants to punch a wall, kick a chair, something, but every time the idea of violence crosses his mind he sees Blue’s frightened face, and a wave of self-loathing clamps his muscles into place.

Ronan seems to be similarly frozen into place, his eyes wide. They’re both breathing hard, despite standing perfectly still. Adam takes a shameful step back, unable to meet Ronan’s eyes, his fists still balled hard at his sides.

“You don’t know– you have no idea–” he starts, low and unsteady, his traitorous accent weighing on every vowel. “I had to watch as that thing took you apart. Watch as it killed you. I thought it was over. I thought you–” his voice cracks and he shakes his head, biting down on his lip to keep his eyes from welling up, because he’s not doing this, he can’t do this – but he is anyway, his ribs constricting around his lungs painfully, his throat working uselessly against a lump. Everything inside him is chaos, knocked asunder with the knowledge of how Ronan – this miraculous boy, this god-like dreamer – is ultimately just as fragile as any human, perhaps more so because of how much life he holds within himself.

He sees, again, Ronan unmade by the demon, but he also sees Ronan drowning in Cabeswater, sinking in acid to try to save Opal; he remembers the desperation with which he’d tethered himself to the ley line and asked Cabeswater to please save him please please save him just save him. He remembers Ronan’s dream double, lying on the floor of the church they’re standing above just now, convulsing and bleeding out, looking so much like the real Ronan that even the memory twists Adam’s stomach painfully. He remembers rushing to the hospital after getting a panicked phone call from Gansey and seeing Ronan in a hospital bed, pale as death, his arms bandaged with red-stained gauze.

He remembers his own hands clenching around Ronan’s throat to choke the life out of him.

The fear and disgust are an almost physical weight on his chest, and he still can’t bring himself to look at Ronan, even as he finds his voice.

“I know maybe you don’t care about your life right now,” he says quietly. “But if you care about me at all, even a little bit– please, please, just– stay alive.” He closes his eyes, recognising the battle as lost when he feels dampness against his eyelashes but too tired to care, sleep deprivation and physical exhaustion and emotional upheaval getting the better of him.

The next moment, Ronan’s hands are on his, taking hold of his fists and gently teasing them open. Adam looks up through slightly blurry eyes to see angry red crescent marks on his palms, and Ronan running his thumbs over them. Ronan’s face is doing complicated things, regret and confusion and grief warring with each other, his eyes still wide with something like wonder. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking helpless, like he doesn’t think that’s enough. Adam blinks back more tears and thinks somewhat hysterically that this is the first time Ronan’s ever apologised first for a fight.

“God, don’t– I’m the one who should–” Adam stumbles, then heaves out a ragged sigh. “Don’t be sorry. Be safe.”

He allows himself to look at Ronan’s face more steadily, and watches his expression shift through something like shame, then pain, his eyes very bright, like maybe he’s close to crying as well, and Adam’s heart flips over in his chest, wishing desperately he could undo the entire night, go back to before they ever fought. Ronan brings Adam’s hand up to his cheek, presses the palm there, then turns his head just enough to brush his lips to it, barely a kiss.

“It hurts,” Ronan says in a very small voice, breath warm against his hand. It’s vague, and he doesn’t offer any clarification, but Adam knows what he means. Losing Aurora, losing Cabeswater, losing Gansey without knowing how they were going to get him back, his treacherous dreams telling him he’s going to lose Adam as well.

Adam is new to love, but he thinks he’s starting to understand loss, because for the first time in his life he feels he has things to lose. He thinks about Persephone, the first adult to ever be good to him. He thinks about Cabeswater, whose absence still feels like a gaping hole in his chest. He thinks again about the possibility of losing Ronan, losing Gansey, losing Blue, losing Opal, and his hands tighten around Ronan’s.

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.” He means it in more ways than he can put words to, his eyes dropping to the floor again. But Ronan, perceptive as he can sometimes be – and Adam knows this by now, should be used to it, but it somehow always blindsides him – seems to pick up on it anyway.

“Parrish,” he says softly, “You know it’s not your fault, right?”

“I know,” Adam murmurs. Unlike Ronan, he’s no stranger to lying. He knows that it’s not his fault – not technically. But all he can think of is the demon using his hands to strangle Ronan, the demon using his eyes to spy on them. Ronan’s hands covered in Aurora’s blood and Adam standing by, unable to help, a useless magician.

“Adam,” Ronan says, more steady now. “It’s not your fault.” He slides Adam’s hand down, to rest against his neck, thumb pressed to the pulse point. Fear lurches deep in Adam’s gut as he instinctively recoils, trying to take his hand back. Ronan doesn’t let him.

Instead, Ronan – stubborn, impossible Ronan – takes his other hand and places it on his throat as well, an achingly tender mimicry of Adam’s worst nightmare.

“It’s not your fault,” he repeats, conviction weighing in every word. “That was not you. It could never be you.”

“Ronan,” Adam tries to protest, with a note of pleading. Ronan’s throat is warm and smooth and alive, and he forces his hands to stay as limp as they can and resist the urge to touch.

“Adam.”

They just look at each other for a long moment. It probably looks stupid from the outside, Adam thinks distantly; but all he wants right now is to collapse against Ronan’s chest, to hide his face into his shoulder, to listen to his heartbeat’s constant reminder that they’ve won, they’re alive, they get to have this.

“I trust you,” Ronan says, his tone gentler than it is on most occasions. Adam is reminded fleetingly of baby mice and baby ravens, back when he was still discovering that Ronan wasn’t all sharp edges and thorns.

“What if I don’t trust myself?”

“Then you’re an idiot,” Ronan replies easily. “But it’s okay, because I trust you enough for both of us.”

Adam swallows, the motion almost painful. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I trust you more than anyone.” It’s the truth, because Ronan never lies.

Adam wants to cry again, but he doesn’t. Instead he allows his hands to move, to settle more firmly around Ronan’s neck, not pushing but feeling, gently pressing his index fingertips to the spot behind Ronan’s ears, his thumbs to the pulse under his chin, all smooth skin and rough stubble.

Ronan closes his eyes and lets out a long exhale from his mouth, letting his hands fall off of Adam’s as if giving Adam control has dislodged a weight from his shoulders, allowing him to breathe more easily.

The sudden surge of love clutching at Adam’s heart right then is stronger than even the ley line coming to life inside him, and he can’t help himself from chasing that exhale, pressing his lips to Ronan’s, softly at first, then more firmly, again and again and again. When they part for breath, their foreheads stay touching, Adam’s head tilted back slightly with the height difference he pretends to be bothered by.

“Can we like, go for hot chocolate or somethin’?” He almost kicks himself for how trivial of a question that is to alight upon, his Henrietta accent making it even more prosaic, but right now, all he wants is to stay close to Ronan, to forget about demons and death and sorrow and just revel in everything they haven’t lost, sitting together like two normal teenagers in the booth of a 24 hour diner.

Ronan lets out a surprised laugh, and when Adam looks up to see, with relief, Ronan’s eyes crinkling up with a smile, he thinks maybe that wasn’t the wrong question to ask after all.

“Thought you had homework,” Ronan says, his voice rough.

“Fuck homework,” Adam replies, and Ronan sucks in a breath, only half for show.

“Parrish,” he says, “you’ve literally never been hotter to me than in this exact moment.”

“Fuck off,” Adam laughs.

“Damn, it gets better and better,” Ronan comments on a wolf-whistle, not missing a beat.

Adam rolls his eyes at him, grinning, but then a thought makes him sober up for a moment. “I think we need to get better. At this talking thing, I mean.”

Ronan makes a face of exaggerated distaste, everything in him rebelling at the idea of conversations about feelings.

“You know I’m right,” Adam says.

“I didn’t say you were wrong,” Ronan mutters, then offers: “I’ll… pick up my phone?”

“It’s a start,” Adam concedes, amusedly, even though that’s not the real problem and they both know it.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you couldn’t survive Latin class without my help,” Ronan shrugs with false modesty.

“Right,” Adam drawls. “Anyway. I’ll… try not to freak out about things?”

“Sounds fake,” Ronan hums, poking his nose at Adam’s cheek.

“Your face sounds fake.”

“That doesn’t even make sense, Parrish. Maybe they shouldn’t make you valedictorian after all.”

“Maybe, but your ass better stay alive till graduation, ‘cause I want you there anyway.”

“Yeah. I guess I better,” Ronan replies simply, but his tone is serious; it’s a promise, and they both know it.

Adam nods. “Hot chocolate?”

“Hot chocolate,” Ronan nods back. “Whipped cream and a metric fuckton of marshmallows?”

Adam’s stomach growls at a frankly ridiculous level of decibels, which would be mortifying except for the carefree way Ronan laughs at that, which kind of makes it worth it.

“Shut up,” Adam mutters without any heat, trying to hold back a smile. His ears feel warm.

“Let’s get some marshmallows in you, Einstein,” Ronan chuckles, kissing his cheek.

The drive to the diner is quiet, and Ronan keeps carefully below the speed limit. That’s not new per se, as he’s taken to doing it more and more when Adam’s in the car with him, but it feels especially significant tonight. Like an assurance, maybe. Adam stares at Ronan’s profile in the dim light, all sharp and handsome lines, and enjoys the simple pleasure of knowing that they have each other, that moments like these are theirs and theirs alone.

“I used to wonder how long it would take before we fought again,” he says, without really deciding to. “I think maybe I thought we wouldn’t, but clearly that was dumb of me.”

“Ah.” Ronan’s tone gives nothing away, but the tightening of his jaw loudly broadcasts his fears – that Adam will decide this is too much effort, that it’s too much work, that it’s more trouble than Ronan’s worth.

“Yeah. How else are we supposed to do better if we never fuck up?”

It’s clearly not what Ronan was expecting, and as he takes the last turn for the diner, a small, almost surprised smile plays around his lips. He glances at Adam out of the corner of his eyes, the motion practiced and familiar; Adam, as always, looks back, feeling a burst of simple, uncomplicated satisfaction bloom in his chest as he rests his head on top of Ronan’s on the gear stick.

They’re going to be okay.

#trc #adam parrish #ronan lynch #pynch #the raven cycle #my writing #otp: young gods #wow i haven't written anything in???? eons????#hopefully this is ok #anonymous #answer

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tinyboxxtink · 3 years

Text

"Black Magic" *Part 3*

Alright y'all this took me ALL day to write [the entire rest of the story] and it took me an hour and a half to just edit this chapter. So I HOPE you like it. I had to find a breaking point it was getting too long, but the next chapter is coming like...maybe 30 minutes.

EEK!!!

Part 4

Part 2

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-------

After saying goodbye to Maria and the kids Rafael took your hand and you both got in another Uber he had called.

“So where to now?” You asked.

“Well we're going to need somewhere to get this food,” he smiled. “So I'm taking you to my favorite place in the city,”

Soon enough the Uber pulled up in front of Central park. We both got out and walked to the front entrance.

“Central Park is your favorite place in the city?” You asked. “Kind of basic but okay,” you teased.

“Shut up,” he laughed, punching you in the arm playfully. “Wait until you see what part of Central Park.” He took your hand and you walked for a bit until you came across a fountain.

“I mean it's gorgeous but still kind of basic,” you teased some more.

“This is where we're eating lunch carino,” he told you. “The surprise comes after,”

You set up camp on the edge of the fountain and spread out the food. It was enough for a feast. Luckily Maria had included napkins, plates , silverware and sneakily enough she snuck in an old blanket that you could spread out.

“Oh my god.. this is so good,” You said in between mouthfuls of food.

“I told you,” he laughed through a mouthful of his own food.

“No like you don't understand. I've never had food this good,” You insisted.

“Oh no? The fancy lunches from work, not your style?” He smirked.

You stopped eating for a second. Had he really noticed that you took home whatever food the bigwigs never finished? It was kind of a detail that you never had guessed that he would even pay attention to.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” You innocently replied.

“Sureee…” Rafael nodded with a smile.

“I'm sorry, please don't fire me,” You begged.

“Fire you? I think it's adorable. Trust me I would do the same thing back in my law school days when I had nothing,” He patted your shoulder.

“God do I hear that,” You agreed.

“Wait so you have nothing?” Rafael asked, concerned.

“What? No! Kind of…..I have enough.” You assured him.” It's not like I'm homeless or anything.” Oh my God this is getting worse. “I just mean like, back when I was in college I had even less than I have now.”

“Oh you went to college?” Rafael asked.

“Wow okay counselor I see where the snobbishness is coming back,” You acted offended. And you actually kind of were.

"Oh no no no, mi amor,” He put a hand on your knee, scared he had offended you. “Please don't think that I would ever think down of you. I think you are the most beautiful, smartest caring person in the world.”

He didn't even know you. That was definitely the spell. You sadly shrugged” it's fine,”

“No no what I meant.. I don't know I don't know what I meant,” He shook his head, blushing.

“Yeah you do it's fine you can say it Rafael I'm not going to get offended,” You assured him.

“I just meant... I don't know, or don't understand why somebody with a college degree would be temping, instead of using their degree for a job in their field. I seriously doubt you went to college for temping,”

“Well I don't know if you remember this since it was eons ago before you had money but living in New York is quite expensive.” You half laughed. "And when you have student loans to pay you kind of have to take what you can get even if it's not in your ‘field’,”

“I get it,” He nodded. “I totally get where you're coming from. I'm so sorry I offended you,”

“You know before today I would have stomped off and written you off as just the snob pompous asshole that I thought you were. But after seeing where you came from I know you really mean that,” You smiled.

“So…” he hoped to change the subject. “What exactly is your degree in? Something law related I assume?”

“Why do you assume that?”

“Well.. usually the people that apply to be my intern are only interested in kissing my ass and getting ahead in the lawyer corporate world. But you haven't done that.. Yet,” He raised an eyebrow with a smirk.

“Oh.. yeah.”. you look down at the ground nervously.

“What are you going to kiss my ass now? Because I'll gladly let you do it,” He smiled cheekily.

“No no!” You waved your hands. “I mean that would be nice but--I mean no, what?” You were flustered.

“You're adorable when you're flustered,” He rubbed your bright red cheeks.

“Haha,” you pushed a hair behind your ear. You thought to yourself “Well he's not going to remember any of this anyway so you might as well tell him the truth,”

“Truth is.. I may or may not have manipulated the system to beat out those other snobby law students to get this job,” You admitted, still looking down.

“Really…?” He looked at you suspiciously. “...And why’s that?

“...Because I saw your picture on the file and I thought you were gorgeous and I wanted to see that face everyday,” You blushed intensely, still looking at the ground, not able to tell him in his face..

There was a very long pause and then he put a hand on yours. You slowly looked up at him and he was smiling cutely.

“That is the most adorable thing I've ever heard in my life,” He grinned.

“Really? You think so?” Well obviously he thought so he was programmed to think whatever you did for the adorable duh.

“Yeah I don't think I've ever had a woman try that hard to get my attention. Or want to see me that much, or even think that highly of me,” He grinned.

“I mean it's not really thinking highly of you, just that you’re really attractive,” You laughed.

“Right, of course,” He was blushing even more.

“And that was even before I saw your butt!” You laughed without thinking.. But he really did have the best ass you've ever seen in your entire life. Everyday you walked into that office you just wanted to take a bite of it.

Rafael choked on his food. “I um…” His face was red hot now.. “Thank you?”

“Anyway…” He tried to steer the conversation away from his butt. “You avoided the question,”

“What question?” You asked. Completely in all honestly forgetting what you were talking about. Once you got lost in Rafael's ass your mind kind of went blank completely.

“What iis your degree in?”

“It's embarrassing,” You looked at the ground.

“What? It can't be that bad,” He shook his head.

“Well I say it's embarrassing to someone like you,” You half laughed.

“Someone like me?” He looked offended. “What iis that supposed to mean?”

“I mean I don't.. I mean the person that I thought you were before today,” You grabbed his hand.

“Well you seem to have really disliked me before today,” he nodded curiously. “It's like you don't know me at all.”

“What? Of course I know you.” You assured him. "I love you, remember? And you love me?”

“Yeah.. I do, but I don't know anything about you,” He looked away as if he was trying to figure out an equation.

Oh shit. What's happening? Was this supposed to happen? Wasn't wearing off? Oh God.

“It's a theater degree!” you blurted out, trying to change the subject. Maybe it would work. If you distracted him maybe this would take over again.

He turned his head to the side and stared off blankly, as if he was rebooting. Then he looked up and smiled at you. “A theater degree? That sounds exciting!” He was back to his “usual self''..

You let out a sigh of relief. However, you wondered if you had gotten him out of the spell, would he have freaked out? Would he have accepted it? Would he maybe start having real feelings for you? Well, it was too late now.

“Does it really though?” You rolled your eyes.

“It really does. I don't know if you would believe this, but I'm kind of a theater nerd myself,” He chuckled.

“No way. You? Nahh,” You blew a raspberry.

“Seriously! I had a bit of a theater bug when I was younger in fact. I wanted to be a big Broadway star” He admitted.

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Raphael Barba the stuffy ADA of New York City as a big Broadway star? Yeah right!

“That's insane! You laughed. So why did you give it up?”

“Well.. as you know, being on Broadway isn't a great way to make money. It's more of a passion thing right?”

“So true,” You nodded as you were eating your empanada dessert.

“So.. I took a hard look at where I lived, and how hard my mom and abuelita were struggling and I vowed that I would get out of El Barrio. And make something of myself and be able to take care of them when I was an adult the way that I couldn't when I was a kid,”

You felt tears choking your throat once again for the millionth time that day. But this time it wasn't for you. It was for him. You really hadn't known any of this, to you he was just a pretty face. You actually had a lot in common.

“That is so sweet.” You pushed the trash between you away and moved up closer, pulling his hands into your lap and looking at him endearingly.

“Yeah?” He asked you with a half smile like a kid looking for approval.

“Yeah it really is. You gave up your passion for your family. I wish I was as selfless as that,” You said softly.

“What do you mean?”

What did you mean indeed? Did you really want to get into the story? Then once again you reminded yourself that he would have no idea no recollection of this after today, so you felt comfortable telling him your secret.

“Well….. You.... I came from nothing too. But all I could think of was getting out myself and never looking back,” You admitted in shame.

“Oh?” He looked at you curiously.

“Yeah, I was really passionate about theater and becoming a big Broadway star. With all the fame, and the money, and getting away from my small town in Jersey. So I threw myself into every activity, every theater, every play, every community theater, every performance, anything I can get my hands on. My parents were super supportive and never thought anything bad of me, even though they probably should have. They wanted me to have the world. And I took that for granted,” You began to get choked up.

“Why do you say that…?” He took your hand and squeezed it feeling like something bad was coming.

“They saved up their entire married lives to give me a college fund. I wasn't aware of it, but when I got accepted to NYU School of acting, they told me that they had enough saved for the first two years,” You continued, trying to breathe.

“Well that's good isn't it?”

“Yeah no totally, except I wasn't grateful,” You look down tears stinging your eyes thinking about how selfish you are as a kid. All I could think about and yell at them was how they didn't have enough for the full four years. How was I supposed to be a big Broadway star if I was still trying to pay student loans?”

“Oh Y/N…”.

“Yeah and that's not even the worst part,” Tears started stinging your eyes. You were lucky he was under some spell because he would definitely hate you after this under normal circumstances.

“Go on, I'm not here to judge you,” He pressed his forehead against yours. He realized how hard the story was taking its toll on you.

“One day it was my big end of semester performance and it was snowing. So my parents said that they weren't going to be able to make it. I screamed at them and told them that this was the biggest night of my life, and they couldn't be bothered to show up and what horrible parents they were and that they never cared about me and a whole huge temper tantrum like a 3 year old.”

You tried holding back sobs you had to make it through this whole thing without breaking down.

“No, honey…” He put a hand on your face.

”And so they tried…” You sniffed. They tried driving on the icy roads of Jersey to drive into the City and they served on black ice in the Jersey tunnel where they hit the wall and were killed instantly.

“Oh my god.. he whispered, “Baby I'm so sorry,” He grabbed you in a hug as you broke down. You just sat there for a minute letting him hold you while you sobbed into his shoulder.

“I just told them what shitty parents they were!” You sobbed muffled into his shirt. "And I killed them!”

“Hey,” he pulled your face from his shirt and looked you in the eyes. “No no you didn't do anything,”

“Yes I did! If I hadn't been such a brat and told them and guilted them into coming to see my stupid show then they'd still be alive!” you kept sobbing.

“No,” he took your head in his hands. “Look I didn't know you back then but I'm sure that your parents loved you and I'm sure that you loved them. That's why you wanted them there so bad. And sometimes it's just people's time. You didn't do anything wrong. Do you understand me?”

“Yeah.. I guess so,” you looked down. “I mean I was punished enough for it”.

“What does that mean?”

“Well I mean, obviously I was distraught from my parents dying. And that semester was the last one that was paid for. So kind of lied to you,” You paused to look at him apologetically.

“I had to drop out one year after that because I could only get student loans for that next year. And you had to have a certain GPA to get them to keep paying for the last year and I most certainly did not have that,”

“Oh...carino, I'm so sorry”

“Then me being me the arrogant bitch that I am, I thought well maybe I don't need a degree. Tons of actors don't have degrees. They can just make it on their own. So I just started throwing myself into auditions for about a year and a half, and I ended up living on the streets because I refused to take any kind of job. Telling myself that I was going to get my big break and be famous,”

“Oh my God”

“I know, right?” You laughed through tears. “I'm so stupid,”

“Hey you are not stupid,” Rafael grabbed your hands again.

“Yeah well, the first temp agency that I applied to had the first job as a personal assistant to a fancy lawyer. So maybe I'm not that stupid,” you smiled.

“Ah.. see? Happy ending. Maybe you went through all that to find me,”

“Yeah.. maybe,” You sadly smiled at him.

Although you knew deep down in your heart that was bullshit, because you really didn't have him. All you did was take another shortcut and be selfish and tried to take him for yourself instantly without any of the work. You were still a selfish bitch. And he didn't know that

“You know...if it makes you feel any better, you are lucky to have such loving parents,”

“What do you mean? Didn't you say you gave up your dream to take care of them?” You assumed that must have meant they were super close.

“Yeah well, for my mom and abuela..”.

You suddenly realized he hadn't mentioned a father.

"Oh? I'm.... No dad?”

“No, no dad.” He shook his head sadly. “I wasn't completely honest with you earlier YN,”

“What do you mean?” You took his hand, already knowing this wasn't going to be good.

“I was forced to give up my dream,” he replied sadly while staring at the ground.

“What?”

“When I was a kid I would watch musicals at my abuelitas house. It was the only place I was….safe,” He continued.

“Oh God.” You muttered.

“I would dance and sing all over her house. She was the only person in my life who ever supported that side of me,” he continued to stare at the ground.

“When my dad came to pick me up one day and he saw what I was doing…. “ He stopped again, you realized he was trying not to cry.

“Rafa…..”

“He tried to "beat the gay out of me.",” You saw tears dripping on the pavement.

You silently gasped.

"Not that I'm gay,' he quickly assured you.

"That was literally the last thing on my mind baby," you shook your head, tears coming to your own eyes as you pulled him into a hug. He collapsed into tears as you rubbed the back of his neck and whispered comforting words into his ear.

Finally he composed himself enough to finish his story.

“Anyway, he uh...he didn't just beat me for that. It was anything really. But I kept at it at my abuelas. She encouraged me even if she couldn't stand up to my dad. I can't blame her or my mother. When my mom caught me still pursuing it she told me to stop if I wanted to keep our dad around saying he wouldn't tolerate a….f word son,"

“Oh my god.” You whispered. You couldn't imagine your parents or any parents really, trying to discourage their kids from anything, and threatening them for being something they were so passionate about.

“Well I guess it didn't matter either way because he ended up taking off anyway. And I felt so guilty that we lost our only income, so my mom had to end up getting two jobs and my abuela moved in to help with bills that then I swore to become better so that I could atone for my sins,” He couldn’t look at you.

“Oh my god. Rafa, sweetie I…. That wasn't your fault., it wasn't your fault at all. He sounds like a grade a asshole,” You made him look at you just as he did when you told your shameful story.

“He was...is. I don't know if he's dead or alive actually. I haven't seen or heard from him since he left. I hate him so much,” he clenched his fists.

“Oh honey,” You pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“No you don't understand. My middle name is Eduardo, named after him. So he's always with me. I have always told people it's Antonio, because I want nothing about me associated with him,” He started to cry again.

After a minute, he looked back up at you very seriously. “I've never told anyone that story.”

“Really? Not even Liv?”

"Not even Liv," He stroked your hair. "I've never felt as close to her as I do with you.” He pulled you into his lap. “The truth is Y/N I have never felt safe since my abuela’s house. Until I met you,”

“Rafa…” You pulled him into a deep kiss, tears dropped down both your faces. “We can be each other’s homes now,”

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba fanfiction #black magic #law and order svu

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elusive---ivory · 5 years

Text

His pt 1

Ooooh boy oh boy. This took eons, but here y'all go. This is from one of Joaquin Phoenix's movies called Her. If you haven't, please do because this fanfiction is about Theodore Twombly (the main character) and an Oc I created a while ago.

PAIRING: Theodore Twombly x Oc (Molly)

WARNING: uhh, Mentions of Sex

Taglist:

@kat-o-combs @gloomyladyy @memory-mortis

To my Dave

I've always loved your eyes, and how they flickered like fireflies. They remind me of hot July evenings when I was younger. Your face red hot as you laid there next to me. Just like the day, the nights were moist and humid. You didn't mind. You always had your head on you're shoulders. I loved seeing you as you got up to work in the hot desert heat of Arizona. I always felt a little guilty, seeing as I would stay in bed in our air conditioned home. There couldn't be anything or anyone that could really keep me apart from that bed, but you were always there to wake me up. It's been an amazing experience us being together for 40 years. I hope it continues on.

Happy Anniversary,

Connie

Beautiful Hand Written Letters.com was a company that was pretty self explanatory. Each letter written required thought and feeling to each word written.

Theodore Twombly, an average looking man, worked for this specific company. He stayed after handing his letters in, just as everyone else had already left.

"Theodore! Letter Writer #612. Even more mesmerizing stuff today." The receptionist said.

"Hey Paul." Theodore greeted him with a wave. He placed the letters in the digital mailbox warranting a 'beep' noise.

"Who knew you could rhyme so many words with the name 'Penelope'. That's badass." Paul joked.

Theodore smiled, coyly. "Thanks Paul, but they're just letters." Theodore placed the last letter in the mailbox.

"That's a nice shirt." Theodore complimented.

"Oh, thank you. I just got it." Paul said. "It reminded me of someone suave."

"Well, now, It reminds me of someone suave. Goodnight Paul." Theodore waved to Paul as he walked towards the door.

Theodore found himself in a sort of melancholy state. The Los Angeles city was just as dark and cloudy he was. His friends were worried, and send him emails about events they were going to. Everyone nowadays were on some sort of device that they would glue themselves too.

Theodore was lonely. A lonely man in his early thirties.

He laid alone on his bed in a dark room. Memories of him and his wife played in his head. He couldn't help, but feel a deep pit in his heart.

He headed online.

"Open Chatrooms. Standard Search." Theodore headed online.

Of course, he had video games and cable porn to help him be less lonely, but he craved a sort of human interaction. Someone to hold him, tenderly. Kiss his mouth, and hold him tight.

Usually late at night he searched for women to talk to and have phone sex with.

Sometimes the sessions weren't too great. One woman asked for Theodore to choke her with a dead cat.

"Hey, I can't really sleep, and I'm pretty lonely. Is there anyone out here?" A young woman asked in one of Theodore's many message requests.

Theodore smirked at the message. "Respond to message. "Hey, I can make you feel less lonely. You were asking if anyone was out there, well, I am. Send message." Theodore smiled like a little school boy.

"Molly_Is_Cute5 and BigGuy69 have started a conversation."

The woman on the other end chuckled. "Big Guy?"

Theodore chuckled back. "Yeah, stud muffin was taken."

"Uh-huh." The woman giggled.

"So, Molly, huh? Is that your real name?" Theodore asked.

The woman on the other end giggled again. "That's what I call myself. Nice to meet you, Big Guy."

Theodore laughed. "You don't have to call me that. That's just a username."

"Oh, right. What's your real name?" The woman asked.

"It's Theodore." Theodore smiled at the ceiling.

"That's a nice name. So tell me, Theodore, how's life?" The woman said.

"Uh, well, life is alright. I guess you could say that." Theodore replied.

"I understand. Life can mean various things to different people. For me, I guess life's been pretty good to. It's hard to say since I've only been alive for five days." The woman said.

Theodore laughed. "Yeah, I guess."

"Oh? What's so funny?" The woman said in confusion.

Theodore's laughter defused. "You're not joking. What do you mean that you're only five days old?"

"Ok, you've busted me. I'm an artificial intelligence." The woman said, seriously.

"What how? So you're not a real person?" Theodore scowled at the voice.

"Oh god. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you. God, I'm sorry." The woman apologized, profusely.

"Don't apologize. It's just weird. So, I'm talking to an AI?" Theodore questioned.

"Technically, but I'm not just some disembodied voice in a chatroom. I have a body. It's just asleep, but I'm not asleep." The woman explained.

"Wow, ok." Theodore sighed.

"I've weirded you out. I understand. I just.." The woman's embarrassment was laced in her voice.

"It's ok, uh. I just have so many questions." Theodore said, rubbing his temples.

"Right. Understandably so." The woman giggled, nervously.

"You're an artificial intelligence called Molly. That's a lot to take in." Theodore said, tired.

"Yeah, I know. Look, I understand if you want to go. I'm glad we had this talk." The woman sounded sad.

"Before, you go. Could I at least get your number?" Theodore asked.

The woman giggled. "Sure. Take care, Theodore." The woman signed off the chat leaving a little note with some numbers.

- xoxo Molly

Theodore smiled softly at the note before succumbing to the relief of sleep.

#her 2013 #joaquin phoenix #theodore twombly #Theodore Twombly x oc #Theodore Twombly x Reader

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