#new chapter is so emotional- in positive way ofc

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Destiny & Deliverance: Chapter 26

Destiny & Deliverance Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Dieter Bravo X OFC New as of 11/13/2023

Series Summary: Natalia Cohen is experiencing major life changes, beginning with leaving an emotionally abusive husband. She is learning how to navigate life on her own while dealing with high functioning anxiety, depression, and mild PTSD. Everything is looking up for her. She is a highly respected consultant for a major LA firm, has her best friend, Lauren, by her side, and is on her path to healing. Everything changes when she meets a handsome and broken stranger on a work trip. He turns out to be a well-known actor, with a heart-breaking past. They quickly develop a connection that will forever alter their lives. 

Warnings: Themes dealing with mental health, emotional trauma, alcohol use, and discussions about suicide. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn type of story. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Quote: "I don't want to do this."

I lost track of how much time passed as I watched Dieter sleep. My mind was racing through so many thoughts that it overwhelmed me, making it impossible to process anything at all. It was hard to pull myself away from him, but I felt like I needed a few minutes to myself to just…feel. I was relieved when the nurse walked in to check on him, feeling like that was my out. I let her know that we would be in the waiting room if he asked for us. When she turned her attention back to her checklist, I excused myself from the room.

As I walked down the hallway, I took a moment to observe my surroundings. Seeing patients through open doors in various states of critical care was making me feel anxious. The sounds of beeping machines dredging up old memories that I thought I had packed away for good. The pungent smells of antiseptic and fragrances of chemical based cleaners caused my stomach to churn. I hated hospitals and I hated that Dieter was having to go through this experience. I truly hoped that it would at least have a positive outcome so that he could finally get the proper help he needed.

I ducked into a single-user bathroom to have a minute to myself, knowing it would be my only opportunity. After locking the door behind me, I walked over to the sink and gave myself a once over in the mirror. I looked like hell. My air-dried curly hair was now a frizzy mess from my fingers incessantly pulling at it. My eyes were circled in darkness from the lack of sleep, red and swollen from crying. The t-shirt I had quickly thrown on before leaving the house was wrinkled and had a stain on it. No wonder the ER doctor didn’t take my word for it when I said I was fine. I wouldn’t have believed me either. 

I tried to smooth my hair down but didn’t get anywhere with it. Luckily, I had a hair tie on my wrist so I could pull it back into a messy bun. I took a minute to splash some warm water over my face. My skin felt sensitive and raw from the salty tears that had fallen, no matter how much I willed them not to. I switched over to cold water for a little shock to my system to try and wake up some. After splashing a few handfuls of the cold water, I stood watching it pool in my cupped hands, allowing it to spill over the sides. I could feel myself disassociating, until the flashes of memories started to break through.

Images of Dieter lying on the floor, his eyes opening briefly as I tried to wake him before they rolled back and closed again. The way he looked lifeless in my lap on the drive to the hospital, with a weakened pulse. The sight of him being pulled from my embrace and loaded onto a gurney surrounded by nurses and doctors as they worked to stabilize him. It was too much, and it was all crashing down on me at once. I had almost lost him because I was too fucking selfish to take the risk and reach out to him when I knew in my gut that something was wrong. I completely ignored it all and focused on being angry at him, just to make myself feel better about the whole situation. Now, I only felt anger toward myself.

I snapped back to the present, letting the water spill from my hands before reaching to turn off the faucet. I placed my wet hands on the back of my neck for a moment, allowing the coldness to soothe the heat radiating through my body. I closed my eyes and took a few measured breaths. Then, I reached for paper towels to dry my hands and face before throwing them in the trash. I placed both palms on the sink, leaning against it with my head down. I closed my eyes again, still taking deep breaths to try and center myself.

When I raised my head and opened my eyes, meeting my reflection in the mirror, I hated the person that I saw. My biggest fear had been losing myself again. I had allowed it to happen without even realizing how the darkness was slowly consuming what little was left of me. The harder I worked to keep it away from me the easier it was for the darkness to stealthily pull me into its numbing embrace. The sad part is, I welcomed it with open arms under the guise that I was doing what I needed to do to move forward and be happy.

For the first time since Dieter ended things, I realized I was slowly turning back into the person I was before him. The person I was when I was with Justin. The scared girl who pretended everything was fine and hid her feelings away out of fear that someone would see how bad things were. I had been conditioned to behave this way to protect Justin and all his wrong doings. I had been conditioned to hide my feelings away so that I wouldn’t realize how unhappy I really was. I could feel the walls starting to crumble down again and I found myself craving a drink but knew I couldn’t go down that road. I knew I needed to get back on track and handle things the correct way, for the sake of myself. I wasn’t going to be able to be there for Dieter unless I finally got my shit together. For real this time. I needed to find better ways to cope and actually process my feelings, rather than lock them away. If I didn’t do this, I knew I would be lost to the darkness forever.    

I was drawn away from my thoughts by a knock on the door. I took one last deep breath and moved to leave the bathroom. As I continued my trudge down the hallway, I somehow managed to focus my mind back on the current situation that needed attention, trying to think through the next steps. I wasn’t even sure what those needed to be since I had never dealt with anything like this. This was definitely going to be a team effort.

When I entered the waiting room, I was met with more activity than I expected. Everyone was working to check out various inpatient treatment centers for Dieter. Alex was reaching out to his contacts for feedback while Lauren and Gabby did research on their phones. I immediately joined in. We were determined to find something away from LA that wasn’t one of the upscale places celebrities usually went to that catered to them. He needed to be somewhere that would not treat him any differently than other patients and really focus on helping him get better.

We finally settled on a facility in Tucson, Arizona called Sanctuary Hills that appeared to be promising. It was away from paparazzi central, making it less likely that anything would leak about Dieter being there. It also came highly recommended by Dr. Wilson and several other individuals that Alex spoke with. It would be a long drive, but more than worth it if the place was as good as everyone made it out to be. Once the decision was made, Gabby called to get more information and to get the admission process started. 

We did not want to give Dieter the opportunity to change his mind, so Gabby and I planned to drive him directly to the facility once he was discharged from the hospital. Sanctuary Hills was kind enough to send us a list of things that Dieter could and could not bring with him, so I offered to go pack a bag for him on my way home to nap and freshen up. Gabby planned to do the same while Lauren and Alex stayed behind to spend some time with Dieter once he woke up.

When the Uber driver pulled into the driveway of Dieter’s house, I could feel my chest tighten as anxiety set in. Being there after what had happened the previous evening felt odd, almost sort of eerie. It seemed like there was bad energy emitting from the once happy place that I had considered my second home.

As I used Gabby’s key to unlock the front door, I suddenly felt a wave of emotion sweep over me. I could already feel a lump forming in my throat. When I stepped inside and really took in the space for the first time, I realized how much of a mess it was. I had noticed it the night before but didn’t register the severity because I had been focused on helping him. Dieter’s comforter and a pillow, my pillow, were haphazardly laying on the couch. There were old takeout containers randomly sitting around the living room and kitchen, some still containing food that looked like it had hardly been touched. I assumed that was the cause of the questionable smell permeating throughout the house. The TV was laying on its back on the floor with a busted screen. There were empty and broken liquor bottles of all shapes and sizes laying everywhere. Most of the broken bottles were concentrated on the floor under the painting I had left for him, like they had been thrown at the wall. The painting appeared to be untouched, which was oddly comforting to see.

It was difficult to see the physical evidence of how bad he had been hurting. There was no way that I could look at the sight before me and not feel anything. I simply could not pack this away somewhere in my mind and not deal with it. It was too much, but I needed the raw emotional confrontation. This is what finally caused my walls to crumble down, forcing me to feel everything at once. The sadness, betrayal, hurt, pain, anger…all of it. I couldn’t hold back the flood of tears any longer. My vision blurred momentarily before the tears started to fall incessantly. I didn’t even bother to wipe them away as I made my way toward Dieter’s bedroom to start packing a bag for him.

If I thought the living room and kitchen were bad, his bedroom was even worse. The bed was completely torn apart, and the frame broken. The nightstands were turned on their sides and the lamps that once set atop them laid in pieces on the floor. The mirror on the dresser was shattered and the drawers and clothes were thrown across the room. There was a hole in the drywall where the headboard used to be and another beside the bathroom door. It felt like I was having an out of body experience, the scene around me looking like it had been pulled straight from a movie.

I stood there for a time; both of my hands placed over my mouth in shock as I looked around the room. I had a hard time reconciling the thoughts of Dieter causing such destruction. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t a violent person. This was the culmination of his pain finally breaking him. My legs suddenly felt weak at that realization. I sank to the floor, continuing to take it all in as the tears fell freely down my cheeks. It was hard to see a space that held so many wonderful memories of us reduced to a pile of rubble. Maybe it had been even harder for him to be reminded of those memories while it was still intact, a caricature of how things used to be.

I don’t know how much time passed before I finally pulled myself up off the floor. I needed to take a breather. I walked back to the living room, where I noticed Dieter's phone still laying on the floor from where he had dropped it. My car keys were on the floor nearby, where I had apparently dropped them in the midst of my rush to get to him. I leaned down to pick up the keys and phone. I figured Gabby may need some of the contact information from his phone to deal with his work stuff, so I didn’t want to forget it. I walked over and plopped down on the couch before setting the two items down on the coffee table next to one another.

The lock screen of the phone lit up, catching my attention. I picked it up for a closer look, realizing the wallpaper was the infamous picture of us that he had posted on Instagram. Except this was the unedited original. It was in color, uncropped, and not blurred with filters. I had never seen this version of it. It almost broke me to see how happy and content we both looked. Even though Dieter’s head was turned slightly, I could still see the rare spark of happiness in his eyes. The crease that he often had between his brows was smooth. It was hard to remember that for a short time we had been blissfully happy. It seemed so long ago now. I realized that I would give anything to go back to that. We both needed the good times, to experience those rare moments of joy, when things didn’t feel like an uphill battle.

I grabbed the comforter that was halfway hanging onto the floor and wrapped it around me as I laid down onto the couch, phone still clutched in my hand. The scent of Dieter’s cologne surrounded me in a comforting embrace as I continued to examine the picture. A low battery alert appeared on screen. I chuckled to myself, thinking how my battery felt low too. I eventually set his phone back down on the table and drifted off to sleep.

I was jolted awake by my cell phone ringing in my back pocket. When I sat up, I realized it was now dark outside. I had been asleep for longer than I had planned to be. It took me a few seconds to work out where I was as I wiped the sleep from my eyes. I quickly stood and fished the phone out of my pocket to see that it was Gabby calling me. She wanted to check in and see how I was doing and if I needed help with any of Dieter’s things. I didn’t, of course. That was something I wanted to deal with on my own, but I appreciated her offer, nevertheless. It felt good to know that I was not alone in all of this, that this time around there were other people close to Dieter and me who understood what was going on.

Gabby went on to share that Alex had called to say the hospital would be releasing Dieter the following morning. She was planning for us to make the seven-and-a-half-hour drive immediately after picking him up. Then she and I would take a flight back to Los Angeles. It was going to be a long day, but it was worth it if it meant he was going to get the help he needed. We made plans for her to pick me up in a rental car and be ready to go first thing in the morning.

Once Gabby and I hung up, I realized I had a text from Aubrey. I had only just realized that I never called into work that today, so I was surprised I had not heard from her sooner.

Aubrey: Lauren called me last night to let me know what was going on. I hope everything is ok. Please take all the time you need, for the both of you. Keep me updated and let me know if you need anything.

I sighed heavily. I seriously did not deserve her or Lauren. They gave me more grace than I deserved sometimes. I fired off a quick update to Aubrey to let her know that both Dieter and I were doing ok and that I would need a couple of days off. She responded immediately to let me know that would be fine.

Since that was off the “to do” list, I decided to pack Dieter’s bag. I pulled up the list that Gabby had sent to me. He was basically limited to three days’ worth of comfortable clothes and nothing else until they considered him to be fully stable. He couldn’t even have his glasses or contacts, something he was definitely not going to be happy about.

I sent a quick text to Gabby reminding her that Dieter would need a phone list since he couldn’t have his phone. I figured she might have a better idea of who needed to be listed on that and that she would probably have most of their numbers. Then, I made my way to his closet, ignoring the mess in the bedroom as best I could. I found that his closet was completely untouched and still somewhat organized. I noticed that half of it was now empty, which reminded me of the conversation we had about making space to keep some of my things there. He had clearly held up to his word on that and never bothered to change it back. I could feel the lump forming in my throat with that thought. I shook my head, dismissing the memory so I could focus on the task at hand.

I quickly grabbed a pair of his gray workout shorts and two pairs of striped pajama pants (that did not have drawstrings) and three plain t-shirts from the shelves. I found his bright green robe and removed the waist belt before adding it to my stack. I had to dig around to find slip on closed toe shoes that didn’t have any metal or laces on them. At the bottom of his shoe pile, I found a pair of black croc clogs that I had never seen him wear, but it’s what he was getting because it was the only pair I could find that met the requirements. After grabbing some of his boxers and socks, I started looking around for a bag. I eventually came across an extra-large tote bag that could barely hold everything. He wasn’t allowed to bring his own toiletries, so I didn’t have to worry about any of that. I quickly ran through the list again making sure I didn’t miss anything. I made a mental note to double check on the phone list with Gabby and get his medications back from the hospital. Other than that, he couldn’t have anything else.         

Before I left Dieter’s house, I collected all the food containers and took out the trash. That was something that needed immediate attention due to the smell alone. The rest would have to wait until I had more time. I wanted to make sure to get everything cleaned up before he came home, whenever that would be. The mess was the last thing he needed to deal with, and he most definitely did not need any reminders of what happened to him.

I collected the tote bag, my phone and Dieter’s, and my car keys before walking out to my car and heading back to my house. After I got home, I gathered a few things I would need for our quick trip, set my alarm, then immediately went to bed. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for sleep to take me. I was physically and mentally exhausted and I could feel every bit of it.

The morning alarm came quickly. I felt like I had only just dozed off as I sat up in bed, stretching. My head was throbbing, and I could feel that my eyes were still swollen and stinging from all the crying I had done the past two days. I hoped a hot shower would help alleviate the tightness I could feel from the inflammation and ease my aching body. I drug myself up out of bed and took a very long shower. I mostly stood under the hot spray, unmoving, as I stared at the floor. I felt like I needed to mentally prepare myself for whatever the day would bring. I didn’t know what to expect, which left me anticipating all possible outcomes, including the worst-case scenarios. My only hope was that Dieter stayed calm throughout the trip and didn’t change his mind about accepting help before we got him there.  

I spent longer than I should have in the shower, causing me to rush around to get ready. Not that I had planned to put a lot of effort into it anyway because it was definitely a messy bun and sunglasses kind of day. I was glad that I had gotten things ready the night before or else I know that I would have ended up forgetting something. Before I knew it, Gabby was pulling into my driveway. When I got into the car, she handed Dieter’s phone list over to me so she would not forget about it. I added it to his bag before I handed over his cell phone to her.

I could tell she was just as anxious as I was from her tight grip on the steering wheel and tense posture. We hardly said a word to each other during the drive to the hospital. Both of us were clearly deep in thought. The way I felt was almost indescribable. I was anxious and my chest felt tight, but in a different way than before. My head was buzzing as the thoughts raced uncontrollably. I felt hopeful, sad, and angry all at the same time. I was having a hard time wrapping my head around how it had actually come to this. It almost didn’t seem real. I was starting to feel disconnected, like I was watching everything from the outside. I knew that probably wasn’t a good thing, but also felt like it might be the only way I could get through today. I would just have to deal with the consequences of it later.  

When we arrived at the hospital, we found that Alex was already pushing the discharge process along as best he could. He had spent the night with Dieter so he wouldn’t have to be alone. Alex had to be exhausted since he had been at the hospital the entire time. He had the least amount of sleep out of all of us in the past forty-eight hours, so I knew he was ready to crash. Lauren arrived soon after Gabby and me so that she could take Alex home. She had stopped to get us all coffee and breakfast too, which was very much appreciated by all.

Dr. Wilson briefly met with Gabby and I to give us Dieter’s bag full of medication and to go over paperwork. He gave us copies of everything that Sanctuary Hills would need but indicated they had sent electronic copies as well. He let us know that they gave Dieter a sedative thirty-minutes prior because he was still being uncooperative with staff and exhibiting high levels of anxiety. He noted that it should last about eight hours but included another dose with Dieter’s medication in case it was needed. That was not the news that Gabby and I wanted to hear, but we were appreciative that Dieter was given something to calm him down during the trip. We were hopeful that being with us would help him relax some too.

When we were finally able to make our way to Dieter’s room, we found him sitting on the bed picking at the food Lauren had brought for him. It didn’t look like he had eaten much of it. He seemed a little dazed as he sat in silence staring around the room at nothing. Lauren and Alex gave Gabby and I an apprehensive look as our eyes darted between them and Dieter. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting but I don’t think this was it. I assumed his behavior was like this because the sedative was kicking in, making him feel out of it while dulling the anxiety.

I walked over to stand next to the bed, reaching out to push Dieter’s hair back out of his eyes, which caused him to focus his attention on me for the first time. He knitted his brows together as he stared at me in silence for a moment. Then he reached up to lightly tug on my shirt, pulling me to sit down beside him. I wrapped my right arm around him as I moved to sit closer to him, then reached up to rub the curls at the nap of his neck. He immediately melted into my side and laid his head on my shoulder, his arms tightening around me. I took a stuttered breath as I fought back the tears that were threatening to fall. He was so fucking pitiful, and it was breaking my heart to see him like that.

After several minutes passed and when I eventually felt like I had my emotions under control, I asked Dieter if he wanted to change clothes and get ready to leave. He nodded slowly against my shoulder. Gabby handed him a set of clothes and the crocs I had gotten from his house as he got up to go toward the bathroom. While we waited for him, a nurse came in with the last bit of paperwork for Gabby to sign off on. By the time he came back out, we were ready to go. Gabby went out ahead of us to get the rental SUV and pull it up to the door. The rest of us made our way downstairs, accompanied by two patient care assistants. They kept a close eye on Dieter the whole way, which made me question what he had been doing to the staff that was so “uncooperative”. I felt like they were expecting him to run off or something.

Once Gabby pulled up, we gave Alex and Dieter some space to say their goodbyes. Alex had placed one of his hands around the back of Dieter’s neck, pulling their foreheads close together as he talked quietly to his older brother. Something about the sight caused Gabby, Lauren, and I to immediately tear up. The intense emotional look that passed between the two of them said so much. Dieter tightly nodded along to whatever his brother was saying before they pulled each other into a warm embrace. After a quick hug from Lauren, Dieter crawled into the back seat of the SUV. He stared at me wide-eyed and unblinking with his sad puppy dog eyes, seeming to be asking a question without words. I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile before climbing in to sit next to him as he scooted to the other side.

Dieter sat wringing his hands and staring down at the floor as we waited for Gabby to finish filling Alex in on our plans for the day. I reached over to grab his left hand and he visibly relaxed some. He glanced over at me with a tight smile before turning to stare out the window. He still looked paler than normal. Seeing him in his own clothes made it more apparent that he had lost some weight, which added to his frail appearance. I knew the current sight of him would haunt my dreams for weeks to come.

Soon after we got on the road, I noticed Dieter was having a hard time keeping his eyes open as he leaned his head against the window.

I gave his hand a small squeeze as I eyed him, “You ok?”

“Those fucking drugs they gave me are making it hard to stay awake,” he said flatly without looking my way.

I started rubbing small circles on his hand with my thumb, “Do you wanna lay down?”

His eyes locked with mine in an intense stare, like he was surprised at my words. I moved to grab a small blanket and pillow from behind the seat that Gabby had brought for him. I handed him the blanket and placed the pillow in my lap as he watched me intently. I don’t know why, but I suddenly felt like I was dealing with a scared feral animal from the look he was giving me. I didn’t want to spook him, but I also wanted to make sure I was there for him in the ways he needed. I reached toward him and motioned with my hand for him to lay down. He moved to get comfortable the best he could in the small space, folding his body to fit and putting his head in my lap. He sighed deeply, eyes closing as he tried to make himself comfortable. Once he was situated, I started running my fingers through his hair and lightly scratching at his scalp. It wasn’t long before his breathing changed to deep steady breaths as he fell asleep.

The drive was long and quiet. I could occasionally feel Gabby’s eyes on me in the rearview mirror as I watched Dieter sleep. My thoughts were still quickly cycling through every second of our time together, trying to figure out when things started to get so bad. I had a feeling Gabby could see everything I was feeling written on my face during that drive. She never questioned it though. There were times that I glanced her way and she seemed to be just as deep in thought as I was.

About four hours into the trip, Gabby asked if we should stop for food. Since Dieter was still sleeping, we decided to push through the drive without stopping. I got the feeling that she wanted to get this whole process over with as soon as possible, leaving little room for interruptions or complications. I couldn’t blame her since I was feeling the same way, along with the nagging feeling that the worst part was still to come.          

It turns out, I was right. By the time we reached Sanctuary Hills, the sedative was wearing off. Dieter had woken up about twenty minutes before we got to the facility, and I could tell his anxiety was ramping up. It started with his fingers twitching, and the restless moving of his legs, until he eventually sat up in his seat. His eyes began to drift across everything he could see in the car. Eventually the outside caught his attention as he started to fidget more and wring his hands together again. He refused to take the other pill that Dr. Wilson had sent with us because he was tired of sleeping and how the drug was making him feel.

As we pulled into the parking lot, Dieter’s eyes fixated on the building while he roughly scratched at his chin. I grabbed his hand to make him stop in hopes it would calm him down some. Gabby and I exchanged worried glances in the rearview mirror as she unbuckled her seatbelt. Gabby and I got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. Gabby pulled Dieter’s door open. He sat staring at me, wide-eyed. He looked terrified. I gave him a tight smile as I reached out my hand for his. He finally relented and took it as he got out. He shuffled slowly behind me as we walked toward the entrance. Gabby grabbed his bag out of the back and quickly caught up to us.

Once we entered the facility, Dieter stood closely at my side with a tight grip on my left hand as he chewed on the thumbnail of his free hand. His head was down, but his eyes were scanning over everything in sight. I tried my best to sooth him and keep him calm while Gabby worked to complete the check in process, occasionally asking him questions for the paperwork she was filling out. He answered quietly, in a barely audible voice, never removing his thumb from his mouth to speak.  

One of the ladies helping with the check in process started to go through Dieter’s bag to check for “contraband” and ensure all of the items were in compliance with the regulations. As she was checking everything, she asked him if he had any jewelry or a cell phone that he needed to turn over to us before Gabby and I left. I felt Dieter tense beside me as his energy changed, from anxious to almost hostile. When I turned to look at him, I could see the panic and anger flashing in his eyes. The inevitable meltdown was finally happening. 

“My phone? You mean I don’t get to keep my fucking phone? No. I didn’t agree to that.”

He started shaking his head frantically from side to side as he backed away from me. I calmly walked over to him and placed both of my hands on his face, softly stroking his patchy beard, in an attempt to calm him as he continued to ramble on.

“How am I supposed to call you without my phone? What if I need you? This place is like a fucking prison. I don’t want to do this.”  

“Dieter, listen to me.”

He finally paused his movements as he stared directly into my eyes. What I saw there made me feel like someone was carving my heart out of my chest with a rusted spoon. I have no idea how I managed to hold it together, but I did.

“You can’t have your phone, but you can use theirs. You have a set phone time to call us. They want you to focus on getting better, so you can’t keep it with you.” 

“A set phone time? I only have your number memorized. Not the others.”

I was momentarily taken off guard by his admission, feeling more emotional than I already had been if that were possible. He obviously wasn’t thinking rationally right now. This wouldn’t be an issue for most people, but Dieter was used to always having his phone to stay connected with those he cared about. It was understandable the absence of that connection would upset him.

“Gabby made you a list of phone numbers so you can call us. It’s in your bag.”

This answer didn’t seem to dampen his anxiety in the slightest, “But I can only call during certain times? What if you don’t answer and I can’t call back?”

“I’ll answer. I promise… and if you need anything between calls, your case worker can call for you if it isn’t something that can wait.”

I could see the tears brimming in his eyes as he continued to stare at me, a pleading expression on his face - either about the phone, his stay, or something else entirely. I was not sure. I tried to keep my face neutral for his sake, but I knew I was failing. My brows drew down together without my permission as my vision blurred slightly from my own tears. He lowered his head and turned away from me, his shoulders shaking slightly from his shallow breathing. He started to clench and unclench his hands at his sides as he moved further away. I quickly wiped at my eyes and glanced over at Gabby and the ladies behind the front desk. They were all staring at the two of us with worry and concern in their eyes. I took a deep breath before walking over to Dieter, pulling him away from the onlookers and enveloping him into a tight hug. I could feel his fingers knotting in the back of my shirt as he spoke through his tears into my neck. “I’m so fucking terrified to do this and I don’t want you to leave me.” I could feel his grip tighten further as he quietly added, “We didn’t get any time to fix things.”

I gently ran my fingers through the back of his hair, “Don’t worry about that, I’ll be right here when you’re done. We can talk about it later. I want you to focus on yourself right now. When you’re better, you’re coming home to me, ok? I’m not going anywhere.”

He slowly pulled back to meet my eyes. He seemed determined now as he searched my face.

“I don’t want to spend another night away from you after this.”

I gave him a genuine smile before leaning my forehead against his and closing my eyes to savor the feeling of him, trying to memorize every little bit of him that I could. I felt a tentative hand cupping my cheek as I opened my eyes to look up at him again. I leaned into his gentle touch, for the first time in months. I had missed it so much more than I realized. I couldn’t help myself. I reached up and entwined my fingers with his hand on my cheek before pulling them to rest between us. I used my other hand to pull him toward me and gently placed a kiss on his lips.

The way his face lit up as a few more tears slid down his cheeks made my heart clench. He didn’t hesitate to reach up with both hands and pull me in for a second and third kiss before briefly resting his forehead against mine, the physical intimacy that we had to do without for months seeming to ground him a little. He took a deep steady breath as he backed away.  “Alright, let’s get this shit over with.”

Dieter’s mood shift was surprising and also a relief. He seemed to be having a moment of clarity, which I took full advantage of as I pulled him over toward Gabby so that he could help her finish with his paperwork. Things went much faster after that than I expected. Before we knew it, we were saying our goodbyes. He didn’t let go of my hand until he absolutely had to. He still looked sad, but seemed in better spirits than he was when he arrived. I was thankful for that since it made it more bearable for everyone involved.

Gabby and I had to hurry to catch our flight. We had just enough time to turn in the rental and grab a small snack as we rushed through the airport. We didn’t talk much on our way home. The topic of her brother seemed to be off limits for the both of us, as an unspoken agreement. We were both so drained from the events of the last few days that we needed a break from it. I could tell she was appreciative of having me there though. It was obvious in the small smiles and gentle hand squeeze she would randomly give me during our journey.

By the time I finally made it back to my house, I was running on empty. It was late and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed, but I somehow mustered up the energy to take a quick shower to wash the day of travel away. After that, it didn’t take long before I was out.

In the days that followed, I spent my time cleaning up the disaster that was Dieter’s house. I ended up having his bedroom furniture hauled off since several pieces were broken. It wasn’t worth the effort to try and fix them. Once that project was done, I didn’t have much else to do besides work and I did that from home. I did make an effort to spend time with Gabby and Lauren when I felt up to it. I felt it was important to work on my relationship with them since I had been so absent recently, and I didn’t want to risk isolating myself again as I was trying to cope with things. 

After a week had passed, nothing could take my mind off the fact that Dieter hadn’t called me. I was worried that he was starting to realize how badly I had handled this whole situation on my end. He was the one that ended things, but I had made zero effort to fight for us. I had let him go like it was nothing. I would expect him to be hurt by that. Gabby assured me that he hadn’t called because he was having a hard time coming off of his medication and wasn’t feeling up to much phone time. What little he had called to speak with her was to get things sorted out for work and those conversations only lasted a few minutes. She said it was obvious by the way he sounded that he wasn’t feeling well. The case worker told Gabby that he was having some withdrawal symptoms after the first few days of decreasing his medication dosages and he was having a hard time with it. I knew that was most likely the case, but that still didn’t keep the doubts from creeping in, imagining worst case scenarios.

It was nearly two weeks after we had dropped Dieter off at Sanctuary Hills when I got a surprise visit from Alex. He awkwardly greeted me as he walked through the doorway carrying a very large parcel wrapped in brown paper. I eyed it quizzically as he maneuvered it into the living room.

“What is this?”

“Dieter asked me to bring this to you that night I stayed with him at the hospital. I’m sorry, I’m just now getting around to it. He sent a not so polite reminder through Gabby about it yesterday.” 

“I take it you haven’t talked to him either then?”

Alex sighed as he shook his head, “No, not yet. Gab said he’s still kind of a mess right now because of the medication changes. She mostly talks to his case worker, I think.”

I nodded in understanding. Knowing that he hadn’t reached out to Alex either did offer some reassurances that it wasn’t just me. It hurt me beyond words to know that he was having such a hard time with the medication changes. I hoped, for his sake, that it did not last much longer. 

Alex moved to hand me the large parcel he was holding. I took it as I gave him a questioning look. I noticed his eyes lit up slightly before he gave me a smirk.

“It’s the painting from the art fundraiser.”

I knitted my brows together as I took it from him, ripping the front of the paper to reveal the painting that had turned me into an emotional mess that night. Once I had it completely unwrapped, I set it against the wall and stepped back to look at it. I realized there was something very familiar about the two figures.

More after the image

I turned to Alex, who still had the same smirk on his face, “I don’t understand. How did he know about the painting?”

His smirk slowly turned into a wide smile, “He painted it. He wanted to surprise you with it that night, but obviously that didn’t work out…”

I put my hand to my mouth, gasping audibly. Now I understood the reason I felt drawn to it that night. The two figures were us. I could feel the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, threatening to make their escape.

“I don’t understand, when did he have time to do this? We were together constantly before he left for Canada.”

Alex moved to stand next to me, “He started it right after he got back from New York. He took a break when he went to film that movie in Mallorca but picked it up again when he got back…before he found you again.”

I chuckled in disbelief, “Well this certainly adds a whole other layer of feelings that I wasn’t expecting.”

“I know he did a lot of it at night, when he couldn’t sleep. He told me he couldn’t get you out of his head. I’m pretty sure he fell in love with you that first night you spilled your drink all over him. He wouldn’t stop talking about you, so I encouraged him to look you up. I don’t think I’ve ever in my life seen him so nervous to do something,” Alex let out a small laugh at the memory.

I didn’t even try to hold the tears back after that. How could I? It said so much about Dieter’s feelings. Alex glanced over at me, realizing my emotional state. He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me in for a gentle side hug.

“This is the first painting he’s done in years…just so you know. You definitely woke up something inside of him. We could all see it. I really hope you two can make it work once he gets out of that place. I think you’re good for each other.”

I was taken aback by Alex’s candor regarding his brother. His words were so unexpected given how quiet and shy he always was around me. I appreciated the fact that he felt comfortable enough to open up to me some.

“I’m not sure how much I’m supposed to tell you, but fuck it, you should know. The nickname he gave you, and that phrase… la estrella del norte, la luz en la oscuridad…that’s something our mother used to say to our father. So, to me and Gabby, it’s a big deal that he used that. We’ve never heard him say it to anyone before.”

I couldn’t help the way my face scrunched up at his words. I was one hundred percent about to ugly cry. I put my hand over my eyes to hide it as Alex pulled me in for a tight hug.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said into the top of my hair.

“No, I’m not upset. This is a happy cry. It’s just…touching, I guess. I didn’t know that. This is a lot of information to take in and process. Thank you for telling me. I really needed this right now.”

Alex backed away and gave both of my shoulders a gentle squeeze and offered a small smile.

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer. Let Lauren know when you're free and feeling up to it and we can grab some dinner, yeah?”

I nodded and gave him a small smile as I walked him to the door.

After Alex left, I sat down on the floor in front of the painting, taking in every paint stroke. To the casual observer, it was probably just a nice painting of a couple in an embrace under the night sky. I, however, understood the subtle symbolism of the fog and darkness that surrounded the man, but not the woman and the bright star placed just above the woman in the background. The fact that something so simple could say so much was amazing to me. It had me feeling every emotion all at once.

I could not believe the origin of the nickname he had given me, or that he had started working on the painting well before he found me again. I always felt like there was more to the name, but I was not expecting that. He obviously had strong feelings toward me from the start. Looking back, I could no longer justify my reasoning for not being with him from the beginning. I hated that we had missed out on all of that time together.

I had a lot of thoughts swirling through my head that evening. I spent more time than I probably should have staring at that painting, but it was forcing me to process things that I had been avoiding. By the time I finally pulled myself up from the floor, I was mentally and physically exhausted. I went to bed after that and suffered through a night of restless sleep.

Sixty days after Dieter entered Sanctuary Hills, Gabby received a call from him, after mostly only communicating with his case worker over the past two months. He asked her to attend an in-person family counseling session there at the facility. She immediately agreed and got it scheduled. The day it happened; I was an anxious mess while I awaited news about the visit. He still hadn’t called me, or anyone else for that matter. We didn’t really understand why, but his case worker assured us that he was making progress and doing well. He was trying hard to focus on getting better and working through things a little at a time. He was very focused on his healing journey and doing everything that was asked of him. It was hard for me to understand it, being so far away and consumed by worries, but I was proud of him just the same. I was excited to know he was finally requesting to see his family and was hopeful that was a positive sign. 

As it got later into the evening, I was beginning to get concerned since I hadn’t heard from Gabby yet. She had promised to call when she left Sanctuary Hills. I sent her a few texts but did not get a response. I was about to try giving her a call when I heard a knock at the door. I was surprised to see that it was Gabby. The look on her face made my stomach drop. The fact that she hadn’t called and was now showing up with this look on her face couldn’t be a good sign. There was no greeting. She jumped right to the point, “Talia, I’m sorry to just show up, but can we talk? I don’t know who else to talk about this with and I need to talk about it.”

“Yeah, come in.”

We both walked over and sat on the couch. My hands were already fidgeting as the nerves and anticipation quickly built up. Every scenario running through my mind was scary and I wasn’t sure I could handle whatever it was she was about to say. Gabby immediately burst out into sobs. I pulled her into a hug as I tried to suppress my own panic.

“Gabby, I need for you to tell me what’s going on before I have a fucking stroke over here,” I said into her hair. She sighed heavily before pulling away to look at me.

“Dieter told me what happened that night, with mom. I wasn’t prepared for it. I can’t believe he kept that to himself all these years and it fucking kills me that I didn’t do more to support him in dealing with it. I didn’t know he was the one who found her. I always thought it was one of the workers.”

Her sobs continued as I digested her words. I felt instant relief that it wasn’t something worse, something I didn’t know of yet, but at the same time my heart broke for her. I know it had to be hard for her to hear. Hell, it was hard for me to hear.

“I’m sorry, no one else knows about it. I didn’t know who else I could talk to about it. He told me that you knew… I just needed a minute to fall apart and process it before I go home.”

“Hey, take all the time you need. I know it’s a lot to digest,” I said as I rubbed gentle circles on her back. 

“I just wished he would have opened up sooner and shared that burden with me. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten so bad if he had. I should have tried harder to make him talk to me about it.”

“Gabby, I don’t think it would have mattered what you said to him. He wasn’t gonna talk until he was ready.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I just feel terrible that I didn’t know. I don’t think anyone did. I bet dad didn’t even know.”

After a few minutes of silence, she seemed to pull herself together. She reached over to grab my free hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as she smiled up at me.

“He looks so good though…healthy and alert. I really think the treatment is helping. He’s expressing his feelings so well…I - I’m honestly not sure I’ve ever heard him talk that much about how he feels.”

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face as happy tears slid down my cheeks.

“He said he’s gonna call you soon. He’s nervous to talk to you for some reason and embarrassed about this whole thing. I told him he didn’t need to be, but you know how he is. He misses you though, I could tell. I lost track of how many times he asked about you.”

I reached up with both hands to wipe the tears from my face. It was comforting to know that he was thinking about me. I knew it was selfish of me to think that way because he should be focusing on himself, but I would be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel better about things.

Gabby didn’t share much more of what they had talked about. Some of it was things he wanted to talk to me about himself, so I didn’t want to push for more details. Once she finally felt composed, she left for home. She had had a long day of travel and was exhausted.

She and I had gotten so close in the last two months. We had been spending a lot of our free time together, along with Lauren and Alex. It truly felt like I was part of a family with them. I loved that she was now comfortable enough with me to share her feelings openly. It was something we had all been doing since Dieter had been away. Even Alex had opened up more. Even though what had happened to Dieter was devastating, there was a silver lining in it. It had brought us all closer together. We were stronger for it and ready to welcome him home to all the support he could possibly need.

The next morning, I had just finished making a quick breakfast when my cell phone started ringing. When I glanced over at the illuminated screen, I saw it was a Tucson, Arizona number. I had waited two months to see this number appear on the screen. My breath immediately caught in my throat as my eyes teared up. I briefly hesitated to answer as the nerves took hold. After a deep breath I hit the answer button and raised the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Talia?”

A/N: Y'all still with me? How are you feeling after that one? Progress? Maybe? As I have said before, digital art is not one of my strengths, but hopefully what I attempted to do gives you an idea of what I see in my head for Dieter's painting. Again, this one looks better in my head too. LOL! Wasn't that a sweet moment between Talia and Alex though? Also, that moment between Dieter and Alex hit me in the feels too. Then of course, the whole of the Dieter and Talia interactions in this chapter. Poor Gabby... now she knows everything. So many feels in this one! Aaaahhh!😭 Next chapter our dear Dieter and Talia will be reunited in a controlled setting to work through their issues together. It will probably be another rough one. We will get Dieter's official diagnosis and with that you will get a Deconstructing Dieter Bravo post. We will get some details on Talia's past which will also include a Today's Musings post for supplemental reading. So, you will get all sorts of goodies with the next chapter. 😉 In case you missed it, I have included the mood board for this chapter below. Last but not least, a huge thank you to my wonderful beta, @for-a-longlongtime. Seriously, it wouldn't be as good without her feedback. As always, please share your thoughts and theories. You know I'm a sucker for them. 💜

Next Chapter

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#dieter bravo #dieter x ofc #dieter bravo fic #Destiny & Deliverance Series #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo x ofc #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #Pedro Pascal Fanfic #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #the bubble #the bubble fanfiction

[ladamedusoif]

Visiting - Chapter One: The Visitor

(moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter Summary: It's late August, and Lydia has arrived in the US from Europe to take up her position as visiting professor of art history at Barrow College. Enter Prof. Benjamin E. Morales, literature scholar and (as he puts it) 'your very own welcome wagon'.

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: Mature; will become Explicit in later chapters.

Content: Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (she is 41 and Ben 47 when the story begins); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; discussion of infidelity and emotional abuse; discussion of self-esteem issues and body insecurity; strong language.

A/N: Meet Lydia as she meets Ben. See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background. Pure, nerdy fluff as dork meets dork in a New England college town.

(One for the Big Night nerds, as it's referenced in the chapter: I literally only realised the name of the rival restaurant when I went to check that I'd got the descriptions right for this chapter... IYKYK.

A complete and utter coincidence, I promise.)

Taglist: @cutesyscreenname; @lunapascal; @fuckyeahdindjarin; @julesonrecord; @tieronecrush; @perennialdoll247; @vermillionwinter; @iamskyereads; @imaswellkid

The large, red-brick building is quiet, walls freshly painted and linoleum gleaming in the late August sunshine in anticipation of the impending start of the academic year at Barrow College. In the administration office for the Faculty of Arts, the faculty secretary - Susan, a woman in her late fifties, and the very image of seasoned efficiency - is preparing your new staff ID card, office key, and a plastic folder full of welcome documents and essential information. 

While you wait, you survey the gallery of staff photographs on the wall, trying to quell the nerves in the pit of your stomach. The first day anywhere was never easy. First day as a visiting professor in a liberal arts college on the other side of the Atlantic? Ramp that difficulty level all the way up to eleven.

Susan emerges from behind the counter and hands you your ID card, ensconced in a dark green Barrow-branded lanyard, and the pack of documents. “Okay, Lydia. Normally this is the point where I’d bring you to see the head of the Literature Department,” she explains. “I know you’re an art historian, but Literature runs the visiting program. Always have, always will.” She shrugs and rolls her eyes. “This is the Barrow way.” 

“So you’re not bringing me to see the head of the Literature Department?” you ask. 

“Professor Arden is at a conference, unfortunately. But you’ll meet her next week,” Susan gestures towards the door, and you dutifully move into the main corridor. “In her absence, Professor Morales is going to run through the essentials with you. Don’t worry - Ben’s great, you’re in good hands. Can’t work a copier for love nor money, of course, but a real sweetheart.”

She points out some of the main teaching rooms in the building occupied by the various departments in the faculty, and you can’t help but be amused at how it all feels like a TV or movie set to your eyes. You’d grown up watching American high school and college shows and movies, and now, here you were: Green chalkboards! Those seats with the folding armrests! All that was missing were the standard-issue yellow pencils and those yellow legal pads everyone seemed to use. 

Susan leads the way into a classroom, encouraging you to take a seat. Whereas the other rooms had been notable for their pristine uniformity, this seemed to be in use as a kind of temporary office. A laptop sits on the main desk unit, surrounded by piles of books and papers, covered in coloured tabs.

“This isn’t Professor Morales’ usual office, of course,” Susan explains, pointing to the ceiling. “Leak. His ceiling is being repaired so he’s working here for the moment. Usually he’s just round the corner in 315 - a couple of doors down from your office, in fact. Anyway: he’s running a little behind schedule, though that’s nothing unusual with Ben…I’ll go remind him you have an appointment!” Her voice fades with her footsteps as you take in your surroundings. You notice the chunky volume on the desk: War and Peace. You roll your eyes, thinking about all the times over the years that you’d seen Tolstoy’s masterpiece “casually” left in full view by academics keen to impress, not to mention the assholes you’d encountered as a graduate student, keen to get you into bed by convincing you of their intellectual ability. Whereas their copies were always a little too clean, though, this one was a bit dog-eared and worn at the corners. Maybe Ben Morales was that rare thing: someone who’d actually read it.

You never thought you were the kind of person who would even apply for a year-long visiting professorship at a New England liberal arts college thousands of miles from home, let alone actually take it up. A combination of impostor syndrome and pressure from your then-partner to stay put - “but baby, what about my career?” - had conspired to convince you such a thing would be impossible. 

That was then. This was now. Things had changed, and so had you.

You couldn’t not be changed by the brutal end, a couple of years before, to a fifteen-year relationship: a sudden departure, revelations of infidelity, endless days and nights of tears and numbness, feelings of worthlessness compounding a lifelong lack of self-esteem. It was bad enough without the various accusatory “explanations” offered by your ex-partner for their actions, all designed to make you feel like this was your fault, the consequence of your having been “too much”, too dull, too unattractive now, too stressed-out (never mind that you carried the can for everything). 

Time and many, many hours of therapy helped you to move on. You knew now that you now had a kind of freedom and joy that had never been fully present in your relationship. You were proud to embrace your authentic self. Your friends and family remarked on how happy you seemed, how bright, how confident. They praised your achievements and growing academic profile, even as you never felt quite good enough - professionally or personally.

What they couldn’t see were the metaphorical defences you had built up around yourself: treacherous ramparts surrounding a huge wall of emotional stone, protecting the broken heart and fragile soul within. Your friends and family were enough, as were occasional hook-ups and one night stands as and when the opportunity arose. Even as you left the past for dust, you refused to countenance anything more. 

You believed that you didn’t need anything more - and in a lot of ways, that was true. You liked your life now. You could do as you pleased. Better to have freedom and self-preservation than exposing yourself to the risks that come with emotional connections. You were nearing forty-two. Who’d want a forty-something art historian with too much baggage - emotional and physical, bearing in mind the body you’d come to feel increasingly unhappy with, all scars and stretch marks and aching joints and general discomfort? 

More than that, and to your grim fascination, you never really…felt anything for anyone anymore. At times, you wondered if that part of your brain had been switched off. Sex without attachment or meaning was one thing; real attraction and feelings another thing entirely. Hell, you never even crushed on musicians or actors any more. You’d kind of made peace with it. Maybe this was your destiny. 

You were ‘living your best life’, as your best friend put it. You were hailed for your strength and your optimism. You knew you were better off in this not-so-brave new world, unexpectedly single as you stared down the barrel of middle age. You embraced new opportunities. “You’re still young,” your mother had counselled. “Take the chances life presents, Lyd. See the world! Share that big beautiful brain of yours.”

Now you actually had to do it. Visiting Professor of Art History in a small college with a great reputation. A whole year at Barrow in which to try new things, expand your horizons, and enjoy your freedom.  

Bring it on.

Nervous energy had kept you awake prior to your long-haul flight, and the time difference was starting to kick your ass. You were just on the verge of going in search of a weapons-grade energy drink when he sauntered into the room, wrangling a messy pile of freshly-printed course handbooks.

You suppress a giggle at the sight of him: not because he looked funny, but because he could have walked straight from the pages of a cheesy teen magazine story about unrequited love for a favourite professor. He’s tall, broad, dark, dressed in a pale blue Oxford button-down worn untucked over slightly faded black jeans, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. A pair of well-loved but evidently well cared-for black Doc Marten shoes. You guessed he might be a couple of years older than you, but not very many. Wavy dark hair that looks like it would turn into curls if left to grow out, streaked through with silver. Moustache, and what you guess you might call a sort-of beard - more of a scruff, really, and greying in places. Glasses - but of course! - and behind them what looked (because you were never great with direct eye contact, especially when first meeting) to be dark brown eyes. You’d almost think an unseen costume director had added the pencil he was gripping with his teeth as a final touch, for maximum Hot Professor Cliché effect.

He plonks the pile of handbooks on the desk and does an exaggerated exhalation of breath as he turns to face you, removing the pencil from his mouth and offering a wide smile. He advances towards you, hand outstretched, and you stand up to shake his (rather large, you notice) hand. 

“Welcome to the department! I’m Ben Morales, comparative literature prof and your very own welcome wagon.” He smiles brightly, eyes crinkling. “You must be Lydia.”

You return his smile, albeit shyly. “That’s me - though most people usually end up just calling me Lyd after a while. On rare occasions it becomes Lyddie, though that’s not much shorter than my actual name. My sister used to call me Lydularity but thankfully that didn’t stick.”

Shuuuuuut up, Lydia.

He grins. “Lydia, Lyd,” he turns your name over, as if becoming accustomed to saying it. “Your mom a Jane Austen fan?”

You huff a laugh and shake your head. “I wish it was that cultured, but sadly no. As my mother never fails to remind me: I’m named after a 1970s pop song. And not a very good one, at that. My view - not hers.”

“Well, at least it’s a nice name,” he laughs. “I’m guessing Susan has covered almost everything but I should make sure you have all the essential information you need before school starts - timetables, IT stuff, where the only drinkable coffee on campus is - actually, wait.” He picks up a blue coffee mug from the desk. “You want some coffee?”

You’d take anything at this stage to keep you even a little perkier. “Uh, sure. Yes please. With milk - I mean, creamer. Whatever it is. Half and half, is that what it’s called?”

He nods as he heads out of the classroom in search of coffee. “I normally take mine black, so I’m not up to speed on the creamer situation. It might just be some off-brand stuff. But hopefully you aren’t a connoisseur. Yet.”

You shake your head with a smile, watching him jog lightly out the door, mug in hand.

He has what your friends would describe as ‘chaotic energy’ - somehow both put-together and messy, with a million different thoughts presumably bouncing around in his head at any given moment. It was a relief. From what you’d read on the college website - there was no profile photo, you remembered - he had an exceptional track record as a scholar of European literature, recognised with any number of awards from peers and students alike. You’d even made a mental note to read some of his articles on magical realism and adaptation. 

Because of his impressive profile, you were prepared for the possibility of him being in the mode of some of the more obnoxious men you’d worked with over your years in academia: intimidating, serious, keen to remind you that they were a ‘genius’, and rather vain. Ben, at least judging by your first impressions, seemed to be the complete opposite. 

He swings back into the room with a mug in each hand: his own blue one and, to your surprise, a retro Sesame Street mug for you. You take the coffee from him at the desk, settling back into a front-row seat and smiling with bemusement at the beaming faces of characters you’d loved since childhood. As he sits down on the desk he notices your reaction and looks sheepish. 

“Sorry, I hope you don’t mind the choice of mug-”

“My mom always says these guys taught me to read and count. Feels right to have my first real American college coffee in a Sesame Street mug”, you say quickly, raising the mug. 

He grins. “Well, that’s a relief. That’s my favourite one.” He raises his own mug, reciprocating your gesture. “Uh… to the Children’s Television Workshop?”

You’ve sat through enough briefings and orientation sessions in your time to know how dull they could be. This, though, is less like a meeting and more like an overdue catch-up between old pals. The conversation takes various turns and digressions as Ben explains Barrow’s various quirks, traditions, and regulations. He’s expressive and demonstrative: a match for you in both talking with your hands and in unintentionally pulling silly faces. The longer you talk, the more relaxed you feel: here was one of your hosts, warm and funny, and already like a friend. Your residual anxiety about the visiting post fades. 

It’s going to be a good year. 

“And, in conclusion, that’s why you don’t buy filter coffee from the cafeteria after midday,” Ben says. “I think that’s everything? I’ll walk you to your new office. Oh, and - dinner at seven thirty?”

His invitation takes you by surprise, and it shows on your face. Ben looks a little confused. “I mean, if you want to have dinner with me. We normally take the new visiting professor out, just as a welcome gesture - you’re stuck with just me this evening, though.” 

He shrugs apologetically. “Of course, maybe you’ve got plans with your family or partn-“

“Dinner would be great!” you interrupt, keen to avoid any discussion of partners and inevitable explanations. “Shall I just meet you here, or…?”

He begins to scoop up the course handbooks. “I can pick you up, if you want? The restaurant is in the next town over. Unless you’d rather I not pick you up. Because-“

You come up to the desk to help him gather the print-outs, shuffling them quickly into orderly piles. “No, that would be great. I mean, I still think it’s Tuesday of last week, I wouldn’t trust myself with following out-of-town directions just yet.”

He beams and leans over to pick up the rest of the handbooks, and you get a slight, sweet hint of his scent: clean soap, a cologne with top notes of bergamot, and an underlying warmth. Maybe even a touch of paper, of all things. 

He smells good. 

You step back and your eyes meet for a moment. Unthinkingly, you breathe in sharply as you look properly into his dark eyes for the first time. 

Holy moly, those are quite something.

And that’s when it happens. A tiny flicker of electricity crackling across your brain. It’s so fleeting that you don’t even register it, not immediately. It’s only much later on, alone and thinking about the first time you met, that you find yourself conjuring up the memory of his scent and of those beautiful brown eyes.

“They just love the colouring books you left for them, Lyddie!” Your mother is talking to you via FaceTime, recounting the latest adventures of your little nieces in loving detail.

You aren’t really listening. It’s past 7.30 and you’re deeply conscious of not being late for your dinner invitation, keen to hide your usual chaotic inability to be ready on time for anything from your new colleagues for as long as possible.

You crane your head to look out the front window of your apartment, just in time to see a car pull up outside. Your mother is still narrating exactly what your older niece drew at preschool in the 48 hours since you’d left for the US.

“I gotta go, Mom! The dinner, remember? I love you -“

“Call me when you get in!”

“I won’t, because time zones? Okay I have to go byebyebye -“ and you end the FaceTime call as you close your front door and skip lightly down the stairs to the entrance hall of the building. 

It was difficult to know what to wear to something like this. Academic welcome dinners and events were often relatively informal, and Ben had not struck you as the kind of man who’d be gravely offended if you turned up in jeans and a long-sleeved tee. But you didn’t know a lot about the restaurant, so you erred on the side of caution: a mid-length, indigo chambray button-down dress that you’d made yourself, fitted around the waist with a v-shaped neckline; rose gold vintage-style flat sandals in the late summer heat; and - just in case it got chilly - a red cropped cardigan that was another of your creations, hand knitted a couple of years before. 

Ben is leaning against his car when you appear at the main door of the apartment building. He’s changed, too: a soft-looking white shirt has replaced the blue Oxford he was wearing earlier. His sleeves are rolled up, and this time the shirt is tucked into his dark jeans. He’s wearing light-coloured suede desert boots and sunglasses. He gives you a little wave as you walk down the path to meet him, moving to open the passenger door for you before settling in on the driver’s side.

“Hope the apartment is okay?” he asks as you adjust your seatbelt and tuck your purse at your feet. “I think they’ve been putting visiting profs there for years. God knows what secrets it holds by now,” he adds dramatically.

You put on your own pair of sunglasses to shield your eyes from the evening sun. “It’s pretty nice, honestly. I’m still waiting on a lot of stuff to arrive, but I’ve got the essentials and working wifi. What more could you want?”

He smiles as he pulls away from the kerb. “Good to hear. So you’re on your own, or is your-” 

“Just me!!” you chirrup, slightly too enthusiastically. “Free and easy.”

Uh, cringe much, Lydia?

It’s quiet for a few moments and you start to wonder if you should start talking again before it gets even more awkward. You’re just about to open your mouth when he starts tapping the touchscreen on the dash.

“Do you mind if I put on some music? Not to halt conversation, don’t worry! I just usually have a soundtrack for most things: driving, writing, grading…”

You grin. “Music would be great - I’m a fellow playlist curator. My writing ones are fickle, though.”

At the next red light he taps and swipes before selecting a playlist. “Hope you are okay with middle-aged dad tracks for driving.”

Ah, he’s a dad. You hadn’t noticed a ring but that obviously didn’t mean anything.

“How old do you think I am? I’m middle-aged, I’ll have you know. And my musical tastes have been middle-aged since I was a teenager.” You feign being affronted and he huffs a laugh. 

“In that case, I can subject you to the full rigours of the playlist.” He taps play, and a smile spreads across your face as you recognise the steady opening bass riff of ‘Fortunate Son’ and start to nod along.

“Oh, man - Creedence? Okay, I see what you mean about the dad tracks,” you admit, bobbing your head to the rhythm as John Fogerty’s voice rasps through the speakers. “In a good way, though!”

Ben taps the fingers of one hand on the steering wheel as he drives. “Plenty more where that came from. Unfortunately, this is only a twenty minute trip, and this playlist is at least five hours long, but I can email you over the link if you’d like?” You nod, watching the surroundings change as you travel out of town, trying to take it all in: the neat houses, the tall trees and woodland that line either side of the route, the road signs pointing out local tourist spots. 

You’re heading for the next town over - a bit larger than Barrow and, as Ben explained on the drive, better appointed when it came to options for a nice dinner out. 

“Perils of a college town,” he’d added, “we have a great diner, a couple of good cafés and takeout places, but the main clientele are students looking for a sort of Man Vs Food experience. And we usually don’t want to hit the visiting prof with that right away.”

You chuckle, watching as the green of the trees gives way to painted timber houses, brick, and stone as you enter the town. It’s not long before Ben is pulling up near a small restaurant whose hand-painted sign reads LINO - RISTORANTE.

“This place is always worth the drive over,” he explains as you step into the restaurant’s small porch and open the door. Lino’s is small but beautiful: dark, vintage-style wooden furniture and white linen tablecloths; wood panelling on the walls; a candle in those old-style chianti bottles with the little wicker baskets on each table. It’s almost full on that weeknight evening, the gentle hum of conversation and cutlery accompanied by a soft soundtrack of Italian classics.

It’s weirdly familiar, and it takes you a moment to realise why. Settled at your table, you look around with a grin. Ben raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“This place, it’s - it’s just like the restaurant in…”

“Big Night.” He chimes in with you and does a little air punch, unable to hide his delight at the reference. “Someone else gets it! Finally!!”

You laugh and take a sip of your water. “I’m pleased. But clearly more people need to be introduced to that movie, huh?”  “Fuck yeah!” He looks a little embarrassed at how excited he is, pinking around the ears and dropping his head to look at the menu. “Sorry, I’m getting carried away. Just so thrilled that someone else had that reaction, too. You’re the first to get it!” He looks back up at you and offers a shy smile.

Here’s the thing about notionally professional academic dinners, especially with people you don’t know that well: they are almost always like an hours-long conference presentation, with the added complication of having to eat while discussing your current research. You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d ended up aimlessly stirring your coffee after several hours listening to other people drone on about their praxis and theoretical grounding late into the evening, sure that they’d written you off when you tried to swerve the conversation around to lowbrow topics like music or (heaven forfend) television. Because serious intellectuals don’t watch television, unless it’s important and worthy programming (in other words: dull). 

Ben had left a good impression from earlier in the day, but you were still a little nervous in case dinner was where you were expected to ‘prove yourself’. As it turned out, you didn’t really talk about work at all. Instead, you’d spent the best part of two hours eating astonishingly good Italian food while letting your inner film and music nerd run riot, in the company of a man who had rapidly revealed himself to be just as much of a geek as you were. The topics of conversation shifted organically as you ate, changing as if scheduled to coincide with each course. 

Antipasti: favourite movies. Top fives compared and debated across various categories. You’d established a shared love of international cinema, Close Encounters of the Third Kind (“You have to read Bob Balaban’s book about being on set with Truffaut!” you’d exclaimed, sending chunks of tomato flying off your bruschetta in your enthusiasm), and Indiana Jones (“I do feel increasingly icky about Temple of Doom”, he’d confided). And unanimously agreed that the Muppet Christmas Carol is, in fact, the best adaptation of Dickens’ story yet made.

Main courses: music. He talks about his collection of vinyl records, built around a core of albums that had belonged to his dad. You swap tales of favourite live music experiences, from stadiums to tiny basement venues. He is far too impressed when you let slip that you can play guitar and sing. (Of course he’s impressed now. After all, he hasn’t heard you yet.)

It’s been a while since you felt so at ease with someone you’d only just met, and the sense of safety reassures you that coming here was the right thing to do. As you finish your tiramisu and sip on espresso to round out the meal, you chat casually about yourselves and your careers.

“So what made you go for the visiting gig?” 

You thoughtfully sucked the last bit of mascarpone cream off your spoon. “I’ve never lived in the US - I was here for a couple of conferences but only for a few days, and I always wanted to spend more time here. And I needed a change of scenery and a new challenge. I guess I’d needed it for a while, but then after everything that went down it felt much more urgent, you know?” 

He looks a little puzzled. “Everything that went down?”

“What I mean is, it’s been a shitty couple of years,” you clarify. A deep breath. It’s still weird telling people about this. “Long story short: my partner basically walked out on me, they were having an affair, blah blah blah. Fifteen years together, I never saw it coming, left on my own. But that’s done now. In the past.” You wave your hand lightly through the air, as if swatting away a particularly irritating insect.

He looks genuinely sorry for you. You brace yourself for the inevitable expression of sympathy, the “plenty more fish” lines, or just the awkward silence that comes when you’ve shared too much, too soon.

“And how are you, now?” he asks. That’s all he says. Emphasis on the “you”. 

“I’m… well, I’m a lot happier, I guess? I think I’m much more myself. I don’t want to ladle more of this on you but I’ve realised there were things there that weren’t right. And that I carried a lot of, well, stuff that I shouldn’t have. So I feel…free?”

You do not tell him about the ramparts and solid walls that you’ve built around your emotional core, the crumbled blocks and shards of your past all too ready to trip and pierce anyone who tries to get too close.

“And I’m free to do cool shit like come here for a year, and watch whatever the hell I want on TV and not be judged for it.” You grin and pull a silly face, hoping an injection of levity into proceedings will help move the conversation on. 

He leans in conspiratorially, a cheeky smile dancing across his lips. “So we should be grateful to them for being a dick, because we got you here as a result?”

You arch an eyebrow and look at him in mock seriousness. “Let’s not give them any credit, shall we?”

He laughs and drains the last of his coffee. “On a nicer topic,” he proposes, “is there anything you really want to do while you’re here? And I don’t mean courses or sections you want to teach. Stuff you want to do while you’ve got your year on this side of the pond.”

“Once I’ve settled in a bit, I want to explore. See some places. Add to my tacky snowglobe collection from places I’ve been,” you grin. “There’s so much, though - New York, Boston, DC…” You suck on the inside of your cheek as you think. “What I really want, though, is to go west. Even just for a week.”

He nods, raising his eyebrows. “Some kind of manifest destiny thing, or…?”

You roll your eyes. “Thankfully, no. A combination of my own film nerdery and growing up on a regular diet of old-school Westerns on rotation in the house, thanks to my dad. It’s got this allure, you know? The West. Especially California. So yeah, that’s on my bucket list for next summer, before I go back.”

“I’ll give you some recommendations, if you’d like?” Ben looks a little shy. “That’s where I’m from - the Bay Area, specifically.” 

“No way! Tell me everything. So how did a Bay Area boy end up in the dreaming spires of a New England college town?”

This is how you find out that Ben Morales is 47, came to work at Barrow over a decade ago after a couple of postdocs and short-term posts, and is the eldest of three siblings. His younger brother and sister both live in their hometown, close to their mother who has lived alone since his father died a few years ago. You get a sense that their proximity helps alleviate some of his eldest child guilt about being on the other side of the country. He dotes on his niblings, showing you photos of them from time spent out west during the summer and speaking about them with evident pride and amusement. 

He is not, as it turns out, a dad.

He listens attentively as you talk about your family: your parents, your little nieces, your sister and her partner, and the relatively tight-knit little unit that exists between you. “It’s not like we see each other all the time, not since I had to move for my job,” you explain. “But I don’t know how I would have got through everything without them. And being so close helped me be independent, on some level.”

He nods. “I get that. I mean, when I went on my year abroad to Málaga I was the first person in the family to go anywhere outside the US or parts of Mexico, and this was huge.” He smiles at the memory. “I know that my mom was freaking out. The whole neighbourhood knew she was freaking out. Until I moved to the east coast the furthest she’d ever been was to visit her family in Texas or just over the border.” His expression shifts, more thoughtful. “But she and my dad never wanted to let me feel I couldn’t do it. You know?”

He’s so genuine and earnest. It makes perfect sense why he would be such a good professor, and why his students have been so keen to nominate him for award after award.

The server comes over to take the empty dessert plates and espresso cups, and Ben asks for the check.

You fire off a message to your mom as you’re heading to bed: 

Just letting you know I’m home. Dinner was great. Made the right choice coming here - already met some lovely people and they’re so welcoming. Talk to you over the next couple of days. Love to Dad x

You plug your phone in to charge and lie back on the pillows, feeling content and excited for the year ahead. You’re on the cusp of sleep when your screen lights up again, and you reach for your phone. If it’s your mom, it’s a weird time to be replying.

It’s not your mom. It’s a message from Ben Morales. 

You’d asked to swap numbers when he dropped you home earlier. After all, he was the only colleague you’d met, and if you had some sort of major emergency it couldn’t hurt to have someone to call.

BEN MORALES: Hi Lydia, it’s Ben. Just wanted to say it was really great to meet you and we’re so lucky to have you with us for the year. And thank you for the book recommendation! Just give me a yell if you need anything. See you tomorrow - get some sleep! B

There’s a picture attached - a screenshot of the order he’d just placed for a second-hand copy of Bob Balaban’s Spielberg, Truffaut and Me, his diary from the making of Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

You can’t help but smile.

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more)

#visiting fic #visiting masterlist #mr ben snl #professor ben x OFC #mr ben #pedro pascal character fanfic #mr ben x ofc #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal

[jedifarmerr]

Javi's Having a Baby

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader/OFC (no y/n or physical description)

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Body insecurities related to pregnancy, smut (oral sex & masturbation) and lots of fluff.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 4

Strands of morning light swept through the fine curtains in splashes of gold over pink satin; the flimsy nightie clinging to her growing belly. With her leg draped over the plush white comforter and cradling the pillow, she almost appeared to be sleeping on a cloud. Ethereal. Javier couldn’t help but reach out and feather the tips of his fingers over her cheek; she let out a soft, dreamy sigh that he mimicked with one of his own. 

Bliss. 

Reluctantly, Javier slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her as the door clasped silently behind him. Goosebumps splattered his chest, in only a pair of loose fitting sleep shorts the draft in the hallway nipping his bare skin; a small price to pay – he reasoned as rummaging through drawers would certainly rouse her. He simply turned the dial on the thermostat on his way to the bathroom. 

Once his teeth were brushed, he plodded off to the kitchen with a languid overhead stretch and yawn. Soon, the smell of freshly brewed coffee stirred around the kitchen.

On the counter was a brown paper sack from the local bookstore by her work: another haul of pregnancy books. Baby names. Guides and How-To’s. What to expect. The basket by the toilet already full of them. Magazines alike scattered around the end tables, next to her stained tea-ring mugs. 

The house was a sanctuary of her small clutterings – trails of cups, oddly configured piles and sample-size beauty products lining the tub. 

Sure, he’d lived with Chucho after Colombia and there were those few weeks a lifetime ago with Elisa; bunked up in an apartment he would hardly call his own; a preservation of the previous owner where all that was truly his were the cigarette buds, whiskey in the fridge and suitcase in the closet. It was a still shot of sterilized loneliness. Nothing personal. Nothing changing from morning to when he arrived back at some godforsaken hour, not even a lamp left on. Just the lights of Bogotá interwoven in moonlight slicing up the tile floor. 

So, while she may have claimed it as a bad habit, Javier found those tiny reminders to fill a void that had long been overlooked. 

Sometimes he worried that one day he’d wake up in Colombia or Laredo, learning it was all some cruel dream. In awe over how his life turned out. Especially now. With an ultrasound clipped to the fridge. 15 weeks; healthy as can be. 

So much had changed since that first appointment. They’d really started to take shape – small button noses and sprouting limbs. No longer blobs but instead actually looking…real. The next appointment was set for 20 weeks and Dr. Kelly had tease the possiblity of learning the sex, depending on their position and all that. 

Hanging near the gray and grainy photo were holiday cards of friends and family, including the smiley faces and cheesy matching sweaters of the Murphy’s. Steve had gotten an earful while in town, a dinner squeezed in amongst the chaos of late December to share the exciting news. 

If only the restaurant had a camera hidden somewhere, Javier would’ve paid an obscene amount of money to have Steve’s reaction on video. Rarely was the blonde rendered speechless but the news of her not only being pregnant but with twins had Steve on a momentary vow of silence that was only broken by a sputtering cough from downing his whiskey and coke. 

When they parted later that evening under the harsh white street lights, the pride and joy in his blue eyes glimmering like the splash of stars above. Steve’s arms lingered around his shoulder, squeezing them as he pulled away; the whirlwind of emotions seeping into his drawl:

From one dad to another, I think you’re gonna do great. 

Javier sure hoped so. 

It was so easy for him to see how great a mother she was already becoming. It seemed like overnight the fridge had become stacked in color, all leafy greens and rosey fruits. Sadly, it reeked from that mystery smoothie batch she’d concocted earlier in the week which tasted like candied onions; one sip had him bent over the sink while she chugged it down like a beer bong at a frat party. 

It was honestly quite impressive. 

Wanting to do what he could, Javier put on a fresh kettle then started on breakfast, whipping up some chocolate chip pancakes. The sizzling pan drowned out the small groan of the bedroom door, the creak of wood under her steps. 

“What’s this?” Her voice was doused in sleep, rubbing her eyes and blinking awake to take in the fullness of the scene. She had thrown on the robe he’d bought her for Christmas, the ribbon tied in a loosely strewn bow. 

He smiled warmly. “Oh, nothing.” He shrugged all nonchalant, flipping the pancake over.

“Nothing, huh?” She wrapped her arms around his torso, warm and cozy from the blankets still and smelling of laundry. Her lips brushed over his spine, making his stomach flex under her palms. “Looks to me like something.” Her voice muffled against his skin. 

“It’s just pancakes,” he brushed off, grabbing her hand to place a chaste kiss to her knuckles before sliding the pancake on top of the leaning stack.

“Just pancakes,” she scoffed at his minimizing then scooped some batter onto her finger, sucking it off. “Oooh, that’s good,” her voice was innocently sensual and Javier knew she wasn’t trying to tease him as she’d done so countless times before, working him up until he was left with no choice but to drop to his knees, lift up that robe and bury himself between her thighs. 

No – she was completely preoccupied by the bowl, diving in for seconds and thirds. Oblivious to the way her barely there moans, a small pop of her spit-soaked finger made his cock twitch against the thick cotton seam. 

Over breakfast she detailed the itinerary for the day, zig-zagging around Austin, bouncing from one open house to the next. She’d practically mapped out every single one listed in the newspaper and advertised on street corners. Javier tried, really he did, to listen but his mind kept drifting into the gutters with the image of her hollow cheeks and eyes fluttering shut. 

He was like some rabid teenager doped up on testosterone and while he hoped a shower would wash it away, one whiff of her shampoo seduced him into taking the weight of his heavy cock in hand, pumping it empty while moaning her name into the shower head. 

Still.

He found little relief even as his cum painted the tiles, trickled down the drain. The splash of warm water a poor substitute in comparison to her slick cunt: tight and hot and all for him. 

Specks of water clung to his lips and imagining it was her wetness, his tongue swiped across it as if he could taste her just on bare memory. If he tried hard enough, maybe he could. 

It wasn’t much later when she waltzed in the front door after her daily walk; sweaty and lightly panting. His hair still damp and dark, cock spent – yet it throbbed at the sight of her. All greedy and wanting.

There had to be something wrong with him. Maybe that natural sleep remedy bullshit she’d bought was laced or something.

Because fuck – just hearing the shower running summoned a memory of her braced against those very tiles he’d just spilled onto; the borderline pornographic slap of skin on skin, the clamp of her soaked walls as his thumb grazed over the cleft of her ass, dipping experimentally into the tight hole. 

Javier shook his head as if it was an etch-a-sketch, scrubbing the pans and counters until they were spotless and rushing to get changed, but nothing could break him from the lustful curse. It’d been a week since he’d last had her and his body acted like it was water, dehydrated and lacking a pivotal need. 

When the shower finally shut off, Javier plopped down on the side of the bed, running his fingers through his hair. His cock tucked away in his jeans, hard and aching. 

Already at the end of his rope when she suddenly appeared in the doorframe – hair pulled back from her face and wrapped in a towel, he let out a throaty groan. The beams of morning light made her skin look dewy; beads of water like crystal teardrops tracing her collarbone and down to her chest and making him immediately feel parched.  

Javier gawked in exhalation – unworthy of someone so angelic. 

But she stiffened under his reverent and devouring gaze, clutching the towel closer to her body until it became skin and trying to walk away, but Javier was quick to click his tongue and drag her by the hip into the slot between his thighs. 

“Baby,” he said in a husky voice, roaming along her sides and whining at the thickness of the material. Damn these nice towels. He just wanted to feel the outline of her. 

“Javi.” 

He peered up with those puppy dog eyes she couldn’t deny, begging for just a selfish moment of indulgence. She relented, a subtle shake of her head with a smile that betrayed her. 

Keeping his eyes on her, examining her expression as he teased where the towel and her skin met. The graze of fingertips over the misty plushness of her inner thigh made her lips part. Only to clip back shut, tensing as his other hand fiddled with the makeshift flap. 

“Javi - I - I should get ready.” Her voice spiked up and his lips dipped into a subtle frown, but not for himself. He laid his palm flat on her thigh, teasing at the apex. He could feel the heat that radiated from her cunt, knowing if he closed that centimeter gap she’d be wet. 

“Just-” His forehead dropped softly against her belly, nuzzling his nose into the towel fold. “Let me see you.” Her thighs clamped around his hand; her silence prickling the air, bleeding with self-sabotaging thoughts that drew a furrow in her brow. 

He knew she was struggling with her evolving body. It seemed to snowball in the past few weeks after a button had popped off her jeans. It started with small comments that grew more frequent – comparing herself to a pregnant co-worker, pointing out the funny fit of her clothes. Of course, he tried to rebuff them with sensitivity and understanding but to no avail. The mind was tricky like that. He noticed how she looked in the mirror with what seemed to be a sense disapproval, trying to hide herself by insisting the lights stay off during sex, if not keeping on her shirt. 

Her perception of herself and what she saw was completely mismatched to his and Javier felt lost on what to do; how to help. How could he make her see what he did?

“Please, baby,” his voice was thick with desire, gaze earnest. He could see her contemplating, gnawing on her bottom lip before giving a small nod. He gave her the lead, leaning back slightly which also happened to offer a more ample view. 

With a shaky exhale, she ripped off the towel like it was a band-aid.

Bare before him, stomach swollen; his dark eyes cruised her figure and the sound that rumbled from deep in his chest bordered on barbaric and even slightly possessive. 

He visibly adjusted his cock then grasped at the meat of her hips. “My pretty wife,” he murmured, dragging the tip of his nose along her stomach, one hand skating along her side. The catch of his thumb at the cusp of her swelling breast made her shiver in his hold; she’d become so sensitive. 

“Beautiful,” he breathed out, enveloped in her softness and scent of her body wash. 

“Still?” The slight tremble of nervous hope in her voice ripped at his insides. 

He stopped, looking into her eyes. 

“Always,” he said, sternly and she breathed out, body melting in relief. 

Slowly, she became malleable in his arms as his worshiping hands turned her doubts to dust; a river of praise flowing from his lips as tender as the kisses he dotted her belly with. He roamed to her thighs and her fingers threaded into his hair, tugging at the strands. Her head thrown back, praying to the sky in needy little whines. 

“Oh baby,” he marveled at the wetness smeared across her skin; a graze of his fingertips making her buck into his hand. “So wet for me.” He swiped over the sensitive bud, ripping a pitiful sound from her lips that sparked at his spine, tugged at his balls. 

“Please - Javi. I-” 

“What baby?” He cooed, “Want me to take care of you?” She bobbed her head eagerly, hips rolling on reflex. “Then lay on the bed.” 

She scrambled onto the bed, grabbing a pillow to support her back as his knees collided on the rug, yanking her by the hips to the edge. He caught a whiff of her musky scent and growled. 

Propped up on her forearms, she watched in awe as Javier spread her open, gaping at her shiny folds and swollen pussy on full display. 

“Look at you,” he wet his lips then smeared it across her thighs. Her breath caught in her throat at the wet slide of his tongue tracing where she desperately craved him most.

Teasing her was one of his favorite hobbies and searching for a smidge of relief to the heat in her belly, she palmed at her breasts, nipples pinched between her thumb and forefinger. 

Javier hummed in approval and leaned in, catching her off guard with a swift swipe over her soaked seam; a taste tantalizing as it bloomed on the tip of his tongue. An urge to devour her clawed at his senses; to plunge his tongue inside her and torture her with the tip of his nose until she was screaming. 

But – mindful of her newfound sensitivity, he explored with slow and steady strokes that had her soaking his tongue. 

“So good." He sounded drunk, lapping at her dripping entrance and up to suck her clit between his lips. The ever so light graze of teeth over the swollen bud had her crying out his name in ecstasy. Clawing at the comforter and finding ground in his hair; each tug and pull and delicious scratch of her nails along his scalp sent him spiraling in coils of pleasure that made him rut into the side of the mattress like some depraved hound. 

It reminded him of that addicting moment when he finally gave into desire and touched her – tasted her like he’d dreamed of. He’d never felt anything like it. The pleasure was so sharp; so precise. Never a sound so sweet as his name on her lips in the crest of the release he built. 

He’d been overwhelmed by it, hand wrapping around his cock until he came with his tongue buried inside her. 

The effect she had on him was unexplainable, a wild drive of insane want. Insatiable, he could spend every day right here and it still somehow would never be enough. 

She whined in protest when his mouth retreated to her thighs, seeking him out and earning a quick tsk of his tongue and nip to her thigh. 

“I got you,” he assured with a taunting undertone as two thick fingers sunk into her, walls drenched and clenching around him. “Already so close,” he commented, cocky as if he wasn’t on the edge of finishing in his pants. 

A crook of his fingers hit that spot that made her thighs tremble and breath waver.

"You wanna come?” He asked, dragging his fingers in and out, the obscene squelch torture to his constrained cock but this wasn’t about him. It was all about her and the swipe of his thumb over her clit made her gasp and body bow forward in pleasure.

“Please,” she cried out, “Oh, please Javi - please.” 

“Look at me.” Her eyes fluttered open at his demand, wild and ravishingly desperate, matching his own. “You’re gonna watch,” he emphasized with a soft stroke directly to her bud and her head fell into a broken nod, mouth wide open and panting. 

“Been thinkin’ of this pussy all day.” He glanced away from her blissed out face, just for a moment to watch her greedy hole suck his fingers in, the thick digits coated in slick, glistening in the sun as they reemerged. “About my pretty wife, all fucked out.” 

Unable to speak, she could only whimper in response; white hot pleasure spreading through her veins, down to her toes and fingertips, prickling the hairs on her scalp. 

“Fucked myself in the shower,” he admitted and her body twisted, moaning as her pussy eagerly welcome a third into her. “Thinking of you but fuck - nothing compares. No one compares.” 

He spit on her clit, possessively and swirled it around with his thumb until his name was strung together, intertwined in a babbling mess. 

“Come on, baby. Yeah, I can feel it,” he moved faster, primal. Eyes black and watching himself drive into her cunt. “You’re gonna soak me aren’t you? Fuck I want you too. Come on baby, come on - claim me - fuck. Yeah - claim me.” 

Javier moaned in unison with her, mouth open in awe as she gushed around his fingers, rubbing at her clit relentlessly. She shuddered in the aftershock. 

“Javi,” she whined, making him slow to a steady halt, murmuring sweet praise between cleaning her thighs, sucking it off his fingers – a rare delicacy. Moments away from mouthing at the mess on the sheets, she called out to him. 

He looked ravenous, lips and chin shiny and shirt completely ruined. Climbing on top of her he crushed his lips against hers, smothering her in her own release – drawing it across her lips, tongue and mouth. His painful bulge pressed into the softness of her thigh, grinding unconsciously into it. 

“Javi,” she spoke into his mouth and he groaned at the sweetness of the sound, how it echoed in the cavern of his mouth. With all the blood rushing to his cock, brain fizzled out all he could hear was the roar of his heartbeat, feel the static as it built at the base of his spine. 

She called his name again and again until finally it sliced through his mushy brain and he halted. Every muscle in his body rigid and on the verge of snapping. His breathing heavy with shame, head buried in the crevice of her neck to hide the burn of it on his cheeks. 

He panted his apology, shaking his head. His cock was throbbing painfully against his zipper, denim sticky and incredibly uncomfortable. 

“No - no,” she rushed out, combing down the sweaty strands of hair at the base of his neck with one hand and catching him off guard as the other cupped his erection. The cords of his neck went taut and strained, breath catching on something in his lungs.

He dropped his sweaty forehead to her shoulder and tried to speak but the words died off into a whimper as his hips moved on their own freewill.

“Do you wanna cum like this?” The hush of breath over the shell of his ear built at the fire inside him. “Or in my pussy?” 

“Oh fuck.” He gasped. “I won’t - I won’t last. I’m so close.” His voice broke on the words, vulnerable and raw. 

She shushed him softly. “That’s okay, let me take care of you. Lay down - your poor knees. Come on, baby.” She was right, his knees ached at the mere mention; the edge of pain drowned out by searing arousal. 

Surrendering, Javier rolled over, feet thunking flat on the floor and knees bent. The comforter felt heavenly on his back. 

In the light, he could see the stain along his zipper where blue turned black. Working in tandem, jeans inching down his calves and rucking up his shirt, she burrowed into his side, nuzzled into his neck. A perfect fit. 

His cock laid heavy on his tummy, head nearly purple and leaking onto his brazen skin, cooling it. He draped his arm around her, grasping at her hip as the other clenched into a fist at his side.

The first stroke along his swollen and slicked up cock made his back arch off the bed. Each one after drawn out, featherlight from base to tip; thumb sweeping over the pearly beads and tracing them along the thick vein of his cock. 

It was so different from his hard, means to an end touch earlier; all honeyed hands, tender caresses. The praise she whispered for only him was too much. Too dizzying. He squeezed his eyes shut and thrusted into the ring of her grip. Her name dripping like nectar from his lips. 

“Go on, Javi. Take it. It’s yours.” 

Javier wasn’t an innately possessive man but hearing her say that, his mind went absolutely blank. Bucking up, headboard clapping against the wall from the force of it. His thrusts were sloppy; unhinged and desperate.

When her lips dipped to the curve of his neck and sucked softly at the sensitive skin, it left him groaning and shuddering with pleasure. Her grip tightened, pumping him in unison and for a moment he couldn’t breathe; there was no oxygen that high up. 

“Come on, Javi,” she whispered, feeling his cock pulse in her palm, dangling right at the edge. “Cum for me.” The force of his orgasm took his breath away, white-hot and blinding. His hips jerked, body trembled, riding the waves of ecstasy. 

Her lips tangled with his in a languid kiss, bringing the air back into his lungs. He groaned when she broke away, licking her hand then his hips clean. The wet slide of her tongue had him shuddering with racks of residual pleasure. 

Cognitive functioning slowly returning, Javier brought her face between his hands before she could wander too far and kissed her lips, “You’re so beautiful, so amazing. I love you so much." he kissed her nose and forehead, wiping away the overwhelming tears on her cheeks with a tender stroke of his thumb.

“I love you too.” Her hand covered his, placing a kiss to his wrist then palm. She caught a glance at the clock on the nightstand and sighed, pulling out of the embrace and to her feet. “But, we gotta go.” 

Javier groaned, flopped back on the bed and draped his arms over his eyes. He heard the rummaging of clothes, somewhere in the closet. 

“Javi, are you up?” 

“I’m basically ready,” he murmured, still recovering from the mind-blowing orgasm. 

She scoffed, looking him up and down while pulling on a pair of leggings. “You gonna wear that?” She chuckled at his current state, jeans pooled at his ankles and shirt stained in a mix of both him and her. 

He propped himself up on his forearms and glanced down, shrugging. “Maybe. If you wear just that.” He wiggled his brows at her bare chest and she couldn’t help but smile, even as she threw off the comment with a dismissive wave. 

“You’re impossible, now come on. We’re gonna be late.” 

---

The housing market had hit that typical lull around the holiday’s which Javier understood. Who wanted to bother selling and moving during the busy season? However, it put the search on quite a time crunch. 24 weeks. 

At most. 

Neither him nor her wanted to settle for anything less than ideal, but seven houses later and each one earning her indifferent hum, she was slumped in the passenger seat; dejected. The only positive seemed to be a promising realtor at the fourth house who had given her their card and just so happened to have a house down the street coming on the market in the coming days. Driving past it, it looked perfect but had one problem – it was only three bedrooms. 

“Do we really need four bedrooms?” Javier asked, glancing over his shoulder while switching lanes. “I mean - it’s just us and then…them.” 

Her head did this little teeter from side to side, “Well….yeah,” she drew out the last word and Javier knew what that meant: someone had an idea. He looked over the rim of his aviators and she breathed out through her nostrils, stirring in the seat to face him. 

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” she said and Javier hummed at the very obvious statement. “And well, I - I just thought it’d be nice for your dad to have a place.” 

Warmth spread across his chest at her admittance. The fact that she’d thought of that, thought of his father and planned for him in the future, his eyes went glossy – hidden by the colored lenses of his sunglasses. 

He’d never felt so lucky; so appreciative of her. 

Lost in the moment, speechless by it; she continued on. “Ya know, with them coming it might be hard to get away for a weekend and with Danny starting to help out, the place will be his one day and all, I thought he could come and stay for even like a couple weeks or something.” 

Javier cleared his throat, “Baby, that’s - yeah - he’ll love that. He’d love that.” 

Her hand found his, fingers intertwined and Javier would never know what he’d done to deserve this. 

A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long, I hit a small roadblock on configuring the chapter so thank you for the patience!

#javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos fanfiction

[theysangastheyslew]

Hey!!!

I want to share more suffering with you, homie haha *crying*

What do you think of the episode? Especially 132 part ofc!

Hi friend! :'))))))))) Ooooooh honey that gif is such a mood XD I’ve been trying to collect my thoughts and this is the best I can do atm. Sorry it’s kind of wordy but here we go 🥲

Ok! So ever-present pacing issues aside, the overarching story made for a solid episode and the animation was incredible. Hell, even the things I disliked objectively looked well-done out of context. Overall, that was no small feat to pull off, especially in such harsh working conditions. I truly do want to acknowledge that.

But in regards to 132, you guys already put into words how I feel better than I could. I may not have anything new to add, but I’ll say what I liked first and then put my issues under a cut.

As someone who actually really likes Yams’ art style, I loved that they consistently kept Hange’s face accurate to the manga. It was really inconsistent throughout the final season and they struggled to not make it too short a lot of times. Hange was always still stunning of course but the difference always stuck out to me. Here everyone was drawn well, but you can tell she got some extra attention.

The way they inched Levi closer to where Hange was sitting while talking with Yelena. Insignificant yeah but consistent with their past behavior. Also I’m glad they tweaked the position of his bandages so it looked less like they were painfully tugging upwards on his nose.

The pained expressions of the kids and Hange watching Levi struggle to even hold his gear

The “unrequited love” exchange. It had most of the softness and emotion from the manga even though the weight of that line will never be realized in non-written form. The camera lingered on each frame in a way that conveyed the sentiment. This is what got my hopes up that they would stay truer to the source material with DYH.

I'm so glad they left in Hange's lines to Flochroach about not giving up. Helps show—once again—that they wanted to live

The choked way Levi said “Devote your heart” + Hange’s widened eye and soft gasp at his words. Though not tearing up like in the manga, the shot still looked lovely for the half second it lasted. He doesn't pause halfway through saying it though so this one I'm still wrestling with.

Of course, the last stand. Onscreen, Hange took out at least 16 colossals (including the ones we see trip and get trampled) and definitely more offscreen (when they cut away to show other characters) and for the last few, did it while in the most pain a human body can feel. 7/10 for combat, my ass. Idk about y’all but I can’t stop hearing Romi Park’s screams in my head. I knew it would be nauseating and brutal but dear God. At the same time I cannot put into words how proud I am of them. That's my commander 💜

Ok “like” is definitely not the right word for this but I had wondered when I first read 132 how Hange’s gas tank was so well-insulated that it didn’t ignite, and.. well I got my answer.

I’m thankful that they didn’t show a glimpse of Hange’s bloody, crushed remains the way you see in the og panel. That at least felt respectful to me. This is wishful thinking I know but the defined charred outline makes me choose hope they fell more off to the side from where the titans were walking so at least there was maybe still a body left to recover someday.

The afterlife scene, the kids all sobbing their hearts out, Levi holding his own hand in the aftermath trying to process what just happened, and Onyankopon confirming the plane’s significance all really were appropriately gut-wrenching.

I really recommend taking a little break between The Rumbling and Sinners. It definitely makes the shift in emotion less jarring and less

When I did that with my rewatch it helped with the flow of things.

Ok, now twist me up and call me a pretzel bc here there be some salt :|

I’ll try to leave out my og issues with the manga chapter itself (like how painfully obvious it was all just to make Armin commander and how unnecessary Hange dying was IN THE FIRST PLACE and IF it had to happen at all how it could have been done at the final boss skelepalooza showdown, etc.) and just focus on the episode.

Goes without saying but it bears repeating: pacing. 75% of my issues with the execution of DYH would be gone if they just slowed down a bit. Just let the weight of it sink in a little. That this moment —all shreds of shipping aside— is the end of the line for these two heroes who have been supporting each other for ten years while bearing the weight of the world on their shoulders. But Mappa completely reversed the timing of the sequence of events. In the manga we had a longer, more intimate farewell followed by a last stand that was so short even when you knew it was coming it left you reeling from how fast it was from start to finish. Whereas here they hurried it along to get to the “main event”. Hell, it flows better in gif sets than it does in the actual show.

To me, it felt like Hange’s demeanor didn’t really change from talking with the kids to speaking with Levi, making their false bravado seem like less of a front. I know their tone was meant to sound like they were keeping up appearances, but with how often Hange just gets reduced solely to being a titan freak the way they had Romi say the lines made it sound like actual excitement, especially with the way they drew Hange's facial expressions (more on that next)

Hange’s little smirk after the salute. I kinda get what they were trying to do here but to me it came off as very flippant and dismissive of Levi’s choice of words, especially since they all but got rid of their lips trembling and eye beginning to well up with tears. I wish we’d gotten the big fake smile and laugh because that would have shown better that Hange was overcompensating by trying to put their brave face back on after starting to lose their composure. Their fear is obvious in the manga but it just simply didn’t come through as well throughout this entire exchange.

Sooo Hange almost tears up when Pieck said their words inspired her yet minutes later when their Best Friend tries to say goodbye there’s nowhere near that kind of reaction? Sure, Jan

Levi’s face. Ok look. It’s not a lack of emotion on his part that bothers me. It’s that it’s an entirely different one to begin with. He looks bummed at first yes, but then that changes to what I’m guessing is supposed to be determination which comes off as anger or annoyance (kinda like what changed with his scene with Armin on the stairs). They removed what made this parting different from previous ones, which was the sense of open vulnerability and the dawning realization that now he’s going to have to let Hans go too. See it's not like they were in the middle of the battle just yet. This situation came on suddenly and unexpectedly; it wasn't "supposed" to happen. One second they were on track and the next Hange is being torn away by fate. And yes, the highlights play a part in that transition. Anyone who draws eyes knows the importance of placement and intensity and the major impact they have over the final expression. And when drawing a comic you certainly don’t take up valuable page space with three panels focusing on the hope draining out of someone’s eyes if it wasn’t supposed to be the focus. I mean for fuck's sake, even the Final Season!Nendoroid Levi got it right. Plus, if they could make a point of getting Eren's eyes right during the raid on Liberio they could have gotten it here.

When the camera cuts to the kids watching the titans fall the angle doesn’t let you see that Levi can’t bring himself to watch for more than just a second

NOT MAPPA’s FAULT but since I’m being whiny right now I’m going to add that while ACWNR is a mixed bag to begin with, WIT’s adaptation not including Levihan’s introduction saddens me bc Levi asking Hange to keep watching loses a bit of extra oomph.

Really it just comes down to the fact that there was nothing wrong with the original page. It wasn’t overdone or dragged out by any means but considering many other scenes got shot-for-shot depictions I don’t think we were asking for anything outrageous by wanting a faithful adaptation. The couple frames we got that were almost perfect were so freakin fast you barely had time to process them before it cut away.

I wanted to like it, I really did. Especially since MAPPA did so many things so incredibly well as a whole. My expectations weren’t high, and I did want to give it the benefit of the doubt. But when it came to DYH, it felt both watered down and disjointed, like a completely different scene.

But so it goes. At the end of the day, Hange still dies a horrifying death for plot convenience, and Levi is left behind to suffer once again. It was always going to hurt and I was never going to be ready for it, no matter how it was done.

#gahhhh i keep seeing posts that better verbalize what im trying to say #words are hard #tldr: basically i agree with what you kleinzoe kachuusa warm starlight murdergiraffe nenithil glassesandswords and mcxynth all said #now imma go listen to voices carry by lights and the world is ugly on repeat bc if i see 1 more ‘hange was suicidal’ take ill eat my hand #le me #replies #ramblings #rantings #snk #levihan #analysis

[thegreatwicked]

Unbreakable Bonds - Chapter Eight

Unbreakable Bonds 

A novella in the ‘How it Should Have Ended’ Universe. 

TheGreatWicked

Summary: In a galaxy where Anakin Skywalker successfully resisted the pull of darkness, fulfilling his destiny as the Chosen One to bring balance to the Force, the Jedi Temple is abuzz with discussions about the traditionally forbidden nature of attachments. As Anakin assumes the role of a Jedi Master, his decision to ensure Palpatine's arrest rather than execution sets the tone for a new era.

On the way to an impromptu council meeting, where Anakin now holds a seat as a respected master, Obi-Wan Kenobi experiences an unusual sensation. A mysterious connection tugs at him when he encounters a young boy patiently waiting outside the council chambers. Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, the spotlight is about to shift from Anakin to himself.

As the secrets of Obi-Wan's past unravel, the Jedi Council finds itself thrust into action much sooner than anticipated. The delicate balance of the Force, once maintained by Anakin's choices, now hinges on the unforeseen revelations from Obi-Wan's history. The galaxy is on the brink of change, and the consequences of long-held secrets may reshape the destiny of the Jedi and the Force itself.

Pairing: Obi-wan/OFC (Cressida Vox)

Rating: Explicit, depictions of violence and sexual encounters between consenting adults.

Chapter Eight

Obi-Wan reminded himself (more than once) that both he and Solan were on a journey of learning and growth, and it would require patience, especially on his part, to navigate this new and complex father-son relationship. Solan's demeanor was, initially, quite different from what he had experienced before, and he had to bite his tongue when he wanted to remind Solan that he wasn’t entitled to learn what he wanted, when he wanted simply because he wanted to. Solan was the student and Obi-wan, the teacher. 

Obi-Wan had to adapt to his new role as both a father and an instructor, and Solan needed to learn the ways of the Jedi. Balancing their needs was going to be a complex task, one they would need to discover together.

He wanted to gauge Solan's ability to conjure a successful force shield. It would be a test of both Solan's defensive capabilities and his emotional control, both vital aspects that any youngling would learn. As they stood in a serene chamber within the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan began to explain the exercise to his son.

"Solan," Obi-Wan began, "I want you to create a strong force shield, as strong as you can manage. Focus on creating an impenetrable barrier, one that protects your innermost thoughts and emotions. And I will attempt to find a way past it."

Solan emitted a sigh, as if reluctantly accepting a lesson that failed to spark his enthusiasm. He settled into a cross-legged position, closed his eyes, and directed his focus inward. A subtle shift occurred in the air around him as Solan connected with the Force, sensing its dynamic energy. With deliberate concentration, he initiated the creation of a formidable shield to envelop his mind. Solan exhibited a distinctive and remarkable proficiency in force shielding, showcasing a talent that surpassed the usual expectations for someone of his age.

Obi-Wan was genuinely impressed. Solan's force shielding was not just a simple defense; it appeared to flow with an innate understanding that belied his youth. As Solan created the shield, he seemed to slip into a calm and serene state, showing a renewed engagement in the exercise.

"Good, Solan," Obi-Wan encouraged as he paced closer, finding it surprising how much he enjoyed praising Solan, seeing so much of his younger self in his son. "Now, I want you to think of something. Anything at all. It can be a memory, a thought, or a secret. Focus on your shield, and use it to protect your thoughts as if your life depended on it, but don't be afraid. Keep your attention on maintaining your shield."

Solan nodded, his focus now fully on the shield he had erected. Obi-Wan took a seat in front of Solan a few feet away mimicking his sons’ posture, extending his hand and began to reach out with the Force, searching for any gaps or weaknesses in Solan's defense. It was surprisingly no easy task; Solan's formidable shield presented a considerable challenge, one that brought a small smile to Obi-wan's face.

Several quiet minutes passed, with Solan maintaining his focus and Obi-Wan persistently probing for a means to break through. Solan's shield held strong, but like all defenses, it wasn't flawless.

Within the guarded walls of Solan's mind, his subconscious shifted into a vibrant dreamscape, bathed in a warm glow that matched the golden hue of his mother's tales. The memory he chose to focus on was a pivotal one, a moment when the fabric of his reality seemed to shimmer with the promise of adventure.

He found himself sitting on the bench within the warm halls of the Jedi Temple, the day he met Obi-wan. A moment that bridged the gap between the fantastical narratives spun by his mother and the tangible reality of meeting a living legend.

As the memory unfolded like a well-practiced holo-drama, the figure of Obi-Wan Kenobi materialized before Solan as he swung his legs on the bench. Obi-Wan, the hero General of the Clone Wars, stood before him – a beacon of Jedi wisdom and courage. Solan, in the innocence of youth, couldn't contain the wide-eyed awe that painted his face, and even in the exercise hips lips curled up into an almost imperceptible smile.

The memory was a kaleidoscope of vibrant emotions – admiration like a melody playing in the background, awe as a visual spectacle that unfolded with each step Obi-Wan took. Solan's heart beat in sync with the excitement of that moment, the thrill of meeting someone he had only heard tales of until that day.

And as Solan immersed himself in this cherished recollection, the exercise began to weave its magic, fostering a connection between the past and the present, between the hero of his childhood tales and the father who stood by his side.

It was as if the young boy had gathered a torrent of hyper-concentration around himself, using his focus to cover up his emotions. It was a different kind of vulnerability, one that Obi-wan hadn’t expected, but one that he knew he could overcome. Solan was trying to block out his emotions entirely.

A smile adorned Obi-Wan's face as he acknowledged the genuine emotions. Reflecting on how he reached out through the Force to touch the shield, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of remorse at how effortlessly it shattered. At that moment, the shield faltered with the slightest preassure, allowing Obi-Wan a glimpse into his son's unguarded memory. Waves of excitement, happiness, and awe from the encounter with his hero washed over Obi-Wan, deepening the connection between them.

 As Solan's force shield collapsed like fragile glass, his shock was palpable. The young boy sat there, staring at the ground with an expression of surprise etched on his face. 

However, much to his surprise, Obi-wan greeted him with a smile and a nod of approval, despite his failure. "Solan," he said softly. "You did well."

Obi-Wan could sense the depth of Solan's confusion. He realized that this test had pushed Solan in a way he had never experienced before, and by Solan’s understanding he probably failed, but Obi-wan’s wisdom shone through as even in failure there is knowledge to be gained. He disliked seeing the look of disappointment in Solan’s eyes, the exercise served a valuable purpose. Obi-Wan wanted to ensure that Solan understood what had transpired and why.

"Do you understand what just happened, Solan?" 

Solan shook his head, a frustrated grimace on his face, the hallmark look of a frustrated child who hadn’t expected to fail. 

"Solan, your force shield demonstrated remarkable strength; your concentration on safeguarding that memory was a commendable instinct. Nevertheless, your emphasis was on suppressing all your emotions rather than harnessing them as a source of assistance. Emotions possess great potency, yet they can become a detriment if we let them dictate our actions or if we disregard them entirely."

With an irritated huff, Solan folded his arms across his chest, a display of youthful frustration. He didn't like this lesson, and it was evident on his face. His eyes remained averted, avoiding Obi-Wan's gaze until instructed otherwise.

Obi-Wan decided to provide a more detailed explanation to his son. "Solan, by supressing your emotions entirely you disconnected yourself from your shield," he explained. "You cannot force the Force; it doesn't belong to you. Instead, you need to find the balance between your emotions. The Force is meant to be used in harmony with your emotions."

Solan stayed quiet, grappling with Obi-Wan's words, a blend of confusion and lingering distress evident on his face. Obi-Wan empathized with his son, recognizing the weight of what must have felt like an utter failure. He allowed Solan a moment and space to collect himself, understanding the need for the boy to process this newfound awareness.

“Do you understand?” 

“Not really.”

"Solan, let's try again. This time, I want you to think of something with a powerful emotion. But, instead of suppressing the emotion attached to the memory, imagine it passing through you like you're standing in the current of a river, and the river simply flows around you. You are as steadfast and immovable as an ancient stone." Obi-Wan maintained a watchful eye on Solan, recognizing the resilience it took for his young son to gather himself and face the exercise once more, as they prepared to repeat the shielding exercise.

Solan seemed surprised but intrigued by this approach. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded slowly and took a deep breath. He shook out his hands and adjusted his posture, sitting up straight and breathing out a heavy and shaky breath, and he tried again. 

This time, when he created his force shield, it felt weaker to him. He spent a few minutes concentrating to make it stronger. Once he felt it was stable, he decided on a memory with a strong emotional attachment to practice on.

Obi-Wan observed Solan's deep focus and felt the young boy's force shield rising up again, slower this time, as if he were trying to build it more deliberately. It was a promising sign that Solan was taking the lesson to heart. 

When Solan nodded his readiness, Obi-Wan concentrated his efforts and he delved once again into the Force. This time, he didn't feel the overwhelming hyperactivity or the absence of emotion that had been present before. Instead, he sensed a different kind of sensation within Solan. He sensed a hazy source of emotional turmoil, a well of sadness that radiated from the memory Solan was trying to protect. Drawing on the swirling pool of sadness, Obi-Wan tapped into that vulnerability and gently pushed against it. He had instructed Solan to think of a memory with a powerful emotion attached but he hadn’t anticipated what he saw. It wasn’t a river and Solan wasn’t an immovable stone, it was a maelstrom of churning waters and Solan may as well have been a piece of driftwood, being tossed almost violently under the current of emotions he struggled to maintain control over.

Obi-Wan pushed gently against Solan's shield, seeking a way through, but this time, he decided to do more than just that. He called out Solan's name within his mind, his voice echoing gently. It was an unexpected intrusion, a father addressing his son in a moment of vulnerability. Solan was caught off guard, his focus shattered by the sound of his father's voice within his mind. 

As the breakthrough unfolded, the floodgates of Solan's guarded memory opened wide for Obi-Wan. It was as if a hidden chamber of the young boy's mind had been unlocked, revealing a poignant recollection from Solan's earliest years—the first memory he could consciously recall. Despite the passage of time, the edges of the memory were clouded and fuzzy, bearing the mark of age, but within this haze, the emotions were crystal clear.

The scene played out like a poignant tableau from Solan's past. In the memory, he was a mere three years old, left in the care of a service droid as his mother embarked on a mission. The loneliness and vulnerability of the young child were palpable, his small form sitting alone, tears streaming down his face. The sadness and fear etched across his innocent features were heart-wrenching, unaware that Cressida would return to him, calling out for ‘mommy.’

As Cressida prepared to leave, a look of distress and heartache shadowed her face, mirroring the emotions that raged within Solan. The memory captured a moment frozen in time, Solan reaching out his tiny hand towards his departing mother, a silent plea for reassurance. The image of Cressida walking away, her figure becoming smaller through the eyes of the young child, held a weight of separation and sorrow.

Lightsaber in hand, Cressida turned to glance back at her son. In the midst of her own turmoil, Solan saw the glint of glassiness in her eyes. The pain of this shared moment was palpable, the glass partition between them acting as an insurmountable barrier. Obi-Wan observed Cressida's poignant gesture—placing her hand first to her lips and then on the cold surface that separated mother and son. And then, with the heavy finality of a closing door, Cressida left, and the memory dissolved into the mist of time.

Obi-Wan's heart ached as he touched upon Solan's deep emotions, seeing the memory as a powerless observer, unable to reach his son in his time of distress. It was this well of sadness that had ultimately allowed him to penetrate Solan's formidable force shield. As Obi-Wan gently withdrew from Solan's mind, he looked at his son with a mixture of concern and empathy, understanding the young boy's struggles with his emotions a little better. He hadn’t expected such sorrow.

Solan had attempted the exercise twice now and failed on both occasions. His young face reflected shock and defeat as he stood before Obi-Wan, his lips moving as if he were trying to find the right words but ultimately failing to speak.

His features contorted with distress and the sorrow of the memory he had been trying to shield, its raw sadness breaking through. His eyes were glassy, and his hands trembled, unaccustomed to this level of emotional exposure brought about by the exercise.

Acting on what he could only explain as instinct, Obi-Wan, was again, by Solan’s side with a hand on his shoulder to steady him. When he asked if Solan was alright, he just looked shaken and didn’t answer. He asked if he understood what had happened this time. Solan, his frustration mounting, shook his head. It was clear that his emotions were giving way to sadness now rather than annoyance.

"Solan, initially, you suppressed your emotions, severing your connection with the Force. This time, you allowed them to overwhelm you, like a tumultuous river in full force," he clarified. Solan's expression reflected bewilderment as he grappled with the idea. He hadn't yet realized that neither the extreme of complete emotional detachment nor letting emotions run rampant would assist him in this exercise. He was exerting considerable effort, perhaps too much, and needed to discover that delicate balance. Additionally, it didn't help that he was still shaken by the depth and power of the emotion associated with the memory he had chosen, he sniffled several times and rubbed at his eyes, trying to hide any evidence of his sadness.

"Look at me, Solan," Obi-Wan gently commanded.

Reluctantly, Solan met his father's gaze, his eyes filled with shame at his repeated failure. He was finding it challenging to strike that balance. He appeared to withdraw into himself, his shoulders slumped with a weight that seemed too heavy for a young boy to bear. It was just as Cressida had said. 

Obi-Wan, determined to impart this crucial lesson, told Solan that he had one more opportunity to succeed. Now that he had experienced both extremes of the emotional spectrum, he could try to find the middle ground—the balance between the two. Balance was what would lead to success.

Obi-Wan resumed his seat across from Solan, a subtle shift in the distance between them that spoke volumes. Solan still didn't seem keen on trying again. He muttered that he didn't want to do it once more, complaining that it was too hard. But Obi-Wan wasn't about to let his son give up so easily.

The training room seemed to hold a hushed anticipation, carrying the echoes of the emotionally charged moments they had just shared. Solan, still recovering from the emotional release, stifled a lingering sniffle, his attempts to compose himself evident in the way he straightened his posture.

In a tone edged with firmness, Obi-Wan addressed Solan not as a father but as a master, posing a question:

"Who led you to believe this journey would be without difficulty? You gave your word to Master Windu that you would make an effort. Are you prepared to abandon the task at the first setback, especially when it's merely a training exercise? There will be instances where much more will hinge on your capacity to surmount challenges—perhaps even your own life or another's. If you falter in your commitment after a failure, your path to becoming a Jedi may be insurmountable."

Solan's mouth dropped open, and he stared at his father. His shoulders slumped, and he shrunk into himself, giving a reluctant nod. Obi-Wan, unyielding in his determination to help Solan grow, encouraged him to try the exercise once more. It was a lesson in perseverance and balance, and one that would help shape the young boys’ journey.

Obi-Wan observed Solan's progress with a mix of patience and encouragement. As they stood in the tranquil training chamber, he could sense the boy's determination to master the art of maintaining a force shield. Solan had initially struggled, but his determination was admirable.

"Try one more time, Solan," Obi-Wan gently encouraged. His words were meant to convey a sense of "don't worry; we can always try again later." However, Solan interpreted them differently. He perceived it as an ultimatum, a challenge to prove himself right then and there.

The increasing pressure bore down on Solan, and his palms became clammy. He paused briefly, feeling the weight of expectations on his young shoulders. Suddenly, in a burst of nervous energy, he leaped up, bouncing on his toes, shrugging his shoulders, and shaking out his anxiety like a playful child. After letting out his pent-up energy, he confidently marched back and resumed his seat, his expression a mix of frustration, determination, and sheer stubbornness.

Obi-Wan couldn't help but be amused. He had seen Anakin, his former padawan, do many things, but never had he witnessed such a display of childlike animation and anxiety. For a moment, it was a welcome sight, as it reminded Obi-Wan of the age and innocence that Solan carried.

After a few seconds, Solan calmed himself and turned back, determination etched on his features. He sat down and breathed deeply, eyes closed, attempting to find the delicate balance between emotions and control that the exercise required.

Solan sat in silence for a few minutes. The air around him trembled slightly, mirroring the unsteady rhythm of a hesitant breath. He struggled to visualize the river once more and to allow his emotions to flow through him, not controlling him but guiding him.

Obi-Wan's words about protecting others had taken on a profound resonance, revealing a truth that had already woven itself into the fabric of his past.

Solan could do this. He focused on visualizing the river in his mind, feeling its current without allowing it to drown him or push him down. The emotions from the memory surged through him, but they didn't control him. He was determined, knowing that one day he might have to protect others, just as he had protected his mother.

His mind was awash with that determination, and it took him several long minutes to reconstruct his force shield. It built slower than before, and every so often, it crumbled slightly under the weight of the pressure he was putting on himself. But he continued to will it back, never forcing it.

Memories of the fear he felt coursed over him as the shield neared its completion. He stood in the raging torrent of his emotions, just like he had as a young boy when he believed only he could protect his mother. It was challenging, and his mind became cluttered with many voices, his own, his mother's, and Obi-Wan's.

Obi-Wan watched with both concern and admiration as Solan wrestled with his emotions. He observed the storm within his son as he struggled to find that delicate balance. The gentle river Obi-Wan had described seemed more like a raging torrent, and he could see Solan losing his footing, on the verge of being overwhelmed.

In this memory, Solan saw himself as a four-year-old, a pint-sized guardian in the making. His mother, Cressida, returned home from a mission, battered and injured. The little boy's heart raced as he witnessed her weakened state, blood staining her clothes, and her steps faltering. Solan, driven by a sense of responsibility beyond his tender age, reached out to help her, tugging at her arm with small, determined hands.

The portrait of maternal strength that was Cressida, struggled to stand, her body betraying the toll of her recent ordeal, clinging to life out of what he knew to be sheer stubbornness. In Solan's memory, he could feel the fear pulsating through his veins, an unspoken understanding that he had to do something to help his mother. The word 'bacta' echoed in his mind, a mantra he repeated with all the conviction a four-year-old could muster.

The scene played out as if in slow motion: Solan guiding his mother towards the bacta tank, uttering words of encouragement like a mantra of hope. "Come on, Mama," he urged, his voice a tiny beacon of support. "Almost there," he assured her, his small hand reaching out as if trying to bear the weight of her injuries. "It’s ok," he declared, his determination turning a mundane task into a sacred duty.

In his own innocence, Solan clutched a blaster, feeling an unspoken responsibility to protect his mother. The imagery was both heartwarming and heart-wrenching – a child shouldering a burden far beyond his years out of love. The memory revealed a snapshot of Solan's early understanding of what it meant to be a guardian, a sentiment he would carry with him into adulthood.

But as the memory unfolded, a poignant realization washed over him. The pride he once felt was soon replaced by the vulnerability of a child who had underestimated the severity of his mother's injuries. When Cressida emerged from the bacta tank earlier than expected, Solan's world crumbled. He begged her to return to the healing waters, his tears flowing as an outpouring of worry and love.

The memory ended with Solan, still a child in his mother's arms, the weight of responsibility momentarily lifted. Yet, the memory left an indelible mark on his young heart, planting the seeds of understanding that love and protection sometimes come at a cost.

Obi-Wan observed with a mix of concern and admiration as Solan grappled with his emotions. The storm raging within his son's heart seemed more like a tumultuous torrent than the gentle river Obi-Wan had envisioned. Solan appeared on the brink of being overwhelmed, struggling to find that delicate balance. Throughout the ordeal, Solan's lips moved, uttering a repetitive mantra that carried both determination and a poignant vulnerability, "I can do it, I can do it."

Obi-Wan didn't attempt to push past Solan's struggling shield. Instead, he merely spoke Solan's name gently, and the force shield shattered into oblivion. The memory rushed out with such force that it knocked the breath from Obi-Wan's chest, and he knew that they had taken an important step forward in Solan's training.

In the training chamber, a somber silence prevailed, broken only by the desperate gasps for breath. Etched with despair and frustration, his youthful visage struggled to grasp the intricacies of the recent ordeal. The focus had shifted from the mere physical exercise to the profound emotional scars that Solan carried from the tumultuous first decade of his life.

Obi-Wan, was in an instant in front of Solan. He held onto his son, sensing that Solan was not just physically unsteady but also emotionally overwhelmed. It was as if Solan had been caught in a rushing river's current, and now he stood shivering and taking in deep, ragged breaths as though he had nearly drowned.

Obi-Wan meant to steady Solan until the boy could regain his balance and find his footing under his own willpower. But he was taken aback when Solan threw himself at his father, small arms wrapping tightly around Obi-Wan's neck. Solan's body quivered under the weight of his failures, and Obi-Wan found himself momentarily frozen, unsure of how to react.

He was clutching onto Obi-Wan for dear life.

Obi-Wan remained still, feeling the weight of Solan's trembling form in his arms. The young boy struggled to regulate himself after the intensity of the exercise, and Obi-Wan called Solan's name gently, repeatedly, like a lifeline. He had experienced similar intense moments with Anakin, but Anakin had never hugged him the way Solan did, and he certainly didn’t have the relationship with Anakin that he shared with Solan. Obi-Wan had no guidebook for this unfamiliar territory.

Solan clung tightly, his grip unyielding, yet Obi-Wan persisted in calling out to him. His voice acted as a calming anchor amid the internal tumult Solan grappled with. Obi-Wan's words were a reassurance about the present, assuring Solan that everything was fine, and that he was right there by his side. In his soothing tone, Obi-Wan reminded Solan that Cressida was safe, emphasizing how he had protected her. It was as if Solan remained ensnared in the memory of the earlier exercise, and Obi-Wan was resolute in his determination to pull him back to the present moment. The memory that had seized Solan's consciousness was a poignant one, and Obi-Wan experienced a profound pang of sorrow witnessing a fragment of his son's childhood burdened by fears and hardships not intended for him to bear.

After a long and agonizing minute, it worked. Solan gradually loosened his hold on Obi-Wan, though his eyes were still wide, full of turmoil. Obi-Wan shifted his hands to rest on Solan's shoulders, his voice gentle and reassuring. "You did well, Solan," he said, despite the apparent failure of the exercise.

Solan's voice quivered as he responded, questioning how he could have done well when he couldn't do it at all. Obi-Wan regarded the young boy with a profound wisdom that stretched far beyond his years. "Failure is a part of life," he said softly, his eyes filled with understanding. "It is how we learn. Without failure, victory would be meaningless. You will get there, Solan, in time, and I will help you. I promise you."

~~~

Following the shielding exercise and the unsettling memories Obi-Wan had witnessed, he considered meditation a natural progression for the day's lesson. However, his immediate concern was Solan's well-being. While he had always been aware of Solan's unique and perilous upbringing, the vivid images and memories he had glimpsed during the exercise had been emotionally distressing. Taking a walk through the temple grounds, father and son engaged in a conversation where Solan shared what he could remember from the two dark memories. Though challenging, this presented Obi-Wan with a unique opportunity to deepen his training with Solan.

The absence of Cressida, though notable, allowed for a more personal connection between father and son. Transitioning from the training room to a quieter space within the temple, Obi-Wan took a moment to contemplate the events of the day.

"Mastering the art of shielding is crucial, Solan, but equally vital is the cultivation of meditation. It forms the bedrock of a Jedi's connection to the Force," Obi-Wan began, his tone gentle yet unwavering.

They found themselves in a tranquil chamber, enveloped by the soothing hum of the temple. Obi-Wan continued, "Meditation goes beyond mere stillness and mental quietude. It is a practice that tunes you into the Force, heightening your awareness of its currents and the energies that course through every living being."

"Like the river you mentioned during the shielding exercise?" Solan inquired, drawing connections between the two practices on his own.

"Exactly! You've grasped it perfectly, like the river," Obi-Wan affirmed. Solan absorbed his father's wisdom, prompting Obi-Wan to gesture for them to sit in a cross-legged position, mirroring the traditional posture of meditation.

"So, they're intertwined, right? Meditation and shielding can strengthen each other?" Solan sought clarification, piecing together the components.

"Yes, that's precisely right. The two are connected." Obi-Wan's grin widened, and he nodded, commending his son, "The Force is always there, Solan, like an invisible thread connecting all living things. Meditation allows us to feel its presence, to understand its will. Close your eyes, focus on your breath, and let your mind become like a calm lake. Observe the ripples, but don't let them disturb the stillness within."

Solan followed his father's instructions, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Obi-Wan guided him through the process, encouraging him to let go of external distractions and turn his attention inward.

"As you meditate, you'll begin to sense the Force around you. It will reveal insights, guide your actions, and grant you a profound understanding of the world. Patience is key, Solan. The Force moves in its own time, and as Jedi, we must learn to trust in its wisdom."

A serene quiet settled over the room as father and son immersed themselves in the meditative practice. Through these shared moments, Obi-Wan aspired to convey not only the techniques of a Jedi but the very essence of the Jedi path – a journey that went beyond lightsabers and combat, delving into the profound connection with the Force that meditation could unveil. However, the tranquility was intermittently disrupted by the unmistakable growls emanating from a small, empty stomach. Each occurrence prompted hearty chuckles from Obi-Wan. When it happened for the third time, he had to insist that they make their way to the refectory for a belated lunch. 

"I hadn't realized how time had slipped away. Come, Solan, let's get something to eat. I'm sure your mother won't be pleased with me if I send you back to her on an empty stomach."

~~~

As the afternoon sun bathed the Jedi Temple in warm hues, they sat in the Jedi refectory, the atmosphere between Obi-Wan and Solan was a blend of contentment and familial warmth. The training had been intense, yet fulfilling, and now they found themselves enjoying a well-deserved meal together upon realizing just how much of the day had slipped away. Obi-Wan leisurely sipped his tea, savoring the moment and appreciating the simple pleasure of baked dru'un slices with fish sauce, while Solan attacked his waffles with the voracious appetite befitting a ten-year-old boy, the occasional muffled words escaping from his mouth as he spoke between bites. His speed and urgency in consuming his food were noticeable, prompting a chuckle from Obi-Wan. The contrast in their eating styles was comical, the measured and deliberate pace of the Jedi Master versus the hurried and eager appetite of his son.

Observing Solan's rapid approach to meals, Obi-Wan couldn't help but ponder the source of this apparent urgency. He mentally noted the need to discuss it with Cressida later, suspecting there might be more to Solan's eating habits than initially met the eye.

Amidst the clatter of utensils and the hum of conversations in the refectory, Solan's eagerness to absorb information from earlier training sessions spilled over into a barrage of questions. Obi-Wan, wearing a patient smile, found himself navigating through the inquiries, gently reminding Solan to take it one question at a time.

"One query at a time, Solan. I'm not going anywhere," Obi-Wan teased, his words carrying the weight of a deeper understanding of Solan's past and the gaps in his training. "And slow down, chew your food."

At one point, Obi-Wan simply stared at his son, as though he were watching a holodrama. He had never seen anyone devour two plates of waffles as quickly as Solan did, not even Anakin, who had known a life of slavery and sparse meals. Eager to address the issue, Obi-Wan reached forth and stopped Solan's hand, preventing a forkful of food from reaching his mouth.

"Solan, could you please slow down a bit?" Obi-Wan voiced his concern, and Solan, seemingly aware of it, adjusted his pace, taking the time to chew his food slowly. Obi-Wan attempted to continue, "Solan,--"

"I don't like foodstuffs," Solan cut in unexpectedly. His response was swift, almost defensive, as if anticipating trouble. "They don't taste very good. And I hate how they're cold a lot of the time." A silence settled over them for a few minutes all that could be heard was the ambient noise of the refectory.

"Well, on that point, we agree. There's nothing quite like a hot meal, is there?" Obi-Wan sensed he had stumbled onto a sensitive topic for his son. "Did you eat them often?"

Solan nodded, "Mom tried to make sure I had real cooked food, but a lot of the time, foodstuffs were all we had. This tastes way better." Obi-Wan still had more questions, but he was uncertain about how to approach them. "I never went hungry, though. But Mom did sometimes so I wouldn't have to." Once again, Solan seemed to understand what Obi-Wan wanted to know, as if he had plucked the question from his mind.

Solan wore a somber expression, staring at his waffles as if burdened by guilt. "Well, we mustn't waste them; finish your food." There would be another time to address this particularly sensitive issue, but not now, especially after how Obi-Wan had challenged Solan today. "I liked waffles quite a bit too when I was a boy."

Upon hearing his father share this similarity, Solan perked up a bit and smiled, seemingly pleased to have something in common with his father.

Observing Obi-Wan's cup of tea, Solan looked thoughtful, as if a question lingered in his mind. "What's wrong?"

Shaking his head, Solan replied, "Nothing. I was just wondering, did you and Mom ever drink tea together?" Obi-Wan was taken aback, especially since he knew for a fact that Cressida didn't like tea; she much preferred caf.

"No, your mother has never liked tea as long as I've known her. Why do you ask?"

"I know she doesn’t like tea, but she always drank it during when we were off-world. Every day, I watched her make Sapir Tea. Then I started making it for her when she came back after being away. She always looked kinda sad when she drank it, and I never knew why. It didn't feel right to ask, so I wondered if the two of you used to drink tea together or something. Otherwise, why would she drink something she didn’t like?" 

Why indeed? Solan's observations were unexpectedly perceptive for someone so young, revealing more of his close connection with his mother. Obi-Wan had a theory, but perhaps he'd test it later.

"Maybe it reminded her of home," he suggested, reaching for a sip but hesitating. "Would you like to try it?"

Accepting the cup from his father, Solan smiled when their fingers brushed. He cautiously sniffed the cup, made a skeptical face, took a slow sip, and then grimaced, sticking his tongue out.

"No wonder Mom doesn't like tea; that's gross."

Obi-Wan's laughter echoed through the room as he reclaimed the cup, saying, "It can be an acquired taste, I suppose." Solan, determined to rid himself of the bitter aftertaste, continued sticking his tongue out in an exaggerated manner.

As the two continued their banter, their attention was suddenly diverted by the approach of a familiar voice. Obi-Wan and Solan turned to see Cressida striding towards them, a playful amusement in her eyes. 

"Well, I can see you two have had a very productive day," she remarked, taking a seat next to Obi-Wan. “I leave you two for training and I come back to waffles…”

Obi-Wan, feeling slightly caught, muttered, "His second helping..."

"Only his second? He'll eat five if you let him," Cressida replied, relishing the shock on Obi-Wan's face.

"Five!?" he exclaimed incredulously.

"Growing boys, you know?" Cressida teased, savoring Obi-Wan's expression. She accepted the forkful of waffle that Solan offered her with a smile. "How are they?" Solan nodded happily, and she took a thoughtful bite. "Tastes like waffles," she mused with a smile.

"Better than foodstuffs," Solan added eagerly. Cressida nodded in agreement, and it seemed the small family was in unanimous accord on that matter. Solan turned to his mother and asked, "Are you going to eat something, Mom?"

Cressida winked and nodded, "I think so." She rose once more and strolled away. Once she was out of earshot, Solan's smile faded, and he looked as though he had just tasted the bitter tea all over again.

Obi-Wan finished chewing his mouthful of dru’un, setting the utensils down as he observed Cressida interacting with the surroundings in the bustling dining area of the Jedi Temple. Solan's keen perception had drawn his attention to subtle details that Obi-Wan had overlooked. The father-son duo had their eyes trained on Cressida, silently communicating through shared concern.

“Somethings wrong.”

"What do you mean?" Obi-Wan asked, glancing at Solan as he voiced his unease. “She seems fine to me.”

Solan shook his head, his expression thoughtful. "I know her tells."

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow, intrigued by Solan's assessment of his mother. "Tell me."

"She's shifting her weight to her left foot when she stops walking but she's right-handed and usually places her weight on her right foot, it’s like she's trying to be ready to act or strike," Solan explained. Obi-Wan followed his gaze and saw Cressida unconsciously favoring her left foot, a subtle sign of her sentinel training. As Solan continued his perceptive analysis of Cressida's behavior, Obi-Wan couldn't help but marvel at his son's keen observation skills. It was clear that Solan had inherited not only his mother's Force sensitivity but also her knack for reading people. Obi-Wan considered it a valuable trait, one that would serve Solan well in his future as a Jedi.

Solan continued with his astute observations. "She also has these little things she does, like she's trying to be guarded or defensive. She rubs her arms like she's cold or trying to comfort herself, closing herself off. And look how she's clenching her fists; I bet she's clenching her jaw too. Even though there are people nearby, she's keeping a bubble around herself, like she's trying to self-isolate." Obi-Wan focused on her, now noticing the nuances that Solan had pointed out, each movement spoke volumes about Cressida's emotional state. It was a side of her that Obi-Wan rarely witnessed, and it concerned him.

Obi-Wan couldn't help but be impressed. Solan's insight into Cressida's demeanor was uncanny. "I remember she used to tap the toes on her right foot whenever she was nervous as a Padawan," Obi-Wan remarked, a touch of nostalgia in his voice as he observed Cressida.

Solan nodded in agreement. "She still does that too, not so much in public, though. It's more of a behind-closed-doors thing. She doesn't want anyone to think she's afraid." The idea that she still carried these habits, even in private, hinted at the depth of her experiences and the challenges she had faced throughout her life.

As if on cue, they both watched Cressida's right foot anxiously tap on her toe, a telltale sign of her inner turmoil.

"I think she got some not-so-good news," Solan said, wearing a sad expression. "Means she'll be going somewhere soon.” Solan's statement hung in the air, a mysterious proclamation that left Obi-wan speechless. At times he was a paradoxical blend of childlike exuberance and sage-like insight, and he had just dropped a cryptic statement that lingered in the air like an unspoken riddle. Obi-Wan, still getting accustomed to the unpredictable nature of his son, couldn't help but feel a surge of curiosity and concern.

"How can you possibly know that?" Obi-Wan questioned, his gaze searching Solan's face for any clues. Solan, however, remained stoic, as if holding a secret that transcended mere words.

"Just do," Solan replied cryptically. Obi-Wan's mind raced with various possibilities. Was Cressida planning something? Was she facing a threat? The Jedi Master wrestled with the urge to probe deeper, to uncover the source of Solan's intuition.

As thoughts whirled through Obi-Wan's mind, he hesitated. Would pressing Solan for more information breach the trust he sought to build with his son? Would Cressida share her concerns with him if he asked? The haunting memory of her cautionary words echoed in his mind: "Two may keep a secret if one is dead."

“Well, I’m sure your mother wouldn’t want you to dwell on this,” Obi-Wan finally said, opting for reassurance over interrogation. Solan nodded in agreement, and a sense of relief washed over Obi-Wan. "Let's not give her anything to worry about," he added, hoping to steer the conversation toward lighter matters.

Solan nodded again, diverting his attention to the plate of waffles before him. Obi-Wan seized the opportunity to inject a bit of levity into the moment. "You know, when I was a padawan, if I'd wasted food, I'd be in the kitchens long after training, washing dishes." Solan's eyes widened briefly, the realization of potential consequences sinking in. Without further ado, he resumed devouring his waffles, seemingly content to avoid extra chores at the moment. The weight of the unspoken lingered in the air, leaving Obi-Wan to wonder about the mysteries surrounding his family and the enigmatic bond between them.

"You're going to get a stomachache if you keep eating like that or—" Cressida's voice was cut off by Solan's immediate onset of hiccups, confirming her prediction. She shook her head with a knowing smile, her voice cut through the hiccuping, adding a touch of humor to the situation. "Yes, or that too." She gestured to his water and gave him some rather unconventional advice. "Drink, hold your breath, and swallow three times."

Obi-Wan watched with a curious and slightly skeptical expression as Solan followed his mother's instructions. To his surprise, the hiccups vanished. "Better?" Cressida inquired, and Solan nodded before returning to his waffles.

Curiosity piqued, Solan inquired about the steaming bowl in front of Cressida. "What's that?"

"Nuna Noodle Soup. Try it?” Solan looked skeptical and shook his head a bit hesitantly.

 Obi-Wan interjected with a playful comment, recalling Solan's previous encounter with tea. "He might be less than inclined; he tried my tea. I don’t think he approved."

“Coward.” She playfully scolded her son who in turn stuck out his tongue, Obi-wan felt a little surge of nostalgia, recalling the time she’d called him a coward and the memory it led to.The steam rose enticingly, and Cressida took a deep, appreciative breath before taking a bite. The warmth of the soup seemed to have a comforting effect on her. It was a moment of vulnerability, a glimpse of Cressida beyond the stoic shadow sentinel. "Had dreams about this," she muttered, savoring the taste, clearly feeling the same as Solan had about the edibility of foodstuffs. Obi-wan wondered how long it had been since she had a comforting meal.

The trio continued their meal, unaware of the inquisitive stares directed their way in the refectory. Jedi Masters, knights, padawans, and younglings observed with curiosity, concern, and perhaps even a touch of envy. It was an uncommon scene – two Jedi parents and their son sharing a meal, embodying the semblance of a regular family. The sight hinted at the potential shift and change they might bring.

Nine

~~~

This one felt a little longer but I packed it full of dad Kenobi goodness, maybe a few tears too! Hope you guys liked it! Feel free to like, comment, reblog and don't forget your tags make my day! If you want to join the taglist all you have to do is let me know and give me a reblog if you can!

Taglist

@heyhawtdawgs @pickleprickle

#i have too many stories #fanfiction is life #original character #alternate universe #star wars #star wars au #obi wan kenobi #obi wan star wars #eventual happy ending #eventualromance #eventual relationship #eventual smut #how it should have ended #master kenobi #Dad kenobi #all the feels #father son bonding #emotional baggage #unbreakable bonds

[braemjeorn]

CHAPTER XIV [masterlist]

pairing: bang chan x ofc

genre/notes: general audience; angst and tantrums; general audience; regency period drama; family fluff; domesticity; ocassional angst; slowburn; governess!oc; nobility!BC; age differences; age changes.

wordcount: 3.9k

summary: some acknowledgements brought on some refusals

also available in ao3, if you prefer that format

© Do not repost, copy, or republish into another site or under another name.

⚠️ All characters that shares the name of real life person in this story are represented in a fictional manner for entertainment purpose, and not to be alluded with real life.

TAGLIST: @spookykryptoniteperson @nixtape-foryou @do-you-know-what-else-is-big

“Is Father in love with her?” Changbin asked one morning in class, having retreated from the window where he saw the Commodore with Lady Jang in the curricle.

“It’s Lady Jang, brat. Be respectful,” Minho muttered.

Mari heard Changbin repeat the sentence, with the proper title.

“Don’ow,” the eldest replied.

“Is Father going to marry her?”

“He said he will.”

Changbin sat in his chair by his brother, slumping as if he turned into jelly. “That can’t be.”

“What makes you say so?”

“How could he marry her without affection?”

“What do you know of Father’s heart?” Minho returned. His hands kept working, tracing the book he was perusing and taking notes. “He intends to find a companion and a partner, at least one that is suitable for his position and duties. And sometimes necessity is more important than your principles of affection, Binnie.

“It’s unacceptable,” Changbin scoffed.

“Father seems to enjoy her company well enough—they will do well together, I am sure.”

There was a pause, and when he spoke again Changbin’s voice lowered, “Do you like her?”

Minho’s hands stilled. When he met Changbin’s eyes, it was with a perturbing amount of gravity to their young age.

“Just enough,” he replied. “I’m not sure if it will improve any soon.”

“So she is to be our new mother,” Changbin concluded.

“We need not regard her so—but a woman we ought to respect in her relation to father,” the eldest mused. 

Minho turned back to his books, but then back to Changbin. He leaned closer to the younger, and whispered sharply, “Do not let your emotions overcome you.”

Changbin’s head flicked as if he would bark in offence—but he seethed, and acknowledged the heeding.

“It is only unacceptable.”

There was a lull in their days. The flow of excitement that peaked during the ball and winter had descended even lower than where it had climbed from. Mr Park entertained the boys in a way. Working the garden, encouraging them to fight the cold and make a mess of themselves preparing the ground. Ms Kim would cluck to see them at breakfast; Mari only nodded for them to take their warm breakfast. She helped them wipe down with warm water and dress warmly. They'd descend to study in the library, where Commodore Bang sent them spiced tea and cookies. He'd call them down for lunch, and join them in the afternoons to play in the dry stone-floored terrace.  

The sun soon warmed, and with the drier ground, the boys were eager to change into lighter shirts and play crickets with their father. Lady Jang would stand by, giving her cheers and claps. Mari would watch from the terrace, smiling at their roughhousing from a distance. At times the Commodore would swing the boys into his arms, throwing them into the air to clasp them close with a laugh. Mari's heart would warm, and drop into cold hollowness in a sudden. She'd tighten her shawl even closer, uncertain of what chill she was fighting. 

There was a longing she dared not name, the want to belong and to be cherished. Only an understanding of her lonesome state in the world stopped her from begging out, despite dread and insecurity engulfing her in acknowledging that state.

The boys were laughing again, and she could only let out a sigh. Her time in Barlnshore was receding, and though felt it ought not to be such a burden, Mari relented that any separation would some grief to anyone. 

-

“Shall I play louder sir, that you might hear me better?”

Commodore Bang approached the pianoforte one evening, gaze thoughtful as he watched the hammered strings. He said nothing as he placed a cup of tea above it for Mari. The boys were near the hearth, listening to Mr Bambam's stories or toying with chess figures. Lady Jang was speaking with Ms Kim.

“We have not been in company for some time, Miss Son,” the Commodore said, low enough that only she might hear.

Mari’s fingers paused. The blur of conversations around her made a dull, chilling silence for her. Anguish rose—either from fatigue or irk at the remark. When she thought of all the times she was alone, daring to do nothing more but watch as the family laughed and cheer. Never adequate to be invited yet longing to settle herself alongside them. Neither neglected nor necessary. Childish bitterness pooled in her — yet the sadness that smothered it angered Mari. Perhaps the Commodore had angered her. She took a few constrained, shuddering breaths before looking up at him.

“I have little to offer for your entertainment, sir.” Her words were cold, she knew it as she said it.

“Yet here you are playing for us all,” the Commodore mused. “Were,” he corrected.

Mari’s hand returned to the keys, stringing a slow tune. “Such is what  little  I offer.”

“Even without performances, your conversations are good company. As it has been many times before.”

Mari straightened in her seat, breaking off her tune to a jogging melody. Commodore Bang chuckled.

“You seemed eager to send me away, Miss Son. Absorbed in your playing so,” he remarked, with her lack of response. “Has your dislike of me returned?”

“I only think that as governess to your children, we have—” Mari paused, trying to recall the proper tune her fingers are supposed to follow. She knew the song well, it should not be difficult.  Not as difficult as hearing the Commodore wanted her conversations.  Her head jerked before the recollection of their past discourses flowed freely in her memory.

“As governess to your children, I have little to impart upon you beyond what's necessary, sir."

Mari dared not look up. In Commodore Bang's silence, she abandoned the song and trailed her fingers away to another tune.

“Come now, Christopher, don’t disturb her,” Mr Bambam called from near the hearth. Both of them turned to him, hardly understanding his bemused face. “You wouldn't let her finish a song properly.”

Any other time, his friend’s jest might have been returned with a scoff. But it did not come; there was a pause, and Mari felt the Commodore shift to give her a bow. “Forgive me, madam, if I have overstayed your welcome.” He turned to the hearth at sat beside Seungmin at the boy’s beckoning. Mari ignored the tightness beneath her ribs.

“Was the weather too cold, Yongbok?”

The younger twin had no affliction with the weather usually, but his insistence to not join the others for a walk to town that afternoon was strange. Yongbok took it upon himself to persuade and console Jisung—their whispers explosive. But then the elder relented to spend an hour alone, though latching himself to Minho in a despaired manner. Such an extent of desired isolation would have surprised anyone to wariness. Mari accompanied the boy, settling him into a solitary space. But the looming elephant was there though Mari tried her best not to hound her anxiety to the boy. When she was close to pulling her hair madly, Yongbok's voice peeped up, low and resigned.

“I don’t want a new mother.”

Mari stilled her needle and looked up. “You don’t—”

Yongbok slouched on the lounge, tracing a pillow's embroidery, with pouted mouth. Easing herself from the surprise and confusion, Mari set down her work and approached the boy, settling down on the floor next to him.

“What makes you say that?”

There was some relief in knowing the problem, but there's still a necessity to solve it. With the Commodore's need for a partner and the boys a mother, one opposition would affect the whole plan. Changbin and Minho had debated the matter, she might as well bet that the seven shared a similar opinion. Heaven knows what they talk about when she was away, concerning as it was.

It was long before Yongbok made any response. Mari held on, and the lad muttered, “We don’t get along, we don’t like each other.”

Mari was not aware that might be how Yongbok felt about the lady's attention. She could not know, only satisfied in the civil air she observed Lady Jang gave the boys.

“I’m sure—even if it’s not some fond fancy, Lady Jang regards you all kindly,” she said.

“I don’t like her.”

“Why?” A frightening thought gripped her, Mari turned to the boy, holding his chin towards her. “Did she ever hurt you, in any way? Yongbok?”

The boy shook his head, despondent as he had been. But again: what might have occurred when Mari was not present with them? “Truly? Did she ever say anything—?”

“No,” Yongbok said, shaking his head. The answer was plain, and Mari settled on his nonchalant air. If something was truly the matter, there would be harder reactions to the question. It was not as if Changbin and Minho wouldn't act if anything had passed. They would do it loudly at that.

“She's hardly riveting company. And when Father marries her, you’d have to go away,” Yongbok muttered again. “And I don't want you to go away.”

Yongbok’s head had hung low all the while, and should the boy burst to tears Mari knew she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from following. She might take a teasing and light air, and tell the boy that when they grow older they’ll forget her soon enough. But she had no right to do so; it might offend him. To a boy of eight, the changes in his current days seemed too uncomfortable and fast to even grapple with. It would affect him in later years.

In truth, she didn't know if she could refuse to cave into Yongbok’s wishes. Her heart had declared sternly for her to do anything to remain in Barlnshore. Only a while longer—yet no. Even if she accepted Lady Jang’s proposition, and stay until Jeongin’s old enough—for some reason, she’ll loathe the situation altogether. Even if she abhorred it, what can she do in the face of changes? 

Yongbok did not need to hear her sentiments and despair, he was but a child. But he too, needed to understand and accept changes. Mari reached to brush his gold tresses, hoping in his bright mind and big heart for an understanding.

“You know how—when a man and women marry, they make vows to each other. To support and love in every stage of life, in hardships or good times? To care for each other and the children they’ll have?”

The lad nodded. Mari’s hands now cupped his soft cheek.

“It’s a partnership, Yongbok. Different work from yours and Jisung’s, or Minho and his friends, or when you and your brothers were playing. Because it’s two people becoming one person, that makes them stronger in a way. And you remember how they say, ‘till death do us part'?”

He gave another slow nod. “Yes.”

“Your father must have been very lonely after your mother died. There’s Minatozaki-san and Mr Kang, but…” Mari took a sharp breath, turning over the matter, pacing her words. “She loved you all very much—such love made a most… protective wrap about you all. It allows you to grow up well and happy. Without her, your father has a hard time keeping the seven of you inside that protection. That is why your father decided to marry again. With someone to help him, he can rebuild that protection again to care for you all. Not that your father is a weak man—but like everyone, it is better when he has someone with him.”

They were silent for a moment; Mari let Yongbok take it all in, ready should confusion cross him. But the boy only insisted, “We’re big enough to take care of ourselves.”

“But you are still his sons,” Mari reasoned. “His boys. Should he remain unmarried, Minho would have to share that burden to protect you all. Because he is the eldest, your Appa will depend on him to look out for you. But as his son, it isn’t fair that Minho has to bear that much. Lady Jang would stand by your father and help him with his work and take care of you all. Minho can go about his study without worrying much, and you’ll mind each other as you always did. 

“I know you are old enough to take care of yourself—yes, you have been very good with your manners, and dressing, and keeping your toys tidy. But Yongbok, I don’t want you to grow up too soon, that is all.” 

Her hand brushed his hair again, then thumbing away at the tear that finally fell. “I want you to run, and play, and laugh and chase each other well into the sunset and enjoy it. To live a moment longer with little hurry to grow up, nor have more responsibilities than you should. Until you're sick of it, I want you to have that. I know your Appa would wish the same. Everything he does comes with the wish that you might live well and be happy. Whenever it is hard, remember that he loves you very much. More than himself,” Mari softly added, recalling the way the Commodore held himself together for their sake. “He would make the sun come out from the west should it appease you; that is how much he loves you.”

Yongbok’s cries had been quiet but for his tears, but then he gave a loud sniffle as he nodded. Mari’s seating gave her an easy way of kissing his forehead. She gave him a peck then reached around to hold him, letting his head rest on her shoulder.

“If you are still troubled, you might even speak to him,” Mari mused at length. “Take courage, and tell him whatever it is you might feel about Lady Jang.”

“Will he even listen?” Yongbok mumbled.

“I’m sure he will,” Mari said.

The mood had been foul since morning, and the sun hiding behind the clouds did not offer much improvement. Minho lost his temper to Hyunjin, and after the short quarrel the younger shirked and scowled away from him. Changbin was bristled by it, and the slip of concentration in his reading did not help improve his mood. Jisung tried to be lively, and Hyunjin seethed at him for it. The twins’ spellings were awful for the day, and Mari dismissed the younger ones to separate corners of the room for a break. Jisung with Seungmin, and Hyunjin with Yongbok. Mari could devote herself to Jeongin’s reading entirely, but even the youngest was affected in his progress today. He hesitated a pause too long and made recurring mistakes here and there. Mari let him repeat as much as he needed, but perhaps her audible distressed sigh provoked the youngest’s anxiety. At least Minho offered Hyunjin his hand in apology before they rose for the dining room.

Yet the clouds barely dispersed at lunchtime. Lady Jang announced quite delightfully the meals she ordered today: tender veal, rice, and savoury vegetables. But around the table the boys were sullen—Minho could not even spare an effort to be the politest as the eldest. Mari made a miserable effort in his place, for Lady Jang had explained it all with great zeal that she catered it for the boys. The Commodore’s and Mr Bambam’s following praises drowned the awkwardness of the governess’ statement. Lunchtime lost its usual excited clamour from the boys, and even as the adults filled in the conversation, a hollow silence fell about them. The food felt tough inside Mari’s mouth, despite her hunger. Jeongin, on the other hand, was of differing opinion. He was staring at the windows across him, mouth all contorted in displeasure.

“Jeongin, why aren’t you eating?”

The boy took some moment before looking to acknowledge her—his mind seemed far away—and slowly he said, “I don’t like green beans.”

“Suddenly?” Mari wondered. Hyunjin might have a particular palette for vegetables, but the others have very little. But then Jeongin hadn’t touched much of his other foods all the while. She didn’t think the two pies and breakfast earlier would have lowered his appetite. Yet he shook his head, “I’m not hungry.”

The words gave her alarm all the same, but his crestfallen face reminded her that it could not be so simple. 

“What’s wrong? Are you ill? Did something happen?” came her harried questions. But Jeongin did not answer. Mari noticed how everyone’s attention was centred upon them then. She wished they weren't, for they reduced her sense of capability.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” she tried again, only for Jeongin to give another shake of his head.

“Perhaps he’d prefer the trifle already,” Lady Jang offered quietly. At the end of the table, opposite the Commodore, she had been observing from Jeongin’s left side the whole time. Mari had entirely forgotten of her presence and started up slightly. But Jeongin was not even heeding this new address.

“No—you’ll get sick without your meal, Jeongin,” Mari said. She wondered who she was even directing those words to. The youngest still would not budge, and his head leaning further to the back of the chair. 

“All right, you don’t have to finish it, but would you have some spoonfuls for me? Please?” Mari picked up his spoon, wondering if some company might persuade him.

“Don’t force him, Miss Son. Let the boy have some delightful treats.”

“He has to understand…” Mari sighed. How was Lady Jang so genial still? Mari just sighed to her, a baroness. It’s not proper. “He needs his meal,” she insisted.

“He’s just a boy, surely a lenience every few days would be all right?” Lady Jang wondered. “Every few months?”

Mari could not bring herself to quip at the notion of indulgence. She was fatigued all of a sudden. But does Jeongin even care for sweets now? The mention of desserts hardly affected him, Mari would have been less worried if he had. Lady Jang gestured to let the servants take their plates and bring in said trifle—for all of them had finished lunch.

“Now, then,” she began. “It’s a very special day after all, and you wouldn’t rob him of some—”

“No! ” Jeongin sharply cried.

“Goodness, gracious!” Lady Jang and Mari jerked back, as well as the poor maid taking Jeongn’s dishes. The plate clattered with the forks on the table. Mari might have fancied Jeongin was sending a glare upon the servants.

“Jeongin!” It was Minho, gasping in his seat.

“Bang Jeongin.” The father’s reprimand was equally sharp, if not deeper. Mari found him frowning, but thankful to find the concern in his eyes. Mr Bambam was calmer, if equally alarmed; Ms Kim had her mouth curled, and she clicked her tongue. The others were wary and still in their chairs.

Jeongin seemed to feel the attention surrounding himself too keenly; his face scrunched up, and Mari watched with greater distress as his tears began to fall.

“Yennie?” Hyunjin called from Mari’s other side.

“What a rough child,” Mrs Kim piped up. "He should not be dining with the adults if he cannot compose himself."

“Is that of import now!?” Mari could not help her high tone. 

“Isn’t it quite clear—his education in manners and restraints are quite lacking.”

Changbin's mouth opened, but Commodore Bang was quicker. He stood up, and though he was three chairs away from Ms Kim, at that moment, with the look in his eyes, he seemed a shadow of darkness looming over and cowering her. 

“My dear Ms Kim,  Miss Son  is entirely more capable and adept in child-rearing, therefore kindly refrain from lecturing her on subjects I believe you are  unfamiliar  with.” His strong, low voice set a hush upon the room. “At least my children do have some conscience and sentiments of  good  feeling. However little I am capable of comprehending them, I know those sentiments are not  consciously  directed to abusing people.”

He stalked away from his chair, and the anger dissipated away from him the nearer he approached Jeongin. Mari could still feel his fuming breath as he crouched down beside her chair. The youngest had removed to Mari’s lap, pushing his face upon her front and content to let his tears fall. Commodore Bang raised a hand to brush his hair but hurt flashed on his face when Jeongin shirks away from him, turning his head.

How kind he is , sharply came a thought inside Mari. For his frown was not much different than how he had used to scowl last summer; now it had appeared for much different sentiment. She was thankful to him for giving her some relief, and with the presence of his good heart and amiability once more shown to her, she felt such an acute fondness for the man. 

“Yen…”

Mari shook her head at the questioning glance the Commodore sent her, and his low sigh resonated with her. God only knows what upset Jeongin today, but it does not affect him from crying the hardest Mari had ever seen.

“Yennie, you’ll ruin her dress,” the Commodore tried again. Mari’s hand brushed over the youngest’s head, and Commodore Bang turned to her when he saw Jeongin giving little resistance. Askance took over the desperation, and Mari nodded. “I’ll stay with him,” she mouthed. Commodore Bang nodded relenting with another sigh. He rose and placed his hands upon her shoulder. “Thank you, Miss Son.”

Mr Bambam quietly suggested that they remove and enjoy the treats in the drawing room, and offered to explain an atlas for them all. Odd as the suggestion was, Minho complied, very much aware of the gravity in the room, and gently pried Seungmin at his side to stand. Mari soon became unaware of all the movements in the room, only clasping Jeongin closer to her. Soon she found them quite alone in the dining hall. Even the treats had been removed, even if she still would not allow the maids to take Jeongin’s plate. 

Mari pulled him up, guiding him to lay himself more comfortably in her hold, taking comfort in his warmth and the hold he sought from her. She was content to have him cry his worst, taking time in easing his sobs. A coldness came over her at a thought, that she might as well take her time, for there might be no other chance to hold the boys so close. Their attachment would soon be severed by necessity, and the thought that the warmth in her arm would soon be removed from her filled her with some dread. Mari let out a wry smile—for it was silly to feel otherwise than what was proper—but it distressed her all the same. A caretaker and an educator in a household are no more than that, and to let herself feel more of it is uncalled for, and yet how else can one give a child their rightful nourishment to grow? 

Mari did not know how long they sat, but then she was aware of Jeongin’s sniffles calming down into even breathing. She looked down, finding his face in more ease.

“Your food is all cold now,” she said. Assuming that the cries had worked his hunger, she reached out for his fork. Yet Jeongin shifted and took the fork from her hands, and ate what was left of the cold meat and vegetables on his plate. Slowly, his appetite took the greater initiative. He even asked her for another scone and did not refuse her offer of some sweetened berries. When he was finished, he rested back upon her lap. He nodded when Mari announced that it was nap time, and slid down her lap—still, he asked for her hand, and Mari accompanied him to bed, wiping his face and softly pressing a kiss to his shut eyes as sleep took over him quickly.

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[furious-rogue-stuff]

Chapter 39: Longing

Whew! It’s time for some emotional reparations~ 

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC | Javi x Querida

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Latina, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 20,500+

Summary: While you long for mending your broken heart so you can move on in your new life, Javi longs to get back what he's lost: you. Will he be able to find a way back to you?

Warnings: Mentions of diet and food habits, exercise routines, masturbation and previous sexual encounters. Descriptions of depression, emotional trauma, angst, unhealthy coping mechanisms, resentment, and regret. Allusions to past trauma, loss of spiritual faith, toxic relationships, and unexpected health concerns. Depressed!Javi, Hopeful!Javi, Stubborn!Javi, Angry!OFC. In the vein of Narcos being a bilingual show, and Javier Peña being fluent, I felt it was apropos to include Spanglish and Spanish throughout.

Heat Masterlist

Previous chapter - Chapter 38: Enough 

Chapter 39: Longing

The feeling looming darkly in the distance had been deafening in the chaos swirling around you.

You were running again, desperate to get out of the darkness and away from the screams that were rattling through you, but unable to understand why the tunnel had become the road – why you were seeing the upturned taillights of the car flaring like warning beacons in the fog.

Not here. I don't want to be here—

The alarm clock goes off, and you jolt in bed, brow perspiring and hair clinging to your sweaty neck.

Sitting up in bed, you bury your face in your hands and concentrate on breathing. The anxiety kicked up by the nightmare was manageable compared to what the horrible dream had become the last several months, but it still left you winded and shaken.

You chalk it up to it being the first time you've been back in the apartment since the wedding.

After everything that had happened, you'd managed to leave Colombia with a hopeful and positive outlook thanks to having mended things with your father. It had surprised you how easily forgiveness had come to you, and how receptive he'd been to apologizing.

Really, you both had felt the ice thaw after you'd called him and asked him for his help. Having to listen to him coldly calculate the damage he would inflict to the people who'd wronged you had made you crack and exactingly tell him he would not interfere in your plans. Instead of fighting you, he'd agreed to help, and had asked if you both could speak again soon.

You hadn't expected for him to make good on it and show up in person to the house in Medellín. After your emotional reunion, he'd made up for lost time as best as he could, and you'd let your guard down enough to accept he was making an effort, especially when you both went to the family tomb so he could pay his respects. Overcome, you'd cried on his shoulder, and told him how much you missed everyone.

"I miss your mother every day. She and her family were important to me, tesoro. I need you to know that."

You'd sighed, nodded, and murmured, "'Buela had a picture of you on her altar. She prayed for you every night…I wish you'd been here."

He'd hugged you tight, acknowledging your statement with a raspy hum, but answered, "I'm here now. I want things to be different. Eres mi única hija, y te amo con toda mi alma."

You're my only daughter, and I love you with my entire soul. His voice was unwavering and genuine. It had made it easy to lean into him and promise to work on your relationship. To call, stay in touch and visit.

He'd tried to convince you to leave Colombia with him, but you'd decided you wanted to go back to the capital and spend Sasha's last few days there showing him around and decompressing from everything. You'd even taken him to Don Gilberto's, where he was smitten with the coffee and a glutton for the pandebonos.

Saying goodbye to the kind owner had surprising been emotional, seeming to represent everything you'd be missing from living in Bogotá.

Sasha, as always, was able to cheer you up though, and from the time you both sat in first class on the flight to New York, to the limo ride to his mother's place on the Upper East Side, he had you in stitches over all the latest gossip and details you needed to be caught up on regarding Irina and Aslan's upcoming nuptials.

Shira Cohen Ivanov – Sasha's mother – was already waiting for your arrivals, and rolled out the red carpet for you. She was so much like her son, but looked like an older version of Irina, and her ability to mortify them both was a charming trait that you reveled in spectating.

"—Your abba is coming to dinner, bubbeleh, so please behave and let him think you finally wore this one down to be your romantic intended?"

"Ima! Blessed hell, you're embarrassing me—"

"What?! You two have canoodled—"

"Mother, please—"

Your giggles only spurred her on, and by the time Irina arrived with their father, you settled in for quite the eccentric dinner.

After weeks living the city girl life running around with Irina to do all the maid of honor duties, you'd surprised her with a lavish bridal shower, and soon enough, you were in the Hamptons at the wedding rehearsal.

Having accepted the career opportunity a month prior, you'd ended up having to travel back and forth on weekends for weeks leading up to the big day. The unconventional bachelorette and bachelor parties aside, you were most crunched for time between work and the wedding events the closer you came to the long weekend everything would be happening.

When said weekend finally arrived, you'd flown into JFK and been picked up by Sasha to then take a helicopter ride out to the exclusive beachfront country club, gotten quickly dressed, and headed down to the sprawling hall the vows would be taken. It had been wonderful to see your friends so happy as they conglomerated together after so long being apart. Their father, Volodymyr Ivanov, was in the advancing stages of his illness, but you wouldn't know it by how boisterous he was, and the sheer delight in Irina's eyes was enough to make you joyful by osmosis.

The day of the wedding, you were happy to take Sasha's arm and head down the aisle lined with lovely roses in hues of white among sprays of ivory, wearing a sultry black gown that matched with the other bridesmaids. Aslan was dressed dapperly, and for the first time since you'd known him, he looked fidgety and eager, nervousness flushing his cheeks and making the blue of his eyes stand out as he squeezed his clasped hands behind his back absently.

When Irina emerged through the glass doors with her father in the ethereal-yet-timeless wedding gown and veil, your heart gushed as she walked down the aisle to the instrumental procession. Sasha stood at Aslan's side, looking reserved, but his eyes glistened with unshed tears, and by the time Volodymyr was handing Irina's hand to him, he was close to blubbering. Attention riveted on the bride, Aslan's expression softened and stayed fixed on Irina's demure smiling features behind the lovely veil.

You manage to make it through the ceremony without shedding a tear, but as soon as the rabbi pronounced them man and wife, and Aslan stepped on the napkin-wrapped glass, tears were rolling down your cheeks.

The reception was an opulent affair. Truly, every socialite and who's who was there, and after tons of champagne, you'd found yourself standing by the French doors that lead out to the deck in order to gaze out at the scene.

Your heart was heavy as the buzz of the champagne made you reminisce about the last wedding you'd been at, and unbidden, memories flashed across your mind like a kaleidoscope. Seeing Irina and Aslan have their first dance had you thinking of Javi spinning you in his arms. Watching the photographer take candids throughout the crowded ballroom made you picture cozying up to Javi for the photo with your grandmother.

But seeing the happy couple hoisted in the chairs and propped merrily up while the music hit a crescendo that had you envisioning what it would've been like had you and Javi been surrounded by family and friends after tying the knot? That had you feeling overwhelmed with melancholy and regret.

So much so, that you didn't hear Sasha calling for you from the bar when you pushed open one of the French doors and ran outside into the chilly night. You've ambled down the steps and onto the beach in your heels, and when they obstruct you from continuing further, you yank them off and run to the shore, where the breeze is the briskest and punishing, to try and decompress from the heat that rose up in you and started to make your pulse race.

You hear your name shouted over the blustering ocean air that's whipping your hair and dress about, but you don't turn until Sasha's warm hand is on your bare shoulder.

"What's happened?! Are you alright, ketsele—?" his inquiries died off when he saw your eyes crinkle woefully before your features fell. Upset, he pulled you into his arms as he crooned, "Hey, hey, no, come here."

"I'm s-sorry, it all just came over me and I c-couldn't stop it—"

"Jesus wept, am I that much of a shitty date?"

Your sniffling laugh is muffled against his chest before you wrap your arms around his waist and shake your head, hiccupping, "N-No, you d-dork!"

He chuckles and kisses the top of your hairline before shedding his tuxedo jacket and pulling it around your bare shoulders. "It's fucking cold out here. Come, let's go back in," he rumbles as he tucks you against his side and escorts you away from the damp sand of the shore.

"No one noticed me run out like an idiot?" you mumble as you scrub the curve of your thumbs across your tear-streaked cheeks.

"Darling, everyone is smashed already. The caterer had just brought in a fourth crate of that fancy Dom vintage champagne when I was at the bar calling you over. Everyone is either dancing like drunken fools or schmoozing shamelessly," he told you amusedly as he helped you up the steps and crouched down to dust the sand off from your soles before taking your stiletto heels to slip them back onto your feet, one by one. "So, at the very least, you and I can filch a bottle for ourselves and go back to the suite – after you let me spin you around the dance floor for a bit."

Squeezing his shoulders and snickering, you nod and smile when he stands from his crouch to chivalrously loop your arm in his in order to escort you back into the ballroom.

You'd danced until late with him, laughing and giddy as he'd pick you up and swung you around like he used to in the old days while the sultry disco mix the DJ was playing filtered dizzyingly over the warm and crowded room. When it was finally time to see the couple out, you both gave Irina big hugs before she was whisked away by Aslan to their first night together as husband and wife. And before he could be cornered by his parents, Sasha had grabbed your hand and towed you in a rush out through a secluded stairwell and up to sneak off to your suite. You were so tipsy that you hadn't even noticed he'd pilfered a bottle of champagne and had it hidden under his tuxedo coat that was flung over his forearm.

When you'd entered the suite, he'd plopped the bottle down on the nearest table and hastily yanked off his bowtie while he kicked off his formal dress shoes. Comically, you'd tried to bend forward to remove your heels but ended up toppling sidelong into the plush couch with a yelp.

Sasha's deep, velvety laugh made you snicker. "Blessed hell, my love. Here, let me help you," he chuckled as he took your heels off and tossed them before shifting you to recline on the sofa. When he'd just been about to stand straight to go retrieve the bottle of champagne, you'd tugged him back down by the pleated collar of his tuxedo shirt. With a grunt, he'd failed to stop himself from ending up sprawled on top of you. "Ooof, sorry, mmph—"

Your lips crashing against his had snuffed his husky retort, and activated that attraction he always was able to store or unpack whenever you both found the gravitation between you shifting from platonic to carnal. And right now? You'd needed to feel the weight of him on top of you, to get lost in the warmth of his mouth on your own and the desire to feel wanted.

His hands assertively grabbed you up so he could adjust you in order to reach for the zipper in the back of your gown while deepening the kiss. But then, when he dragged his ravenous mouth down to suckle nips into your neck while he tugged the zipper down whilst also slipping his other hand up your dress, you'd lulled your head back and clung to his muscled back with a reedy mewl.

"Mmm, Javi…"

Sasha froze in his groping, lips unlatching from your neck as he exhaled a drunk, flustered grumble before deadpanning, "Well…alright, then."

The sound of his voice yanked you back from your proverbial drunken haze. "Oh my god…oh jeez," you'd embarrassedly hissed and covered your flushed face in mortification. "I can't—I'm so-oh my god—"

Acerbically, he'd sat up and flung himself backwards into the opposite side of the plush sofa. "Way to kill my boner, mon chéri," he quipped drolly. At you exhaling in self-reproachful consternation, he'd rolled his eyes and reached his hand out. "Hey, come here. Cut it out. I'm not mad."

Begrudgingly sitting up, you let his hand guide you by your shoulder to come stretch out and cuddle against him, tucked between his muscular frame and the cushions of the couch.

"…I am," you finally mumble. When he grunted in confusion, you elaborated, "I am mad. I'm so stupid—"

"Stop it! You are not. I won't hear you bashing yourself for feeling a longing—"

"I'm sorry," you whisper and curl into him, nuzzling his shoulder when you feel the sting of tears cresting up in you.

Sighing, he rubbed your back, rasping, "Come, I'm going to tuck you in."

You'd let Sasha guide you up from the couch and through the suite to bed, where he helped you shed your gown before tending to taking off your earrings and the bobby pins out from your styled coif in order to let down the rest of your hair, and then pulled the comforter back for you to crawl under and curl onto your side. Dimly, you'd heard him strip out of his clothes, run the shower, and eventually flop heavily onto his side of the large bed. After a silent while, he rolled over and spooned you, and the scent of his clean skin and the comfort of his body heat lulled you into a deep slumber.

Before you'd relocated for your new job, those several weeks in the city had seen you splitting your time between staying at Irina's chic apartment and Sasha spacious loft. And when you'd been at the latter, you'd often end up sleeping in the same bed with him. Either because he'd hear you tossing and turning in the guest room and would crawl into bed with you to cuddle until you both dozed off together, or you'd wake up from nightmares so upset that you'd tiptoe into his room and get under the covers with him. Regardless, your friend would lovingly tuck you against him, or he'd spoon you protectively until you settled down and fell back asleep.

It'd been no different when you'd all gone down to Miami for the opening of 'Worship' a few days after the wedding.

Irina and Aslan had accompanied you both before they'd jet off to their European honeymoon, eager to see the installation. The night before the showing, when you'd both ended up crawling into bed together to eat room service on top of the covers while the TV droned on, Sasha had stretched out with his glass of wine and eyed you with his dreamy, blue-eyed pout.

"Come away with me for the holidays."

You'd paused with the forkful of risotto pursed at your lips as you stared sidelong at him. When you realized he wasn't being cheeky, you popped the fork in your mouth and used chewing as a diversion to think of an answer.

"C'mon, kitten. Irina will be on holiday with Aslan and his family in Monaco. I don't want to be alone with my parents," he'd argued, making a compelling case when he admitted, "I don't want to be without your company, is all."

Frowning, you placed your dish aside and snuggled up to his side to wrap your arm around his waist. "You've been without it a month since I took the job—"

"Yeah, and I've been bored and lonely, so I have no problem guilting you into spending more time with me," Sasha grumpily huffed as he gulped the rest of the wine in his glass down.

"I can't. You know I promised to make more of an effort with my father. I agreed to spend Christmas there," you tell him gently, and when he glowers and casts his sad stare back to the TV, you kiss his cheek and grunt for him to return his attention to you before proposing, "What if you come spend New Year's with me?"

His features soften before he gives you a wolfish smirk. "Yes! I'd love that," he pecks you on the lips. "You can finally show me your roots!"

Snickering, you'd resumed eating and discussing plans for the following day.

As you're pulling yourself out of bed now to trudge to the bathroom to shower and get ready for work, you can't help reminisce on how serendipity had struck at the opening at the gallery, when a fellow artist had been admiring Sasha's piece, 'Worship of Man' and had done what no other patron had – walked the circumference of the piece and spotted the hidden phallic symbol embedded in it that only reveals itself in the prismatic reflection of the glass that surrounds it.

Sasha had stared from afar, and had whispered to you, "Does he see it? No one else has!"

"I think he does, velvel," you'd conspiratorially whispered back before giving his forearm an affectionate squeeze. When he'd looked at you curiously, you'd gestured with the tip of the chin that he should go over and find out. "He's cute. See if he'll mention it!"

Sardonically scoffing at you, he indeed walked over and struck up a conversation with the man. Your friend couldn't fool you. The quick appraising glance he'd given the man when he'd been whispering to you told on him. Sasha did have a type. You watched as he spoke with the handsome, swarthy, athletically-built man with the dark curls and the light brown eyes that flared the color of honey when the lights above head caught in his irises.

Turned out, the handsome trigueño was a Puerto Rican artist known for his artesano pieces and expansive murals. You'd actually walked through a hall with a massive floor to ceiling mural of various illustrations of Sun Gods from around the world that belonged to him, as you'd found out after Sasha hit it off and brought him over to introduce you.

"—This is Marcos Martorell. He did that amazing mural out in the other hall! And, he spotted it," Sasha is gushing charismatically as you shake the handsome muralist's hand.

With a warm, accented tenor, he'd greeted, "Please, call me Marc."

After chatting a while, you'd learned he's from Ponce, Puerto Rico and that he split his time between Miami and Isla Verde, so you both hit it off while Sasha was forced to have to make a few rounds with the press and gallery attendees. Which worked out, because you get to play matchmaker when you caught Marc glancing over at Sasha, noting how his gaze lingered on your friend.

"He's single, and we're just friends."

His stare had whipped back to you, like he'd been caught taking a cookie from the jar without permission, so you smirked and platonically winked at him.

When Irina and Aslan arrived at the gallery during the cocktail hour, you all made a little social unit together, and seeing Sasha and Marc talk art and gush about each other's work while exchanging tons of flirty eye contact made you gleeful.

You'd spent that night with Irina and Aslan, and are just remembering how much fun you had giving Sasha the inquisition over brunch the next morning when you realize you've been dawdling too long under the shower spray and need to pick up the pace.

The hectic back and forth traveling and working had been a merciful salve to your heartache, but there were still things you couldn't bring yourself to do, for fear of falling too deep into a depression. It'd taken weeks for you to call your cousin after you'd left, because of how much speaking to her drudged up your feelings about everything. And when she'd told you the wonderfully cheeky, albeit cryptic message Marisol had left you, you'd stopped short of calling the woman direct. No, you'd been much too raw still, and needed the emotional distance to heal over.

You'd even avoided delving too deeply into how much of a success your take down had been. The exposés involving Stechner and his fall from spook grace had been something you'd skimmed over, because reading in-depth would resurrect all the anxiety you'd buried, or worse – make you relive all the pain from that tumultuous time. And anyway, it wasn't like you really had to read any of it, not with Ellis telling you all the gossip that it'd unleashed within the corridors of DOJ and DOS from as far as Alaska, or so he'd quipped.

And on top of that, your father had made it a point to tell you where that bastard ended up after he'd been done getting raked over the coals, divested of all his clearances, and left pending numerous investigations that could end with him seeing actual jailtime.

The vindictive part of you enjoyed hearing it, but then you'd feel a pang of dismay from the emotions that would flare up like terrible heartburn, leaving you sullen.

As you left your apartment and descended to get in your car, you couldn't help feel that you didn't feel as raw as you had, but definitely were nowhere near rebuilding your emotional fortress back up to what it'd once been.

Deciding to table any more sentimental reflection for the time being, you focus on getting mentally ready for the busy work day. It was your first day back at the federal building, after all, and the morning rush hour to the U.S. Courthouse campus from your side of town was going to be a spicy one.

***

Things hadn't panned out the way he'd hoped.

After he'd spent the whole night thinking about the possibilities of why you would've kept his college shirt – Maybe it was an accident? What if she kept it to test my commitment in finding her and keeping my promise? – Javier had gone to the barn to help his father, but was tired and distracted. So much so, that he'd almost fallen out of the hayloft because he wasn't paying attention to where he was stepping.

Luckily, he'd grabbed the support beam and hooked the heels of his work boots in before he tumbled down.

Chucho had only caught on to it because Javi had gritted out a tense curse before muttering slurs to himself all the way down the ladder. Having had enough of his son ruminating his way into a possible fatal accident on the ranch, he'd called him over and sternly told him what he'd planned on telling him before he'd rushed upstairs with the box the night prior.

"All right. You got back from Colombia without a peep, and I didn't press for answers then. You've been moping around until yesterday morning when you ran out like a bat out of hell to who knows where and came back with that weight off your shoulders. And then the box—"

"Pop, I know. You've been so patient, and understanding, having to put up with me. But, I just…" Javier groused before huffing and sitting down on a hay bale, hands scrubbing tiredly across his tense features. "I went down there. She was already gone. I didn't know what to do. The people I spoke to didn't have her current contact information, and now, after last night? I'm regretting not doing more."

"What else could you have done, mijo?" Chucho had asked with genuine sympathy as he wrung his work gloves absently while Javi propped his elbows at the top of his knees and worried his hands across his stubble-covered cheeks. "It sounds like she left and didn't intend for anyone to know where to—"

"It's my fault she left," Javi stated and looked up at his father. "Everything I was dealing with – all the political bullshit and sabotaging, it started to affect her. She's a private person, and we went through so much trouble to keep our relationship and work separate. But then, it started to bleed over…"

He went on to tell his father about what happened in Medellín. Of how responsible he felt that you became a target for reprisals from Stechner and the cartel. Explained how guilty you felt about it having been too much of a stress on your grandmother. He even told him about what happened at the funeral – how your life in Colombia had become just him and your work. And how his departure had seemingly caused a chain reaction of events that led to you quitting whilst taking down the CIA station chief for what he'd done to you both.

"…I should've gone to Medellín. If I'd gone to talk to her family there, maybe…" Javier had sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration while smacking his palm down on his thigh before pulling himself up to stand. "I don't even know if it would've mattered—"

Chucho clapped a firm hand onto his shoulder and shook him. "Javier, you can't go on beating yourself up. Everything happens for a reason," his father assured, and added assertively, "Punishing yourself is not going to change what's happened, so if you want to do something about things now, then go on and do it."

Pensively, Javi took his words to heart, and spent the rest of the day thinking on what he could do. An idea came to him when he was washing the dishes after dinner that night. Once he was back in his bedroom, he dug through his boxes for his worn, pocket-sized address book, and then rushed back down the stairs to the phone.

He dialed the number listed for the contact, and held his breath.

The long-distance call ended with a dial tone alerting that the number couldn't be reached. Annoyed, Javier had flipped through pages to find Trujillo's contact information next.

After a few rings, the CNP officer answered.

"—Damn, Peñita! Nice to hear that you're alive," the jovial man had hazed.

"Yeah, haven't been knocked off yet. Listen, sorry to call out of the blue like this, but I was hoping you could do me a favor…"

He'd asked the man if he'd heard from you. Trujillo had explained how he'd helped you with the statement and on-the-record attestation of what happened, but that he hadn't heard from you since. Javier told him he'd tried calling the Medellín house number, but that it seemed to be disconnected. Agreeing to go by and see, Trujillo had called him at the end of the day with the news.

"—Sorry, Peñita. The front gate was locked. One of the neighbors came out and said they were away on a trip. Said it was a belated honeymoon getaway – that they flew out for the holidays. They didn't have a contact number, but said they were supposed to come back after the new year."

Discouraged, Javier had thanked the man before saying his farewell and hanging up.

His father had been in the living room, reading the evening paper while sat in his recliner, when he came in from the kitchen and sat heavily on the couch.

"Son. Maybe it's time to not carry this torch any longer?" Chucho had delicately suggested once he folded the paper down and seen how sulky Javi was. Said sulky expression hardened into a glower at his words, so he pressed, "I mean...she did send your things here. Was there a note? If she wanted you to reach out to her, wouldn't she have written down a way to reach her?"

Frowning, Javi had blurted, "No, but my shirt is gone."

Thick brows furrowing in confusion, his father leaned forward to drawl, "Your…shirt?"

Feeling like a daft fool for saying it out loud, Javier's hands fidgeted as he tried to explain, "She sent all my things, except for my shirt – my old gray college shirt. The one with the school emblem on the front. I just, I don't know…I just can't help thinking it means something. That she kept it…Jesus Christ, I sound like a moron—"

"Mijo."

Looking over at his father and seeing his wry smirk, Javi huffed and sunk heavily into the back of the sofa's cushion, waiting for the inevitable sage wisdom he was about to hear.

"She sounds like a spirited, confident woman who is deliberate about her choices. If you think she kept it? Well, maybe she had a reason to. But until you get to ask her yourself? Best to not twist yourself up over it."

Well…shit.

Javier couldn't find fault in that argument. So, he didn't, and thanks to it, he was able to get his head on straight and focus on what was before him, for the time being.

Aside from sexually starving himself while living back at home in his childhood bedroom, overall, Javier had gotten used to life back on the ranch, and since his trip to the DEA field office, he nor his father had seen another smuggler ferrying up the waters that skirted their property since. It was a small victory he'd needed, and had sent a message all the way back to D.C. So much so, that while Spencer had ceased "checking in" on him, he'd still have junior agents periodically call the house and try to pitch him on certain leadership opportunities opening up in the agency throughout the most sought-after zones for being stationed.

Every time, he'd thank the rookie and just hang up.

Really, the only thing that still hung on him like a weight he couldn't get free of, was his guilt and regret about how terribly things ended with you.

Heart heavy, he'd poured his anger into the pit in his gut – used it to fuel other parts of him that he needed to get him through the hard days.

But, at night…the longing was his mistress. It was never far away, no matter how much he tried to get away from it.

Before long, though, things had stabilized for him. He'd taken to splitting up his time working on the ranch with his father, and after being cajoled by Manny to listen in on a few task force meetings between the Sheriff's department and Border Patrol, Javier had gotten roped into being a consultant for the department. It fed his need for feeling useful, and kept him sharp, as well as helped him keep an eye on the stepped-up enforcement in the region.

It also helped him find a space for himself to be back in Laredo, and to let himself fit in, especially when it came to leaving the trauma of Colombia behind to ground himself in the normal routine of stress-free living. Old habits were able to be set aside for older pursuits, like being social with his buddies and being cajoled into best friend and best man duties.

Still, though, the longing always waited for him; for the right moment to wrap its arms tight and tow him back.

The day of Manny's wedding had been an apt occasion for it to ensnare around him.

He'd woken up early to get his morning run in before he'd be back to help his father with the feed and shoveling the stalls in the stable clean, but found himself staring up at the ceiling in the still dark before dawn, ignoring his cock throbbing for him to take the edge off.

Grumpily, Javi had tossed the covers off of himself and padded out of his bedroom into the bathroom adjacent out in the upstairs hall. The cold shower woke him up further, as did the chore of relieving his sexual desire.

Sure, this wasn't new, and he was always horny, but he'd made the mistake of watching that damned movie the night before – which only exacerbated his longing, and it had made his mind run amuck with salacious filth. He'd jacked off like a goddamned hard-up teen to the fantasies the movie had bloomed in his mind's eye, and even afterwards, he burned with desire to make those fantasies reality.

Could anyone really blame him? It'd been months since he'd had sex with anyone, and no matter how much he'd tried to ignore his yearning – to find other distractions, he'd end up with a foggy brain. He'd striven to keep the lust at bay – to turn it into drive for other things.

But when he'd seen the Body Heat cover jacket in the rental store, he couldn't pass up the chance to watch the movie that had made such an impression on you. And then he couldn't stop from clearing his foggy thoughts with the debauchery of his fantasies, all starring you, wearing that hot dress and begging him to fuck you the way Kathleen Turner did.

He was paying for it now.

The routine of jerking off until he spilled in his hand and let the mess swirl down the drain with the rest of his soap suds was not his favorite, but it was a necessary evil for the busy day he had ahead of him.

As he pulls on his gym sweats, his mind reconstructed the dream he'd had of you. He made himself shake his head to loosen the hold of the emotion cresting up in him when he pictured you across the mezzanine, looking so scared.

Most nights, he would fall asleep thinking about you, and when he'd roll over and reach for you across the bed, the panic that would drift across his unconscious would kick him awake. He'd struggle to settle his wired mind and remind himself.

You're home. She's not here.

When he'd just toss and turn, the comfort he'd always seek would be to pull the photos from the clay knick-knack box set on his nightstand. Under the dim moonlight that would come through his windows, he'd gaze at your picture and reminisce about all the amazing, wonderful times you both shared.

And on nights he was surly or wound up, yearning for your naked curves to be snuggled up against him – for your alluring scent and the heat it flooded through his bloodstream, he'd retrieve the panties from the gap between the mattress and box spring.

Reminded to grab the trash bag out of the wastebasket and chuck it in the can outside while on his way to his truck, Javi made a note of needing to stop at the drugstore on his way back as he opened the driver door of the truck and tossed in his gym bag.

Twenty minutes later, he was pulling into a spot in front of the track field to meet Manny. He'd skipped shaving, so his features were covered in dark growth, minus the few errant patches in his beard, as he scrubbed his hand idly over his jaw before stifling a yawn into his palm as he climbed out of the truck with his gym bag to greet his buddy who was already stretching next to his blue Bronco.

The man was jittery with nerves, but overall excited for the impending nuptials, so they'd made their way to the well-worn track field behind their old high school and got their run in.

Since they'd started the ritual – well, more like since Manny had hounded Javier to join him on his runs months prior – he'd noticed his stamina had vastly improved, and it would take several laps now before he got winded. It also helped that he'd quit smoking and drinking. Well, drinking as much as he'd used to, anyway.

The cigarette cravings had waned in severity over time thanks to the occasional nicotine gum fix, but really, all his unhealthy habits had been discarded – the impulsive gratification that each of his vices had once given him substituted for the gains he'd get in redirecting his cravings into other things.

Working out had never been his favorite thing to do, but Manny had coerced him into the YMCA for some weights and 20-minute punching bag workouts on days they couldn't make it out to the track. It had all become a better way to decompress and expend his destructive energy and curb his tempestuous desires – scratched the itch and helped him get the high he used to get from sex with the endorphins that would rush through him after a hearty workout. And, he'd grown to look forward to the cathartic release and mellow calm that would come over him after.

Sure, Manny hazing him about getting a little soft in his middle from no longer being an active field agent when he was down in Colombia did not hurt in spurring his motivation to work at it.

"Whew! I needed this run, hermano," Manny is exhaling jovially as he sits at the bottom of the bleacher and catches his breath.

"Needed the practice in case you decide to book it later, you mean?" Javi quips as he wiped the sweat from his brow with his ratty gym towel before grabbing his water bottle, snorting when Manny shoved him with an irreverent scoff.

"Coño, carnal, we both know the runaway groom is you, not me!" Manny drawled in his playful lamenting singsong before snickering, "At least you'll fit in your spiffy suit, pendejo."

Javier laughed out. "Alright, fresa, I'll pick your ass up later," is his deriding chuckle as he grabbed his keys out of the duffle and waved while heading for the parking lot.

"Don't be late!"

Javier is ten minutes early when his father drops him off in front of Manny's folks' place, having agreed to be the designated driver for his rowdy younger brothers, post-reception. He was already dressed in the light gray suit he'd sprung for to spruce up his tired wardrobe, tie and pocket square matching with the rest of the groomsmen, clean-shaven and moustache trimmed while his hair was a bit longer from skipping trips to the barbershop since he'd gotten back to Laredo.

When he entered the house, he found everyone in a state of rushing about, clearly not nearly ready as they should be in order to be at the church on-time.

"Manny! Javi llegó and we're gonna go ahead to the church so Heidi and her family don't think you're skipping out of town," his mother calls out as she simultaneously kisses Javi on the cheek. She shoots him a referential wink too that has Javi pouting amusedly at the veiled reminder of the last man who skipped out of town on his wedding day. "Ah, pobrecito," she chuckles and pats his shoulder as she herds her young daughters and husband out the door. They each greet him in turn, while Manny's mom barks over the sound of the boys roughhousing in the hall, "You boys get it together already!"

"Make sure these knuckleheads don't come in like braying dogs to the church, would you, Javier?" the patriarch of the Miranda clan amusedly remarked as he pulled on his blazer and fiddled with the pocket square.

"Sure thing, sir," Javi chuckles and gives a curt nod when the man ushers the two young girls out to the porch.

Annoyed that no one had acknowledged her last command, Mama Miranda thunders, "John Emanuel Miranda, Michael Samuel Miranda, Thomas Mateo Miranda, Lucas Andrés Miranda – did you hear me?! You better be ready—"

"Ay, mami, we are!" Manny's youngest brother complained back as he ran around them to be the first boy on the porch. "I call shotgun!"

"You go in the back seat, Andrés! Your brother Manny goes in the front with Javi," his mother admonishes as she grabs the keys from the hook and shouts once more, "Hurry up! You're going to be late to your own wedding, Emanuel!"

"I won't, Ma!"

Javi chuckles as he spectates the whirlwind of a family of eight trying to get out the door.

"Carnal, you know how to put this shit on?" Manny was fussing with the cufflinks when Javier lopes over. "Pinche madre, these stupid things—"

He takes them and helps him get them through the fancy cuffs of his crisp dress shirt. Then, he smoothens out the shoulders of his light gray blazer before flicking his silky blue pocket square.

"You look like a real snob, dressed all fancy—" Javi begins to sardonically drawl.

With a mocking scoff, Manny counters, "Hey, I'm trying to impress the in-laws, considering most of them know me as the messenger they wanted to kill when you didn't show up to the chapel the last time—"

"Dude, we gotta go or Ma is gonna kick our asses, so let's go, pendejos!" Matty orders and starts clapping his hands impatiently as he barks, "Let's fucking gooooo!"

Wrangling them all into the Bronco is a feat.

They managed to make it to the church just in time to get filed in and be fussed over by their mother, who straightened collars, slicked back wayward whisps of hair, and hissed at them to behave while the little sisters giggled at their expense and were waiting for her to be done with them so they could sit on the groom's side of the aisle with their father.

Javi took that opportunity to look across the pews, glad to see the place was packed, filled with familiar faces who all seemed excited for the couple. He noticed his father was sitting with his aunt and cousins on the groom's side. He was dressed in his best, hat off and resting on his right knee as he sat semi-sidelong in order to chat with a woman he didn't recognize.

"Who's that?" he asks Manny after tapping his arm with the back of his hand and pointing with his chin.

"Ah, that's Father Benito's younger sister. Remember I told you he was retiring? This'll be the last ceremony he officiates," Manny explains as he nudges Javi to look over by where the organist was. "And that dude? He's gonna be the new Padre. He look familiar?"

Javier squints to make out the tall, muscularly lean man talking to Gladys. Wearing the black shirt and trousers not dissimilar to Father Benito's, but sans the priest collar, he had his hair swept back from his clean-shaven features. Slowly, his mind pictures the man in a blue-and-white varsity jacket, white t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and red Chuck Taylor sneakers. Incredulous, he rumbles, "Wait…is that Gabriel Santiago?"

"Yep! Father Gabriel," Manny chimed before remarking, "Ain't that a trip? He went from captain of the football team to Catholic missionary, and now he's gonna be La Inmaculada's priest!"

"Wow…" Javier balks, elbowing his friend lightly as he snickers, "You're gonna have to give confession to him—"

Scoffing, Manny deadpans wryly, "Dude, it's weird enough to think about my mom telling him her sins. I don't need to think about all the stuff I'm gonna have to omit to him—"

"All right, everyone! Pair up and get ready for the procession," Miss Carmen, the resident Church Lady and boss of these kind of things, orders as she helps everyone link up with their intended escort down the aisle.

Once they're all ready to march down to their places at the altar, Manny looks the most nervous he's been, so Javi put his hand on his shoulder and gives it an irreverent squeeze.

"You ready, hermano?"

Manny sheepishly smiles before nodding and murmuring, "Yeah, I am."

The jitters were gone the minute Heidi appeared once the wedding march music began. Javi watched his best friend look in awe as she walked down, escorted by her father, to the classic procession song played by the organist all the while the snap of cameras echoed in the spacious church.

He could feel the infectious glee from his friend, unable not to smile when they exchanged vows before the priest proclaimed them man and wife.

It wasn't until the wedding reception at Heidi's parent's house, out in their sprawling backward that's decorated with twinkling string lights, with a dance floor in the center of the circumference of big round tables, and the long bridal party table across from the makeshift bar he'd been standing at, that he realized it.

This could've been you.

Huffing, he'd had the first of his three-drink-maximum and watched everyone mingle merrily around the happy couple. Eventually, when the reception was in full swing, the fellas gathering around to razz Manny and shoot the breeze lifted his spirits and managed to block out the melancholy of being stag. Of being smack dab in a happy ceremony not unlike the last one he'd been at with you.

He'd been glancing over to see his father pleasantly talking to the woman he'd seen him conversing with at the church when a hand clapped good-naturedly down on his back.

"—Dude, you check out the bridesmaids? That redhead is killin' me," Dave conspiratorially grouses over at Javi.

"Hm? Nah, I'm on drunk-wranglin' duty for the night," he retorts and nurses his whiskey, raising his brows when Dave snorts brashly at him. "What?"

"Just 'cause the entire Walton clan's here, doesn't mean you can't take a girl home for the night, man," Dave jibes, elbowing Ted to get him to concur. "Amirite?"

"I mean, Lorraine is right over there. I'd hazard to say it'd be fuckin' awkward, bud," Ted drawls in his thick twang, always one to state the obvious.

"So?!" Dave counters, and Javi just shakes his head and looks around for a lifeline. "There are good-looking single gals, and his dumb ass is gonna just stand here sipping his drink like a lonesome ass choirboy 'cause his ex from a hundred years ago is here—?"

"Fuck off, Dave," is Javi's dry retort as he now had to school himself not to look in Lorraine's direction.

After all, it was bad enough they were both at a wedding reception not unlike the one they'd planned on having a decade prior, but the fact he was the best man to the groom who'd just married her cousin after having been the one to cover for Javi when he'd gotten cold feet was not a charming factoid he wanted to take pride in.

"Ah, what're you huevones talking about?" Manny sidled up to the bar with the fellas, having finally pried himself away from his latest mingling marathon with Heidi.

"Just giving Javi shit, per usual," Dave retorts before leaning over to mutter covertly, "Hook a brother up with that cute redhead friend of Heidi's, would yah? I mean, since this guy wants to be a baby angel these days—"

"What're you pig fuckers whispering about?!" Rich brashly exclaims as he suddenly appears on Ted's left side, clearly already toasted.

"Christ Almighty, Rich!" his wife, Jaime, shouted admonishingly at him from the table he'd been sitting at. "Watch your mouth!"

"Sorry!" he called back before whispering, "Now, seriously, what you bitches talkin' bout?"

Javier preemptively elbows Dave in the side, knowing the man's penchant for retorting, 'Your sister,' as a comeback, and thankfully he took the hint.

"Nothing. This one wants to get set up with one of the bridesmaids," Javi answers neutrally as he fans his gaze across the party.

Unlike the other guys, Manny knew why Javier wasn't interested in flirting anyone up, let alone going home with any of the bachelorettes among Heidi's group of friends.

"Alright, everyone, dinner's served!" the maid of honor called out to the crowd, and everyone made their ways to take a seat.

Eventually, it was about that time for the speeches, and as the best man, Javier made his way to the makeshift stage housing the music entertainment for the event, set up on the side from the bridal party's table.

He regales the reception filled with friends and family of the happy couple with the story of how Manny had asked him to introduce him to Heidi, back at a spring fling dance in high school.

"He pointed her out across the gym, and asked, 'What's her name. She's so pretty.' I'd told him, 'Oh, that's Heidi,' and he just looked at me with the most confused, helpless look, and went, 'Hai-what?!'"

Everyone chuckled warmly, while Manny shook his head and grinned.

"After some practice on enunciating her name, he managed to go over and ask her to dance. And for some reason, she said yes," Javi quips, earning a round of laughs from the boys and razzing catcalls from Manny's brothers over the din of the crowd. "I'm glad for it. You two make love look easy, so I raise my glass to you and wish you both all the happiness in the world. To Manny and Heidi," is the conclusion of his toast as he raises his glass for the crowd to collectively cheers the couple.

It's during the maid of honor's speech, when he was picturing you dancing around in that sexy dress you'd worn to your prima's wedding, that his and Lorraine's gazes catch each other, and the unbothered way she smiles at him before glancing back at the cute redhead currently wishing the couple all the best makes Javi feel both off the hook and out of place.

She could've been here with you.

After the toasts, Javi did a lot of people-watching. He noticed his father was in rapt conversation with the people at his table, so he made his way back to the bar for his second drink of the night, having woven through the dancing, socializing attendees to park at the corner and ask for another whiskey.

"Psst! Incomin', Jav," Ted warns from the other corner of the bar.

His brow furrows before he follows the way his friend slid his gaze out to the dance floor.

"Well, fancy meeting you here," Tina practically purrs as she comes over to lean against the bar, glossy pink lips smiling and lashes batting at Javier while she fluffed her curly mane over one shoulder. She was wearing a low-cut, short lavender dress with white daisies printed on it, and she pushed her cleavage to flaunt her perky bosom as she silkily drawls, "How yah been, Javi? You didn't come say hello."

He internally curses.

"Well, we're saying hello now," he evenly counters before sipping his whiskey.

"Aww, c'mon, you gonna be like that?" Tina teases as she sidles closer. "I'll have what he's having," she tells the bartender without even giving the man a cursory look, too busy giving Javi her sultriest stare before pursing her lips and whispering, "You look all on your lonesome. Richie said you're playing the designated driver?"

"Yep," is his aloof retort as he fanned his gaze over for any kind of reprieve – some sort of excuse to get the hell out of this conversation with her. "Speaking of which, I should go check on Manny's brothers—"

"Why you always gotta play hard to get with me?" Tina sighs, not interested in feigning any longer as she gives him a doe-eyed look after downing her whiskey in one shot. "We had fun, so let's have fun again tonight," is her proposition as she caresses her hand up his forearm.

Javi can feel all the busy-body eyes watching on all around them, and with a sharp look over at the table Rich is at, he mutters, "I'm busy tonight, Tina."

"You? C'mon, Jav. We both know you're never too busy to fit in a good fuck," she chimes brazenly, and Javier's mortification burns a flush up his neck when he sees Ted's jaw drop from his eavesdropping vantage point.

In a flat grumble, he insists, "I am busy—"

With daring charm, Tina tosses her girlish curls back over her shoulder before murmuring, "You can put the good boy act aside for tonight and come over to my place, where you can be as bad as you want—"

"Tina!" Manny appears, clearly toasty from all the champagne his brothers were taking turns overpouring in his glass, and smiling as he boisterously patted the bar top, making a funny face at her before noticing how annoyed Javier looked. "Am I interrupting—?"

"Nope—"

"Yep, yah are, but I love you Manny, so help me out here and tell Javi he's being such a stick in da mud," Tina accuses haughtily. "He's single, I'm single—"

"Technically you're separated, no?" Manny cut in knowingly.

"Same thing!" she's huffing before putting a hand at her hip to scathe, "He's over here making me pull teeth, when we could be going somewhere and having a repeat of the rumpus room—"

"Jesus Christ, Tina – it ain't happening," Javier finally snaps curtly.

She turns on him and narrows her doe-eyes with cunning, the way a cat would when it's cornered its prey. "Oh? You really are cute when you get all huffy," was her drawled musing as she practically slinked up against him to murmur alluringly, "But I know how you are when you're all surly, baby. Only way to remedy it is to go somewhere, get me out of this lil' dress, and have your way with me. You can't turn something that good down."

Manny and Ted exchange looks of awe at how shameless she's being, and just as she began to smile triumphantly at them for getting them nonplussed, Javier pointedly slid his empty glass across the bar top and shifts away dismissively from her before sneering flippantly, "Yeah? Watch me."

Gob smacked, she watches him pat Manny on the back and exit to march over to the table Rich and Jaime were in order to mutter in the dirty blonde's ear something before going off to sit with his family for the rest of the night until it was time to collect the Miranda boys and drive them home.

"Really, Tina?!" Jaime shouted over at her sister-in-law. "Come sit down before you make a fool out of yourself some more!"

Turning red with consternation, the haughty woman scoffed and stomped away, shoving past Dave as she huffed and puffed to go sit on the patio in a snit.

"What the—what I miss?" Dave deadpans to Manny and Ted – having just returned from getting the redhead's number – while Jaime declared snippily to Rich that it was time for all of them to call it a night.

Once Javier had dropped off the boys at the Miranda's ranch, he'd jumped into the pickup with his father once the elder Peña had pulled up after pit-stopping at his aunt's in the meantime.

"That was a nice wedding," his father had remarked over the Country song playing on the radio, as he drove.

"Yeah," is Javi's terse mutter. He'd crossed his arms to keep his hands from fidgeting or his fingers from thrumming impulsively despite himself. With a sidelong glance, he found himself remarking, "You were talking to that lady for a while."

"Hmm?" his father aloofly grunts, as if he didn't hear the curiosity in his son's tone.

"Manny said she was Father Benito's sister?" he queries, gaze narrowing when his father raised his brows neutrally. "Didn't catch her name."

"Idalia Suarez. Very nice lady," Chucho retorts, spectacles slipping down his nose before he adjusts them. "She's helping the Padre move out of the rectory."

A lull in conversation fell between them as Chucho turned onto the road that led home.

"Lorraine came by our table and said hello," is his father's idle remark.

"That's nice," Javi sighs tiredly, head turned to watch the night zoom past the passenger window.

Humming, Chucho remarks, "It's funny, how small the world is, that Manny and Heidi were on the separate factions and still made it work."

"Jeez, Pop, remind me of what a bastard I was some more, why don't yah," Javier grumbles, finally unfurling from his tense cross-armed funk to tug the knot of his tie loose while he rubbed at his temples testily.

"The only one who thinks that is you, Javier. No one else is harboring a grudge, so it's high time you let it go yourself, sabes?" is his father's earnest barb, frowning now.

Sulkily, Javi went silent, propping his cheek against his fist and leaning moodily into the side of the door all the way home.

Yeah, sure…still a bastard in other ways, though…

***

It was an interesting day for you.

One you hadn't anticipated, and were now floundering to rationalize why you felt so detached and out of sorts regarding it.

The time around the holidays had been both hectic and disarming, filled with late nights working up until all the government workers went on their long Christmas vacations that would last through Three Kings Day. Your father had surprised you by inviting your family from Medellín for a honeymoon/holiday trip to the island, and you'd spent as much time as you could showing them the sights and spending quality time with everyone before they flew back to Colombia a few days after New Year's.

New Year's Eve had been spent throwing a party and hosting Sasha at your place, and unsurprisingly hanging out with Marc, who'd been home for the holidays. The two made a cute couple, and no matter how huffy Sasha would get when you teased him after, he wouldn't deny he was really into Marc. So much so, that when it was time for him to leave, he'd flown back to Miami with Marc, and assured you he'd be back for a longer visit soon.

While it'd been fun to have the wonderful distractions, you did feel like there was still a lot for you to unpack from a personal standpoint, regarding your new normal.

You still felt like you were getting your bearings again – being in a director position. But aside from that, there was the juggling of your personal expectations in regards to needing to seamlessly settle back into a life of hustling and bustling on the island. Not to mention the tightrope-style relationship you were trying to keep copacetic between you and your father.

Really, if it weren't for Ellis and Anita, you're sure you would've spent the bulk of your free time being an antisocial Hun in your apartment more than you'd already been.

They'd both settled into life in Puerto Rico splendidly. Ellis loved his job, and was over the moon being a new father. Anita was thankful to have a small village helping her balance going back to teaching and new mommy life, and you were ecstatic about being the surrogate tía to the precious baby girl.

Little Delilah Rose was the most obnoxiously cutest baby you've ever seen. She had Ellis' eyes, Anita's facial features, and her father's silly smile, but frowned just like her mother when she was cranky. She had so much personality for only being a couple months old, and you delighted in playing peek-a-boo with her while Ellis ran around tending to the house and Anita got a nap break. Anita's parents lived with them – their charming house having a convenient in-law unit in the back that made it oh-so-convenient for grandma and grandpa to relieve the exhausted parents when it was time to go back to work.

While Anita was teaching English at an elite private school in El Condado, you and Ellis were both working at the Federal Building adjacent the main U.S. Federal courthouse on the island. He was the head of the Telecommunications department, and you were overseeing all Digital Information Operations across federal agencies stationed in the U.S. territory. The Department of State wanted a bigger footprint in the region, and had expanded their workforce in the U.S. territory to help facilitate that.

The job offer had been too good to pass up, and while you'd had serious reservations about going back to work for the federal government, you'd risen to the opportunity to work virtually independently – to build the team and run the operations as you saw fit. There was no ambassador to report to, and you had carte blanche to set policies and procedures for the level of efficiency you deemed – to set the standard of efficacy rather than adhere to dated expectations.

Ironically, your role was so versatile that you'd ended up being invited to a lot of local government functions to liaison for other federal officials, and with the new administration being so pro-statehood, you'd felt encouraged to do more local outreach when staffing your department, as well as to represent the positive programs and initiatives the Federal office was partnering on throughout the island.

That morning, one such a partnership, facilitated by your next-door neighbor and TV anchor, Jodalys Rivera, led to you sitting on the soundstage in the WAPA-TV studios with her during her morning news show's segment. The stage lights had been bright and made you feel like a bug under a heat lamp, but you'd mustered the confidence and poise to chat with her about the computer science recruitment program the Federal office was sponsoring in local public schools around the island.

The segment aired right before the highly-rated afternoon variety show hour, so you assumed it would be a great opportunity to spread awareness of the program.

What you didn't know was just who'd been intently watching you on the segment, from the comfort of his bed in his ritzy beach house.

The remnants of the playboy shindig from the night prior were strewn about the room or stretched out on the divan, sound asleep, all while the smoke from his joint curled up to the ceiling. He didn't pay any of it any mind. Not when his attention was rapt to the television in the built-in entertainment center across from where he was lounging – back against the headboard while the black silk sheet clung to his waist.

His green eyes had been intently fixated on your TV smile and charming pitch to the camera before you'd turned to Jodalys and scrunched your nose cutely at her comment about needing more exceptional Puerto Rican women working in tech.

Later that day and after the interview was replayed in the early evening, Zoraida had called and crooned your praises before cajoling you to agree to come out that night for the big street festival in El Viejo San Juan.

It's where you're at now, begrudgingly putting up with the crush of the rowdy and convivial crowds while you wait for her to come back from working the room of admirers who'd recognized her when you'd both trekked into the wine bar. You figured it served you right for going out with a social butterfly – and former Miss Puerto Rico – like Zoraida Figueroa. She was one of your oldest friends, though, so you felt like you needed to make an effort and not be the antisocial hermit you'd preferred being since you'd moved back to the island. But it didn't mean your mind was going to stop wandering to other more important matters you needed to make time to sort.

You'd been thinking about the next changes you'd be implementing operationally back at the office when Zoraida had roused your attention back to the bar celebrating the bustling street fiestas she'd dragged you out to – placing the Cuba libre in front of you before she hitched her arm around your shoulders and shook you good-naturedly.

"Nena, quit spacing out thinking about work!" she playfully admonished. "You haven't been to Las Fiestas SanSe in ages, so I'm taking you on the bar crawl once you finish that drink—"

"Ugh, girl – I'm tired. Last thing I wanna do is go back into those crowded streets to chinchorrear!" you complain, but dutifully take a long pull of your drink.

"Oh, c'mon! Naida and Tayra said they'd meet us later at Los Trés Cuernos—"

"Really?! That place is a dive, Zory. I'm not in the mood for chichaítos—"

"Ay, you're such a buzzkill! And here I was hoping you having your TV moment would've pepped you up to have some fun tonight," your friend bemoans before finishing her vodka and cranberry. "Oh! We could go to that new club that overlooks El Malecón," she exclaims over the loud ambiance in the bar. "It's supposed to be the place to be now in Old San Juan—"

"Which means it'll be impossible to get into," you counter and waved it off as an option while you finish your drink.

"Eh, hello?! What you sayin', that I got no name recognition or something?" she scoffs and arches her eyebrow sassily.

Shaking your head ruefully, you relent, and end up meeting the other girls at the dive bar to catch up before heading as a clique up the bustling cobble-stoned streets to the hotspot.

La Galería Exodus was a three-story building with a rooftop cabana and bar that you could see was jumping from the street-level as you all walked across the narrow intersection to the corner where the velvet rope line was already queued up around all the way down the opposite block. The marquee was a neon sign kaleidoscope that flared a bewitching aura over the street, and the sexy script of the club's name stood out on the picturesque Spanish architecture that dominated the islet's buildings and thoroughfares.

You were dubious of the chance that even Zoraida would have the pull to jump the line – but before she even strutted up to the doorman, a guy wearing dark shades and a discerning frown had tapped the burly bouncer twice on the back of the shoulder.

"Damas, adelante," the man had greeted before shifting the barrier of the stanchion aside to let you all through.

You didn't think you were particularly dressed right for the club, but figured the chevron-patterned blue, silver and black cami dress and block heels you had on was just passing.

"See?! Told you," Zoraida confidently crows as she struts ahead into the eccentrically-lit foyer of the club.

After a few minutes wandering through the space, you understood why it was called 'The Gallery Exodus.' It was a lux series of bars, dance floors, booths and anterooms that felt like they melded from the underground club scene vibe into psychedelic tropical expanses with dancers behind glass vestibules that reminded you of the Amsterdam redlight district. The music and lighting shifted as you traversed the different levels, and so did the ambiance. One escape after another.

It was definitely unlike any club you'd been to, and after snagging drinks, your clique moves through the different levels to make your ways up to the rooftop.

As you go, you notice the glitterati of entertainment and media have made the trendy spot their new ground for mingling. Famous athletes, musicians, and late-night personalities are at home in the sea of gyrating beautiful people.

You feel so out of place.

By the time you got to the rooftop, the fresh, balmy air felt good, and while your friends queue up at the bar, you wander over to the veranda to look out at the Atlantic Ocean that resembles rolling dark velvet under the dim moonlight and the twinkling lights of the dwellings down in La Perla.

The music up here was cool, moody, and filled with synth, and your fingers idly tap the stem of your martini glass, following the beat to the beginning of a song you'd only heard a few times, but knew the band very well.

Words like violence Break the silence Come crashing in Into my little world Painful to me Pierce right through me Can't you understand? Oh, my little girl

Finishing the last sip of your drink and setting the glass aside on the long tavern-like counter angled in the corner next to the veranda, you turn to check on the girls over at the bar, when your eyes scan over a particular section of the cabana.

Your gaze landed on the figure of someone that stands out in your mind. At first you think it's because of how dapperly dressed he is, but then the way he slants his shoulders when his green-eyed stare lands on you?

No…it can't be.

Tensely, your eyes crinkle as your gaze remains on the well-dressed man in the satin shine onyx blazer, matching trousers, and midnight blue polo shirt, as he turned fully to face you head on.

All I ever wanted All I ever needed Is here in my arms Words are very unnecessary They can only do harm

He seems to have recognized you, and excused himself from the group orbiting him in order to lope over towards you, gin and tonic in his right hand while he slips his left into his tailored trouser pocket.

The wave of anxiety has stacked up quickly in you, feeling pinned to your spot and unable to cobble together a rational, well-adjusted reason to not just flee.

Stop acting like you've lost control.

Before you know it, he's standing tall and broad-shouldered in front of you, looking cool and sly as you remembered, but now his features look more rugged thanks to the trim goatee and neat sideburns accentuating his angular jaw.

"Well, I thought that was you, doncellita."

Adjusting the strap of your little purse higher on your bare shoulder, you smile impartially before tucking your undulating locks behind your ear from the breeze sifting across the rooftop.

"Roman," you greet neutrally, trying not to let the tension make you fidget under his piercing green gaze. "Funny to run into you here," is your glib quip, considering how you'd first met at a nightclub all those years ago.

"Hah, right? Guess we just gravitate to where the best time to be had always is," he croons in his tenor rhapsodic drawl, his smile coy before adding in a low murmur, "This is my place."

You're not surprised.

"Ah, that's nice," you retort, giving him a wan smile. "You always did want your own club—"

"Clubs," he corrects, snickering sardonically as he sidles up to you to lean against the banister of the veranda casually. "I own this place, and a few others. But my day job is running the empresa—"

You saw from the corner of your eye your friends finally get their drinks at the bar, and decided to segue out of whatever this conversation is with your ex. So, you cut in aloofly, "Glad to hear it. My friends are looking for me, and I'd hate for you to neglect yours, so have a good night, Roman—"

"C'mon, chavalita, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Roman assures with sincerity in his tone, thick brows lamenting as he confesses, "I know it wasn't the best of circumstances when we parted ways, but I want you to know how sorry I am – that I was a complete bastard for how I was then. And, that there's no hard feelings—"

"Oh, is that a fact," you sarcastically zing.

"I was going to say, no hard feelings on my end, lengüetera," he wryly continues, lips quirking in that charmingly endearing way you remember, his eyes crinkling as he swept his thick, tapered fingers through his hair after a particular breeze gusted his dark locks to fan across his forehead. "But, yeah, I totally deserve your skepticism."

That softens you, and you relax in your stance. "That was a long time ago, so, no use in holding grudges," is your mellow retort before mustering a one-shouldered, shrug. "Anyway, I won't keep you—"

"You're not, but I get it, clavelina," is his tenor purr before he turns to see your friends had spotted you both chatting, so he set his drink aside on the taberna counter with your empty glass in order to rest his hand on the banister as he conspiratorially leaned in and petitions, "I don't want to overstep, but would you ever be open to talking again? I mean, somewhere more chill than this? I'd like to do lunch, o sentarnos pa' café – anything you'd like."

Part of you warred with how vehemently to tell him off, but a small, insecure feeling countered that. I mean…you were just as guilty for how bad it all got. You can't just make him the villain. People change—

"Look, no pressure, miramelinda," Roman relents, demeanor easygoing as he shrugs and smiles before pulling a sleek, engraved card from his pocket and offering it while he remarks, "I'll be away on business for a while, but maybe when I get back, we can grab a drink and catch up?"

Against the grudge-holding, better judgement-having part of you, a cool nod of your head precedes you accepting his business card.

"It was great seeing you," is his charming, soporific drawl, green eyes holding yours as he collected his drink, but then someone called his name, so he turned and gestured he was on his way back before he offers coolly, "Disfruta las fiestas, cielito."

After he loped off coolly to rejoin the orbit of the people at the cabana, you wander back to the girls, who were in varying states of befuddled confusion before Zoraida announced, "Nos vamos."

Naida and Tayra exchange looks before agreeing, and soon you were all trekking out of the club and down the intersection en route for the main traffic artery of the islet to head for a late night kiosko to nosh.

"—Well, I know some of his buddies. A lot of people say he really changed after his mother passed away. His father retired suddenly, so he took over running the firm, and rumor is he travels to Spain and Miami a lot for work, but he has tons of properties around the island," Tayra Cruz, who works as a print-ad buyer for all the big publications on the island, tells you as you all clambered out of the taxi.

"Who cares? Tiene cojones – to walk up to her like nothing," Naida Neruda, who works in real estate and interior design, was sneering while you all queued up to order your late-night sandwiches and frituras.

"I mean…we were in his club, so," you remark as you dig in your purse for your cash.

"I'm sorry, nena. I had no idea he owned it. If I'd known, I would've pushed to go somewhere else—" Zoraida begins to lament as she paid for your food and hers, which had you scoffing. "Mira, least I can do is treat you after that."

Snickering, you agreed, then follow the girls to sit at the patio table to eat and decompress from the night before you'd all part ways.

Half hour later, when you and Zoraida pulled up in the cab to the front of your condo building, she apologized again, so you wave her off and muse, "Hey, people change. The Roman from back then would've done everything to get a rise out of me. He did seem different—"

"You're not thinking of calling him, are you?!" Zoraida queries sharply.

"Of course not!" you assure before kissing her cheek and shimmying across the seat to exit the taxi. "Anyway, te llamo después," is your parting promise as you say goodnight and head up to your fourth-floor apartment.

Once inside your apartment, you toss your purse aside and go shower, not giving the night any more thought.

Or, at least, you'd intended not to think about it, but of course, your mind was the ultimate saboteur, and you end up dreaming of speeding down a dark highway, with only the green kilometer markers flying by as the drone of the beat from Duran Duran's "Girls on Film" echoes in the mist that fills the interior of the sportscar you're trapped in.

***

He'd been pensive the entire workout, giving only a few one-word answers whenever Manny said something to him in between sets.

It wasn't until his best friend paused in spotting him while he was at the bench press that his faraway gaze cleared enough to notice the glower he was getting.

"Earth to Javi," is his deadpan as he puts his hands on his hips. "I asked how much you want me to add to the barbell, and you said, 'Sure'."

"Fuck…sorry. Just was thinking about something," Javi sighs and sits up on the bench to wipe at his sweaty forehead.

"Yeah, well, maybe you should take a break, hermano," Manny suggests as he nudges Javi's shoulder and gestures for him to go sit in the cool down section. "I'll take care of the equipment."

Nodding, Javi got up from the bench and wandered over to where the water fountain was while Manny sprayed down everything and wiped it clean for the next users.

While Javi drank greedily from the fountain, he didn't notice when someone approached to sit on a nearby bench to tie their shoelace. When he turned and went to stretch his tired muscles by reaching his arms above his head before rolling the tension from his shoulders, he and the other gymgoer locked eyes and ended up staring. Recognition didn't hit him as quickly as it did the other man, who smiled broadly at him.

"Javier Peña, right?"

Squinting, Javi nodded before it finally dawned on him. "Oh, shit, hey Gabriel—sorry, I mean, Father Gabriel—" Javi was fumbling as he absently slicked his hair back from sticking to his forehead, pausing to correct, "Uh, do I call you Padre instead?"

"Hah, Gabriel is fine!" is his chuckled assurance as he stands and shakes hands with Javi. "How've yah been?"

"Good. How about you?" Javi politely carries on conversationally, secretly hoping Manny will come save him and give him an excuse to segue away.

"I've been great! Finally settled in at the church. Really enjoying getting to know everyone in the congregation," Gabriel jovially remarks as he scoots to sit on the end of the bench in order to offer Javi a seat. "I've had great conversation with you dad. Glad to hear everything's going well on the ranch. You've been busy consulting with the sheriff's office?"

When Javi glances over his shoulder and doesn't spot Manny anywhere nearby, unaware the man has scampered off to the restroom, he decides it would be rude not to sit and chat. So, he takes a seat at the other end of the bench as he rubs the tension out of the back of his neck.

"Uh, yeah. Just on task force stuff. I have a lot of experience with that," Javi retorts, eyes darting around looking for a clock so he could point out the time and use it as an excuse to mosey off.

"Yeah, I heard you joined the DEA. That you just came back from Colombia," Gabriel remarks, adding sardonically, "And yeah, the stream from the rumor mill in town even makes it to the church, but I won't bug you about that stuff."

Snorting and shooting him a sidelong glance, Javi mutters sarcastically, "Oh, great. I can only imagine what the church tías think about me, Padre."

Chuckling at that, Gabriel shrugs good-naturedly. "Nothing any worse than what they used to whisper about me, back in the day," is his irreverent quip. At Javier's humored grunt, Gabriel queries, "I hope that's not enough to keep you from coming to mass."

There it is.

"No, it's general indifference. It started being a pretty empty ritual – going to church. Haven't bothered with it," Javi flippantly remarks as he leans back against the cement wall and crosses his arms.

Not taking any umbrage, Gabriel twists his lips musingly and nods. "I guess that's fair, for someone who's been through what you have," is his thoughtful retort.

Javier's shoulders wind back and his jaw ticks tight.

"Like I said – the rumor mill," Gabriel shrugs. "But look, I get it. Having a priest not so much older than you, trying to 'be your shepherd'? To entice you back to Sunday mass? That's gotta be weird—"

"I mean, it's more that said priest used to be the mack-daddy of my high school and just so happened to take someone I dated to formal after she turned me down, that makes it a little weird. But sure, being cajoled into something I haven't done since…well, in a while, doesn't really make me warm and fuzzy," Javier derides with snarky attitude as he finally looks around again and spots Manny preparing to do some pullups. "Anyway—"

"Don't hold my ol' ladies' man ways against me being your priest, now," Gabriel jokes, halting Javi in his storm off. "And, word is, you and Lorraine weren't really destined to end up together anyway."

Javi scoffs contrivedly, "Wow. Low blow, Padre. Next you'll tell me it was all god's plan, and I shouldn't feel too bad about where things stand now – how everything netted out, right?"

"Well…is that how you feel?" Gabriel inquires while he fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt.

"I—" Javi's train of thought derails, and he clams up, expression shuttering in as he bows his head and stares at his beat-up workout sneakers. "Sorry. That was out of line…"

Humming lightly, Gabriel crossed his leg over his knee before leaning back into the wall casually.

"Sounds like you have a lot on your mind, Jav," is the priest's easygoing observation. "I know it isn't easy, talking stuff out. And I get not wanting to unburden yourself, least of all to a priest at confession. So, if you ever need to talk? Or hell – if you just want to vent some more high school resentments, give me a call," Gabriel is remarking coolly as he dips sideways to retrieve a card from his duffle and hands it to Javi. "We can shoot the shit over coffee."

Disarmed, Javier takes the card and looks at it, feeling something reassuring unfurl in him.

The chat meetups with Gabriel help him get out of his head during times when he feels at critical mass with his frustrations, and while it'd started as begrudging unburdening over coffee at the late-night diner, before long, the man started meeting him and Manny for jogs around the track or during their gym sessions, and afterward during the cool down period, they'd all talk. Slowly, he'd let his guard down with the man, who'd given him just as much background about what had brought him to wear the priest's collar. It was never a confession-session, and they never discussed faith, or when Javi had lost his, but hearing how Gabriel had found his calling, and the perspective shift for him, surprisingly gave Javier comfort.

Still, during times it was just him and Gabriel, the discussion inevitably veered to the topic of Colombia – of what happened there, and his resentment towards everything. Especially regarding how he let things fall apart with you. Really, the topic of you always makes him feel so much regret. And every time, Gabriel would smirk and quirk his brows at him before remarking, "It ain't over until it's over."

Javier wonders why he'd feel so sure about that.

It's what he's ruminating about now as he arrives at the courthouse in Miami. He'd only agreed to fly in for the trial because of the promise that this time, he'd really enjoy the outcome.

And Javier certainly had.

Having sat at the back of the court gallery, he'd enjoyed hearing the federal judge approve the order to extradite Gilberto and Miguel Rodríguez Orejuela into a maximum-security prison in North Carolina. This was, of course, after Guillermo Pallomari had testified to the voracity of the men having means of flight out of the Colombian prison they were currently lofting about in – point bolstered by the fact Chepe Santacruz had literally paid to be broken out of prison with the help of the guards.

The finer details of Proceso 8000 had been explained to him that morning by the lead DOJ prosecutor, and hearing the latest updates of the Cali cartel's downfall had been a salve to his still-battered ego. He took sadistic pleasure in hearing the gorier details.

Chepe Santacruz had broken out of prison, only to be killed and left like a dead dog in the street, likely by the AUC. And Pacho Herrera has been gunned down in La Picota.

It was the kind of poetic justice Javier felt validated some of the hell those fuckers had caused.

That night, in better spirits, Javi had called Steve and gotten an invite to dinner at the house. He hadn't expected to show up at the cute lime green abode with the white porch, and have his old partner open the door with a baby girl hitched above his hip while Olivia eagerly totted over to say hello.

He was still astounded while he sat at the dining table and listened to Steve explain how he and Connie had come back from a trip to Colombia in order to go back to Medellín to get Olivia's official birth certificate and adoption records for her to start school.

"—And there I am, entertaining the kid from going postal on the place, when Connie sees the baby get admitted to the orphanage. So yeah, we went for paperwork and came back with Isabel here," Steve had been regaling while he bounced the baby on his knee, smiling when Connie came in with the plates of spaghetti and scoffed at him. "What?! That's exactly how it went down—"

"He's forgetting to mention how he held her and got all choked up," Connie counters amusedly before placing a plate in front of Javier and picking up Olivia to sit her on her lap so she could help her practice eating with a fork.

"He's always been a softie," Javi quips and winked at Connie conspiratorially.

"Real cute. Make yourself useful and hold her while I go grab something," Steve grumbles sardonically as he handed Javi the baby.

A bit skittish, Javi tried to delicately maneuver her in his arms when she squirmed and made an impatiently little gurgle. "Uh, Con?" he muses when the baby fidgets to sit up in his arms in order to peer at Javi with big, innocent eyes.

"You're alright! She's just curious," Connie assures while she helps Olivia use her napkin to clean her marinara-covered fingers.

Javier was nervous that the baby would burst into tears at any moment, but surprisingly, the tyke only stared at him sweetly before exploringly reaching her little hand up to brush his mouth, as if intrigued by his moustache. He grunted a cooing sound that seemed to comfort the baby, because she curled up against him and quit squirming for purchase.

"Aww, she likes you, see?" Connie fawns while Steve came back in with a folder he drops onto the table before sitting in his chair adjacent his old partner. "Look how cute, hun."

"D'awww, Jav. I think you missed your calling, Mr. Mom," Steve chuckles as he picks up his beer, taking a long pull.

The baby yawns and nuzzles into his shoulder, settling down to doze in his hold. "Why does this feel like a ploy to get me to stay put?" Javi drawls in a hushed tone to not stir the baby, and cocks a brow at Steve.

"No idea what you mean," Steve evades as he slid the plate closer to Javi so he could eat with his unoccupied hand. "How's ranch life treating yah?"

"…It's fine," Javi deadpans and glances over at Connie, knowing she would likely give something up in the set of her brow or press of her mouth as he twirled the spaghetti onto his fork before taking a bite. Humming, he then elaborates, "Just getting ready to have less help now, since the holiday season is over—"

"Did Santa come to your house, uncle Javi?" Olivia pipes up suddenly, big brown eyes excitedly looking over at him as she emphatically chirps, "I had asked Santa for a puppy, but got a sister instead."

Snorting, Javi retorts, "Yeah? Do you like having a little sister?"

"I rather have a puppy," Oliva pipes honestly, and her parents try to stifle their chortles. "But Isabel is ok. She's just little."

Endeared, Javi remarks, "Yeah, but she'll get bigger and be able to play with you soon."

"Hopefully we'll have a puppy by the time she's bigger," the precocious little girl remarked before Connie snickered and decided to redirect her by taking her to the kitchen to get some cookies, leaving the boys to chat.

"Christ man…she's gonna be trouble when she's older," Javi can't help razz Steve before eating more from his plate, smirking when the other man shakes his head ruefully.

"Don't I know it," he chuckles as he gets up to carefully take the now sleeping baby from Javi so he could finish eating. "So…I got some news."

"You mean other than coming home with another baby?" Javi jokes as he dipped his piece of garlic bread into the marinara sauce on his plate.

"I got a promotion. In a few weeks, we're leaving Florida."

Shocked, Javi pauses in eating to dab his napkin over his mouth before asking, "Why so sudden?"

"Well, I got the offer last month, and since we're moving down to a U.S. territory, that's why we needed to get Olivia's documents in order. Connie already has a job lined up at the V.A. hospital there," he pauses to slide the folder over to Javier now. "It'll be a regional SAC position for the Caribbean division. However, the region is so big and covers so many islands, that I'll need a partner to help run things from the main island. And, you know my Spanish is terrible, so…"

Javier flipped open the folder, and was unsurprised to see it was a detailed summary of the job offer. His name was in all the required fields listing the role and responsibilities, as well as the breakdown of all the field agents and officials that would be direct reporting to him.

Without looking up from the document disclosing the budgetary and operational details associated with the San Juan field office, Javi muttered, "…Did Spencer put you up to this?"

"You were his first choice. But I guess you haven't been returning his calls, so yeah – I got the offer. But as you can see, Operations decided there was no way one SAC could manage all those responsibilities in such a vast division, so…I'd be the SAC for the U.S. Virgin Islands and field ops in Puerto Rico, but you'd be the SAC for the entire archipelago, the DEA official liaison with the Puerto Rican government, and the Special Agent in Charge of coordinated operations with ATF and FBI on the island."

Sitting back in his chair and rubbing at his temples, Javier grumbles, "I'm through, Steve. There's nothing left for me to do, and…frankly, I don't think I can handle any more of that shit. Spencer's been hounding me to head the Mexico operation since I got back from Colombia, so why this, all of a sudden? And why would you think I'd be open to taking this role?"

"Look at the last page in the folder," Steve instructs as he gently rubbed Isabel's back.

Confused, Javi flips through the documents until he got to the last one. It was a departmental org chart for the Federal Office building in San Juan, and at first, he didn't know why Steve would want him to bother skimming it. But then he sees it.

Your name is listed under the Digital Information Operations division.

Snapping his wide-eyed stare up at Steve, he watches the blond nod smugly. "Yep. She's been heading the department for a few months now," is what he volunteers before arching his brows knowingly at Javier. "Besides that, things got real dicey in Mexico after one of the big military officials DEA partnered with turned out to be dirty. And really, a lot of attention has been diverted to the Caribbean drug traffic networks now…but yeah, figured that would be more of a motivator for you to say yes."

He had him at your name listed on that personnel form. It was a no brainer.

The next day, Javier had called Mike Spencer.

The following afternoon, he was back in Laredo, and when he got to the house, he sat his father down and told him the news.

"…You're going back to the DEA?" Chucho had balked, wilting back in his recliner.

"It'll be different this time."

"Javier," his father had grumbled, unconvinced, until he saw the way his son's eyes gleamed soulfully at him. "What'll be different this time from the last?"

Sitting at the edge of the chair to lean forward and stare confidently at his father, Javier declared it.

"Because I'm not going back to lose myself in chasing pinche asesinos again. I'm going back to get her."

***

You'd been floored when you heard the news from Ellis.

But really, when you thought about it, the hire of Steve Murphy to oversee DEA operations as the Special Agent in Charge made total sense when you accounted for how aggressive the current administration was becoming against the drug trade and gang violence on the island.

So, when Devon had come into your office the prior morning to brief you on upcoming meetings with the ATF, FBI and DEA officials the following week, you'd made it clear that he had your full support to be as prepared for the meetings as possible, the way he deemed fit.

When you'd gotten the job, you'd been surprised when Devon had emailed you asking for a transfer to Puerto Rico, but once you'd talked to Jackie and found out he and Noreen went public with their relationship and wanted to move on from the embassy, and that he wanted to be closer to his family in the Virgin Islands now that they were planning to marry, you facilitated the interview process for Noreen to apply to work in Ellis' department and made Devon an offer to be your deputy director.

"—Hey, I got the logs from the efficiency tests," Devon is remarking as he comes into your office now, pulling you from reviewing your planner. "And the fellas in procurement asked if we can move our status meeting to tomorrow afternoon, but I wanted to check with you first before confirming."

Once you tell him that's fine, he goes on to update you on the latest matters he was most worried about that day. His gentle, melodic baritone and attentive expression while he discusses some of the tension from the other departments being required to adhere to your new protocols during the meetings he'd overseen, inspires you to put him at ease.

"I'm not concerned about it. And if anyone gives you any pushback or attitude, tell me and I'll report it to their superiors. They don't have any say, and if they don't want to fall in line? They might need to be reassigned," you chime, glad to see him relax in his seat from across you. "Anyway, how're things? You and Noreen enjoy Barrachina?"

"Yes! You weren't kidding, those were the best piña coladas ever! She loved it," he gushes, moving on to more pleasant topics before you jovially tease him to go have lunch with Noreen.

During your lunch break, you head to your checkup, eager to see if the gynecologists finally found a birth control prescription that would be as comparable to the medication you'd been on in Colombia.

Since moving to Puerto Rico, you'd been relegated to switching prescriptions because the brand you'd used wasn't available in the U.S. territory. So far, you'd taken one pill that had made you have terrible migraines, fatigue, and loss of appetite. Followed by one that made you gain weight, have terrible cramps, and had significantly elevated your blood pressure. You were hoping your test results would help the doctor suss out a better option.

You hadn't been ready for her to tell you that she didn't think you should be on birth control.

"—According to the bloodwork, your latest PAP test, and the ultrasound readings, you aren't the right candidate for the prescription I was hoping to put you on. Instead, we need to discuss your 5-year plan."

"…My 5-year plan for what?" you'd queried, perplexed.

"Your plan for having children. After all, you've been on birth control since you were in your teens, and frankly your hormonal production is quite suppressed. The follicle count was the lowest I've seen in someone your age, so much so that I think it's a high probability that you'll have issues conceiving, if you plan on getting pregnant," she tells you in a clinical tone, but when she sees your brows arch in shock, she softens her tone. "I would like you to not take any oral contraceptives for a few months so we can see if your hormones rebound—"

"What's the probability that I won't be able to conceive?"

She'd hesitated at your even question. "Well…at the current numbers, with how long you've used oral contraceptives, and with your family history, your fertility level might be stunted—"

"So, I could be infertile?" you'd cut in with the blunt question while you wrung your hands together in your lap.

"I think it's much too early to say that," the doctor assured before going into her instructions for you and scheduling another checkup and series of labs after a few months.

A bit shellshocked, you'd gone back to work and operated on autopilot the rest of the day.

Doctor's orders had been for you to up your cardio, find methods of de-stressing, eating a cleaner diet with more lean proteins, and limiting your alcohol intake. Most of them were already in practice, having gone on a diet and started working out after the holidays when you'd tried to get into one of your favorite pair of jeans, and ended up balking when you couldn't fasten them shut without lying flat on your bed.

Once you'd gotten home that night, you drew a nice hot bath, lit one of the scented candles Naida had gifted you, and slipped under the soothing water.

It's just like Ma. She had a hard time conceiving, and after she lost the baby, she couldn't get pregnant again…

Your mind wanders over the potential of not being a mother. Did you even want to be? Was the news bothering you because you'd expected to one day have a baby, and now the decision could be taken away from you?

You'd make a terrible mother anyway.

Sad, you'd climbed out of the tub, dried off, and moped into your bedroom with the candle. Once you'd set it on the nightstand, you pulled on a light and airy nightgown before getting under the covers. The ceiling fan undulated the air in a rhythmic breeze that usually helped lull you to sleep, but with your mind tangling up with 'what if's' and worst-case scenarios, you instead ended up tossing and turning.

Frustrated, you sat up in bed and yearned for comfort. After all, you'd been single and celibate since you'd left Colombia, and with all the birth control hassle, you hadn't been mentally in a place to want to go out and meet anyone. No, you'd spent your time outside of work either curled up on the couch catching up on all the network TV you'd missed out on, getting lost watching movies on the cable channels, or seeing the latest flick you'd picked up from the movie rental place. All of course, were ploys to keep yourself distracted from the loneliness.

However, a few weeks back, when you'd been at Delilah's baptism, you'd had an opportunity to end the self-imposed drought, but passed on it.

Anita and Ellis had asked you to be little Delilah's godmother, and overcome, you'd agreed. They'd asked Ellis' younger brother, Trevor, to be the godfather. You'd met him years prior when he'd visited Ellis once, and you'd liked him. He was sweet, funny, and just as silly as his older brother, but there was a really charming edge to him that while you'd all been rehearsing at the church had made you smile a little less platonically than you should've.

His striking blue eyes had held your gaze for a beat too long when you were both listening to the priest walk you through how you would hold the baby, and the pronunciations you would both need to make during the ceremony. Afterward, you both went to buy gifts for the baby – things she would need for the baptism. The Rose boys were raised Southern Baptist, so you needed to guide Trevor through the Catholic traditions, and he helped you pick out the gold cross pendant necklace you'd both gift Delilah to wear on her baptism, along with a cute pair of booties Trevor bought and lace bonnet you got.

After the ceremony, you'd both danced with the baby during the little party thrown at their house, and at the end of the night when he'd offered to walk you to your car, you'd enjoyed having his hand chivalrously cup the back of your elbow as he led you down the walkway. But when he'd opened your car door for you, there was a moment where you both vacillated, and then just when he'd leaned in to kiss you, you'd turned. His lips and pressed into your cheek, and you'd bashfully apologized, but he'd chuckled and stepped back with a gentlemanly smile.

The following day, when you'd all had lunch before seeing him off to the airport, he'd leaned over next to you at the table to confide, "Ellis told me not to come onto you, but I just had to take my chance."

Snickering, you'd shoved your shoulder playfully into his. "Oh?"

"Yeah. You'd been so cool but guarded when I met you in Colombia, it kind of intimidated me. I don't normally get intimidated by women," he'd wryly huffed, but then admitted, "Ellis mentioned you were single, and when I said I was gonna flirt with you, he yelled at me. Probably because I'm technically just on a break with my girlfriend—"

"Hah, so I was gonna be your tropical tryst, eh?" you'd hazed, and he'd laughed, so you jibed, "Well, unfortunately for you, no matter how handsome you are, you're still related to that dork over there, and he's practically family now, which makes you the brother I never wanted as well!"

Ellis had frowned when Trevor had thrown his napkin across the table at him and sarcastically blamed him for once again cock-blocking him.

You snicker at the memory of Ellis barking "Language, Trevor!" when the melancholy and loneliness comes over you heavy now.

Realizing you aren't going to get any sleep at this rate, you broke down and retrieved the shirt from the dresser and draped it over the opposite pillow you used to sleep. Once settled on your side to curl up spooning the pillow, the comforting, manly scent laced to the soft cotton soothed your mind enough to finally be able to doze off.

In your waking, non-lonesome moments, though, you are exasperated with yourself. Your feelings shouldn't be so strong still, not after the time that's gone by. But it's undeniable. No more so than when you're aching for sexual gratification and touch yourself, thinking of a new hunk as your fixation – usually the latest actor you'd seen in a movie at the theater, but your mind would meld Antonio Banderas, or Brad Pitt into the one man who held your heart in perpetuity – who could make you yearn and melt down with needy pleasure before giving you ecstasy.

No matter what, Javier always was the name you cried out when you climaxed, and the flustered ache that would be left over would either make you mad, or make you tear up.

You couldn't go more than a week without thinking about him.

Your heart would betray you, wondering where he was, how he was doing, if he'd been lying when he said he would keep trying. But then, your mind would snap, Of course he was! How can you still wonder about that?!

At the very least, even before your diagnosis started hanging over your head, you'd decided to throw yourself into bettering yourself health-wise. You'd started going on morning jogs with Jodalys and her friends, joined Zoraida at her aerobics classes every other night, and even would go for long walks with Anita inside Plaza Las Americas some weekend mornings while she pushed Delilah in her stroller.

This particular morning, Jodalys was telling you about a big charity event she'd be hosting in a couple of weeks for the children's hospital, and you'd offered to see if the Federal office would be a sponsor through their Giving Back program.

Said night of the event, you were representing for the program as you worked the room and chatted with officials and other donors, smiling as Jodalys introduced you to a rep for the local animal shelter.

When you turn to greet someone else, you looked over to see Roman talking with an official from the business affairs department of the local government across the way in the event hall. At your shocked expression, Jodalys whispers, "Ah, that's the former head of Varroco Corp, Ernan Villamil's son – Roman Villamil Ibarra. He's one of the main donors! Do you know him?"

Nodding, you excuse yourself from the group and go to the bar, feelings a little woozy all of a sudden, so you ask for a glass of water.

You're in mid-sip when a tenor voice orders beside you, "Gin and tonic, please."

Internally swearing at your luck, you finish sipping your water and steel yourself to turn and get this random encounter over with already.

He turned and blinked at you, as if surprised to see you.

"Oh, hey there, chica," he drawls haltingly when he clocks the skeptical narrowing of your gaze on him, so he shifts his weight onto his other foot and gestures to the bar as he invites, "Uh, would you like something to drink—?"

"You're a charitable big shot now, I see," you find yourself sarcastically droning, hand on your hip as you eye him. "You a choirboy on the weekends too?"

Snorting, he takes a sip from his drink, green eyes smiling at you over the rim of the glass before he places it on the counter and leans his elbow onto it. "No, but sometimes they let me skip the communion line and have a sip of the wine," he jokes in a melodic croon.

You snicker, despite yourself. Giving him a once over, you see he's dressed much more professionally than you'd last seen him. Dark grey suit, pin-striped dress shirt, and striped navy-and-indigo tie looking quite sharp on him now.

"My friend said you're one of the main donors?" you conversationally query as you busy yourself with finishing your glass of water.

"Yeah. Varroco Corp has increased its sponsorships. We donate to a lot of the charities on the island," Roman retorts, expression softening with his smile. "Gotta balance out making tons of profit with a lot of goodwill."

"I'm sure," you remark, giving him a friendly smile as you joke, "Gotta make up for your lack of community service somehow."

He laughs, and gives you a musing 'Maybe so' shrug of his shoulders before asking, "And you? I take it you’re back on the island full time?"

"Yes. I work for the federal state department," you answer, and nod at the bartender when he asks what you'd like to drink.

But before you can answer, Roman orders, "Una Cuba libre para la dama." You roll your eyes. "What? You have a new go-to?"

"No, but I can't believe I'm that predictable," you sneer self-deprecatingly before thanking the bartender when he serves you the drink.

"Nah, I just remember," Roman says with an easy timbre warming his tone.

A comfortable silence falls as you both sip your drinks, one you hope will lead to him needing to go back into the schmoozing zone of the event.

But then, he puts his empty glass down and clears his throat. "So, you give any thought to grabbing coffee?" he attempts, broad shoulders slanting as he folds his forearms over the bar top to conspiratorially lean closer and pledge, "I'll even be down for that annoying little chinchorro you loved on the beach in Isla Verde."

Scoffing amusedly, you shake your head. "You hated it there—"

"Yeah, well, I'd love to catch up with you more than I'd hate sitting there eating sorrullitos y queso frito," he cuts in charismatically, smirking when you jokingly fawn, as if picturing the fatty appetizers with pining. "C'mon, chiquita. Have a drink with me? A pincho?" he jokes, and when you giggle, he adds faux plaintively, "A café?! Anything you want?"

"Ok! Fine," you deridingly snipe and relent with the suggestion of, "There's a fancy little bistro café that opened up—"

"In El Condado, yeah. How about I make a reservation—" he'd been proposing when his pocket began to ring. Expression etching with annoyance, he huffs, "Excuse me, sorry."

You watch him retrieve a black matte flip phone from his pocket and lope off to answer it.

Something in you fixates on how his expression had quickly shifted to the glower you remember him having when he was becoming vexed, but before you could let your mind pull you down into the reminiscing of darker times, Roman strolls back over to the bar, hand idly rubbing the scruff on his chin as he sighs.

"I'm sorry. Looks like I'll have to fly out on my next trip a lot sooner than I'd planned, so how about I give you a call once I'm back in town so we can coordinate that bistro date?" Roman proposes, green eyes holding yours with hopeful heat in them.

So much so, that you find yourself agreeing, and when he leans in to peck you on the cheek in farewell, you're so disarmed that it takes you a moment before he starts walking away to call out, "How're you gonna get my number?"

Turning to smirk at you over his shoulder, Roman purrs, "I'll open the phone book and start dialing," then winks at you before heading off through the mingling event attendees.

You have no chance to even chastise yourself and break down everything that just transpired, not with Jodalys coming over and pulling you back into the event fray of meeting people.

Really, what would be so wrong with being cordial with Roman? Like you'd said before: Everyone has the capacity to change, and everything that had gone down between you two had been so long ago – at a fulcrum point for your individual maturation that shouldn't be defining for you. After all, you were no angel, and would hate to be judged for the things you did in your early twenties. No matter how flagrant or naïve you'd been – how reckless and resentful you'd been capable of being then.

He called it a date, though…

Annoyed with yourself, you'd waved it off. Nothing was set in stone. You had politely agreed to the possibility of maybe having coffee with him. But nothing was reserved, and really, he could forget all about it, with how clearly busy he was with his company.

You're resolved to not think about it further, and are chastising yourself when your mind wanders to the thought that you didn't feel right about even mentioning it to any of your friends – that you'd run into him again – and end up going on autopilot as you'd walked in through the lobby of the federal building and headed to the elevators. So much so, that you didn't first hear someone calling out your name.

At the second call, you paused in your stride and turned towards the man who was hustling over to greet you.

"Hey! Long time no see, hun."

Smiling, you shake your head at him looking tense and unsure of how to greet you, so you pull the tall blond in for a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek.

"It's great to see you, Steve," is your warm greeting, pulling back to see him look relieved. "Congrats on the promotion!"

"Aw, thanks. And you too! Saw you're a big director now," he chuckles and slips his hands into his tan trouser pockets. "And, that you got your way after all: Every agency has to bow down to getting trained in tech."

"Damn straight," you quip, adjusting your purse high on your blue blazer-clad shoulder as you ask, "How're Connie and Olivia?"

"They're great! She'll start kinder next week, and Connie's working at the V.A.," Steve retorts before going on to gush as he pulls out his wallet after you gesture in a way that says 'Break out the pictures!'

He tells you about the new baby, Isabel, and you smile as he jovially lets you flip through the photos in his wallet while he takes out a business card and writes his personal cell phone number on the back before handing it to you.

"—It was great running into you, Steve. I'll see you around. Probably at that first big inter-agency meeting next week," you're telling him as you scribble your phone number onto a yellow sticky note you'd produced from your purse and peel off the sheet, fold it, and hand it over to him. "And if you guys need help settling in, give me call!"

"Will do," he drawls in his carefree rasp before gesturing a silly farewell salute as you both part ways.

Later that night, when he called Javier, he had no qualms in telling him he'd seen you.

"—She looked great, Jav. I was nervous that she'd be standoffish, but she was a sweetheart," he regales to his partner, adding pointedly, "She did not mention anything, though, so I'm not sure where she stands."

Grunting, Javi sits back against the headboard of his hotel room bed, exhaling gruffly as he rubs his palm across his cheek. "Yeah, well…I'll find out soon enough, I suppose," is his glib grumble before asking, "And nothing's been announced yet, right?"

"Nah, nothing about the leadership adjustment. Didn't make sense to put it out until I'm settled in and all the field agents report in for their assignment," Steve confirms, adding, "But, I wouldn't be surprised if Spencer drops a memo first thing next Thursday when you're due to be landing. He gave me the impression that he likes making big splashes."

Javi grunts dryly. "That's one way to put it. Anyway…thanks for the update."

"Oh, before I forget, write this number down," Steve orders, and Javier does so dutifully.

"Ok, got it. What's this for?" he asks as he scribbles it on the top of the legal notepad that was near and handy.

"It's her personal number."

Pausing, Javier stares at it before clearing his throat gruffly.

"You should call her, Jav."

"Steve…I want to, but I know if I do, she'll go nuclear on me and refuse to speak to me," is Javier's haggard sigh as he deflates against the headboard at the mere prospect of earning your ire. "…For what I did, I need to talk to her face-to-face."

"Well…it's your funeral, man," Steve can't help haze, and Javi scoffs sourly. "Anyway, I'll give you the rundown once you're here."

After placing his new cell phone back onto its charger set on the nightstand, he sat up and unbuttoned his dress shirt all the way down to his waistband and yanked the shirt tails loose so he could be more comfortable now that he was sitting with his legs crisscrossed. Casting a tired glance at all the documents, maps, and personnel files strewn across the bed, Javi picks up a stack and reads up more on Quintoni Martínez, El Gran of the mafia-styled cartel that ran the drug trade in Puerto Rico.

His day getting a crash course on everything had ended with him taking stacks of documents with him in a box back to his hotel room, and while he'd picked at his sandwich, he'd started making lists for himself.

He would spend the rest of his time at Quantico, where he'd review the fresh batch of agents who'd volunteered for the placement surge down in the Caribbean division. Javier had picked out junior agents that fit the profile he thought would be the savviest and most set up for success: Men and women with a background in community policing, fluent in Spanish, and with no kids or family anywhere near the U.S. territory they'd be assigned to.

And after the anticlimactic way things had ended for them prior, he'd pulled two experienced agents he knew he could trust, and to his relief, both had been glad to fall back in under his leadership.

By the time his belongings were arriving ahead of him to the single-story bungalow he'd be living in a week later, you were rushing off the elevator on your exercise-sore muscles to stride in a clipped pace to your office. You'd opted for a pin-striped black on black skirt and matching blazer rather than your chic tailored pantsuits that had become the staple of your in-office attire, knowing you'd need to deal with a lot of chauvinistic traditionalists in your big meeting later that morning.

Already setting your itinerary for the things you'd need to do after work so you could get to your apartment and get ready for the happy hour at The Condado Plaza Hilton that was getting thrown by the Puerto Rico Federal Affairs Administration, your mind was preoccupied as you hustled along. The Chief Executive Director of U.S. Federal Relations, and really the only person you had to "report" to had sent out a memo earlier in the week, asking for all department heads to attend the event in order to foster camaraderie between the local and federal officials, so you and Ellis agreed to carpool together in order to make your appearances.

Thinking about the dress you were planning on wearing for the occasion, you've just breezed in to your nice, tidy office with the great northeast views that on a clear day span out all the way to the picturesque skyline beyond, when Ellis bursts through the door you'd just shut after yourself.

"Hey!" he exclaims as he comes in and quickly shut the door after himself.

"Jeez, am I that late!? I got out of that crazy yoga class Zoraida dragged me to much later than I'd planned—" you're in the middle of griping as you place your purse down on your sideboard next to your desk and retrieve your leatherbound organizer and day planner.

"Girlie…I think you need to sit down."

Pausing, you turn to stare at Ellis with confusion on your features.

"What?" is your chortle, but then at the serious look on his face, you fret, "Oh, did something happen with Anita? The baby—?!"

"N-No! Everything's alright," he assuages and hustles over to grab your wrist and gently guide you to your nearby leather couch tucked in the corner, across from the east-facing windows of your office.

"Ellis, you're scaring me. What's up?" you scoff as he sits next to you.

"…A memo just came over the wire from stateside. There was some kind of last-minute shakeup, and…" he parcels out, but when you stare at him with incomprehension as to what could be so bad about a memo, he decides to just come out with it.

"The new Special Agent in Charge for the DEA here is Javier Peña."

You feel like you've just been pushed into syrupy quicksand. A sarcastic laugh comes out of you as you dismiss it as a joke.

No, no—totally not real. This is a joke! But before you can convince yourself of it, the feeling of dismay pulls you under when you take a shaky breath and focus on how earnest and worried Ellis looks.

"…Really?" you croak, staring incredulously at your friend. When his brows quirk bewilderedly at you, you exclaim, "That can't be. It doesn't make sense. Steve Murphy's the SAC—"

"Turns out, he and Javier are splitting up the Caribbean territory. Steve's going to oversee the U.S. Virgin Islands, and Javier's going to be the head of things here," Ellis explains.

He doesn't know what to expect when you sit back in your seat and go silent, gaze getting faraway and expression shuttering into a stoic mask. But then your hands ball up into fists in your lap, and your stare narrows as you turn to look at him with what he can only describe as searing rancor.

"When is he due to start?"

Gulping, Ellis hedges on telling you, but when your glare turns exacting, he squawks, "Today."

Your fury collects itself and winds up into a fierce, roiling heat that you keep in your belly as you nod, stand, and go to your desk, pick up your phone, and dial Devon's extension.

He promptly answers, so you tell him, "Please come to my office as soon as you can. There are a few things I need to prep you on for the inter-agency meeting."

Once you've hung up, you sit at your desk and open up your laptop, typing in a furious flurry while Ellis remains at the couch and blinks haplessly over at you.

"Well…I'm scared to ask, kid," he admits, and when you grunt but don't look away from the screen, he presses, "What're you gonna do?"

Pausing, you take a cleansing inhale, hold it, then exhale, just like you'd learned at that silly yoga class. Then, you look over at your friend with fire in your eyes.

"I'm going to rip his fucking head off if he even tries to talk to me."

To be continued…

________________

Read Chapter 40: Hopes

Spanish-English Glossary:

Tesoro = Treasure; darling

'Buela = short for 'abuela', aka grandmother

Altar = Prayer altar; mini prayer shrine in someone's home

Eres mi única hija, y te amo con toda mi alma = You're my only daughter, and I love you with my entire soul

Trigueño = Olive-skinned, swarthy man

Artesano = Artisan

Mijo = short for "mi hijo", a term of endearment akin to "my son/sonny" 

Hermano = Brother; bud

Coño = A swear, akin to 'Fucking hell' or 'Damn!'

Carnal = A very close and trusted friend who is almost blood to you; a trusted buddy

Pendejo = Dumbass; jackass

Fresa = Mexican slang for someone posh, or hoity-toity

Llegó = Arrived

Pobrecito = Poor baby; poor baby boy

Ay, mami = Oh, mom

Pinche madre = Motherfucker; sonuvabitch

Huevones = Dummies; goofballs

Prima = Cousin (female)

Sabes? = You know?

Fiesta = Party; festival

Nena = Girl

Las Fiestas SanSe = Short for "Las Fiestas de San Sebastían", which is a big street festival in Old San Juan along the San Sebastían street; festival occurs at the end of January and lasts a week

Chinchorrear = Slang for going bar-hopping; a chinchorro is a kiosk or dive bar you go to have a few drinks before moving on to the next establishment

Chichaítos = Different flavored anise shots of rum that are chilled

Damas, adelante = Ladies, enter forward

Doncellita = little noblewoman; little maiden

Empresa = Company/Enterprise/Business

Chavalita = Akin to saying 'missy' or 'lass'; a young woman

Lengüetera = garrulous, silver-tongued daring and witty talker (female)

Clavelina = A type of pretty pink flower that resembles a vibrant carnation

Taberna = Tavern

O sentarnos pa' café = Or sit/meetup for coffee

Miramelinda = a double meaning: Miramelinda is the name of a strain of impatiens flower, but literally translated, the name means 'Look at me pretty'

Disfruta las fiestas, cielito = Enjoy the festival, little sky

Nos vamos = We're leaving 

Kiosko = Kiosk; food stand

Tiene cojones = [He] has balls

Frituras = Fritters; tropical turnovers

Mira = Look

Te llamo después = I'll call you later

Chica = Gal; lass

Una Cuba libre para la dama = A Cuba libra for the lady

Sorrullitos y queso frito = Little sweet fritters and fried cheese

Chiquita = Little chick; little girl

Pincho = A Caribbean shish-kabob, usually made of marinated pork or chicken

The song lyrics included in this chapter are from "Enjoy the Silence" by Depeche Mode.

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful. 

#Heat - Narcos fanfic #Javi Peña #Javi x Querida #Javi Peña x Latina OFC #Javi Peña fan fiction #Narcos #Narcos fan fiction #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal characters

[loveyourlovelysoul]

You don’t have to answer this but how long have you been trying to heal yourself maybe it’ll help me not feel so alone in my journey

Hey! I will answer you ofc, I don't have anything to hide. But... (I may be using "you" as a general you/y'all next)

First of all, I want you to keep in mind that there's not a fixed time-frame when it comes to healing, nor there's an age in which we do that. It's not like school and you need to start and end it in a certain amount of years/at a certain age to be considered "right" and "on time". There's not such a thing here. It takes the time you need as your own person: it depends on each one of us and our stories and how we deal with our feelings about our past in our present. And how it all reflects on our future (and anxieties about it). Honestly, it reasonably can take A LOT to reach a kinda mentally stable point, if you take a look at all this. I mean, it's BIG. You don't have to feel less or guilty if according to you it's taking you more than you thought or that you're supposed to. It's okay: also because the more you feel like you're needing to rush things or get to an end (I know it's painful but please hang in there and keep being patient cause it's gonna end, I promise you), or you feel inferior to others as they seem in a better position than you (you don't know their story nor when they started/how anyway, so please do not compare: surely there's someone who is feeling the same as you or about you even), the more stressed you'll be and the longer the process will take. The more we try to close chapters fastly with our past, to say "Okay I'm done here, next one", the more we'll find new triggers about the "same old thing"TM. And it's okay: to really understand, accept and realize what we went through, takes a lot of time and patience. It's not something we can learn and close over night. When it comes to our feelings it's never so. We may be spending, for example, months over a friend that moved on and suddenly disappeared from our life, pretending we didn't care (but the more we pretend and tell ourselves we don't care, the more it stays in our mind and heart), and that's okay: it means we need to realize something about that connection that we cannot accept and probably it's not just how it ended, but also something related to how it was, how we felt both on good days and bad days while we were in that friendship... and maybe move on to other relationships in our life, starting from the one with our parents and our classmates, other friends, colleagues, crushes, partners... What's the main issue there and how it moves inside of us? Feelings are complex, they also rot inside of us for years and years and grow with us, get mixed up with new ones, similar ones, different ones... it's crazy. But it's how it is. We cannot stop growing or making experiences before healing. We keep living also while healing (we have to). And we cannot start healing if we don't feel the need to.

And it's not an easy job to heal and also healing doesn't mean not being triggered anymore and being all good and great all the time: it means you start learning how to recognize your triggers and let them control you everyday a little less. Even on those days in which those stressing emotions will still get to you, you won't try to fight them but accept that those are just days as others, and they will pass too. You simply accept that you're tired/overwhelmed for any reason and that you can control your mind and decide what's best for you, so you take care of you, and try to be more compassionate and patient, and maybe take a break without feeling guilty. You're more open about your needs and find ways to meet them. And you know you can afford your trigger another time, you can talk with your mind, you feel more and more balanced. Life will always be made of positive and negative. It's how it is. And taking time to accept both of its sides and don't let the negative take over us and make us fall, is the thing we need to keep doing first and foremost. Also inside of us: we too are made both of bright and dark parts, and the dark parts need as much love too as they'r egenerally the hurt and scared parts of us. And taking them out of the dark is not easy, it takes time and gentleness, as with a scared child. It also takes the right moment for both.

Now, I've wrote a lot already so let me answer you :) I've always been someone who tries to understand more of herself and people and life in general, but if I have to say a time in which I told myself "Okay something is pretty wrong here, I do not deserve that and I definitely need to know more of what's behind all of it" I think it's around 2.5-3 years ago. Especially around 2 years ago after a bunch of big tough events in my life. The heavy healing part started there I think.

Anyway pelase do not feel alone. Here it's plenty of people healing, many have been through that for long, even longer than me probably. And even if it feels scary and this idea may make you want to give up, please don't. Keep doing it with patience, balancing healing with your life the best you can (you need time outs from it and talking with people, enjoying too), and I promise it will get faster and even occasionally easier. And it will get slowly better for sure. You'll notice it once you'll start reaching a more balanced emotional situation, but for now, endure through the storm as it will end. I'm here if you need support!

Take care<3

#asks #healing #it also takes time to realize what is the best way to heal for us #to deal with what happened and all #I personally tried to focus more on my feelings and understanding things #and avoided looking at how much time it's taking me to close chapters or heal something or comparing to others

[artemiseamoon]

Stay in the Light 1

William Johns x Ofc | fic info here

Words: 3,060

Warnings: drinking, sex, chronic pain, addiction

😂 I know, this is purely for me and the maybe one other person in the world who might read it. Gotta find joy in life right? Writing random characters gives me joy atm. Pitch Black adjacent stuff doesn’t happen til chapter 2. This is planned to be 3 chapters.

Gif credits to the owner

This is a preview * read in full on A03

BEFORE

This planet doesn't offer much; it was a shit hole, like most places. Anyone still going got used to this kind of thing, few had the luxury of stepping foot on a nice planet. One needs rich friends and important high-level connections for that kind of thing, or they're born into it.

When you make your living catching escapees, you make enemies, not friends, especially not friends in high places even if they’re the ones who hired you in the first place. Sure, they'll be appreciative, especially if you caught some asshole they’ve been tracking for years. But what you won’t get is an invitation to dinner or private island trips.

This place was just a pit stop before heading to Central and getting her newest job. Until then, Kiara didn’t plan on doing much. She got a decent room in a better part of town, north of the red-light district and east of the canal where all sorts of shady shit went down. She would hold up in the sweet spot, far away from all the drama yet close to the transit terminal.

She would sleep, take a long soaking bath maybe - do all the things she couldn't while on mission. Maybe if the right kind of person comes along, she'd get laid too, it has been a while. Lots of people hooked up on the mission, the men, women, and everyone in between. It happened often whether it was in the dark or behind closed doors yet barely hidden.

The job was dangerous enough, no need to add a mess of human emotions into the whole thing. Most of the men Kiara was posted with were pieces of shit, so it made it easy to adhere to this rule. Then, there were the few times she’d considered, but would never follow through with it. Besides, she liked to focus just on the task at hand and take care of her personal needs once the job was done, even if it meant waiting for a while.

.

Reaching her two-drink limit for the night, Kiara kicked back in the booth with her legs extended across the open seat, so no one got any ideas. If anyone was going to keep company with her, she’d extend the invite herself.

There was one-sided interest coming from a few onlookers, but no one caught her eye until a new guy walked through the doors and headed to the bar. There was a serious look on his face, and he carried himself like a marine officer, even with his plain clothes on.

Once at the bar, he scanned the room, his blue eyes cold and observant - then his eyes met hers. He seemed clean cut, with no facial hair, the hair on his head was dark blonde and a slight reddish undertone and cut short. There was something intense and broody about him, but it didn’t take away from his handsomeness.

His blue eyes stayed fixed on her until the bartender came to him. He turned slightly, his back to Kiara as he made his order. She took another sip, this time eyeing up his form and the way the long-sleeved black top fit perfectly, highlighting how fit he was - but not overly so. There were no bulging muscles or mass- she wasn’t into that kind of thing anyway.

The blue-eyed man turned in his seat, looking back at her again, this time with a beer in his hand. Kiara sat up from her slouching position and slowly lifted one leg off the seat, then the other.

A slight grin ticked on his lips. He stood and made his way over to her, not in a rush, nor a hurry. As he reached the table, Kiara relaxed against the padding and took him in.

He slid into the booth, and leaned back as his eyes raked over her,

“Johns.” he said when they made eye contact again.

“Mora.” she raised her glass, eyes still locked on his as he clicked his beer to it.

Not breaking eye contact, they both brought their drinks to their lips.

Read in full on A03

@artemiseamoon-updates | A03: artemiseamoon

#William J. Johns #William John (Pitch Dark) #William J. Johns x ofc #pitch black au

[drifting-wreckers]

See the Light, Chapter 3: Drink Me, Eat Me

Cardinal Copia/Papa Emeritus IV x OFC: romance, drama, NSFW, 18+, MDNI, sort of doctor/patient

(And so the smut begins...)

Word had reached back to the abbey that Cardinal Copia had ascended to Papa Emeritus IV, though the news was unfortunately tainted by the shocking murders of the first three Emeritus brothers. The abbey had been thrown into a state of uncertainty, at least until the illustrious new Papa returned with his fresh paints and robes. Evelyn had found herself stood at the back of the chapel for his first Papal sermon in full regalia, watching as the power and confidence he spoke with reinvigorated the Siblings. She smiled quietly to herself as her gaze shifted to the rapturous devotees. He had certainly earned his position right along with the party held in his honor that the Siblings would use as a chance to drink, sin, and forget their woes. It would’ve been a night Terzo would’ve loved, and she likely would have enjoyed exchanging barbs with Secondo, but she wasn’t much in the mood to party.

Evelyn had slipped silently from the party, having wanted to congratulate Copia but not finding it in her to break through the crowd of Sisters that had swarmed him. The feeling in her gut was uncomfortable, recognizable as jealousy though she had no business acknowledging it. Unfortunately, with a sudden uptick in requests for gynecologic exams prior to his return and the excited titters of her patients hoping to congratulate Papa…she had become well-acquainted with the bitter emotion. She returned to the clinic, her quarters a suite attached to it, yet-unaware that Papa’s eyes had tracked her around the party before he, himself, managed to extricate himself from the disappointed Sisters.

She was startled by a knock, having just pulled the robe off her shoulders and set her boots against a wall. She sighed heavily before clumsily retying it, not caring for her usual perfection as long as her hair was covered and her mask remained in place. When she pulled the door open and found him on the other side, her cheeks flushed.

“Co-…um…Papa, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Her fingers twined together in front of her. “Congratulations, by the way. Well-deserved.”

Copia had found himself with ample time after his ascension to consider what to do with his return…and he had decided after several painful nights occupied by dreams of hot whispers and sweet brown eyes and slender fingers that Imperator would not supersede his decision on this. And seeing her - robes somewhat askew and a few strands of brown hair about her face - only solidified his decision.

“Ah, Dottore, thank you…but please, for you, just Copia still.” There was that heat in her chest again. “May I come in…? I…wish to speak with you about some things.”

She glanced over his shoulder to find the hall empty, but nodded, allowing him through before the door closed behind him. When he turned to face her, her ungloved hands fiddled together. “Is everything okay, Copia?” her tone was somewhat different, familiar to him, he realized but he couldn’t place how. And Evelyn realized too-late that her guard had dropped, her professional tone missing.

“…Evelyn…as Papa…I…I would…I would request that when we are alone you remove the mask…” when her posture started to stiffen, he rushed to add “…if you are comfortable. This would…this would be between only the two of us, I will not tell Sister Imperator or anyone and…”

Her heart was pounding in her chest, suddenly nervous…but if this was an order from a Papa…did this supersede Imperator…?

“Is this…a Papal order?”

Something about the way that mask looked at him sparked a fire in his chest and his uncertainty vanished. His spine straightened, shoulders pulled back. “…si…this is an order from your Papa.”

That warmth in her chest started to drift downward, pooling low in her belly. There was no way she could deny him this, no way she really wanted to. The confidence and authority in his tone made no room to refuse even had she considered it. And so the first thing she did was drop the hood of the robe, the mask tied around the auburn-highlighted locks in a neat bun. Copia’s breath caught.

“As Papa wishes, I suppose.”

The robes unzipped and untied, she shrugged them from her shoulders, revealing the curves of ample breasts, a flare of hips encased in a tank top and leggings – it had been hot, after all. The glimpses of ink he had seen on her left arm wrapped around in intricate detail all the way to her shoulder, the definitive profile of a plague doctor’s mask the focal piece up at her bicep. As she turned and neatly folded the robes to set them aside, he found himself mesmerized by her hair which she loosed next, auburn strands cascading past her shoulder blades in waves.

The mask followed and his hands tightened on each other, the leather creaking as his breath stuttered in anticipation. She turned, at last, and his eyes widened.

“…you…you were the sister by Primo’s roses that morning…” The words were beyond his lips before he could stop himself. He caught the lightest flush on her cheeks and she nodded slowly.

“Yes…you, um…caught me on my morning where most people aren’t out and about…”

She could feel his eyes tracing every line of her face and then down; the heat in her belly intensified. “Bellissima…” he murmured, and while her Italian remained bad, that she understood.

“It’s…it’s nice to formally meet you, Copia…”

He approached slowly, gloved hand lifting to her cheek before he could stop himself. “Evelyn…” he murmured her name, and the edge to his voice made her breath catch. “…I knew you would be, but seeing you now…breath-taking.” He was captured in her thrall, the words slipping from him before he could even consider filtering them. She couldn’t maintain eye contact with his intense gaze, melting at his words and the heat of his gloved palm. That white iris was so eerily penetrating.

“You…you flatter me, Papa.”

“Copia.” He corrected again. “You…you should always call me by name.” At last, unobstructed, he could see the sweet blush on her cheeks, watch her full lips part as she exhaled nervously.

“…Copia…” her voice was a whisper, her stomach in knots. She had already unveiled herself, stood before him in nothing but her tank top and leggings, she couldn’t give in to that desire, that need…could she? “You…” she hesitated. “…there are plenty of women out there that have been anxiously awaiting your arrival…I…” she trailed off, unable to finish her sentence. For a moment, his own insecurity crept in, until his finger crooked under her chin, forcing their eye contact and when he saw the unmistakable glimmer in her eyes, he doubled down.

“Evelyn…” Satan, the way her chest heaved when he said her name… “Given the choice, cara, I would choose here every time. I have been thinking about you every day since we left and it has only gotten worse since I knew we were returning.” There was a beat of silence as their eyes remained locked. “I would never intentionally want to put you into an uncomfortable position…” his tone had dropped, as if afraid speaking too loudly into the space between them would frighten her off. “Tell me, cara, at any point to leave and I will. I do not want to ever pressure or-!”

She couldn’t take it anymore: grabbed him by the lapels of his distressed black blazer to help close the distance between their bodies and sealed her lips to his. Copia didn’t hesitate in his response, his chest tight with heat and emotion and unable to stop his hands from threading into those glorious locks as they pulled flush against one-another. He groaned low in his chest as her tongue brushed the seam of his lips, the intensity amplifying fourfold as their tongues danced.

He was determined not to let her make the next move, though her wandering hands managed to push his blazer off his shoulders. It hit the floor and he growled as his hands moved to her waist and started walking her backwards. He refused to concede her lips for any longer than it took to pull her tank top over her head and discard it as she managed to untie the blue ascot. Those deft fingers of hers worked at the buttons of his shirt next and it hit the floor as they stumbled through the pocket doors that led to that cozy reading nook and straight to the door he knew led to the one place he hadn’t been to yet: her bedroom.

Their lips finally parted as her calves hit the bed and she stumbled down to sit on the mattress. They took a moment to catch their breaths, that white eye of his glowed in the dim lighting of her room and her heart stuttered. Her hands lifted behind her, eyes on his as she unclasped her bra and let the straps fall from her shoulders. He faltered, gaze falling to her heaving chest.

“Cazzo, Evelyn…” His right hand eclipsed her left breast, the leather glove chill against her heated skin and causing her to flinch as his thumb tweaked the erect nipple. She couldn’t help but whimper, breathless until he leaned down and kissed her again. He knelt on the bed and nudged her back to the mattress. Her back arched into his touch and his lips moved to her jaw, then the curve of her neck. He was murmuring against her skin in Italian though that was about where her comprehension stopped, particularly as his tongue occupied itself with her right nipple. Her hands flit through his hair as he lathed her left breast in a similar manner. He tossed his gloves, desperate to feel her smooth skin under his bare palms.

He skirted her sides and down to the waistband of her leggings. He was trying to take his time, he really was, but the whimpered moan she breathed when his thumb and lips brushed against the sensitive, soft skin he revealed dove straight to his cock. He made quick work of her leggings before promptly coaxing her further up the bed. He gazed down at her reverently for a moment, and she bit her bottom lip under his scrutiny.

“Copia…” she murmured impatiently, her hips wiggling. “…your pants are still on.”

His dark chuckle made her squirm. “Si, tesoro…they are. Pazienza.” He leaned over her once more, balanced on his arms as he once again kissed her lips and took a moment to grind his erection against her center before his lips moved to her neck, then down to each breast. “I have a lot to…appreciate…before these come off.”

“Copia,” she whined once more, restless and needy. The anticipation was damn-near painful and she already knew she was embarrassingly wet beneath him. What could she say? She hadn’t even been able to dress in regular clothes in so long, let alone be touched by anyone but herself. She was quickly losing any shame of being desperate for him.

He smirked against her skin as he brought one leg over his shoulder and kissed her inner thigh, so delightfully close to where they both wanted him to be. “Cara mia, pazienza. Hai un profumo così dolce…” She had started to speak again but the sentence was cut off by a keening moan as his tongue traced her core all the way to her clit, earning an uncontrolled buck of her hips, a string of profanity that might have made Secondo blush, and her hands burying into his hair tightly. He groaned at her sweetness and each wanton and desperate noise that left her.

“Si, that’s it…” he growled, two fingers sliding easily into her heat and curling upwards as his lips continued to tweak and suck on her clit.

“Fuck, fuck, I-!” The coil in her belly tightened and snapped altogether, and far-more abruptly than she had anticipated. She moaned loudly, hands in his hair and holding his face to her center as she bucked and writhed beneath him, his fingers curling through her orgasm until she was limp and gasping. Her body twitched several times in the aftershocks as he ever-so-gently removed his fingers and licked whatever excess wetness he could find.

She was breathless at that point, finally cognizant enough to pull at least one hand from his hair in order to drape her arm across her eyes and hide in the crook of her own elbow. “Unholy fuck, Copia,” she muttered into the bleary, spotted darkness. She could both hear and feel him chuckle against her thigh as he kissed his way back up her body, her other hand blindly caressing his cheek before falling to the bed. “I know it’s been…a minute since I’ve been able to participate in any of the carnal sins but…fuck…”

He propped himself up on his arms once again and took a moment to take in the elegant curves of her naked body, those bruised full lips first parted and then pursed as she took a deep, slow breath and sighed the exhale. He hummed, delighted at the movement until she seemed to catch on to his pause and started to lift her arm off her eyes. He waited for those deep, chocolate brown irises to find his, waited for the blush that he somehow knew would follow and then promptly kissed her as she opened her mouth to ask a question.

She melted into the kiss once again, this one a bit more languid though just as impassioned. His hips pressed to hers gently, though with the tightness of his pants as they normally were, the rigid outline of his cock pressed against the laces was nothing he could even consider hiding. Her hands wandered down to those ties, fingers fumbling at first but then losing them altogether as he pushed up and sat back on his haunches and out of her reach. Her full-fledged pout actually made him chuckle, which she certainly did not appreciate. 

“Ah, ah, cara mia...” he tsked lightly as his own hands moved to the ties. “This night is for you…we will enjoy other things later. Il tuo piacere è il mio piacere.”

Evelyn damn-near whimpered. She had genuinely realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had any sort of relations with anyone but herself and a toy, and now she was somehow naked with Papa Emeritus IV, himself, watching as he removed his pants and insisted on focusing on her pleasure. She didn’t even want to question how she had gotten so lucky, particularly as those Satan-damned, painted on pants came slowly – and admittedly a bit gracelessly, but how the hell could anyone get those off gracefully? – off his hips. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as his cock bounced free, thick and promising, and Lucifer help her, his thighs…

Proud as he was of the pleasure she had so-clearly delighted in, he gave pause right before he had planned to crawl back on top of her and she noticed, head cocking slightly to the side and mussing her hair further against the duvet. He cleared his throat slightly. “Eh, tesoro…I did just realize that I did not exactly come prepared…” Her eyebrow quirked and she could see the embarrassed fluster growing on his cheeks that made her bite her lip in an attempt to contain her growing smile.

…was the fucking anti-Pope admitting that he didn’t bring a condom and wanting to be safe?

She couldn’t contain her grin any longer and laughed lightly much to his chagrin. She bent one leg and folded an arm behind her head as she gazed warmly at him. “I am the abbey physician, Papa,” she teased. “I not only have a hefty supply of condoms for our most-rowdy and lascivious of Siblings, but I also keep a supply of Plan B, and have taken care of my own birth control for many years.” He blinked at her openness and she shrugged. “I also have the privilege of knowing you have been clean every time we’ve tested you, and I’m certainly clean, as well, so…” Her bravado started to fade slightly, her own cheeks fetching the slightest flush of color. “…I suppose what I’m trying to say is, well…the choice is yours, Copia. I trust you.” And she would be entirely lying if she tried to say that she didn’t want him buried to the hilt with nothing between them, but…she wasn’t about to admit that aloud quite yet.

Copia stared at her for a moment, eyes locked as he felt that heat somehow grow exponentially more. There was an immense power in the trust she had bestowed upon him, which was not something he intended to take for granted. “Sei sesso e divinità insieme, tesoro,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. He finally crawled back over her and her bashful grin expanded as her knees framed his hips and her arms lifted to curl around his neck as he leveled another slow kiss to her lips. That slowness was soon to fade as the wanton desire settled back into their chests, particularly as his shaft settled against her wet core. The friction made them both whine.

Evelyn’s hips canted against him restlessly, successfully adding friction to her clit but not quite satisfying that ingratiating need to be filled. “Copia, please,” she breathed against his lips, as needy as she was when she’d first kissed him. He hissed out a breath, already feeling his self-control waning at just the whisper of her warmth against him.

“Cazzo, Evelyn…you are not making this easy for me.”

She huffed and pressed herself against him further. “You’re not making this any easier on me,” her eyes met his. “I want you. Now.”

…well, he wasn’t going to deny her that.

He pulled back just so he had enough room to take hold of his shaft and press the tip to her folds. His brow furrowed as he pushed forward, hands shifting to her sides as she sucked in a breath at the stretch and fullness of him. She gasped a breath as he pushed deeper, eyelids fluttering closed a moment as his forehead pressed to hers and they both muttered a string of curses between them. He held still once he had seated himself fully within her and released a shuttering breath as she fluttered and adjusted around him.

Her eyes opened, pupils blown wide with lust and desire as she took in his furrowed brow, smudged paints and disheveled hair. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth just slightly, as she found herself more enthralled by him than ever. Cardinal, Papa Emeritus IV…Copia. This man always proved to be so multifaceted.

His cock throbbed and her hips reflexively ground against him, earning breathy groans from them both as his eyes finally opened and found hers. They found a pace to suit them and her legs tangled with his as he set slow, full thrusts to enjoy and appreciate every inch of friction…at least until he couldn’t control his impatience any further. His pace quickened, thrusts firmer as she whimpered and moaned, his angle shifting just slightly until he found that delectable spot he’d found with his fingers earlier. Her nails bit into his back as she cursed, unable to control the buck of her hips as the coil tightened again.

“Questo è tutto, cara mia…Vieni per Papa…” he growled, feeling his own end speeding towards him but desperate to get her there first. His thumb reached down, collected her own slick and then pressed to her clit firmly. “Cum for me, Evelyn. Tell me.”

Overwhelmed by sensation and friction and heat, she couldn’t do anything but obey. Her vision spotted. “Fuck, Copia, I’m-….I’m cumming!” The words ended on a loud moan as her hips twitched and bucked against him, head thrown back into the duvet as her walls collapsed and squeezed around him, inevitably earning a string of curses in Italian as his cock throbbed and he spilled inside her, hips rolling and slowing to a stop as their orgasms faded.

Evelyn’s eyes rested closed for a moment as her mind began to register everything that had happened…and how quickly it had happened. Her breathing slowed as the sensitized nerves of her skin registered the body heat now pressed flush against her side. Her eyes finally fluttered open, finding that so-familiar heterochromatic gaze warm and content on her face as his hand drifted along her side. His paints were smudged and smeared, inevitably a sign that she likely looked a sight from it. She couldn’t help but smile and laugh slightly.

“You are okay, cara?”

The warmth in her belly and her chest no-longer had anything to do with that sensual need and lust and everything to do with how he went from cursing hot filth against her skin to sweet and damn-near bashful despite how he’d made her cum around his fingers, against his mouth and penultimately around his cock. Satan help her when it came to this man…

“That’s a funny question to ask someone whose had two of the best orgasms of her life.” It was impossible to miss the glow of pride on his face, and she just shook her head in good humor. “…but yes, C…I am at least a little bit better than okay.”

His thumb came up to rub first against her neck, then cheeks and finally lips, presumably some half-hearted attempt to clean some of his paints from her skin. “Next time I will wash my face first,” he chuckled, a bit amused when her brown irises found his and were unable to mask the surprise and question on her expression. His expression softened as his thumb gingerly traced the outline of her lips. “I meant what I said, il mio cuore…even more-so now. I will pick here and you. I want to learn more about you…”

Evelyn’s chest tightened, eyes widening a fraction at his open, direct expression. “You…” she paused, words escaping her for a moment before she melted to a smile, her lip twitching beneath the featherlight caress of his thumb. “Never thought I’d live to see a Papa talk about something that sounds shockingly like monogamy.” He started to blush and before he could do much else, she lifted a hand to encompass his wrist, thumb stroking across it as his fingertips remained perched at her lips. She felt her own cheeks flush. “I…I think I would very much like that…”

His smile was softer than she’d ever seen it, a sigh breathing against her lips as he gingerly kissed her. “Ho la sensazione che tu sia molto facile da amare, tesoro…” His words were a breath, a whisper against her lips, and while she couldn’t understand them, she felt a deep emotion in the manner with which he said them. A titter of nerves flickered through her chest.

“Perhaps we should try to get this paint off of us, hm?”

~

AO3 Link

#my writing #my fanfiction #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus 4 x ofc #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x ofc #shameless/not-so-shameless smut

[ipreferfiction]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love <3

i was tagged by @chen-qing (hiiii ily) and I am tagging @sith-shenanigans, @voiceofthetraveler, @isaakandreyevs, @tarrevizsla, and. i don't remember the tumblrs of anyone else so if you see this, consider yourself tagged!

tremble for yourself, my man (you know that you have seen this all before) is my little baby. my beloved. my child. i'm something like 8k into the next chapter and Cassus won't shut up and get to the plot.

Cassus Fett dies on Malachor V, at the end of Revan's lightsabers. He has spent three years pushing her to the brink of what she was willing to do, all in order to prove that she isn't so different from him; he has been expecting his death since she turned the tides of the Mandalorian Wars in the favor of the Republic.

Subsequently, Cassus Fett is slightly surprised to wake up six years in the past, in the body of his younger self, with no idea of how he got there or what he's supposed to be doing. Devoid of instruction, he sets out to save his people from annihilation and a war they were manipulated into - and unknowingly walks straight into a trap set up by the Sith Emperor for a Revan who does not yet exist. His survival and that of the mando'ade becomes a dangerous match between him and a power he cannot comprehend, and his greatest hope for winning is an alliance with the woman who once killed him - a woman who's barely more than a teenager, and who has no knowledge of the war she once won or the enemy that awaits them both.

so you wanna start a war (in the age of icons) is ofc the big swtor novelization, because Lee and I are filled with novelization hubris and too many characters.

Lia Vhoss and J'lima Akarr have been inseparable since they were children. As two of the strongest Jedi the Order has seen in decades, all eyes turn to them when the Empire once again makes a move against the Republic and an ancient enemy threatens to destroy everything they hold dear. But in the race to protect their home, they might find themselves consumed- or worse, torn apart forever.

Born a slave to a Sith family, Vyl Kivan has never felt comfortable with the reality of life in the Empire, no matter how little his opinion matters even to his fellow slaves. When he's sent to Korriban to learn the ways of the Sith and apprenticed to one of the most dangerous Darths in the Empire, he'll have to decide if he values his morality over his newfound freedom- or his life.

Rheja has been Sith since she was eight, taken to train with students just as bloodthirsty as she had to learn to be. Years of Korriban have prepared her to be apprentice to one of the most cunning and dangerous Sith in the Empire—until that position is taken and she is apprenticed to Darth Marr instead, thrown into a new world of intrigue and backstabbing nothing could've prepared her for.

bright burning is my Mandalorian Wars, and though it needs some editing it's still a favorite of mine.

Everything ends on Malachor V.

But to understand that heat death of the war, you must understand this: it all begins with Revan Adarii, three years earlier, as she turns her back on the High Council on Coruscant and raises an army of Jedi to fight the Mandalorian Wars.

She is twenty-one. Within six months, she is recognized as the best strategist of the Republic army. Within a year, she is their Supreme Commander. And by the time three years have passed and she is little more than a legend behind a mask, she has singlehandedly won the war—her Jedi ideals a necessary sacrifice to achieve victory. To crush the Mandalorians.

Revan, Alek, Mireya Surik, and the lies they tell themselves as they go to war.

we'll hold each other soon (in the blackest of rooms) aka me and my emotional support rarepair.

Mandalore tilts his head to study Fett. Even relaxed, his stance is set for battle, grip nearly perfect; he was born for a fight, that much is obvious. Clan Fett was nothing before Cathar, its best son little more than a footnote until he knelt at Mandalore’s feet, golden beskar stained with ash, and held out his spear as an offering and an oath. My life is yours, he had said—gods, he’d been so young there kneeling in the rain of a dying planet, and yet he’d been the only commander to make it through the battle, the only one with the strength to give the orders that needed giving.

My life is yours.

“I accept your terms,” Mandalore says, locking eyes with Fett through the blackened visor of his mask, and the fight begins.

and ofc meet me on the battlefield, the kotor/swtor/totj fusion in what started out as the hp universe but has basically been gutted and completely rebuilt, because jkr doesn't know how to write on top of being seventeen flavors of bigot.

#things i have been tagged in #my fics #swtor #kotor

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Destiny & Deliverance: Chapter 21

Destiny & Deliverance Masterlist ||| Dieter Bravo X OFC Some Smut & Language- Minors DNI New as of 9/21/2023

SUPPORT YOUR CREATORS. REBLOGGING & COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED.

Series Rating: Explicit (18+)

Series Summary: Natalia Cohen is experiencing major life changes, beginning with leaving an emotionally abusive husband. She is learning how to navigate life on her own while dealing with high functioning anxiety, depression, and mild PTSD. Everything is looking up for her. She is a highly respected consultant for a major LA firm, has her best friend, Lauren, by her side, and is on her path to healing. Everything changes when she meets a handsome and broken stranger on a work trip. He turns out to be a well-known actor, with a heart-breaking past. They quickly develop a connection that will forever alter their lives. 

Warnings: Themes dealing with mental health, emotional trauma, alcohol use, and discussions about suicide. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn type of story. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Quote: "Dieter. Don’t do this…please."

A/N: Chapter 21 is finally here! It's a beast coming in at 9k words. I have to give a massive thank you to @for-a-longlongtime for taking on the challenge of cleaning this mess up. Make sure you thank her for it! She worked some serious magic on it for me. Just a fair warning, this takes a super angsty turn. Get your cozy blanket and chocolate ready, because you might need it.

I was not prepared for how hard Dieter's absence would hit me once he had left to film in Canada. Spending time alone had never bothered me at any point in my life; but now without him, it felt like a piece of me was missing. I did my best to keep busy. When I wasn't working remotely, I continued the home improvement project at Dieter’s house or worked on various projects in my craft room. 

Aside from two incidents, I had managed to avoid the lurking paparazzi. There were a few photos that had been snapped from a distance while I was out running errands that popped up on some fan pages; it was annoying, but the best way to handle it was to take it in stride and just remind myself that people were always watching. Luckily, no one had approached me directly; the public knowledge that Dieter was currently on set in Canada probably took a lot of the heat off me.

Fortunately, I had people in my life to help me cope with Dieter's absence. I spent several evenings with Lauren, catching up on gossip as we watched movies. The shop had been keeping her busy due to an employee shortage, and she was also exploring options to expand into the vacant unit next door. While I could see how that took up a lot of her time, I couldn't shake the feeling that she was holding things back from me. But whenever I asked her about it, she would wave it off and say everything was fine, as her phone continued to beep with a steady stream of text messages.

Gabby must have noticed that I had been feeling lonely, as she made a point to extend a longstanding dinner invitation at her house. While I enjoyed spending time with her and went to see her often, it didn’t do anything to dampen my feeling of loneliness. No one could fill that void except for her brother.

Communicating with Dieter brought on a new set of frustrations that I hadn’t expected. The remote location turned out to have a lot of signal issues, so it was hard for us to connect by texts or calls as often as either of us would have liked. I could tell that he tried to stay positive, but during the times that we were able to Facetime it struck me how tired he looked and sounded. Things were slowly wearing him down.

Two weeks into filming, during one of our few facetime calls, Dieter admitted that he had been feeling a little down and wasn’t getting enough sleep. The side effects of the medication had lessened, but so far it didn’t seem to offer him any relief from the issues that he struggled with. A local provider that he was referred to suggested that he start taking antidepressants. When he told me, I noticed how distant his eyes seemed as he spoke. “It’s fine. I’ll take them”, he said after a beat, his fingers absentmindedly tugging at the label on the bright orange container with pills. “I’m just dreading more side effects.” He had been unusually quiet during our call that evening. I could see weariness sunk into the lines on his face and couldn’t help the gnawing feeling that things were not all that fine.

The last few days before I was scheduled to fly out to Alberta passed by painfully slow. It made me restless, and I couldn't focus my energy on anything but the trip. I lost count of how many times I went through my packing list. Dieter seemed to be feeling the same way, sounding giddy during the times we were able to catch up over the phone. He had made sure to arrange a car that would pick me up at the airport. So, when I finally I landed at Edmonton International after a three-hour flight, I was relieved that I didn’t have to deal with the anxiety of transportation to get to the set.

As we drove several hours to get to the filming location, I saw the landscape changing from city views to remote swatches of land. Lush forests and more than a few wild animals caught my attention. With so few people, stores, and even power lines around, it wasn’t surprising that there had been such problems with getting a cell signal.

By the time I made it to their filming location, my back was absolutely killing me. I was happy to be climbing out of the vehicle. I was in the midst of stretching when Rylee came jogging over. Her hair was now black mixed with a deep purple color, which threw me for a minute. She gave me a wave and wide smile as she approached.

“He’s gonna be so fucking happy you’re finally here,” she announced as she pulled me in for a quick hug. “Actually, I’m fucking happy you’re here because I’m tired of his whining.”

I gave her a chuckle in response.

“What do I need to do with my bags?”

“We can put them in his trailer for now. Come on, I’ll help.”

As small as the trailers looked from the outside, I wasn’t expecting much. But I had to admit, I was pleasantly surprised. It was like a mini home on wheels.

“So, is he the only one who uses this trailer?” I asked as I looked around on the inside. The bed toward the back had caught my eye, because of course that’s where my mind immediately went to. Rylee gave me a knowing smile.

“I mean, do I need to put my bags out of the way or anything? I don’t wanna take up someone else’s space.”

I tried to recover. I’m not sure she bought it. I could feel my cheeks burning.

“He’s one of the stars of the show. So, yes, he’s the only one who should be in here aside from you or I, unless invited.”

I nodded, still trying to play it cool.

“Don’t worry, I’ll knock before I come in,” she added with a wink.

“No, no, that’s…that’s not why I was asking.” I shook my head as I spoke, feeling even more embarrassed.

“Don’t play coy, I’m not dumb.” A wide teasing grin spread across her face.

“Ok, ANYWAY, what now?” I interjected, trying to change the subject. That caused her to laugh harder. Once her laughs subsided to a manageable level, she responded.

“Now we go find your man and surprise him. I haven’t told him you’re here yet. He’s filming right now. They should be wrapping for a break soon.” 

I followed Rylee down a long trail into a wooded area. We ended up near a large opening next to the river. I could see a lot of commotion up ahead where they were filming on the edge of the riverbank. We got close enough to watch, but far enough out of the way that I couldn’t be spotted. I didn’t want my sudden appearance to throw Dieter off.

They were filming a scene that included a heated exchange between several of the characters. It was amazing to watch him work. To see him turn the character on and off between takes was interesting. He could go from joking around and laughing to angry within seconds. I didn’t understand how he could do it so convincingly. On their third try, I noticed Dieter’s face shifted slightly mid-way through as one of the other male actors was speaking. It was an actual look of annoyance. He turned looking towards the director while everyone else looked confused. Someone called cut from the group behind the camera. Dieter looked back over at the other male actor, clearly frustrated.

“Can’t you just stick to the damn script? They told you to cut that shit out,” he said loudly to the other male actor.

It sounded like the guy responded with a comment about the lines feeling out of character. I couldn’t fully hear him since his back was facing our direction.

“If you have a problem with it, discuss it with the boss and the writers before we film. You're holding everyone up here.”

It looked like the guy may have flipped Dieter the bird, and I don’t think he meant it in the joking with your friends kind of way. Rylee looked at me and rolled her eyes, “That’s Tom. That guy has been a total douche. He thinks he’s more important than he actually is. He’s driving Dieter crazy with this stuff.”

“Yeah, he looks like a douche. Is Dieter always that direct with people?” I hadn’t noticed this before, but then again, I hadn’t been around him when he was working.

Rylee shook her head. “Can’t say I’ve witnessed it before, though I don’t blame him in this instance.” She hesitated for a moment. “He hasn’t been in the best mood though.”

We watched as they shot three more takes before a dinner break was announced. Everyone started to clear out of the area, except for one of the female actresses who approached Dieter. She was a petite brunette, and clearly attractive. She reached out to touch his upper arm as she spoke, obviously flirting with him. I couldn’t hear what she said, but Dieter looked at her with annoyance as he pulled his arm away and walked off. She didn’t look happy about his response, giving him a slight glare as she walked away with a huff.

I knitted my brows together over their exchange. Rylee noticed my expression.

“That’s been a whole thing. Chloe just won’t take a hint. Don’t worry, he’s been nothing but a dick to her.”

I laughed, “Well, maybe she’ll take the hint now that I’m here.”

I watched as Dieter wandered over to the edge of the riverbank, looking frustrated with his phone in hand. He seemed to be talking to himself, occasionally walking a few steps one way or the other with the device up in the air, like he was looking for a better signal. Rylee bumped her shoulder against mine.

“What are you waiting for? Go get your man before he loses his damn mind again over his phone not working.”

I chuckled before walking off in his direction, approaching him from behind. I could hear him muttering about his phone being a “piece of shit” as he tapped on the screen harder than necessary.

“What did that phone ever do to you?”

“It doesn’t fucking work half the time,” he replied curtly, his head bowed down as he continued to fiddle with the object of his frustration. A beat later, his fiddling paused as he raised his head, quickly turning toward me.

The instant his eyes locked with mine, he was moving, taking quick long strides over to me as the relief swept over his face. Before I knew it, he had wrapped his arms tightly around my waist and lifted me, spinning in a circle as he pressed his lips into mine with urgency. “Hi.” His voice croaked, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. I hugged him back around his neck as I returned the kiss with just as much enthusiasm. He lowered me to the ground, our embrace continuing with kisses between whispers of how much we had missed each other.

He pulled back, looking over my face as he reached to run his fingers through my hair. A small smile tugging at his lips.

My thumb traced the faint darkness under his eyes. I could see it even under all the makeup and dirt. My chest tightened at the thought of him not being able to sleep. I really hoped he wasn’t still having bad dreams, but I didn’t think he would tell me if he was.

We were brought back to reality when a few of the remaining crew members and Rylee started whopping and whistling at us, someone even yelling at us to get a room. We both burst out laughing but were also slightly embarrassed. I could already tell that being on the film set with Dieter was going to be an interesting experience.

He leaned into my ear, “How about we go somewhere a little more private?”

I nodded with a mischievous smile in return. We made a beeline for his trailer. Several people attempted to get his attention as he passed by, but he was having none of it. He waved them off and kept going, gently pulling me along as he held my hand.

We had barely made it into his trailer before he was kissing me and reaching for my belt buckle. I had to make him stop to shut the door properly behind him. It bounced back open twice before he finally gave it a couple of good tugs to fully latch it. He cursed at it under his breath while I laughed at him.

We undressed each other in record time before falling onto the bed in a mess of tangled limbs. Dieter settled in between my thighs as he reached down to rub between my folds. I grabbed his hand, stopping him as I shook my head.

“No, I need you now.”

He gave me a cocky grin as he moved to line himself up at my entrance. “As you wish.” He rested his forehead against mine as he entered slowly, giving me the opportunity to adjust to his size. Once he was in all the way, his movement briefly stilled, and a small whimper escaped his lips.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much, missed this, missed us.”

He kissed me deeply, his tongue tangling with mine as he started his movements again. His pace quickened, turning the sweet moment into one of raw need. Our sweaty bodies slid against each other as our movements became more frantic. We held on to each other tightly as his thrusts grew harder. We heard voices outside of the trailer, which briefly pulled our attention away from our activities. Dieter shook his head as if to dismiss it, then buried his face into my neck, muffling the noises he was making as he briefly covered my mouth with his hand to quieten the sounds still escaping my lips. I pulled his hand away and wrapped my legs around him as he resumed his quick, plunging movements. I could feel the tension building before coming undone around him. It took everything in me to stay quiet as I felt the rush of tingling electricity throughout my body. His thrusts grew more erratic as he felt me tighten around him. He soon spilled into me as he was rocked with his own orgasm. 

He collapsed beside me, trying to catch his breath. I rolled over and cuddled into his side as he wrapped his arms around me and buried his face into my hair. We sat in silence. Within minutes, his breathing started to deepen as he fell asleep. I didn’t dare move. I didn’t want to wake him.

Thirty minutes or so passed when I heard crackling over a radio from somewhere in the trailer giving a twenty-minute warning for filming to resume. The sound didn’t disturb Dieter in the slightest. He was out cold. I hated to wake him, but knew I needed to. It took several shakes, but he finally woke up grumbling as he hugged me tighter. He finally rolled out of bed, and I followed. We quickly got dressed and attempted to make ourselves presentable.

“You look like a hot fucking mess,” I said as I eyed the smeared makeup on his face. It looked more like he had smeared and streaked the dirt on his face with his fingers rather than just being naturally dirty. He looked in the mirror and sighed.

“Oh well. Shit happens,” he shrugged before pulling me in for another kiss. A ten-minute warning crackled on the radio, followed by a knock on the door. Dieter moved to open it, allowing Rylee inside. She entered, then stopped, looking us both over with a smirk on her face.

She started laughing and shaking her head as she looked at Dieter more closely. She turned to me, “I think you may be hair and makeup’s worst nightmare.”

We all shook with laughter at her remark. There was no hiding it at this point, might as well laugh about it. Once we contained ourselves, Rylee held out a small bag.

“I figured you wouldn’t make it over to eat, so I grabbed some food for you. Dieter, walk and eat please. We gotta go.” 

We thanked her as we headed out the door with sandwiches and drinks in hand. 

Rylee was right, Dieter was swarmed by hair and makeup as soon as he got back to the filming location, and they were giving him a hard time about it. I made a mental note to avoid his face and hair in the future, or at least try to.

Filming went well into the early morning hours. I spent most of my time either watching them film or with Rylee showing me around. Once they wrapped for the night, we briefly stopped in at Dieter’s trailer to grab my bags, then a car took us to the secluded resort about thirty minutes away where the cast and crew were staying. We showered to rid ourselves of the outdoors which led to our second and third rounds of sex before crashing. Dieter didn’t seem to have any trouble falling asleep that night as our naked bodies lay tangled under the fluffy down duvet.

The 7AM alarm came early when you only managed to get about four hours sleep. We spent a few minutes in bed, just enjoying each other’s company and showering each other in affection. That was soon interrupted by Reylee’s call to make sure Dieter was awake and not “dicking around” because our car would be there soon. She held nothing back. Her filter worked about as good as mine.

We had to scramble to get ready to leave but managed to make it on time. Rylee met us in the lobby with coffee and muffins, which I was thankful for. Dieter’s muffin set untouched during the ride as he looked over his script. Rylee reminded him at least three times to eat. I eventually grabbed the muffin and shoved it into his mouth, which took him off guard.

“Well, that’s one way to do it!” Rylee said as we both snorted through laughter. Dieter didn’t seem to find it as funny. He looked slightly annoyed but took it from me and ate while he continued to look over his script.

Once we arrived, he immediately went off to hair and makeup. I wandered around to find a decent cell signal so I could use my mobile hotspot to get a little bit of work done. I found a nice spot at the top of a hill where I had a view of everyone at work filming. The cell signal would come and go, and I could now understand Dieter’s earlier frustrations. It seemed the remote area we were in was in the middle of a dead zone.

During the lunch break, I sat with Rylee as Dieter spoke with the director and producer about some scenes they would be filming soon. He was in pure chaos mode, a bundle of hyped-up energy, talking a mile-a-minute about an idea he had.

“He seems to be in better spirits now that you’re here,” Rylee said to me as I watched him gesture wildly with his arms.

“He actually got some sleep last night; I think that’s helped.”

“Yeah, and got rid of some of that pent up tension too, I’m sure.”

Rylee smirked as she took a sip of her water. I raised an eyebrow as it took me a minute to realize what she was referencing. Once I caught on, I rolled my eyes at her.

“You’re incorrigible. You know that? I think your filter might be more broken than mine.”

She beamed, clearly proud of herself. She glanced down at her watch, checking the time. The break was almost over, and he was still talking while everyone else around him finished up lunch.

“I swear, if he doesn’t start eating, I’m gonna choke him. I’ll be right back.”

I watched as Rylee went over to grab a plate of food and deposited it in his hands, giving him a chastising look as he took it from her. It didn’t faze him, he held it as he continued to talk.

She came to sit back down beside me.

“Has that been an issue with him, not eating?”

“Oh yeah, he gets wrapped up in the ‘creative process’ and forgets to eat.”

“Has that always been a thing?”

“Yes and no. He seems a little worse than normal this time around. I just figured he was trying to keep himself busy, so he doesn’t think about being away from you.” 

I gave her a small smile but didn’t say anything. It bothered me that he was skipping meals because I knew how much that man loved food.

“He’s been fine otherwise though…right?”

I’m sure she could see the concern etched on my face.

“Yeah, I mean, I know he hasn’t been sleeping well, which isn’t really new. He’s been a little moody, but otherwise ok.”

I felt bad for even asking, but I had a feeling he wasn’t going to be completely honest with me if he was having a hard time.

Dieter finally ended his conversation and came over to straddle the bench seat facing me on my right side as he set his food down on the table. His left hand immediately came up to rest in my hair at the base of my neck to pull me in for a quick kiss. Rylee again reminded him to eat because he only had fifteen minutes left. He rolled his eyes and stuffed half a sandwich in his mouth with his right hand, giving her a sarcastic look. I leaned my head over onto his left shoulder while he continued to run his fingers through my hair. He carried on eating with his other hand, occasionally speaking to Rylee between bites. For the first time that morning, his chaotic energy finally seemed to ease down slightly.   

I was able to spend more time with Dieter that afternoon. He had a few breaks while they filmed scenes he wasn’t part of. We spent those breaks alone in his trailer. While a lot of that time included more intimate activities, we were perfectly content to just be in each other’s company while he went over the script or napped. Both of which he did while cuddled into my side as I ran my fingers through his curls and lightly scratched his scalp with my nails. He complained when I let him fall asleep because that meant he was losing time with me, but we both knew he needed it.

My third day went much like the previous. It was a routine we had settled into. Dieter’s overall mood seemed to have improved, and he looked more rested than he had when I first arrived. Rylee seemed happy about that since he was less grumpy and more compliant than he had been.

That evening, filming wrapped early. The cast and crew were planning to hit up a local bar to blow off some steam. Dieter wasn’t planning to go, but Rylee encouraged it. Mostly because she didn’t want to go alone. We humored her and said we would make an appearance, even though we both would have much rather been alone in our suite for the evening.

When we arrived, we found an open space at the bar. Dieter and Rylee took the two open bar stools while I opted to stand for a bit. Dieter sat facing me, with one arm leaned on the bar. I stood in between his open legs, leaning against his shoulder as his hand rested on my hip. Rylee ordered some sort of fruity mixed drink while we both asked for water. If he wasn’t going to drink, then I wasn’t either. Rylee surprisingly didn’t question it, which I appreciated.

There was a steady flow of cast and crew that came over to chat with us. They all seemed nice enough and were very welcoming toward me. Then there was Chloe…We had been there for about an hour when she made her way over to chat with Dieter. She was clearly a few drinks in as her speech was starting to slur slightly. She came up behind him, slowly snaking her arm around his shoulders while saying “hello handsome” in the best sultry voice she could muster. She did all this, even though he was sitting there with one of his arms around me. I felt him lean forward into me as he reached to remove her arm from his shoulder. I turned to meet her gaze, confused by her brazen actions. She stepped away, giving an obvious pout as she finally realized I was standing there. She tilted her head like she was trying to sort out a puzzle, then reached out her hand to shake mine.

“I’m Chole, I don’t think we’ve met. Are you like his sister or something?”

The look of shock and confusion that Rylee, Dieter, and I gave her had to be almost comical. Was she really that dumb or just being a bitch? Based on the clueless stare she was giving me; I was going with dumb.

Rylee muttered, “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” just loud enough that I could hear her over the loud background music. Dieter leaned forward, trying his hardest not to laugh.

“No, definitely not my sister. That would make all the sex we’ve had the last three days a little weird. She’s actually the love of my life and the only woman I’m currently interested in.”

He gave her a wide smile. It took everything I had in me to control the laughter that was threatening to burst out. Rylee nearly choked on her drink and made no attempts to hide her giggles.

Chloe’s eyes grew large as she took in his response. Her cheeks tinged with red. She gave a tight smile, nodding in understanding before she awkwardly turned to walk away. All three of us burst out laughing.

“I cannot believe you said that to her,” I said to Dieter through my chuckles.

“Just trying to get the point across. The girl is not good at picking up hints.” He sighed, still looking amused, but it was clear that her behavior had been bothering him for a while now. “She probably won’t remember it tomorrow anyway.”

Dieter got up to go to the bathroom, so I took his seat. Rylee and I continued to chat as she turned her back to the bar to look over the crowd, expressing her dismay over the lack of suitable options for a one-night stand. I sat facing her, leaning on the bar with my head propped on my hand, laughing at the disgusted look on her face. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Tom and a group of guys at the end of the bar. They were very obviously looking our way, their lingering eyes occasionally being a bit too blatant. Internally, I was rolling my eyes and hoping they didn’t cause any trouble. I was startled by Dieter speaking up loudly from behind me, his voice tense and words clipped.

“The fuck you looking at?”

I turned to face him; he was clearly looking in the direction of Tom’s group. I didn’t see their reaction, but Dieter seemed satisfied after a moment as I reached to grab at his shirt and pull him over to me. I was attempting to distract him to avoid any further drama.

“Don’t pay any attention to them, they’re clearly drunk.”

He couldn’t stop a huff falling from his lips as his arms slid around my waist, eyes focused on mine. “Yeah well, they don’t need to be staring at you two like that,” he muttered.

“Don’t worry about it D., I think we can handle them,” Rylee added with a serious tone.

After a short while, the group got up and left the bar area. Dieter followed them with his eyes as they retreated to the upstairs area of the establishment. Once they were gone, he visibly relaxed within a few minutes, seeming to have forgotten about the exchange. He continued to chat with some crew members sitting close to us as Rylee pulled me out to dance. I felt a little out of my element. I was typically a few drinks in before I ever took to the dance floor, but I tried to let loose a little and have fun with her. I could see Dieter still seated at the bar, keeping a close eye on us, and occasionally smiling at our antics when our eyes met.

We were a few songs in when I felt someone come up behind me and wrap their arms around my waist. I immediately stiffened because I knew it wasn’t Dieter. When I turned to push them away, I saw it was one of the guys who had been in Tom’s group earlier. This was not going to go well. I tried my hardest to get rid of him before Dieter noticed, but he absolutely would not go away and only continued to get more handsy as I continued to resist. Rylee stepped in to intervene and he pushed her away, before grabbing onto my ass. I pushed away again, more roughly this time as I moved to walk away. When I turned, Dieter was right there in front of me, his eyes blazing with anger. Rylee and I had to step in to block him as he was about to throw a punch at the guy's face.

“Hey, hey, hey. Stop. Stop it!” I yelled as I hooked my arm around his when he was mid swing. There was no doubt in my mind that he could take the guy, but a fight was the last thing he needed. Especially with how short his fuse already seemed to be lately. Rylee was pushing backwards on Dieter’s chest while he yelled obscenities at the guy, who just stood there with a smug look on his face. It clearly only enraged Dieter more, causing him to keep pushing back against us to get to the guy.

“Dieter, stop it! It’s ok, I’m ok.”

“It’s not fucking ok. He has no right to touch you like that.”

“No, he doesn’t but we can deal with it another way. Just not like this, please.”

“You can kiss your fucking job goodbye. Don’t even show up tomorrow,” Dieter yelled toward the guy who shouted a quick, “Fuck you,” back at him.

Rylee and I pushed him toward the exit. Once outside, she called for our driver to pick us up. Dieter took off without a word and headed down the street, taking long strides as he seemed oblivious to his surroundings. The set of his shoulders was tense and tight, and I noticed his hands clench into fists repeatedly as he got further away from us. I moved to follow him, but Rylee stopped me.

“Just give him a minute.” 

I bit my lip as I watched him disappear from sight. I took a few deep breaths to calm my nerves. “Does he always fly off the handle like that?” I knew the answer before I had finished asking the question. During the time we had spent together in the past several months, I had never seen him respond in that way. He had never attempted to hit anyone or verbally attack them with anger. As pissed as he was when we ran into Justin, he stayed perfectly calm through that entire exchange.

“Like that? No. But I assume it’s just because it had to do with you,” Rylee responded.

A few minutes later our car pulled up and Dieter still hadn’t returned. We instructed the driver to head in the same direction he had walked earlier, hoping that we would find him. I spotted him sitting on a bench with his head in his hands and told our driver to pull over. Once the car was parked, I got out and walked over to the bench, taking a seat next to him. When he didn’t look up, I started rubbing slow circles on his back with my hand.

“You ok?”

He shook his head from side to side before sitting up straight, inhaling deeply as he looked around at nothing. His face was tense. I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or distress. He wouldn’t look at me.

“Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

He shook his head from side to side again while trying to control his breathing. His leg started to bounce as he continued to stare, unblinking, the dissociation palpable in the air. I felt like he was fighting off a panic attack. After hesitating for a moment, I stood up and climbed onto his lap, my legs straddling his thighs. I forced him to look at me, grabbing one of his hands and holding it to my chest as his eyes locked with mine. With my free hand, I reached for the hair at the base of his neck and rubbed him gently, just like I had done after the Anna incident. Immediately his body language changed, and I felt him lean into my touch, a barely audible sigh escaping from his lips.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

He shook his head slowly, searching for words. “I just… couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I dunno. I think I blacked out for a minute.” He looked away as another sigh broke free from him. “I don’t even know what just happened.”

I pulled him in and hugged tightly around his shoulders. He buried his face into the crook of my neck as his breathing slowed. He held onto me tightly. I could feel the occasional twitching in his right hand.

“I’m sorry, I know I could’ve handled that differently,” he said eventually, his breath warm against the curve of my shoulder. “I just kinda snapped when I saw him grab you like that.”

I pulled back to look at him, running my fingers through the side of his hair.

“You’re fine. I understand why you were upset.” I leaned in, giving him a lingering kiss on his lips, then rubbed my nose against his.

“How about we head back to the resort and forget about this mess.”

He let out a small sigh before nodding in agreement. He stood as he kept his hand pressed against the small of my back, lifting me with him before gently depositing my feet on the ground. I took his hand, leading him in the direction of where the car had parked. 

True to his word, Dieter made a few calls the next morning before we got to set. The guy, whose name turned out to be Craig, was fired. They didn’t want someone like that around, for obvious reasons.

We fell back into our routine after the incident at the bar. My remaining days with Dieter were passing by quickly, which only seemed to bring his mood down. He was spending less time preparing for filming and more time with me during his breaks. We never spoke of how much time we had left, but I could tell it was always at the forefront of his mind. It was clear in the way he would cling to me when we were alone, how he would also avoid any conversation about when I would eventually be flying home. I had given up on getting any of my remote work done during the last two days; the work mattered, but faded in importance compared to being present there with him. On top of that, the cell signal issues persisted, so I opted to take some time off for those days instead. It meant I got more time to watch Dieter in action. I was able to be near him, just off camera the entire time. He took full advantage of my presence between takes, coming over for an affectionate touch or kiss when he was able.

On the morning of my flight to LA, he woke me before either of our alarms went off. I had barely opened my eyes before I felt his hands roam over my body, his lips soft and warm as he trailed kisses down my neck from behind. Once I turned over towards him, his motions turned near frantic almost immediately as he met my lips for a deep kiss, his fingers sliding between my thighs where he found I was ready for him. Our kisses were urgent, our touches insistent. It was almost like we couldn’t get close enough. With the quick pace that he set from the beginning, neither of us lasted long. As soon as he felt me coming undone, he followed. He stayed propped above me, with his elbows on either side of my head, kissing me in between brief moments of letting his eyes dance across my face. I could feel him lightly threading my hair through his fingers. 

“I’m not sure how many more times I can tell you goodbye like this. I fucking hate it.” His brows knitted together as he spoke. The emotion was clear on his face. He looked like he was about to break. I reached up to tangle my hands in his messy curls.

“I know baby, I do too. It’s just for four weeks though, then you get to come home for a few days.”

I tried my hardest to sound positive, but every fiber of my being was screaming in protest. Something felt off. Something was telling me to stay with him. I felt a tear slide down the side of my face while I fought with those emotions. I knew I was just being irrational because I didn’t want to be away from him. He wiped the tear away with his thumb and leaned down to kiss me, gently.

We were interrupted by the alarm on his phone going off. He reached over to grab it from the nightstand with a protesting groan as he pulled out of me. He turned the alarm off and set the phone next to my head as he settled above me again, continuing to kiss me deeply. But once again we were interrupted by his phone; it was Rylee with her usual morning call to make sure he was awake. He finally sat up to answer it. I could hear her reminding him of my flight details before he cut her off to say we had it all under control and he would see her later. He wasn’t usually so terse with her, so it surprised me a little. After he hung up, he let out a loud sigh and got up to go toward the shower. 

I sat in bed a little longer before joining him, taking a moment because I could feel the panic rising in my chest. The little voice in my head kept screaming at me to stay with him. I needed to pull it together, for him. Me being upset was only going to make him more anxious. I finally drug myself up out of the bed to go shower. We both rushed to get ready. He had to leave before I did, but I still needed to pack up.

When I came out of the bathroom after drying my hair and getting dressed, Dieter was sitting at the edge of the bed with his elbows propped on his knees and palms rubbing at his eyes. When he looked up at me, his eyes were red and glossy.

“My car is here.”

I inhaled a deep breath and gave him a nod as I walked toward him. I pulled him into a tight hug.

“You’re gonna be so busy, the time will fly by. You probably won’t even notice I’m gone,” I said into his neck. He scoffed.

“I think we both know that’s not true.”

I gave him a tight smile as I pulled away to look him in the eye, “You call me when you’re having a hard time, yeah?”

He looked down and away from me as he gave me a small nod. His phone pinged, no doubt it was Rylee telling him to hurry it up. He leaned in for one last kiss before leaving.

I stood for some time, staring at the door I had just watched close behind him. I kept having a feeling in the pit of my stomach that this might be the last time I would see him, and it was freaking me out. It took everything in me to push those thoughts away so that I could focus on packing and making my flight.

In the days that followed, he called every time he was able, but most of our communication was done via text message. Which I knew he absolutely hated. About a week after I got home, there was a full day that I didn’t hear from him. I started to get a little worried, until I got a text message from Rylee later that evening saying that Dieter’s phone was broken, and he would call me from her phone later.       

It was near midnight when my phone finally rang. I had been lying in bed for an hour, wide awake, hopeful that he was going to call. I know the relief had to be obvious in my voice when I answered.

“Please tell me you didn’t throw your phone into the river because it wouldn’t work.”

Dieter laughed, “No, actually I threw it at a stone wall because it wouldn’t work. It’s in pieces.”

I was a little taken aback by his response. I had only been joking.

“Dieter, that’s a little excessive.”

“Yeah, but it made me feel better for a few minutes.” He cleared his throat, voice slightly hoarse as fatigue laced through his words. “Until I realized I couldn’t text or call you at all after that.”

I wasn’t sure how to react to that. It seemed a little out of character for him.

“Rylee ordered another phone for me. It should be here tomorrow.”

“Well, at least you’ll get a replacement quickly.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to not break this one,” he said with a small laugh.

His voice sounded off. I wasn’t sure why, but it did.

“Are you doing ok?”

He took a moment to respond and I heard him gulp down something to drink. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? I’m fan-fucking-tastic.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“No. I’m fine.” More drinking sounds, then a sigh. “I mean, I miss you and I’m tired. That’s nothing new though.”

The phone disconnected with a beep. I got a text a minute later.

DIETER: Sorry, lost fucking signal again. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you.

“This fucking sucks,” I huffed out loud to myself. I sent him a quick goodnight text and tried to go to sleep. 

In the weeks that followed, I could tell something was going on with Dieter when he would call. He always insisted that he was fine, and it was just all the usual things bothering him. However, he seemed to be growing more distant. The calls and texts were becoming fewer and farther between. It was making me beyond anxious. I was having a hard time focusing on anything, including work. I spent a lot of my time alone, staring at the tv without having any idea what was happening on the screen. I avoided talking to Lauren and Gabby because I knew they would sense something was up, and I wasn’t sure where to even begin explaining my concerns without violating his privacy.

After going a day and a half without hearing from him, I called Rylee to see if he was ok. She said he was normal during filming. Maybe even a little more excitable and obnoxious than usual. She added that he did seem somewhat withdrawn when it was just the two of them though. I asked her to call me if things didn’t improve with him. He was due to come home for a break in one week, so I was hopeful he would snap out of whatever funk he was in.  

Around 10 PM that same evening, my phone lit up with an incoming call from Rylee. I suddenly felt sick. I knew something was wrong.

“Rylee?”

It took a moment before I heard her voice, as static and background noises seemed to drown her out at first. “Ummm, so Dieter is absolutely losing his shit on Tom right now. Do you think you can try to calm him down?” I had never heard Rylee truly agitated, but this time her voice was tense, laced with panic and concern.

My heart felt like it was beating in my throat as I gripped the phone tighter. “I can try- yes, of course. What happened?”

The screaming of two men in the background became louder, as if the phone was turned towards their direction, and I wondered if that was Rylee’s way of offering some further insight.

“Why can’t you just do what you’re fucking told? You’re gonna get someone fucking killed doing that shit,” Dieter yelled, his voice loud and distressed, the sound of it immediately conjuring up a visual of him with clenched fists and dark eyes like he had been that night at the bar.

“Fuck you man, go have a drink and calm the fuck down,” Tom spat back at him.  

“Fuck you dude, she just almost got hurt because of you. You’re an asshole,” Dieter said with indignation.

“Guys! Stop yelling. Take a break,” a third male voice interrupted.

“I don’t know, something about a stunt that didn't go well. I didn’t see it, so I’m not sure. Hold on.”

I could hear Rylee trying to get Dieter’s attention away from Tom, telling him I was on the phone.

“Did you fucking call her?” He sounded pissed and combative, which was not a tone he normally took with her.

She didn’t answer his question. “Talk to her please.”

I could hear the phone jostling around before he answered, his voice still sounding gruff, “Yeah, what is it?”

“What is it?” For a moment I was stunned and didn’t know how to respond at how he snapped at me. “That’s how you're answering? What’s going on?”

He ignored my question and instead fired off one of his own, tension in his words. “Did she call you?”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to get Rylee in trouble.

“No, I called because I haven’t heard from you in almost two days. I wanted to check in.”

He scoffed. “Check in? I’m a grown ass man, I don’t need you two babysitting me.”

“Whhaa? No. That’s…that’s not what I…”

“Look, I’m busy,” he interrupted me before I could say more. “The stunt coordinator needs me. I’ll call you later.”

I was shocked into silence. I didn’t know how to respond. He had never spoken to me like that before.

Rylee got back on the phone, sounding clearly uncomfortable as she must have overheard Dieter. “Heeeey, umm. I don’t even know what to say. That was weird.”

“I don’t know what to say either. I think… I’m gonna come back up there. Maybe it’s because he’s not sleeping.”

Rylee seemed to sigh in relief, but quickly recovered. “I’ll get a flight set up for you.”

“No, I can do that. Just, keep him out of trouble. I’ll see if I can get one for tomorrow.”

We hung up after that. I had to take a minute to pull myself together. I couldn’t let myself fall apart right now. Once I had a minute to gather my thoughts, I walked to my home office and fired up my desktop so I could start looking at flights. It was near 1:30 AM when my phone started ringing on my desk, it was Dieter. I was honestly surprised that he called.

“Hello.”

“Hey.”

“Hey.”  

I wasn’t sure what to say to him after our earlier exchange. I was hurt and upset with him. For a moment there was silence between us, but then Dieter cleared his throat as he finally spoke.

“I think we need to talk.”

I had that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt like I was going to be sick. Those words were never good.

“I just booked a flight”, I said, trying to not grip the phone even harder than I was already doing, just to have something to hold on to. “I’m gonna come back up there tomorrow.”

“I don’t want you to do that.” His voice was tight as he strained to get the words out. It almost hurt me to listen. He didn’t sound right, not like this. Not like the Dieter I had known over the past months.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think this is working. It’s…”, he seemed to search for words. I could hear him moving things around; something scraping over a hard surface, the sound of ice cubes in a glass. “It’s a burden and it's inconvenient. Just don’t waste your time.” His speech sounded slightly slurred.

I took a deep breath to calm myself as I leaned my forehead against my hand that was propped on my desk. “Dieter. Don’t do this…please. Have you been drinking?”

“That doesn’t matter. I told you; I don't need you to babysit me.”

“I’m not, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with you.”

He took a deep breath as if bracing himself. “Look, where we’re filming, you’re not gonna be able to work,” he said, words rushing this time. “Aubrey isn’t gonna keep putting up with you taking time off. It’s not gonna work. It’s just not working.”

“What does that even have to do with anything?”

“Nothing, it just compounds the problem.” I could hear ice clinking against glass followed by him swallowing gulps of a beverage.

I shook my head, frustration and fear both thumping hard within my chest. “And what is the problem exactly?”

“We’re incompatible. We shouldn’t have to rearrange our lives to be together. It’s not fair to either of us.”

“What happened to doing whatever it takes to make this work?”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure I said I’d do whatever it takes to make you happy and I am,” he nearly snapped at me, following it up with some words in Spanish that sounded like a curse. “You’ll thank me for it later.”

“No, you said you were all in for this. You’re just gonna give up because it’s hard? Because it's a fucking burden to you?”, I said in disbelief. I leaned back in my chair, shaking my head. I could feel anger bubbling to the surface at his comment. “You think it’s been easy for me? I thought we were in this together. Why do you think you get to choose for me? Let me come up there so we can talk through this.”

“You’re not listening, I don��t have time for you right now.”

“Are you using drugs or something?”

“Why does everyone keep fucking asking me that?!?!”, he yelled in frustration. I could hear him throwing things around in the background. “No, I haven’t used drugs in a long fucking time. I’m completely aware of what I’m doing and saying.”

“Maybe it has to do with the way you're acting. Did you ever consider that? And I’m sorry for fucking caring.”

“Look, I don’t know what else to say. It’s not working, ok? We tried and it didn’t work. There are better options that are less work. No more burdens or inconveniences.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I need you out of my mind. There’s too much going on with it. It’s a burden.”

He just kept talking in circles. Half of it sounded like nonsense.

“What are you even saying? You’re not making sense.”

“I’m saying we’re done,” he interrupted me, his words sharp and feeling like they were stabbing right into my heart. “I can’t do it anymore. Does that make sense?”

I inhaled sharply, realizing he was set on his decision. My head was pounding, too many moments flashing through my mind as I tried to hold it together. I tried to sort out my thoughts to understand how we suddenly had gotten to this, and how to get through to him without being pushed away.  

“Why did you have to find me? I would’ve been fine if you’d just let me fucking go after New York,” I finally whispered.

My voice shook as I spoke. The tears started to fall from my eyes in a way that I had never before experienced. My vision was completely blurred by it. Dieter had gone silent on the other end of the phone, so quiet that I could barely hear him breathe. The line hadn’t disconnected, so I knew he was still listening. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing me fall apart, so I hung up.

I stood, making my way to the bedroom. I crawled into bed and bawled my eyes out. I did so until the early morning glow started to show around the edges of the curtains. When I realized the new day was making itself known, I felt livid that I stayed up all night crying over him. Determined to find sleep, I got up and went to the kitchen in search of alcohol. I knew I had a few bottles hidden away. I found what I was looking for shoved to the back of one of the upper cabinets. I went straight for the hard liquor. Taking a few swings as I headed back to bed. I didn’t plan on getting wasted, I just wanted enough to knock me out so I didn’t have to think about him anymore. I settled back into bed and shot Aubrey a quick text to let her know I was going to take a few days off. I gave no explanation, and she didn’t question me. Once the alcohol had time to kick in, slowing my racing thoughts and helping me relax, I finally fell asleep.  

A/N: All right ya'll... so that happened. Our sweet Dieter is officially in full spiral mode and it's about to get a little crazy for both of them.

Questions to consider:

What do you think is going on with Dieter?

How are we feeling about his behavior?

How long do you think this spiral has been building?

How do you think Talia is going to handle this turn of events?

How are you feeling about the new characters? (Rylee, Tom, Chole)

Predictions?

Once you have had a minute to digest and share your thoughts for this chapter, jump on over to this post for part one of Deconstructing Dieter Bravo. This is a companion series I plan to do for the remaining chapters so that we can get a little more insight into what's going on in that mind of his. 😉

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[prince-simon]

Hej💜 I've become a huge fanfiction lover in the last 10 months since joining the fandom and I'm curious about comments and commenting! I don't write myself but I try to leave comments as a little thank you for getting to enjoy the art. So I decited to send some questions to the writers I follow here. No pressure to answer ofc I'm just curious, I adore you writers 🦋

1. Do you often leave comments or kudos on stories ? Why/ why not ?

2. What do comments mean to you?

3. What are your favorite type of comments to receive? Long and thoughtful ones? Favorite parts or lines? Praises? Asdfghjkl? Guesses or hopes for the future?

4. Do you reply to comments? Why/why not?

5. Has there been any negative comments? How did you deal with that ?

6. Are there comments that are not necessary negative but you just don't enjoy?

7. Do you ever get nervous how people are going to receive something you are writing? How do you deal with that?

8. Has there been a moment when someone interpreted your writing in a totally different way that you intented or misunderstood you in the comments? How did that make you feel ?

9. Do you ever go back to your comments? Are there comments that stayed with you?

10. Is there something you wish us non-writers would know regarding writing or commenting?

If you are a writer and I didn't ask you, please answer anyway if you feel like doing that! I only follow so many ( and also wanted to ask this anonymously because I'm shy hah). I'm so thankful for all you wonderful writers out there, this fandom is full of super talented people 💜

hiii friend!! 💗 i'm so happy you're enjoying fanfic so much!! thank you for leaving comments as much as possible!! that honestly means so so much!!

okay these questions are fun so here we go!

i try to leave kudos and comments as much as possible if i enjoy a story bc i know what it's like to get that little notification that you got a new comment as a writer. that little serotonin boost can mean so much!

comments mean EVERYTHING. like they say you write for yourself and no one else but obviously we're just human, and we love validation and recognition and like i said. seeing that someone took the time to leave a comment, no matter how small, on something you spent hours and hours of work on and that you decided to share to hopefully bring joy to someone else- like, it's such a special feeling to hear someone tell you how much your story means to them

i honestly don't know if i have a favourite type of comments. i loveeee people quoting their favourite lines back to me, i am incredibly in awe of in depth analysis in comments of what people think lead to a certain situation or how it'll affect a character and all that. i get super emotional about people telling me that my story affected them in a positive way, made their day/week/month better or helped them realise stuff about themselves. but honestly keysmashes are just as fun bc to know that my silly little words made someone speechless? that's amazing too

i make a point of replying to comments - sometimes it might take a while but i just appreciate y'all's comments so much, i wanna make sure you know that

gonna put 5 & 6 in one. i don't think there's been any outright negative comments, the support has been overwhelming. i have been getting some comments where people point out decisions i made that they don't like and those always confuse me a little bc it is my story and it's been written already, why point that out? there's no gain in that. like it's out there what do you expect me to do? i'm not gonna change it. (that doesn't refer to pointing out language things, like those i appreciate). also other comments that i don't enjoy are the "no pressure but..." comments asking when the next update will happen. i'm writing 20-30k chapters in my free time while doing uni full time and work. it's gonna take some time and comments like that are more discouraging than anything else

^^^

oh yeah i'm a ball of anxiety basically, i worry ALL the time ahhaah. how do i deal with it? mmmh i'd say i don't jdjdjfk i panic rant to my friends lolol

i don't remember but i don't think so. if a different interpretation happens it's more like a "oh that makes so much sense!" and it inspires me actually

yeah i definitely go back to comments. there's one comment that is just pure poetry that i keep coming back to but in general it's all the comments that tell me i somehow changed/influenced someone's life

really the only thing i can think of are the "no pressure but..." comments. they're not helping. i know they're well meaning but they're in fact very pressuring and sometimes even lead to not wanting to continue a story at all. there are other ways to voice your appreciation. even a simple "can't wait for more" is perfectly fine (for me at least idk about other writers) but asking for more. now. doesn't do anything good

#ask #anon #young royals #writing

[thepassionof-joanharrow]

This is How We Walk on the Moon ~Prologue | Matt Murdock x OFC

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OFC 

Summary: Sura Harmon works for a nonprofit foundation in NYC and goes to Nelson and Murdock to find some lawyers for the foundation’s clients. Upon meeting Matt, he seems strangely familiar. Matt instantly recognizes Sura as someone he attempted to help while in his Daredevil suit just a week ago. As they continue to work together, Sura and Matt are drawn to each other more and more. 

But little does Matt Murdock know that his new colleague Sura Harmon has just as many secrets as he does. 

Warnings: Eventual smut, (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), swearing, discussion of trauma, death and mental illness, emotional angst, discussion of the blip/snap.  

Word Count: 2,849

A/N: This is an ongoing series and will have many chapters! Mostly Sura’s POV but will probably have some chapters be in Matt’s POV. 

Also, aside from the prologue, each chapter will have a song to go with it. I highly encourage you to listen to the song to give you the vibe for some of the scenes in that chapter! 

Prologue

 Before she could get any words out, it was too late. 

“MATT!”

Her warning got lost in the water’s angry rush.

The pipe had suddenly swung down at a wild angle and water shot from its opening at full force.

People were screaming and running for a few moments before the realization hit them: that this was just water. A burst pipe in an old building that had long needed repairs and nothing more. Nobody was attacking anyone. There were no monsters, or invading gods, or aliens.

~ 

        Sura had been waiting for Matt, Foggy and her client to leave the courtroom. The trial had been dragging on far too long and it was the end of the week. She was tired. The opposition had petitioned that she remain outside of the courtroom today, and the judge had granted it. But damn it if she wasn’t going to show her client as much support as she possibly could from right outside the room. 

So Sura had read for a while. Gotten lunch. Responded to emails. Done wordle. Then quordle. Then octordle. And then her eyes were too tired to focus on anything. 

She had let her eyes close. But to keep herself awake, she played a game of “What can I hear” with herself.  This was an old meditation trick she had learned in a yoga course. It was a way to bring awareness to your present moment. To focus. To ground yourself. But it could also stave off boredom.  

Sura settled mentally into the room, positioning herself in the space. 

The clock above the courtroom door was ticking. The dying murmur of the lobby at 5pm; “goodbyes” and “have a good weekends” being said.  A person came down the hall with heels that clacked wonderfully on the polished tile. She pushed back the urge to see who it was and what they were wearing. 

Just listen. 

The hum of the air conditioner, somewhere above her. A flush from a nearby restroom. 

And….something metallic? A creaking sound.

Was that always there? This is an old courthouse, one of the oldest in the city….its probably just old building sounds. 

It was definitely odd. It just sounded wrong. But she wasn’t here to diagnose this building’s structural problems. She just needed to relax and listen. 

Right then the courtroom doors had opened and people had begun to file out. Sura stood up and anxiously searched for Matt’s face. And her client’s, of course. She was really hoping they had good news from today. Soon enough, Matt and Foggy were coming towards her, grinning. And right as they passed underneath a section of exposed pipe, a horrendous screech sounded.  She looked up and saw movement. The pipe was moving! She looked back at Matt and Foggy and tried to yell out. She caught the look on their faces right as the water poured over them.

~

Matt and Foggy were now safely behind the pipe, which was still spewing violently. But Sura could tell they were absolutely drenched.

 I don’t smell sewage, so this must be a clean water or grey water pipe, thank god.

“Are you okay???” She yelled at them through the noise. 

“Define okay.” Matt grumble-yelled.

She motioned to the right of the pipe, where a sliver of hallway space had yet to be hit by any water. 

Security guards and police were already surrounding the area, motioning people back and trying to get the pipe to stay in one spot.  Upon seeing that Matt and Foggy had already been completely soaked, they let them pass. Foggy led Matt around the mayhem as best he could til they reached her.

Sura ran up to them. “Oh my god….are you guys okay???” 

“Yeah I guess….” Whimpered Foggy.

“I think so…” Matt said.

They both had a look on their face that was part amusement and part “What the hell”. Knowing they were okay, she started laughing and touched their chests, feeling how absolutely soaked their suits were.

“Holy fuck….I can’t believe that just happened.” She gasped.

“Well…it definitely did.” Matt grimaced, but a smile played at one corner of his mouth. 

“Unbelievable! Wow, what the hell!” Foggy shook his legs emphatically, water splashing out of his shoes. “I JUST picked this up from the dry cleaning!”

She laughed again and then covered her mouth. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t be laughing so much!” But her grin didn’t disappear.

Matt tilted his head at Sura and his face broke into a sly smile. “No, you shouldn’t.” 

He took a hand and used it to slick water on her from his other sleeve.

“Ahhh! No! Spare me!” They all laughed and she looked back at Matt. He hadn’t wiped his face off yet. Droplets were falling down his forehead and landing on the tip of his nose, then trailing down the peaks and valleys of his lips.

Something about Matt like this made her freeze. She stared at him. He sputtered a bit as more water dislodged itself from his hair and ran over his face. His lips were parted. The sheen on his stubble. The way he let the water sit on his nose and mouth before it dripped off his chin.

The moment broke when he brought a hand up to wipe as much water off as he could. 

You should offer him one of your napkins from lunch. Yes, that would be nice to do. 

But Sura was still in shock from what she had just seen. Or really, the realization that had dawned on her.

Because Matt….was Daredevil. Daredevil was Matt. She didn’t know how this was true but she couldn’t deny that it absolutely, positively, was.

  ~~~~ 4 months earlier ~~~~

  Sura looked at the clock. 11:30pm. 

Damnit. 

She needed to finish writing this grant proposal by tomorrow and manage to get a full 8 hours or she wouldn’t look her best. 

And she knew with Alexander Christopher Russell, owner of some of the hottest galleries and restaurants in the West Village, he would be more swayed if she looked her best.  

It wasn’t that she knew he would be more inclined to say yes to a beautiful woman. Despite all her research she couldn’t tell who he was attracted to or who he had dated lately, and he seemed to be immensely private and off social media. But what she did know was that he liked things to look nice. He was famously persnickety about the design of his spaces and if things didn’t look exactly like how he wanted them to look – fresh, young, exiting and yet still dripping in luxury, - he would fire everyone and start anew.  

She knew she had to nail this meeting.

But she couldn’t think. Her brain was starting to fog up, the way it did when she was running out of fuel. So she went to her kitchen and opened up the fridge. Then the cabinets. Nothing was appealing. She didn’t want to be too buzzed so coffee was out

….what about a protein bar? Yeah, that would be good.  

Sura grabbed her keys, coat and wallet and gave her black cat a messy pat as she left her apartment. 

“Please don’t wrinkle my papers while I’m gone Luke.” Luke just looked up at her with his big green eyes and then laid his head back on the couch where he had been sleeping. She knew he would probably make his way over to her desk and lay on her papers anyway. It was his favorite place to sleep. 

She had originally wanted to go to the bodega on her corner but before she was halfway there she turned around abruptly. She would go to the bodega two blocks away. They had a better selection. And she was hoping they had the sunflower butter and chocolate chip kind. 

Also, she was hoping something else would happen. She knew she shouldn’t; that she didn’t have much time and needed to get back to writing. But she hadn’t indulged herself in a while. And; crucially, she thought this might give her the adrenaline jolt she needed to complete her writing. Even if; well, even if nothing came of it. Like the last five or six times. 

As Sura exited the bodega with her small black bag of protein bars, she fumbled with her wallet. She dropped it on the ground.  Picked it back up and then kept walking, but unsteadily. When she passed a man leaning against a mailbox, head down, hands in his pockets, she dropped the wallet again. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he started to move towards her. 

Bingo.

She stashed her wallet in the bag and clumsily turned down an alleyway. She could tell the man was following her. 

Just a little closer. That’s it buddy.

The man reached for her shoulder and roughly turned her around.

 Several blocks away, Daredevil was on his roof when he heard a scream. Then the muffled sound of clothes on clothes, fists on brick, shoes shuffling frantically. Grunting, more screaming, and then groaning. Someone was being attacked.  

He whisked towards the alleyway.  But when he arrived, something was off. The sounds had stopped but there were two people still there. One heartbeat was coming from the ground, to his left. The other was at the very back of the alley, against a wall. 

The person near him on the ground was groanin slightly; but the person at the back of the alley was…well they sounded like they were hitting the wall. Frustrated grunts and curses were coming from them. An exasperated mix of tears, frustration and pain.

He crouched down in front of the man who was slumped against the side of the alley.

“Tell me what happened. Are you ok?” Daredevil asked. 

“She’s crazy man….she…” More groans came from the man’s bloody lips.

The Devil knew he was bleeding from his nose too and had internal bleeding by his ribs. A black eye would likely form in the next day as well. But he was stable and would recover.

He asked “She? Someone attacked you? Where is she?”

The man spat blood and murmured “I unno” before laughing a bit and then half shouting.“tha bitch just went off man”. 

He was clearly not thinking straight and was in pain. He also seemed drunk.

Was the person at the far end of the alley “tha bitch”?

He was curious. It was unusual to see a woman attacking a man, though not unheard of. Maybe they knew each other. Maybe this was a lover’s quarrel. Still, the man was tall and broad. He wouldn’t have been easy to dominate like that. And he had heard a woman scream more than once. 

He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Get up, walk 1 block to the right, then two blocks to the left. There is an ambulance sitting there. They are on break but ask them to take you to the hospital. You’ll be fine.”

Before he let the man leave, he thought he should ask: “Do you know the person who attacked you?”

The man didn’t respond but clumsily shook his head as he headed off for the ambulance. 

When he reached the end of the alley, Daredevil had a better idea of who this mystery attacker was. She was a woman. Probably about 140 lbs. Maybe 5’8”. Not drunk. Faint whiff of a vanilla and sandalwood perfume.

And she had been crying; he could smell the salty streaks running down her face.  

 “What did you do to him?” he asked, after a moment’s observation.

 Sura whirled around and saw a man standing behind her in the dark. She hadn’t heard anyone walking towards her and her heart jumped into her throat. The man was fully covered in a suit and helmet. It looked like a tactical one, something one of those Avengers might wear. His eyes were shielded and the only part of him exposed was his lips and chin.

Great. Just what I fucking need.

Once she realized he was most likely not a threat to her, Sura squared her shoulders and spat: “What I did to him?  He attacked me.”

The stranger retorted “That’s not what he said.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said you ‘were crazy’ and ‘went off’. With some more colorful language of course”.

“Hah. Yeah. I went a little crazy on him because He. Attacked. Me.”

He paused. So she had fought him off. “Are you alright? And how were you able to put him down like that?”

“I know I don’t look like much but,” She sniffed and rubbed a dirty sleeve over her nose. “I have some martial arts training.”

The man tilted his head at her.

As she continued to pull herself together, grabbing her purse and shopping bag from the ground, Sura looked at him a little closer in what little light the alley contained. Horns on his helmet. The red of his suit.

Her eyes grew wider and she smirked slightly. “I know who you are.  You’re the Devil of Hell’s kitchen aren’t you?”

The Devil held out his hands in an unenthusiastic ‘here I am gesture’.  “Or Daredevil if you like.”

“I don’t.” Sura said without looking up from dusting off her jeans.

He gave an almost silent grunt but pushed away his urge to be snarky back to her. He needed to make sure she wasn’t in danger. “Are you okay? Did he take anything from you or do anything to you?”

A moment passed in silence. She looked down at her hands. Her knuckles were raw, one was bleeding.

He persisted “I heard you scream, so I…”

She cut him off, her voice icy and curt: “Look, clearly I don’t need your help. I handled him on my own. I’m fine, I’m sure he’ll be fine; just, leave me alone.” She clenched her fists.

“Are you sure? You’re hurt.”

He knew she was upset and she knew that he knew it. He must have heard her crying and hitting things. But she had to save face. At least he couldn’t tell why she was upset.

Sura flattened her lips in resolve. “Just my hands. I’ll be fine. Nothing I haven’t seen before. You know they always tell us to take self-defense classes so look, wow, it finally came in handy!”

Her heavy sarcasm made a smile begin to spread across the Devil’s face. He tried to hide it. “Well,…I’m glad…it uh,…I’m sorry you had to use it.”

Sura gave a noncommittal “yeah” and looked down at her feet. “Look just let me go home, I’m okay.”

“I’m not stopping you from going home.” Daredevil replied, looking down at her.

Her long lashes were clumped with mascara and tears. They left traces of black under her eyes every time she blinked. She knew her makeup was a mess and her hair was probably even worse but she would not show any more weakness to this man, this vigilante hero, God fucking damnit.

“Well I want to make sure you aren’t going to force me to report this to the police or go to the hospital or something because I won’t.”

The Devil laughed and shrugged. “Okay then. Do what you want. Just, be careful.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that, thanks for the super helpful suggestion Mr. Devil.” She stormed past him without looking at his face and headed out of the alley and towards her apartment.

         Those two blocks home felt like twenty for Sura. Nothing happened this time. And she had attracted attention!

Stupid stupid stupid. What a waste of time. An actual hero was there, someone who is actually useful. And you couldn’t do shit could you? And now your hands are going to be all beat up for the meeting tomorrow with Russell. Idiot. What were you thinking?

All her adrenaline was gone now. Used up in her crying and frustration. Even though her eyes stung with tears at the embarrassment of someone finding her like that, she couldn’t bring herself to cry any more. She just felt tired. Depleted.

Her grant writing would have to be finished on the subway ride tomorrow morning. Hopefully she could wing the rest and win the guy over with some good old-fashioned charm.

Once in her apartment, Sura took a hot shower and let the water wash off the grit and frustration of the fight. 

In bed; as her eyes were closing, she couldn’t help but think about Daredevil. She’d never interacted with a famous hero before. Or even seen one in person, if you don’t count far away sightings of Spiderman or Iron Man over the city.  And when the attack on New York happened, she was living in Brooklyn.

He wasn’t quite as intimidating as the headlines made him out to be.

He seemed almost friendly. Well why can’t a hero vigilante type be friendly? Of course he’s a real person. Of course he’s not some mythic enigma. I wonder who he is. What he’s like outside of his nights trying to save Hell’s Kitchen? What does he do? Does he have friends? 

As her mind drifted off, the image of the Devil’s smirk shining through the darkness of the alley was the last thing she thought of.

#daredevil fic #matt murdock fic #matt murdock #daredevil #marvel daredevil #matt murdock x ofc #daredevil x ofc #human disaster matt murdock #This Is How We Walk On The Moon fic

[mylittlesyn]

I was wondering what it felt like when you started writing your first fic and saw a bunch of positive comments and likes/reblogs about it?

Well so my very first fic I wrote never really got any comments. (I was 14 and it was an Avenged Sevenfold Vampire werewolf fanfic, don't judge me it was 2007). I was young and immature so I stopped writing it (well stopped publishing it. I actually still have most of the fic written out by hand in a notebook.) Because I didn't understand the concept of writing for myself.

The first fanfic I wrote while going through my fanfic revival... Also hasn't gotten much praise. It has a lot of hits, but kudos are nothing compared to it and honestly, It's had maybe like 3-5 people genuinely comment and praise it despite having like 15,000 hits between the three major parts? I don't even bother posting it here because it's with an OFC and I feel like they don't really get a lot of love here on tumblr.

The first fic that has really gotten any praise or attention was probably Nanami's Secret Wife. It's a really emotional and sentimental piece I wrote because I hate Gege sometimes. It made me so happy to see that people shared the same emotions I did when I wrote it! It really encouraged me to try out the one shot format more, which I don't really stick to, but it did teach me that things can be shorter.

By far my one shots and reader inserts have been way more popular in terms of reblogs and interaction than any OFC or longer series. And honestly it hurts. It makes it harder sometimes to find the motivation to go back to those fics.

I have one person that started to leave comments on every chapter of my original long fic I released (Sunrise/Pancakes/To: My loving Star) and I befriended them. I give them a heads up as soon as I posted my fic and... While I absolutely LOVE writing this series and thinking about it (I mean it's over 600,000 words)... The fact that someone is so eager to read every last bit of it makes me feel like I'm not wasting my time... I know that might be strange considering 'I'm writing for me'... But do you ever take a lazy day, to like recouperate, and you watch your shows, and take a nap, and take a long relaxing bath and then you think... Wow, I'm a total lazy fuck. What the fuck did I even do today other than waste my time? The fact that someone else acknowledges my work, helps me feel like I'm not doing something for absolutely nothing. That my time is valuable. That I can enjoy myself and bring joy to others.

Sure likes are nice, but sometimes I feel like people like things without even giving them another glance. How many times have you liked something with the intention to go back and look at it and never do? (I'm guilty of this, how do you think I know to call you guys out? lol) But that's why I also reblog onto my personal tumblr. Because maybe someone will see it, and like it, and give it the time of day that I should have. And that will make the author feel like their time was worth something.

Sorry this got so long winded it's 2AM and I'm... Not sober. But if you were looking to start writing yourself... I still encourage you to do it. It'll be a hard time to start, but you can make your way through it. I recommend making friends on tumblr. Talk about writing with other writers! I'll admit, I'm terrible at reading other people's fics (My ADHD brain isn't good with it I'm so sorry @sukunastoy but when my brain is finally ready to read a new persons fic, it will be yours) but I do try to share other people's fics when I can.

ALSO, I'LL TAKE THIS TO ANNOUNCE: I have stopped giving fucks and I'm not going to hide my OFC's anymore. I will gradually be integrating all of my OFC x Character stories (minus the kakashi long fic that is wayyyyyy too long) and posting them here on tumblr. I hope you all enjoy them as much as the reader inserts.

#This sounds terrible tbh but #It's kind of the sad reality #especially with this current like only never reblog culture that tumblr has grown

[inahochi]

#kotedit #kono oto tomare! #kono oto tomare #mangasedit #natsu momoya #tokise high koto club #kot! spoilers #kot!97 #kot!edit #;edits #new chapter is so emotional- in positive way ofc