imagines | p.s.

oliver

"An authentic feel," the director said she wanted. "Raw, real emotion," she told you and Patrick. You hadn't realized that by that she meant "stand in the freezing cold rain with no jacket and try to deliver your lines well." But, you know, whatever works.

Patrick stood shivering beside you, his teeth already chattering as he squinted into the downpour. God, he even looked pretty with his face all scrunched up and rain dumping down on him. You realized that all of your flirting with him had been for cinematic purposes, but you wished so hard that you had the courage to do it offscreen.

"You ready?" Chantel, the director, call out a few feet behind you. You almost turned around and glared at her, with her completely dry clothes and kinky curls that weren't matted to her head. But Patrick, ever so comforting, nudged you with his hip to urge you on.

"Yeah," the two of you said in unison. Your acting partner gave you an encouraging smile.

You took a deep breath. "As I'll ever be," mumbled your lips.

Soon as the camera man yelled "rolling," you and Patrick stomped out into the rain, getting into character. You stood facing him in the middle of an empty, stone paved street. Showing exasperation, you threw up your hands and put on a distressed face. You tried to sound choked up; fake crying wasn't your specialty, but it was raining, so you only had to sound tearful. Whatever tears you could conjure up would be hidden. Your character in the movie had just met her father for the first time, but her father turned out to be some sort of asshole and took her money, so upset was the look you were going for. Patrick's expression was soft and comforting.

"He's gone," you forced out, voice cracking. "H-he's gone and so is half of what I've earned."

"You'll get the money back, Alex," Patrick (Oliver, in the movie) crooned to your character. He reached to touch your cheek, but you turned your head away as told to you earlier through your script.

"This isn't about the money." You ran your fingers through your sopping wet hair. Very real trembles course through your body as Patrick stood next to you.

"What's it about then, love?"

How your knees shook, hearing him call you that.

You brought forth your very best crying face and bit the inside of your cheek. "I dragged you halfway across the country for this."

"I don't mind. I wanted to come," Patrick's character tried to assure you. You turned to face him again.

"But you do, Oliver. You're telling me that you don't care in the slightest that I've brought you all this way for nothing? Hm?"

Oliver opened his mouth, but Alex wouldn't let him finish. You took a forcedly shaky breath.

"I built up this delusion in my head of my only family left being worth all of this turmoil and heartache, but dad turned out to be a deadbeat. Funny how that works."

"Alex, please-"

"I'm not done." Alex's voice was weak at best and thick with emotion. "My dad made me drag you through hell and half of Georgia for nothing. My dad made me cry and break down thinking I'd never find him, when I did find him, and again now, because I almost wish I'd never found him."

Alex clutched her sides, moaning in distress. "My dad made me, fuck... He made me feel hopeless, and all that fucked up stuff. But.."

"But what?"

When Alex looked up, Oliver's nose was just six inches or so from her face.

"He.. he made me love you, in his own way," you whispered softly, just loud enough for the microphones to pick up. Rain cascaded down the both of your faces and past your bitten lips. It was a good thing Chantel had picked the no stage makeup route, else that would be coursing down your cheeks, too. Your heart was pounding so hard, and whatever you were feeling about Patrick now wasn't an emotion you could fake or concoct on a film screen.

"He made me love you, Oliver, and I don't know how I feel about that. And that smarts and confuses me more than anything."

Patrick's eyebrows knit together. In what emotion, you couldn't remember. Concern or concentration was probably scrawled on the script. All you saw was Jesus fuck he's gorgeous.

He took your face gently into his hands. After months of shooting, you had only just now discovered that they were surprisingly soft after years of guitar playing and more.

"Please, feel something good for once," he begged you, his eyes pleading along with his lips. You pushed a small sob out of your throat. No amount of acting could hide the trembling in your lips or the hope in your face.

When he pressed his lips to yours, you curled your fingers into his jacket until your knuckles turned white and you were afraid you would fall if you let go. When you felt one of his hands fall to your waist and his thumb stroke your cheekbone, you weren't kissing Oliver; you were kissing Patrick, in that torrential, freezing fucking downpour.

Patrick's mouth was so, so soft, and so were his kisses- deep, gentle, and soft. You swore that your legs turned to jelly when you felt his teeth graze over your bottom lip. That's not acting, that's not acting, you hoped and prayed silently.

Chantel yelled "cut!", but Patrick didn't pull away at first. Even in the pounding rain that you both had dreaded walking into, he held on to you and you held on to him, and neither one of you was going to let go first.

You swallowed hard, very aware of the few stares you were receiving from the crew. Something a bit like fear ran through your veins when you realized that Patrick was probably just acting because, after all, he's an actor, for fuck's sake, but the glazed look in his eyes told you otherwise.

"Do you..?" You began. Patrick cut you off.

"Wanna take you out some time?" Patrick panted, his lips and cheeks flushed pink. "Yes. Please."

The grin spreading across your face didn't seem to bother either of you when you kissed again, and neither did the whoops and catcalls of the cast and crew watching.

it has been SO FUCKING LONG since ive updated but hey!!!! here i am!!! ive missed writing.

what are your thoughts on this??