Content: Fluff, Friends-to-lovers, first time spending holiday together, animal with very minor injury.
A/N: For this year's @pedrostories Secret Santa, my gift is for @noisynaia! Thank you for your patience, I hope you like it and I really hope I've done your prompt justice. There were so many ideas and possibilities I had in mind, and I finally found the story that felt natural to write. Your prompt was like a warm welcome back into writing and finding joy in it once again.
Thank you @pedrostories for organising this amazing event!
Merry Christmas everyone and have a wonderful and happy new year!
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Prologue
The train air whistle roars as white puffs emit from the train through the cold open air. It gradually slows down to a stop, reaching its destination.
Those visiting would have a pamphlet advertising for a ‘magical Christmas getaway in the snow!’, which really was a humble town in a snowy region with some fancy cabins too. The town was to appeal to families most, but that doesn’t stop the solo-travellers from going and booking their own cabin.
Nor does it stop a clever red fox from “participating” by taking advantage of the unfinished foods left behind.
. . . . . . .
Snowmen and snow angels. Christmas decorations and displays. Gingerbread houses. Dinner with loved ones. Family-friendly Christmas movies. Winter Night Markets. Strings of festive lights. Choirs carolling in front of the grand Christmas tree at the city centre. Children laugh as they run and play like the wild and free spirits they are. Presents.
Whatever made Christmas special and magical for the kids, Din wanted to give that experience to Grogu. It was the boy’s first Christmas after all. Though the problem was the little boy didn’t seem to share the same level of excitement as the other kids - he was curious and awed, yes, but was so comfortable being carried around by his father as the festive season took place.
Admittedly, one day from grocery shopping at the mall, Din attempted to line up with Grogu for those photographs with Santa, but had to make a sharp turn towards the exit when he saw the tears in his son’s eyes.
And the presents? Din was just helpless. Maybe he was overthinking it - overthinking everything - that the present had to be perfect, but that could be anything. Getting Grogu a teddy bear wasn’t right to Din, but the single dad wanted and needed to give something special.
He valued practicality, the purpose and the quality of every little moment. Yet throughout putting up their own Christmas tree and decorating it, attempting to cook dinner or bake together, watching Christmas movies each night, he still felt like it wasn’t enough nor right.
Whatever made Christmas special this year was the opportunity to finally treat yourself to a getaway.
The hustle and repetitive nature of modern life would sometimes get to you, like being haunted by one of those ghosts from a ‘Christmas Carol’. To combat the noise, you found spending the holidays away from it all to be the answer.
The overwhelming and unbearable weight of hustle culture became a sign for you to step back, detach, and pivot in another direction. One that welcomes rest and relaxation. You worked way too hard this year, including overcoming all minor inconveniences, you very much deserve a reward.
After randomly one day Googling places, scrolling social media, you found your holiday spot. Two hours on the train from the city to a region of paradise in snow and ice.
You booked a cabin for two weeks, celebrating Christmas there in peaceful solitude.
. . . . . . .
Call it a Christmas miracle because seeing the advertisement on a billboard was all he needed.
Din finally found the perfect gift for Grogu.
How did it not occur to him to just go somewhere nice for the holiday?
So off they went, booking a two-hour-long scenic train ride and a cabin in a snowy region for two weeks. Truth be told, everything was very last minute and rushed - they barely made it to the platform and hopped in the first carriage. The thrilling journey to the station at the start was exciting to Grogu. Din just dealt with the stress of everything up to checking in.
Din finally breathed and eased against his seat as he watched Grogu press his little hands against the window, the small frog plushie Peli gifted from a brief visit to their home tucked in his arm. His breath fogged the pane a little, mesmerized by the passing wintery view.
There was no plan for what they’d do when they arrived. Whatever Grogu takes interest in, Din will see where it takes them.
. . . . . . .
You took one of the carriages at the end when you arrived at the station early. Might as well get a head start on your holiday and also save yourself from the stress of checking in. To occupy yourself as the other passengers boarded the train, you took the time thinking of what you might do when you arrived at the resort.
First and foremost, you allocated most of your time in the cabin or snow hiking. Of course there would be the occasional trips to grab essentials in town or sneak a treat at the popular tourist spot cafe. It might be worth buying a souvenir too.
Whatever happens, it all goes to recovering your social battery. But it seemed to have extended to taking care of a small critter.
It wasn’t long into your hike you notice a ball of orange-red fur so obviously standing out in the snow. Whatever it was, curiosity won and you approached that ball of fur. As you got closer, that ball of fur shivered.
“Oh my God.” Your eyes widen with panic.
It’s a fox!
The poor fox weakly lifts its head once it heard you approaching and immediately growls quietly in warning, as if telling you to back off. It was heartbreaking to see how scared and defensive the fox looked - his green eyes glaring, and ears folded back as he hardly bared his teeth at you.
You didn’t know who to call, there was hardly any reception, and there was no way in hell you were leaving this poor fellow all alone.
“I’ll be right back” You promised the fox and rushed back to your cabin to grab a large blanket.
You found the fox now attempting to get up when you came back, and your heart ached when he wobbled. You do your best in staying calm to not further cause distress, yet so many questions and concerns for the fox came to mind, you focus on wrapping the fox in the blanket, safe and snug, and bring him back to your cabin where it’s warm.
‘It’s okay, it’s okay. I got you. You’re safe, darling. I promise.’ You coo softly. The fox resisted at first and squeaks in protest, but relents eventually at the warmth of your voice as you comforted and carried him to your cabin.
Maybe it is true that animals can sense trustworthy souls based on how willing and well behaved the fox was.
Or maybe he was just clever enough to realise he’s in good hands and will be taken care of for the next few weeks.
. . . . . . .
What were the odds of seeing Din on the same trip and finally crossing paths?
Inevitable.
It started when you were in the town’s most popular cafe and had to do a double take, making sure you weren’t delusional that it was in fact Din lining up at the counter. He doesn’t notice you, not when he was occupied by the little boy with him.
You couldn't help but keep glancing at his direction every second just to decide if you would very much like to go up to talk to him, but you did not want to deal with the awkwardness of it and went back to reading your book.
For Din, he walked past the souvenir shop and did a double take when he thought he saw you inside. Half of your face was buried from the scarf you wore. Din did not want to deal with the embarrassment of mistaking a stranger for an old friend, but he recognised you for sure.
After feeling like someone was staring at you for too long, you looked up from the item you held to glare at them only to be met with gentle brown eyes. Din Djarin. You also notice a little boy standing close beside him and holding his hand. The boy gives a timid wave hello. You give a friendly smile and wave back, mouthing ‘hi’.
Din stood there, too shocked to greet you. So you ditched getting a souvenir and walked out of the shop to meet him.
“Din?” Everything about you, your eyes, your smile, the surreal moment and excitement of seeing an old friend, made Din’s heart flutter. His first thought was how beautiful you are it almost slipped out his mouth. He smiles a little, shy, and nods. He says your name, remembering you.
“Good to see you again.” He says.
You catch up asking the usual “how have you been/what have you been up to/who’s this little guy?”, learning each other’s duration and plans of their stay.
You laughed uncontrollably when you found out about Din’s stressful experience on the day of departure in comparison to yours.
“No wonder why I didn’t see you.” You giggle, shedding a tear.
“Laugh all you want, you’ll be next.” Din frowned but still had a light-hearted tone.
“It won’t happen. I feel obligated to be your train buddy now.” You say with confidence and Din sighs.
Din offered that you can drop by and visit him and Grogu for lunch or dinner, but was rather compelled to visit yours when you told him of your situation.
“This is the fox you’re taking care of?” Din asked quietly nodded at the dozing animal by the fireplace.
The fox’s ear twitched and he woke up groggy from the pile of blankets after sensing the new companions setting foot in the cabin. The fox first glared defensively at Din, but once his eyes met with the child’s in Din’s arms, he softened up. Grogu stared in awe then looked up at his father, silently asking if he could get close. Din hesitated but set Grogu down.
The little boy and the fox had a harmless stare down gauging the level of friendliness of the other.
“Yeah, I don’t know what happened to him. I just found him shivering a few days ago and so he’s been bunking with me.” You explain, smiling fondly as Grogu started to gently pat the fox’s head, to which the animal accepted.
"He's like an animal whisperer." You giggle, watching the cute interaction between Grogu and the fox.
“I like to call him ‘Fink’.” You added, making Din raise an eyebrow and you felt like he was judging you. Your face flushed with embarrassment and explained. “It’s from a book called ‘The Wild Robot’. You should read it to Grogu - or watch the movie with him if you haven’t. I think you’ll like it.”
“Thanks. Yeah, I’ll look into that.” Din says softly, watching his son bond with the fox.
“Does anyone else know about this?” Din asks.
Fink now rested his head on Grogu’s lap, eyes closed and sighing happily as the boy continued to soothingly stroke his fur.
“I don’t think you nor I will do that. Maybe it’s not necessary to anyways.” You finally answered, still unsure.
Fink made a speedy recovery - no longer shivering, able to walk without wobbling, and expressive.
Your efforts looking after him all led releasing him back into the wild. There was no way you would keep Fink to yourself. Fink wasn’t a pet, yet you acknowledged the strong attachment towards the fox and the companionship shared from looking after him.
You also had to go back home. Same with Din and Grogu.
For this evening, Din’s heart ached with regret when they eventually had to go back to their cabin.
“You’re welcome to visit. I think that’s what Grogu wants too.” You grinned as you bid your farewell for the evening.
Din nodded, saying he’d come back with Grogu. Neither of you had the courage to admit you wanted to see each other too.
Din continued visiting your cabin as you looked after Fink, giving plenty of time to catch up while Grogu kept the fox company. It was like the two were inseparable.
On Christmas day, you invited Din and Grogu over for dinner. Din helped with cooking and preparing while Fink played with Grogu. The boy squealed in excitement when Fink pretended to chase him, or vice versa. Even if there was a lack of Christmas decorations, the festive spirit was there. This was probably what Din was looking for, same with Grogu. To just be with the people he loved.
“Grogu, he can’t eat that.” Din quickly grabbed the cookie Grogu tried to feed Fink.
. . . . . . .
In the middle of the night, Fink wakes up to a muffled conversation. He recognises your voice and then that man - Din was it?
You were in the kitchen.
Fink can tell by hearing liquid pouring and smelt the aroma of cocoa.
He picked up a sense of familiarity and intimacy within your conversation. The two of you shared stories from your personal lives in a steady rhythm.
You and Din thanked each other’s company for the evening, the entirety of what came to be from your holiday. And then there was a pause. Talking wasn’t either of your forte, but what did feel right for you both was being in each other’s presence in silence.
“I missed you.” You blurted.
“I missed you too.” Din whispers, sincere.
Fink fell back asleep.
In the kitchen, there were faint shy giggles. Whispering one last season's greeting. Whispering each other’s name playfully.
First kisses.
More kisses, savouring and remembering it.
Over and over again.
. . . . . . .
“We have to let him go.” Din murmurs, Grogu doesn’t stop hugging the fox.
The fox was all better and set to go back in the wild. You would also be boarding the train back home soon.
“We can come back next year.” Din promised, gently placing his hand on Grogu’s shoulder. The boy sniffled and the fox whimpered after the loss of affection.
“Yeah, and next time, we’ll be in the same cabin,” you said, kneeling next to Grogu and looking at the fox, “and hopefully we’ll see Fink again.” You say softly, believing the fox can understand and make a promise.
. . . . . . .
Outside your cabin, the three of you watched Fink walk a few steps towards the wilderness, looking back one last time to see Grogu with tears, waving goodbye.
Fink forced himself to run off, until all that was left behind was the trail of paw-prints in the snow.
. . . . . . .
This time Din and Grogu boarded the train early, thanks to you.
. . . . . . .
Even though it was almost the new year, it didn’t stop you from giving presents. You joked you were Din’s present - to which he rolled his eyes in amusement.
But for Grogu?
“Go on, open it up. She got it just for you.” Back at his home, Din gently encouraged Grogu when the little boy looked up to his father with curious eyes from the small, soft wrapped gift.
After carefully unwrapping, Grogu lifts up the gift, stares at it for a few seconds then squeezes it in a tight hug, swinging side to side.
Later that night, Din invited you over to join them for dinner.
“Does he like his gift?” You ask Din nervously while you joined him in his bed.
Din chuckles, carefully pulling you closer and pressing a kiss against your forehead.
“He loves it. Thank you for getting him that.”
In the little boy’s room, there he was, fast asleep. What was also tucked with him and held close to was a small plushie resembling a red fox.
. . . . . . .
Epilogue
Sometimes, Fink visits the cabin. He knows the people he wants to see most aren't there, so he sits there in the snow, reminiscing.
He liked being called ‘Fink’. It suited him.
Majority would call him as ‘sly’ or ‘mischievous’, but he took it as a compliment in disguise for how ‘clever’ he is.
So clever, that he would keep his promise and recognise the family of three that would visit again next year, Christmas time.
a/n: hi @tea-reads i am your secret santa!! when i got your prompt i was so happy because i have been wanting to write something like this for a long time. and i usually need days, weeks to complete something like this but for some reason, these words just poured out of me. you said i can pick the character myself so i went with Frankie because, Frankie is just... Frankie *sighs affectionately*. anyway, hope you enjoy it! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!! a big thank you to @pedrostories for the amazing event <3 also, @tea-reads i hope you don't mind me giving the cat the most obnoxious cat name that there is. xx
pairing: frankie 'catfish' morales x fem!reader
c/w: reader is she/her, description of the reader (story is written with a specific person in mind), other than that some cursing, implication of intimacy, and the rest is pure fluff.
The faded red bricks of the old brownstone are cool as Frankie Morales steps outside, cradling a steaming mug of coffee between his hands. Taking a sip, he lets the warmth bleed into his fingers, into his chest, where sleep still weighs heavy. The bitter taste bites at his tongue, but he likes it—it feels real, more real than the hazy remnants of the dreams he’s trying to shake off.
Then, a flash of movement catches his eye. There, across the narrow street, framed in a first-floor window like a living portrait she sits—a girl with a tangle of dark hair hunched over a book. Her fingertip traces the page as she reads. Frankie thinks of the whorl of her fingerprint, oil and ink, the silent shape of words in her mouth.
He's seen her before. Hard not to in a neighborhood like this where everyone knows everyone and their grandma, but they've never spoken. Never had reason to. He doesn't even know her name but he likes to call her bookworm. Imagines her with papercuts on her fingertips and the smell of old pages clinging to her clothes.
She looks up just as he's lifting his mug to his lips. Catches him looking. He could turn away but he doesn't. He lifts a hand in a wave and he's close enough to see her lips twitch into an almost smile before she disappears behind a curtain the color of clouds.
—
The cat is an ink-stain sprawled across the pale tiles of Frankie's kitchen floor. He stares at it. It stares back wholly unimpressed by the world—or by him. A chill breeze from the open window ruffles its fur.
"Alright," he mutters, running a hand over his face. "I don't know how you got in here, gato, but you’ve got to go."
The cat remains unmoved.
Frankie sighs. Scrubs a hand through his hair. Remembers too late it's still tacky with pomade and now his fingers are too. "Look, it’s not that I don’t like you," he continues, his voice edging toward something that sounds suspiciously like resignation. "It’s just—well, I’m not exactly living the kind of life where I can keep a pet right now. You know how it is."
The cat, of course, does not know how it is. Nor does it care. It blinks lazily, as if to say, Who asked you?
Frankie glances at the open window above the sink, then at the clock on the wall. He’s going to be late for his shift at the garage if he doesn’t leave soon. “Fine,” he mutters, shrugging into his jacket. “Have it your way. Mi casa es su casa and all that. But when I get back, we’re having a serious talk about boundaries.”
The cat yawns, a pink tongue curling delicately, as if it already knows how the conversation will go.
Frankie snatches his keys from the hook by the door. “I mean it,” he grumbles, more to himself than the cat. “This ain’t a hotel.”
The door shuts behind him, and somewhere in the quiet of the kitchen, the cat blinks once, slowly, as though conceding that perhaps it is.
—
Boundaries. What a joke. He'd forgotten that talk as soon as he'd clocked in. Then it was nothing but oil changes and timing belts and that persistent rattle in Mrs. Goldberg's Buick that refuses to be located. By the time he drags himself up the two flights to his apartment, the cat is the furthest thing from his mind.
Until he trips over it in the dark, nearly braining himself on the coffee table.
"Shit!" He fumbles for the light switch. Blinks in the sudden flood of brightness. The cat is sitting by the door, tail lashing. "Oh, it's you. Thought we had an understanding."
The cat meows. Loudly. Like an air-raid siren.
"What? What do you want?"
Another yowl, claws scrabbling at the wood. And okay, Frankie may not be Dr. Dolittle but even he can translate that.
He groans. Pinches the bridge of his nose where a headache is brewing. "Alright, alright, I'm going."
—
Never let it be said that Frankie Morales isn't a man of his word. He's going.
He's just not sure where.
Standing on the cracked sidewalk, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other clutching a very disgruntled cat, he scans the darkened windows of the brownstone across the way. No sign of bookworm.
The cat squirms and he tightens his grip. "Cool it, Houdini. I don't see your owner around."
A throat clears behind him. He spins, the cat held out like a furry shield.
And there she is, close enough to touch. Dark eyes wide in a delicate face, perfect lips parted on a startled breath.
"Um, can I help you?"
Christ, even her voice is perfect. Soft and low with a husky little catch. Frankie's tongue feels too big for his mouth. He thrusts the cat at her. "I believe this belongs to you."
"Bukowski!" She takes the cat from his unresisting hands, cuddling it to her chest. Rubs her cheek against its head and it purrs, traitor. "Where have you been?"
"My kitchen, apparently."
She peeks up at him through a curtain of silky hair, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. A hot curl of want licks through him. "I'm so sorry. He's never done that before."
Frankie shrugs. "It's no problem." It is, a little, but he's not about to say that. Not when she's looking at him like she's braced for a lecture. He sticks out his hand. "I'm Frankie, by the way. I live...right there." He points at his window like an idiot.
Her lips curve and this time it's a real smile and fuck, he's a goner. Her hand is small and cool against his roughened palm. Her fingers feel like bird bones. Delicate. Breakable.
He gentles his grip, struck by the sudden urge to bring those slender fingers to his lips. Press a kiss to her knuckles like some old-fashioned gentleman. He doesn’t. Instead, he drops her hand, stuffs his own back in his pocket where it can't do anything stupid. "Nice to officially meet you."
She ducks her head, hair sliding forward to hide that pretty flush climbing her cheeks. "You too. And thanks for bringing Bukowski home. I should..." She gestures over her shoulder, already backing away.
"Anytime."
He means it.
—
After that, of course he sees her everywhere.
Or maybe he’s just looking for her now.
Either way, it starts at the library.
He’d ducked inside to escape a sudden downpour, the sharp scent of wet pavement still clinging to his jacket, and there she was—bookworm.
Her hair was pinned loosely at the nape of her neck, a pencil tucked behind one ear, her hands deftly sorting books into neat stacks. She hadn’t noticed him at first, too busy rearranging the circulation desk into some private order only she understood. But then she glanced up, and their eyes met, and Frankie forgot for a moment how to breathe.
She’d smiled—a small, polite curve of her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He’d managed to nod, maybe mumble something resembling “hey,” before retreating to the nearest aisle like a complete idiot.
—
Later, he’ll think maybe he conjured the whole thing. Like he wanted it so bad, so deep-down-in-his-bones bad, that the universe finally caved and handed it to him. A gift wrapped in irritation and crossed arms.
He’s just gotten home from a late shift, his body heavy with exhaustion, when a knock sounds at the door. His heart does a stupid little flip, a hopeful leap he’ll deny later. It’s gotta be her. Girl Scouts don’t hustle cookies this late, and Santi’s under strict orders not to bother him unless someone’s bleeding out or already dead.
When he opens the door, there she is, a stormcloud expression in place, arms folded tight across her chest. Her mouth is a taut line of annoyance, but even like this—especially like this—she’s too damn pretty.
"Hey." He leans casually against the doorframe, or at least he tries. His pulse is a drumbeat in his ears, frantic and unsteady. "What’s up?"
Her eyes flash, all dark fire and frustration. "Bukowski got out again." The words are clipped, each one edged with irritation.
"Shit, really?" He glances at his window out of instinct. Still shut tight. He scratches the back of his neck. "I haven’t seen him."
She exhales sharply, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl. "Well, he’s not in my apartment, and your place is the only one he’s ever snuck into before, so."
Frankie drags a hand over his face, more to hide the grin tugging at his lips than out of frustration. "Alright. Gimme a second." He grabs his jacket from the coat rack, shrugging into it as he pulls the door shut behind him. "Did you check the alley? Sometimes I see him poking around the dumpsters back there."
Her nose wrinkles, a delicate crinkle of disdain that’s somehow unfairly adorable. "Gross."
A laugh startles out of him. "Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it. Dumpsters are like catnip to alley cats."
"Bukowski," she says with a frankly alarming amount of dignity, "is not an alley cat."
He holds up his hands, fighting a smile. "My mistake. Lead the way, princess."
—
They find the wayward feline sunning himself on the hood of Frankie's shitty third-hand Corolla, fur black against the rusting blue paint. Frankie eyes the fresh scratches on the driver's side door with resignation. Makes a mental note to start parking on the next block.
She marches up to the car, hands on her hips. "Bukowski Theodore Hemingway, you are in so much trouble."
It's official. She's the cutest thing he's ever seen.
He watches as she scoops up the unrepentant cat, fingers sinking into thick fur. Remembers the cool slide of her palm against his. The delicate veins in her wrist.
"Looks like he's got a taste for adventure," he jokes, sticking his hands in the pockets of his sherpa jacket to stop himself from reaching for her. "Regular little escape artist."
She frowns, shifting the cat to get a better grip. "I just don't understand why he keeps coming here. It's not like you're feeding him or anything."
Frankie shakes his head. "Just my rampant animal magnetism."
That startles a laugh out of her, bright and unconscious. He thinks he could get drunk on that sound, learn to crave it like a drug.
She looks up at him from beneath her lashes, something almost shy in the tilt of her mouth. "Must be."
And God, he wants to kiss her. Wants to pull her closer, hook his fingers into the belt loops of her jeans and erase the tiny space between them. Wants to let his hands map the curve of her waist, thread into the dark silk of her hair until she’s sighing against his mouth. Wants to find out if her lips taste as soft as they look, if the heat of her blush runs all the way down to the hollow of her throat—
She clears her throat, studying the top of Bukowski's head with sudden fascination. "Well. Thanks for helping me look. And sorry again for the trouble."
"Anytime."
He keeps his hands to himself.
Barely.
—
Things go back to normal after that.
Or at least, his version of normal, which mostly involves work and sleep and precious little else. He goes out drinking with Santi and Benny a couple times, flirts with any woman who looks his way out of habit more than actual interest. But his mind's never really in it. He always finds himself watching the door like he's waiting for something.
Someone.
He tries telling himself it's pathetic, pining over a girl he's barely spoken to. That he's building her up in his head, spinning some kind of bullshit fairy tale out of a few chance encounters.
But then he'll catch a glimpse of her through her living room window, hair spilling across the pages of an open book, lips moving soundlessly as she reads. Or he'll hear her laugh drifting through the open window as he drinks his coffee and a rare smoke on the fire escape, soft and secret in the velvet dark. And he thinks maybe it's not so pathetic to want something real for once.
—
When Bukowski shows up again, he's ready.
He leaves his window cracked just wide enough for a determined cat to squeeze through. Starts storing spare cans of tuna on the top shelf of the pantry. Feigns surprise every time the furry little monster appears like a grouchy apparition on his kitchen counter.
These days, his girl barely makes it through a cursory lecture before she's sighing and rolling her eyes, resigned to her pet's delinquent ways.
And if their hands sometimes brush as he passes the cat over, lingering a beat too long to be strictly accidental...well. That's just a bonus.
—
"Thanks for this," she says for what must be the dozenth time, sweet mouth curving ruefully as she tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "I promise I'm not sending him over on purpose. He's just..."
"Got a mind of his own," Frankie finishes, tearing his gaze away from the tan curve of her throat. "I get it. You can't control who you love."
Something flickers across her face too quick to catch and her smile slips, a brief dimming that makes his chest ache. But it's back before he can blink, smooth and distant as rippled glass.
"Still. I'll try to keep a closer eye on him from now on." She hitches the cat higher on her hip, slender fingers sinking into dark fur. "See you around, Frankie."
—
After that, he leaves the window shut tight. Pretends he can't hear the plaintive yowling from the alley below. Bullies Benny into taking the extra cans of tuna cluttering up his shelves.
It was stupid to think this thing between them could be anything more than a few scattered moments. A collection of almost strung together with foolish hope.
Girls like her don't end up with guys like him. He's got no business wanting what he can't have. No business dragging her into his mess of a life.
So, he stays away from the window. Throws himself into work, picking up extra shifts until he's too tired to think straight. Ignores the sharp bite of loss in his chest whenever he catches a flash of dark hair from the corner of his eye.
It's better this way.
—
He almost makes it a week before she corners him on the front stoop, arms crossed and eyes snapping.
"Did I do something wrong?"
He stares at her, momentarily speechless. She's a vision in the golden wash of the porch light, cheeks flushed and hair tumbling wild around her face.
She's never looked more beautiful. Or more pissed.
"What?" He finally manages, feeling wrong-footed and awkward in a way he hasn't since he was a pimply fourteen playing spin the bottle in Rosie Alvarez's basement.
Her mouth firms. "You're avoiding me."
It's not a question but he shakes his head anyway, instinct urging him to deny. "No, I'm not."
"Bullshit." She steps closer, close enough that he can smell her. "I thought we were..." She pauses, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "I don't know. Connecting, maybe." Her shoulders hitch, just a little, and his heart squeezes painfully behind his ribs. "But now you won't even look at me."
Frankie doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s never been good with words, not the kind that matter, not the kind that don’t come out clumsy and wrong.
When he says nothing, she crosses her arms tighter, like she’s holding herself together.
"I don’t even know why I’m here," she says, pacing now a little, her arms crossing and uncrossing like she doesn’t know what to do with them. "I’ve been talking myself out of this for days. Weeks, maybe. Telling myself I’m being ridiculous, that I shouldn’t care, that I don’t need this."
"I'm not good at this, Frankie. At flirting or...or making my intentions known. I've always been alone and I thought I was okay with that. Content, even. But then you showed up with your stupid handsome face and your awful secret cigarettes on the fire escape and suddenly I'm lying awake at night wondering what it would be like to have someone. And I thought maybe you..." She trails off, scrubbing furiously at her eyes. "God, I'm so stupid. Of course you don't—"
Her name comes out low and rough, like it’s been scraped from the deepest part of him, and it cuts her off mid-sentence. Her gaze snaps up to his, her eyes wide, shining with a mix of anger and embarrassment and something heartbreakingly soft.
"You talk too much," he murmurs, his lips twitching into the faintest, most lopsided smile.
And before she can respond—before she can talk herself in circles or tear herself down anymore—he cups her face in his hands and kisses her.
It’s not a perfect kiss. He’s too rough, too desperate, his calloused thumbs brushing against the softness of her cheeks as his mouth finds hers. But the way she melts into him, the way her hands grip the front of his jacket like she’s afraid he’ll vanish if she lets go, makes him think that maybe perfection doesn’t matter.
Her lips are soft, warm, and she tastes faintly of peppermint tea, like she’s been drinking it to calm herself down. But he doesn’t think either of them are calm now. He’s trembling, just a little, as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, and she makes a soft, startled sound in the back of her throat that just about undoes him.
When they finally pull apart, her cheeks are flushed, her lips pink and kiss-swollen, and she’s staring up at him like she doesn’t quite believe what just happened.
"Sweetheart. You have no idea how much I want you."
She blinks up at him, dark lashes spiky with tears. "You...you do?"
He has to laugh at the genuine confusion in her voice. Has to kiss her again, soft and slow and so sweet he aches with it. "I really, really do."
—
When Frankie wakes up the next morning he finds her watching him. Her hair is a tangled mess around her face, cheeks still flushed with the fading imprint of his kisses.
She reaches out, traces the curve of his jaw with a fingertip. "Hi."
His throat feels tight, crammed full of words he doesn't know how to shape. He turns his head. Presses a kiss to her palm. "Morning."
She smiles, slow and sweet as honey. "For a minute there, I thought I imagined you."
"Oh yeah?" He tugs her closer. Fits his body to the warm curves of hers. "Hate to disappoint, but I'm very real."
A laugh shivers through her. He feels it everywhere they're touching. Everywhere they're not. "I can see that."
He kisses her then. Can't not. Feels like he'll die if he doesn't get his mouth on her. She arches into him. Makes a noise that shoots straight to his groin.
He rolls her beneath him. Smoothes his hands down her sides. Over the dip of her waist. The flare of her hips. She gasps. Clutches at his shoulders. Nails biting into his skin.
A sudden clatter breaks the hush.
Frankie's head snaps up. There, silhouetted in the window. A familiar furry face.
Bukowski blinks. Yowls.
Frankie barks a laugh.
"Guess he was playing matchmaker all along, huh?" he teases, his voice a low rumble.
She huffs a laugh, her smile widening, her eyes bright with mischief. "Guess so."
Another yowl interrupts them, louder this time, and Frankie glances back at the window. The cat sits there, tail twitching impatiently, clearly unimpressed by their lack of urgency.
Frankie sighs dramatically, his face twisting into mock exasperation. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint."
He disentangles himself reluctantly. Pads naked to the window. Opens it just wide enough for Bukowski to slink through. The cat immediately winds around his ankles. Purring.
"Yeah, yeah. You're a regular Cupid." He scoops the furry devil up. Dumps him unceremoniously on the bed. "Now scram. We're busy."
She laughs. Reaches for him. "Come back to bed, Frankie."
He goes. Willingly. Eagerly.
Somewhere in the tangle of the sheets Bukowski meows.
@couldsewyouastitch!!!!! OH MY GOD!! I LOVE IT ALL!
I LOVE IT SO MUCH AND THE WAY YOU WRITE FRANKIE EVEN WHEN HE’S AN IDIOT IS EVERYTHING AND MAKES ME GO
AND BUKOWSKI THEODORE HEMINGWAY? I LOVE IT 😂 okay, I’m done being unhinged haha. I love how it’s his world and we’re just living in it. I unfortunately don’t have a cat and if I did, I’d lay my life down to have one as unbothered as him. No questions asked. I’d probably give an obnoxious name too, I’m all for it haha.
I’m so glad and happy you enjoyed my prompt and that it was good timing! Thank you for delivering this masterpiece. It means everything to me and I’ll cherish it forever 🥹
I’ve read it so many times it’s too good. It’s perfect 😭
Content: Fluff, Friends-to-lovers, first time spending holiday together, animal with very minor injury.
A/N: For this year's @pedrostories Secret Santa, my gift is for @noisynaia! Thank you for your patience, I hope you like it and I really hope I've done your prompt justice. There were so many ideas and possibilities I had in mind, and I finally found the story that felt natural to write. Your prompt was like a warm welcome back into writing and finding joy in it once again.
Thank you @pedrostories for organising this amazing event!
Merry Christmas everyone and have a wonderful and happy new year!
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Prologue
The train air whistle roars as white puffs emit from the train through the cold open air. It gradually slows down to a stop, reaching its destination.
Those visiting would have a pamphlet advertising for a ‘magical Christmas getaway in the snow!’, which really was a humble town in a snowy region with some fancy cabins too. The town was to appeal to families most, but that doesn’t stop the solo-travellers from going and booking their own cabin.
Nor does it stop a clever red fox from “participating” by taking advantage of the unfinished foods left behind.
. . . . . . .
Snowmen and snow angels. Christmas decorations and displays. Gingerbread houses. Dinner with loved ones. Family-friendly Christmas movies. Winter Night Markets. Strings of festive lights. Choirs carolling in front of the grand Christmas tree at the city centre. Children laugh as they run and play like the wild and free spirits they are. Presents.
Whatever made Christmas special and magical for the kids, Din wanted to give that experience to Grogu. It was the boy’s first Christmas after all. Though the problem was the little boy didn’t seem to share the same level of excitement as the other kids - he was curious and awed, yes, but was so comfortable being carried around by his father as the festive season took place.
Admittedly, one day from grocery shopping at the mall, Din attempted to line up with Grogu for those photographs with Santa, but had to make a sharp turn towards the exit when he saw the tears in his son’s eyes.
And the presents? Din was just helpless. Maybe he was overthinking it - overthinking everything - that the present had to be perfect, but that could be anything. Getting Grogu a teddy bear wasn’t right to Din, but the single dad wanted and needed to give something special.
He valued practicality, the purpose and the quality of every little moment. Yet throughout putting up their own Christmas tree and decorating it, attempting to cook dinner or bake together, watching Christmas movies each night, he still felt like it wasn’t enough nor right.
Whatever made Christmas special this year was the opportunity to finally treat yourself to a getaway.
The hustle and repetitive nature of modern life would sometimes get to you, like being haunted by one of those ghosts from a ‘Christmas Carol’. To combat the noise, you found spending the holidays away from it all to be the answer.
The overwhelming and unbearable weight of hustle culture became a sign for you to step back, detach, and pivot in another direction. One that welcomes rest and relaxation. You worked way too hard this year, including overcoming all minor inconveniences, you very much deserve a reward.
After randomly one day Googling places, scrolling social media, you found your holiday spot. Two hours on the train from the city to a region of paradise in snow and ice.
You booked a cabin for two weeks, celebrating Christmas there in peaceful solitude.
. . . . . . .
Call it a Christmas miracle because seeing the advertisement on a billboard was all he needed.
Din finally found the perfect gift for Grogu.
How did it not occur to him to just go somewhere nice for the holiday?
So off they went, booking a two-hour-long scenic train ride and a cabin in a snowy region for two weeks. Truth be told, everything was very last minute and rushed - they barely made it to the platform and hopped in the first carriage. The thrilling journey to the station at the start was exciting to Grogu. Din just dealt with the stress of everything up to checking in.
Din finally breathed and eased against his seat as he watched Grogu press his little hands against the window, the small frog plushie Peli gifted from a brief visit to their home tucked in his arm. His breath fogged the pane a little, mesmerized by the passing wintery view.
There was no plan for what they’d do when they arrived. Whatever Grogu takes interest in, Din will see where it takes them.
. . . . . . .
You took one of the carriages at the end when you arrived at the station early. Might as well get a head start on your holiday and also save yourself from the stress of checking in. To occupy yourself as the other passengers boarded the train, you took the time thinking of what you might do when you arrived at the resort.
First and foremost, you allocated most of your time in the cabin or snow hiking. Of course there would be the occasional trips to grab essentials in town or sneak a treat at the popular tourist spot cafe. It might be worth buying a souvenir too.
Whatever happens, it all goes to recovering your social battery. But it seemed to have extended to taking care of a small critter.
It wasn’t long into your hike you notice a ball of orange-red fur so obviously standing out in the snow. Whatever it was, curiosity won and you approached that ball of fur. As you got closer, that ball of fur shivered.
“Oh my God.” Your eyes widen with panic.
It’s a fox!
The poor fox weakly lifts its head once it heard you approaching and immediately growls quietly in warning, as if telling you to back off. It was heartbreaking to see how scared and defensive the fox looked - his green eyes glaring, and ears folded back as he hardly bared his teeth at you.
You didn’t know who to call, there was hardly any reception, and there was no way in hell you were leaving this poor fellow all alone.
“I’ll be right back” You promised the fox and rushed back to your cabin to grab a large blanket.
You found the fox now attempting to get up when you came back, and your heart ached when he wobbled. You do your best in staying calm to not further cause distress, yet so many questions and concerns for the fox came to mind, you focus on wrapping the fox in the blanket, safe and snug, and bring him back to your cabin where it’s warm.
‘It’s okay, it’s okay. I got you. You’re safe, darling. I promise.’ You coo softly. The fox resisted at first and squeaks in protest, but relents eventually at the warmth of your voice as you comforted and carried him to your cabin.
Maybe it is true that animals can sense trustworthy souls based on how willing and well behaved the fox was.
Or maybe he was just clever enough to realise he’s in good hands and will be taken care of for the next few weeks.
. . . . . . .
What were the odds of seeing Din on the same trip and finally crossing paths?
Inevitable.
It started when you were in the town’s most popular cafe and had to do a double take, making sure you weren’t delusional that it was in fact Din lining up at the counter. He doesn’t notice you, not when he was occupied by the little boy with him.
You couldn't help but keep glancing at his direction every second just to decide if you would very much like to go up to talk to him, but you did not want to deal with the awkwardness of it and went back to reading your book.
For Din, he walked past the souvenir shop and did a double take when he thought he saw you inside. Half of your face was buried from the scarf you wore. Din did not want to deal with the embarrassment of mistaking a stranger for an old friend, but he recognised you for sure.
After feeling like someone was staring at you for too long, you looked up from the item you held to glare at them only to be met with gentle brown eyes. Din Djarin. You also notice a little boy standing close beside him and holding his hand. The boy gives a timid wave hello. You give a friendly smile and wave back, mouthing ‘hi’.
Din stood there, too shocked to greet you. So you ditched getting a souvenir and walked out of the shop to meet him.
“Din?” Everything about you, your eyes, your smile, the surreal moment and excitement of seeing an old friend, made Din’s heart flutter. His first thought was how beautiful you are it almost slipped out his mouth. He smiles a little, shy, and nods. He says your name, remembering you.
“Good to see you again.” He says.
You catch up asking the usual “how have you been/what have you been up to/who’s this little guy?”, learning each other’s duration and plans of their stay.
You laughed uncontrollably when you found out about Din’s stressful experience on the day of departure in comparison to yours.
“No wonder why I didn’t see you.” You giggle, shedding a tear.
“Laugh all you want, you’ll be next.” Din frowned but still had a light-hearted tone.
“It won’t happen. I feel obligated to be your train buddy now.” You say with confidence and Din sighs.
Din offered that you can drop by and visit him and Grogu for lunch or dinner, but was rather compelled to visit yours when you told him of your situation.
“This is the fox you’re taking care of?” Din asked quietly nodded at the dozing animal by the fireplace.
The fox’s ear twitched and he woke up groggy from the pile of blankets after sensing the new companions setting foot in the cabin. The fox first glared defensively at Din, but once his eyes met with the child’s in Din’s arms, he softened up. Grogu stared in awe then looked up at his father, silently asking if he could get close. Din hesitated but set Grogu down.
The little boy and the fox had a harmless stare down gauging the level of friendliness of the other.
“Yeah, I don’t know what happened to him. I just found him shivering a few days ago and so he’s been bunking with me.” You explain, smiling fondly as Grogu started to gently pat the fox’s head, to which the animal accepted.
"He's like an animal whisperer." You giggle, watching the cute interaction between Grogu and the fox.
“I like to call him ‘Fink’.” You added, making Din raise an eyebrow and you felt like he was judging you. Your face flushed with embarrassment and explained. “It’s from a book called ‘The Wild Robot’. You should read it to Grogu - or watch the movie with him if you haven’t. I think you’ll like it.”
“Thanks. Yeah, I’ll look into that.” Din says softly, watching his son bond with the fox.
“Does anyone else know about this?” Din asks.
Fink now rested his head on Grogu’s lap, eyes closed and sighing happily as the boy continued to soothingly stroke his fur.
“I don’t think you nor I will do that. Maybe it’s not necessary to anyways.” You finally answered, still unsure.
Fink made a speedy recovery - no longer shivering, able to walk without wobbling, and expressive.
Your efforts looking after him all led releasing him back into the wild. There was no way you would keep Fink to yourself. Fink wasn’t a pet, yet you acknowledged the strong attachment towards the fox and the companionship shared from looking after him.
You also had to go back home. Same with Din and Grogu.
For this evening, Din’s heart ached with regret when they eventually had to go back to their cabin.
“You’re welcome to visit. I think that’s what Grogu wants too.” You grinned as you bid your farewell for the evening.
Din nodded, saying he’d come back with Grogu. Neither of you had the courage to admit you wanted to see each other too.
Din continued visiting your cabin as you looked after Fink, giving plenty of time to catch up while Grogu kept the fox company. It was like the two were inseparable.
On Christmas day, you invited Din and Grogu over for dinner. Din helped with cooking and preparing while Fink played with Grogu. The boy squealed in excitement when Fink pretended to chase him, or vice versa. Even if there was a lack of Christmas decorations, the festive spirit was there. This was probably what Din was looking for, same with Grogu. To just be with the people he loved.
“Grogu, he can’t eat that.” Din quickly grabbed the cookie Grogu tried to feed Fink.
. . . . . . .
In the middle of the night, Fink wakes up to a muffled conversation. He recognises your voice and then that man - Din was it?
You were in the kitchen.
Fink can tell by hearing liquid pouring and smelt the aroma of cocoa.
He picked up a sense of familiarity and intimacy within your conversation. The two of you shared stories from your personal lives in a steady rhythm.
You and Din thanked each other’s company for the evening, the entirety of what came to be from your holiday. And then there was a pause. Talking wasn’t either of your forte, but what did feel right for you both was being in each other’s presence in silence.
“I missed you.” You blurted.
“I missed you too.” Din whispers, sincere.
Fink fell back asleep.
In the kitchen, there were faint shy giggles. Whispering one last season's greeting. Whispering each other’s name playfully.
First kisses.
More kisses, savouring and remembering it.
Over and over again.
. . . . . . .
“We have to let him go.” Din murmurs, Grogu doesn’t stop hugging the fox.
The fox was all better and set to go back in the wild. You would also be boarding the train back home soon.
“We can come back next year.” Din promised, gently placing his hand on Grogu’s shoulder. The boy sniffled and the fox whimpered after the loss of affection.
“Yeah, and next time, we’ll be in the same cabin,” you said, kneeling next to Grogu and looking at the fox, “and hopefully we’ll see Fink again.” You say softly, believing the fox can understand and make a promise.
. . . . . . .
Outside your cabin, the three of you watched Fink walk a few steps towards the wilderness, looking back one last time to see Grogu with tears, waving goodbye.
Fink forced himself to run off, until all that was left behind was the trail of paw-prints in the snow.
. . . . . . .
This time Din and Grogu boarded the train early, thanks to you.
. . . . . . .
Even though it was almost the new year, it didn’t stop you from giving presents. You joked you were Din’s present - to which he rolled his eyes in amusement.
But for Grogu?
“Go on, open it up. She got it just for you.” Back at his home, Din gently encouraged Grogu when the little boy looked up to his father with curious eyes from the small, soft wrapped gift.
After carefully unwrapping, Grogu lifts up the gift, stares at it for a few seconds then squeezes it in a tight hug, swinging side to side.
Later that night, Din invited you over to join them for dinner.
“Does he like his gift?” You ask Din nervously while you joined him in his bed.
Din chuckles, carefully pulling you closer and pressing a kiss against your forehead.
“He loves it. Thank you for getting him that.”
In the little boy’s room, there he was, fast asleep. What was also tucked with him and held close to was a small plushie resembling a red fox.
. . . . . . .
Epilogue
Sometimes, Fink visits the cabin. He knows the people he wants to see most aren't there, so he sits there in the snow, reminiscing.
He liked being called ‘Fink’. It suited him.
Majority would call him as ‘sly’ or ‘mischievous’, but he took it as a compliment in disguise for how ‘clever’ he is.
So clever, that he would keep his promise and recognise the family of three that would visit again next year, Christmas time.
PedroStories would like to invite you to our second Secret Santa event! ✨
If you write fanfictions for any Pedro Pascal characters and/or you're a visual art creator (graphics, gifsets, fanart) with a love for our fandom's fanfic writers, this event is for you! You can register here until November 27 (you can expect our message about your giftee a few days later), and the gifters will post their arts on December 24.
We have tagged all the incoming questions and answers about the event with “secret santa questions”, you can search for it on the blog, but if something still isn’t clear, feel free to send us an ask!
Please read the rules carefully before submitting your application!
Please make sure that it’s specified in your bio if you’re a minor/adult (at least temporarily)
Please respect the deadlines: application ends on November 27 and you will need to post your gift on December 23
Please consider the following rules about the format of the gifts: gifsets should contain at least 3 gifs (or multiple banners) and fanfictions should be at least 1k words
We encourage you to anonymously contact your giftee if you feel like your prompt isn't clear enough, or if you have any questions about their preferences. If you're in doubt, you can send an ask to pedrostories, and someone will contact you via dm
If you're a tumblr user please make sure your anon ask is enabled, and if you're not a tumblr user please provide a contact where your gifter can approach you anonymously (obviously a media account or e-mail address you check regularly)
Please tag your gift as #pedrostoriesgift24 and #pedrostories so we can track and reblog all your arts on the day of the gifting, and don't forget to tag you giftee as well!
If for any reason you need to drop out, please do let us know as soon as possible so we can find a pinch hitter for your giftee
If you have any questions please don’t hesitate to send us an ask!
PedroStories would like to invite you to our second Secret Santa event! ✨
If you write fanfictions for any Pedro Pascal characters and/or you're a visual art creator (graphics, gifsets, fanart) with a love for our fandom's fanfic writers, this event is for you! You can register here until November 26 (you can expect our message about your giftee a few days later), and the gifters will post their arts on December 24.
We have tagged all the incoming questions and answers about the event with “secret santa questions”, you can search for it on the blog, but if something still isn’t clear, feel free to send us an ask!
Please read the rules carefully before submitting your application!
Please make sure that it’s specified in your bio if you’re a minor/adult (at least temporarily)
Please respect the deadlines: application ends on November 26 and you will need to post your gift on December 24
Please consider the following rules about the format of the gifts: gifsets should contain at least 3 gifs (this doesn't apply to animated banners) and fanfictions should be at least 1k words
We encourage you to anonymously contact your giftee if you feel like your prompt isn't clear enough, or if you have any questions about their preferences
If you're a tumblr user please make sure your anon ask is enabled, and if you're not a tumblr user please provide a contact where your gifter can approach you anonymously (obviously a media account or e-mail address you check regularly)
Please tag your gift as #pedrostoriesgift23 and #pedrostories so we can track and reblog all your arts on the day of the gifting, and don't forget to tag you giftee as well!
If for any reason you need to drop out, please do let us know as soon as possible so we can find a pinch hitter for your giftee
If you have any questions please don’t hesitate to send us an ask!
"There will never be a day I won't want to hold your hand"
Saw this comment in a post randomly and all I can think of is them holding hands and now I'm unwell o(-(
Fanfic readers rejoice! For this Halloween we would like to celebrate the fandom’s writers with you! If you want to showcase your love for your favourite fanfictions and writers, we invite you to submit a little treat for them – you have plenty of options if you’re feeling creative, but general fic recommendations are welcomed, too; we prepared a few questions to help you!
Spotify playlists (Canva has an album cover template section as well)
Moodboards (Canva has templates and designs, Pinterest can help with the aesthetics, and you can find free stock photos on Pexels)
Fic rec questionnaire (more about this below)
Anything else that comes to your mind!
If you don’t feel so creative, don’t worry, we prepared a few questions for you so you can still show your love for the fandom’s writers!
Rules
The name of the celebration comes from the date and from the notion that you’re sharing treats, but your creations and recommendations don’t need to be Halloween themed!
Please post all your treats and recs between 28-31 October!
Please use the hashtag #pedrostorieshallowreads23, as we’re going to create a masterlist of all the treats, so we would like to track all of them!
You can post as many treats as you want to, but please post them separately!
If you post a fic rec with our questionnaire, you can answer as many questions as you want (and if you’re undecided, you can recommend more fics for one question!). Please make sure you follow the template - don’t forget to link the fic in the title and tag the writer, and we would be happy if you could add your personal thoughts about the story, but of course it’s not mandatory! The fic recs can all be in one post.
If something is unclear, you can always send us an ask, we will tag it as #hallowreads23 questions!
Summary: Ezra, the favoured violin student who rarely performed solo, happens to hear a familiar song being played in the college's auditorium. He decides to pop in to hear more and to discover it was you, the solo piano student, practicing it.
Word count: 2.4K+
Tags/Warnings: College AU; hurt/comfort; fluff; yearning; pining; self-isolating and lonliness themes; mention of exes and bad friends; self-doubt and lack of confidence; one suggestive thought of Ezra's hands on reader's neck
A/N: Congratulations @pedrostories for 1K followers! Thank you for tagging me about your 1K celebration post recently. It helped give me a little boost to write again, as I've been wanting to for a while, but life gets in the way. Here's my submission. I'm so sorry for being a day over the deadline! I keep trying to write but things keep popping up! I'm real nervous sharing this since it's been a long time and I feel so frazzled. I honestly feel like I could've written this one better. Hope it's okay :')
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The auditorium holds no guests except for a pianist who walks on the stage, towards the grand piano. The class’s end of year student showcase was coming up in a few months, and your days were filled with nothing but solitude in practicing, studying and having lunch alone. It's not like you had any company throughout your college years anyways.
Your teacher gave you and your classmates plenty of time to organise yourselves to form your groups and decide on what piece you were to play for the showcase and as your final assessment. You knew what you were going to do, because like how you’ve spent nearly every day of your college life, you opted for solo.
You preferred it this way. It helped you to focus and stay out of any drama that could come up if you were to mix with the wrong crowd. Although, for all the friend groups - big or small - and the couples that had their place on campus, jealousy slowly bubbled within you, and followed closely by longing. Longing for someone to keep you company and because they genuinely liked being around you, and not for what you could offer.
Not after how your ex or your old “friends” treated you…
You shake your head to get rid the emerging pain from the past and brought your attention back to the piano. You start warming up with various scales and exercises before digging into the classical piece you chose for your final performance and assessment.
Whilst playing the heart of Liebestruame No. 3, a creak from the entrance door echoes throughout the room. You immediately stop and turn your head towards whoever it was that dared to enter whilst you were practicing.
Your heart drops when it’s Ezra standing there, holding his violin case casually yet professional, with that crooked smile of his, looking up at you whilst you look down at him from the stage. He softly says your name, a mix of surprise, awe and maybe a bit of happiness to see it was you playing the piano that it makes your heart flutter.
“I couldn’t help but see who it was playing Liszt’s piece. A masterpiece from the romantic era, if you will.”
He was a final year music student, just like you, and everyone else in your cohort seemed to consider him as the best, due to some bias of him being handsome, being so damn well spoken, and just knowing how to present himself. ‘Not sure why the teachers or the other students think he’s a prodigy. Anyone could do what he does…’ you frown at him as you thought of this.
You were grateful he played the violin anyways because if he also played the piano, you would have left on a whim the moment he entered.
Maybe what annoyed you most is how handsome he is. Or that you find that blonde tuff of hair on him cute. You wanted to get close to him, but he was so damn untouchable. Or maybe that he always seemed to he around someone or in a group.
Not only did the spotlight seem to always shine on him - literally and metaphorically - it meant that your eyes were always drawn to him, whether he enters the room or also takes the stage. He never played solo, and it infuriated you how you paid attention to him when he never plays to outshine your classmates. Now that you think of it, you weren’t sure what he was going to do for his final performance. Surely, he was already part of a group or something since most of your classmates excitedly discussed what they could perform with him the day the teacher announced the event.
“Is that the one you will be performing? I hope it is because you will do perfect; you play beautifully.” Ezra adds, praising you like he would with anyone else. You remind yourself that his compliments meant nothing more other than him just complimenting you. But it didn’t stop you from getting flustered though.
“It’s not a big deal…” You mumbled, looking down at the piano keys, but Ezra only laughs softly and gently disregards the thought:
“Actually, it’s a big deal. Mind if I volunteer to be your audience?”
‘No. Go away.’ the thought bubbled whilst your face twisted into a look of horror. Ezra immediately made note that maybe he was invading your privacy and your allocated time for practice.
“Apologies, apologies,” Ezra laughs sincerely, “I best be on my way.” He steps back out of the door, but you called out to him.
“N-no, you can watch… just.. I don’t know - don’t look at me.” You said without thinking.
Ezra pauses, and slowly, the gentle, kind smile of his appears once again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
You stare at the black and white keys, your hands in position, yet never pressing. Your fingertips start to form thin layer of sweat and starts to tingle into a numbness. It was as though you lost all of your ability to play.
Ezra sits right in the centre. The spotlight is on him again. It made all of your your focus redirected to him. Even if he sits far away, it still feels like he is right beside you, looming over you.
“What’s wrong?” Ezra’s concerned tone fills the auditorium, easing off the pressure you’re putting on yourself.
Sighing, you turn to him.
“Honestly, I’m too nervous.” You muttered, embarrassed of how shy you’ve become. You turn to look at him and oh how you wanted to roll up your music sheets and use it to smack that smug look off his face.
“Because of the eventual performance, or because of my presence?” Ezra asks as if teasing you.
Your face heats up as you frown at him, pursing your lips to stop a quick insult from escaping.
“Because of the performance! I’m nervous of the performance!” You snap, flustered.
“Really?” Ezra asks, knowing it was a lie. He pretended to express curiosity in his eyes. “Just not long ago, I was certain I heard a confident pianist whilst outside in the corridors, as though it was Liszt himself.”
Your face heats up as you try so hard to refrain yourself from falling into the trap of his charm.
“Shut up and just... go away!” You huff, helpless and embarrassed.
Ezra laughs softly then gets up from his seat and makes his way towards the stage with his violin case. A flash of anger spreads across your face. “What are you doing!?” You ask hastily as Ezra sets his violin case on the wooden floor of the stage.
“I too would be nervous if I were to perform a piece that is both romantic and like a love letter.” Ezra said, not answering you question, as he takes out his violin and bow. "It's like you're confessing, isn't it?" He smiles knowingly, but you convince yourself that he's saying that in general. You grow more and more nervous as he comes around to the side of the stage, walking up the stairs to join you. He keeps the same soft smile, one that tells you that he's not going to bite, and he positions himself on the stage.
As soon as he gently places the bow on the strings of the violin, you then look at his hands.
…His hands…
How does a violinist’s hands compare to a pianist's?
You thought about how his hands would also have gone through many hours and years practicing and mastering the violin. How Ezra would have had to learn how to adjust and adapt his fingers whilst thew grew and be able to play the softest of notes and never snapping any strings. How strong and sturdy they would be as well as pressed marks of the strings would be imprinted on the tip of his fingers.
Or how they would slide up and down along the strings of the neck of the violin with a gentle grip.
…
How would they feel on the skin of your neck?
Ezra glances back at you and catches you staring - but he will never catch the unwanted thoughts you were having of him just then. You blink at him and grew flustered once again.
“Shall we?” He asks politely, smirking as he winked.
“Y-you’re just going to play along with me? Duet?” You ask, stammering as you try to mentally rid of the unwanted thoughts and collect yourself.
“Yes. I’ve been practicing this one for a while, and I suppose I am curious to hear how it will sound if I were to play with a pianist.” Ezra says matter-of-factly, offering an encouraging smile. But you only grow more flustered that he wanted to play it with you. It just had to be you. There were other pianists from your cohort. Why you?
“Now… are you ready?” Ezra asks, eagerly. You supress saying another word that will delay in beginning yours and Ezra’s little duet, and position your hands on the keys once more. You take a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
“Yes. I’m ready…”
And you start to play.
The moment Ezra enters the piece hitting his first note, there was an immediate connection shared between the two of you. The sound of the violin accompanying the piano felt as though it opened a door that freed the pain of loneliness you buried yet carried within you.
As you close your eyes and let your fingers flow with the keys of the piano that you have practice thousands of times, the strings of the violin continued to guide you, putting your heart at ease. You felt like you were soaring. You felt that moments like this reminds you why it is worth opening yourself up again to the person who would keep it warm and protected.
Or maybe that was the effect of the song itself. It's supposed to be dream-like.
Ezra glances at you whilst he plays the violin, smiling to himself as he sees how much you are enjoying yourself for once.
Maybe that’s why Ezra is favoured to be part of a duet, trio, quartet or whatever number of instrumentalists are needed to be in an orchestra… He knew how to adjust himself to one’s rhythm and tempo and make it all sounds beautiful… He was the one to bring it all together, as if he was the one orchestrating, but he was the one people sought for and relied on him to lead them. You saw him how amazing he is at improvising too during one class…
Maybe it was all because he was an intuitive soul and knows how to use his head and his heart to create and express what he wants with his hands.
The final note rings throughout the auditorium. You look at Ezra and finally ask, “So why me? There are others in our class who can play the piano, Ezra, and they’re obviously better than I am. You could even perform this one for your assessment with them… you know I only do solo…” The way you murmured the last line sounded as if there was a weight pushing you down, and it was one you no longer want to carry anymore.
Ezra looks at you as kept looking down at the piano and fidget with your fingers.
“It’s rather simple,” Ezra begins, “I walked by and heard someone playing this song. It was the sign I needed to bring forth what I held close to mind.” Ezra’s smile reached his eyes, his enthusiasm beaming at your disbelieving eyes that rolled.
“Besides… I like the music you perform most, and I think I know what I’d like to do for my final performance.” Ezra laughs quietly. “I’ve been wanting to accompany you for a while, and this must be the perfect time.” You weren’t sure if he was subtly confessing to you about his feelings, but you were busy feeling sick by the fact he actually pays attention to you when you share your work during class.
It felt… wrong. Like you don’t deserve it and that it should be someone else.
Ezra picks up the look of doubt and speaks again, using the same kind and gentle tone.
“Whether you like it or not, you have a gift. Anybody who takes a seat in this room -” Ezra gestures towards the empty seats, “or happens to witness or step into your presence, they are going to be blessed by what you bring with your talent.”
Ezra pauses, letting his words sit with you before he continues.
“There’s a reason why you chose to play this one, isn’t there? There’s always been a reason why you pick the songs you play, correct?” Ezra’s question hangs in the air for a few seconds, the kindness and the knowing tone encourages you to answer.
“…Because… it’s what I feel… It’s easy to play music that resonates with me, rather than showing off the technicalities and the intricacies of ‘difficult’ pieces… I’d rather score high in taking the courage to show my heart than just perfectly executing technique from the composer… it’s…” You sigh, holding back the truth that love was all you wanted, and Liszt’s song was best at expressing your desire to be seen after all you have been through.
“I just want to enjoy myself for once and express how I really feel and be seen for it… because anyone could replicate what Liszt wrote on the sheet, but nobody could replicate what he felt when he played...” you trailed off, not wanting to share more of your demise.
Ezra looks at you, pondering at your words for a few minutes.
“Well,” he says softly, “I see you. I hear you.”
Your heart stutters as you look at him, eyes wide in shock. Ezra smiles at you, tilting his head to the side as he looks at you affectionately.
“I see you.” He says once more, hoping it reaches you like how your performances reached him.
“Oh…” is all you could say, causing Ezra to chuckle. He then starts to walk towards the edge of the stage.
“I should also expand that you are the gift as well. Do not sell yourself short. It’s about time people start seeing you for who you are, and that you are valuable always.” Ezra says your eyes follow him as he hops off the stage and packs up his violin and bow.
Before he leaves the auditorium, he glances at his watch and looks back at you, “care for a coffee?”
Normally, you would decline, but maybe just this once it wouldn’t hurt to say yes. It’s not like he’s asking you out on a date.
And so you agree.
“Hopefully we’re not too late to make arrangements to become a duet as well.” Ezra grins.
Summary: Ezra, the favoured violin student who rarely performed solo, happens to hear a familiar song being played in the college's auditorium. He decides to pop in to hear more and to discover it was you, the solo piano student, practicing it.
Word count: 2.4K+
Tags/Warnings: College AU; hurt/comfort; fluff; yearning; pining; self-isolating and lonliness themes; mention of exes and bad friends; self-doubt and lack of confidence; one suggestive thought of Ezra's hands on reader's neck
A/N: Congratulations @pedrostories for 1K followers! Thank you for tagging me about your 1K celebration post recently. It helped give me a little boost to write again, as I've been wanting to for a while, but life gets in the way. Here's my submission. I'm so sorry for being a day over the deadline! I keep trying to write but things keep popping up! I'm real nervous sharing this since it's been a long time and I feel so frazzled. I honestly feel like I could've written this one better. Hope it's okay :')
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.
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The auditorium holds no guests except for a pianist who walks on the stage, towards the grand piano. The class’s end of year student showcase was coming up in a few months, and your days were filled with nothing but solitude in practicing, studying and having lunch alone. It's not like you had any company throughout your college years anyways.
Your teacher gave you and your classmates plenty of time to organise yourselves to form your groups and decide on what piece you were to play for the showcase and as your final assessment. You knew what you were going to do, because like how you’ve spent nearly every day of your college life, you opted for solo.
You preferred it this way. It helped you to focus and stay out of any drama that could come up if you were to mix with the wrong crowd. Although, for all the friend groups - big or small - and the couples that had their place on campus, jealousy slowly bubbled within you, and followed closely by longing. Longing for someone to keep you company and because they genuinely liked being around you, and not for what you could offer.
Not after how your ex or your old “friends” treated you…
You shake your head to get rid the emerging pain from the past and brought your attention back to the piano. You start warming up with various scales and exercises before digging into the classical piece you chose for your final performance and assessment.
Whilst playing the heart of Liebestruame No. 3, a creak from the entrance door echoes throughout the room. You immediately stop and turn your head towards whoever it was that dared to enter whilst you were practicing.
Your heart drops when it’s Ezra standing there, holding his violin case casually yet professional, with that crooked smile of his, looking up at you whilst you look down at him from the stage. He softly says your name, a mix of surprise, awe and maybe a bit of happiness to see it was you playing the piano that it makes your heart flutter.
“I couldn’t help but see who it was playing Liszt’s piece. A masterpiece from the romantic era, if you will.”
He was a final year music student, just like you, and everyone else in your cohort seemed to consider him as the best, due to some bias of him being handsome, being so damn well spoken, and just knowing how to present himself. ‘Not sure why the teachers or the other students think he’s a prodigy. Anyone could do what he does…’ you frown at him as you thought of this.
You were grateful he played the violin anyways because if he also played the piano, you would have left on a whim the moment he entered.
Maybe what annoyed you most is how handsome he is. Or that you find that blonde tuff of hair on him cute. You wanted to get close to him, but he was so damn untouchable. Or maybe that he always seemed to he around someone or in a group.
Not only did the spotlight seem to always shine on him - literally and metaphorically - it meant that your eyes were always drawn to him, whether he enters the room or also takes the stage. He never played solo, and it infuriated you how you paid attention to him when he never plays to outshine your classmates. Now that you think of it, you weren’t sure what he was going to do for his final performance. Surely, he was already part of a group or something since most of your classmates excitedly discussed what they could perform with him the day the teacher announced the event.
“Is that the one you will be performing? I hope it is because you will do perfect; you play beautifully.” Ezra adds, praising you like he would with anyone else. You remind yourself that his compliments meant nothing more other than him just complimenting you. But it didn’t stop you from getting flustered though.
“It’s not a big deal…” You mumbled, looking down at the piano keys, but Ezra only laughs softly and gently disregards the thought:
“Actually, it’s a big deal. Mind if I volunteer to be your audience?”
‘No. Go away.’ the thought bubbled whilst your face twisted into a look of horror. Ezra immediately made note that maybe he was invading your privacy and your allocated time for practice.
“Apologies, apologies,” Ezra laughs sincerely, “I best be on my way.” He steps back out of the door, but you called out to him.
“N-no, you can watch… just.. I don’t know - don’t look at me.” You said without thinking.
Ezra pauses, and slowly, the gentle, kind smile of his appears once again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
You stare at the black and white keys, your hands in position, yet never pressing. Your fingertips start to form thin layer of sweat and starts to tingle into a numbness. It was as though you lost all of your ability to play.
Ezra sits right in the centre. The spotlight is on him again. It made all of your your focus redirected to him. Even if he sits far away, it still feels like he is right beside you, looming over you.
“What’s wrong?” Ezra’s concerned tone fills the auditorium, easing off the pressure you’re putting on yourself.
Sighing, you turn to him.
“Honestly, I’m too nervous.” You muttered, embarrassed of how shy you’ve become. You turn to look at him and oh how you wanted to roll up your music sheets and use it to smack that smug look off his face.
“Because of the eventual performance, or because of my presence?” Ezra asks as if teasing you.
Your face heats up as you frown at him, pursing your lips to stop a quick insult from escaping.
“Because of the performance! I’m nervous of the performance!” You snap, flustered.
“Really?” Ezra asks, knowing it was a lie. He pretended to express curiosity in his eyes. “Just not long ago, I was certain I heard a confident pianist whilst outside in the corridors, as though it was Liszt himself.”
Your face heats up as you try so hard to refrain yourself from falling into the trap of his charm.
“Shut up and just... go away!” You huff, helpless and embarrassed.
Ezra laughs softly then gets up from his seat and makes his way towards the stage with his violin case. A flash of anger spreads across your face. “What are you doing!?” You ask hastily as Ezra sets his violin case on the wooden floor of the stage.
“I too would be nervous if I were to perform a piece that is both romantic and like a love letter.” Ezra said, not answering you question, as he takes out his violin and bow. "It's like you're confessing, isn't it?" He smiles knowingly, but you convince yourself that he's saying that in general. You grow more and more nervous as he comes around to the side of the stage, walking up the stairs to join you. He keeps the same soft smile, one that tells you that he's not going to bite, and he positions himself on the stage.
As soon as he gently places the bow on the strings of the violin, you then look at his hands.
…His hands…
How does a violinist’s hands compare to a pianist's?
You thought about how his hands would also have gone through many hours and years practicing and mastering the violin. How Ezra would have had to learn how to adjust and adapt his fingers whilst thew grew and be able to play the softest of notes and never snapping any strings. How strong and sturdy they would be as well as pressed marks of the strings would be imprinted on the tip of his fingers.
Or how they would slide up and down along the strings of the neck of the violin with a gentle grip.
…
How would they feel on the skin of your neck?
Ezra glances back at you and catches you staring - but he will never catch the unwanted thoughts you were having of him just then. You blink at him and grew flustered once again.
“Shall we?” He asks politely, smirking as he winked.
“Y-you’re just going to play along with me? Duet?” You ask, stammering as you try to mentally rid of the unwanted thoughts and collect yourself.
“Yes. I’ve been practicing this one for a while, and I suppose I am curious to hear how it will sound if I were to play with a pianist.” Ezra says matter-of-factly, offering an encouraging smile. But you only grow more flustered that he wanted to play it with you. It just had to be you. There were other pianists from your cohort. Why you?
“Now… are you ready?” Ezra asks, eagerly. You supress saying another word that will delay in beginning yours and Ezra’s little duet, and position your hands on the keys once more. You take a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
“Yes. I’m ready…”
And you start to play.
The moment Ezra enters the piece hitting his first note, there was an immediate connection shared between the two of you. The sound of the violin accompanying the piano felt as though it opened a door that freed the pain of loneliness you buried yet carried within you.
As you close your eyes and let your fingers flow with the keys of the piano that you have practice thousands of times, the strings of the violin continued to guide you, putting your heart at ease. You felt like you were soaring. You felt that moments like this reminds you why it is worth opening yourself up again to the person who would keep it warm and protected.
Or maybe that was the effect of the song itself. It's supposed to be dream-like.
Ezra glances at you whilst he plays the violin, smiling to himself as he sees how much you are enjoying yourself for once.
Maybe that’s why Ezra is favoured to be part of a duet, trio, quartet or whatever number of instrumentalists are needed to be in an orchestra… He knew how to adjust himself to one’s rhythm and tempo and make it all sounds beautiful… He was the one to bring it all together, as if he was the one orchestrating, but he was the one people sought for and relied on him to lead them. You saw him how amazing he is at improvising too during one class…
Maybe it was all because he was an intuitive soul and knows how to use his head and his heart to create and express what he wants with his hands.
The final note rings throughout the auditorium. You look at Ezra and finally ask, “So why me? There are others in our class who can play the piano, Ezra, and they’re obviously better than I am. You could even perform this one for your assessment with them… you know I only do solo…” The way you murmured the last line sounded as if there was a weight pushing you down, and it was one you no longer want to carry anymore.
Ezra looks at you as kept looking down at the piano and fidget with your fingers.
“It’s rather simple,” Ezra begins, “I walked by and heard someone playing this song. It was the sign I needed to bring forth what I held close to mind.” Ezra’s smile reached his eyes, his enthusiasm beaming at your disbelieving eyes that rolled.
“Besides… I like the music you perform most, and I think I know what I’d like to do for my final performance.” Ezra laughs quietly. “I’ve been wanting to accompany you for a while, and this must be the perfect time.” You weren’t sure if he was subtly confessing to you about his feelings, but you were busy feeling sick by the fact he actually pays attention to you when you share your work during class.
It felt… wrong. Like you don’t deserve it and that it should be someone else.
Ezra picks up the look of doubt and speaks again, using the same kind and gentle tone.
“Whether you like it or not, you have a gift. Anybody who takes a seat in this room -” Ezra gestures towards the empty seats, “or happens to witness or step into your presence, they are going to be blessed by what you bring with your talent.”
Ezra pauses, letting his words sit with you before he continues.
“There’s a reason why you chose to play this one, isn’t there? There’s always been a reason why you pick the songs you play, correct?” Ezra’s question hangs in the air for a few seconds, the kindness and the knowing tone encourages you to answer.
“…Because… it’s what I feel… It’s easy to play music that resonates with me, rather than showing off the technicalities and the intricacies of ‘difficult’ pieces… I’d rather score high in taking the courage to show my heart than just perfectly executing technique from the composer… it’s…” You sigh, holding back the truth that love was all you wanted, and Liszt’s song was best at expressing your desire to be seen after all you have been through.
“I just want to enjoy myself for once and express how I really feel and be seen for it… because anyone could replicate what Liszt wrote on the sheet, but nobody could replicate what he felt when he played...” you trailed off, not wanting to share more of your demise.
Ezra looks at you, pondering at your words for a few minutes.
“Well,” he says softly, “I see you. I hear you.”
Your heart stutters as you look at him, eyes wide in shock. Ezra smiles at you, tilting his head to the side as he looks at you affectionately.
“I see you.” He says once more, hoping it reaches you like how your performances reached him.
“Oh…” is all you could say, causing Ezra to chuckle. He then starts to walk towards the edge of the stage.
“I should also expand that you are the gift as well. Do not sell yourself short. It’s about time people start seeing you for who you are, and that you are valuable always.” Ezra says your eyes follow him as he hops off the stage and packs up his violin and bow.
Before he leaves the auditorium, he glances at his watch and looks back at you, “care for a coffee?”
Normally, you would decline, but maybe just this once it wouldn’t hurt to say yes. It’s not like he’s asking you out on a date.
And so you agree.
“Hopefully we’re not too late to make arrangements to become a duet as well.” Ezra grins.
PedroStories hit 1000 followers in May, around the same time the blog had its 2nd birthday, so we decided to celebrate it with the fandom’s writers and readers!
We prepared with a few general quotes, other quotes from Pedro and his characters and with some fanfiction tropes. You don’t have to stick to the character whose quote you choose – actually, we encourage you to mix and match any of them as creatively as you want! The celebration starts today and lasts until 20 August!
Please read the rules carefully, then you will find the list of prompts under the cut.
Rules
We welcome pairings with readers/characters of any gender, non-romantic pairings or even fics with no pairings. 💚 The rating can be anything from general to explicit.
Choose at least one quote from any of the quotes lists (you can use more prompts in one fic) and choose at least one trope. You can write as many fics as you want using these prompts!
It’s not necessary to let us know what prompts you’ve chosen! Just let your creativity flow - this challenge is completely open!
Please mention in your post that your work is for @pedrostories’ celebration and use the special tag #pedrostories1k, just so we can track and queue every single entry.
Please post your work until 20 August – we will track the special tag until that day, and in a few days we create a masterlist of all the fanfictions. You can keep using the list later and we will queue them as usual if you tag the blog, but we won’t track the special tag anymore and won’t update the event’s masterlist.
Please make sure you use tags and warnings properly – we take tagging stories seriously to help our followers find the story that caters to their needs and avoid those they don’t want to see on their feed - If there’s character/trope/dynamic/etc. you would like to avoid, you can easily blacklist tags on tumblr, you can find a tutorial about it here!
Please remember that even though this list has quotes from Pedro, we don’t reblog real person fics (aka fics about Pedro himself)– this blog is for fanfiction written for characters played by him.
Following the blog in order to participate in the game is not mandatory, but it’s very much welcomed! 🤗
Send us an ask if you have any questions – we will use the tag #pedrostories1k questions so you can check previously answered asks about the event.
Signal boosts about this event are appreciated!
Have fun! 🌻
List of prompts below the cut!
List of prompts
Quotes
General Dialogue Prompt List:
“The price of my affection is high.”
“You pushed me off the bed!” - “I’m sorry?”
“I got shot and I’m fine! Relax, would you?”
“If I (…) will you behave for me?” – „Only if you kiss me first.”
“I can’t believe I ever thought you were different.”
“You’re not going to believe this”
“Not again”
“Run!”
“Do you trust me?”
“Please, just listen to me!”
“You’ve lost.”
“I can’t believe you just said that.”
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“I hate that I can’t seem to live without you!”
“Oh, don’t be modest, just kiss me.”
“Has anyone ever told you that your eyes sparkle in sunlight?”
“You can’t go until I tell you”
“Do I really have a choice?”
“You’re the reason I wake up every morning.”
“I hate you.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me right now.”
“You wanna go save the world?”
“I don’t think that’s exactly what I had in mind.”
“‘Sorry’ just isn’t going to cut it anymore.”
“Come back in five more minutes”
Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe Quotes:
Pedro Pascal quotes:
“I’m not short”
“But bad guys are more fun!”
“Smack me, I deserve it”
“That bad?”
“I really need to stop eating the sticker on the tomato”
“I’m sitting in the dark. I like it.”
"You naughty dog.”
“That me. Working on the buns.”
“But those were MY CRISPS!”
“I’m going straight for that bottom.”
“Somebody gimme a hug.”
“If you're freaky you're hot, if you're hot you're freaky.”
Dieter Bravo quotes:
“I’m trying to care, but it’s hard.”
“We’re fucked”
“Do you wanna have sex with me?”
“This is creepy, but I like it”
“I’m not giving this up!”
“Hold my hair!”
Javi Gutierrez quotes:
“I fucking told you”
“Honestly, I’m too nervous”
“I think I need to go to bed”
“Whether you like it or not, you have a gift.”
"Sometimes circumstances get in the way of love. That's just the way it is."
“We need to open our minds to the infinite possibilities of what the cosmos has to offer."
Din Djarin quotes:
“I know everything that’s in there”
“This is a pile of junk”
“I’m not leaving my fate up to chance.”
“Your song is not yet written. I serve you until it is.”
“Take it off. Or I will.”
“I like those odds.”
Javier Peña quotes:
“You're breaking my fucking heart, baby.”
“Sleep with a communist? That would be downright un-American.”
“Things don’t always go according to plan.”
“I got a better idea.”
“Fuck this!”
“Well, what have we here?”
Dave York quotes:
“ There is no sin. No virtue.”
“Who did this?”
“There’s no coming back from this.”
“You do what you have to do and you move on.”
“It’s who we were. It’s what we did.”
“You shouldn't start a war with us.”
Jack Daniels quotes:
“Whoo. I feel like a tornado in a trailer park.”
“What are we doin’?”
“Looks like we’re hookin’ up with a chick at a rock concert.”
“It's a lasso.”
“How would you like to ride home on a real cowboy?”
“Now, is that any way to welcome a visitor from out of town, moonshine?”
Pero Tovar quotes:
“Maybe you can fool them, but I know what you are.”
