i dont know if your requestss are open but could you write something about them sharing that chase or whatever it was? that was so so cute and such a small part of the story.
Hey there! My requests aren’t really open per say but this is literally about the storyI just posted & it’s still fresh in my mind, sooooooooooo I think I can make this happen.
plus this is a great excuse to use the baby
Flashback; in your twenties, a devastatingly hot summer afternoon, when your best friend / neighbor Rafael Barba decides to bug you.
It was so, so hot out.
“What the Hell are you wearing?” Rafael had been at classes, and easily decided to help himself into your apartment after they were through. “And why don’t you lock your damn doors?”
You rolled your eyes, too annoyed with the sweat beading across your forehead to properly deal with his berating. This horrible weather had everyone acting up, threw the world off its hinges just a bit. “I hadn’t been expecting company, most people knock.”
“I’m not most people,” his backpack was abandoned, and he made no efforts of hiding the fact that he was quite interested in your outfit. Thin silk? Satin? He could never tell, but it was barely much of anything, hung from thin straps on your shoulders (one had slipped, and you did not appear too concerned with fixing it) and barely reached your thighs. Petal pink and precious, he bit his lip while shaking his head to rid his mind of the thoughts that flooded- he was only a man, after all. “But if you don’t have to wear real clothes, I’m losing this shirt.”
“I don’t give a shit, Rafi, parade around naked if you want to.”
He paused, you spun to look over your shoulder when you couldn’t hear his feet shuffling anymore. Tauntingly, he had the buckle of his belt in his hands, and wriggled brows (what you assumed he considered) seductively as he fumbled with it.
Deadpan; “That was a joke, Rafi.”
Ah, and your friend roared with laughter, but still ditched the belt. The pants could stay, might as well. “You’re grumpy,” after dropping his shirt with the bag, Rafael sauntered your way, and dramatically collapsed alongside you on the chaise. “You have the best breeze in this whole apartment building, you’d think you’d be a bit grateful.”
A whine left your lips, and you continued to gaze longingly out the window. Children were playing in the streets, dancing in water coming from a hose one of them had used to siphon ’rain’ from a hydrant. They probably shouldn’t be doing that, but Lord, they were having so much fun. “I am grateful,” you lay your temple against the wooden edge of the window, propped yourself up with elbows placed on the sill. “I wish I was down there with them, though, they’re having much more fun.”
Curious about the commotion, Rafael placed fists against the cushions on either side of your torso so he could peek around you. They were enjoying themselves, he had noticed them working on the hydrant on his walk back from school. “Well don’t you worry,” shamelessly, he dropped himself, so his chest hit your back and he could curl one arm around your waist. Using you as a resting spot, he pressed his cheek against yours that wasn’t on the windowsill, and used his free hand to comb your sweat-moistened hair out of your face. “Your Rafi’s back, so the fun’s just begun.”
If they had been opened, you’d have rolled your eyes. Instead, you were busy savoring his fingertips and their subtle stroll through your tresses. Why did that feel so nice? You weren’t quite sure, but he didn’t stop, especially not after he twist his face and saw how peaceful you looked. No, instead of getting a drink or watching the rambunctious children stomp in puddles; he watched you, smiled to himself when he felt the tension release out of your shoulders from under him, hid his face in the crook of your neck for just a second despite your damp skin.
This went on for awhile; between the breeze, his petting, and the comfort of his weight over you- you’d almost dozed off. It wasn’t until a tune started playing out in the streets, the tinny music-man jingle of songs you remembered in your own childhood, that you were roused with a start. Your sudden movements apparently surprised poor Rafael, who jumped and gathered a handful of your hair to swipe over your shoulder.
“Want some? I have some extra cash.” The query came after he pressed his lips to your bare shoulder, and you nodded eagerly while staring out at the ice cream truck below. “You gotta put clothes on.”
“I’m wearing clothes, you dolt,” with a smart roll, you managed to knock him off of you, and jumped up to your feet. Still, despite your protest, you went to work tying your hair up in a bun atop your head. “But I will go put a dress on… don’t wanna scare the kiddies.”
Yea, Rafael thought while trying to fight through the blush rising to his cheeks when your lifted arms caused that little… whatever it was… to raise just enough to reveal some of your derriere, they’d surely be terrified to see you like this… or, you’d be why they’d start teaching Sex Ed in the public schools.
“Hurry up,” he managed to squeak out after watching you disappear in your bedroom. “I’ll go without you,” the threat was as fake as his disinterest, and so Rafael lay flat on the chaise to await your return.
He wouldn’t go anywhere without you, unless he had to.
A Part TWO to “Good Neighbors”, a previous request re: living next to Rafael in your 20s & reconnecting. This one’s the re-connection, :).
Warning: FLUFFY RAFI FRIDAY FEELS FOR EVERYONE
It took you at least a few days to finally get the gusto to call his cell;
“How did you know it was me?”
“How couldn’t I?”
“Well, I was wondering if you did want to get together sometime, I’ve missed you so.”
“Uh… so soon?”
“It’s been too long already.”
“Right… Right, yes, tomorrow should work.”
“I’ll text you the place, eight sound good?”
You were just on time, apparently minutes after he arrived- and he rose to standing the second he saw you come in through the doors he had been absolutely transfixed on.
When he hugged you, you felt like you were twenty-something all over again; fresh, young, full of life and anticipation. And oh, he hugged you; the moment you were in reach, Rafael nearly tripped over the table in his rush to embrace you. It was kind, gentle, and he wrapped arms over your shoulders to keep you close for just a second too long- not that you minded.
“I’m so glad you called,” he held you out before him, and let out a shameful, hushed wolf whistle of approval. “Look at you; Lovely and all grown up.”
“Oh stop,” you brushed his hands off of you, before wagging your shoulders proudly. “The years have been pretty good to you too,” A pinch to his cheek, you couldn’t tell if the pink hue that came up was from your fingers or his blush, Lord he was handsome. “Bet you have to knock the ladies off of you with a baseball bat at this point.”
Okay, 20-something Rafael Barba? Sweet peach material, let’s play.
Please note: I don’t speak Spanish. I google-translated any Spanish, feel free to correct me. Also: You/Reader don’t know much Spanish in this go, either.
Who was at your door?
You hopped up off your chaise, and tip-toed around the scattered records on the floor. It was a Saturday, and you didn’t have any classes or other responsibilities to worry about today- a complete rarity in your life. Which would explain why you were in the position you were; lounging sleepily around in a simple little emerald sundress, nursing your second glass of white wine, and tapping out a joint that one of your friends from school had gifted you for helping her with a paper.
Up to your toes, and you took a peek through the hole in the door. A handsome brunette boy about your age was rocking from foot to foot, holding a little brown box in his arms. He didn’t look familiar, you thought absently, but didn’t think he looked particularly dangerous either. Kinda cute, not that it mattered much. Handsome strangers were rare, and rarely interested in you.
“Hello, how may I help you?” You lay against the edge of the door after opening it, and peered down curiously at his arms. “Whatchya got there?”
He jumped, mostly surprised you had introduced the conversation with questions instead of… well, an introduction. “Oh, uh, this got delivered to my apartment, I’m new here-” The box was held out towards you, and he tapped at the name in the delivery field. “That’s not me,” he pointed out further, which you could have assumed- it was your name there, not his.
If your enemy is hungry, give him to eat. If he is thirsty, give him to drink. Christ carried our guilt being Him innocent, and while we were His enemies, He laid down His life for ours. Now we are to do the same.
Happy Birthday Xavi! March 20, 1989 Québec, Canada [women] are the people i want to talk about, they’re the people i want to protect, they’re the people i want to put in my movies and see fail or win. as a writer, as a human being, and as a young man, it’s easier for me to express my anger, to ask questions, to seek answers, to talk, to cry as a woman in a movie. i connect with those figures more than i connect with men. men are born privileged in the scale of things - i’m generalizing, but it’s true. women have to define themselves in the eyes of men. they have to fight for their rights, especially in a society that will pretend that there is no fight or no battle, that it’s a cliche, that feminists are reactionary, all these things. as a young man who struggled to find his identity and to find his place, i relate to that quest for belonging in society. with mothers, especially, with their flaws, the way they have made huge sacrifices in order to be good moms or just moms. they probably sacrificed a part of their career, they sacrificed some desires, some dreams. i cannot relate, but i love to talk about it. —xavier dolan for interview magazine
It all started when your ass of an boyfriend broke up with you when he found out you two were expecting. Then after you had the baby, you couldn’t find a babysitter, meaning you had bring your beautiful baby girl everywhere you went. After nearly two months of carrying your little girl around, you were still having trouble maneuvering everything after doing the groceries. After setting your daughter in the carrier down you moved to get the groceries, but didn’t make it far because she started crying.
“Shhhhh, baby, it’s okay, mommy’s here. I got you.” You cooed. Reaching down to grab the last two bags of groceries, a voice rang behind you.