Not So Innocent Salted Popcorn

PEDRO COLLECTIONS:- little collections of Pedro boys in certain circumstances or seasons can (can still be found under each character)

PEDROTOBER 2024

PEDROTOBER 2025

SEASONS OF LIFE

HOT GIRL SUMMER

AUTUMN

CHRISTMAS

THIS IS THE MAY

DAVE YORK

One week with Dave York (chapters) 11 in total

Attending Mr York (additional chapters to the One Week with Dave York Series)

Training (sub chapters linked to One Week with & Attending Series)

Fatal (chapters)

Cherry Kisses

The Good, The Bad & The Naughty

Peppermint

The Cabin

A Good Judge of Character

Wholehearted Attention

Handling the Situation

All Inclusive

Domestic

Handy

Little Red Bows

Sizzling

Upon One’s Self

Watch & Learn

His To Come Back To

I Have Spoken…

JAVI GUTIERREZ

MASTERLIST

DIN DJARIN

MASTERLIST

TIM ROCKFORD

MASTERLIST

OBERYN MARTELL

MASTERLIST

FRANKIE “CATFISH” MORALES

MASTERLIST

MARCUS PIKE

MASTERLIST

MAX PHILLIPS

MASTERLIST

MR BEN

MASTERLIST

JOEL MILLER

MASTERLIST

MARCUS MORENO

MASTERLIST

DIETER BRAVO

MASTERLIST

MAX LORD

MASTERLIST

AGENT WHISKEY/JACK DANIELS

MASTERLIST

SANTOS

Better with You

The Collectors

Wet, Dirty, Filthy

Strike A Bargain

GENERAL MARCUS ACACIUS

MATERLIST

JAVIER PEÑA

MASTERLIST

SILVA

MASTERLIST

REED RICHARDS / MR. FANTASTIC

MASTERLIST

EZRA

MASTERLIST

PERO TOVAR

MASTERLIST

LUCIEN DE LEON (The Uninvited)

MASTERLIST

TED GARCIA

MASTERLIST

HARRY CASTILLO

MASTERLIST

ALEX SERIAN (BEHEMOTH!)

Across The Stars

CLINT

Membership

Counter Offers

The Scoundrel

RENALDO (SNL)

Wrong Room, Right Song

One Song, One Rebel & One Dance Break

NICO (HOUSE COMES WITH A BIRD)

Impulsive

THE THIEF

Stolen Looks

Material Instincts

The Foundling

LIAM (Nikita)

Only In Our Dreams

Brick By Brick

FINK (all these are soft or are linked to other Pedro Characters)

MASTERLIST

MRS FLORES (most of these are linked to other Pedro characters shes just the key to it)

MASTERLIST

PEDRO CHARACTER DRABBLES

A selection of what certain Pedro bars gets would do on events or special days

LOKI

Cooking with Loki picture series

INNOCENT BOYFRIENDS

Innocent Fluff

Holiday days boyfriends

Famous boyfriends

Spontaneous wasn’t a word you associated with Harry. Driven, competitive & loyal were far more appropriate. So when he came round to yours one evening and, after giving you yet another mind-blowing orgasm, casually asked, “What are you doing from Monday for the next ten days?” your head was in even more of a spin.

A few phone calls & emails later, you found yourself at the airport, relaxing in the first-class lounge before boarding your flight. As you sipped champagne, Harry happily explained the difference between the various types on offer while you smiled, amused at how effortlessly he seemed to fit into this world.

Being a career man, Harry spent the first few hours of the flight responding to work emails before finally closing his laptop & turning his full attention to you & the incredible service onboard. You were on your way to Chile.

Most couples took a mini break when things started getting serious. Usually that meant a long weekend in the Hamptons or the Florida Keys.

Not Harry.

Harry’s idea of a romantic getaway was ten days in one of the most beautiful countries in South America, spoiling you rotten & treating you like a queen.

Your jaw dropped as the doors to your private clifftop villa swung open.

Staff appeared to take your luggage & insisted they would unpack everything for you. The private chef introduced himself & asked about any dietary requirements before explaining that every meal could be tailored to exactly what you wanted. Then the housekeeper offered to book you a massage to help you recover from the long flight.

It really was paradise.

You happily accepted the massage while Harry stepped outside to take a call from one of the partners at his firm.

“Last call, I promise,” he’d said with an apologetic smile.

That had been mid-afternoon on the day you arrived.

There had now been two full days since then.

When you woke up the following morning, Harry was already on the phone discussing finance. Every time you caught his eye, he’d smile, hold up a finger and mouth, One minute.

That minute never came.

On the second day, a Teams meeting stretched from breakfast well into lunchtime. You’d tried distracting him by sending a few rather suggestive photos from your sun lounger, smiling to yourself as you hit send.

Nothing.

You’d even wandered past the open doors of his office in your favourite swimsuit, deliberately taking your time in the hope he’d glance up.

He didn’t.

Harry was one of the most hopeless romantics you’d ever met when he wanted to be.

Right now, though… Any chance of romance, or even five uninterrupted minutes of his attention, felt utterly hopeless.

So here you were on the third day, slipping off your sundress before stepping into the infinity pool in your red tie-up bikini.

Cool. Calm. Unlike the slow-building frustration bubbling away inside you.

Harry had eaten breakfast with you that morning before receiving a couple of texts. After that, he’d gone for a run while you listened to music, eventually deciding to head out for a mid-morning swim.

You were halfway through your sixth length of breaststroke when you caught him arriving out of the corner of your eye. He peeled off his sweat-soaked white running vest & tossed it onto a nearby lounger.

He’d been working out more recently. Not that you’d ever minded the little softness around his stomach, it was part of what made Harry, Harry, but since you’d started dating he’d toned up, lost some weight & become noticeably more defined. It was one hell of a view.

He lowered himself onto the edge of a sun lounger, draping a cold towel around the back of his neck as he caught his breath.

Smiling to yourself, you slowly began swimming towards him. Maybe now you’d finally get your boyfriend back.

His phone vibrated. Without hesitation, he picked it up.

“Castillo,” he answered instantly, leaning back against the lounger.

You couldn’t make out the conversation, only the steady stream of “Yes, of course,” & “Absolutely,” that followed.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” you muttered.

You pushed yourself away from the pool’s edge much harder than necessary. Your leisurely breaststroke became an aggressive front crawl, your feet kicking harder with every length, sending water splashing behind you.

The voice in your head was just as relentless.

“Work comes first.”

“He’s only able to pay for this because he works so much.”

“Maybe this is just what dating Harry Castillo is like”

“Maybe he’s not interested anymore.”

“At least the sex is good”

Each thought was louder than the last, no matter how hard you swam, you couldn’t seem to escape them.

Eventually your arms began to ache. You rolled onto your back & simply floated, staring up at the cloudless Chilean sky as you tried to slow your breathing.

After a few moments, you turned your head.

Harry was still there. Still sitting on the lounger. Still looking down at his phone. He clearly seemed to be waiting for another call.

You sighed.

Then… An idea crept into your head.

Slowly, a smile spread across your face. If Harry was determined to keep staring at that phone, perhaps you just needed to give him something far more interesting to look at.

Decision made, you took one final breath before swimming towards the steps. Confidently taking your stride. The water streamed from your shoulders as you slowly climbed out of the pool, the Chilean sun instantly warming your skin. You ran both hands back through your wet hair, squeezing out the excess water before letting it fall around your shoulders like you were a Bond Girl feom back in the day.

Harry was still looking at his phone but the patter of water disturbed him & he looked up.

His gaze froze. The phone left on the other lounger.

A slow, unmistakable smirk spread across his face as his eyes travelled from your bare feet to your face. Taking in every second.

“Well…” he murmured. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

You folded your arms with a satisfied smile as you turned to walk his way, your chest glistening.

“Is this better than looking at a screen?”

He laughed quietly.

“Oh, sweetheart…” His eyes flicked briefly to the phone before returning to you. “It is considerably better.”

“I was beginning to wonder.”

“I can see that.”

You took another few steps towards him, stopping just close enough for him to catch the scent of your sunscreen mixed with chlorine & Whats was on the breeze.

“So,” you said, tilting your head, “have I finally managed to get your attention?”

Harry looked you up & down once more before giving a small nod. His shorts betraying him.

“I don’t think I could look anywhere else if I tried.”

“Right answer baby”

“I’ve always been right you know…”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t push your luck.”

“Oh?” he asked, his grin widening.

“No. You’ve spent two days making me compete with your work even though we’re in paradise.”

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself. Before he could say a word, the phone screen lit up with a text. You grabbed it before he could, swiped it to silent & turned it upside down on the other lounger.

“There.”

“No phone?”

“No phone.”

He looked at you for a long moment before a boyish smile crept across his face.

“I suppose…” he said, “…I can live with that.”

Before you could reply, his hand slipped around your wrist. With one gentle tug, he pulled you towards him & his hand tugged at the knot on your top.

You gave a surprised laugh as you lost your balance slightly, landing in his lap before then peeling the bikini top off to expose your breasts & moving to straddle him.

“There’s my siren,” he said softly.

“Finally.” You mumbled back. Your lips connected deeply, tongues intertwined. His hand cupping your breast as you started to grind on top of his lap making him even more responsive. Making the kiss more passionate. Making the moment more intense with only one destination.

“I was wondering when I’d get my boyfriend back, no point having paradise alone.”

Harry couldn’t help smiling.

“I’m not going anywhere baby” he moaned & tugged at the sting on the bikini bottoms. Your hips already rolling knowing that pleasure will soon be yours. You lifted sightly so you could shimmy off his shorts. Extremely happy he had been commando underneath.

His hands held you in place, and he whimpered.

“You’re always beautiful, sweetheart, but right now…” His breath caught at the sensation of you sinking down slowly as he filled you up, watching the euphoria wash over your face. It took him a moment to remember to speak. He was bewitched by your look of desire.

“…Fuck…” he moaned again as you rolled for the first time and started to touch yourself. “…you’re a goddess.”

A guttural moan escaped his lips. He couldn’t stop touching you as you straddled him and ground against him, his own hips matching yours. His hands went from your thighs to your breasts, even trailing the water that dripped from your hair from swimming down your body. Whenever they reached your clit, he made sure to stay there a beat longer.

It made your eyes roll back. It made your own rhythm faster. It made the pleasure intoxicating.

Neither of you cared if the staff walked in or if people in another villa had binoculars to spy on you. You were one, making love. The smell of the pool, sun lotion, sweat & sex aroused you both. Your hands matted in his happy trail. Your mouth hungry for every kiss. His hair, usually pristine, now a mess from desire. His breath inconsistent. You could feel his heart race. You could feel each thrust. Each second felt like a minute of pleasure.

Making love was easy with Harry, & the climax was no exception.

He pulled you down on top of him. Quick squelching noises would have been heard if you weren’t both moaning and kissing. Flesh was grabbed as he hit that magical spot again and again, & after one kiss, when he bit your bottom lip, that was enough.

Your orgasm pulsed through every nerve, almost an out-of-body experience, which you rode out before he then screamed out your name one last time & jerked, cumming deep inside you. Almost stuttering to a halt.

Sweat from your exertion now covered you both, along with the midday sun glaring down at the sight beneath it.

Two naked bodies tangled together in a mess, smelling of sex, exhausted but covered in pleasure.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your breathing gradually settling & the waves crashing against the cliffs below.

Harry rested his forehead against yours, brushing a damp strand of hair behind your ear before stealing another slow kiss. Glowing in a moment of bliss.

“You know,” he murmured, smiling against your lips, “that was a very effective way of getting my attention.”

You laughed softly.

“I tried talking.”

“I deserved that.”

“You did.”

His thumb traced lazy circles against your hip as he looked at you, a softness returning to his expression. The sweet man who dotes you emerging from the firey passionate man who just made you cum.

“I’m sorry.” You tilted your head & looking into his big brown eyes, they were pleading for forgiveness. “For making you feel like work was more important.”

You studied him for a second before gently brushing your fingers through his now thoroughly messed-up hair.

“I just wanted my boyfriend back.”

“You’ve got him now babes.”

“I’d better have.”

“You do. You have all my attention now”

He leaned in to kiss you again, lingering just long enough to make you smile into it.

“I’ve missed this,” he admitted quietly.

“So have I.”

You settled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat finally returning to normal. The warm Chilean sun bathed the terrace, & for the first time since you’d arrived, everything felt wonderfully peaceful. Just you & Harry. In love. Soaked in sweat & happiness.

Buzz! Buzz!

Harry’s phone began to ring.

You both looked towards the abandoned lounger. Harry groaned dramatically, letting his head fall back.

“It’ll stop.”

It didn’t. You raised an eyebrow.

“It could be important.”

“So could this,” he replied, tightening his arms around you. The phone continued to ring. With an amused sigh, you slipped out of his embrace & reached across to pick it up. He squeezed your bum as you did.

“If this is another work call,” you teased, glancing back over your shoulder, “you’re buying me that handbag I’ve been saving for.”

Harry chuckled. You didn’t want to rely on Harry for gifts & money, but every time you saw that bag he said he’d get it for you, like you’d say you were getting coffee for a friend.

“Deal.”

You smiled to yourself as you accepted the call.

“Hello?”

A polite voice answered immediately.

“Good afternoon. Am I speaking with Mr. Castillo’s partner? We’re just calling to confirm this evening’s private dinner reservation…”

Your cheeks instantly warmed. You didn’t really hear the rest of what they were saying you just blinked at Harry.

“Oh…”Harry was watching you with a knowing smile, having an idea what this was about.

“I think… this is for you.”

You held the phone out. Harry chuckled, taking it from your hand.

“Harry Castillo speaking.”

You watched him listen for a moment before replying.

“Let’s go with the Krug… yes, that’s perfect. Thank you. We’ll see you this evening.”

He ended the call and placed the phone back on the lounger.

“So…” he said innocently.You folded your arms.

“So?”

“If we’re having champagne tonight…” he teased, “which one do you think you’d have picked?”

You couldn’t help laughing.

“I thought you’d been ignoring me for work.”

“I know. I had been but then I felt guilty.”

“You’ve been planning all this?”

He nodded.

“We’re going to the best restaurant in the city tonight, I want it to be perfect”

A grin spread across his face. You could tell there was more to come. Harry was not good at surprises.

“Also What if I told you I might’ve managed to turn our ten-day holiday into two weeks?”

You blinked.

“What?”

“I may have pulled a few strings.” He gently brushed his fingertips along your arm before leaning in to press a soft kiss beneath your jaw.

“Consider it my apology.” Another kiss. His hand wandering towards somewhere more intimate, the brush of his fingers made your breath hitch.

“I wanted to make this unforgettable.”

You smiled, unable to hide it. Your own hand caressing his chest.

“Well…” He looked up expectantly. “I suppose I’d better ring my work & ask if they’ll let me disappear for another four days.”

Harry laughed.

“I had a feeling that might be your first question little miss over thinker.”

“I don’t exactly own a firm. I have only a set number of days leave.”

“No,” he said with a smile, “but if anyone deserves a little extra holiday… it’s you.”

You laughed, shaking your head.Harry’s grin widened.

“So About that…”

You frowned.

“What do you mean, about that?”

He wrapped his legs around you & you lay flat against him. Listening but knowing you were both once again becoming aroused.

“I may have made a couple of calls.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“Harry…”

“I spoke to your manager yesterday.”

You blinked.

“You what?”

“I explained I was trying to make up for being a terrible holiday companion for the first few days.”

“You weren’t terrible…”

“I was glued to my phone.” You couldn’t really argue with that. His smile softened.

“They were happy to help. Your leave’s already been extended. Provided my company assists theirs in a few things”

You stared at him for a moment before laughing in disbelief.

“You organised my annual leave without telling me?”

He shrugged with a sheepish smile.

“I had to make sure you’d say yes.”

You shook your head, unable to hide your grin.

“Well I mean what was I gonna do fly home economy” he laughed at that before wiping a stand of hair from your face. He cupped it & looked at you.

“Sweetheart, your now a woman of luxury, I’d never let you travel like that”

You slowly lowered your head & captures his lips in a tender kiss. It got hot & passionate, tongues fighting for attention, hands in each others hair. Feeling his penis get hand beneath you.

“you gotta taste for it now baby”

“Of what” you say as you kiss his jaw line.

“Of the best things in life, of the sweetest things I can get you.”

“I have a taste for it do i” he nodded as you sat up & scooted down his body & the Sun lounger taking his penis into your hand. He gasped at the touch instantly.

“Maybe I like the taste of a few things” you said with a wink before licking all of the length before taking him into your mouth.

Press tours are chaos dressed up as organisation. Too many people. Too many voices. Too many moving parts that all insist they’re the most important thing happening at any given moment. You don’t get caught up in it. You’re not here for that. You’re here to watch. Track. Anticipate.

Security doesn’t get distracted.Even when it’s for something like this. A new The Mandalorian film press event, all polished smiles & carefully timed appearances. Cameras flashing. Fans pressed behind barriers, calling out names like prayers.

Sitting right at the centre of it all… Grogu.

Small. Green. Ridiculously beloved.

Millions of dollars of puppetry coming to life for the world to see.

He’s Currently being moved between staging areas by handlers who look far more nervous than they should be.

You clock everything automatically:

* entry points

* exits

* blind spots

* people who don’t belong

So when the unusual happens, You see it.

Like you do right now…A slight shift in the crowd.

Too smooth. Too deliberate.

A figure moves in, masked by the moment, hood up, head down, slipping through the gap like they’ve done this before.

In the blink of an eye…Grogu is gone.

Snatched in plain sight.

You’re already moving.

“Asset taken,” you call, sharp & controlled into your comms, but you don’t wait for a response.

You’ve got them in your sight. They’re fast.

Cutting through the back corridors like they know the layout, or at least how to read it. Not panicked. Not sloppy. That’s what keeps you on them. This isn’t random. This is planned.

You gain ground. Step by step. Turn by turn. They glance back once. Just once. it’s enough to tell you that They’re not afraid to be caught. Almost like it’s a game.You don’t slow.

“Stop!” you snap, rounding the next corner, they don’t. Of course they don’t. So you move faster, harder.

Down a side corridor. Through a service door. Into a quieter section of the building where the noise of the event dulls into a distant hum.

They turn sharply into a small room. You follow. The door slams shut behind you. Silence.

You’re already reaching for them.

“Don’t…”

They stop. Still holding Grogu. Not resisting. That throws you off more than anything.

“Put the child down,” you order, steady.

They hesitate.

Then slowly, carefully, place Grogu on a nearby table. You don’t take your eyes off them.

“Turn around.” They do. Slowly. Like this isn’t urgent. Like none of this is.

Your pulse is still high, adrenaline sharp in your system as they reach up & pull the hood back.

You blink.Once.

“…you’ve got to be kidding me.”

It’s him.

Pedro Pascal

Not a lookalike. Not a joke.

It’s actually him.

Hair slightly out of place. Breathing a little heavier than he probably wants you to notice. Expression caught somewhere between sheepish and something else you can’t quite place yet.

You stare.

“…you stole Grogu,” you say. He winces.

“When you say it like that…”

“How else am I supposed to say it?” You’re trying to keep it professional but inside your heart is racing for so many reasons.

He exhales, dragging a hand down his face.

“I was going to bring him back.”

“After what? A joyride?”

There’s a beat.

“…maybe.”

You stare at him harder. He doesn’t joke again. The energy shifts. Fast.

He leans back against the wall slightly, like something in him has just… given out.

“I just needed five minutes,” he says.

Not performative. Not for an audience. Just… honest.

You don’t respond immediately. Because that wasn’t what you expected.

“Five minutes?” you repeat.

“Yeah.”

He lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly.

“Where no one’s asking anything from me. No cameras. No handlers. No…”he gestures vaguely back toward the noise of the event beyond the walls, “…all of that.”

The adrenaline in your system doesn’t disappear, but it… shifts. Recalibrates.

“You picked stealing a major prop to do that?” you ask.

“It got your attention.”

That lands. You narrow your eyes slightly.

“…that wasn’t part of your plan.”

“No,” he admits. “That part was… improvisation.”

Of course it was. There’s a pause. The room feels smaller now. Quieter.

Grogu sits between you on the table like a silent witness to whatever this is becoming.

“You’re supposed to arrest me,” he says after a moment.

You don’t move.

“You’re supposed to not steal things,” you reply.

A faint smile tugs at his mouth.

“Fair.”

Silence again. Different this time. He looks at you properly now.

Not like earlier, passing, distracted, half-aware between everything else happening around him.

This is focused. Intent.

“…you didn’t hesitate,” he says.

“When?”

“When he was taken.” He nods slightly toward Grogu. “You were already moving.”

“That’s my job.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.”

There’s something in the way he says it. Like that’s not the only reason he noticed.

You shift slightly, suddenly aware of how close you are. How quiet it is compared to the chaos outside.

“You should go back,” you say, though there’s less authority in it than before. “Before they realise what happened.”

“I know.”

He doesn’t move. Instead, he steps closer. Slow. Giving you time to stop him. You don’t.

“I wasn’t planning on this,” he says.

“Stealing your own kid?”

He huffs a quiet laugh.

“No.” A beat. “This.” That pulls your attention back to him fully. His voice lowers.

“I’m tired of pretending I don’t notice you,” he says.

That… wasn’t expected. You blink.

“I… I…”

“I know,” he cuts in gently. “Bad timing. Terrible setup. Possibly the worst confession I could’ve chosen.”

Despite everything, a small smile tugs at your lips.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“But it’s true.”

There’s no performance in it now. No charm dialled up for effect. Just him.

Close enough that you can see the shift in his expression, the nerves underneath the confidence, the honesty sitting right at the surface.

“I kept telling myself I’d say it properly,” he continues. “At a better time. Somewhere that made sense.”

A pause.

“This doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” you agree quietly. “It doesn’t.” He studies your face for a second. Searching for a response.

“I’m tired of not saying it,” he finishes.

The room feels very still. Very small. You don’t step back. He takes that as his answer.

Closes the last bit of space between you.

“Should probably arrest me,” he murmurs.

You exhale softly.

“Yeah,” you say.

“Probably.”

Neither of you move. You stretch your hand out & touch his face. Soft & warm as he blushes.

“You are a thief after all” you say softly.

“I’ve stolen more today than just grogu” he replies.

“You sure about that?”

“I’m certain.”

“You know,” you say softly, fingers brushing against Grogu’s ear absently, like he was actually real “… before all this… before this job… I never really felt like I belonged anywhere.”

Pedro’s expression shifts immediately. Attentive. Gentle.

“Then I found this,” you continue, gesturing vaguely toward the chaos outside the room. “The films. The people. The community. My clan, I guess.” A small laugh escapes you. “ A Found family sounds ridiculous until you finally have one.”

He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t joke.

“You don’t know it,” you admit quietly, looking back at him now, “but you were part of the reason I stayed.”

The room goes still after that. Not awkward. Just honest. Pedro looks at you differently then. Like the moment finally settles into something real.

You don’t even mean to start it.

“I’m just saying,” you shrug, swirling your drink, “Star Wars blasters look better.”

There’s a pause. You feel it before you see it. Javi’s attention locks onto you from across the table.

“Better?” he repeats, slow.

You glance up, already smiling.

“Sleeker. More dramatic. Bit more… Millennium Falcon, less… whatever you’ve got going on.”

That earns you a look. Not annoyed. Interested.

“Oh yeah?” he says, leaning back in his chair, eyes never leaving you. “You into smugglers now?”

“I’m into style,” you reply. “You can’t tell me you’ve never wanted to walk into a room like Han Solo.”

A corner of his mouth lifts.

“I walk into rooms just fine.” You laugh.

“I’m sure you do. But do you make an entrance?”

That lands. He studies you for a second, like he’s deciding how far to take this.

“Careful,” he says. “You keep talking like that, I’m gonna think you’re disappointed.”

You tilt your head.

“Maybe I am.” There’s a beat. Something shifts. Tension rising.

He leans forward now, forearms resting on the table, closing the distance just enough to matter.

“You ever seen a real one up close?” he asks. You raise an eyebrow.

“A real what?”

“My gun.” Direct. Of course it is. You huff a small laugh.

“Wow. Subtle, Peña.”

“I’m not trying to be subtle.” That’s the thing. He really isn’t.

You sit back slightly, crossing your arms like you’re unimpressed.

“I just think,” you say, “if you’re gonna compare yourself to a galaxy far, far away, you better have something to back it up.”

His eyes flick over you, slow, deliberate.

“Trust me,” he says quietly. “I do.”

Your stomach does something annoying at that. You ignore it, well at least try to.

“Still sounds like a lot of talk,” you tease. “Very ‘the force is strong’ energy.”

That gets a low chuckle out of him.

“Don’t start quoting Obi-Wan Kenobi at me,” he says. “You’re not ready for that conversation.”

“Oh, I’m very ready,” you shoot back. “I just don’t think you are.”

Now he’s smiling properly. Like he’s enjoying this a little too much.

“Alright,” he says, pushing his chair back slowly. “You wanna test that theory?”

You watch him stand. He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t push. Just waits. Confident you’ll follow.

“Is this where you dramatically offer to show me?” you ask.

He steps closer instead. Close enough that your knee brushes his.

“Not dramatic,” he murmurs. “Just practical.”

Your breath catches, just slightly. You hold your ground.

“Practical,” you repeat.

“Yeah.” He winks. “Wanna see for yourself?”

There it is. Not loud. Not flashy. Just… inevitable.

You look up at him. At the way he’s not joking anymore.

“You always this confident?” you ask.

“Only when I know I’m right.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself.

“This is about a gun,” you remind him.

His gaze drops briefly to your lips, then back up.

“Sure it is.” Your heart kicks. You stand anyway.

“Fine,” you say. “Show me.”

That earns you a slow, approving look.

“Careful,” he murmurs, stepping past you, close enough that his hand brushes your waist for half a second too long. “You might not like what you find.”

You turn to follow him.

“Oh, I doubt that.” He glances back over his shoulder, that same confident smirk settling in.

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

“Most people are impressed.” he doesn’t wait for you to catch up this time.

“I’m not most people Peña” you reply & reach the bedroom door frame.

The fire has burned down to low embers by the time he starts talking. Everyone else has gone quiet in that post-mission way, too tired for jokes, too wired for sleep. Just the soft crackle of wood & the occasional shift of boots in the dirt.

Pero Tovar sits a little apart from the rest. Like always. He turns a stick in the coals like he’s deciding whether the fire deserves more attention than the night.

“You don’t want the short version,” he says suddenly. A few heads lift.

Someone snorts. “We never get the short version.”

That earns a faint smirk from him, but he doesn’t look up right away.

“Good,” he replies. “Because I’m not giving it.”

He leans back slightly, eyes on the fire now.

It makes his face harder to read like this. Shadowed. Thoughtful in a way he doesn’t usually allow people to see for long.

“It started on a rock moon,” he says, like that’s a normal beginning.

You glance up from where you’re sitting without meaning to. Of course it starts like that, it’s meant to grab attention.

“There was supposed to be a clean exchange,” he continues. “Credits for cargo. Simple.”

He lets out a quiet laugh that doesn’t match the story.

“Nothing is ever simple.” The fire pops.

Somewhere behind him, someone mutters, “that’s always the line before it gets worse.”

Pero hears it. Just nods once.

“Correct.” Now people are listening properly. Not just tolerating him. Listening. He shifts slightly, voice dropping into something steadier.

“The buyer didn’t show,” he says. “Which would’ve been fine, except the person who did show decided they wanted the cargo, the credits & my ship.”

A few low reactions ripple through the group. He doesn’t pause for them.

“I told them no & They didn’t like that.”

The firelight flickers across his face as he speaks, like the past is still close enough to touch.

“Two factions got involved after that. Then a third. Then something I still don’t think was technically alive but definitely wanted the cargo.”

That gets a quiet laugh from someone near the back. Pero doesn’t smile this time. Not yet.

His eyes flick up, briefly.

They land on you. Just for a second too long. Then away again.

“I’ve dealt with worse,” he adds, quieter now. “Aliens with worse manners than most people I’ve met.”

A few people chuckle. But his attention keeps slipping back. Not to the group. To you. Like he’s measuring your reaction more than anyone else’s. You don’t notice at first. Or maybe you do, but you don’t understand it yet.

He continues.

“There was a point where I thought I was done,” he says. “Ship half gone. No exit route. Just a very angry agreement between species that none of them were going to survive the night.”

A stick shifts in the fire. He watches it burn for a moment.

“I got out,” he says simply. No embellishment. Just fact. Silence settles again after that. Longer this time.

Someone finally breaks it with a low whistle. “& you’re just… casually telling us this?”

Pero shrugs.

“It happened.”

But his eyes drift again. To you. Still unaware. Still just listening like everyone else. Except you’re not. Not really.

Because when he looks at you this time, something in his expression softens, before he catches himself & looks back to the fire.

“You always tell it like that?” someone asks.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re bored of it.”

That earns a faint exhale from him.

“I’m not bored,” he says.

“I just don’t repeat myself for people who aren’t listening properly.”

That lands differently. A couple of people glance around. But you just tilt your head slightly, still focused on the story. Still listening.

That seems to matter more than anything else.

The fire burns lower. Pero’s voice softens with it.

“There was one person who didn’t run,” he says, almost like an afterthought.

That’s new. People notice.

“So I didn’t either.” A pause. Longer now.

He doesn’t explain who. Doesn’t need to.

But his gaze flicks, just once, towards you again & lingers a fraction too long.

Then he clears his throat slightly, as if remembering himself.

“The cargo was useless anyway,” he finishes. “Of course it was.”

A few quiet laughs return. The tension breaks back into something lighter.

But he doesn’t move from the fire. Doesn’t join the group again. Just sits there, watching the embers settle.

No one truly believes this man was stolen & transported to a different place out of time, but you do. Because you were there & you are the person out of time now sent back to the past. Ready to embrace the oncoming threat that changes the world’s fate. That’s why you’ve been lead here, to find the other man who had an encounter with time & aliens, because you know you both need to prepare for the om coming attack.

Karaoke night was supposed to be simple. One drink. Maybe two. Laugh at whoever got brave enough to grab the mic. Leave before anything got embarrassing.

It never stays simple.

Renaldo is already halfway across the room when you arrive, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment his entire life. There’s a drink in his hand he definitely didn’t have five minutes ago, & a grin that suggests he’s about to make everyone’s night worse in the best way possible.

“Oh no,” you say immediately. He turns like he’s been called to a stage he owns.

“Oh yes,” he replies.

Before you can stop him, he’s up there. Microphone in hand. Standing too confidently for someone who has never once been asked to do this.

“I would like to dedicate this performance,” he announces, “to the galaxy.”

A pause. Confused half drunk faces look back at him.

“…which galaxy?” someone shouts.

Renaldo considers it.

“All of them.”

You groan, already laughing. The backing track starts.

& it is… not good. But it is committed.

He sings like he’s leading a rebellion. Gestures like the mic is a weapon. Completely ignores the fact that he is not on beat, not on pitch, and possibly not even on the right song anymore.

Then the doors at the back of the room open & everything gets worse.

A group of stormtroopers walk in. Fully geared. Unbothered. Like this is exactly where they were meant to be.

There’s a beat of silence. Then one of them climbs onto the stage. Another follows.

& suddenly, unironically, Renaldo is performing with backup dancers he absolutely did not hire.

You nearly spit your drink out.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, pointing. “Is that…are those…”

“Stormtroopers,” someone confirms.

Renaldo doesn’t even stop singing. If anything, he gets louder.

“This is my moment,” he declares into the microphone.

One of the stormtroopers tries to dance. It is not coordinated much like their shooting in the films.It is deeply concerning.

You’re laughing properly now, shoulders shaking, watching the whole scene unfold like a fever dream.

Renaldo spots you in the crowd. Of course he does. He points mid-verse.

“Hey you, sexy! Stop laughing at me!”

“I’m not laughing at you,” you call back, still laughing. “I’m laughing because of you!”

That seems to fuel him. He leans into the chaos. Even worse choreography. Even louder singing.

The stormtroopers fully commit now, forming a very loose, very incorrect line dance situation that no galaxy should ever witness.

When the song finally ends, there’s a moment of stunned silence. Then applause. Confused. Reluctant. Slightly terrified applause. But justly deserved.

Renaldo bows.

The stormtroopers salute.

Someone drops a drink.

You’re still laughing when he gets off the stage, walking straight toward you like none of that just happened.

“You enjoyed that,” he says.

“You just performed karaoke with stormtroopers,” you reply. “I think I’m still processing it.”

“I noticed you smiling.”

“I was coping.”

“That’s the same thing.”

You shake your head, still grinning.

“You know,” you say, “I always thought you were more Star Trek than Star Wars.”

He gasps like you’ve insulted his entire lineage.

“I am offended.”

“You brought imperial soldiers into karaoke night.”

“They invited themselves.”

“Sure they did.” You almost choke on your drink as you say it.

He leans slightly closer now, lowering his voice like it’s serious business.

“For the record,” he says, “I could survive in either universe.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“It should’ve been.”

You laugh again, nudging his shoulder lightly.

“You’re trouble” you say trying not to blush.

“& yet,” he says, gesturing vaguely behind him at the still confused stormtroopers, who were now dancing with the next group of singer “…you’re the one who’s checking me out.”

You glance at him. Still smiling.

“…unfortunately,” you say.

He grins.

“Good answer.” He winks “your drinks are on me tonight sexy.”

“Do you have a tab?”

“Ooh no… but” he then whispers in your ear “but my apartment is just minutes away & I can tell you now that when you come back with me you’ll see more than just the galaxy”

You mock gasp at his arrogance.

“You just assume that I’m gonna have a one night stand with you?” You say before he then grabs your arse in your skin tight jeans. It arouses both of you.

The cantina on Tatooine is loud in the way all places like this are, too much heat, too much drink, too many stories happening at once. It should feel chaotic.

But somehow, he doesn’t. He never does. Oberyn Martell sits like the room arranged itself around him. Cape draped lazily over one shoulder. Glass in hand. Smile resting just at the edge of amusement, like he’s already heard every conversation before it’s even started. People notice him immediately. Of course they do. He lets them. A glance here. A laugh there. A touch of attention given & taken back just as easily.

It isn’t aimless. It just looks like it is.

You notice that quickly. You’re not part of the noise. Not really. Just watching from a quieter corner, observing the way he moves through people like he already knows where every thread connects.

He catches you looking. Of course he does. He’s Oberyn. It doesn’t interrupt him. Not immediately.

He finishes what he’s saying to someone beside him, something light, something that makes them smile like they think they’ve been chosen for something, &then, almost casually, his gaze shifts to you & it stays there. Just a beat longer than necessary.

You don’t look away first. That seems to amuse him.

He excuses himself from the conversation without ceremony, already stepping through the crowd like it was always going to happen this way.

When he stops in front of you, it feels less like approach and more like conclusion.

“You’ve been watching me,” he says. Not accusing. Just curious.

“I’ve been sitting here,” you reply. A faint smile tugs at his mouth.

“That’s not what I said.” You tilt your head slightly.

“Should I be concerned?”

“Only if you think I don’t notice things.” There’s a pause. Heat flickers somewhere between words.

Around you, the cantina keeps moving, laughing, drinking, talking, but here it feels… slowed. Contained.

He gestures loosely to the room.

“You think I’m flirting with everyone,” he says.

“I think you’re very comfortable with attention,” you reply. That earns you something real in his expression. Not surprise.Approval.

“Comfortable is a generous word,” he says softly.

You study him for a moment.

“You’re not here for this place,” you say.

A slight lift of his brow.

“No?”

“You don’t look like someone who stays anywhere without a reason.” That makes him pause. Just for a fraction longer than everything else.

Then he smiles again, but smaller now. More focused.

“You’re quieter than the others,” he says. It isn’t a compliment, but It isn’t an insult.It’s more of an observation.

“So that makes me dangerous?” you ask.

“No,” he says simply. “It makes you honest. That lands differently. The noise of the cantina feels further away now.

He leans slightly closer, not invading, just narrowing the space like it belongs to him to adjust.

“You think I’m performing,” he continues.

“I think you enjoy it.” A soft laugh escapes him at that.

“I do,” he admits with a seductive smile.

“But not for everyone.”

That shifts something. Because now you’re not watching him with the room anymore. Now it feels like he’s watching you outside of it.

“Why me?” you ask.

He considers that.Really considers it. Like it’s not a line. Not a game. Not part of the usual rhythm he moves through. Then he tilts his head slightly.

“Because you didn’t try to be part of the audience,” he says. Your heart races a little.

“You watched like you were deciding whether I was worth your attention.”

A faint smile crosses your face before you can stop it. Betraying yourself.

“& am I?”

His gaze holds yours. Longer now on purpose.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he says.

But he doesn’t look away & neither can you. The corner of his mouth curves slightly at the silence that follows. Not awkward. Measured. Like he’s letting it settle between you on purpose.

Then, unexpectedly, he sits. Not across from you. Beside you.

Close enough now that you catch the scent of spice & wine & something warmer beneath it. The kind of presence that feels dangerous only because it feels easy to lean toward.

“You know,” he says lightly, gaze drifting back toward the crowded cantina, “most people decide very quickly what they want from me.”

You glance at him. “& what do they usually decide?”

A quiet laugh escapes him.

“That I’m entertaining.” There’s no bitterness in it. That’s what makes it land.

Your eyes move over him again, the confidence, the ease, the performance he wears so naturally it almost stops looking like one at all.

“Are they wrong?” you ask softly.

His gaze shifts back to yours then. Slower this time.

“No,” he says. Honest. “But they rarely look long enough to notice when I’m tired of it.”

That changes something. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just enough.

The noise of the cantina suddenly feels further away than before, all blurred edges & distant sound while he watches you like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do with that truth now that he’s handed it to you.

“You don’t seem very tired tonight,” you murmur. Another one of those small smiles appears. Softer now. Less for the room. More for you.

“That,” he says quietly, “may be because you’re still here.”

There’s no performance here or flirtation. Just something warm & deliberate settling between you, beneath the twin suns & noise & heat of a world built for people passing through.

Money doesn’t stretch far these days. You’ve learned how to make it behave. Bills first. Food next. Everything else is whatever’s left over, if anything is left over.

That “extra” usually becomes something small. A LEGO set. Nothing big. Nothing you have to justify too much. You tell yourself it’s enough. It usually is. It distracts you from the world, helps your mind calm for those 20 minutes or so.

Liam notices things you don’t say out loud. Not in a loud way. Not in a showy way. Just… quietly. Like the way you turn the box over in your hands before opening it when you can afford some Lego. Or how you don’t rush the build. How you slow down when you’re focused, like the rest of the world doesn’t matter for a while.

You’ve caught him watching before.

“You staring?” you asked once.

“Thinking,” he said.

“About what?” He just smiled & walked away. That’s as close as you get to an answer. Liam was you man. Mysterious & dangerous but also would take a bullet for you.

Tonight is late when he comes home. Too late for how tired you are.

You’re on the sofa already, half-finished Lego flowers spread out on the table, small pieces carefully lined up like they matter more than they probably should.

The door clicks open. You look up immediately.

Liam steps in like he always does, calm, controlled, like the night belongs to him.

He shuts the door behind him with his foot.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“Hey, baby.”

His voice is easy. Like he hasn’t just come from whatever world he lives in when he disappears. You sit up slightly.

“You’re late.”

“Job ran long.” Of course it did. But he doesn’t sound in pain or stressed so clearly it went well.

You nod, trying not to read too much into it, but your eyes flick to him anyway.

That’s when you see it. The bag. Big. Heavy. Yellow. Definitely not something he left with.

You frown slightly.

“What’s that?”

He follows your gaze, then looks back at you like he’s already decided how this goes.

“Well paid job,” he says.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It answers enough.”

You stare at him. He doesn’t move. Just holds your gaze like he’s waiting for you to catch up.

“…Liam.”

“Open it.”

That tone.Simple. Certain.

You hesitate for half a second longer than you mean to, then get up.

The bag is heavier than expected when you pull it closer. You glance at him once more. He just nods. Permission.

You open it & freeze.Because you know that box.

You’ve seen it a hundred times in shops. Online. In passing conversations you never really thought meant anything.

The Millennium Falcon. The big one.

Your breath catches before you can stop it.

“…Liam.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just watches you. Carefully.

You pull it out properly, staring at it like it might disappear if you blink too hard.

“This is…”you laugh under your breath, disbelieving. “This is insane.”

“Yeah,” he says simply.

“You didn’t have to…”

“I did.”

That makes you look up at him. Properly.

“You can’t just bring home something like this.”

“I can.”

“I was fine with the small sets.”

“I know.”

That stops you. You blink.

“…you know?”He shrugs.

“I’ve seen you.” Something shifts in your chest at that. Small but sharp.

“You’ve been watching me build LEGO?”

“I watch you a lot of things,” he says, like it’s nothing at all.

You look back down at the box again, hands still on it, like it anchors you.

“That’s ridiculous,” you say quietly.

“Probably.”

You shake your head, trying to process it.

“This is… so expensive.”

“I know.”

“& you just… what…decided to get it?”

His gaze doesn’t move from you.

“Yeah.”

There’s no explanation after that. No defence. Just certainty. Like that’s all there is to it.

You laugh once, breathless, still holding the box.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” he says, stepping closer now. “I’ve heard that.”

You should probably say something else. Something normal. Ask about why not spend the money from this clearly well paid job on something more important. You don’t.

Instead, you set the box down carefully & close the distance between you in one quick step.

Your arms wrap around him before you even think about it. He catches you instantly. Of course he does.

Hands settling at your waist like it’s automatic, like he already knew this was coming.

“You’re insane,” you murmur into his shoulder.

“Mm,” he replies. “You said that already.”

“You bought me the Falcon.”

“I did.”

“The Big Falcon.”

“I’m aware.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. There’s something in your face you don’t bother hiding.

“Why?”

That’s the first time he hesitates. Just slightly.

“I saw you looking at it,” he says. “For months, every time we walk past that shop.”

Simple.

Honest.

“That’s it?” He nods once. That’s it.

Your breath catches again, softer this time.

Then you laugh, small, real & shake your head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah.”

You don’t overthink it. You just kiss him. Quick at first. Then deeper when he doesn’t pull away.

His hand tightens slightly at your waist, pulling you closer like he’s not interested in letting go anytime soon.

When you break apart, you’re both still too close.

“You’re helping me build it,” you say. He huffs a quiet laugh.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“You don’t get to bring home a Millennium Falcon & walk away from consequences.”

That earns you a proper smile this time.

“Guess I’m staying then.” You soften.

“Yeah,” you say.

His hand stays at your waist a second longer than necessary.

You clock him before he even reaches you. Not because he’s subtle. Because he isn’t.

There’s a certain kind of man who walks into a bar like it’s a stage, like the lighting is better because he’s in it, like every glance is part of the performance.

He’s that man & he knows it.

You take a slow sip of your drink, watching him approach like you’ve already decided how this is going to go.

“You look like you’ve already made up your mind about me,” he says as he stops beside you. His voice is smooth. Practiced. Just the right amount of amused.

You glance up at him, letting your gaze linger a second longer than necessary.

“I’m deciding if you’re interesting,” you reply. That earns you a flicker of something real. Not surprise. Interest.

“Dangerous answer,” he says.

“Only if you’re boring.”

He huffs a quiet laugh at that, shifting slightly closer, not crowding you, but definitely not giving you space either.

“I’m Lucien,” he says.

Of course he is. You secretly know who he is.

You give him your name in return, & he repeats it like he’s testing how it sounds.

“Alright,” he says, leaning one elbow against the bar. “What’s your verdict?”

“You’ve been here thirty seconds…” he pouts at you pleadingly.”…& you haven’t said anything interesting yet.”

That does it. There’s a pause, brief, sharp, then he smiles properly. Not the rehearsed version. The one that says okay, you’re different.

“I like that,” he says.

“I didn’t ask.”

“No,” he replies, “but you don’t seem like someone who needs to.” & with that the charm offence begins as he nods at the bar tender.

The conversation flows after that. Effortlessly, annoyingly so. He’s quick. Funny. Just self-aware enough to get away with the arrogance & you match him, step for step, not giving him an inch more than he earns.

At some point, drinks turn into leaning closer to hear each other. Then into not really needing an excuse anymore. Heat & tension rising wondering how far this will go.

“You always this hard to impress?” he asks at one point.

“Are you always trying this hard?” you shoot back. He grins.

“Not usually.” That should sound like a line. It doesn’t. That’s the problem. Lucien might be a celebrated actor but he often gets what he wants & he was hoping you’d be much easier than you have been. Not that you’re not willing or falling for him.

You don’t remember exactly who suggests leaving. It doesn’t matter. It’s mutual.

Like the decision had already been made somewhere between the first drink & the third time he looked at you like he’d figured something out.

Soon you are at his place & it is exactly what you expect for someone of his standing. Minimal effort, but expensive enough to make up for it. There’s a jacket thrown over a chair. A script on the table. Something half-finished, half-forgotten. Art work worth more than your yearly salary just collecting dust. & trophies, armfuls of them, scattered across the place.

You take it in without commenting. He watches you do it.

“Judging me already?” he asks, closing the door behind you.

“Just observing,” you reply, setting your bag down.

“Dangerous habit.”

“For you, maybe.”

That earns you another one of those smiles. Closer now. Less performance. More intent.

“So,” he says, stepping toward you, “what’s the verdict now?” You tilt your head slightly.

“You’re still trying to impress me.”

“I’m succeeding.”

“Debatable.”

“Well you are here, there was a few minutes back at the bar where I didn’t think you’d come back with me.”

“Well maybe don’t judge a book by its cover.”you reply. He laughs under his breath, running a hand through his hair. Then he smirks with one last shot at leaving you speechless.

“You know,” he says, like it’s just occurred to him, “I was in the last Star Wars film.”

You pause. Just enough.

“…were you?”

“Mm,” he nods, clearly pleased with himself. “Small part. But I had lines.”

“Lines,” you repeat.

“Important ones.”

You fold your arms, leaning back slightly against the table.

“Important to who?”

“To the story,” he says, like that’s obvious.

“Convincing.”

“I’m serious,” he insists, stepping closer again. “Full costume, whole thing. I even got a close-up.”

“Oh wow,” you say flatly. “A close-up.”

He narrows his eyes at you, amused.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I believe you think it was important.”

That gets a laugh out of him. A real one.

“Alright,” he says, holding his hands up slightly. “Tough crowd.”

“Extremely.”

He studies you for a second then, something shifting again. Less about proving something. More about… figuring you out.

“You’re not impressed,” he says.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

You push yourself off mantel you were leaning against, closing the space between you by a step.

“You didn’t need to do all that, you know.”

He tilts his head slightly.

“All what?”

“The film. The lines. The performance.” There’s a beat. Your voice drops just slightly.

“You didn’t need to impress me to get me into bed.”

That lands. Properly. For the first time since you met him, Lucien actually goes still. Just for a second.

He smiles. Slower this time. More deliberate.

“Oh,” he says quietly. A step closer. Now there’s barely any space between you.

“I know.”

Your breath catches, just slightly.

“But where’s the fun in that?” he adds.

There it is again. That edge. That confidence of a man who knows he can have it all. But now it’s different. Less about proving himself. More about the two of you.

“You enjoy the performance,” you say.

“I enjoy the reaction,” he corrects.

His gaze flicks to your mouth, then back up.

“& yours has been very interesting. I had to bring out the big guns.”

You should step back.You don’t.

“Careful,” you murmur. “You’re starting to sound like you care.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, reaching out just enough for his fingers to brush lightly against your wrist.

“Maybe I do,” he says. It’s quieter than anything he’s said so far. “& maybe I knew you wanted the hard sell.”

“Hard sell?” You scoff “I’m not one to be bartered”

“Oooh i could tell that” Lucien whispers “but I just wanted to see how much I had to do before I got someone like you to soften up”

“Well I’m not sure if I am lucky or not” Lucien takes your hand & leads you down the corridor as you say this both unfazed about Whats about to happen.

I was ready to be mad at him tonight.

Like properly mad. Not the joking kind. Not the “you’re annoying but I’ll get over it” kind.

The real kind. The kind where you sit there, arms folded, already rehearsing what you’re going to say when he walks out the door to go do something stupid.

Because that’s what it was. Another “job.” Another “I’ll handle it.” Another night where he goes off, gets himself into trouble, comes back with bruised knuckles and that same shrug like it doesn’t matter.

I hate that shrug.

So yeah. I was ready.

He was halfway out the door too, jacket on, keys in hand, that look on his face like his mind was already somewhere else.

& I said it.

“You don’t need to do this tonight.”

He didn’t even turn around at first.

“I said I’d take care of it.”

Of course he did.

“You always say that,” I shot back.

That got him to stop. Finally.

He turned then, looking at me properly, like he was actually hearing me for once.

There was a second, just a second, where I thought he was going to argue. Or leave. Or do that thing where he brushes it off & walks out anyway.

Instead, he just stood there. Thinking. Which, for Clint, is already suspicious.

Then he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, & looked straight at me.

“C’mon.”

I blinked. “What?”

“We’re goin’ out.”

“…you were just…”

“Yeah,” he cut in, already moving back toward me. “Plans changed.”

No explanation. No big speech. Just… that.

I should’ve questioned it more. I should’ve asked what the hell that meant. But I didn’t.

Because it was Clint, & when he decides something, that’s kind of it. His choices are set.

So where did we go… Clint took me to the movies. An actual cinema.

I didn’t even realise what we were seeing until we got inside & I saw the poster.

The Empire Strikes Back.

I just stood there for a second, staring at it, then at him.

“…you ditched a job for this?”

He shrugged like it was nothing. “Felt like a better idea.” Like that was a normal decision.

Like he hadn’t just chosen this over whatever trouble he was about to walk into. I didn’t know what to do with that.

So I let him buy me popcorn & a drink. We had so many snacks like he didn’t know when to stop buying stuff.

“Clint,” I said at one point, watching him come back with another box, “this is too much.”

He glanced at it, then at me. “You’ll eat it.”

“…I won’t.”

“You will.”

Annoyingly… he wasn’t wrong.

We sat near the back. Of course we did.

He slouched down in the seat like he owned the place, arm draped along the back, legs stretched out just enough to be a problem for anyone walking past.

I tried to focus on the film. I really did. But every time I glanced over, he wasn’t even watching it.

He was watching me.

“You’re not even paying attention,” I muttered.

“I know what happens,” he said.

“Then why are you here?”

He didn’t answer straight away. Just looked at me for a second longer than necessary.

“Didn’t feel like bein’ somewhere else. I wanted to be with you.”

That… did something.

I looked back at the screen quickly, pretending that didn’t land.

“You think you’re Han Solo or something?” I said, trying to play it off.

He huffed a quiet laugh.

“No.”

He then held my hand.

“…but he’s not wrong.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. Couldn’t help it. My Clint was doing something for me with me. I knew consequences would probably follow but for now it was just us.

Somewhere halfway through, it got quieter. Not the film. That was still loud. But us. Closer.

I don’t even remember when it happened, but I was leaning into him, & his hand had found mine like it had always been there.

“You were really gonna go out tonight,” I said quietly.

“Yeah.”

“& instead you’re here.”

Another one of those shrugs.

“Didn’t feel like it anymore.”

That was it. No big explanation. No apology. Just… that. Yet somehow that meant more than anything he could’ve said.

I don’t know who moved first. I think it was both of us.

One second we were watching the screen, the next I was turning toward him & he was already there.

The kiss wasn’t soft. Not really.

It was a little messy, a little impatient, like neither of us had planned it but neither of us was surprised either.

His hand came up to my jaw, steady, grounding, pulling me just a little closer like he wasn’t about to let me change my mind.

“You’re impossible,” I murmured against him.

“Yeah,” he replied, like he didn’t care. “You still love me though.”

I huffed a laugh into the kiss, which only made it worse, Or better.

We probably missed half the film after that. I don’t even care. I only watch sci-fi as he likes it.

Because for once, he didn’t leave. For once, he chose this. Chose me.