I was lucky enough to be able to commission @kenobiwanx to draw my beloved Dandie for me, and I thought I was inspired by one specific scene from Curls but it turns out I was inspired by a completely different one.
“I mean it,” she said sincerely. “Dee, we like each other. We get along. We’re going to be raising this baby—Charlotte—together.” She chewed on the side of her lip, which couldn’t decide whether to rise at the soaring feeling that came when she said the name of their daughter, or fall at the nerves of the absurd situation. “Nate is right. It’s better for her, at least in the long run. And if it doesn’t work out, we’ll—I don’t know, we’ll figure it out. But we’ll be together, and we can do what’s right for us.”
Dieter lowered his lips to hers and kissed her softly, briefly, but with all the emotion he had stored in his heart. “I want you to know, Andie,” he murmured, slipping his hands up to her cheeks. “I do love you. For her, of course, but also for you.” He felt her tremble a little and he shook his head. “I’m not saying it to scare you, I promise. And I’m not saying it so you’ll say it back. I just… If we’re doing this, I can’t let you say yes without you knowing how I feel.”
She reached up and brushed an errant curl off his forehead. “Thank you for telling me,” she whispered, tilting her chin up to press a kiss to his.
He smiled, leaning his cheek into where her palm rested. “So you’re really okay with naming her after my mamá?”
“Yeah. What do you think of Luna for her middle name?” Dieter searched her eyes. “I don’t need her to carry my name, Dee. I don’t want her to.” She pulled her hand from his face and pointed skyward. “Let’s name her for that instead. Name her for the moon that was so big and bright the night we decided to be a family.”
If you ever get the chance to work with her, please, please take it. I’m so unbelievably pleased and happy with this beautiful piece. 💜
One year ago today, I sat down and published the first chapter of what turned out to be one of the most fulfilling, joyous, overwhelming stories I’ve ever written.
Curls started because I couldn’t just accept what canon had given us when it came to Dieter Bravo. There was no way that man was nothing more than a coked-up sex addict; I saw him as a lonely, sad man who had so much promise but kept getting knocked down by life, the universe, and everything. (See what I did there?)
And then came Andie. My beautiful, beloved girl who wormed her way into my brain and became — what I thought — was the perfect partner for this man; someone who was also lost and lonely, but a little more in control of it, who’d been handed the short straw in her life but was doing her best to make it better.
Originally, Dieter and Andie weren’t going to end up together until the very, very last chapter. The original plan was to have her keep…not rejecting him so much as denying him. She knew she was in love, but she didn’t know the real Dieter and wasn’t sure she would be able to accept him into her life as anything more than her baby’s father. But as the story progressed and #Dandie took on a life of their own, I realized that these two lonely, loving, amazing people deserved more.
So they fell in love with each other as I fell in love with them. And in that, they created their own family — not just Charlie and Ezra, but Coco and Nate and Eamon and Lottie as well — and it weirdly filled a space in my heart that I didn’t realize was empty.
Dieter Bravo and Andie Wallace will forever be a part of me. I have two tiny dandelion spores tattooed on my arm now, as well as a bracelet @ladamedusoif made for me with the portmanteau name she created for them. They, along with their babies, are my babies.
And if there’s some multiverse out there where me writing this willed them into existence, I hope they’re happy with the story I gave them.
And I hope those of you who read it are happy, too.
Title: Panic (Frankie “Catfish” Morales x f!Reader)
Rating: General
Word count: 704
Warnings: Panic attack (includes crying, trouble breathing, and heart palpitations). Reader is unnamed; Frankie uses pet names (“hadita” [“fairy” in Spanish], “sweetheart”, “baby”, “my girl”). Reader identifies as female but is wholly undescribed and unspecific.
Notes: I know I said this blog was closed, and in general, it is. But I had a panic attack this morning out of absolutely nowhere and once I came down from it, I was inspired, because I wish someone like Frankie had been there.
You’re not sure what time it is when you wake up. The only thing you are sure of is the erratic pounding of your heart, the streaks of wetness on your face, and the tightness in your throat. You haven’t had a panic attack like this in months, let alone in your sleep.
With every last bit of energy you can muster, you slide out of bed, collapsing to the floor beside the mattress. You hope the cool wood floor will help ground you; you press your palms to it and close your eyes, still gasping, still crying.
You’re fine.
You’re safe.
You’re in your home, in your bedroom.
Frankie is right there.
As if he heard your mantra, the bed creaks behind you and Frankie’s voice comes through the haze, broken and quiet. “Hadita, are you okay?”
You can’t reply, and that seems to be enough to pull him from his slumber. Suddenly he’s sitting in front of you, his legs spread so you’re between them, his broad palms resting heavily on your thighs, his thumbs circling the insides of your knees. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s alright. I’m here. Just breathe.”
His fingers press a little harder into your skin, the warmth of him radiating out from his hands. He was so quick to learn your needs when your attacks hit — physical touch is the main component, but his soft voice and easy instruction helps just as much.
“That’s it, hadita. Breathe in and out. Alright, baby, you’ve got this. I’m here. Just keep breathing.” He keeps up the movement at the bend of your leg, encouraging the rhythm of your breath with each circle. “Alright, okay, that’s so good, sweetheart.”
You find the strength to slip your hands over his, your fingers curling around his wrists. It brings you down a little more, and you find yourself hiccuping through your sobs as you regulate your breathing.
“Good, good. Take it easy, baby, you’re alright.” Frankie shifts one hand under yours and you grip him tighter. “It’s alright, it’s okay, I’m just grabbing your water. I’m not leaving, baby.”
Once he’s got the little bottle on the floor beside you, his palm finds your thigh again. You close your eyes tighter, willing the tears to stop, even as you feel your chest and throat begin to loosen up. Your skin tingles from the exertion and the adrenaline surging beneath it, and you tilt your head back to rest against the bed as you take deep breaths to try and stop the hiccuping.
“Why don’t you take a little water, hadita?” Frankie squeezes your leg, his voice still smooth and soft. “It’ll help, you know that.”
You nod, and his hand leaves you again. You wrap your fingers around his as he holds the bottle to your lips, allowing him to help you keep it steady as you swallow a few small mouthfuls.
When he sets it back down again, you finally open your eyes, still blurry and streaming despite the worst of it having passed.
“Hey, there’s my girl.” Frankie’s brown eyes are sparkling, even in the near pitch of the room, and you can see he’s smiling encouragingly. “Doing better?”
You nod. “I…” It’s hard to speak. “Dunno what happ’n’d.”
Shifting carefully so he’s kneeling up on his legs, he pulls you close; not too tightly so as to stifle you, but enough that you can bury your wet face in his bare shoulder and breathe him in.
That helps, too.
“It’s alright, sweetheart. You never have to explain it,” he murmurs against you, his lips tracing the cuff of your ear. “But next time, promise me you’ll wake me so I can help you?”
You nod. “I will.”
He pulls back, curling a finger under your chin and smiling. “C’mon. Let’s get you a little snack or something to help you regulate.” He stands, offering his hand to help you up as well. “I love you, hadita.”
“I love you, too, Frankie.”
Whatever caused the attack doesn’t happen again, especially not as you lie tight against Frankie’s chest, his arms holding you firmly across your chest and belly, his breath tickling the back of your neck.
I've decided to step away from writing fanfic. I realized that, (probably very selfishly,) I was losing my love for writing by pushing myself to do it and feeling like I was getting nothing in return.
There's something a bit disheartening and devastating in creating these worlds and these people and these stories that you as the author fall in love with and then…nothing. And if I'm honest, I went from believing I had some kind of talent to realizing that maybe I wasn't as good as I thought. And in discovering that, I also discovered that I was allowing that realization to take over and to steal the joy and the happiness that writing used to bring.
And I'm hoping that eventually I'll get those good feelings back.
I just don't think fanfic is the right place to do it anymore.
Charlie was playing a game on Andie’s phone when Nate sent through a photo from the Sundance film festival.
“Mamí, look at Daddy!”
Andie giggled as she pulled the phone back from where her daughter had it pressed against her nose. “What do you — ”
Her eyes settled on the image of her husband. She had absolutely no clue who chose his outfit — even for Dieter, the embroidered-flame wide-legs were a bit much (though the trench coat suited him) — but that wasn’t the point.
She’d never seen a professional photo that captured Dieter — her Dieter — more. Unlike most images, this one was different. Serious, even. She was willing to bet that others in the set weren’t so, but here, his dark eyes were soft and thoughtful, his plush lips set in a loose but stern line, his hand pressed up under his chin — a Hollywood version of The Thinker.
His thick, neatly-arranged curls were so dark — a leftover effect from his last shoot — but the more-than-scruff on his chin, cheeks, and upper lip were speckled with gray. The whiskers around her favorite spot, that sweet little heart patch on his right side, were so white it almost faded into his skin.
“Mamí?”
Andie shook herself out of her trance. “Sorry, conejita.”
She snuggled up against her mother’s side and pointed at Dieter’s photo. “When is Daddy coming home?”
“Soon, Charlie-girl. Really soon.”
“I miss him. Ezzie does too.”
Andie held back tears that formed behind her lashes. “Me, too. But just another day, okay?”
Charlie nodded.
“Hey, go get your brother for me. Let’s go to the park for a little while, okay?”
Charlie’s sadness abated for a moment, she jumped off the couch and took off in the direction of Ezra’s bedroom. Andie laughed, then turned her attention back to her phone.
Hey, Nate, would you do me a favor and get me the raw image? she typed. I’d like to do something special with this.
His response was immediate.
Already on it, Ms. Wallace. Kiss those kids for me. See you soon.
Grinning, Andie pulled up her favorite print shop’s website.
What photo gift would Dieter find the funniest?
Charlie and Ezra flew back into the room then and Andie’s plan was halted, but even while at the playground the idea never left her mind.
Dieter had been home all of twenty minutes and was headed to the bedroom when Andie heard a burst of laughter and her name screamed through the house.
Series Content/Warnings (each chapter has detailed notes): Unplanned pregnancy; explicit language; discussions of drug/tobacco/alcohol use and addiction; mental illnesses/disorders; discussions of therapy; conversations of parental loss; sex (digital, oral, and eventual vaginal); marriage of convenience.
Character Info: Andie is a completely original female character with specific physicality, backstory, and experience. There are also four supporting OCs. (See original character info and faceclaim posts, with more in each chapter’s header.)
Setting: Post-The Bubble, mostly-canon compliant.
Notes: Series is complete, co-created and written with @julesonrecord.
Summary: Javier and Zarya appear on It Takes Two, the Strictly Come Dancing chat show. It marks the end of his career with the series, and the beginning of your new life together.
Warnings/Triggers: This is the fluffiest chapter of the series. Strong language; sexy talk and suggestive scenes; some minor body negativity followed quickly by worship.
Notes: This scene doesn’t have any music in it as it’s centered around the talk show the contestants appear on after they’re voted off Strictly, but it feels weird to not have a soundtrack here, so I’m going to recommend “Levitating” by Dua Lipa because it just feels like exactly where Javi and Feli are at this point in time.
And, for the last time in this series but never the last time: to @ladamedusoif. Thank you for getting me out of the rut, for giving Javi and Feli their Happily Ever After. Thank you for all your advice and knowledge and comments as this story played out. Thank you for everything, all of it; for being there even when most people wouldn’t be. I love you.
“Ophelia?”
Javier steps out of the bathroom, his eyes falling on you. You’re seated on the edge of the bed, tying your boots, but you look up at his call. “What’s up, Javi?”
On the train, you’d made sure to sit together as nonchalantly as possible, and he’d all but begged you to stay with him once you were back in London. You’d been hesitant, (“Javi, we don’t have to rush…”) but once he swore he just couldn’t be without you now that you knew the truth, you’d agreed. Much of Sunday — and even that very Monday morning — had been spent curled up in bed, either dozing in each other’s arms or talking about every possible thing you could want to know about each other.
Now, though, it’s time to prepare for his appearance — with Zarya — on It Takes Two, the post-Strictly chat show.
And Javier is terrified.
He says as much as he flops down onto the mattress beside you; his striped white-and-blue Oxford open over his undershirt and his hair wild and wavy still, waiting for the touch of the studio stylists.
You brush a curl off his forehead as you turn to face him, curling your knee up against the side of his thigh. “You’re gonna be great, Javi. The audience already loves you, so just be you.”
“They love me as the dancer, I think,” he replies, tracing his fingernail over a small hole in your jeans. “I do not know if they’ll feel the same when I have to answer questions off the top of my head. I worry I may be…” He sighs. “I may be too awkward.”
You grin. “Love, that’s part of your charm. You come off as so natural, everyone is drawn to you.” Reaching over him, you grab your phone and flick to Reddit. “You have an entire subset of fans who think you’re the cutest thing since baby Yoda.”
“Grogu, pichurri,” he laughs. His eyes flick over the webpage you hold up, and his cheeks flush. You know he’s seeing that you’re right — people do seem to like him, awkwardness and all. “I don’t know, Ophelia. I think I am just nervous.”
You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. “I know. But Zari will be right there with you. She’ll keep you calm.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be watching from the wings.”
“As always,” Javier says, shifting to kiss you more deeply. You wonder if you’ll ever get over the thrill of his lips on yours, his body against your own. “My very own Phantom of the Ballroom.”
You laugh. “Javi, the Phantom was a weird, creepy stalker.”
“Eh.” He shrugs, smiling. “Slight pivot on our end, I suppose.”
You knock him backwards onto the bed with the force of your kiss.
“Feli?”
Shit, shit, shit, shit. Somehow, through your romantic haze, you’d forgotten that Alessandra worked behind the scenes on It Takes Two as well. You had literally no excuse to be here — your contract doesn’t cover the chat show — and now you’d have to think fast on your feet.
“Hi, Ale!” Too fucking cheerful. “I forgot I’d see you here.”
“I didn’t think I would see you here,” she replies, offering a one-armed hug. “What’s going on?”
Your brain scrambles for an acceptable answer. “Zari and Javi invited me. One last team outing before we split up.” What a bullshit excuse, you think. She’ll see right through you.
There is a moment’s hesitation in Alessandra’s response, but to her credit, she just smiles. “If I’m being honest, I still can’t believe they were voted off. I really thought they could go all the way.”
“Me, too,” you admit. “But they were amazing while it lasted.”
Alessandra smiles, and once again, you think you see more in her eyes than she lets on. “Agreed.” She squeezes your shoulder. “Have fun.”
You smile back. “See you tomorrow.” Back at it, though without Javier and Zarya to work alongside you’ll likely be thrown into general production work with Alessandra directly. You don’t mind the position, but it’ll certainly be a big change from the last few weeks.
You take the chance to saunter casually down the hallway towards the dressing rooms, stopping when you see Javi’s is closed — a closed door usually tells you the occupant is alone, and you knock cautiously, calling out to him as a kind of warning.
When he opens it, you realize you were right — he’s alone.
You also realize it’s likely temporary, as the clips holding his curls flat while the styling gel dries will have to come out eventually. That doesn’t stop him from peeking around, realizing there’s no one else in the hallway, and pulling you in, pressing you against the door as he kisses you breathless.
“Javi,” you gasp, palms flat on his chest as you break away from him. “Not here.”
He acquiesces, but he reaches up to run a hand over your hair and press it to your cheek. “I cannot wait until I am allowed to kiss you wherever I would like.”
Your heart flutters. You really want that, too. “We’re almost there, Javi,” you murmur, straightening the collar of his shirt and looking up into his dark eyes. “Thank you for waiting for me.”
He grins. “Pichurri, I would have waited until the end if I had needed to.”
When it’s time for the interview to begin, you park yourself next to Alessandra, behind the cameras. Javier and Zarya are seated on the couch — Javi in a sky-blue suit over the striped Oxford, paired with white loafers and his hair half-sleek, half-curly. The look makes his golden skin seem deeper, his dark eyes brighter. You bite your lip when he seems to glance over at you and smile.
Zarya sits beside him, the opposite in deep blue and soft glitter; her black hair tight and sleek in a ballerina’s bun on top of her head.
Still working the angle, you think, noting how they compliment each other so perfectly.
It’s easier now, knowing the truth.
Still.
You can’t wait until you’re not the only two who do.
The questions are simple, practiced. “What made you want to do the show?” “Which dance was the most exhilarating?” “How did it feel to be voted off?”
Zarya fills in when Javier stammers, their chemistry still vibrant. Laughs and winks are shared, and you find yourself giggling along, too.
“Javi, tell us about the third week. How did you get Nicolas Cage to come and join the show?”
Javier’s eyes slip to you for just a moment, and while the people watching at home wouldn’t notice it, you do.
So does Alessandra, who bumps your arm with her own.
“That was all my…Production Assistant’s doing.” You hear the hiccup in his voice as he tries to figure out what to call you, and you feel the embarrassment in your face.
“Your Production Assistant?” Fleur East asks, her eyebrow quirked.
Javier nods. “Each dance team is assigned to an Assistant who becomes their…like their tour guide. Zari and I were paired with an amazing woman named Ophelia.” You can feel Alessandra’s eyes boring into the side of your head. “We discussed the routines a lot, and she knew that Nic is my favorite actor as well as a great friend.” He smiles brightly at the memory. “She surprised me by inviting him on. I did not know he would be a part of the routine until about a day before we did it.”
Fleur looks surprised. “Did Nicolas’ involvement change much of what you’d rehearsed?”
“No,” Zarya replies. “Most of it was still what we’d planned. The only things that changed were the beginning and the very end.”
Javier nods. “With the bunny. We wanted to bring Nic in and let him do something more special. Zarya suggested we do the tearaway tuxedo into Cameron Poe’s iconic look, but Nicolas suggested bringing in the stuffed bunny.”
“Ah, yes!” Fleur laughs, clapping her hands together. “Javi, you are well-known for your Nicolas Cage memorabilia collection.” You remember this very channel doing a small piece on it when Nicolas and Javier’s first film was released. “Is the bunny a part of that now?”
His ears turn pink, and he laughs slightly. “Um, no, it isn’t, actually.” He lifts a hand to the back of his neck. “I gave it to Ophelia to thank her for the surprise, as a little memento.” You see Zarya’s hand fall to his knee soothingly; you know it’ll drive the gossip rags wild. “It is amazing when you click with the people you are working with. I wanted Ophelia to know how much I appreciated her.”
The interview goes on a bit longer, but you don’t hear it, as Alessandra suddenly grabs your elbow and pulls you out of the studio into the hallway. It’s so sudden you almost don’t have time to react, but your heart starts to race and you feel the panic in the back of your throat.
“Stop panicking.”
You look into Alessandra’s eyes, and realize…she’s smiling.
“Feli, breathe. You’re not in trouble.” She rests her hands on your shoulders. “But I’m pretty sure your reaction answers my question.”
“W-what question?”
Alessandra laughs. “Babes. You’re not just Javi’s Production Assistant, are you?”
You want to cry, even if she isn’t angry, but instead, you simply shake your head. “Nothing happened until he was off the show, Ale, I swear,” you whisper, nearly inaudible.
“Feli. I believe you,” she replies, ducking her head to try and catch your eyes. “But also: yes, it did.” She pulls you in for a hug. “He was in love with you from the moment you two met.”
You sob out a laugh. “No. That’s what I told him.”
When the two of you pull apart, she brushes a tear off your cheek. “I’m happy for you, Feli. Truly. He seems like a good guy.” She leans in conspiratorially. “That said: you two are really going to fuck with the tabloids when the truth comes out.”
You’re not what the tabloids expect a famous, wealthy, handsome man to want, and you know that. But it doesn’t change the fact that he does.
“Honestly?” you say with a confident grin. “I can’t wait to see how they explain me away.”
Two weeks later…
You’re waiting at the bar of a little coffee shop near your house when your eyes catch the cover of a glossy magazine on a nearby tabletop. In big white letters on a yellow background are the words:
STRICTLY STUNNER: JAVI SWAPS ZARI FOR STAGEHAND SEDUCTRESS
The photo above it is of the two of you walking hand-in-hand through Kensington Gardens, not far from where you shared your first meal. You certainly don’t look like any definition of “seductress” — your hair is tucked under a bulky, hot pink beanie; your black teddy jacket — a £19 find at an H&M clearance sale — is far from the latest fashion. Even Javier’s simple grey peacoat looks fancier (granted, it is a Paul Stewart design worth a hundred times more) and there’s nothing much special about it.
But you’re looking into Javier’s eyes as if there’s no one else in the world, and the smile on his face is bright enough that you doubt the photographer needed a flash.
“Feli?”
You’re shaken out of your trance by the barista calling your name, and you smile at her as you grab your two takeaway cups — a simple Earl Grey tea for yourself and Javier’s café cortado. His serviced apartment isn’t too far and you enjoy the crisp morning air as you walk, feeling the sun warming your face even in the late Autumn chill.
“Javi?” You let yourself in and put the cups down only long enough to slip out of that very same Paul Stewart peacoat and hang it on the rack. Drinks back in hand, you ease down the hallway to the bedroom, toeing the door open.
Javier is still asleep, and you place his coffee on the nightstand beside his head before padding around to the other side of the bed. You step out of your sneakers and slip your sweatpants off, climbing in beside him in just your panties and a t-shirt, taking a quick sip of your still-too-hot tea before putting it aside.
“Ophelia?”
Javier’s accent is thicker when he’s tired, and your name comes out almost lyrical. You curl up, belly pressed to his back, and slip your hand over his middle. “Hey, g’morning, Javi.”
He loops his arm over yours, his thick fingers intertwining with your own. “You are cold. Where did you go?”
“Mm.” You brush your lips over the top of his spine, breathing in his scent — mint and pine and musk. “To get coffee. Needed to stretch my legs a bit.”
He lifts your linked hands to his lips and presses a kiss to your palm. “I am surprised you can walk, pichurri. I suppose I shall have to try harder tonight.”
You feel his laugh against you as you reach up with your free hand and tug on his hair. “Pervert.”
“And yet you are in my bed. What does that say of you?” He rolls over, slipping his arm underneath you and pulling you close against his chest. His thumb presses into the plushness of your thigh, right at the edge of your underwear, and you groan — there’s definitely a mark there from your exertions the night before.
“It says I make very questionable choices sometimes.”
He laughs, his lips brushing over your nose. “I like your choices, Ophelia.” He catches your mouth in a kiss, and you can’t help but smile.
“We’re on the cover of a tabloid,” you say when you can breathe again.
“Oh?” Javier’s eyebrow shoots skyward. “What did we do?”
“I apparently stole you from Zari.” You trace a fingertip over his chest, along the muscle that divides his pecs.
“Oh, you did? Or did Daniela steal Zari from me?” he laughs, rubbing your hip. “Those magazines are so stupid.”
You shrug a little. “It’s not surprising. Zari is slim and beautiful and talented. She’s exactly the kind of woman they’d expect a hot, up-and-coming filmmaker to want.” You look up into his face again. “They don’t expect you to be in love with the chubby, generic PA from a one-off reality show.”
“Hey.” Javier’s hand shifts from your hip to your waist so he can tug you closer. “No eres ‘genérica’. What does that even mean?”
“It’s not an insult, really,” you insist. “At least I don’t mean it that way. But look at me next to Zari. I’m much heavier than she is. I’m very…plain Jane, and she’s beautiful and exotic. I’m okay with how I look, because it’s me, but when you look at us through the media’s eyes… Javi, you’re gorgeous and charming and talented and they don’t expect you to be with someone who looks like or works like me.”
Javier’s kiss is bruising, almost punishing against your lips. “Ophelia, you are beautiful.” He lifts his hand, tracing the tops of his fingers along your curves and valleys from your shoulder to your thigh. “All of this is like it was made to go against me.” He pinches at your waist slightly. “I have dated women who look like Zari before. Lovely girls, in so many ways. I never regretted it. But I never felt the way about them that I do about you. Both your beauty and your talent lie within your heart, as someone who knows herself and her career and does it all as if it is her second nature. And your talent is what drew me to you, before I recognized your beauty.” His mouth finds yours again, and it’s softer, gentler. “I don’t care what the tabloids say, pichurri. You are the only woman for me.”
You smile as he turns the kiss into something more, rolling on top of you, hands roaming and legs entwining.
You never really thought your life was missing anything before this, but as Javier shows you just how perfect you are for him — and how perfect he is for you — you realize…
Summary: Javier and Zarya appear on It Takes Two, the Strictly Come Dancing chat show. It marks the end of his career with the series, and the beginning of your new life together.
Warnings/Triggers: This is the fluffiest chapter of the series. Strong language; sexy talk and suggestive scenes; some minor body negativity followed quickly by worship.
Notes: This scene doesn’t have any music in it as it’s centered around the talk show the contestants appear on after they’re voted off Strictly, but it feels weird to not have a soundtrack here, so I’m going to recommend “Levitating” by Dua Lipa because it just feels like exactly where Javi and Feli are at this point in time.
And, for the last time in this series but never the last time: to @ladamedusoif. Thank you for getting me out of the rut, for giving Javi and Feli their Happily Ever After. Thank you for all your advice and knowledge and comments as this story played out. Thank you for everything, all of it; for being there even when most people wouldn’t be. I love you.
“Ophelia?”
Javier steps out of the bathroom, his eyes falling on you. You’re seated on the edge of the bed, tying your boots, but you look up at his call. “What’s up, Javi?”
On the train, you’d made sure to sit together as nonchalantly as possible, and he’d all but begged you to stay with him once you were back in London. You’d been hesitant, (“Javi, we don’t have to rush…”) but once he swore he just couldn’t be without you now that you knew the truth, you’d agreed. Much of Sunday — and even that very Monday morning — had been spent curled up in bed, either dozing in each other’s arms or talking about every possible thing you could want to know about each other.
Now, though, it’s time to prepare for his appearance — with Zarya — on It Takes Two, the post-Strictly chat show.
And Javier is terrified.
He says as much as he flops down onto the mattress beside you; his striped white-and-blue Oxford open over his undershirt and his hair wild and wavy still, waiting for the touch of the studio stylists.
You brush a curl off his forehead as you turn to face him, curling your knee up against the side of his thigh. “You’re gonna be great, Javi. The audience already loves you, so just be you.”
“They love me as the dancer, I think,” he replies, tracing his fingernail over a small hole in your jeans. “I do not know if they’ll feel the same when I have to answer questions off the top of my head. I worry I may be…” He sighs. “I may be too awkward.”
You grin. “Love, that’s part of your charm. You come off as so natural, everyone is drawn to you.” Reaching over him, you grab your phone and flick to Reddit. “You have an entire subset of fans who think you’re the cutest thing since baby Yoda.”
“Grogu, pichurri,” he laughs. His eyes flick over the webpage you hold up, and his cheeks flush. You know he’s seeing that you’re right — people do seem to like him, awkwardness and all. “I don’t know, Ophelia. I think I am just nervous.”
You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. “I know. But Zari will be right there with you. She’ll keep you calm.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be watching from the wings.”
“As always,” Javier says, shifting to kiss you more deeply. You wonder if you’ll ever get over the thrill of his lips on yours, his body against your own. “My very own Phantom of the Ballroom.”
You laugh. “Javi, the Phantom was a weird, creepy stalker.”
“Eh.” He shrugs, smiling. “Slight pivot on our end, I suppose.”
You knock him backwards onto the bed with the force of your kiss.
“Feli?”
Shit, shit, shit, shit. Somehow, through your romantic haze, you’d forgotten that Alessandra worked behind the scenes on It Takes Two as well. You had literally no excuse to be here — your contract doesn’t cover the chat show — and now you’d have to think fast on your feet.
“Hi, Ale!” Too fucking cheerful. “I forgot I’d see you here.”
“I didn’t think I would see you here,” she replies, offering a one-armed hug. “What’s going on?”
Your brain scrambles for an acceptable answer. “Zari and Javi invited me. One last team outing before we split up.” What a bullshit excuse, you think. She’ll see right through you.
There is a moment’s hesitation in Alessandra’s response, but to her credit, she just smiles. “If I’m being honest, I still can’t believe they were voted off. I really thought they could go all the way.”
“Me, too,” you admit. “But they were amazing while it lasted.”
Alessandra smiles, and once again, you think you see more in her eyes than she lets on. “Agreed.” She squeezes your shoulder. “Have fun.”
You smile back. “See you tomorrow.” Back at it, though without Javier and Zarya to work alongside you’ll likely be thrown into general production work with Alessandra directly. You don’t mind the position, but it’ll certainly be a big change from the last few weeks.
You take the chance to saunter casually down the hallway towards the dressing rooms, stopping when you see Javi’s is closed — a closed door usually tells you the occupant is alone, and you knock cautiously, calling out to him as a kind of warning.
When he opens it, you realize you were right — he’s alone.
You also realize it’s likely temporary, as the clips holding his curls flat while the styling gel dries will have to come out eventually. That doesn’t stop him from peeking around, realizing there’s no one else in the hallway, and pulling you in, pressing you against the door as he kisses you breathless.
“Javi,” you gasp, palms flat on his chest as you break away from him. “Not here.”
He acquiesces, but he reaches up to run a hand over your hair and press it to your cheek. “I cannot wait until I am allowed to kiss you wherever I would like.”
Your heart flutters. You really want that, too. “We’re almost there, Javi,” you murmur, straightening the collar of his shirt and looking up into his dark eyes. “Thank you for waiting for me.”
He grins. “Pichurri, I would have waited until the end if I had needed to.”
When it’s time for the interview to begin, you park yourself next to Alessandra, behind the cameras. Javier and Zarya are seated on the couch — Javi in a sky-blue suit over the striped Oxford, paired with white loafers and his hair half-sleek, half-curly. The look makes his golden skin seem deeper, his dark eyes brighter. You bite your lip when he seems to glance over at you and smile.
Zarya sits beside him, the opposite in deep blue and soft glitter; her black hair tight and sleek in a ballerina’s bun on top of her head.
Still working the angle, you think, noting how they compliment each other so perfectly.
It’s easier now, knowing the truth.
Still.
You can’t wait until you’re not the only two who do.
The questions are simple, practiced. “What made you want to do the show?” “Which dance was the most exhilarating?” “How did it feel to be voted off?”
Zarya fills in when Javier stammers, their chemistry still vibrant. Laughs and winks are shared, and you find yourself giggling along, too.
“Javi, tell us about the third week. How did you get Nicolas Cage to come and join the show?”
Javier’s eyes slip to you for just a moment, and while the people watching at home wouldn’t notice it, you do.
So does Alessandra, who bumps your arm with her own.
“That was all my…Production Assistant’s doing.” You hear the hiccup in his voice as he tries to figure out what to call you, and you feel the embarrassment in your face.
“Your Production Assistant?” Fleur East asks, her eyebrow quirked.
Javier nods. “Each dance team is assigned to an Assistant who becomes their…like their tour guide. Zari and I were paired with an amazing woman named Ophelia.” You can feel Alessandra’s eyes boring into the side of your head. “We discussed the routines a lot, and she knew that Nic is my favorite actor as well as a great friend.” He smiles brightly at the memory. “She surprised me by inviting him on. I did not know he would be a part of the routine until about a day before we did it.”
Fleur looks surprised. “Did Nicolas’ involvement change much of what you’d rehearsed?”
“No,” Zarya replies. “Most of it was still what we’d planned. The only things that changed were the beginning and the very end.”
Javier nods. “With the bunny. We wanted to bring Nic in and let him do something more special. Zarya suggested we do the tearaway tuxedo into Cameron Poe’s iconic look, but Nicolas suggested bringing in the stuffed bunny.”
“Ah, yes!” Fleur laughs, clapping her hands together. “Javi, you are well-known for your Nicolas Cage memorabilia collection.” You remember this very channel doing a small piece on it when Nicolas and Javier’s first film was released. “Is the bunny a part of that now?”
His ears turn pink, and he laughs slightly. “Um, no, it isn’t, actually.” He lifts a hand to the back of his neck. “I gave it to Ophelia to thank her for the surprise, as a little memento.” You see Zarya’s hand fall to his knee soothingly; you know it’ll drive the gossip rags wild. “It is amazing when you click with the people you are working with. I wanted Ophelia to know how much I appreciated her.”
The interview goes on a bit longer, but you don’t hear it, as Alessandra suddenly grabs your elbow and pulls you out of the studio into the hallway. It’s so sudden you almost don’t have time to react, but your heart starts to race and you feel the panic in the back of your throat.
“Stop panicking.”
You look into Alessandra’s eyes, and realize…she’s smiling.
“Feli, breathe. You’re not in trouble.” She rests her hands on your shoulders. “But I’m pretty sure your reaction answers my question.”
“W-what question?”
Alessandra laughs. “Babes. You’re not just Javi’s Production Assistant, are you?”
You want to cry, even if she isn’t angry, but instead, you simply shake your head. “Nothing happened until he was off the show, Ale, I swear,” you whisper, nearly inaudible.
“Feli. I believe you,” she replies, ducking her head to try and catch your eyes. “But also: yes, it did.” She pulls you in for a hug. “He was in love with you from the moment you two met.”
You sob out a laugh. “No. That’s what I told him.”
When the two of you pull apart, she brushes a tear off your cheek. “I’m happy for you, Feli. Truly. He seems like a good guy.” She leans in conspiratorially. “That said: you two are really going to fuck with the tabloids when the truth comes out.”
You’re not what the tabloids expect a famous, wealthy, handsome man to want, and you know that. But it doesn’t change the fact that he does.
“Honestly?” you say with a confident grin. “I can’t wait to see how they explain me away.”
Two weeks later…
You’re waiting at the bar of a little coffee shop near your house when your eyes catch the cover of a glossy magazine on a nearby tabletop. In big white letters on a yellow background are the words:
STRICTLY STUNNER: JAVI SWAPS ZARI FOR STAGEHAND SEDUCTRESS
The photo above it is of the two of you walking hand-in-hand through Kensington Gardens, not far from where you shared your first meal. You certainly don’t look like any definition of “seductress” — your hair is tucked under a bulky, hot pink beanie; your black teddy jacket — a £19 find at an H&M clearance sale — is far from the latest fashion. Even Javier’s simple grey peacoat looks fancier (granted, it is a Paul Stewart design worth a hundred times more) and there’s nothing much special about it.
But you’re looking into Javier’s eyes as if there’s no one else in the world, and the smile on his face is bright enough that you doubt the photographer needed a flash.
“Feli?”
You’re shaken out of your trance by the barista calling your name, and you smile at her as you grab your two takeaway cups — a simple Earl Grey tea for yourself and Javier’s café cortado. His serviced apartment isn’t too far and you enjoy the crisp morning air as you walk, feeling the sun warming your face even in the late Autumn chill.
“Javi?” You let yourself in and put the cups down only long enough to slip out of that very same Paul Stewart peacoat and hang it on the rack. Drinks back in hand, you ease down the hallway to the bedroom, toeing the door open.
Javier is still asleep, and you place his coffee on the nightstand beside his head before padding around to the other side of the bed. You step out of your sneakers and slip your sweatpants off, climbing in beside him in just your panties and a t-shirt, taking a quick sip of your still-too-hot tea before putting it aside.
“Ophelia?”
Javier’s accent is thicker when he’s tired, and your name comes out almost lyrical. You curl up, belly pressed to his back, and slip your hand over his middle. “Hey, g’morning, Javi.”
He loops his arm over yours, his thick fingers intertwining with your own. “You are cold. Where did you go?”
“Mm.” You brush your lips over the top of his spine, breathing in his scent — mint and pine and musk. “To get coffee. Needed to stretch my legs a bit.”
He lifts your linked hands to his lips and presses a kiss to your palm. “I am surprised you can walk, pichurri. I suppose I shall have to try harder tonight.”
You feel his laugh against you as you reach up with your free hand and tug on his hair. “Pervert.”
“And yet you are in my bed. What does that say of you?” He rolls over, slipping his arm underneath you and pulling you close against his chest. His thumb presses into the plushness of your thigh, right at the edge of your underwear, and you groan — there’s definitely a mark there from your exertions the night before.
“It says I make very questionable choices sometimes.”
He laughs, his lips brushing over your nose. “I like your choices, Ophelia.” He catches your mouth in a kiss, and you can’t help but smile.
“We’re on the cover of a tabloid,” you say when you can breathe again.
“Oh?” Javier’s eyebrow shoots skyward. “What did we do?”
“I apparently stole you from Zari.” You trace a fingertip over his chest, along the muscle that divides his pecs.
“Oh, you did? Or did Daniela steal Zari from me?” he laughs, rubbing your hip. “Those magazines are so stupid.”
You shrug a little. “It’s not surprising. Zari is slim and beautiful and talented. She’s exactly the kind of woman they’d expect a hot, up-and-coming filmmaker to want.” You look up into his face again. “They don’t expect you to be in love with the chubby, generic PA from a one-off reality show.”
“Hey.” Javier’s hand shifts from your hip to your waist so he can tug you closer. “No eres ‘genérica’. What does that even mean?”
“It’s not an insult, really,” you insist. “At least I don’t mean it that way. But look at me next to Zari. I’m much heavier than she is. I’m very…plain Jane, and she’s beautiful and exotic. I’m okay with how I look, because it’s me, but when you look at us through the media’s eyes… Javi, you’re gorgeous and charming and talented and they don’t expect you to be with someone who looks like or works like me.”
Javier’s kiss is bruising, almost punishing against your lips. “Ophelia, you are beautiful.” He lifts his hand, tracing the tops of his fingers along your curves and valleys from your shoulder to your thigh. “All of this is like it was made to go against me.” He pinches at your waist slightly. “I have dated women who look like Zari before. Lovely girls, in so many ways. I never regretted it. But I never felt the way about them that I do about you. Both your beauty and your talent lie within your heart, as someone who knows herself and her career and does it all as if it is her second nature. And your talent is what drew me to you, before I recognized your beauty.” His mouth finds yours again, and it’s softer, gentler. “I don’t care what the tabloids say, pichurri. You are the only woman for me.”
You smile as he turns the kiss into something more, rolling on top of you, hands roaming and legs entwining.
You never really thought your life was missing anything before this, but as Javier shows you just how perfect you are for him — and how perfect he is for you — you realize…
^^^ Javi, on his way to the studio for It Takes Two.
I’ve rooted for Javeli from the first time you mentioned this series, Luce, and it’s been a joy to accompany them on their journey.
I love so much about this epilogue - the “well, duh?” reactions of Ale and others, the hair (👀), their desperation to just be together, and the quiet intimacy of that little scene in bed together. Javi’s intentional, careful, kind words to Feli about how perfect she is for him, in every way, melted my heart. (And yes, British tabloids would definitely call her a “stagehand” 😂).
I hope we get to see them again some day. Their love shines out of every word here. Brava ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️
Thank you so much for all your guidance and sweet words through all of this, Rose. If it wasn’t for you, I’m not sure Javi and Feli would have made it.
And I mean, they were so obvious to everyone, weren’t they? 😂
The Art/The Artist - A Ben Morales/f!Reader one-shot…featuring a surprise PPCU character!
Content/Warnings: Illusions of sexual activity but this is the fluffiest of fluffy marshmallow fluff.
Character Info: Reader is female, unnamed (Ben refers to her just once as “Liberté” and once as “honey”; the other character uses “sweetheart”) and completely undescribed.
Setting: A branched timeline of sorts from @ladamedusoif’s Visiting universe.
Notes: I just really wanted to write this for @ladamedusoif for Christmas, as a kind of…Secret Secret Santa. I borrowed her beloved Ben as well as some little things I know about her to make it personal. (Shared with her permission.)
To Get Away From It All - A Frankie Morales/f!Reader one-shot
Content/Warnings: Smutty fluff. Established relationship; you’re Frankie’s wife and the mother of his daughter. Fluff from here to eternity. Some body image issues on both sides of the relationship. Oral sex (m & f receiving), face riding, safe(ish) PiV, pool sex. Pet names and endearments.
Character Info: Reader is unnamed (Frankie calls her “Ruby” or “Rubes” as a longstanding nickname) and mostly undescribed but does wear bikinis and several typically-feminine outfits.
Setting: Post-Triple Frontier; canon-compliant.
Notes: Inspired by @undercoverpena and beta’d by @ladamedusoif.
Panic - A Frankie Morales/f!Reader one-shot
Content/Warnings: Panic attack (includes crying, trouble breathing, and heart palpitations).
Character Info: Reader is unnamed; Frankie uses pet names (“hadita” [“fairy” in Spanish], “sweetheart”, “baby”, “my girl”). Reader identifies as female but is wholly undescribed and unspecific.
Strictly Javier - A Javier Gutierrez/f!Reader 2POV miniseries
Content/Warnings: Strong language; flirting; slow burn. This will not be an explicit series.
Character Info: Written in the second person POV; character is named Ophelia (pron. “oh-fell-ya”). Other than being explicitly plus-sized, she has little to no physical description.
Setting: Unspecific but can be considered canon-compliant.
Notes: Series is complete. Beta’d by my Strictly Come Dancing consultant @ladamedusoif.
Chapters:
Week One: Quickstep
Week Two: Pasodoble
Week Three: American Smooth
Week Four: Tango
Epilogue: It Takes Two
A Little Facetime - A Javi Gutierrez/f!Reader one-shot
Character Info: Reader has no name (Marcus nicknames her “Superstar”) and absolutely no reader description.
Setting: Canon-compliant.
Notes: Written as DM drabble; unbetaed but self-edited.
Super: Date Night - A Marcus Moreno/f!reader drabble
Content/Warnings: Flirty talk; suggestion of sex but no graphic descriptions beyond making out. Miracle Guy is here for a hot second!
Character Info: Reader has no name (Marcus nicknames her “Superstar”) and absolutely no reader description but does wear a dress. (Marcus does lift her easily, but it’s explicitly because of his super-strength, not a suggestion of her size.)
Setting: Canon-compliant.
Notes: Unbetaed drabble from a Sleepover Saturday prompt. Mini-sequel to Super.
Series Content/Warnings (each chapter has detailed notes): Unplanned pregnancy; explicit language; discussions of drug/tobacco/alcohol use and addiction; mental illnesses/disorders; discussions of therapy; conversations of parental loss; sex (digital, oral, and eventual vaginal); marriage of convenience.
Character Info: Andie is a completely original female character with specific physicality, backstory, and experience. There are also four supporting OCs. (See original character info and faceclaim posts, with more in each chapter’s header.)
Setting: Post-The Bubble, mostly-canon compliant.
Notes: Series is complete, co-created and written with @julesonrecord.
ellievsbear
romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
origamiaround
