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wheresarizona · 1 month

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Learning to Live Part 32

summary: It’s the night of his bachelor party, and a sober Javier gets a call from his very drunk fiancée asking him to pick her up from her bachelorette party. Three days later, it’s their wedding day, and Javier hasn’t seen or talked to his bride since the night before—they’d agreed not to see each other until it was time to say ‘I do,’ and his father took it one step further by having her guarded to keep Javier away. Will that really stop him from going to her before the big event (with his eyes covered)?

rating: M (This chapter is very story-driven, BUT there’s a little bit of inappropriate touching. No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (about ten years), Drunk!Reader, bachelor/bachelorette parties, emotional hurt/comfort, dysfunctional family, Javier taking care of you while you’re drunk and when you get sick (it’s very sweet), grief, discussion of pregnancy, WEDDING, getting ready for the wedding, Chucho hardcore not letting you see each other before the wedding, blindfolded Javier sneaking to where you are anyway, tying his bow tie, nerves, panic attack, EMOTIONS, Javier crying when he sees you in your dress, EXTREMELY romantic things said, Javier being cute with kids, you both wrote your own vows (did I mention emotions and romantic things said?), Chucho being a great officiant, (1) bible verse about love with no mention of God/Jesus/anything religious, crying, comedy sprinkled in, a fun and heartfelt chapter)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader (no physical descriptions)

word count: 23k+ (Tumblr hates my long chapters and might not let you reblog with a comment. Since reblogs are super important, if you wish to comment, feel free to do it in the comments on the post or send me an ask. 🥰🥰🥰)

a/n: Get your tissues ready; it’s time to get married! 🥹🥹🥹😭😭😭 First of all, Happy Birthday to this story! 2 years old! I just want to thank everyone who’s continued reading this labor of my love. All the comments, reblogs, and likes mean the world to me! They make me want to write more, too. I know there’s no smut in this one, but, in my opinion, I think it’s still really good, and the people who’ve read it agree. There also was literally no opportunity for them to be alone and do anything more than touching—you can blame Chucho for keeping them apart. But the next chapter? Oh, it’s on. It’s gonna be so horny. Lol Thank you to @juletheghoul for betaing. I love you.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

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In the year 1981, Ronald Reagan was sworn in as the 40th President of the United States and almost assassinated two months later; the Space Shuttle Columbia became the first crewed reusable spacecraft to return from orbit successfully, and the wedding of Prince Charles and Diana Spencer was watched by over 750 million people worldwide.

It also happened to be the year Javier Peña’s life went to shit.

Looking back at all that happened, he could pinpoint the exact moment everything went wrong. It wasn’t disappearing in the early hours on the day he was supposed to be wed; it was six months earlier when he let a pretty girl, who never once acknowledged his existence in the several years they went to school together, buy him a drink—that was the beginning of the end. That was the start of his downfall and had his life veering off course.

By the time his wedding to Lorraine had rolled around in early September, Javier was at the lowest he'd ever been in his twenty-two years of life—so depressed, hopeless, and scared that he became numb and was just existing instead of living. Back then, he still had buddies in Laredo with whom he'd gone to high school, and though Lorraine didn't let him hang out with them much, she approved of them throwing him a bachelor party the weekend before their nuptials were supposed to take place.

He hadn't wanted one.

Who would want to celebrate marrying someone they didn't love or even liked? Marriage to Lorraine was a prison sentence, and his only crime had been dating the wrong woman. It’d also be a cruel reminder that he’d lose what little freedom he had in a week’s time.

His friends had known him for many years, having practically grown up together, and they were well aware of Javier’s dread. They had tried to talk him out of going through with it on multiple occasions, but he always stood firm that he wouldn’t abandon his child and their mother, and that he got himself into the mess, and he needed to own up to it—plus there was Lorraine’s father who told Javier he’d never meet his kid if he didn’t marry her.

To stop his pals from worrying about him, he finally agreed to the party and tried his best to act like he was fine when, in reality, his world was crumbling.

It may come as a surprise, but he was once a very social creature who had a lot of friends in his youth—his three closest had been Benito Esquivel, Salvador ‘Sal’ Soto, and Ken Miller. These were the guys who packed him into Sal’s moss green colored ‘72 Chevrolet Blazer and took him on a road trip to Austin, where they went bar hopping and ended up at a strip club, as was the course for bachelor parties.

Javier drank so much that night his memory was spotty on all that had happened, yet he distinctly remembered a moment when he was completely wasted in a private room at the club, crying while getting a lap dance and the kind stripper comforting him in the middle of it.

His first bachelor party didn’t go so well and wasn’t something he liked to think back on. He wished he could rip that entire chapter out of his life, but it was important for shaping the man he became—it began a chain of events that would eventually lead him to finding the perfect woman he was meant to be with—the one who truly loved him, wanted nothing more than for him to be happy, and filled that part of him he’d always been missing.

Cielito was the love of his life, his soulmate, his media naranja.

And they shared the same kind of love his parents once had, which he’d always dreamed of having but never imagined he’d actually get to experience.

His buddies had tried to keep in contact with him after he ran away, but he was too ashamed of how he left and didn't want their pity. It wasn't until his mother's funeral in '91 that he saw most of them again, and though he appreciated them being there, he kept them at arm's length. Even when he returned home in '93 and '96, he continued avoiding them because he wasn’t the same Javi they once knew, and he didn’t want to see the looks on their faces when they realized how fucked up he’d become.

Now, he was having his second bachelor party seventeen years after the first, and he couldn’t be happier celebrating that he was getting married in a few days.

This time around, his dad planned the party, and there wasn’t any bar hopping or strip clubs. Instead, Chucho got Javier’s tíos (uncles) and male primos (cousins) together for an asada (barbecue) in his backyard.

It was close to midnight, and he knew the party wouldn’t end any time soon. His family were sitting in groups, taking up the picnic table, or sitting with him in lawn chairs around the large fire pit, which was currently ablaze, with the tall flames licking up toward the sky. He’d already eaten and was nursing his third beer over the many hours he’d been there, the bottle in his hand resting on his jean-clad thigh. The fire and his black leather jacket were keeping him warm while he listened to his friend Ken, sitting beside him talking about his four-year-old daughter’s recent T-ball game.

“—so she hits the ball off the tee,” he said, “and throws her bat as hard as she can behind her at the backstop—which, thank fuck they don’t have catchers—and starts runnin’ as fast as her little legs can go, only to stop halfway to first base to pick up the ball and chuck it with all her might out of bounds.”

Javier chuckled and sipped his drink—he couldn’t wait to tell these kinds of stories about his own children.

“Clever kid,” Benito replied, sitting on his other side. “How pissed off was Emily when she didn’t get to stay on first base?”

“You know Em, Benny. That little girl is more fiery than the hair on her head.” Her father had dark blonde hair, and she had bright red, yet both shared ocean-blue eyes.

A few months back, Javier felt like he was finally in a place where he could reconnect with his old friends. He’d gone out for drinks with Benito and Ken a few times to catch up, and they’d shown him pictures of their families; Ken had three daughters, and Emily was his youngest and the only one with red hair. He’d even introduced his wif-fiancée to them and took her to have dinner with them and their wives—it was nice.

He tried to reach out to Sal, but the other man was a part of the Special Forces in the army and had spent more time deployed than at home since Desert Storm—Benito and Ken said he was okay, or as okay as a guy can be after spending so many years in active duty. It made Javier feel like a real asshole for avoiding them for so long when they’d just wanted to be there for him like they were for Sal, who’d been through more dangerous and worse shit than him.

By no means were he and his old friends back to having the tight bond they shared when they were twenty-two or had anything close to his relationship with Steve—they’d grown too far apart and were virtually strangers now. That didn’t mean it wasn’t great to hang out with people who knew him before Lorraine and hadn’t taken her side or were judgemental of the choices he made.

“Big tantrum?” Benito asked.

“A complete meltdown. You’re gonna love havin’ kids, Jav.” Ken patted him on the shoulder.

“They have their moments,” Benito added, “pero, dios mio, mi vida no sería la misma sin ellos (but, my god, my life wouldn’t be the same without them). I love my little terrors.” He had five children; his littlest wasn’t even a year old.

“Yeah,” Javier said fondly. “I’m really fucking excited to have kids and get married.”

The other two men were smiling.

“And that’s how it always should’ve been,” Ken replied. “That’s how we know you’re marryin’ the right girl this time. It’s great to see how happy you are—and Benny and I can tell you’re actually happy.”

“Yeah,” Benito said, “‘Cause you’re smiling this time around and not crying—that stripper, though, what was her name? Diamond? Ruby? Shit, what was it?”

“Jade, maybe?” Ken answered. “You should remember, Benny, you’re the one she took home.”

“I can remember her amazing tits and ass, but couldn’t tell you what the hell she looked like or her name.”

Javier couldn’t remember what she looked like or her name either, which made him frown.

“Do you guys have that one woman you can remember every fucking detail about the first time you hooked up?” Benito asked. “She haunts you—I’m talking her face is burned in your brain, and you can remember everything like what she smelled like or how soft her skin was?”

“Yeah,” Ken said. “That girl, my third year in college.” He raised his beer bottle.

“The one who deepthroated you for the first time? You wouldn’t shut up about her.”

“That’s the one—too bad she wasn’t lookin’ for anythin’ serious. Best sex I’ve ever had; don’t tell my wife that.” Ken and Benito chuckled.

“Mine was Carmen’s roommate.” Carmen was Benito’s wife and someone they went to school with. “We had a casual thing before I started dating Carmen—her name was Valentina, and mi mamá would not have liked her, which was fine; she wasn’t wife material anyway.”

What did he mean by that?

“What about you, Javi?” Ken asked.

“I’m marrying mine,” he answered and took a drink of his beer.

Benito scoffed. “Are you just saying that shit, or do you mean it?”

He met the other man’s eyes.

“I’m being completely serious. She’s it, and I’m marrying her.”

Benito blew out air, shaking his head. “You lucky pendejo (asshole).”

“Now you gotta tell us what she’s like,” Ken said, and this conversation just took a turn in a direction he did not want to go in—even when he was younger, he didn’t like to brag about what went on in the bedroom.

Javier had never been happier for his cell phone to ring, but the feeling only lasted a moment as he pulled it off his belt before panic slammed into him that something was wrong because it was Cielito calling him. She was out having her bachelorette party with her girlfriends at the town bar.

“I gotta take this,” he said, setting his beer on the ground and groaning as he got up from his chair. He briskly walked out of earshot of everyone else.

His heart was pounding a mile a minute. He hit the accept button and answered when the Nokia phone was at his ear, “Hello?”

“Ohhh myyy god,” his wif-fiancée slurred on the other end. “How do you make ans’ring the phone sooo sexy?”

He let out a breath that she didn’t sound like she was in trouble.

“I don’t know—are you okay, baby?”

"Nooo, I miss you, and I wan’ you and I need you to come ge’ me—can you pleeease come ge’ me? I don' wanna be out anymore—I wanna be at home with you and naked in our bed; wait, have I told you how amazing you fuck? If there-was like an Olympics for fucking, you'd ge’ all the gold medals tha’s how good you are.” She inhaled before she continued speaking. “And your face, god, I miss your stupidly han’some face with your big baby cow eyes tha’ Daphne and Velma totally inherited from you, and tha’ gorgeous nose, and your lips—everything on tha’ mug of yours is perfec,’ and I canno’ believe you’re marrying me. Me?! How the fuck did I ge’ so lucky?! Like, you’re too pretty for me, and usu’lly, the pretty boys jus’ wan’ my family’s money—like fucking Daniel,” she fumed. “But you jus’ like me for me, and I’m sooo in love with you tha’ I canno’ stand bein’ so far away from you righ’ now. Javiii, can you pleeease come pick me up?"

Oh, she was drunk and missed him.

With how sloshed she sounded, it had him worried she hadn’t eaten much food or had enough water, and he wanted to go to her right that second to get her home and sober her up so she wasn’t too miserable the next day. He was trying to ignore what she said about her ex, but the more he learned about the guy, the higher the chances rose that he’d kick the fucker’s ass if they ever met.

"Are you sure you want to leave early?" he asked.

"Yesss, pleeease. I wanna go home wit’ you."

"Are you somewhere safe, cariño (sweetheart)?" It didn’t sound like she was inside the bar.

“I’m ou’side the backdoor where people smoke—Stacy and Arleta from the grocery store are ou’ here wit’ meee. Say hi to Javi!”

He could tell she held the phone toward them.

“Hi, Javi,” he heard the two women say. “Are you coming to ge’ me?” Cielito asked.

“Yes, mi amor. I just need to tell everyone bye—don’t hang up.”

He didn't as he quickly walked over to say goodbye and thank his dad, friends, and family for the lovely night, telling them his fiancée wasn't feeling good and he needed to go pick her up—the plan had always been he’d be her designated driver since he hadn’t wanted to drink too much; the rest of the people at her party had their own rides.

His long legs had him striding toward where his pickup was parked.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked her.

His truck door squealed as he opened it and got inside.

“Yesss! There was karaoke and I had a lot of tequila. Like a lot. Like sooo much, I sang “My Heart Will Go On” from Titanic withou’ anyone daring me to—tha’ movie is sooo fucking sad. If we were in the freezing water and you pu’ me on a door or whatever piece of wood, you beh your ass I’m gonna figure ou’ a way to ge’ you on it with me. I’m not gonna be a fucking liar and say I won’ leggo and fucking leggo! You’re gonna be like nex’ to me, or hell, you could ge’ on top of me, and we’d survive—I’d make sure we both survived.”

She made him smile because this wasn’t the first time she’d gone on this rant.

He was already on the road heading toward town.

“I’d make sure we survived, too, baby. I’d use my body heat to keep you warm.”

“Why is tha’ sooo romantic? Honestly, I think you’d figure ou’ a way to ge’ us into one of the lifeboats.”

“Probably.” He shrugged.

“And then we’d ge’ to Amer’ca and start our new life together and have sooo many babies.”

He was still smiling. “Yeah—so many babies?”

“It was ye olden times when the only thing women could do was take care of their husbands and babies, plus there was basic’ly no birth control and you only cream pie, sooo yeah, we’d hav’ a ridic’lous amoun’ of babies.”

“I wanna have a ridiculous amount of babies with you now.”

“God, I know you do, and I wanna have all your babies, all of them, ‘cause you’re gonna be the bes’ dad. Like, the bes’, and our kids will be sooo lucky to have you, and they’re gonna love you sooo much and be so cute—I hope they look like you—you were sush a cutie, and I’d love to have a bunch of mini yous.”

“I want them to look like the both of us.”

“Meh, you’re cuter.”

“Stop that, you’re fucking adorable, and I’d love if our kids looked like you.”

“Fine.”

“Why’d you drink so much tequila, mi amor? That stuff makes us—”

“Horny?” she finished for him. “Our clothes magic’ly disappear.” Her speech was still slurring. “Robyn got us Tequila Sunrises, then Cat—” That was the wife of one of her coworkers at the hospital; they hung out with the couple occasionally. “—got us another round of them, bu’ Alma—” His prima (cousin) and sister of Sebastián. “—got us all tequila shots, and I also got us tequila shots, and I think there was another round—too much tequila, whish is why I called you to pick me up.”

His mouth turned down in a frown.

“Please tell me you had some food, too, and water.”

“Yesss, I knew you’d worry, so I ate a plate of fries and shared mozz-mozzarella.” She giggled. “Tha’s a fun word to say—I shared mozzarella sticks with the girls, and I drank water—had a glass aft’r ev’ry drink ‘cause I was-like, ‘If my Javi were here righ’ now, he’d wan’ me staying hydrated,’ and I couldn’ le’ you down.”

He smiled. “Thank you, baby. I’m proud of you.”

There was someone in the background who sounded just as drunk as her, asking her, “Wha’ are you doin’ out here?” It was Robyn.

“Calling Javi,” Cielito answered.

“Come back inside. You said you were goin’ pee.”

“I wen’ and Javi’s comin’ to pick me up. I’m waitin’ for him to ge’ here.”

“Girl, it’s barely pas’ midnigh’, and your bachelorette party! Leave the man alone and have fun with us! We’ll get pie after here at the diner.” It was open twenty-four hours.

“I need him,” she whined.

“Oh my god, you’re ditchin’ us for dick!”

“It’s really good dick, and I need it!”

“Mi amor?” Javi said to get her attention.

“Yes?” she answered.

“I’m not gonna fool around with you while you’re fucked up…”

“I know,” she whispered. “Don’ tell anyone, bu’ I’m too drunk, and I hate it. I wanna go home.”

“Okay, cariño (sweetheart). I’ll be there soon to pick you up.”

Another voice was heard on her end. “Why are you guys ou’ here?” He was pretty sure it was his prima, Alma.

“She’s ditchin’ us for dick!” Robyn exclaimed.

“I told you it’s really good dick!” Cielito said just as loud.

“Gross!” Alma was slurring her words, too, and sounded disgusted. “You’re gonna-make-me puke!”

“Sorry, Alma,” the other two women replied in unison.

“It’s okay,” Alma said. “You’re leaving already? I don’ wan’ you to go. We’re having so mush fun!”

“Yeah, don’ go!” He thought that was Cat. “This is the only night I can go ou’ alone this month! Le’s keep partying!”

“I’m sorry, guys,” Cielito responded. “Tequila was a mistake, and I need to go home.”

Javier figured she’d forgotten he was on the phone with her.

“I’m horny, too,” Robyn said, “bu’ you don’ see me booty callin’ my boyfriend to ge’ me, and he’s got really good dick, too!”

“¡Guácala (Gross)!” Alma interjected. “No sé por qué salgo contigo (I don’t know why I hang out with you).”

“Because we’re fun!” Robyn said. “Don’ lie, you loved it when I got our bride-to-be to rap “Shoop” with me.” Javier only knew that Salt-N-Pepa song because he’d heard his bride-to-be rap it on many occasions—she was really good, to be honest.

“You are fun, bu’ who wan’s to hear about their brother and cousin’s sex lives?”

“Sorry, Alma,” Robyn and Cielito said again.

“You all can still have fun withou’ me!” his wif-fiancée told them.

“A bachelorette party withou’ a bachelorette?” Robyn asked.

“I think that jus’ makes it a girls' night out—yeah, you can have a girls' night out! Fuck, where’s Javi? Did I tell you guys he’s comin’ to ge’ me? Wait, my phone! Javi, are you still there?”

“Yes, baby, I’m still here.”

“Where are you?”

“Maybe ten minutes away.”

“Ugh, okay.” She whispered the next bit loudly, “Robyn’s mad at me.”

“Damn straigh,’ I’m mad at you!” Robyn said. “It’s your bachelorette party, and you’re abandonin’ us for a man!”

“But he’s like a really grea’ man, and wonderful, and han’some, and the bes’, and I love him so, so, so, sooo, mush and wanna have his babies. So, I’m not abandonin’ you for ‘a man,’ I’m abandonin’ you for the greates’ man alive, and you can’ be mad at me for tha’.”

What she said had Javier grinning.

“Y’all are too disgustingly in love, but wha’ever, nex’ girls' night, no fuckin’ tequila.”

She forgot he was on the phone with her again and listened to their drunken discussion about what they should do for a girls' night, going off topic a few times. Her friends stayed with her until he arrived.

He pulled into the parking lot and stopped at the back of the building where he saw the group of women and some other bar patrons hanging out by the door, the area lit by two lights on the building.

“Cielito?” he said, hoping it’d get her attention. “Are you still there?”

“Oh my god, Javi!” Came her exclamation. “Where are you?!”

The truck was put into park, and he kept it idling as he got out.

“To your left.”

Her head turned to the right, making him snort with a smile on his lips.

“Your other left, mi amor,” he said. He’d walked around to open the passenger door, and her gaze finally landed on him under the orangeish glow of a towering street light.

“He’s here!” she squealed, and he ended the call, putting his phone back on his belt. He watched her shove her own in her purse before she hugged all of her friends goodbye.

Javier had seen the dress she was going to wear tonight; he just hadn’t seen her wearing it. When she turned his way and he got a good look at her, his mouth fell open, and he thought his heart would beat out of his chest like a cartoon character in love.

The champagne-colored mini dress was long-sleeved and covered in sequins, the neckline plunging to accentuate her breasts, the skirt ending just a little above her knees, a white sash across her chest reading in fancy black script, ‘Bride-to-Be,’ and she looked fucking stunning.

His awe ended when he suddenly had to act fast and catch the woman he loved who flung herself into his arms—he grunted at her body slamming into him, her lips crashing into his, wrapping his arms around her back to feel her skin from the deep V down her back.

The smell of booze hit him almost as hard as she did, along with the undertones of her perfume, Javier tensing when she grabbed his ass. With how she was hitching her leg up on his waist, he thought she was trying to climb him like a goddamn tree.

“Mmm… hi, baby,” his muffled voice said.

His hand went to her face, his thumb under her chin, and fingers splayed along her cheek as he gently pushed to separate her mouth from his. Her eyelids were closed, and her lips pursed.

“Hi, baby,” he said again. “Did you miss me?”

She smiled. “Yesss.” Her glassy, bloodshot eyes blinked open, and it was obvious she was utterly blitzed; there was no way in hell she could pass a field sobriety test. “God, you’re sooo gorgeous—look at your cute nose—” She poked the tip of it. “—boop. Your eyes are sooo pretty, and you smell sooo good—you always smell so fucking good. I love you so, sooo much.” She pecked him on the lips. “I’m sooo happy you’re here.”

She looked so cute and it had him smiling.

“Yeah?” He shrugged off his jacket and put it over her shoulders.

“Mmm, tha’s nice and warm. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Cielito. You ready to go?”

“Oh my god, yesss!”

“Okay, let’s get you into the truck, hermosa (beautiful).”

He helped her get up into the cab, closing the door behind her. Seconds later, he was in the driver’s seat, with her pressed right against him.

“I’m sooo happy we’re going home,” she said, hugging his arm closest to her.

“I’m happy we’re going home, too, Cielito—let’s get you buckled.”

He leaned over her to grab the seatbelt, getting it over her lap and buckling it in, ensuring it wasn’t loose, before getting his own belt on.

The short drive to their apartment had her in his space, kissing his cheek and neck while telling him how much she loved him, and it was so sweet that warmth spread through his body.

When they arrived, Javier had to keep her steady as they walked with an arm around her waist, making her lean into him. Once inside, he propped her against the front door to remove his coat from her shoulders and her sash, hanging them with the other jackets on the wall. Then, he pulled her purse from her arm, putting it on the console table, and he helped her remove the flats on her feet, kicking off his shoes afterward.

Her eyes were closed most of the time while she mumbled, a lot of it he didn’t understand, but what he did make out was her confessing her love for him and waxing poetic about how attractive she found him—it was adorable.

He wanted to get her sober, so he helped steady her as they made their way to the kitchen, moving past the counters and appliances to the small connected dining room and having her sit in a kitchen chair, pushing her close to the table in order to keep her from falling onto the floor.

Javier’s palm rubbed circles into her back. “Cielito?”

Her head tilted up in his direction, looking at him with red, glossy eyes and a big, dreamy smile.

“You’re pretty.” Her speech wasn’t slurring as much. “And you’re marrying me. I can’t believe you’re marrying me. We should blow this popsicle stand and go back to our place to have premarital sex—gotta do as much of that as we can before we’re married and our sexy times become legal.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “What do you mean by the sex becoming legal?” he asked.

“You know, sex is only legal to God when the couple is married—we won’t be living in sin anymore; gosh, that’s gonna make your dad sooo happy. I love your dad. He’s the fucking best. Let's make him your mom’s flan next weekend ‘cause that dude deserves it—man, I’m hungry.”

“We’ll make him flan, baby.” His hand cupped her cheek. “Can I make you some buttered toast?” That seemed like a safe choice and shouldn’t make her sick.

Her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, toast sounds fucking amazing!”

He smiled. “Okay, mi amor. I’ll make you some.”

Javier bent to kiss the top of her head before padding into the kitchen.

Making her two slices of toast and having her eat them, along with drinking a large glass of water, didn’t take too long—there were a few times he had to remind her about the bread because she was so chatty; at one point she went on an entertaining tangent about how those mythical half horse, half human creatures, centaurs, would wear pants, and even made him tear off a page from the notepad on the fridge, so she could draw him visuals on why the correct answer was the pants would go on the back part of their horse body.

Jesus Christ, he was so fucking in love with her.

He felt better after she finished her snack and drink with how her speech sounded clearer and that she didn’t seem as fucked up as when she called him from the bar—she was definitely still a little drunk since she couldn’t walk without stumbling, and her eyes were having a hard time staying open.

His next priority was making her comfortable. He led her to the bedroom, where he carefully replaced her dress and bra with his olive green t-shirt, leaving her in the shirt and her cute cotton panties she already had on that were covered in red hearts.

He took her to the bathroom, where he sat her up on the countertop and stood between her legs to keep her in place.

“Cielito,” he said, grabbing a wet wipe, “I’m gonna clean off your makeup, okay?”

There was a big smile on her face, her eyelids shut. “Mmmkay, you’re sooo nice.”

He pressed it to her face to begin removing her makeup. When that was done, he used a warm washcloth to dampen the skin he’d cleaned and grabbed her face wash off the counter, which was amongst her other skincare products. He used his fingertips to apply it to her skin, starting with her cheeks, then down her jaw to her chin, and back up to spread it along her nose before doing her forehead last.

He used the wet cloth to wipe away the cleanser when she spoke.

“Did you just wash my face?” she asked.

“Yeah?” He’d finished, and her skin was finally completely clean and looking dewy. Her face wash was put away, and his eyes squinted as he read the labels of the other products until he found what he needed and picked it up. He’d seen her do her skincare routine more times than he could count and had the basics down; the serums and special creams intimidated him, though.

His fingers were massaging the moisturizer into her skin along the same path they’d taken with the cleanser.

“Is that moisturizer?”

“Yes.”

Her breath stuttered, her mouth turning into a frown, and he matched her look.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, leaning toward the sink when he was done to wash his hands. He then dried them with the towel on his other side hanging on the wall.

Her bottom lip was trembling, and it worried him.

“You love me,” she whispered.

“I do,” he said and kissed her forehead. “I love you so fucking much.” His hands rubbed over her bare thighs.

She opened her eyes, and they were welling up, glistening under the lights above.

“You love me,” she repeated.

He held her cheeks. “Yes, sweetheart, I love you—I love you more than anything.”

Her voice was so small. “Why doesn’t my family love me?” With tears rolling down her face, her question shattered his heart into a million pieces.

“Oh, Cielito, baby.” His tone was soft, and he wrapped her up in his arms, hugging her tight, her face going into the crook of his neck. “They’re assholes and they don’t deserve you.”

Her body started shaking with sobs, and it had his chest squeezing tight, his eyes getting watery, wishing with every cell of his being to make her feel better.

She was the strongest and bravest woman he knew, who didn’t like to show any sign of weakness, and ever since her parents’ unexpected and unwanted visit earlier in the week, she had acted like she was fine in an attempt to hide her sadness.

The day after he was offered a large sum of money to leave her, they’d gone over to his father’s to use the fax machine in his office—the office was in its own little building across the driveway from his house—and she faxed Jerry, her parents’ lawyer, a typed letter that conveyed her disappointment in how they acted and also told them to never contact her again which she signed at the bottom. She changed her home and cell phone numbers and discussed with him possibly moving to the ranch earlier than they originally planned.

He’d tried to talk to her about everything, but she’d put on this smile he knew wasn’t genuine by the lack of its usual luster, and she was unable to keep the sorrow from showing in her eyes—it killed him how her usual happy glow had dimmed from her hurt. She’d reassure him she was okay, reminding him that her family made their choice and had to live with the consequences of it, but she also had to live with the consequences of their actions and deal with the emotions of never seeing or speaking to her loved ones again. He was expecting the façade to break at some point, and it took inebriation to cause her carefully crafted walls to finally crumble.

To add salt to their wounds, Javier was served at work the following day after the fax was sent, with a lawsuit for breach of contract from her mom and dad.

What were they trying to sue him for? Going against his word to not tell their daughter about their visit and proposition, thus breaching a verbal contract that was made. He’d laughed as he called Chucho’s attorney because they never fucking agreed with his terms and, instead, had countered with the damn prenup. They didn’t have a fucking case, and it was dropped by the next day.

Javier was so unbelievably pissed off at these people for what they’d done to the woman he loved that he knew there was no way in hell he’d ever be able to have a civil conversation with them again. It was possible it’d turn into a physical altercation, and he’d end up in jail, which he honestly thought would be worth it if he got the chance to punch her dad in his stupid fucking face.

“They’re my family,” she choked out, “they’re supposed to love me—why don’t they love me? Why am I so unlovable?”

“Mi amor, you’re not unlovable—I love you, Pop loves you, my tías (aunts), tíos (uncles), and primos (cousins) love you, Robyn loves you, mi mamá loves you—you’re loved. We love you, baby. Those people you’re related to are shitty and so blinded by their obsession with money and how they’re perceived that they wouldn’t know what unconditional love was if it bit them in the ass. They’re horrible fucking people, and you don’t need them, Cielito. You don’t.”

“But they’re my family!” she cried. Her tears were soaking through his shirt. “It doesn’t feel right that they aren’t going to be at our wedding, and it hurts so fucking much that they don’t support us!”

He kissed her hair, rubbing circles on her back with his palm. “I know, cariño (sweetheart). I know you’re hurt and that it’s fucked they won’t be there.” It was hard for him to swallow around the lump that’d formed, his eyes burning, and he squeezed them shut. “I’m sorry you fell in love with me and that I’m not good enough for them or good enough for you. I’m sorry for causing all this shit and the pain you’re feeling. I’m sorry, baby—it’s all my fault,” his voice cracked on the last word. He had to clear his throat. “But I’d do it all again because you deserve to be loved—you deserve all the fucking love in the world. Your family is supposed to love you because they’re your family, and our kids will love you no matter what because you’re their amazing mom, but me? I’m choosing to love you with every fucking thing I have because you’re incredible and so lovable.” His cheeks were wet from his own tears. “I love you, Cielito—I promise I’ll love you enough to make up for them. I promise I’ll love you so much you’ll get sick of me. I love you, Cielito. You’re my everything, and I hope my love’s enough…”

She sniffled loudly, her head rising, and he opened his eyes to meet her reddened ones, her face streaked with wetness.

Her voice was hoarse. “It’s not your fault,” she said, her hands in the small space between their bodies, clutching his button-up shirt. “You have nothing to be sorry about, and you’re enough—you’ve always been enough. It just hurts how hateful the people who are supposed to want me to be happy are toward what makes me happy.” More tears fell down her cheeks. “You’re what makes me happy, and they don’t accept you.” Her lower lip was wobbling. “I’m mad and sad, and I don’t want them to be a part of our lives, but it feels… it feels like they’ve died,” she said quietly. “It feels weird grieving over people who are still breathing, who are just a phone call or a plane ride away. I’m grieving them like they’re dead—are they dead to me? Why am I grieving what little relationship we had, yet also grieving the relationship we could’ve had? One where they welcomed you with open arms, and even if it wasn’t your favorite thing to do, we visited them once a year—you’d joke around with my brother, we’d fawn over his many children, and my parents would actually be impressed with what you did in Colombia and brag to their friends about their son-in-law who helped take down Pablo fucking Escobar and did take out the Cali cartel. Why am I so fucking sad about living people and a fantasy?”

He stroked his fingers along her cheek to cup it. “I don’t remember much from my mother’s funeral ‘cause my head was pretty fucked up, but there was something the Priest said that stuck with me. ‘Grief is just all the love you had for someone that suddenly has nowhere to go.’ So, it collects inside you, makes your chest ache, and leaks from your eyes—it fills all the places that were left empty by their loss. I’ll always feel my mom here—” He put a hand over his heart. “—but over time, a lot of my grief slowly disappeared, and you’ve made it easier to live with what’s left.” He took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is I don’t think what you’re feeling is weird. They might be alive, but you lost the only family you’ve ever known and are grieving the death of your relationship with them—now there’s all that love you still have for them that has no place to go, so it’s filling the emptiness they left behind, and it’s gonna take some time to heal.” He held her face in both of his hands. “It’s okay that you're sad, Cielito, but you don’t need to hide it from me or pretend that you’re okay because I know you’re not, and I don’t want you going through this alone. I’ll be your shoulder to cry on; I’ll hold you or talk things out with you. I’ll do whatever you need me to do to help ease your pain. Just please don’t shut me out.”

She was frowning, her eyes darting away as she spoke softly, “I knew if you saw I was upset, it’d make you sad, and I didn’t wanna make you sad so close to our wedding—this should be a happy time for us, but all I wanna do is lay in the dark and cry.”

“Baby?” His finger went under her chin to make her look at him, their gazes meeting. “Don’t worry about my feelings, and let me be there for you—I’d rather be sad with you than have you suffer alone in silence. Now, let me get you to bed so I can hold you while you cry.”

Her smile was small, and her eyes were glossy with tears. “I’d like that.” Suddenly, she looked panicked, her hand going to her mouth. “Move,” said her muffled voice. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Shit.” He immediately helped her off the counter, for her to stumble the handful of steps and drop to her knees in front of the toilet, where she did, in fact, get sick.

It took a lot to gross out Javier—he grew up on a ranch, where he witnessed animal births and deaths regularly. Combine that with the horrible things he’d seen in Colombia, someone throwing up was a welcome change.

“Oh, mi probecita (my poor thing),” he said, spinning around to the wall opposite the bathroom vanity to get a small rag from the linen closet before moving back to the sink to wet it with cold water. “Déjame cuidarte, Cielito (Let me take care of you, Cielito). Sé que no te gusta enfermarte (I know you don’t like getting sick).”

She’d told him that when she had a little too much fun at a party playing drinking games with his primos (cousins) and found herself on his old bathroom floor, hugging porcelain with Javier there for support—they’d ended up being too drunk to drive home and spent the night in his childhood bed.

He wrung out the washcloth and walked over to her, a grunt leaving him and knees popping as he lowered himself to kneel next to her. He pressed the cloth to the back of her neck with one hand while the other rubbed comforting circles over her spine.

His tone was warm and gentle. “Get it all out, baby. I know it’s awful, and you hate it, but it’ll make you feel better.”

It didn’t take long for her stomach to empty and her heaving to stop. Her breaths were coming out ragged, and Javier took care of flushing the toilet. He scooted back and pulled her with him, the tiled floor cool underneath them, until he had room to stretch out his legs in front of him while she sat between them with her spine to his chest, her eyes closed.

He held the wet cloth to her forehead, the fingers of his free hand laced with hers, and kissed her hair.

“How are you feeling?” he whispered.

“I’m never drinking again,” she mumbled.

He huffed amusedly and smiled, placing a kiss behind her ear.

“Liar,” he said. “You said that last time you drank too much.”

“I mean it this time.”

“Uh-huh, right.”

“I do—this is embarrassing.”

“I think it’s good practice.”

He knew the look on her face was one of confusion without seeing it. “Practice for what?”

“If you get morning sickness.” He kissed the side of her neck.

“Oh, god,” she whined. “Why can’t we be seahorses?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Seahorses?”

“Yeah, male seahorses do the whole pregnancy and birth thing—that’s the fucking dream.”

He thought about it for a second, taking into account how badly he wanted kids, and it was really fucking weird to say this out loud, “If I could… I’d, uh, do that for us…”

He could hear her smiling. “You’d have my babies?”

Javier inhaled deeply and slowly let it out. “...yes.”

“I know the scenario is weirding you out, and it’s sweet of you to say you would, but I’m not sure if, given the opportunity, you’d actually do it—which is fine. Pregnancy and childbirth are scary, and it just proves that mothers are more badass than fathers.”

“You’re definitely more badass than me.”

“I appreciate you saying that, man who literally hunted bad guys for a living and had a bounty on his head.”

“You are, and since you’re taking the brunt of everything for us to have a kid, I promise I’ll do whatever possible, so all you’ll have to worry about is growing our baby and working.” She’d made it clear that when she got pregnant, she was still going to work until either the baby was born or the Doctor told her to stop.

“You know, I think we’re gonna crush being married and becoming parents.”

He smiled. “We are because we’re equals, even if you’re more badass than me.”

“We are equals, and thank you for acknowledging my badassery, man who helped eliminate two of the biggest cartels in the world.”

He snorted. “Smartass. How are you feeling?”

“A little drunk, sad, and I’ve got the spins.”

“Do you still feel sick?”

“Not really—just dizzy.”

“Do you want me to help you brush your teeth and then get you comfortable in bed?”

“That actually sounds wonderful because my mouth feels icky, and I’d like to cuddle.”

“Okay, mi amor.”

He started to move, but she stopped him with her hand on his arm as she said, “Javi?”

“Yes, Cielito?”

“You’re worth it.”

“Worth what…?”

“The pain and sadness over my family. You bring me so much love and happiness that I know it’ll outshine the hurt in no time, and this low I’m in is only temporary. You’re worth it and more than enough—your love is all I need. I love you.”

His throat was feeling tight, and he spoke softly. “I love you, too.” His arms went around her middle, and he didn’t squeeze as he hugged her to not hurt her stomach. He still wanted to hold her, his chin resting on her shoulder and their heads touching. “I’m happy I’m worth it to you, and just know that I’m yours; I’m here for you—good, bad, it doesn’t fucking matter because I’m not going anywhere, and we’ll get through anything together.” His lips pressed to her hair. “I tell you I love you a lot, but I hope you understand that I love you more than words can accurately describe—I love you, Cielito. I love you, and I promise I’ll be yours forever.”

Her hand came up behind her to press her fingers into his hair. “Yeah, we’re gonna crush being husband and wife.”

She made him smile. “Less than seventy-two hours, Mrs. Peña.”

“And I can’t fucking wait, Mr. Peña.”

The town of Laredo was buzzing with the news Javier Peña was getting married—yes, the same Javier Peña who left his first bride at the altar, had tumbled in the hay with many of the girls he’d gone to school with, and was apparently some kind of lothario in South America.

It really bothered you how fucking interested and judgmental the townspeople were of his sex life.

Your wedding with him was all anyone could talk about, and the bar was even taking bets on whether or not he’d disappear again, which was fucked up, but Chucho gladly put five hundred dollars on his son marrying you because he knew it was easy money. There was so much interest in how things would turn out that people you either barely knew or had never met approached you both like they were old friends of Javi’s to try and get invites—they were politely rejected with the excuse there wasn’t enough room.

According to Robyn, your wedding had the same amount of hype as your fiancé’s first, and though Javi hated that, you really hoped it annoyed the fuck out of his ex.

When you discussed how you wanted to tie the knot, your husband-to-be agreed the ceremony should be attended by a select few, and afterward, there’d be a big party to celebrate with the rest of your friends and family. Once the date was decided, the planning started immediately since there was so little time.

Chucho and his sisters would make a killing as wedding planners. They sat you and Javi down to get an idea of what you wanted the party to be like, a color scheme, and a budget, then told you guys not to worry and that they’d take care of everything. All the two of you had to do was approve things, hand over cash, and get your rings, which wasn’t too much of a hassle since you wanted simple matching gold bands.

Something you loved about the family you were marrying into was how they were all there for each other and so tight-knit—your fiancé's dad and tías managed to get all that was needed in less than a month with the help of his primos, and by calling in favors from their friends.

Javier and you didn't want anything extravagant. The party would occur in Chucho's backyard, under a giant white pole tent. Tables, chairs, and a dance floor had to be rented, and it was highway robbery how much the local place wanted to charge—Lorraine’s family frequently used them for their events, and you wouldn’t put it past her father to be the cause of such an exorbitant price just to spite Javi for wasting the absurd amount of money he spent on Lorraine’s first wedding. Luckily, on such short notice, tía Lupita’s oldest son, Matías, had a friend who knew a guy an hour away in Zapata who ran a party rental store and could get them everything at a reasonable price.

The tías, along with their daughters/daughters in law were handling food; Anna, who was friends with Javi in high school, had a bakery and was taking care of making the cake and Mexican wedding cookies that were tiny, buttery, ball-shaped, melt-in-your-mouth, powdered sugar-covered cookies, dotted with crushed nuts like pecans, walnuts, and almonds, and traditionally served at weddings and Christmas; tío Ángel and tía María’s husband were in charge of getting alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages, and Ángel’s youngest son Diego was going to DJ, as it was his side hustle and he’d been paid to do gigs at other parties in town and in a couple of big city clubs.

An hour and a half before you were to be wed, practically every family member of Javi's who lived locally was at the ranch. Many had been there all day setting up the backyard or in the kitchen making food, and every time you tried to help cook, you were shooed away, but your presence was wanted outside to instruct those putting things together on how to arrange and decorate everything inside and out of the tent, and that ended up being what you did until it was time to start getting ready.

Most of Javier’s family and you were there, yet your groom was nowhere to be found and hadn’t set foot on the property in a good sixteen hours.

In that time, you hadn’t seen or talked to him either, and your last interaction was the previous night when he dropped you off at his dad’s—that’s where you spent the night, and thank goodness, Chucho had already gone to sleep when Javi helped you get settled in his old room, because he had a hard time leaving and it led to him fucking you slow and passionately in his ridiculously squeaky bed one last time.

Why were you staying at the ranch? The two of you, encouraged by Javi’s dad, made the decision not to see each other on the day of your nuptials. Since your almost father-in-law would be driving you to where the ceremony was taking place, it made sense for you to sleepover and get ready at his house—the moment Javi left you there in his room that smelled like him, under his sheets that smelled like him, in one of his white t-shirts that smelled like him, you realized it was going to be really difficult and a test of your strength to be away from him for so long, and you both knew, if you spoke even a single word over the phone, the resolve between you would shatter, and he’d be back at Chucho’s for you in record time.

That led to the lack of communication and him getting ready alone at your shared apartment.

You were sitting in a kitchen chair you’d brought into Javi’s old bathroom, wearing a white satin robe cinched tight over your clean body, fresh from the shower and the special undergarments you'd chosen for the big day. Robyn was in front of you in her matching black robe as she did your makeup, something she offered to do and you happily accepted due to how good she was at it. She'd already smoothed out your complexion and hid any imperfections; currently, she was working on your eye shadow.

"Between you and Javi," she said, her attention focused on what she was doing, "your kids are gonna have some pretty eyes."

You smiled. "I think his eyes are prettier, and just imagine tiny versions of them; they'll give me the sad puppy dog eyes, and I'll have no choice but to give them whatever they want."

She giggled. "Your babies will be spoiled."

"I have already accepted that fact—hopefully, they'll take after their dad and be spoiled, but sweet, caring, and well-behaved, and not some little assholes." You frowned. "My brother was a spoiled asshole."

She paused what she was doing to meet your eyes. "Hey, now, we agreed not to think or speak about those people today. We aren't lettin' them sour the best day of your life so far."

"I know," you sighed.

It was the right choice to sever your ties with your family, and you had no regrets; that didn't mean it wasn't hard or hurt any less. Especially today, with it being your wedding day—your mom wasn’t there to help you get ready, nor your dad for a father-daughter dance. They should’ve been there supporting you on the happiest day of your life. Instead, they destroyed whatever relationship you had with them, and it hurt a lot. Even suspecting for years that they had no love for you didn't ease much of the pain of discovering it was true. You felt stupid for caring about these people when they cared so little for you, and you weren't sure why you hadn't cut them out sooner. Was it naively thinking they'd change? Or the ingrained notion that even if you didn't like them, you had to suck it up because they were your family?

It didn't matter now because what they'd done and how they treated the man you loved was unforgivable. There was no chance in hell you’d ever trust them again, and you didn’t want the new life you were starting with Javi to be tainted by their toxicity.

Robyn's cell phone was sitting on the bathroom counter next to your open makeup bag, and it started ringing—nobody wanted to bother you while you got ready, so Robyn was made the point of contact to either deal with what was going on or talk it out with you.

She straightened and turned around to pick it up.

"Why's he callin’?" she mumbled, hitting the accept button and putting the phone to her ear. "What's shakin' bacon? Robyn speakin,’" she answered. "...yes," she told them, "I'm doin' her makeup right now... No... No, you can't... Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? No one is supposed to see her before the wedding... You're a fuckin' liar, and Chucho wouldn’t let you in here anyway... You're ridiculous," she said in exasperation. "But if you swear, on your mama's grave, you won't peek, then I'll allow it... Okay, fine. Give us a sec, then quietly knock—I don't want anyone knowin' you’re here... bye."

She set the phone down and the eyeshadow palette, spinning on her heel to face you and grab your hand.

"Was that who I think it was?" you asked.

She was smiling. "If you’re thinkin’ someone annoyin’ who could get me in more trouble than an armadillo on the highway with your father-in-law, yes—come with me."

Robyn tugged you up to stand and led you into the bedroom, where you both came to a stop.

There were two large windows on the opposite wall beside each side of the bed, sitting half a foot above the floor with closed blinds and red curtains over them. A soft knocking sounded on the one in front of you. You followed Robyn and watched her push apart the curtains, pulling on the string to raise the blinds. Her body blocked your view as she unlocked the window and shoved it up.

"How many fingers am I holdin' up?" she asked the person outside.

"I don't know," Javi answered. "I can't see shit with this thing on."

The sound of his voice had your heart beating faster.

"Good," Robyn said, moving out of your way to look at you.

With the window's position, you could only see your fiancé from the thighs up, wearing black tuxedo pants and a white long-sleeved dress shirt tucked into them. Your sleep mask covered his eyes, and there was a loose regular tie and bow tie around his neck that matched the color of his slacks, the ends of each resting over both sides of his chest. Aside from his perfectly trimmed mustache, his face was freshly shaved, and he looked unbelievably handsome as always.

"This annoyin' man—" Robyn pointed at him with her thumb. "—says it's an emergency—he needs you to tell him how you want his hair done and which tie you’d like."

It made you smile because his hair was already how you wanted it—you had given him a haircut a couple of days ago, so the sides looked nice and clean cut down, and he combed the longer top and bangs to swoop over to the other side of his head, holding it all in place with his favorite pomade, that kept his hair soft.

He also knew damn well which tie you’d chosen.

It had you feeling gooey that he couldn't wait any longer to see you.

You walked toward him, and Robyn made herself scarce by disappearing into the bathroom. At the window, you got down on your knees to make it easier to talk to him, Javier still standing above you with his height.

"An emergency, huh?" you asked, and he smiled. Taking his outstretched hand, you guided him closer.

“Are we alone?" he countered

His palms began mapping your body, sliding over your arms and shoulders and along your neck up to your head, where he avoided your face but carefully felt your ears and hair.

"Yep."

“You feel beautiful.”

Air huffed from your nose in amusement. “Well, you look handsome, even without being fully dressed.” You rubbed your hands up his thighs to rest them on his tiny hips. “Your hair looks perfect,” you continued. “Did you really forget which tie I wanted?”

He smirked. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “It was the only way I knew I could get Robyn to betray Pop’s orders and let me see you; well, talk to you.”

Your eyebrows creased. “Orders? What orders?”

“He might’ve made it sound like a suggestion, the whole us not seeing each other today, but Pop is super fucking superstitious like mi mamá was—he doesn’t think he is—believe me, he is, and it made him feel better we agreed to do it. So, he has everyone out here on strict orders to keep us apart, including Robyn. One of my tíos is sitting at the end of the kitchen table right now so he can watch the front and back door; another is on the living room couch to stay close to my room in case he’s gotta intercept me. You’re being guarded like a fucking high-security witness with a hit out on them. I had to park my truck down the road and have Seb hide me in the trunk of his Bronco to get here without anyone seeing.”

“That is insane.”

He sighed. “At least Pop kinda gave us a choice; my mom wouldn’t have. She wouldn’t have let us take any risk of getting bad luck because I saw you.”

“It’s sweet and extremely intense.”

“Yeah, and I can’t see you, so we’re good.”

You smiled. “Gotta love loopholes.”

He was smiling, too. “Yeah. I missed you so much. I just needed to touch you and talk to you.” He grabbed your hands off his waist, stroking his thumbs over the back of them. “I couldn’t sleep last night without you—even when I tried sleeping on your side.”

“Yeah, I didn’t get much sleep either, and I missed you, too. I’m happy you’re here so we can talk. I’ve got butterflies in my tummy, and I can’t tell if they’re nerves or excitement.”

“Maybe both?”

“Could be. Don’t know what I have to be nervous about.”

“I’m nervous about having to say my sappy bullshit in front of other people and have it recorded.”

“That’s actually a good point—if we leave now, we can make it to the courthouse before it closes and skip all of that.”

He huffed out a breath. “It’s too late for that, mi amor. Pop’s excited about being a part of the ceremony and getting to walk you to me.”

There wouldn’t be an aisle per se, just a small trail of rose petals leading you to where Javi would be standing in front of the tree. Chucho cried happy tears when you asked him to give you away.

When your soon-to-be father-in-law heard about your parents' impromptu visit, you’d never seen him so angry—his face had gone red, and he went off in Spanish about what terrible people they were. He was so mad he repeatedly tried to get you to give him their phone number so he could tell them himself how lowly he thought of them and that they were awful parents; he wanted them to know that their loss was his gain and you were his daughter now; you would finally be loved and cherished by a proud parent and that it was God’s will you came into his and his son’s lives. He also needed them to be aware that their pride and greed had turned them villainous, and he’d be praying that they someday realized the error of their ways and saw you for the blessing you were.

His anger toward those who wronged you was fueled by a protective father’s love for their child, and it made you incredibly emotional that after so many years without one, you had a parent who loved you unconditionally, wanted nothing more than your happiness, and would selflessly fight battles for you.

Chucho was the best dad you’d ever had, and you were happy that in less than two hours, you’d share a last name with him, too.

“Ugh, you’re right,” you said, “Pop deserves his moment. Hey, babe?”

“Yes, mi amor?”

“When you’re saying your sappy bullshit, focus on me. It'll just be the two of us in that moment, no one else, and believe me when I say all of my tears will be happy.”

His smile was brighter than the sun. He lifted your hand to kiss each of your knuckles, saying when he finished. “All of my tears will be happy, too, and you do the same thing—it’s just us, nobody else. Will you, uh, tie my bow tie?”

His question had you smiling. “I’d love to.”

He pulled off the regular tie and stuffed it into his pocket, bending his knees and crouching with a grunt to put his neck within reach. You took the ends of the bow tie, your attention focused on what you were doing.

"This is why you had me learn how to tie a bow tie, huh?" You started going through the steps—ensuring one end was longer than the other, then crossing it over the shorter end, bringing it up from under the loop and through it.

"Yes."

The bow tie had taken shape, and you were almost done.

"What was your plan if Robyn didn't let you see me?"

"I would've called you and gotten you to sneak away."

You finished tying it, and it wasn't perfect, but it didn't look too bad.

"And I would've with zero hesitation," you said, patting the bow tie. "You look so good." You leaned out to peck him on the cheek.

"Not as good as you."

You huffed out air. "Obviously, you can't see me because only half of my makeup is done—there's literally eyeshadow on only one side. I look like a mess."

Your hands were on his shoulders, and he rubbed his hands back and forth on your arms.

"A beautiful mess."

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm in love."

"I'm in love, too—madly, as a matter of fact. Oh, your dad took me out for breakfast this morning in the Mustang. He filled up the tank on our way home, and when we got back before everyone came over, he polished it, so I think it’s safe to assume you’re gonna get to drive it at some point in the next twenty-four hours—you can’t see, but I’m wagging my eyebrows.” You were.

His lips pouted, and his hands remained still. “Who drove to and from the diner?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I just wanna know.”

“But why does it matter?”

“You’re deflecting.”

“No, I’m just curious why you need to know who drove.”

His shoulders slumped. “I think I have my answer—how many times has he let you drive it now? Was that four or five?”

“Six. He let me drive with him in the passenger seat and Robyn in the back when we went wedding dress shopping.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you get weird like you are now that he lets me drive it—I can’t help that he thinks my cooking is Mustang-driving-worthy.”

“But you didn’t make him anything when you went wedding dress shopping…”

“No, but he was so touched I wanted him there to help me pick out a dress, he thought the special occasion warranted me getting to drive.”

“He didn’t let me drive the Mustang when we went to find a tux…” he grumbled.

“I’m sorry to break it to you, babe, but my wedding dress I bought and am going to save in case our future daughter wants to wear it one day is a little more special than your rented tux that has been worn many times before you by strangers. Now, stop being jealous, and get excited that you’re finally going to drive it, and unlike me, you’ll be allowed to drive it wherever the fuck you want, so there, you have one up on me.”

He seemed to be thinking long and hard about that last bit.

“That is better…”

“It sure is. Lean in and kiss me. It’ll make you less grumpy.”

“As much as I’m dying to kiss you right now, I, um, wanna wait, so it’s kinda special…”

“I respect that and understand what you mean. Javi?”

“Yes, Cielito?”

“I’m really fucking happy we’re getting married today, and I hope you like my dress.”

He smiled brightly. “I’m really fucking happy we’re getting married, too. I’m gonna love your dress.”

“I hope so.”

“Baby, you could show up in a paper bag, and I’d be blown away.”

“The bar is so low. Do you wanna feel what I’ll be wearing under the dress?”

The pink of his tongue quickly peeked between his lips, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

His timbre deepened. “Yes.”

You poked your head out the window to ensure no one was around, then loosened the belt, holding your robe shut. Taking his hand, you started at your shoulder beneath the silk, letting his fingertips graze over the bare skin, trailing them down to the lacy cup of your strapless bra. He couldn’t help himself and palmed your covered breast before you moved his hand once more to continue the journey downward, where he got to feel the smooth, stretchy material hugging your middle; you let his fingers find that the spandex covering the warmth between your thighs, too.

“Not very sexy,” you said. “Well, the bra is cute. The rest is so I don’t look lumpy in the dress or have panty lines.”

He was about to say something, but you spoke before he had a chance. “Yes, Javier, I know you love my natural body, including the bits I don’t, but I wanna look my very best, and that means Spanx.”

He was frowning. “Are they uncomfortable?”

It warmed your heart that he was concerned for your comfort.

"Not really," you answered truthfully. "They're like my bicycle shorts, so stretchy and breathable. Will it make you feel better to know I have sexier bottoms I'm gonna wear when I change into my comfier dress after food and our first dance?"

He didn't know what your wedding dress looked like, but he had seen the one you were changing into after it.

His free hand went to the window frame, feeling along it until he found where the opened window stopped and ducked his head under it. His face was close to yours, one of his palms still between your legs, the other carefully sliding up the edge of your open robe.

"I'd prefer you wear no panties," he rasped, pulling the silk off your shoulder. His mouth pressed to the newly revealed skin, the soft kiss of his lips and tickle of his mustache, paired with his hand on your pussy beginning to rub, had sparks dancing down your spine. "It's gonna make me hard," his words were muffled between kisses as he moved across your shoulder toward your neck, "seeing you in your wedding dress.” Your fingers went into the hair at the back of his head, his spare hand palming your breast. “I'm gonna lose my fucking mind hearing you say 'I do.'" He was kissing and nibbling at your throat now, the added friction of his palm at the crux of your thighs making it hard to think. "It's gonna drive me fucking crazy that you're my wife—my wife,” he repeated against your throat. “And I’ll be your husband—I already want you, but all I’ll be able to think about after we’re pronounced husband and wife is getting you alone, and if you’re not wearing panties, it’ll make it easier for me to lift up that pretty—“

“No, Javier!” Robyn interrupted, and you felt cold water mist against your bare skin, the spray bottle hissing near your ear. “Bad!”

“Fuck!” he yelped, his head narrowly missing the bottom of the raised window as he pushed back from you so fast you’d think he was burned. His expression had turned grumpy as he stood. “What the fuck was that for?”

“I promised your daddy I wouldn’t let you see her,” she said, looking mad. “But out of the kindness of my heart—” She pressed a hand to the left side of her chest. “—I went against my word to your father, and how do you repay me? By wastin’ time gettin’ fresh with your fiancée when I’m riskin’ your daddy bein’ madder than a box of frogs at me for not doin’ what I said I’d do—you’re bein’ real rude Javier Peña, exploitin’ my niceness and I’d appreciate you sayin’ your goodbyes, and bein’ on your way.”

His eyes were covered, but it was visible how his face shifted from grumpy to guilty.

“I’m sorry, Robyn,” he said.

“Apology accepted. Say goodbye, and then we gotta get back to work.”

“Okay,” he replied.

The other woman headed back to the en suite. Leaning forward, you grabbed his hand and pulled him to step toward you.

“Thank you for coming to see me or, you know, talk to me,” you told him.

He smiled, squeezing your palm. “There was zero chance of me waiting to talk to you until the wedding. I love you too much.”

“I’m happy you did, and I love you, too.”

He lifted your hand and kissed the back of it.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I know you will, and I’ll be there.”

Javi sighed. “I better go. Bye, Cielito,” he said and didn’t move.

“You’re gonna see me in a little bit—get going, babe.”

He sighed again. “Fine. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

This time, he quickly pecked the back of your hand and started quietly walking along the front of the house. You assumed he had taken off the sleep mask to sneak away.

You closed and locked the window, shutting the blinds and curtains, feeling happy that you'd be seeing him again soon.

It took some time to finish getting ready, as you wanted to look perfect. Robyn did a fantastic job on your makeup, and your hair turned out well. When you saw yourself all dolled up and wearing your dress, you almost couldn't believe it was your reflection staring back at you in the mirror.

The white, silky satin hugged your curves as it cascaded to the ground to pool around your feet, the fabric having some stretch to it so your movements weren’t hindered. The neckline dipped in a slight V, your upper back bare from under your armpits up, and thin straps went over your shoulders connecting the two sides.

With how the satin draped over your figure, perfectly fitting the contours of your body, then flared out below your knees, it had a Morticia Addams feel to it—change the color of it to black, add sleeves, and you’d find it in her closet.

Javi was right. You looked so amazing that he was absolutely going to get a boner when he saw you.

And wasn't that just the sweetest thing?

A man so in love with you he gets aroused even when you're fully clothed because he thinks you're that pretty. He was also the kind of guy who sometimes got too excited from a kiss, and you had to wait a little while in the car for him to calm down…

"What do you think?" Robyn asked beside you. She'd put on her dress—a lavender-colored, A-line, floor-length gown with ruffled short sleeves and a V-neckline that, as an added bonus, had pockets.

You met her eyes in the mirror. "That I've never looked more beautiful—if you ever wanted to get out of nursing, you'd be a fantastic makeup artist."

She smiled, her full lips painted in rose-pink lipstick. "Thank you, but I prefer doin' it as a hobby and bein' able to help my friends out."

"Well, thank you for making me look insanely pretty."

"All I did was enhance what was already there, girl—Javi's gonna lose it."

"I hope he does."

A knock sounded from the bedroom door, and without a word, your friend went to see who it was.

"Is it okay for Chucho to see you?" Robyn called from the other room.

"Yes!" you answered, and nerves started fluttering in your belly over what he'd think.

Within seconds, your father-in-law was standing in the doorway, where you faced him with a grin.

"Dios mío (My God)," he gasped, his hand going to his mouth, “eres tan hermosa (you’re so beautiful)!” His dark eyes behind his glasses started to shine.

He was wearing light grey slacks, a white long-sleeved dress shirt, and a tie in the same shade as Robyn’s dress resting against his chest from a perfect Windsor knot at his throat, his camera dangling from a strap around his neck; as usual, his long hair was pulled back in a low ponytail.

“Ese vestido es perfecto (That dress is perfect)!” he said. “Estoy tan feliz de que lo hayas elegido porque te ves increíble (I’m so happy you chose it because you look amazing). Javi se va a volver loco (Javi is going to go crazy)."

"You really think so?" you asked, looking down at your outfit.

"Oh, yes." He nodded. "He's not going to leave you alone. We'll have to get a crowbar to pry him away from you."

You giggled, looking at him. "Yeah, I have a feeling he's gonna be stuck to me all night."

"When isn't he?"

The question made you laugh. "Touché."

"I wasn't sure if you'd want to," the older man started, "but I went through mi amor's jewelry to see if there was anything I thought you might want to wear—it could be your something old—” You hadn’t figured out what to do for something old; your something new was the perfume Javi got you for Christmas that you saved for today so he’d have a scent memory. Something borrowed was Chucho’s land, where your ceremony and party would take place, and something blue was a garter from Robyn around your thigh under your dress. “—and I found this necklace,” he said.

That's when you realized he was holding a large, thin, black leather box in his other hand.

Chucho walked closer to you, holding it in a palm, while the other lifted the hinged top—the necklace was made up of many silver waves connected together, purple sapphires resting in each dip, that you counted seventeen in total. It was stunning, the metal and precious gemstones glimmering beneath the lighting.

"I gave this to mi Antonia on our twentieth anniversary," he told you. "We'd visit her family in Mexico two, three times a year, and always for Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). On one visit, she saw this necklace and fell in love with it—it's Taxco silver and known for its high quality; many pieces made with it are crafted by hand and marked, so you know it's real. She wouldn't let me buy it for her because she thought it was too expensive for something she’d hardly wear, but the way she looked at it, I had to get it for her anyway, so I did and surprised her with it on our anniversary; she yelled at me," he chuckled, smiling. "Then had me put it on her and covered my face in kisses." He sighed fondly. "I think if she were here today, this is what she would've chosen for you, too—if you don’t like it, we can go upstairs for you to pick something else out..."

"No, Pop," you said quickly, meeting his gaze. There was a lump in your throat at the thought he'd put into finding you this piece of jewelry. "It's perfect, and I'd love to wear it. Can you help me put it on, please?"

"Yes, Mija." He set the open box on the bathroom counter and picked up the necklace with the same care as you would a newborn. Turning so your back was to him, he had an end in each hand as his arm went over your head to get the silver and sapphires around the front of your neck, clasping it at the back. He stepped away, and you faced him again.

There was a smile on his face, and his eyes were soft. "Mi hija hermosa (My beautiful daughter).” The sentence had your breath hitching. “¿Ella es preciosa, no (She is gorgeous, right)?" he asked Robyn. She understood Spanish but had a hard time speaking it.

The other woman was beside him, grinning. "She sure is," she agreed. "A real stunner."

"I'm so happy this day has finally come." Tears were brimming on his eyelids, and he took off his glasses to wipe them away. "I just wish mi amor was here to see our son marry such a wonderful woman."

Your eyes were burning as you held back from crying. He'd put his eyeglasses back on, and you stepped forward to hug him, being careful of your makeup. His arms went around you, squeezing you back.

"I wish she was here, too," you said. "At least we've got you, the best dad in the whole world. I love you, Pop."

"I love you, too, Mija. Thank you for loving my son and making him the happiest I've ever seen. We're blessed to have you in our lives, and I can't tell you how much joy I feel that you've decided to take our last name; I think it suits you better."

"I think it suits me better, too."

“You’re gonna kill the grass if you keep walking back and forth like that,” the other man told him.

They were at the oak tree on the hill, and the sun was getting close to setting. Javier had his whole outfit on: a black tuxedo and bow tie, white shirt, and lavender pocket square—he’d borrowed a pair of his father’s golden cufflinks, and one of his mother’s violet roses was pinned to his lapel. He didn’t have a cigarette to calm his nerves, so he was pacing, but the comment had him stopping with a sigh.

"Are you wearing a hole in the ground 'cause you're being impatient?" Steve continued. "Or are you nervous?"

His gaze went to his best friend, who was standing in front of him holding a small, white, heart-shaped pillow adorned in lace that went around the edges—there were two golden rings, one bigger than the other, secured to the top of it by a satin ribbon tied into a bow. The older man was dressed in a charcoal-colored suit he regularly wore to work, with a new tie provided by Javier that matched his lavender pocket square. Nate was in a carrier on his back; the parents put the one-year-old in a onesie that made him look like he was wearing a tuxedo and some dark pants, the child happily chewing on a football-shaped teething toy.

His hands went to his hips as he frowned. “Both?” Javier answered. “I can’t wait to see her, and I’m nervous about saying shi-stuff—“ He quickly corrected himself with the children present. “—I usually save for when we’re alone.”

Steve was giving him a weird look. “My kids are here. This ‘stuff’ is appropriate for them to hear, right…? It’s not anything… lewd…?”

Javier’s eyes narrowed. “No, it’s not anything like that, you judgemental pri-prude.”

The blonde man’s free hand went up in a placating gesture. “Hey, you said you save it for when you’re alone, and y’all have stayed at our house—any time the two of you were alone, you… folded laundry.”

“Folded laundry…?”

“Javi,” Connie said to get his attention, and he looked over to where she was fussing with the purple bow in Olivia’s hair. “You know when there’s a big load of laundry that requires two adults to fold, and they have to lock the bedroom door so there aren’t any distractions.”

Oh, ‘folding laundry’ was their code word for sex—that was smart.

“Mom and Dad have been folding a lot of laundry together lately,” Olivia added with a quizzical expression. “I didn’t know it was so hard to do alone—the baskets don’t seem that big.”

Javier smiled, his head turning from one parent to the other, seeing they were avoiding his eyes and blushing—good for them, fucking regularly.

“It’s more satisfying to do laundry with someone, so it gets done quicker,” he said.

“Doesn’t seem to get done quicker,” she replied.

Steve cleared his throat before he spoke. “Anyways, enough about laundry—what are you planning to say that’s got you nervous, Jav?”

He stopped smiling and scratched his mustache. “Uh, like, lovey-dovey, romantic crap…”

His best friend’s smile grew into a shit-eating grin. “What, like, super cheesy stuff? Are you gonna read the poetry you wrote about her eyes in your diary or something?”

Javier ground his teeth.

"Leave him alone, Steve," Connie said. "In our wedding video, before I walked down the aisle, you were clearly figuring out where all of the nearest exits were in the church. It’s refreshing and sweet that Javi’s gonna be vulnerable in front of everyone for the woman he loves.”

"I was checking where the exits were in case of a fire!" Steve rebuked. "All those candles they lit made me nervous."

"If that's what you tell yourself." She didn’t sound convinced.

“I was! Why did we need to be here forty-five minutes early?” he asked, trying to change the subject. “I was really enjoying the food your aunties were feeding us back at the house.”

There wasn’t a chance for Javier to respond; the answer to the question was he wanted to show how eager he was to marry the woman he actually loved and avoid any chance of being late—it also was a ‘fuck you’ to the people betting against him at the bar.

"Tío, tío!" The three-year-old Stevie shouted, running up to him; he was holding a Ninja Turtle action figure he'd been playing with in the grass.

Javier smiled, his attention moving to the child, crouching to be at his level. "Yes, mi principito (my little prince)?"

"We match!" His tiny finger pointed at his little light purple bow tie over his white dress shirt. The kid refused to wear a regular tie like his dad, and the only way they got him to agree to the clip-on bow tie was by telling him Javier had one, too.

His friends weren't by any means struggling with money, but Javier and his wif-fiancée, sent them a check to pay for their trip to Texas, which included flights, lodging, a rental car, and clothes for the wedding since they wanted those at the ceremony to match—Olivia got a new dress and so did her mom in the shade of lavender everyone else was wearing.

The family had gotten into town the day before. Cielito and Javier had shown them around town and taken them out to the ranch where Chucho and Connie finally got to meet in person—there was a lot of hugging—and that evening, they all, including his father, went out to dinner. Today, he’d spent more time with his friends before they all needed to get ready, then they followed him out to the ranch to distract Chucho while Javier covertly went to see, or, well, talk to his bride-to-be—the sleep mask was Connie’s idea, and she thought them sneakily meeting without anyone knowing was incredibly romantic.

"We do, bud,” he said. “You look so cool." He gently patted the child's arm.

Stevie was grinning. "I'm gonna walk from Mommy to Daddy and give him the rings?"

The hill they were on wasn’t too steep; Olivia was fine with walking up it from the bottom—she was excited to do it. For her younger brother, it was too much for him, so Connie was going to stand with Stevie a little before the land evened out at the top to signal when it was time for him to walk to his father.

"Yes," he nodded. "You'll walk while holding the pillow with the rings and hand it to your dad."

"It's a special job?"

"It's very special."

"Sissy's gonna throw flowers?"

"Yes, flower petals."

"It's a special job, too?"

"It is. They’re both important. Thank you for helping me, mi principito (my little prince).” He ruffled the child’s dirty blonde hair, making Stevie laugh.

Javier’s primos, Sebastián, and his tía Rebeca's daughter, Angelita, were taking care of the videography and photography, respectively. Seb had the video camera Javier bought, and Angelita had her own gear since she was a professional photographer—when you had fourteen cousins on just your father’s side, the odds were in your favor, one of them could either help with what you needed or knew somebody who could.

Photos were taken of Javier with the Murphys when they all first got there, and then his primos told everyone to pretend they weren’t there while they got candids and views of the scenery—his cousins arrived together in Sebastián’s SUV.

“Hey, Javi?” Seb said as he walked toward him.

"I gotta talk to him, buddy," Javier told Stevie. "I'll be back." He rose up with a groan, taking a few steps to reach his primo. "Yeah?" he answered.

When camcorders first came out, they were big and had to be rested on the operator’s shoulder, but the one Seb was using, he held in one of his hands with the side pulled open to see the little screen that previewed what was being recorded. The younger man hit a button on the video camera to pause what he’d been doing. “Do you want me to interview people?” Seb asked. “Ask how they like the wedding, if they have any advice, that kinda stuff.”

"Uh." He thought about it and Cielito would probably enjoy that. "Sure.”

"Perfecto (Perfect)." Seb nodded, hitting the button to record again.

Javier immediately regretted his decision when the camera was put in his face.

“It’s your big day, primo,” Seb said. “How are you feeling?”

“Um, excited and nervous.”

“The audience would like to hear how you met your bride.”

Javier smiled, heat rising on his cheeks. “At the grocery store, in the produce department—I guess it was obvious I was struggling to pick out a tomato, and she came to my rescue and showed me what to look for.”

“What was your first impression of her?”

He scratched at the back of his neck while looking away. “Uh, that she was sweet for helping me out, and beautiful. I could tell she had a good, kind heart and—” he lowered his voice so the children wouldn’t hear him. “—no fuckin’ clue who I was.” He chuckled. “I was hooked from that first conversation; an instant connection—there was something about her that told me she was going to be someone important to me, and I’d never felt that with anyone else.”

“What’d you do for your first date?”

His immediate thought was what happened after the bar, and his face felt hot. “We, uh, went out for drinks.”

“When did you know you loved her?”

He looked at the camera. “Honestly? Our third date. We were dancing in her kitchen to “¿Y cómo es él?”—”

“Mi mamá loves that song,” Seb said.

Javier huffed, smiling. “All my tías do. So, uh, we were dancing in her kitchen, and I realized she was the woman I was going to marry. I could see us having a future and was picturing what our Sunday mornings would look like—which, they’re exactly how I imagined—yeah, I knew I loved her on the third date and that we were going to get married one day.” He cleared his throat. “When my dad tells the story of the first time he saw my mother, he says his gut told him she was the one, and I always thought he was talking out of his—ass,” he whispered. “But it’s real and crazy to know deep down inside that you’ve found the person who completes you—feeling that confirmed she was it and that I truly did love her.”

“I think I know the feeling you’re talking about, and it’s great.”

“It is, and at your wedding, I’m gonna grill you on camera about it.”

“Hey, your wife is gonna eat this up, and you both want kids; think about your hijos (children) watching this one day and seeing how much you love their mom on your wedding day.”

The thought of sitting on the couch surrounded by his wife and kids, watching this wedding video, made him soften to the point he was putty—he wanted it to be a reality one day.

“What’s something you want to say to the bride before you get married?” Seb asked.

“I love you, and today is the best day of my entire fucking life—”

“—Eso es un dólar en la jarra, tío (That’s a dollar in the jar, uncle).” Olivia interrupted.

She meant the swear jar.

Javier sighed. “Lo siento, mi tesorito (I’m sorry, my little treasure). As I was saying, mi Cielito, I love you, and today is the best day of my entire freaking life. Happy isn’t enough to describe how I feel about us starting this new chapter of being husband and wife, and I’m looking forward to our future full of love, happiness, and hopefully, a lot of kids.” He smiled big. “I love you more than anything, and I will tell you that every day for the rest of our lives. Te amo, mi amor (I love you, my love).” To end the sentence, he blew a kiss at the camera lens.

In order to get to where Javi was, it involved Chucho driving you off-road, and the trip was bumpy; you sat in the passenger seat, and Robyn was in the backseat, and because your father-in-law was probably as nervous as you were about speaking in front of people, he held your hand the entire way.

The previous day, when you brought the Murphys out to the ranch, you’d taken them to where you were going to be wed to do a quick rehearsal on how things would go; Olivia was beyond ecstatic to be a flower girl, and Stevie didn’t really understand what was going on, except that his tío Javi had an important job for him.

Chucho pulled up and parked at the base of the hill with your door opposite it so you couldn’t get a closer look at everyone atop it. The butterflies in your belly were flapping around so hard you thought they might get out, while your mind was racing with what could go wrong like you falling—that was a reason you wore flats, but with how much of your dress touched the ground, there was a chance of it tripping you up. Or what if Javi’s handsomeness made your brain stop working, and you couldn’t speak a single coherent word? Something that has happened before. God, your heart was pounding, and you thought you might be having a minor panic attack due to your vision starting to tunnel—a small silver flask was held up in front of your face, the cap already twisted off.

“Take a drink, Mija,” Chucho’s soothing voice said. “It’ll calm you down.”

The man was a lifesaver.

You grabbed it, taking a big swig, and your face pinched as the whiskey burned down your throat—from the taste and smoothness, you recognized it as Javi’s favorite, which was top shelf, a little spendy, and probably came from the bottle your fiancé gifted his dad to thank him for his help in getting you to give the green light to start your family.

The effect the alcohol had on you was almost immediate, feeling all of the tense muscles in your body relax at the same time. Your father-in-law took the flask from you and knocked it back with a drink of his own.

“Robyn?” he asked when he finished, holding it up for her to reach.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she replied, accepting it from him to take a gulp.

“I couldn’t see Antonia before our wedding,” he said, his head turned your way, “or talk to her. We were kept apart at the church, and I was so nervous that I was shaking like a leaf.” He chuckled. “Not about getting married, but having to stand in front of so many people. It had to be minutes before I needed to go out with the priest that mi amor’s maid of honor, her best friend, found me to give me an opened bottle of tequila and a note written by Antonia that read, ‘Mi amor, un trago para el coraje (My love, a drink for courage). Yo también necesitaba uno (I needed one, too).’ And she left a lipstick stamp of her lips at the bottom, where she kissed the paper. I won’t deny it. I kissed where her lips had been and took two shots.”

The story made you smile.

Chucho had put on a jacket that matched his light grey pants, and you watched as he pulled something from the inside pocket. It was a small folded piece of paper that’d been ripped from the notepad he kept by the answering machine at his house to write down messages. He passed it over to you, and you unfolded it, finding Javi’s scratchy handwriting. You read what he wrote:

Cielito, You said you were never drinking again, but I think this can be an exception since you’re probably freaking the fuck out about embarrassing yourself like I am. I’m worried I’ll see how beautiful you are and forget how to talk, or my brain will stop working. Have a drink to calm your nerves, and know it will all be okay because we’re doing this together. I love you, Your husband

The note was touching, especially since he knew how you’d be feeling.

“When did he write this?” you asked Chucho, whose eyes you met, the man smiling.

“When he met up with Connie and all of them at the house before they came out here. I’d given him the flask when he got there as a gift, but he told me to keep it for you and asked if he could write you a message. It reminded me so much of his mother, I couldn’t say no.”

“Thanks, Pop. I needed it.”

“I know you did, Mija.” He patted your leg.

When Javier saw his father's truck in the distance, his heart rate increased, and by the time they parked at the bottom of the hill, his heart was beating so fast that he was sure it was going to beat right out of his chest.

With where he was standing at the tree and how the land sloped, he didn’t have a visual. Steve was beside him with Nate still in the carrier, Connie and Stevie, who was holding the pillow with the rings, had walked to the top of the hill and were looking down it, probably watching Olivia, who booked it to join the people at the truck. Seb was near Steve's wife and kid with the camcorder and a battery-powered boombox on the ground he was supposed to hit play on when Robyn gave him the signal.

Sweat was forming on his brow and on his palms. He turned to Steve.

"Do I look okay?" he asked his friend. "How's my hair? And the bow tie?" He lifted his chin.

The other man was wearing an amused smile. "Hair and bow tie look as fine as they did when you asked five minutes ago." He put a hand on Javier's shoulder and squeezed. "Relax, man—you look great. She's gonna love what she sees."

"I fucking hope so."

The sun had started its descent on the horizon and was the backdrop for the place they’d be standing; the sky where it met land was lit up in burning orange, bleeding into golden yellow where the sun was positioned, and high above that, it turned into a calming mauve.

The soft, melodic sound of a piano began, and it was Javier's cue to face the others. Christine McVie’s voice floated through the air as she sang the opening to the Fleetwood Mac song, "Songbird:"

“For you there'll be no more crying For you the Sun will be shining And I feel that when I'm with you It's alright, I know it's right.”

Seconds later, Robyn came into view, smiling while holding a small bouquet of sunflowers with a lavender ribbon wrapped around the stems. She shot her boyfriend, Sebastián, a wink as she passed him. She took her spot across from Javier beside where Cielito would be.

When he discussed with his wife-to-be the music for today, she only knew for sure what she wanted them to dance their first dance to, and since Javier didn’t object to it, she left what she’d walk down the aisle to up to him. He knew she’d hate the traditional “Bridal Chorus,” a couple of Elvis Presley songs came to mind, “No Sé Tú” by Luis Miguel perfectly described how Javier felt when they met and was a good option, “At Last” by Etta James would be appropriate, too, and “I Could Fall in Love” by Selena was in the running, because, Selena, but then he remembered this song on Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours—his favorite album, and for good reason with it having some of the band’s best classics like “The Chain,” “Dreams,” and “Go Your Own Way;” it was also seeping with palpable heartbreak of a messy breakup, except for the track, “Songbird.” It was a major tonal shift from all the angst with its pretty piano and Christine McVie crooning her love. What sold him on it were the lines:

“To you, I’ll give the world To you, I’ll never be cold ‘Cause I feel that when I’m with you It’s alright, I know it’s right.”

He loved it when he heard it played live at the band's concert twenty-three years ago—he’d been seventeen and still in high school; he and his buddies snuck off to Fort Worth to see them, and “Songbird” was the last song of their set before the encore.

It was his three-year-old sobrino’s (nephew’s) turn to walk forward, his mom sending him to his dad with the rings—they all laughed at how he ran as fast as he could, making Javier smile.

"Here, Daddy," the child said to Steve, holding up the pillow.

His father accepted it.

"Great job, kiddo—high-five." His friend had to bend a little to gently hit his palm to Stevie’s tinier one, and the toddler turned to Javier expectantly, who, of course, bent his knees and high-fived him.

"You did good, buddy,” he said.

Steve told his son to stand with him, and Connie went to be next to Robyn as everyone watched Olivia walk up, tossing red rose petals from a small white basket, leaving a trail of them behind her. He hum-sang under his breath along with the song:

“And the songbirds are singing Like they know the score And I love you, I love you, I love you Like never before.”

Finally, his bride came into view, her eyes locking onto his, and all the love he had for, all of his happiness, and thanks he had to the universe for making this day happen overflowed from him, falling as tears down his face and made his smile so big, he could feel the dimple in his cheek.

She was breathtaking and better than anything he could’ve imagined; this moment would be seared into his brain for all eternity, and he didn’t think he’d ever felt this happy in his entire life—he almost told Steve to make sure he didn’t float away.

Her bouquet was made up of roses from his mother’s garden, and his heart felt like it would burst. Then the dress—Jesus Christ, the dress was perfect with how it molded to her body and showed off her tits from the neckline V-ing between them. His fingers were itching to see if the fabric was as buttery smooth as it looked, wanting to explore the expanse with his fingertips, mapping out every curve, line, and dip he’d already ventured countless times before but now on a new canvas; He desired to feel her softness under his palms and cradle her beautiful face to kiss those delectable lips he so loved; he wanted to hold her in his arms, her familiar shape he knew as intimately as his own, pressed against him, where she belonged.

All of it was getting him too excited, and his pants were feeling tighter, just as he suspected might happen.

Javier’s dream wedding night would have them partying with their friends and family well into the later hours and holding off on consummating their marriage until they retired to the room he rented at the nicest hotel in town he was surprising her with. He’d been determined to do just that up until he had to spend the previous evening by himself where he was alone with his thoughts and ruminated on how beautiful she was going to look, that she was going to be his wife, and one day soon, the mother of his children; since she wasn’t there to distract him by simply being in his vicinity, he worked himself up until he was rock hard and had to take a freezing shower.

He didn’t see there being any chance they’d make it to the hotel without them fucking at least once beforehand.

God, she was so fucking gorgeous.

He had to wipe at the wetness on his face, his smile continuing to shine.

Telling her his feelings in front of everyone wasn’t all he’d been nervous about; his brain was a real asshole, and there’d been a tiny thread of worry she wasn’t going to show—it was stupid, to have even fathomed something so absurd, yet looking at how shitty his luck was up until they met, he thought it wouldn’t have been too surprising that this time he’d be the one left at the altar.

But she was here! She came! And he was so overjoyed he couldn’t stop crying.

Wait.

Oh, fuck, she was close now—what was he supposed to do? It only just registered that she was walking with his dad, and they were almost to him, and he couldn’t remember what needed to happen when she got to him. His heart was pounding a mile a minute, and he was starting to panic that he didn’t know what his next move was, worried he was going to fuck it all up; it was unbelievable that he’d been in gunfights, had to think on the fly to stay alive many times, and put on press conferences, yet at this moment when there wasn’t any danger or eager reporters, he was so overwhelmed by the woman he loved’s beauty, and that she was marrying him, his brain had ceased functioning entirely, and he was spiraling at embarrassing himself with so many onlookers.

Javi was having a panic attack.

The change in his eyes, how they went from bright and happy to panicked, clued you in, and any nervousness you felt flew out the window because your only concern was helping him.

Unhooking your arm from Chucho, you held out the hand, not holding flowers to Robyn.

“Flask me,” you said. Quickly, she pulled it from her pocket and passed it to you, taking your bouquet in return. You stepped in front of your betrothed as you unscrewed the cap on the container of booze. “Hey, baby,” you said in a soothing tone. “You’re okay.” You grabbed his hand and put the flask in it, pushing it toward his face. “Have a drink to calm your nerves. Everything is gonna be okay, honey. Remember, we’re doing this together—it’s just us.”

The music had stopped playing.

He shook his head once like he was trying to shake the bad stuff out, and he took a drink, or several, with how his Adam’s apple kept bobbing.

“Looks like I’ll be driving us after this.” The adults surrounding you chuckled, and you smiled.

His hand lowered, and his vision focused on you, a pink flush spreading over his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“No reason to be sorry—I freaked out in the car.” You took the flask from him, screwed on the cap, and handed it back to Robyn without looking. “Feeling better?” you asked, smoothing your fingers over his bangs while his eyes were on yours.

“Much,” he answered with a small smile, his palms moving to rest on your hips.

“Wanna get married?”

“More than anything.”

“Good—liquid courage helps.” You leaned in to kiss his cheek, then put your lips near his ear for only him to hear, “Say the word, and we’ll pack up, go party with everyone, and hit the courthouse tomorrow.”

He spoke softly in your ear, “Thank you, Cielito, but I promise I’m okay.” He kissed your cheek. “I told you I’d see how beautiful you are and forget how to function.”

You giggled, pulling back to look at him, taking in the black tuxedo jacket and bow tie over his crisp white shirt and the lavender pocket square and the pinned violet rose for a pop of color—his hair still looked good, and you rubbed away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.

When he saw you in your wedding dress, the expression on his face was something you’d never forget—it was a look of pure, uninhibited joy, and you were sure you saw hearts in his eyes with how they beamed his immense love and devotion. The way that it had him crying happy tears made you feel emotional that someone loved you with such magnitude. It’s why your immediate thought when you saw him panicking wasn’t that he wanted to back out, knowing from his note that he was freaking the fuck out about embarrassing himself, and the nerves got him.

“Let’s get married.” His head turned to kiss one of your palms.

“Let’s get married.”

Turning to your almost-father-in-law, you gave him a quick hug, and he kissed your forehead before he moved to give Javi a side hug, careful of the stuff held in one of his hands and whispering something in his son’s ear, you didn’t catch.

The elder Peña went to stand at his place in front of the tree, holding his worn, soft leather bible, with a picture of Javi’s mother stuck to the cover and a note card sticking out from between the pages to mark a spot.

Javier took your hand, and you both walked the few steps to your spots before his father; he grasped your other palm in his once you faced one another, Chucho on your left and Javi’s right.

Your husband-to-be mouthed, ‘I love you,’ and you silently replied with the movement of your lips, ‘I love you, too.’

Chucho cleared his throat, and your attention went to him.

“Welcome, loved ones,” he started, “we are gathered here today in the sight of God and each other to bear witness to the perfect union of Javier, and—” He said your name. “What a joyous day we get to share with them as they embark on this new journey of a life together in matrimony that will, no doubt, be long, healthy, and filled with love, happiness, and laughter.

“Mijo, Mija,” he addressed you both, “I called this union between you perfect, and I meant it. Besides my marriage to my dear Antonia, que en paz descanse (may she rest in peace), I cannot think of two other people more suited to share a life together. It’s clear the good you bring out in one another and how happy you make each other.” His eyes landed on you. “And you truly make my son happy. This might come as a shock,” he said to everyone in attendance, “but Javier is a smiley guy when he’s happy, and I haven’t seen him smile so much in a long, long time.

“He also has never been able to hide his feelings because that handsome face of his tells his secrets—it’s his—” He glanced at you. “—I’m stealing this from you, Mija—it’s his puppy dog eyes, he got from his mother, and she suffered the same problem.” His gaze stayed on you. “I know Javier loves you more than there’s blue in all the sky because he looks at you the same way mi amor looked at me, and as we know, their eyes don’t lie.”

He was right, and it made you choke up that he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of such honesty and the weight of so much love.

Chucho looked at his son. “Your media naranja (soulmate) isn’t much better.” He nodded toward you. “Her eyes betray her, too, even when she does her damndest to hide behind a mask. When she looks at you, though, the truth of her love is revealed—her thoughts are loud when she stares at you, and sometimes I think I can hear them; the declaration of ‘I love you,’ she’s repeating over and over again. She looks at you like you’re her whole world, and I know it’s true from those looks, how she treats and cares for you, the things she does for you, even when you don’t ask, and the effort she puts into cultivating your relationship.”

He spoke to you both again. “Marriage can be wonderful with the right person, but it isn’t always easy; I want to take a moment and give you some advice that kept my marriage happy.

“Be best friends—talk about everything, even when you don’t want to or it’s a hard subject. Communicate your needs and wants constantly, and don’t stop talking to each other. Be best friends who share everything, and I mean everything, because your relationship needs to be built upon trust, and there’s nothing better than spending your life with your best friend.

“Keep having fun—joke around, cook together, dance in the kitchen, don’t stop having fun. And keep dating each other. Just because you’re married doesn’t mean that the dating stops. Go out, stay in, just have romantic time you dedicate to one another; that way, the spark stays alive. I know it’ll be harder to do when you have kids; you’ll be exhausted and won’t have much energy. Dating still needs to be a priority, and it doesn’t have to be anything exciting; it can be as simple as putting the kids to bed, staying up, watching a movie together, or baking cookies.”

“—or folding laundry together,” Steve interjected.

Javi chuckled, and you were confused. He leaned toward you to whisper in your ear, “It’s their code word for sex.”

“Oh, that’s smart,” you said as he straightened.

A furrow was between Chucho’s eyebrows. “I guess folding laundry can be romantic…” the older man said. “Now, where was I?” He opened his bible and pulled out the notecard, his eyes scanning over. “Oh, yes—anyone can fall in love; it’s nurturing that love, sharing your life with the other, facing challenges together, and growing as one that makes it real love, and what you have is real. The love you share and I had with my wife is beautiful, but it’s also fierce, it’s powerful, and all consuming; it’s not something anyone can get between and will live on even when you no longer walk the earth. I know you didn’t want a religious ceremony, but there’s a scripture I’d like to share that perfectly describes what I mean. May I?” he asked, his bible already open to the page.

Javier and you figured he’d slip in a verse or two simply because he was a devout Christian man. It was nice of him to ask permission first, though. You turned your head to meet your almost-husband’s eyes and shrugged that you were fine with it. He smiled, his attention going back to his father.

“Go ahead,” Javi said.

Chucho had a toothy grin. “Wonderful—it’s in Songs of Solomon 8 and reads: Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, a raging flame. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it. If one offered for love all the wealth of one’s house, it would be utterly scorned.”

He shut the bible with one hand, his notes resting atop it.

“I wish more people got to experience that kind of love—it’d do the world a whole lot of good. Javier—” He looked at his son, then over to you, saying your name. “I know with how you feel for each other, it’s natural to think marriage is the next step in your relationship. I want you to be sure you know what you’re getting into.” His eyes were moving between you both. “This is a lifelong commitment that will have its ups and downs, highs and lows, and you’ll need to challenge yourselves to love the other more completely each and every day. Are you ready to take this step?”

Without missing a beat, Javi and you said simultaneously, ‘Yes,’ your hands still in his.

Chucho smiled. “Wonderful. Javier—” His eyes went to his son. “—do you take—” He said your name. “—to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you honor her, cherish her, love, trust, and commit to her and her alone, through joy and pain, sickness and health, and whatever else life may throw at you both, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Javi said.

His father turned his attention to you and addressed you by name. “—do you take Javier to be your lawfully wedded husband? Will you honor him, cherish him, love, trust, and commit to him and him alone, through joy and pain, sickness and health, and whatever else life may throw at you both, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” you answered.

“It’s time for you to share the vows you’ve written for one another before you exchange rings. Who’d like to go first?”

“Me!” you said immediately, and everyone laughed. “I need to get them out of the way before Javi makes me a blubbering mess. Robyn, vows me.” Turning her way, you put out your hand, and she juggled the two bouquets she held to pull a folded piece of paper from her pocket to hand to you. “Have I told you your dress is amazing?” you asked her.

“Thank you—I look good and have pockets. What could be better?”

“Dresses with pockets are a game-changer.” You faced Javi, and heat bloomed up your neck and on your face at remembering you had to say how you felt in front of people.

“Hey,” Javi said to get your attention, and your gazes locked. “It’s just me,” he whispered. “Talk to me—no one else is here.”

“Right.” You smiled, then focused on the lined notebook paper you unfolded that had your writing on it. “Javier Jesús Peña López,” you began, “the first of his name, King of my heart, Lord of our tiny apartment, and Protector of me—”

“Just Javi’s fine,” he said.

You giggled. “Javi, not a day goes by that I am unaware of how lucky I am to have found you. When I think about how much time you spent away from this town—that I both love and hate—all the people you’ve met, the life you’ve lived, and the things you’ve gone through, it’s a miracle our paths crossed, and possibly Divine Intervention or the universe doing me a solid, that after everything that’s happened to you, you’ve ended up here, with me.

“It’s crazy the number of obstacles we’ve had to face together and how many people are obsessed with making your life difficult—this isn’t me complaining. I’m weirdly thankful for it; it’s kept us on our toes and tested our bond. It’s improved our communication and has built a strong foundation for our relationship.

“Something I’m also thankful for is the trust we share. I can count on you. I know you’re true to your word, and I have no reason to worry about you ever being deceitful.

“What’s also reassuring is your star signs back up the faith I have in you—as a Sagittarius, you value honesty, and when you find someone you think is really worth it, you commit, and you commit hard. With Capricorn and Scorpio in your top three, you’re super loyal, a little possessive, and definitely a relationship guy. To sum all of that up, you’re pretty much perfect and an amazing partner.

“You’re a good man, the best I’ve known. My life is better with you in it. Thank you for loving me.” Tears started to distort your vision, the emotion coming through in your voice. “Thank you for loving me unconditionally. Thank you for your unwavering support and for being my rock. Thank you for being my protector and making me feel so safe with you. Thank you for being my best friend and the love of my life.”

You had to take a deep breath to calm yourself.

“Here are my promises to you,” you said, “I promise to love you until the end of time, and if I happen to go first, haunt you until we can be together again.” He chuckled. “I promise to be your protector and to always have your back; I will go to battle for you in a heartbeat, and hopefully, you know that. I promise to be honest, and it should go without saying because, as we’ve established, you’re perfect, but I promise to be faithful. I promise to keep making you laugh and smile. I promise to put you first and to always be your best friend—sorry, Steve.”

“You can have him,” Steve replied, and everyone laughed.

You continued speaking, “I promise to make your mother’s tamales a couple times a year—I promise to make you one of her other recipes on the days you miss her particularly bad. I promise to keep reminding you that you’re sexier and better than Harrison Ford.” That one made him and the others crack up. “I promise to rap “Whatta Man” for you every time it comes on, so you don’t forget whatta man you are. I promise to dance with you in the kitchen every chance we get. I promise to try, keyword here, try, not to recite the movies word for word when we watch Star Wars or Addams Family Values. I promise to always make sure we don’t run out of limes or your hot sauce or side-eye you when you put either on the perfectly seasoned food I made. I promise to always leave you the last of the ice cream because you’re a dirty liar when you say you don’t want it. I promise to tell you I love you every day until the day I die. I promise that you and your love will always be enough, and I’ll always pick you; I’ll always choose you over anyone else.

“Today, the separate books of our lives have come to an end, and we’re starting the next one together—I can’t wait to see what each new chapter will bring. What I know for sure—” You glanced over at Chucho. “—I’m stealing this from you, Pop—” Your eyes went to Javi’s, and his were reddened, his face glistening from crying and flushed from the alcohol. “—What I know for sure,” you said, “is this new adventure we’re beginning, will be filled with love, happiness, and laughter.

“Javi, you are my person. You’re the love of my life, my one true love, mi media naranja, the person I want to go to sleep with every night and wake up with every morning. You’re my best friend and my forever.

“I love you, Javier Jesús Peña López and I am so happy I get to spend eternity with you.”

His smile was big enough his dimple was showing and you hated that you couldn’t kiss him.

Chucho sniffled, putting his bible under his arm to get his handkerchief from his pocket, lifting his glasses to wipe away his tears.

“That was beautiful, Mija. When you’re ready, Javi, go ahead.”

All she said had Javier feeling so unbelievably happy that he couldn’t stop the waterfall of tears streaming down his cheeks, and he thought his smile might be permanently stuck on his face—he was sure the alcohol wasn’t helping him to keep his composure.

His dad’s speech had gotten him, too, especially about how Chucho could see her feelings for him and said their love was real. He always wondered if the intensity of what he felt for her was normal, and hearing that his parents were the same way reassured him that they just had a strong connection. His father’s advice was helpful, too, and he planned on following it.

She looked incredible and smelled amazing; her perfume wasn’t one she’d worn before, but he knew the scent because he got it for her as a Christmas present—it was intoxicating, and he was dying to shove his face into her neck to drown himself in it. With the emotions she was eliciting from him, her beauty, the perfume, and the whiskey he drank, it was a heady combination that had him feeling buzzed, and he was so caught up in all of it that it had completely slipped his mind that he had to speak.

“Shit,” he said under his breath and barely pulled open the left side of his jacket to get into the inside pocket. First, he grabbed his reading glasses, which he put on, then the folded piece of yellow, lined paper he’d taken from a legal pad at work.

“I am literally the luckiest woman in the world,” Cielito said, and his eyes lifted to her. She was smiling, her eyelashes wet, and she looked incredibly delighted.

“The glasses?” he asked with a smirk.

“Oh, yeah,” she answered. “You’re spoiling me. I get glasses Javi in a tuxedo, and he’s gonna say pretty, romantic things about how much he loves me—talk about the best day ever.”

“With how you look?” he said. “It’s my best day ever, too.”

She playfully smacked his arm. “Stop it, don’t make me want to suck—”

Robyn started coughing loudly, and his wife-to-be’s eyes widened.

“—hug you more,” she tried to save and cringed. “Hugs, not drugs, am I right?” She chuckled nervously.

He snorted, shaking his head. “You ready?” he asked.

“Wait.” Her upper body twisted so she could look behind her. “Tissue me,” she said to Robyn, and her friend got a clean one out of her pocket and exchanged it for Cielito’s folded paper. She faced him again. “Okay, I’m ready. Remember to focus on me. No one else is here.”

“That’ll be easy.�� He cleared his throat, his eyes moving to what he’d written. It wasn’t something he said often, but he let her first name slide off his tongue, thinking how perfect it was going to sound paired with his last. “—mi Cielito, mi amor, mi alma, mi media naranja, y ahora, mi esposa (My Cielito, my love, my soul, my soulmate, and now, my wife), my life didn’t begin until the moment I met you; what I mean by that, is I was alive, yes, I was breathing, I had a pulse, but I didn’t start living until we met. You made me want to live and be happy—for so long, I thought I would die miserable and alone, and you showed me that I deserved happiness and to be loved.” His eyes were burning, and the following sentence made him choke up. “You showed me I deserved a family of my own.” Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. “Meeting you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I thank the universe, the powers that be. I thank whoever let you find me because I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you.”

He went off script to look into her beautiful, teary eyes. “Pop was right; I love you more than there’s blue in the sky, I love you more than there’s water in all the depths of the oceans, I love you more than there are stars in the entire galaxy—I love you more than anything, and I mean anything.”

He focused on what he’d written again. “I once told you I didn’t believe in true love, and I didn’t—that was just made-up stuff in the cartoon movies I watched with Olivia. Or at least I thought it was before you, and then, having you in my life, I discovered it was real. With you, ‘media naranja (soulmate)’ isn’t just a term of endearment; it’s an acknowledgment that you’re my other half and that we’re two parts meant to be together. Love with you transcends what most people have; we feel it deeper than our bones, all the way down into our souls, where we’re connected.

“Our love is true love.”

Wetness was dripping from his eyes to splatter onto the paper.

“Those fairytale movies got something right, and it’s that this kind of love would make a person fight dragons and sea witches for their true love. As my father said, it’s fierce, powerful, and all-consuming. It doesn’t end when our hearts stop beating; it continues on—it’s infinite—what we feel for one another is more than a single life can handle, and I’ll follow you when this one’s over; we’ll find each other again, and live another life together because there is no me without you or you without me.

“From the first day we met, I knew you were special. We spent hours talking in that bar, and I’ve never felt such peace or so comfortable with someone; with you, I don’t have to keep my guard up. I can be vulnerable, speak what’s on my mind, and openly show my affection. With you, I’m safe, and from the first night, you were my Cielito, my little heaven—there’s no better name for you, not with how happy you make me, how you make me feel, and how much better my life is with you.

“You’re my little heaven, mi Cielito, my everything. You’ve shown me more love than I’ve ever known—thank you.” His voice faltered, and he had to wipe at his eyes as best he could beneath his glasses. “Those two words aren’t enough to express my gratitude, and I will spend every waking moment showing you how thankful I am for you and all you’ve done.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said, “it’s not enough, but thank you.”

He sounded gravelly, the words thick. “In you, I’ve found love, a wife, a partner for life, a best friend, an incredible lover, a home, a teacher to show me how to live; someone who makes me happy, makes me laugh, someone to have a family with, who supports me, inspires me, and makes me want to be a better man.

“Thank you for being all of this and more. Thank you for marrying me today and making me the happiest man in the entire goddamn universe.

“Fuck,” he breathed, taking off his readers to hold with the paper while his other hand scrubbed away the tears. “I really hoped I wouldn’t cry this much—it’s embarrassing.”

“I love it,” she reassured. “It just shows you really mean what you’re saying.”

He put the lenses back on and looked at her, seeing her eyes were red from crying, the tissue in her hand stained with mascara—she’d managed to keep from ruining the rest of her makeup.

“I do mean it all,” he said.

She was smiling. “I know.”

Javier composed himself by taking a deep breath and clearing his throat. Finally, he was ready to speak again. “It was hard figuring out my vows because I wanted to promise you everything your heart could possibly desire, but Pop said that was boring.” He frowned.

“And that he needed to do better,” Chucho added.

Javier sighed.

“I would’ve been fine with that vow,” Cielito said.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “Pop was right. You deserve the best.” He took another deep breath and slowly let it out, looking at what he’d written and patting himself on the back for making notes—he was definitely too emotional and tipsy to have remembered everything he wanted to say. “Cielito,” he started, “you have all my love and devotion, and I give you myself; my mind, body, and soul belong to you. I vow to never stop loving you, even when this earth is no more and the stars stop shining. I vow to make you feel loved and cherished until the end of my days. I vow to always be your best friend, your confidant, your shoulder to cry on, y un chismoso contigo (and a gossiper with you)—me encanta chismear contigo (I love to gossip with you).”

She giggled, and he smiled.

“I vow to be your equal in everything and give more than I take. I vow to always be there for you no matter what, in sickness and health, when life is easy and hard, I’ll stand by you and be your anchor.” The next one made his smile get bigger. “I vow to treat you like una reina (a queen) and be the best husband you could ask for so when you brag to your girlfriends, they can see their worth and deserve to be treated like queens, too. I vow to be the best father, one you can rely on, and doesn’t call watching my own children babysitting; I’ll pull my weight, I’ll never let you get overwhelmed, and I’ll be an active parent who loves our kids so fu-freaking much.”

“I vow to keep you safe and always make you feel safe; I’ll protect you and our children with my life. I vow to make sure all of your needs are met.” He smirked, glancing at her. “I vow to ‘fold laundry’ with you whenever you ask.” He winked, and she laughed.

“Why are adults so obsessed with laundry?” He heard Olivia ask.

“I’m wonderin’ the same thing, kiddo,” Robyn said. “I’m not obsessed with it.”

“Oh, believe me, you are,” Connie replied.

“I know the stars,” Javier said, “that astrology stuff you love, told you this already, but I want you to hear it from me, too: I vow to be loyal to you and faithful, always—to me, you are the only woman I see, or will ever want; I vow to put you and our family before all else.”

He looked at her with a smile. “I have some more things I’m gonna promise after hearing yours. I vow to always give you my pickles.” Her grin was big and happy as she giggled. “I vow to always let you sing Freddie Mercury’s parts in Bohemian Rhapsody while I do the guitar solo, and I’ll always leave you the last piece of cheesecake because I love you and value my life.” That made her giggle harder. “I vow to try, the keyword here is try, to not, as you put it, ‘creepily watch you while you sleep,’ even though you’re guilty of the same thing.” Her giggles transformed into laughter. “I vow to always dance with you when we’re cleaning the house and in the kitchen while we cook together. I vow to pretend—I mean, agree that you’re the best driver in Laredo and always know your way around, even when you don’t.”

There was a reason he drove them the majority of the time.

“Rude!” she gasped. “I’m an amazing driver!”

“I agree, mi amor, you’re the best in Laredo.” He winked again, folded his paper, and put it back in his inner pocket. He spoke as he took off his reading glasses. “There’s one more thing I vow,” he said, putting the lenses away. His hands were free and he grabbed hers, ignoring the tissue clenched in one of her palms, and stared adoringly into her eyes. “I vow that years from now—decades—after our kids are grown, and we’ve retired, maybe we’ll be living in Florida like other retirees, or we’ll still be here where our family lives and we made our best memories; I vow that when we’re old and grey and can’t hear or see shit without hearing aids or glasses, that we’ll look back on our life together, and we’ll have no regrets.

“Zero,” he said.

“We did everything we wanted and lived the life we shared to the fullest, filled with love, happiness, and laughter.”

Her shoulders started to shake, and she had to let go of his hand to blot at her eyes.

“Javier!” she cried, and he wrapped his arms around her to hold her close. “Why would you end with something so sweet?”

“Para que sepas cómo nuestro futuro será (So you know what our future together will be like). Quería que vieras que cuando me des ese anillo, te daré mi futuro y lo que venga después de eso (I wanted you to see that when you give me that ring, I’ll give you my future and whatever comes after that).”

She leaned back to look at him, and he was impressed that only her mascara had gotten messed up. She poked him in the chest and said, “That ring is going on your finger right this second.” Javier chuckled as her head turned to his dad. “Can we do the rings now, please?”

Chucho laughed. “Yes, Mija, you can do the rings. Who has them?” he asked aloud.

“Me!” Steve answered and moved to stand next to the older man, being careful not to bump Nate, who’d fallen asleep in the backpack carrier. At some point, the three-year-old Stevie had gone over to his mom and was now sitting in the grass next to her, eating Goldfish crackers out of a plastic baggy from the diaper bag near them. Steve untied the ribbon keeping the gold bands secured, then picked them both up, the pillow getting shoved under his arm. “Here, Jav.” Javier turned a little, holding out his palm to his friend, and her ring was set in it. He faced his bride again.

“At this time, they will exchange rings,” Chucho said, holding his bible in front of him with the notecard atop it. “Javier, go ahead and place it on her finger.” She looked adorably giddy, presenting her left hand to him, and he held it in his palm as he slid the band onto the finger with her engagement ring, pressing it against the other. “Now, repeat after me,” his dad said, reading his notes, “‘with this ring, I seal my promise to be your loving husband forevermore, and just as it has no end, neither shall my love for you.”

Javier’s eyes fastened onto hers, and he repeated what his father said: “With this ring, I seal my promise to be your loving husband forevermore, and just as it has no end, neither shall my love for you.” When he finished speaking, he lifted her hand to press his lips to the new addition on her finger with a kiss, keeping his gaze on her watery one.

“I love you,” she told him.

His thumb rubbed over the gold as he lowered her arm. “I love you, too.”

“Mija,” Chucho said, “it’s your turn.”

Javier held his hand out for her to take, and when she did, goosebumps rose on his skin, practically vibrating from anticipation. Her palm was smaller and softer than his, and he watched as Steve passed her the remaining ring. A big smile formed on his face at her not waiting for his father’s instruction, putting the band onto his finger immediately—it got stuck on his knuckle, and she had to wiggle it a little to finally slide it home.

“Repeat after me,” Chucho said, “‘with this ring, I seal my promise to be your loving wife forevermore, and just as it has no end, neither shall my love for you.”

She held his larger palm in both of her smaller ones, gazing into his eyes and smiling as she said, “With this ring, I seal my promise to be your loving wife forevermore, and just as it has no end, neither shall my love for you.”

His breath hitched as he watched her raise his hand to kiss the band, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

His father started speaking to them, “Now that you’ve proclaimed your love for one another and exchanged rings as a seal of the promises you made today in front of these witnesses and myself, by the power vested in me by the great State of Texas, I am so happy to pronounce you husband and wife! Javier, you may now kiss your bride!”

There was clapping and hollering, someone patted his back, and Javier didn’t waste any time—he was told he could finally kiss this stunning woman in front of him, who he loved more than anything; she completed him and made him happy like no one else—ella es su vida (she is his life), su amor (his love), su media naranja (his soulmate), finalmente su esposa (finally his wife), his Cielito.

The fingers of one of his hands traced over the familiar line of her jaw, the other pulling her tight to his chest, finding the fabric of her dress was as buttery soft as he suspected. The sun had barely sunk below the horizon, leaving the sky fiery in its wake, and as it descended, so did Javier’s mouth onto hers, crushing his lips to hers. At the first touch, it felt like electricity was thrumming just below his skin, his heart racing, the press of her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck making tingles wash down his spine.

It was almost like he was kissing her for the first time, and it started out gentle, wanting to savor this moment with his wife—his wife—they were married. He was a husband and wearing a ring, the metal currently pressed to the warm skin of her cheek. His excitement got the better of him, and he deepened the kiss, licking in her mouth, her soft moan causing arousal to erupt in his belly, feeling blood begin to rush to his groin. She seemed to be just as ravenous as him, their tongues tangling and her hands gripping handfuls of his hair.

Javier didn’t think he could be happier than he was at this moment.

This was the best day of his entire fucking life.

He was a married man with an amazing wife and their lives were intertwined now, becoming one they both shared. What wound him up even more was her taking his last name—not in a possessive way, but because it was another thing they’d share, and Javier wanted to share everything with her. Name, life, home, things, children, all of it, he wanted to have and with her by his side.

His dad’s voice showed amusement when he heard him speak. “We’ll just let them get that out of their system.” People laughed. “It’s my great pleasure to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Peña!”

Mr. and Mrs. Peña.

Nothing sounded more perfect.

They hadn’t stopped kissing, too caught up in each other.

“Why are they trying to eat each other’s faces?” Olivia asked, clearly confused.

Steve shouted, “Cover her eyes, Connie!”

Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Masterlist

a/n: The song she walked down the aisle to was "Songbird" by Fleetwood Mac. The bible verse mentioned is Song of Solomon 8:6-7 (RSVCE).

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!

#pedro pascal #javier peña #Javier Peña/reader #Javier Peña/you #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfiction #wheresarizona writes #learning to live series

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stardustjie · 3 months

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𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜

when ellie wanted to go on a walk and you confessed your feelings for her (female reader, fluff)

author's note: this fanfiction was written in may 2023, so way before the current events in palestine. i apologise if posting this is inappropriate. please, boycott and donate to palestine if you can

"so, there is this theory. the universe is essentially cyclical, its destined to end and start again the exact same way. this means history has followed the same path since the dawn of time, humans have suffered and will suffer since we are meant to live the same life over and over an infinite amount of times. however, this also means we have been lived this exact moment and infinite amount of time. we are destined meet in every life, every single one of them" you said, enfolding yourself in ellie's jacket.

it was march. spring was slowly coming and the evening air was still quite cold, enough for ellie to lay her jacket on your shoulders the moment you started complaining about the temperature. there was a party in jackson and you didn’t care enough to ask what the reason to celebrate was. you just wanted to be there if ellie was there. you came earlier than everyone else, watching the door waiting to her to walk through the entrance. you saw her after a good fifteen minutes sat at your table and in a few moments she was sitting in front of you. when the music became too loud she asked if you wanted to keep talking outside.

"basically we are cursed" and she giggled. you were walking right outside the pub, trying to get away from the crowd and stay alone for a while. ellie started to talk about the universe before, about some theories she read on a book she found during one of her patrols. good heavens, you could listen to her ramblings for hours. you hoped that fun fact could impress her, at least a little bit. you could smell her on her jacket, so you squeeze its hems and ellie seemed to notice.

"so meeting me was a curse?" you jokingly asked and that was enough to make the other girl blush. you could feel her nervousness. it was dark already and the street light created a good atmosphere, everything made her face look ever prettier. you couldn’t wait for the summer to come, it would have accentuate her freckles and she would have her iconic half-bun hairstyle.

"absolutely fucking not! i mean... its probably one of the few things i want to experence again. like reading my favourite chapter for the first time again" she clumsily tried to explain, moving her hands a little bit to emphasize the concept. hoping it would make it make sense. for a moment you thought she could physically hear your heartbeat for how hard it was. you had a crush on ellie for quite a while and multiple times you found yourself doing whatever you could to spend more time with her. you even considered joining the patrol training. "how did we started talking about this?"

"well, we started talking about your comic serie, then about the universe and you got a little passionate about the topic. and i shared this amazing theory. i read a few articles in the library the other day, i thought you might find it interesting." you started, looking away to the street. you were to embarassed to actually look at her in the eyes and you could really feel the blood reaching your cheeks, so you decided to focus on a random point in the other direction. "i wanted to impress you. sometimes you start your ramblings and i find myself unable to reply, so i started looking for something to say. that's how i found the most depressing theory ever"

for a good moment you could only hear your own steps on the cobblestone and the confused background noise. ellie just stopped for a moment whike hearing your explaination, her eyes looking into the nothingness in front of her and her mind just internally replaying everything you have said. you stopped after a few steps, turning around just to see ellie lost for a second. before you could ask if everything was okay, she started talking. "wow... i mean, this somehow makes the idea less depressing"

"honestly? i would go through everything just to meet you again and i'm glad the thought of you doing the same isnt that depressing anymore" you replied smiling. in a few seconds ellie was right beside you like before and you just kept walking in silence. a little bit closer this time. the only sounds that filled the silence were your steps and some background voices you didn’t bother to listen. nobody could bother your personal heaven. and if the universe had to be destroyed and recreated to make you live it again, so be it.

"just to be clear, meeting you was the best thing that happened to me so far" you specified, still holding the hems of her jacket between your fingers to keep it on your shoulders. you had the courage to look at her and smile, waiting for a reaction. it was getting late, you were out of the town centre at this point and your two glasses of liquor at the bar made you braver than you would have thought. it was late, the stars were shining right above the two of you and there was no one around you. even the street light were fewer.

you walked a little faster, just a few steps and turned around to face the other girl. ellie had a perplexed expression on her face as she stopped. you slightly leaned forward, towards her. it was difficukt to describe how loud your heartbeat was in that instant and you could physically feel the change of the atmosphere, it was more tense and sentimental. you closed your eyes and took all the courage you had. you couldn’t go back anyway. "if the universe has to collapse to make each other meet again then good. if we had met each other in every universe, in every timeline,... i wouldn’t want to meet anyone else"

saying ellie was startled would be an understatement. little did you know she was hoplessly trying to hide her crush on you or how fast her heart was beating when she had the opportinuty to give you her jacket. you didn’t know about the times she looked at you from afar or how she talked about you to her friends when they were alone or about the many times she wrote about you in her journal. and now there she was, looking at you with wide eyes and not a single word on her mouth as you were essentially confessing your feelings for her.

you waited for her answer for a few moments. you tilted your head and watched her unsure of how you should behave, biting your own lips for the nervousness. you were almost sure you fucked up your friendships at this point. "oh, fuck" she started. her mind was crushing for a hot minute, not really processing what you said. you could see redness speading across her cheeks and over her freckles, decorating her face. "no, its just that... shit"

"too cheesy?" you asked with a slightly embarassed face. at this point you couldn’t really care anymore about whatever feeling of nervousness you have felt during the time you had a crush on her. crush that, at this point, was quite too obvious. it was the perfect moment, the perfect background to have either a romantic confession or your heart broken. it was worth it regardless.

"its the right amount of cheesy" she replied, hiding her mouth behind her hand. ellie never thought anyone would ever think of a space-themed love confession, especially she never thought the prettiest girl in town would confess her feelings for her with a space-themed love confession. "its the perfect amount of cheesy, actually" she commented quietly. she sighed.

you didn’t move a centimetre the moment she walked into your direction, so painfully aware of every step she took. of her perfume and how much you wanted to disapoear in the crook of her neck to snell it properly. of how warm her hand was when she reached for your cheeks. and under the stars, you kissed.

#ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #tlou #tlou2 #tlou x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x female reader #tlou2 ellie

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majorproblems77 · 1 month

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Sacred Realm updated which means im actually so excited to be making this omg

Hi there Sacred Realm fans! :D

It is I, the one who makes the analysis posts on various comics on the internet. (With permission course) Because I love doing them and they bring me joy.

If you are unaware of what Sacred Realm is, it's a Legend of Zelda AU about a new Link who gets a little medallion that makes him a badass, also it can hold the spirits of heroes from across the realms (Including my fave boy ever okay)

Before I begin, I'll get the important stuff done, This is done with permission from @zelda-the-sacred-realm, and all art from the comics belongs to the comic artist. Please do me a favour and go and check it out because it's a wonderful comic and extremely well-drawn and written.

Now, grab some popcorn, and a drink and please enjoy me rambling about a comic that I enjoy so much. :D

Lets begin!

First, some sass

Damn, possessed Link got a mouth on him. Low key I love him, he looks like he could go for round two like right now. Wouldn't be surprised if he went for the hero of time next.

My eyebrows shot up at this.

Time KNOW's

let me repeat that

TIME KNOWS. HE KNOWS WHATEVER IS IN THE MEDALLION CAUSING THIS.

(More on this later)

He knows he knows he knows he knows he knows

I can hear the mocking voice of Link while he is saying this. Time has experience with this particular entity before.

Okay, so here is when it gets interesting.

Possessed Link or this entity I suppose, referring to Time and in turn Hylians as 'Your Race' Tells me a couple of things.

This thing in the medallion isn't a Hylian spirit. So as much and as fun as a dark link theory is, I dont think it could be.

Time arguing that we're not perfect, again referring to Hylians sounds very much like an "I'm speaking with a god speech"

I present my theory on what is in the medallion.

An extra spirit, a god of some description, from the spirit realm. Out to get revenge on Hylians.

Time has been to the spirit realm, in his games. (I am under the assumption that those still occur in this canon please do correct me if I'm wrong here.)

I'm convinced that this thing in the medallion is a deity of some kind because of the eye colour. I can't get over it.

This style of blue, with no pupils.

We've seen it before.

On Hylia.

From Chapter 2 fate PT2

And here is the first time we see it on Link for comparison, With Sky's alongside him for comparison for what Hylian eyes look like.

From Chapter 2 Fate PT3

The colour isn't exact so it can't be Hylia herself I dont think, but, i believe that there is a spirit trying to escape the sacred realm and is using Link to do it.

Okay, enough of my conspiracy theories moving on!

Link you gotta wake up!

Sky thinks so, I love the coloured speech bubble, what a good idea.

OH BOY I LOVE THESE PANELS

You know those scenes in video games when you're fighting off something that's trying to possess you and you have that ominous-sounding echo that seems to reverberate through your head. But is also muffled at the same time?

(If I find a game example I'll link it)

This. Put that noise you think off over this.

KICK ITS BUTT LINK GET IT, GET BACK IN HERE.

These five panels tell so much when it comes to how much effort Link has to go through to fight off the medallion possession. I wonder if its going to be easier or harder for him to fight it off as he gains spirits in the medallion.

You can really feel his struggle and I just love it. The visual storytelling is incredible in this comic and I will fan girl about it all day because I just love it so much

I'm thinking he says this to gauge just how bad this possession is. time seems like the guy who would, especially as he already seems to know what this is.

I wonder if he really is the hero of realms?

Yes, Time. Yes, he is.

The face he dosent remember any time he's possessed by the medallion is a little worrying.

Makes me think that could be used later.

Like, Link dosent remember fighting this ice comet now. What if he fights an enemy while possessed, breaks the possession then has to relearn how to defeat it because as possessed link he's not gained any information.

Man Link is a cinnamon roll sometimes and I love him dearly okay.

Alrighty, thats me finished with my rambling. Thank you so much for sticking with me through this! And thanks again to @zelda-the-sacred-realm for the permission to do these i really appreciate it.

Please please go and check out the rest of the comic if you haven't it's amazing :D

Thats me finished for this chapter, so I'll be headed out!

Hope you have a wonderful day! :D

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choicesmonthlychallenge · 2 months

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Choices March Challenge 2024

I asked and you answered. It seems like flowers and spring are prompts you are interested in for the March Challenge!

I hope you enjoy the prompts I chose. There is a mix of flowers, spring related words, March holidays, dialogue prompts, and visual floral prompts. I also posted some floral dividers that you're welcome to use.

Have Fun + Happy Creating!

Prompts + Guidelines below the cut!

Flowers (these are some possibilities, but all flowers are accepted)

Bleeding Heart Flower

Carnation

Chrysanthemum

Coneflower

Corpse Flower

Daffodil

Daisy

Gladiolus

Hydrangea

Iris

Jade Vine

Lavender

Lilac

Lily

Marigold

Moonflower

Nightshade

Orchid

Pansy

Peony

Poppy

Rose

Snapdragon

Sunflower

Tulip

Wildflowers

Spring

Awakening

Baby animals

Butterflies

Clear skies

Daylight saving

Fresh air

Growth

New Life

Outdoor activities + sports

Picnics

Rain boots

Rainy days

Renewal

Spring cleaning

Sunny weather

Warm temperatures

Longer days

Umbrella

March Holidays (these are some possibilities, but all March Holidays are accepted)

March 01: National Peanut Butter Lover's Day

March 08: International Women's Day

March 09: National Barbie Day + Get over it Day

March 11: National Napping Day

March 15: The Ides of March

March 16: National Panda Day

March 17: St. Patrick's Day

March 18: Awkward Moments Day

March19: First day of spring

March 23: National Puppy Day

March 30: National Take a Walk in the Park Day + Doctors' Day

March 31: Easter

Dialogue Prompts

"The flowers in the park seem to have a secret language, don't they?"

"Why does every spring bring back memories of that garden?"

"I can't believe you kept that secret from me all these years."

"Why do you always have to be so stubborn?"

"I never thought I'd see you again."

"Do you believe in second chances?"

"I thought we were in this together."

"You're not the person I thought you were."

"Sometimes silence speaks louder than words."

"Is it too late to start over?"

"I don't know who I am anymore."

"We're running out of time."

"Why are you really here?"

"Your laughter is my favorite melody."

"If our love story were a book, every page would be filled with the softest words and the sweetest kisses. What chapter are we on now?"

“Will you please shut up”

“Of all the things i love about you, this is my favorite.”

Visual Prompts:

If one of these inspire a creative work from you feel free to use it. You can list the prompt topic + # (ie: Rainbow 3)

Guidelines + Rules

Submitted works will be featured on a weekly masterlist

Every form of creative work can be submitted: fanfiction, drabbles, moodboards, edits, drawings, poems, songs, sketches, and more—all are welcomed.

Work from any book and story from the Choices (and Pixelberry) universe are welcome (new and old alike)!

You can participate as many times as you want during the month

Clearly list the prompt your used

You can combine submissions for this event and others

Please add a cut to avoid long posts and exposing other fans to triggering/disturbing content.

If your work is NS*W please label it as such and use appropriate warnings. Adult content should be hidden under the page break.

You can get creative with the prompts. It can be a variation of the word and/or concept. It doesn’t have to be exact or literal. If the word inspires a train of thought that led you to something different, put that in the notes and send it in! Have fun with it! Make them work for you! The ultimate goal is just to find joy in creating!

Please tag @choicesmonthlychallenge and if you’d like to add me you can do so as well~ @lovealexhunt (feel free to DM me your work too since Tumblr tags are fickle)

Please do not submit work that has been created with AI. Works that contain AI will not be reblogged. If reblogged inadvertently and I find out they have AI, they will be deleted.

Late entries will be accepted through April 5

#choices #choices game #playchoices #choices stories you play #choices monthly challenge #choices march challenge #choices march challenge 2024 #choices monthly challenge 2024 #march2024

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tackytigerfic · 3 months

Note

im soo hyped for that wartime fic :O do you have any entire how long in terms of chapters it will be?

Hello Anon, thank you so much for being excited about this. It really is such a kind thing to tell me, esp after I've been writing this fic for so long and having absolutely zero perspective on it anymore.

I am hoping to post it in chapters, as I have never had a fic long enough to do that with before! And it might be my only chance. It's currently nearly 220k with a bit more to write (but not much more!) though I am going to try to cut it back as close to about 150k as I can get it. And then I'm going to try to divide it into about 15 chapters or so, and post a chapter every 2 days for a month. They will be big chunky boys, those chapters! I know a lot of people don't read WIPs and I don't mind if people don't follow along, but I have read along with a handful of WIPs myself and it was such fun that I thought I'd like to try it from the other side. I do also have a smut epilogue planned which I might have to post a bit later, depending on how quickly I get through the editing process.

Here's a little snip from the fic too, just while I'm here, and since it's still WIP Snip Sunday! In this scene, Harry and Draco are no longer friends, after Draco ran off to France. They have just been humiliated to learn (through drinking a charmed drink) that they share the same happiest memory, and it involves a day out they had in London together many years before.

"It’s obviously some sort of error in the charm, like you said.”

“Exactly.” Draco had the steel of conviction in his voice. “But even if it wasn’t… if that really was your happiest memory, I mean. Well, you know I’m not judging you.”

“Well, you’re not exactly in any position to judge me, are you?” Harry said nastily, hating himself a bit for it. “After all, it was your happiest memory too.”

They were quiet then, Harry weighing up Draco’s silence, judging it for what he knew it was; a confession.

“Well,” Draco said, and cleared his throat. “It really was excellent ice-cream.”

“Hermione says we all have some sort of trauma reaction from being at war for so long, and she thinks I’m latching onto anything that isn’t completely terrible in my past.”

“Oh, cheers,” Draco broke in. “Though I suppose not-completely-terrible is a fair assessment.”

Harry wanted to tell him that there was a time when he was pretty much the exact opposite of terrible—the counterpoint to all the shitty things Harry had to worry about, the thing that undercut all the misery and drudgery of the war Harry was locked into. But Harry couldn’t remember feeling the purity of those feelings anymore, not since they’d been all muddied up by Draco leaving, the awful gasping pain of the surprise abandonment, the sick relentless ache of the realisation that Draco really wasn’t coming back.

“I miss London,” he said instead. “Sometimes I even miss Grimmauld Place.”

“That’s another thing he’s ruined,” Draco said, shoving his sweating plastic bags of takeaway onto the small table. “London always felt so safe. It was so big, so anonymous. I could be anyone I wanted there. And now he’s everywhere, like a virus. How often do you get back there?”

“Hardly ever,” Harry said. “When I went to meet you, that was the first time in months. The Council thinks it’s too much of a risk, me going into his territory. His warding system isn’t as sophisticated as ours yet, of course, but he’s working with a lot of innate power there, and it’s concentrated stuff. If I fall into his hands, it would be all over for us.”

“Lots of magic per square foot in London,” Draco agreed. “I do worry about that. If he gets back to his full strength at any point, with all that magical energy behind him…”

“I know,” Harry said. “It’s one of the things that keeps me up at night, to be honest.”

“There are probably quite a few of those,” Draco said, lip curling not unkindly. “Do you— I mean, I always order too much…” He waved his hand at the bags of takeaway. Harry could see a curling bag of brown paper with the corner of a herb-dappled naan poking out, and he felt ravenous again, all of a sudden.

“Yeah, I could eat,” he said. “If you’re sure.”

#tacky's fth #wip snip #drarry #drarry fic #six sentence sunday #six paragraph sunday more like #asked and answered #rowing and chatting #thank you anon most sincerely #i hope you like it when it does post

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hana-no-seiiki · 10 months

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why does ‘it’ give me so much gender euphoria? i’ve been reading way too much monster! reader fics.

anyways have an old fic of mine from quotev i never got to continue writing lolz have fun. next chapters will be posted on yoru-no-seiiki if ever.

LOVE MULTIPLIED : MONSTER

PROLOGUE:

THE BEAST.

IT WAS A BEING WITH NO NAME, no face, no identity in this world except the cruel things it was designated as by the people it tormented.

By all intents, constructions and purposes, the being was an enigma to humankind. An enigma of atypically molded flesh and bone ; of blood; of darkness — of the heavens and the universe.

When it awoke on this planet, it already knew its purpose.

To tear down humanity’s knowledge that edged far too close to the divine the being called its creator.

Yet, it had underestimated the tenacity of these new creations.

It had taken them centuries, sure. A number of years enough to carry half a dozen generations. But they had won against it.

It was a being with nothing but the overflowing intent to destroy humanity —

So that one day it may build it back up again to where it will stay juvenile and naïve for eternity.

“You have been captured, Alien. There’s no use to this.” A human that the others called a scientist spoke. They watched with focused eyes, and the creature was almost sure they did not stop to blink for a second.

Alien. It was one of the things humanity thought it was. If anything humanity were the true aliens to this world. How awfully ironic of them to call it that.

It only responded with a deep trill.

“It took us almost a millennium but we did it. We finally — “ The scientist choked on their words for a moment, overwhelmed with sadness, excitement, and most of all anxiety.

”We finally defeated you.”

If their enemy still being alive and capable of destroying several moons with just a thought was considered a victory for humanity. Then maybe the beast had overestimated its quarry. Still it could not deny the impressive feat that is its capture. Though it was mostly its fault for taking so long to finish the job, humanity was nonetheless impressive.

And that is exactly why humankind must be cut off where it stands.

”And… I have you here. All to myself.” The scientist muttered. Fortunately — or was it unfortunately — the forcefield did nothing to stop the sounds coming from outside. So the beast could hear their whispers , and every sound there is and could be in the universe , just as well as them shouting these words out.

It leaned forward, inches away from the forcefield that separated it from tearing the human apart. Is this the type of person that they usually call— what was it again— a creep?

Unfortunately this action only made the scientist blush. Either at the success in finally getting it to do more than growl or from being incredibly close to the murderer of billions. It did not know.

“The strongest being in this universe — and me, about to be the most knowledgeable human this world has to offer. “ The beast adjusted itself back to a ‘sitting’ position. The scientist took the action as one made in fear — how utterly ridiculous — and waved their hands, ”Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you . . . too much.”

This person was the exact epitome of why the divine creator had sent it here. Humans who venture too far into the unknown turned to fall ill with madness. Really, the creature was doing these beings a favor.

A favor paid in the souls of billions.

Though it knew that if it hadn’t gone through with its divine mission, humanity would inevitably destroyed itself. The creature only accelerated the process and gave them a villain to blame.

”I never experienced the war myself, as old as I am. While those brutes out there kept themselves busy with attempting to destroy you. I knew from the moment I first saw you towering the black skies that the true way to achieve a triumph was to keep you locked. For us to observe.” The human continued musing while they walked around the room.

At this point the monster wasn’t even listening anymore and was thinking of the infinite ways it could reshape this rather annoying scientist.

”For us to learn about.”

It growled. There was nothing to learn about it. Nothing at all. The leathery detached skin in front of its mouth fluttered as the sound emitted across the gigantic chamber.

”And who knows — for us to one day replicate.”

It attempted to reach through the forcefield, the urge to destroy to unbearable. But it is reminded of how they were exactly kept here.

The moment flesh made contact with field, it burns. The creature knew no pain before for it had only known its creator and darkness. But pain, oh how —

— distracting it was.

The scientist paid no mind to its loud roars of agony. Instead they smile as they leave the observation room.

“I’ll see the next day then, Beast of Judgement.”

ART BY MARK HILYER

©️ hana-no-seiiki - yun | 2023

236 notes · View notes

fallinginvictus · 6 days

Text

WIP WEDNESDAY

I never participate in these things because I always feel selfconscious about my wips. but it looks like everyone always has sk much fun so here's the first COMPLETELY UNEDITED chapter of my new fic.

9ish years post-canon (aaron at the end of his first year of residency)

time loop fic where aaron dies of an overdose and andrew keeps waking up on the morning of his death and tries his best to save him

tw for this specific chapter: character death, mention of drug addiction, mention of relapse, mention of drug overdose, dead body

5K words

CHAPTER ONE

It's Tuesday, 8 May at 15:19 in the afternoon when Andrew's phone rings, the soft voice of a doctor on the other side, the words coming out of her mouth venomous and wrong, lies that Andrew can't comprehend, can't accept.

Stop lying, he wants to tell the counterfeit doctor.

Neil is at an away match on the other side of America. Nicky is an ocean away. Andrew is alone, standing in the middle of his living room with a dislocated shoulder, the now silent phone still clutched in his aching hand, spiders crawling under his skin, making their way into his throat, into his lungs, stopping the air from entering his body, his mind going numb, his brain unable to make sense of the three words circling in his head, bouncing around his skull: Aaron is dead.

“Aaron is not dead,” he says to the empty room, to a God he doesn't believe in, to the orange cat sunbathing on the windowsill.

Andrew was never one for denial, he found the whole concept silly and immature. If something happened, what's the point in lying to yourself and denying the cold hard truth? What's the point in delaying the inevitable?

And yet there he stands, the truth sounding like a lie, reality looking like a cruel and humourless joke, denial grabbing him by the throat and choking him out.

He walks to his room in a trance, throwing clothes and underwear into a black duffle bag without even checking if the clothes are clean, if they are his, he just takes anything that he can get his hands on and throws it in the bag until it's full and then he closes it.

Look after the cats, he texts Jake-the-neighbour as heads to his car.

Andrew had never much cared for the guy but Neil liked him and that was enough for Andrew.

The drive from New York to Boston is only 4 hours, Andrew had driven much longer just to meet Neil when they were in different teams, in different states, and yet none of those drives had ever felt as long as the one that is going to bring him to his brother's cold and lifeless corpse.

Every other car on the interstate seems to be moving in slow motion and Andrew wants to scream at every single one of them. He tightens his hands on the wheel, wondering why he needs to go faster, why he needs to speed. Aaron is already gone, his body already cold. It won't matter at all how long he takes to get there. It won't matter if he gets there in five minutes or five days, the outcome will be the exact same.

As he passes through towns and fields, Andrew wonders when Aaron had relapsed. How long had Aaron been lost to drugs before his death? How many times had he relapsed throughout the years without ever telling Andrew? How many times had he picked himself up on his own, alone in Boston?

“You are the one who wanted freedom,” he mutters, stuck in the 6 pm traffic as he lays his head on the steering wheel. “You are the one who wanted this.”

They hadn't talked much in the past nine years. Aaron hadn't talked with anyone much. He had left Palmetto State and the rest of them with it without ever looking back.

Nicky would always cry about it, about Aaron's lack of contact, about his distance, about his unwillingness to get mixed up with the Foxes after graduation.

“Oh, Mr. Harvard is too good for us now? Can't even show his face for one dinner?” Allison had said once while they were having dinner at Wymack and Abby's housewarming party.

“He's probably just busy,” Nicky had defended him, his eyes tired from the 10-hour flight from Germany that he had taken just to be there for their little reunion, knowing how hard it was for all the Foxes to be free on the same day.

“Yeah well, we are all busy.”

Once, Nicky had called Andrew while he was still crying after he had gotten in a huge fightwith Aaron about his indifference, about his distance.

“He never even texts,” Nicky had said. “Did you know that he and Kate broke up two years ago? Two fucking years Drew. Of course you didn't know either because he never tells us anything at all. It's like we don't exist anymore to him.”

That bastard had done his best to distance himself from them just so that he could have his perfect and normal life just to then go and overdose on some stolen morphine.

What a humiliating way to go.

So much for a perfectly normal life.

The traffic in Boston is a nightmare, red lights that won't turn green, green lights that always turn red, endless cars imperfectly lined one after the other waiting for their turn to finally move past a traffic light just be immediately stopped by another, lawless intersections that Andrew thinks will be the death of him.

Andrew has always hated driving in the city and Aaron knew that. He could've at least overdosed in a farm out of town and spared Andrew the headache. What an asshole.

He stands outside the hospital for a few or a hundred minutes, listening to the ambulances’ sirens as they race behind him, looking at the people who are walking in and out of that imposing white building, the first rays of sun already starting to sink into the horizon, the sky turning dark.

When he finally walks inside, a nurse in yellow scrubs gasps loudly as soon as she sees him, the tablet in her hands slipping to the ground while she looks at him pale-faced and wide-eyed.

“I'm so sorry,” one of her colleagues says while running to her side and pushing the stunned nurse away. “You look just like Dr. Minyard.”

“As twins often do,” he replies without blinking, the nurse's reaction shaking him more than he thought it could.

“Of course. You must be Andrew. I'm Nurse Mary.”

He just stares at her in silence as she stares back at him as if she were looking at a ghost.

Andrew wondered how he will ever be able to look at himself in the mirror again.

“Are you going to bring me to my brother or are you going to stare at me all day?”

“Yes. Of course. I'm so sorry. Here, follow me,” she says as if coming out of a trance before turning towards the other nurse. “Tell Dr. Allen that Dr. Minyard's brother arrived.”

Andrew had been expecting white hallways, white tile floors and white walls illuminated by bright white lights, instead he's met by green and yellow hallway walls, little animals like rabbits and deer and butterflies painted all around, flowers made of paint blooming in every corner.

“This is a children's hospital,” Nurse Mary says as if Andrew had asked.

“I know,” he replies because he might've lost contact with his brother but at least he knows that much.

They walk in silence for the rest of the way, Andrew unwilling to entertain any form of conversation, unable to let words come out of his mouth, incapable of interacting with the world outside of his mind.

He wonders if Aaron had even thought about the consequence of his relapse. If he had thought of his career, of the future that he had worked so restlessly to achieve.

If Aaron was going to throw it all away anyway, he could've at least avoided making Nicky cry.

“He's here,” Mary says while stopping in front of a white door. “We haven't brought him down to the morgue yet. We were waiting for you.”

Andrew just nods.

“We all knew he was-”

“I didn't ask,” he replies. “You can leave”

“Of course. I'm sorry,” Andrew can tell that there is still something stuck on the tip of her tongue that she so badly wants to say, but he doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't want to hear how everyone knew about it, how Aaron hadn't managed to escape from his past, how he hadn't been able to achieve that normal life that he had always yearned for.

He waits until the nurse is gone and then another few more minutes before he finally pushes the door open and walks inside the dim room.

There is a bed on the right, it's empty and white and perfectly made.

There is a bed on the left, white lines pulled over a body, gloomy and silent and perfectly still.

Andrew walks quietly towards the occupied bed and then stops for a second, his cement-stuffed shoes anchoring him to the ground, his metal-filled bones weighing him down. He feels like he's trying to run in a dream, trying to walk on quicksand, Aaron's silhouette so close to him and yet so impossibly distant.

The quiet of the room is deafening, the grains of dust falling and dancing in the air in slow motion suddenly starting to look beautiful and interesting and making his eyes stray from his brother's dead body.

He doesn't want to look at it. To look at him.

He wants to run.

He wants to open that door and never have to look at his traitor of a brother again. He wants to spit in his face and curse his name, curse his short existence and meaningless departure.

He removes the sheet from Aaron's face and gently caresses his cold and icy cheek, his fingers grazing over his once-soft skin, over his long hair.

“You are so stupid,” he says. “I hate you so much.”

He stares at Aaron's motionless face, trying to remember the last time he had seen it flushed red, the last time life had still been cursing through his body, beating in his chest, shining in his eyes.

It had been so long. Too long.

He can't remember the last words he had said to Aaron, can't remember the last conversation they had. He can't remember what Aaron had said or if he had smiled. (Aaron never really smiled.)

It had been spring back then too, Andrew and Neil were in Boston for a match. They had met at a coffee shop. Andrew can't remember what Aaron had ordered. They hadn't talked much, feeling like strangers who had once lived in each other's pockets, two people who knew so much and yet so little about each other.

Aaron had left in a hurry with an I'm sorry, I'll text you.

Andrew had said nothing in reply.

“We didn't even say goodbye,” he whispers as that knowledge slams into him like a fast-moving train. “I hate you.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket but he doesn't even notice, his left hand resting on Aaron's blond hair as his right moves on top of his chest, searching for a beat that he knows he won't find.

“After all we did for you, how can you throw it all away just because you wanted to get high? How could you do this to us? What am I supposed to tell Nicky now? You know how much he loves you,” a moment passes, words that he had never said to Aaron trying to crawl their way up his throat, their sharp claws scratching it raw and leaving a trail of blood behind. “I love you.”

His breath hitches and his hands shake as he tries to take a hold of himself, as he tries to swallow those words back down, the taste of metal invading his mouth.

“I said I love you. So come back now,” he begs the silence and only the silence replies.

Aaron doesn’t move, his eyes remain closed, his chest unmoving.

“What do I tell Nicky?” he whispers to himself as he sits on the wooden chair next to the bed, his left hand softly holding Aaron's ice-covered hand while taking his phone out of his pocket with his right.

From: neighbour

not a problem at all!!!

I hope everything is alright :)

u don't have to worry i am GREAT with kitties

From: 0Neil

where are you? why did you ask jake to look after king and sir?

He wants to call Neil, to ask him to drop everything and meet him in Boston, but he knows it wouldn't be fair to tell anyone before telling Nicky.

If there was someone in the world who had gently and unconditionally loved Aaron, it was him.

If there was someone in the world who would fall apart at the news of Aaron's death, it would be him.

Andrew wishes there was another way to do it. Wishes Nicky didn't have to hear of Aaron's death the same way that Andrew had: from a voice through the phone.

“Andrew, is everything alright?” Nicky answers after letting the phone ring five times.

“Are you home?”

“It's 1 am of course I'm home and also sleeping,” he says on the phone before adding quietly. “It's Andrew.”

“Erik is next to you?” Andrew asks because he needs someone to be there with Nicky. He wouldn't survive the news if he were alone.

“Yeah. What's going on?”

“Turn on the lights and sit on the bed with Erik next to you.”

“Andrew, it's so late and Erik has to get up from work in like, five hours. Can't this wait?”

“Just do as I say, Nicky,” he gritts out as he holds Aaron's hand. “And tell me when you are done.”

He can hear a little commotion on the other side, the rustling of covers as they are being moved, german words he can't understand, someone sighing in annoyance.

“Okay, we are now sitting on our bed with the lights on like two idiots.”

“Hold his hand.”

“Andrew-”

“Just do as I say.”

“You are scaring me.”

“Are you holding his hand?”

“Yessir.”

“Nicky,” is all that comes out of his mouth, the rest of the sentence drowning in his chest before he can get it out.

“Is something wrong with Neil?” Nicky asks and Andrew can hear the worry in his voice, the gentleness in his tone.

“It's Aaron,” he spits, the acid-filled words burning his flesh on their way out.

“Aaron? Is he sick? What's wrong?”

“He's dead,” he says as if those words aren't about to make Nicky's whole world crumble to the ground.

“He's not dead,” Nicky says with a chuckle. “I texted him two months ago and he was fine.”

“Nicky,” Andrew breathes out. “He's dead.”

“He was fine so how can he be dead now? That doesn't make any sense Andrew. Don't be silly.”

“He relapsed. He overdosed early this afternoon.”

“He went to Harvard. He's a doctor in one of the best children's hospitals in the country. He's a doctor, Andrew. He's happy. Why would he relapse?”

“Because he's a drug addict, Nicky. That's what they do.”

“Shut up. Not Aaron. He's clean. He can't be dead. Please. We didn't- I didn't even-” and then all he can hear through the phone are a series of sobs being pulled out of Nicky's chest as he falls apart on the other side of the phone, on the other side of the world.

“I'll take care of him and book the first flight for Boston,” Erik says as Andrew listens to Nicky falling to pieces before the call ends.

He stares at Aaron for a few seconds, his hand still softly holding Aaron's, “You see what you did? You made Nicky cry again. How is he supposed to move on from this now?”

His phone vibrates again as it rests on his legs.

From: 0Neil

reply?

I just need to know that everything is okay

To: 0Neil

I'm in boston

come as soon as you can

aaron's dead

From: 0Neil

I'm coming right now

Andrew looks at Aaron's face one last time, his fingers hovering over his icy cheek for a few seconds before placing a kiss on his forehead, something that he had never dreamt of doing when Aaron's forehead was still warm, and then he covers him with the white hospital sheet.

“Where are his things?” he asks Nurse Mary once he reaches the nurses’ station.

“My God,” another nurse whispers in the background. “They look so similar. He looks like a better and healthier version of Dr Minyard.”

A better version of Aaron.

Andrew snarls at those words.

That's not how their lives were supposed to turn out. Aaron was supposed to be the better twin, the one with his life together, the happy and normal one. How had things turned out like this? Why was Andrew the one with a normal life and Aaron's lifeless body was lying in a hospital bed under a white sheet?

“Here, I'll take you to his locker.”

The staff changing room is closer to the nurses’ station than Aaron's body is and to Andrew's relief, is also empty.

“You can put his things in this bag,” the nurse says as she hands him a plastic bag. “Number 13. It's already opened for you,” she stands there awkwardly for a second. “Goodbye then.”

“Who do I have to invite to the funeral?” he asks her before she can walk out.

“I'm sorry?”

“His close friends. Who was he the closest to? Who must I invite to the funeral?”

“Oh,” Nurse Mary says awkwardly as she fiddles with her hands. “Dr Minyard wasn't really- he didn't really have any friends here. Or anywhere. I'm sorry I don't- He just didn't really talk with anyone and always kept to himself. Dr Allen always says that he's his favourite prodigee, that he will become a great doctor but that he's not really a fun person to be around. He's great with patients just not-” She stops talking, realising how rude her words may sound to a grieving family member. “I'm sorry.”

“So nobody?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Whatever.”

Something breaks in Andrew at those words, a pain that he can't place, that he can't understand.

He had always imagined Aaron living a happy and normal life, laughing with his colleagues while eating lunch at the hospital cafeteria, having a drink after work at a bar near the hospital, spending the holidays around a table full of people while laughing about something that had happened at work the night before.

He always thought Aaron had left them behind because he had built a new life for himself, that he'd left them behind so that he could build himself a perfect life surrounded by normal people.

He doesn't know what to do with the image of an Aaron who had no one in his life, who spent all of his time either at work or at home alone, who never laughed and never smiled. Andrew wonders if he had ever even known his brother at all.

Was it the absence of people in his life that made him relapse, he wonders, or was the fear of relapsing that kept him away from people?

There isn’t much in Aaron's locker, just a yellow stethoscope, a white coat with a yellow sunflower-shaped pin, his house keys, a box of assorted teas, a pair of spare scrubs and a set of cutlery. He picks everything up and throws it in the red plastic bag, a piece of paper falling to the ground as he does so.

He kneels on the ground to pick it up but his hand stops in mid-air as soon as he realised what it is: a picture of the Foxes during Aaron's third year of college, their orange uniforms bright under the sun, smiles painted on almost all of their faces, Wymack and Abby standing by their side.

“What the fuck Aaron,” he asks closing his eyes for a second before picking up the worn-out picture and staring at it for a few seconds, a confused expression on his face, his heart beating loudly in his ears.

He can't stop thinking about that picture the whole drive towards Aaron's apartment, questions swirling inside his brain as he almost blows through a red light.

Aaron's new life, now that Andrew got a glimpse of it, looks a lot different than what he had imagined and he just can't understand it. Nothing makes any sense and there is no one left who can shed light on it because the only person who could make sense of it is now dead.

Aaron is dead.

Andrew wonders how he's supposed to move on with his life with those words always swirling in his brain.

Aaron's house is fifteen minutes away from the hospital, the building modest but well maintained, Aaron's apartment on the sixth floor.

He stands in front of the door for a few minutes delaying the inevitable as if it would change the outcome. He has been doing a lot of that the past few hours.

He used to always dive face-first into any situation, no matter the cost, no matter the consequences.

Aaron's death is something he's unable to face. Doesn't want to face.

Aaron's bed is still unmade when Andrew opens the door to his bedroom, dirty clothes scattered around the room, empty boxes of ramen piled near the full trash can, sheets of paper covering the floor, open books piled on top of more open books on his desk.

Andrew wonders when was the last time Aaron had cleaned up the room as he opens the window.

When they lived together, Aaron was clean and neat, he used to hate when Andrew left clothes lying around and when he didn't wash his dishes. He would clean his room once every other day without ever leaving even a pen out of place. Even when he was so high he could barely remember his own name or understand where he was, he would always take the time to fold his clothes and put his shoes in their right place before going to bed.

Andrew wonders what had changed.

He sits on the bed, on Aaron's bed, his body heavy, his tiredness bone-deep, and closes his eyes for a second, Aaron's freshly washed hoodie next to his head, the scent of honey and lilies invading his senses, Aaron's pale face right behind his eyelid.

------------- ------------ ---------

It's the sound of his own alarm that wakes him up again, a cat jumping on the bed and resting on his chest as the annoying and incessant sound of his alarm clock keeps ringing in his ears.

Andrew's eyes snap open.

He's lying under his light green covers, in his own bed, in his own house, King purring on his chest, waiting for Andrew to pet him like he does every morning, Aaron’s pale face still dancing behind Andrew's eyelids, his lifeless hands and unmoving chest tattooed on Andrew's brain.

He grabs his phone from where it's charging on the nightstand to look at the time but what catches his attention is the date written in big white letters on his phone screen: 7:09 am, Tue, 8 May.

Had it been just a dream? Just a cruel creation of his own imagination? But it had felt too real to be nothing more than a nightmare. Andrew can still recall every second of yesterday, of today, every step he took, every move he made, the way Aaron's cold skin had felt, the way his moonstone-white face had looked. How could it have been nothing more than a figment of his own fucked up imagination? How could it all have been fake when he could still feel the ache in his heart, so real and tangible?

He dials Aaron's number five times before his brother finally answers, his voice like a stab to Andrew's heart.

“What? Is something wrong?” Aaron asks as soon as he picks up the phone, worry clear in his tired voice.

Andrew wants to scream at him, to never speak to him again.

“Are you still clean?”

“What?” Andrew can hear the disdain in Aaron's voice but pointedly ignores it.

“Just answer. Are you still clean?”

“Yes, I am. Almost 10 years.”

“Do you feel like using again?”

“No?”

“Good. Don't,” Andrew says before hanging up the phone, Aaron's voice too painful to hear, the memory of his death too fresh in Andrew's mind even if it had been nothing more than a cruel dream conjured up by his treacherous mind.

Andrew finally feels like he can breathe again.

Eight hours and ten minutes later, Andrew's phone rings again, the soft voice of a doctor on the other side, the words coming out of her mouth venomous and wrong, lies that Andrew can't comprehend, can't accept.

Not again, he wants to tell the counterfeit doctor.

Neil is at an away match on the other side of America. Nicky is an ocean away. Andrew is alone, standing in the middle of his living room with a dislocated shoulder, the now silent phone still clutched in his aching hand, spiders crawling under his skin, making their way into his throat, into his lungs, stopping the air from entering his body, his mind going numb, his brain unable to make sense of the three words circling inside his head, bouncing around his skull: Aaron is dead.

“This can't be happening again,” he says to an empty room, to a God he doesn't believe in, to the orange cat sunbathing on the windowsill.

Andrew was never one for denial, he found the whole concept silly and immature, but how he can he be relieving the worst moment of his life for a second time? Is he lying in Aaron's bed trapped in a nightmare? Has he died and gone to Hell, forced to relive the worst day of his life for the rest of eternity?

Andrew was never one for denial and yet there he stands, the truth sounding like a lie, reality looking like a cruel and humourless joke, denial grabbing him by the throat and choking him out.

Look after the cats, he texts Jake-the-neighbour as heads to his car in a trance, his mind lost in a fog he can't disperse.

The drive from New York to Boston is only 4 hours, Andrew had taken the same exact path yesterday, he had cursed at the same exact people he is currently speeding past.

Andrew can feel his hands tightening on the wheel and he wonders why speeding. He has already seen Aaron's lifeless body lying in that dim hospital room. He has already stood by his bedside and held his cold hand, has already felt Aaron's icy skin under his warm lips. It won't matter if he gets there in five minutes or five days, the outcome would be the exact same.

The traffic in Boston is a nightmare, red lights that won't turn green, green lights that always turn red, endless cars imperfectly lined one after the other just waiting for their turn to finally move past a traffic light just be immediately stopped by another, lawless intersections that Andrew thinks are going to be the death of him.

Andrew has always hated driving in the city and Aaron knew that. How dare he make him drive through it for a second time? What an asshole.

He walks inside the hospital as soon as his car is parked, the sound of the sirens as they race behind him loud as he bumps into the people who are walking in and out of that imposing white building, the first rays of sun already starting to sink into the horizon, the sky turning dark.

When he walks inside, the nurse in yellow scrubs gasps loudly as soon as she sees him like she had the day before, the tablet in her hands slipping to the ground as she looks at him pale-faced and wide-eyed.

“I'm so sorry,” nurse Mary says while running to her side and pushing the stunned nurse away. “You look just-”

“I know,” he says, walking past her and heading towards the room where Aaron is resting.

“Oh- wait,” the nurse says running after him. “I can take-”

“I know where he is.”

“That's okay,” she says, trying to catch up with him but remaining silent as they walk in the right direction.

“You can go,” he says as soon as they reach the white door.

“Well, alright,” Mary says a little flustered. “My condolences.”

Andrew doesn't wait for her to leave before walking inside the dim room and closing the door behind himself.

He ignores the bed on the right, immediately heading towards the one occupied by his brother's body. The quiet inside the room deafening as he removes the sheet from Aaron's face and gently caresses his cold and icy cheek, his fingers grazing over his once-soft skin, over his long hair.

“How can you do this to me twice?” he asks the silent corpse. “That's cruel Aaron. That's just too fucking cruel.”

He looks at his brother for a few more seconds before shaking his head. “Is this some kind of divine punishment?” he asks towards the sky. “This is not fair. It's not fair.”

He covers Aaron's unloving face and walks out of the room and towards the doctors’ changing room as quickly as he can.

He wishes he could bleach his brain and remove the image of Aaron's lifeless body from his memory but he knows it will haunt all of his dreams, all of his waking moments.

“Wow. He looks like a better version of Dr Minyard.”

“Mr Minayrd-” Marys says.

“I know. Locker thirteen,” he interrupts her before entering the changing room and taking only Aaron's house keys and the Foxe’s picture out of the locker before bolting out of the hospital and speeding towards Aaron's apartment.

He doesn't know what he's doing, what he's looking for, what he's hoping to achieve, he just keeps looking all over Aaron's house as if he could find a solution there, an explanation.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asks the empty house and receives no reply, a picture of him, Aaron and Nicky during their graduation staring at him from its silver frame.

He lies on Aaron's carpet, the picture in his arms, staring at the bright light on the ceiling until his vision becomes blurry and there are black spots in his eyes.

It's the sound of his own alarm that wakes him up again, a cat jumping on the bed and resting on his chest as the annoying and incessant sound of his alarm clock keeps ringing in his ears.

Andrew's eyes snap open

#aaron minyard #andrew minyard #twinyards #all for the game #the foxhole court #fanfic #fanfiction #ff #aftg #aftg fanfic #wip wednesday #all for the game fanfic

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jellypear · 1 year

Text

I think you're worth holding onto PT4

Ayo besties I return from the void. This chapter is brought to you by the Undertale soundtrack and not wanting to do my uni worksheets <3. Also I'm really mad because I can't get the link for Part 2 to work on any of these posts and it's clearly all tumblr's fault.

@wolfythewitch, I understand that there is a strong Odyssey fixation atm but I have brought you an offering my liege.

——————————–

Philza has learnt a few things about Technoblade over the course of his sickness. The first being that the kid really loves potatoes. It didn’t matter how ill and uninterested in food he felt, if Phil put a potato in front of Techno, he would eat it. Even if he threw it up a couple of hours later.

Phil is a notorious worrywart. And having Techno sick in bed as a consequence of trying to meet Phil makes him think about the boy’s journey. Whether they were warm enough, if the weather was decent, if they had to walk the entire way? He’s especially concerned as to whether they were able to acquire enough for both of them. Because Tommy is young and Techno is a mage. Both kids and magic require fuel and a failure to supply it can be catastrophic.

But despite Phil’s worries, Techno manages to keep his food down after the first day. Sure he’s only eating mashed potatoes but it’s still something. And it honestly brings joy to his heart when he sees Techno’s face light up at the plate of potatoes.

And Phil laughs because he’s never met someone so in love with one food.

(And Phil cries because Wilbur never managed to keep any food down when he was sick.)

The second is that cabin fever sets in incredibly quickly for Techno. It didn’t even take a full day before he was complaining and trying to get out of bed despite how weak his legs were. There were many times Phil watched as Techno attempted to escape his plush prison, too sick to actually succeed.

Except there was one time Philza had left Techno alone so he could make dinner that night. He had assumed that the boy would be too tired that day to try and get up, and it wasn’t like Phil could just not feed them all. But apparently the second Phil took his eyes off him, Techno decided it was time for bad ideas! Which led to both Phil and Tommy being incredibly alarmed when they heard a thump from the bedroom.

What they discovered when they ran into the room was Techno. On the floor. Desperately trying to extract his legs from where he’d caught them in his blankets. Nobody had been impressed by the situation, and once Techno was back into bed and given the scolding of his life, he complained.

And Phil laughs because it's so simple, but Tommy was doing the exact same thing just a few days ago.

(And Phil cries because Wilbur could never manage to make it out of bed on his worst days, his very existence weighed down by something he couldn't control.)

The third is that Techno for all his silence is wonderful to talk to. The boy is incredibly intelligent and he has a wicked sense of humor. He has a love for the mythological, especially Greek. Phil has had the pleasure of listening to Techno recount his favorite myths. The way he tells them may be a tad unconventional, but honestly? Phil hasn’t had this much fun in years.

But at the same time, Techno is so clearly unused to talking to people outside of Tommy. There’s an awkwardness in how he talks to Phil, like he isn’t really sure what he’s doing. And there is a likelihood he’s naturally awkward. That Techno would communicate in the same way even if he was used to others. It comes across in Tommy as well, in how blunt he is with his feelings and questions.

But alas, Phil has become prone to worrying in recent years. His brain will latch onto anything that could be perceived as a problem and rotate it around in his head. But here, looking after Techno and listening to him talk, Phil can’t help but feel more content than he has in a while.

And Phil laughs because Techno has a way with words that is captivating.

(And Phil cries because Wilbur also had a way with words, Wilbur was able to spin tales from nothing and captivate people with only some words and a smile.)

The last thing is that Techno, in all his charm and awkwardness, holds a lot of similarities to Wilbur.

Phil laughs because he’s like Wilbur.

(Phil cries because he’s nothing like Wilbur.)

——————————–

Technoblade doesn't know how to feel about this Philza Minecraft.

He's a completely different man from the stories he and Tommy grew up hearing.

The Philza from the legends and rumors was powerful, a magical prodigy and a kind soul above all else. The man in front of Techno is different. He doesn't carry himself like one of the most revered men in the world. He doesn’t appear as if he once held the might of nature in his very hands. He doesn’t look like High Wizard Philza Minecraft, Advisor to the King and Master of the Arcane Arts.

The Philza in front of him looks… tired. Sad. And Techno doesn’t know how to feel about it. Because while he didn’t really have any expectations for what Philza would look like, this blows it all away.

He just looks like… Phil. Weird old Phil who talks to crows like they talk back.

Who still hasn’t kicked him and Tommy out yet.

Because here’s the thing, Techno and Tommy are resource drains. They’re two extra people in a house built for one. There’s only enough space and resources for Phil and Techno is expecting that it's only a matter of time before they’re asked to leave.

So he’s not surprised when one day Phil approaches him with a request.

What he isn't expecting, is what the request actually is.

“Come help me out in the garden mate” Techno is shocked. “What?”

“Come help me in the garden. The storm swept away a good chunk of the crops so I want to get on top of that as soon as we can” “But, why?” “Well I can’t just let us go and starve now can I?”

“No, I don’t understand. Why haven’t you asked Tommy and I to leave” It takes Phil a while to answer that one. He stills and gets lost in his head as Techno has watched him do so many times. And just as Techno begins to fear that he’s accidentally wandered into some unknown sorespot, Phil shrugs. “I can’t. I won't Techno”

And Techno can’t reply to that. He doesn’t know how. So he follows Phil into the garden and learns to help.

Phil shows him how to safely fill up buckets in the river, and shows him how to rinse off any mud that remains on the plants. Phil shows him how to cover any revealed roots, how to identify and remove broken stems.

The process of saving the garden only takes a couple days, but Phil warns him that the garden itself needs constant upkeep.

And he grows to enjoy it.

Techno enjoys the constant and methodical calm that comes with looking after the plants. The routine of it grants him a peace that he's never found before, the garden grants him respite.

And once the yard work is finished, he and Phil will head back inside to wash up and then Techno spends the rest of the day reading or playing with Tommy.

But one day this pattern breaks.

Techno has just finished putting the tools away, when Phil gestures for him to follow, and he begins to walk into the forest.

Techno isn't sure where they're going. The forest is massive, there is so much more to it than the confined area the crows keep Tommy in.

But something about the way he walks makes Techno think that Phil knows exactly where they're headed.

They walk past clearings, over streams further into the trees until Phil comes to a halt. They’ve stopped in a clearing that contains a stream, the water clear and bubbling onwards. There’s a fallen log lying haphazardly on the ground and that’s what Philza lowers himself onto as he stares at the gurgling water.

“People tend to think of magic as this mysterious energy, as something to be utilized. I used to have people ask me what the trick was. How they could get so good at magic as well," Phil turns away from the stream now to look at him. Techno steps forward, his breath leaving his chest. Surely Phil can’t be…

"That's all bullshit. There is no secret and there never was one."

Phil reaches over to tap on Techno's chest. "This is where magic comes from. You. And nature. Magic is no more special than lightning or flame, it is simply another force within our world."

Phil sighs, and Techno can't help but think that Phil looks, sad. Resigned. And Techno doesn't know why but it makes him feel the same way as when Tommy cries.

"I’ll help you Techno, I’ll teach you how to stop treating your magic like lightning in a bottle”

——————————–

Orignal AU by Wolfy | AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | Part 4 |

#fanfiction #sbi #sbi fanfic #sbi au #mcyt #wilbur soot #wilbur mcyt #tommyinnit #tommyinit mcyt #philza #philza minecraft #technoblade #fanfic #lighting in a bottle au

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dovithedarklord · 6 months

Text

Age of Monsters

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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Summary:

50 years ago, the world was turned upside down by the appearance of a virus, and monsters destroyed most of the known civilization. For safety, humanity has retreated to colonies all around the world, where life is lived according to strict rules and in fear of monsters. Fortunately, the virus caused something other than just the emergence of mutant monsters, it also awakened the Hunters, who have been heroically protecting the colonies ever since. Leona Woods spends her days in Colony 17 hiding from her duties as a Healer, but her carefree life soon ends when one of her evenings doesn't go as planned. And when karma finally catches up, she is forced to join Liquidation Unit 141 to fulfill her duties.

Life in Unit 141 isn't nearly all sunshine and rainbows, especially when a certain masked Hunter tries to make it even harder. However, the excitement only increases when a new danger appears, which threatens not only the life of the unit but the safety of the entire world. And Leona must decide whether to choose her own interests or the survival of her new team and the world.

The world in the story is inspired by the Guideverse.

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Authors note:

Leona ends up in a nice mess after eating her dinner too carelessly. She has no idea how quickly fate will catch up with her.

The story moves quite slowly, so please be patient! 141 boys won't appear in the first chapter just yet, but they will;) I have pretty much covered all the characters in the tags, but the list could expand in the future. (I proofread myself before posting, so sorry if there are mistakes! I write the story in my language first, and I translate it after. English is not my first language, so help is welcomed! Just be nice, please! )

I'll post more chapters, but if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter One

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I lazily stir my cocktail with the small wooden stick in it, as an absentminded distraction, my eyes run through the room enveloped in a flood of colorful, flashing lights. The bass of the music vibrates through my every muscle and bone, and I can almost feel the rhythm in my stomach, sending pleasant shivers through me. This is the thrill of the hunt, to be exact.

The people crammed into the small hall are pressed together like herrings, and the air smells of sweat, cheap perfume, and alcohol. My gaze wanders through the blissfully ignorant dancers from the force of habit, since I've done this a thousand times, I know exactly what I'm looking for. I’m searching for an exact type, a fool who seems lively enough to have just enough energy for a busy weeknight fun, and just as easily swayed by a seductive smile. I'm lucky because it seems like everyone wants to celebrate today, and that might be the reason behind today’s unusual crowd in this club, which is located in a hidden corner of the city. Usually, I would have to choose from a much smaller selection, but today on The Day of the Great Escape, everyone felt the need to paint the town red. Even if someone doesn’t give a damn about the important holiday, this day is still one of the few occasions when even those doing the most menial jobs are given a day off to be able to honor the memory of the first great Hunters who appeared fifty years ago. What an idiotic habit. If they knew the easy lives of those publicly funded mercenaries and executioners… they wouldn't be so grateful that they occasionally venture outside the green zone to kill a mutant monster or two.

Raising my glass to my mouth, I take a generous sip of my sweet cocktail and enjoy the way the alcohol sold at the price of gold pleasantly burns my throat. Like any other luxury item, alcohol is also a treasure, of course, only if you don't want to go blind from the crap concocted at someone’s shady basement. I feel my frustration awaken in the back of my head when I think about the near fortune I spent on the cocktail, but I push the annoying thought away, thinking that in worst case scenario I will not only get my usual snack from tonight's victim, but also the content of their wallet. If I'm lucky, the unfortunate bastard will have a few credits on them. Almost on cue, I catch a glimpse of a guy on the edge of the dance floor who stands out from the ring of people around him like a scarecrow on a cornfield. Judging by his movements, he's not the least bit thirsty, and as I watch him almost tripping over his own feet during his clumsy dance moves, a satisfied grin crosses my lips. Got you.

I down the last remnants of my nauseating drink, and I jump off the bar stool with light movements and throw myself into the crowd of dancers. I make my way toward the cutie I've chosen, not taking my eyes off of him for even a moment, and I feel my heart beating excitedly as I get closer and closer. As the adrenaline spreads through my body, all my senses sharpen, like a wild animal waiting to pounce on its victim. Tonight I'm bubbling with anticipation and impatience more than usual because it's been a week and a half since I caught the last sweet little boy for some private fun… and my appetite is coming back fast. With dull, but steady force.

As I finally arrive behind the boy, my fingers twine on his arms with a butterfly-light touch and travel sensually up to his shoulders. Despite his apparent drunkenness, the guy visibly flinches in fright, and this one tiny movement makes my mouth dry with anticipation. He looks puzzled and surprised as he turns towards me, and as he glances down at me, all my nerves and senses are attuned to him. And as the inviting warmth of his body travels from his hot skin through my fingertips, I can already see the intricate network that weaves through his body in my mind's eye, with his pulsing heart in the middle beating to a fierce rhythm. I don't need to use my ability to know that I don’t have to try hard, because as soon as the first shock wears off in a fraction of a second, he arranges his features on his sweet boyish face and pulls his mouth into a lazy grin. Bingo.

"Hi. " I shout over the music blaring around us, and I conjure up the flirtatious smile that I have perfected over the years, which I know will immediately sweep such simple-minded fools off their feet. Obviously, it also helps a lot that even if the higher powers that supposedly exist have already cursed me with my fucking abilities, they at least put conventionally attractive features on me. It would be foolish to deny that I am charming, and I am neither modest nor delusional enough to try to lie to myself about it. It would certainly be a more attractive quality to blush and protest against such facts in order to score good points in the eyes of other people, but if there is one thing I have learned it is that in this new order, you won’t get far with modesty and goodness. That fair world has been gone since the first mutant monsters slaughtered an entire city, or maybe it never even existed.

"Hello... " The guy greets me too, and as he turns towards me welcomingly, ready to flirt, my hands clasp around his neck with a swift movement, and I snuggle up to him with my whole body, promising salacious adventures. It doesn't escape my attention how his pupils dilate almost on command, as my breasts press against his chest and my nails run through the back of his neck teasingly. I can almost feel it in my mouth how the heat of his desire starts to build and a tingle fueled by lust travels through him. It's ridiculously easy for me to turn him on, but he’s exactly the type of easy target I usually hunt for. He's just drunk enough to not be able to think clearly but be up for action when a pretty girl approaches him. He's just healthy enough to withstand my snacking but weak enough to not be able to resist. Not that he'd stand a chance against me.

I’m not wasting time on talking anymore, because I can tell from his heated gaze and his fast-beating heart that I could climb on him even here if I wanted to. But I was always shy when it came to my private life. I like it better when we enjoy these intimate moments together without any pesky interruptions.

I remove the presence of my naughty little body from the guy, and as his dark eyes fill with disappointment, I hold back the laughter that threatens to burst out of me with all my might. I grab him by the arm, and I just give him a teasing smile over my shoulder as I point towards to the exit with my head, and his quick to understand what I’m implying. He follows me without a question as I lead him out of the dance floor with purposeful steps towards the back entrance of the club. He stumbles along like the fool he is, with a distinct look of puppy-like longing spread on his face. And I send tiny sparks of my energy into his body through his skin, which boosts the already present alcoholic stupor in him even more, because I never leave anything up for luck. We should look like just a simple, carefree young couple who after finding each other in the heat of the night, are heading somewhere, anywhere, to relieve their needs. Which is true. But I suspect that this little cutie and I are not thinking about the same needs as we are galloping towards the exit.

And as the back door opens and the cool fresh air of the night hits me, the all too known impatience that usually comes at this time takes over me. I've been feeling that painful tension in my stomach for days now, which indicates that I can't wait any longer and I have to find someone to help my little problem. I hate the feeling when I squirm in bed with a heated body, trying to fall asleep, but every part of me aches and pleads for me to just finally satisfy my hunger.

As the guy finally exits the club behind me the door closes behind us with a loud bang. The dim light filtering in from the street only vaguely paints his features, but I can make out enough to know that by now my machinations got him ready for the finale. I don't like what I am, but I love my abilities. If the members of my species weren’t treated like objects or animals for slaughter, I wouldn't be frustrated by all of this shit.

I drag the now completely dazed guy towards one of the corners filled with cardboard boxes, forcing him to back up against the hard concrete, trapping him with my arms over his shoulders. The sight could look quite comical, a girl who is at least half a head shorter, pinning a grown man to the wall with a gesture taken from a romantic movie, but I know that out of the two of us, I am not the prey. But he is.

"I like girls who take initiative. " He says, his words smeared by alcohol and from my little tricks echo in the darkness of the alley. I pull a lazy little smile on my face as I kneel down in front of him, and I’m quick to unfasten his belt and unbutton his pants with my hands. I can almost hear how the air catches in his throat, and when I look up at him and see the stunned look that blooms on his face, I release my laughter. My God. It gets me every time.

"Then it's your lucky day. " I answer, and I feel my voice deepen and get filled with the longing caused by my hunger. He swallows his Adam's apple bobbing as my hands start to pull down the rough fabric of his pants from his narrow hips with excruciating slowness. Goosebumps rise on his skin when I grip the lean muscles of his thighs and I involuntarily lick my lips as the pulsating veins appear before my eyes. I nudge his legs apart and he obediently spreads them wider, and I lean forward to smooth my lips on his now-exposed skin. A shiver runs through him as I follow the line of blood vessels branching under his skin with my tongue, and I mark the place where I plan to eat my meal with a small seductive kiss. I give him another boost with my energy so that he gets even more stunned, and he tilts his head back with his eyes closed, his breathing speeds up desperately, and all the while he doesn't even notice how I make a small incision on his thigh with the small blade I dug out of my pocket. The first drops of blood emerge from under the pale skin, and I, like a thirsty pilgrim left in the desert, throw myself on the small pearls that surface. I press my mouth tightly to the wound, and my teeth tingle painfully as I swallow the first sips, but I know, that even if a stupid bastard like him would discover a bite mark, he could easily put the pieces together and get me caught. So I’m momentarily satisfied with the way the metallic taste of blood fills my taste buds, and my whole body trembles as the familiar heat sweeps along my spine. I sigh with relief, as the hunger gnawing at my insides begins to ease, and the torturous feeling that has been twisting my stomach for days is replaced by the euphoria, which is hard to put into words, that rears its head in my body with each meal. My energy begins to throb excitedly in my veins, and my head is taken over by a daze similar to alcoholic intoxication, which makes my limbs quite light and weightless. Despite this, my fingers grip the thighs of my victim even harder, who stiffens under my hands, groaning in confusion. It must not be a pleasant feeling, but none of them have died yet from the tiny little blood loss I caused. The next day, they are as good as new, and they easily mistake the minute sickness that I cause for the evil aftereffect of a hangover. After all, who doesn't feel like shit after drinking through the night before?

I get lost in my meal, and the intoxicating taste of blood obscures my senses and leads me to a fleeting state of ecstasy, and I know that it is almost time to stop because there is a level of blood loss that can’t be attributed to the fatigue of a hangover. However, before the thought can ripen in my foggy mind, searing pain shoots through my scalp, and I hiss as the unknown force grabs my hair and pulls me away from the subject of my feast. My brain can't get out of its stupor right away, so it is not particularly difficult for me to lose my balance. I arrive on the damp concrete of the alley with a loud thump, and I blink wide-eyed at my assailant from the sudden surprise. The unknown man walks over to the guy slumped on the floor with a worried look, who just as all my victims do, passed out after my little dinner.

"Roy! Roy!" Tries the stranger as he talks to the knocked-out guy, and I pull myself up to my feet. I wipe my mouth glistening with blood with the back of my hand as I watch the potential friend of my dinner trying to breathe some life into the poor kid. When he doesn't succeed, he turns towards me and steps in front of me menacingly, grabbing the collar of my sweater. "What the fuck did you do to him, you bitch?"

"We played a little." I declare easily, and as my eyes focus on the boy sprawled out on the dirty ground, an evil little grin curls on my lips. "And it seems I literally blew his mind with my professional technique."

"Don’t fuck with me! " The guy snarls at me dangerously and shakes me by my clothes, which makes my funny mood disappear almost immediately. Based on how his face gets contorted in anger, it becomes clear that my lip service won’t get me out of this situation, and I'm cursing to myself as I assess the possibilities. Although there are no cameras in this alley, I can guarantee that this bastard will be able to give an accurate description of me if I just let him slip out of here. If I don't do something now, he's going to call the enforcers, which is a literal death sentence for me. Because, even if I lie that I indulged in little more perverted pleasures than necessary, they will immediately suspect that something is wrong. And if they find out what I am... that can't happen.

But before I could create a concrete plan in my mind, the guy loses his patience and raises his hand, preparing to put some sense in me. However, before he could hit me, I target his knee with a firm kick causing it to dislocate with a loud crack, and as he loses his balance, his grip on my clothes loosens too. The roar that erupts from the guy is muffled by my hand fast on his mouth, and taking advantage of the situation, I throw myself at him and knock him off his feet. His head hits the ground with a sickening sound, but that’s not nearly enough to make him unable to attack. It seems that the adrenaline is starting to work in him too, because his hands suddenly slam down on my neck and wrap around it with a vise-like grip. A stifled cough breaks out of me as the pressure of his fingers slowly squeezes my trachea, and then it becomes completely clear what I have to do to get out of the hot water I got myself into.

I press my hands firmly on his head and, while struggling with shortness of breath, I concentrate the energy bubbling in me towards the man. Tears well up in my eyes from the effort, but I can still feel the blood vessels in his brain, and I clench my teeth as I begin to increase the pressure in them. I almost see the image of the tiny, spider web-like system swelling up and getting dangerously close to bursting like an overinflated balloon. The man's grip around my neck loosens, he grabs my wrists now and tries to pry my hands off of him, but he has no chance. Pure desperation takes over his features, his eyes widen and his body begins to jerk wildly underneath me, but that doesn't deter me from finishing what I started. Because if I show even an ounce of mercy, I'll get the short end of the stick. If I don't kill him, I'll be exposed and dragged off to be used like fucking battery for the rest of my life. I’ll lose everything I have, but most of all, my freedom. If I don't end it now, I'll suffer the same fate as the other Healers and I’ll be used by some Hunter until I die. I can't let that happen. I WON’T let it happen.

Rage and anger fill my consciousness, and suddenly a red mist swallows everything in my sight, which makes me focus only on the suffering of the man below me fighting for his life. My fingers claw into his skin, and for a moment the thought runs through my mind about how it would feel to crack his skull and see his bones break under my grip. A painful snoring sound leaves the man's mouth, his mouth fills with bloody foam, red liquid begins to flow from the corner of his eyes drawing vivid lines on his deathly pale skin, and I tensely observe his death throe. A few minutes stretch into an eternity as I watch the last sparks of life disappear from his eyes, and the vague emptiness of death takes their place. Suddenly the man freezes, his limbs going limp under me in surrender, and as a last soft gurgling moan leaves his lips, I know it's over. The frantic rush of his blood ceases under my fingers, and his heart, which until now was hammering restlessly under his ribs, is now silent.

I kneel over the dead body below me panting, and I pause for a moment to look at my "creation". I'm not surprised that I don't feel any remorse, because I left the guilt and shame behind me a long time ago, in that dark little corner of my mind, where there might still be a drop of tenderness left. I can still vaguely remember the panic that came over me the first time I accidentally killed someone. I will never forget the young guy’s face, the freckles dotting his nose, which shone almost sickeningly dark on his skin pale from blood loss. The frightened whimper that left those lips that slowly turned blue forever embedded itself in the tangled webs of my memory. But everyone else who stood in my way looms as vague, unrecognizable spots in the depths of my brain, and it doesn't bother me one bit. A normal person might be affected by so many lives lost in vain, but I learned a long time ago that these are all luxuries that the likes of me cannot afford. That's why I still feel nothing but pure frustration and anger for making such a simple mistake. I didn't pay attention to the friends. You should never target a victim with friends, because after a while they always show up worried. It's understandable, of course, but it's just an unnecessary problem for me.

A strained sigh leaves my lips as I stand up, dusting off my clothes, and I step over the body lying motionless on the ground. My night didn't turn out exactly as I wanted, and as a sharp, migraine-like pain rips through my head, I'm already sure that my dinner tonight was wasted. Small snacks like this are just enough to satiate my hunger, but not enough to pump me up enough to stop me from being cranky after using my powers to such an extent. I should have eaten a lot more for this. Fuck. In a few days, I'll be able to play this whole little charade again to find a fool to drink from. And I can throw away a bunch of credits again to go to one of the clubs and have an alibi drink.

I pull the corner of my mouth in distaste as I remember the poor state of my wallet, and if possible my mood becomes even more gloomy as I realize that unfortunately robbing my victims will not be an option tonight. That way, if I'm lucky, enforcers will see this as nothing more than a tragic consequence of a night out where one of the unfortunate dudes had fun with the wrong stuff, and the other drank just a little bit too much. But if I take their credits now, then robbery and murder will also enter the picture, which would be true, but I have no need for any unnecessary excitement.

So I take one last look at the two guys, straightening my sweater, and I head towards the exit of the alley to enter the street swimming in flickering lights, making my way home. Every muscle in my body screams for sleep, and as the knife-like pain in my head increases, I want nothing more than to rest and forget this miserable night.

⃰

My fingers drum nervously on the table, adding a fast and restless rhythm to the background noise of the machines humming softly in the lab, the whole thing resulting in a symphony that slowly drives me crazy. My eyes are fixed on the radio lying on the counter next to me, and although now the monotonous female voice from the other side is talking about general news affecting the entire colony, I still keep replaying a scrap of information that barely reached two minutes over and over again, as if an old and broke record player had stuck in my head, on which the needle keeps jumping on the same tune.

The previous night, I threw myself into bed with the firm belief that everything was fine and that I had no reason to worry about anyone paying enough attention to the deaths of two insignificant civilians in a party district. One would think that the enforcers have their hands full with monitoring smugglers and petty criminals selling illegal drugs, or supervising food distribution units, but no. Of course, in a city where it is common for someone to disappear or die, where the law-keeping organizations are struggling with a shortage of people, the biggest news is that two random young dudes were found in an alley under questionable circumstances. Out of thousands of similar cases, the wretched news providers just had to pick this one, which was described exactly as desperate and terrifying as it should be to get some clout. But it couldn’t be further from the truth. Similar atrocities happen daily, it's enough if someone doesn't buy from a good dealer and stuffs themself with goods made from all kinds of crap in a basement. Or it's enough if someone has more food stamps than the others, and if someone feels even a tad bit jealous of this, then the unlucky fool will be found on the street the next day knocked out because of those few pieces of paper. And I make one mistake and these hyenas immediately feel the need to overanalyze it under a magnifying glass.

A thousand thoughts run through my head, and in every one of them, I try to figure out why the officials believe that this case is different from the others they encountered until now. Why did the interviewed spokesman emphasize the fact that this case shows such an unusual pattern that they are forced to carry out a thorough investigation? I can theorize a thousand possible mistakes, and I could find a solution to all of them almost immediately, but the doubt that crawls into my brain just can’t seem to leave and I can’t help but feel that this time I really was careless.

There were no cameras in the alley, nor in that shithole of a club, so there was nothing that could have recorded my face. Due to the holiday, there were too many people in the club to give a good personal description of any of us. And my dinner last night was far too drunk and dazed to remember anything substantial about me. They won’t go far with the information that a pretty little girl dragged him away. There are thousands of cases like that in this cursed city. They could have found my DNA or my fingerprints on one of the bodies, and they can find me based on that, but I can bluff that I just wanted a nice little threesome with the guys, and when they offered me some weird substance, I walked away. There is no way to prove that this is the case, nor is there any evidence to the contrary. And they can't bring me in without solid proof. And anyway. Who would believe that a short, weak young woman could knock out two grown men?

Almost instinctively, my tongue wanders to the line of my teeth, and as it runs along the plastic, I clench my fists nervously. They can't possibly suspect anything about who I am. There's no way in hell they'll find out I'm an Extreme. They won't test DNA because it's an expensive procedure, and they won't do any further research for a simple murder case where NOTHING points to an Extreme. They won’t be able to reveal my identity, even if they end up linking me to the case somehow.

I have been hiding my identity since I was thirteen years old, and no one has a chance to see through my disguise, which I have perfected over the years. Although an Extreme would be easy to recognize, because who the hell wouldn't be able to see when a person has vertical pupils and razor-sharp canines? But I have this under control. Cheap contact lenses, and even cheaper removable veneers, and the problem is solved. And the scent of my energy could only be smelled by a professional, high-ranking Hunter, especially what is left of it now. Everything seems ideal, the realistic part of me knows that the chances of me being exposed are small, but the stress hormones working inside me plant the doubt that small enough is still not zero. It will never be zero.

The sudden window that pops up on the computer screen jolts me out of my thoughts, which were moving strongly towards gloomy suspicion and tense fixation, and for the first time in my life, I turn quickly toward a finished result. It's not like I'm careless in my work, after all, to maintain a normal life, you have to be thorough and a good worker bee. But suddenly anything seems like a good distraction, and I honestly thank the fact that I still have six hours of work left, because it may distract me from the chaos raging in my head.

I take one last anxious glance at the radio, which is already playing some melodious song by an unknown band, and then I turn to my computer instead. I don't have to worry. Like all sensations, this will pass in no time. Everything will be fine. Nothing will happen. NOTHING.

⃰

But when I get home a few days later, two strange men are waiting in front of the door of my small apartment, and I already know that nothing will be fine. I quickly assess the two figures, and it immediately becomes obvious that although they are not wearing uniforms, they are clearly enforcers. They turn their heads towards me in unison, and the neon light of the lamp on the ceiling paints the dark expression gliding across their faces in an eery glow. Only two words flash in my mind; They know.

Still, I force a mask of honest surprise on myself, and as I move towards them with slow and deliberate steps, I try to take on the role of a meek, defenseless, and more importantly naive young woman with every movement. It's ridiculously easy because I've been forced to play it all my life, but now I'm analyzing almost every fiber of myself with tense attention, as the two men silently size me up.

"Leona Woods?" Says one of the enforcers, and his hoarse voice echoes hauntingly off the dirty walls. "We hoped we were in the right place."

At first glance, it may seem like the situation about to unfold is completely harmless, but as the taller man pulls his hands out of his pockets, but it does not escape my attention how a metallic glint appears for a fleeting moment under his jacket. They came with weapons, and from that, I can immediately conclude that they did not show up for a simple chit-chat. They won’t be playing a pleasant game of question-and-answer with me as witnesses, but as a suspect, and the recognition creates an unpleasant pressure in my stomach. Calm down. Take it easy. They may be suspicious, but they don't have anything in their hands.

"What can I help you with?" I ask innocently, and I mix just enough incomprehension into my voice to make my little play look authentic. I arrive in front of them with a faint little smile on my lips, every cell radiating I am indeed just a simple civilian. Someone who may have been involved in a very sad misunderstanding, but is in no way capable of killing or even injuring someone.

"We’d like to ask you a few questions." Says one of the men, and as he flashes his official ID card, my eyebrows rise in feigned surprise. "If possible, we'd rather not talk to you here. Could you let us in?" My new guest points towards my front door with his head, and I fish out my keys from my bag accompanied by a cooperative nod. I concentrate on keeping my fingers from shaking with every fiber of my being, as I insert the key into the lock because nothing would give me away faster than them seeing me upset. And it's a difficult task, because with every second the tension raging inside me increases.

"After you." I open the door, and as soon as I turn on the light, the two men march into my small apartment after a quiet "thank you". I hesitate for a minute, but finally, the door closes behind me with a soft click, and after slowly kicking off my shoes, I follow the two enforcers into my modest little living room. The faces of the two strangers do not reveal anything, as they peer into the living room and take a quick, but rather detailed look at the room. And I follow their every movement, like a startled stray dog surrounded by dogcatchers. What an apt analogy.

"Take a seat." I gesture towards the thousand-year-old sofa in the middle of the room, and after giving one last look at the furniture of my modest apartment in search of some kind of clue, they silently take the seat offered to them. I follow their example with measured calmness, and I try to sit down in the armchair opposite them as carelessly as possible, smoothing out the creases in my pants with my hands, so that at least I can reduce the growing restlessness inside me. "What did you want to ask me about? " I ask with sincere curiosity, and I consciously try to banish any doubt, anger, or malice from my voice. It is quite obvious that these two men are not simple enforcement officers, because they behaved like two hounds on a hot scent just waiting for the opportunity to pounce from the get-go.

"Three days ago, two men were found in one of the nightclubs in sector H. Thankfully, one of them only lost consciousness, but unfortunately the other victim was already dead by the time they were found." Begins one of the enforcers, who seems to be the older of the two with his graying hair and crow's feet around his eyes. "We have reason to assume that you might be able to provide us with useful information." He states pointedly, and before I can even think about opening my mouth to speak, his companion pulls out a couple of black and white pictures from his jacket’s pocket.

My gaze lingers on the older man for a moment, so it doesn't become clear to them that I want to look at those pictures so much that every muscle in me goes rigid with desperation. And when I finally turn my eyes to the photos resting on the table, I feel my blood run cold. Until now, I was sure that there is no chance of them connecting me to the case, but even I don't have any ridiculous objections to the way I recognize myself in those goddamn pictures. While there may not have been a security camera in the alley, I must have forgotten that the fucking motel across the street must have one installed for the safety of its clients. And this camera isn't the kind that captures people as blurry, smudged blobs. No, this fucking camera recorded me pulling my pretty little ass out of that dark hole in such sharp detail that it occurs to me for a moment that this coincidence could only have happened in my honor.

"I was there on that night." I confirm the facts shown in the prints, it would be completely unnecessary to deny what is in the photos lying on the worn surface of the table because it's clear as day that I’m the one unlucky idiot on them. "But I'm afraid I can't help you with anything more." I smile faintly, just enough to not seem obviously unfriendly, despite the fact that a burning lump is forming in my throat and the gears in my head are immediately starting to turn, wondering what chances I have to get out of the shit in which I seem to be sinking up to my neck.

"I'm not so sure about that, unfortunately. " Answers the older enforcer, and fishes out his communicator from the pocket inside of his jacket, on which a very interesting hologram image appears after he presses a few buttons. I recognize almost immediately what is written on the investigation document, and I have to hold back the small disgusting smile that wishes to appear on my face with all my might. As I expected, they apparently found my DNA on one of the victims, and thanks to that the lab result which proves the sample found matches my DNA is staring at me in a faint blue light. Calm down, you expected this.

"I met a handsome boy that night, but flirting and having sex is hardly illegal." I remark innocently, and as my eyes fall on the two men, I allow a small, light superiority to creep onto my face. But as the man flicks the hologram lightly with his finger, all my joy disappears like a speck of dust in the wind and is replaced by shock, and I can no longer control my face where genuine terror settles in.

"It isn't, indeed. But hiding a Healer, or rather an Extreme Healer status, and killing people are." The enforcer gets to the point, and his eyebrows furrow grimly on his forehead, as his gaze wanders meaningfully from the hologram to me. A nerve-racking silence settles in the room for a moment, as I try to comprehend the data presented to me, and every brain cell fights against the denial of reality. Because the inscription "Status: EXTREME" appearing in all capital letters on the last page of the lab result cannot be a figment of the imagination. Because all of this would have to be a nightmare, and this situation is clearly real, because my pulse pounding in my ears, the gnawing, visceral dread creeping into my stomach can't just be the work of a dream. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come with us to the headquarters."

This one sentence is enough to make the future immediately appear in my head. They’ll drag me, brand me, and put me on the market like a horse so that whoever is the fastest can take me. I will join some unit with Hunters, and every single day I will charge and heal a different stupid bastard each time until one day I inevitably become useless and they get rid of me. And then, if I'm lucky, I won't vegetate as a houseplant in a research institute, but maybe someone will take me in and turn me into a whore. This is the fate that awaits most Healers, and I am not so delusional as to believe that I will be lucky enough to be one of those rare cases where the Hunter will not treat me like an object. Especially as an Extreme. I'll be the real gourmet meal. They will be able to use me for a long time. If they don't take away my blood supply, like the opportunity to recharge from ordinary Healers, they will be able to leech off me for years and decades. No fucking way.

As if I had suddenly found enlightenment, the fear of death disappears from my face with disturbing speed, and I nod with a careful movement. Standing up, I obediently walk toward them, raising my hands in front of me, and it doesn't escape my attention as their eyes glide over my figure cautiously. It doesn't matter that they are suspicious, they are not prepared for what comes next.

The older man orders his companion with just a silent gesture, and I patiently wait for the guy to stand up and step in front of me with the handcuffs unfastened from his belt. But before my new trendy bracelet could snap on me, I grab the man's arm emerging from under his jacket and send a significant amount of energy into his body, causing him to suddenly sprawl on the carpet with widened eyes and a loud thump. It takes the other enforcer a moment to realize what's happening, but he reaches for his gun too late, because I'm already there in front of him, and my nails are digging into his skin with force as I press my palm into his face, causing his head to drop back, and his body to fall on the cream-colored fabric of the sofa unconsciously.

I don't waste any time, I tear open the door of my apartment and I bolt out almost immediately in desperation. I run along the corridor with the agility of a chased wild animal, and when I reach the staircase, I take the steps two at a time. There's only one thing in my head, that I don't care how, but I'm going to escape from here because there's no way I let myself get caught. I'll break out of this fucking city myself if I have to, and wind my way through the monster-infested red zone until I get to the nearest colony. They won't catch me. NEVER.

The small shards of glass scattered on the pavement sink painfully into my bare feet, as I throw myself onto the street and continue running without any consideration. The pain appears only as a distant, dull pang in the hidden corner of my brain, because now even I have bigger problems at hand than how much damage I'm doing to my leg. The biting night air burns my lungs as I sprint breathlessly through the unusually desolate neighborhood, but I don't waste precious energy trying to figure out why the street is so empty on a weekday evening.

And I don't even have time to think about this any longer, because before I can turn into the side street behind one of the blocks, a sharp, shooting pain rips through my back, and whatever hit me, the force of the impact is enough to make me stagger with a startled squeal, and I fall to the ground like a rag doll. My hands ache excruciatingly as they get stuck under me in an attempt to cushion my landing, and my nose is hit by the familiar smell of blood as the concrete scrapes the skin from my palms. Despite the burning sensation, the narrow object sticking out of my back worries me more as I touch it. It dawns on me that it might be some kind of tranquilizer dart, but by the time I can congratulate myself on my foresight, I can already feel my limbs turning heavy like stones. The image of the street swimming in colorful lights blurs in front of my eyes, and no matter how hard I struggle, I can only whimper softly, as I try to fight with my last strength against the temptation of the darkness that falls on me.

"Forgive me, sweetheart. But you're not goin’ anywhere from here." Someone speaks up not far from me, but I hear the voice muffled as if my head has been submerged under water, and it only travels to my ears as dull and distorted fragments. Halfway to losing consciousness, I catch the sight of booted feet swimming into my field of vision. I want to come up with some kind of witty remark, but before even a sound can leave my mouth, the darkness engulfs me. Fuck.

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ohmystaxk · 1 year

Text

Goodbye, My Dear Stranger (2)

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Pairing(s): (Jake Lockley x Reader) (Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader later on) [Pre-Moon Knight show]

Chapter Character(s): Steven Grant.

Content/Tags: Reader having creep tendencies, somewhat of a date (?).

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: After meeting Jake, you decided to go to the Museum with a friend. There you meet someone that looks like Jake, but isn't him?

Two days had passed since the night you had met Jake at the café. Unfortunately for you, he had not come back again. Truthfully, you didn’t expect him to. Yes, you had hoped he would come by, order himself the same coffee he had last time and ask how your day was. Perhaps he would check up on you and ask if you had encountered the same guys from last night again. You hadn’t. Perhaps Jake’s little play pretend had worked.

Even when you wanted an interaction with the man, something told you it would not happen again. At least not anytime soon. He seemed rather reserved, since he had barely spoken to you. But then again, he seemed like a lonesome kind of guy. Yet another thing he seemed to share with your elusive neighbor.

That night, when you got home, you noticed no lamps were on at your neighbor’s apartment. The following days had been just the same. You started to think that perhaps he had pieced the puzzle together and realized it wasn’t the first time you were a creep that spied on him. Just the thought made your insides turn and your palms sweaty. Young adult spies on their older neighbor. You could see the headlines in your head.

“You there?” You blinked a couple of times. A face appeared in your field of view, accompanied by a waving hand. It was Deanna.

“Sorry, what?” You asked her and she tilted her head to the side.

“You were gone for a second there. You alright?” She placed her bag on the bench next to you. Deanna turned her body towards you as she sat down on your left.

“I was just thinking. Did you say something?” Deanna nodded with a short sigh.

“Sure did. I’d like to go down to the gift shop if you don’t mind. We can also go down to The Green Wall, see if Martha will get us something to eat after we are done here, yeah?”

Today you hadn’t worked at The Green Wall, the name of the coffee shop. And so, Deanna had asked to go to the Museum down the street from the shop. Neither of you had even been there and wanted to check out the new exhibit they’d been advertising with massive banners outside the building. The concept seemed fun and it wasn’t like you often went to those kinds of places.

The two of you wandered and looked around for about an hour and half. The place was beautiful, tall white walls, some ceilings had skylights allowing for better visibility, and the floor had polished marble tile on the main area. They had a lot of Egyptian artifacts and replicas, paintings, and displays that showed videos of reconstruction of what Egypt could possibly have looked like back in its glory days. It was nice to go out and do something differently than going home and working on your laptop, or watching shows for hours.

“Yeah, sounds good.” You answered. “I might get something from the gift shop too.” Deanna nodded with a smile.

“I saw some cute plushies on our way in. Come on.” She stood up and you followed.

The two of you made your way to the gift shop as Deanna showed you some of the pictures she’d taken when exploring the place. They all looked good and she was trying to decide which ones to post on social media, debating between two pictures that looked the exact same.

So when you walked in, you both were staring at her phone. You pointed at one that had a replica of The Great Pyramid of Giza, the angle and the lighting worked great. When Deanna got herself entranced by her phone, you decided to take a look around, the first thing in front of you was a rotating metal display with postcards.

Most of the pictures were of Egypt, others of the Museum, and a couple of London. You took one in your hands, the photo had the pyramids with a low sunset in the background. It was beautiful. You looked at the rest of the photocards that might catch your attention, it was a voice that caught it instead. You looked through the display and towards the check-out counter.

At the register was none other than Jake. No hat and no low lighting to obstruct his face from the world. You felt your gut flutter with sudden surprise, and reached for Deanna who was still on her phone.

“What?” She looked at you when you tapped her arm.

“It’s him.” You simply said, your eyes wide. You felt your cheeks flush as you looked towards Jake who was with another client at the moment.

“Who is it? Is it the guy from the bad date?” She asked with interest.

“No, the guy from Green Wall.” Deanna’s eyes widened with disbelief.

“One of the fucking dickheads?” You looked at her with a frown.

“What? No. The one that helped me. His name is Jake.” Her expression softened.

“Oh so that’s the lad, yeah? He seems pretty nice and all. Won’t you go and say hello, then?” Deanna shoved you gently, an encouraging smile on her face.

“You know I can’t.”

“Of course you can, love. The man over there doesn’t look like he bites, go on then.” You sighed and tightened your grip on the postcard.

You started walking towards the counter once the clients had left. Your hands grabbed three things at random and made your way towards him.

Once in front of him, he looked up at you. He had a friendly smile on, it seemed genuine and that eased your nerves. In reality, he had a rather pretty smile; warm and inviting.

“Hello there, you found everything?” He said and then you frowned. You remembered him having an accent, just not an English one.

“Y-yeah.” You then placed the items on the counter, not looking at them.

He nodded and started scanning. He looked at you through his lashes. His eyes were soft, not deep or distant like last time. There were eyebags under his eyes, his hair was disheveled, and he had a shadow of a beard. He looked completely different from that night. A hot mess you would dare to say.

“Did you enjoy the tour?” He spoke and you blinked.

“We didn’t take the tour, we just explored by ourselves.” He nodded and placed your items in a bag.

“What were your thoughts? Having, well, not much to go on from.” He then leaned forward just a little, like he was about to hear a secret.

“I liked it. I’d rather do things at my own pace. That way I get to enjoy things and take the moment all in.” He seemed to light up as you said that, a smile formed on his lips again. He had very nice lips.

“That’s good to hear. I hadn’t thought about it that way, you know, the whole no-tour thing.” Yes, Jake didn’t have an English accent. It was then that your eyes fell on his name tag, ‘Steven’.

“You should try it, it’s always nice if you enjoy doing things by yourself.” He nodded again, and he stared at you for a couple of seconds.

“I will. It seems fun. Not like I don’t already do it.” He smiled, he liked to smile, and not forcefully. It was something different. Steven was different. And you liked that. The man was attractive despite his current state.

“Would you like to go out for coffee or something later?” You felt the air leave your lungs the second you uttered those words.

This wasn’t like you. You would never ask a complete stranger out for coffee, or for anything really.

“Sorry?” He seemed just as shocked as you were with a slight tint on his cheek. You opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish.

“I’m sorry, I don't know why I said that. That was so inappropriate, I’m really sorry.” You pull out your wallet and look at the register, the total displayed for you. You placed the amount on the counter.

“No, it’s just. I wasn’t expecting that. Has never happened to me before.” He confessed to you, he seemed genuinely surprised and that made you feel less guilty of pretty much having thrown yourself at him.

“I have never done that, if that helps.” You gave him your name, he smiled and said it out loud. It sounded nice coming from him, you realized.

“Steven.” He pointed at his name tag. “I would love coffee. Tea preferably, I have to admit.”

“Right, well, there’s a coffee shop right down the street by the plaza on main. It’s called The Green Wall.”

“Oh, I know that place! I go there sometimes before work, their tea is truly something else.” His smile got bigger, showing his teeth.

“Well, what about tomorrow? Seven p.m.?” When you asked he nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s a date.” He said and then his smile dropped. “Is it?”

“Sure.” You gave him a smile and he handed you the bag.

“Well then, see you tomorrow night, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You offered him one last smile before slowly turning away. He had smiled before, yet it didn’t seem to compete with how giddy he looked as he smiled at you.

You waited outside the gift shop for Deanna to finish browsing. Every so often, you would stare back into the place to see Steven, taking the time into paying attention to his mannerisms, the way he would emote. You felt like a freaking stalker, but it was impossible for two people to look that alike, right? Your only interaction with Jake had been brief. But, even then, you could tell he was nothing like Steven, and Steven seemed nothing like Jake. Two polar opposites in the same city, in very close proximity to each other.

Jake had mentioned going back to work. You recalled his attire. Either the man liked dressing like somebody's old grandfather who drove cabs for a living, or he actually was a cab driver and dressed as such. Then, there was Steven, a very tired-looking gift shop employee at a Museum. Neither of them seem like the owners of a big flat in downtown London. Unless they had other jobs, just like you did in order to provide for your way-too-small flat. Perhaps, the two were twins and were raised differently, Jake coming from overseas and staying at Steven’s.

Once you and Deanna had made it to Green Wall, it was already night time. You had been shopping around the plaza and getting coffee was the last stop for the night. The two of you said hello to Martha and Rose, the ones working today’s closing shift. The Green Wall ended up getting busy today, people came and went as there weren't many empty seats. Luckily Deanna had snatched a table the second a couple had left.

The door swung after a few minutes and eyes shifted towards the noise it made, more of a reflex than sheer curiosity. Steven had wandered in, his eyes looked at the busy place as he tried to make his way inside. He stood by the register as Martha was taking another order, he fidgeted with the strap of his bag, his shoulders were upwards and closer to his jaw, and his eyes gazed around, as if to busy himself. Steven looked nervous, perhaps even overwhelmed.

“Isn’t that tomorrow’s date?” Deanna spoke from beside you.

“Yeah. His name is Steven.” She frowned at your response.

“Wasn't it Jake?” You shook your head.

“I think Jake and Steven are brothers.”

“Then why ask him out?” You shrugged.

“He seems nice enough. That, and he’s cute.” Deanna shoved you playfully as she pointed at Steven with her chin. You got the message and stood up, making your way towards the man.

Once the two of you were at a good distance, she spoke up gently, not wanting to startle him.

“Hey there, stranger.” Steven turned to look around, his gaze landed on you.

“Hey, a bit busy, innit?” You nodded.

“More than usual. Probably has to do with that new exhibit of yours.” He frowned, tilting his head in confusion. “The museum.”

“Oh, right! Yeah, of course.” He slapped his forehead playfully, looking around. “At least there’s good business today. Place deserves it.” Steven looked back at you.

“Thanks. We work very hard to make everything as good and fresh as possible.”

“Do you own the place?” His eyes widened. You laughed, slapping his shoulder gently.

“No, no. I work here, just not today as you can see.” Steven nodded slowly as you spoke, his mouth forming an ‘O’ as he let out a quick laugh. “Do you want to sit down with me? While you wait, in case you have somewhere else to be.”

“Only place would be my flat, I think Gus can wait a bit.” Steven said and you raised an eyebrow. “My goldfish, he has one fin.”

“Like Nemo?” Steven laughed at that. A hearty laugh that showed you his teeth.

“Just like him, little fella is very special to me.” You couldn’t help but laugh back.

“I bet he’s one lucky little guy.” Steven stared at you again, he seemed to do that a lot. You were not used to it. Then, his eyes softened and creased at the corners as he smiled. He had pretty lashes, long and thick, his eyes doe-like as the warm lighting shined on them.

The sound from the music on the speakers faintly seeped through your ears as time went by.

Take me out tonight

Where there’s music and there’s people

And they’re young and alive

“Yeah, he is.”

Driving in your car

I never, never want to go home

“Are you two ready to order?” Rose spoke suddenly. The two of you turned towards her. From the way she grinned at the two of you, you knew she was having a laugh. You rolled your eyes at her.

Because I haven’t got one

Anymore

“I’ll go and sit down.” You placed a hand on his back gently before walking towards the table you were sharing with Deanna.

Deanna eyed you with a smirk once you sat down. “What was that?”

Driving in your car

Oh, please don’t drop me home

“Rose decided to interrupt us.” You responded.

“I know she did. Poor lad had heart eyes and all of that.” Deanna started gathering her things. You raised an eyebrow at her and she scoffed. “You’ll need another chair, unless the man offers his lap for you.”

“Thank you, Deanna. Let me know when you get home.” The woman bent down gave you a quick hug. You hugged her back.

Because it’s not my home, it’s their home

And I’m welcome no more

“Sure thing. Don’t forget to tell me how things go, yeah?” You nodded at her, she waved at you as she left your table. She walked through the dining area, waved goodbye at Martha and Rose, then she left the shop.

Steven came back a few minutes later. He smiled nervously as he gestured at the now empty seat. You nodded at him.

“Did your friend leave already?” He asked as he sat down, placing his bag on his lap. He looked around one more time.

“Do crowded spaces make you anxious?” You asked him with curiosity as you took a sip of your drink.

“No. It’s just that I’ve never stayed long enough to take a good look at the place.” He was still looking around, his eyes filled with awe.

“You seem to like it.” You placed your drink down. Once again, his eyes found yours.

“I do. It’s rather pretty here, and it feels cozy.” He admitted to you with a sheepish smile.

“I think so too, but this isn’t better than the museum.” When you said that, you had said it in a playful way. However, he shook his head with a frown.

To die by your side

Well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine

“The museum? No, no. I love the museum, yes. But the employees are much nicer here, I have to admit.” When he said that last sentence, he grinned at you and you rolled your eyes with a smile.

“Don’t think that’ll get you a free drink, sir. Are your coworkers not nice?”

“Most are, some barely notice me. Then there’s my boss Donna who makes me stay overnight almost every night, she also calls me Stephen.” He gave you a tight smile, his eyes shifted to your hands when your fingers rubbed the side of your drink in a distracted manner.

“You can always stop by and fill out a job application.” You offered.

“No, no, it would be a mistake to hire me here. I would end up setting the place on fire somehow.” The two of you laughed. The conversations around you seemed to dissipate as you both kept on talking.

Take me anywhere, I don’t care

I don’t care, I don’t care

“Well, I think you would make a great barista, you just haven’t tried.” As soon as you said that, you heard Martha call out an order, to which Steven turned around immediately.

“That’s mine. I’ll be right back” Steven got up from his chair, placing his bag down on the chair and walked towards the counter.

Steven behaved like he was dreading something would inconvenience him along the way. His shoulders held tension while he dug around one of his front pockets. As he received his drink, you saw Martha smile at him and he gave her a quick nod. You didn’t know if he smiled back, but the slight quirk on his lip as he turned around to walk back towards you, told you he might’ve.

And in the darkened underpass

I thought oh, God, my chance has come at last

The soft light of the café showered him. Brown skin glowing a honey gold, soft messy curls that seemed chocolate brown instead of black, and full lips with a hint of pink. His clothes, loose and big, hid his frame under layers of funky prints and fabric.

By the time he returned, the tension on his body was gone. His long lashes shined under the light and his eyes seemed to twinkle when he smiled nervously at you.

“Everything alright?” He spoke, taking his seat once again.

But then a strange fear gripped me

And I just couldn’t ask

Then it hit you.

This was the man who you’d been spying on for the past month. The man who you would unconsciously await to see turn on his light at night, and then you’d watch him read by the table. Unbeknownst to him, you had formed a routine around his schedule, a parasocial behavior with a man you’d never met before. Something a creep would do. Something you did.

You couldn’t talk to him. You couldn’t get to know him.

“Yeah, sorry.” You grabbed your bag. “It was nice having a little chat, Steven. I have to go now. I was out all day and I have to work tomorrow.”

“No worries. Do you want me to walk you to the tube, or to a cab maybe?” He was about to stand up, but you shook your head.

“It 's alright. The stop is not that far from here. And you just got here. Enjoy your night, Steven.” You stood up and felt your heart tighten when Steven spoke.

“Thank you, love. Be safe on your way home, yeah? I’ll see you tomorrow?” He was smiling so warmly at you.

“I’m afraid tomorrow will be just as busy. Maybe another day. I’m sorry.” Steven shook his head this time.

“Don’t be. I understand now that I see how packed it gets in here. I hope we get to know each other more another day. Stay safe.”

Oh, there is a light that never goes out

There is a light that never goes out

“Goodbye, Steven.”

That night when you got home, you moved your workspace away from the window and back to your bedroom. From the gap between the drapes, you saw a light turn on from his apartment. You pulled the fabric shut.

Add yourself to the taglist!

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#jake lockely x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight #moon knight fanfic #moon knight x reader #fanfic #oscar isaac #goodbye my dear stranger

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halfagone · 7 months

Note

*with the same caution as someone who has been alerted to the fact that they've woken up in the middle of a minefield*

What might the other things be, so that I and others know to avoid those things? Logically, there's the new one of feeding the story to AI. There's also stealing the work and making demands of authors, but I am a recovering lurker and I'd like to make sure I do not horribly misstep.

Hello!! I know I've definitely seen you around before, and I would like to say thank you for actually asking! It may seem daunting but a lot of the time we really do appreciate and acknowledge the effort to try and do the polite thing.

First off, you are absolutely right about AI, stealing works, making demands. You've hit that right off the bat. I will say, since you mentioned that you are/were a lurker: if you're wondering if you did something to offend an author before, or you realize after reading this post that you have, please don't beat yourself up for it too much. I've known people who moved on from just a reader to a writer and then learned/realized that some of the comments they used to leave weren't the most polite. It sucks to realize, but we all gotta learn somehow! The most important thing is that you grow and don't repeat the same mistakes.

(Please keep in mind throughout all this post that none of this is directed at you specifically, but a general audience. This is not to callout specific people, but a general reminder that these things CAN and DO bother authors.)

Some things may differ from author to author, but some of the most common ones to remember are:

Do Not Leave Constructive Criticism Unless EXPLICITLY ALLOWED

In some cases, the author may have a tag or a comment in their notes saying something like "Constructive Criticism Welcome!" But that is not the same thing as, "Let me know what you think!" Or "Feel free to tell me what you liked about the chapter in the comments!" We're doing this for free, most of us aren't looking to make this a career, and we're doing it to have and share some fun! It is not our fault if you do not like the direction the plot is taking; it is not our fault if you do not like the verb tense. You can always click the back button and save yourself the trouble of reading something you were fundamentally never going to like.

Here's something to keep in mind: there's this book series that I absolutely adore, and I don't say that about too many First-Person pieces of literature. It's a great book, but the editor was not. Super thorough. You know how I mentioned that it was in First-Person? More than once there was a missing quotation mark for dialogue, and when a story is in First-Person, that gets confusing pretty fast. And this is a book I paid for. You are getting this for free.

Do Not Correct Grammar and/or Spelling Mistakes

On a personal note, I do not mind if you tell me I made a spelling mistake. I've had someone point out that I spelled 'bated' as 'baited' and I was cool with that. It's one of those words where I know the difference but only get it right the first try 50% of the time. You know, like breath and breathe. However! Not everyone will feel the same. If you want to point something out, then you can ask the author. UNLESS! The author previously, openly specified that they are not interested, and even if they are, I would probably recommend not making the whole comment about that.

Grammar, on the other hand, is a hard no from me. I had someone give me a mini grammar lesson at the start of a comment using examples that weren't even relevant to the chapter they were on. To this day, I don't know if I had made an actual mistake or not, although I presume that I must have since they felt the need to mention it. But the most ironic thing of all is that the grammar they were correcting me on was beyond my control, because Google Docs keeps autocorrecting those words the exact same way. Only more recently have I managed to keep it from happening (although it still does on occasion) and that was more brute force than a change in settings.

It wasn't human error, just a computer program mistake. And it's more common than you might think! The other day Google Docs corrected my 'beat' into 'ebay' for some reason. Shit happens, it's not always our faults.

Respect One-Shots For What They Are: ONE CHAPTER

I cannot tell you how many friends I have that have gotten so many rude comments about this one in particular. I've gotten a number of them too, but not nearly as much as some of the others.

When we say that it's a one-shot, please just accept that it's a one-shot. Could more be added to it? Maybe. Would you like to see more? Yes? That's great! But sometimes that one chapter is all we have and all we want to have for this plotline. If you want to read more, you can write it.

There are situations where an author mentions a possible sequel, or talks about possible other ideas to write more with the original concept. I know I've done the same thing with a number of one-shots, and I knew to expect people requesting for more chapters.

But that's the key difference here. Requesting is not the same thing as demanding. There is a difference between saying, "I loved this story, I would totally read a continuation if you ever wrote one." Or "This fic was so good! I liked this and this and this, and I'd love to see more from it if you ever get the chance." And saying, "Part 2 please?" Or "Where is my second chapter????"

You can see the difference, right? You didn't even tell the author you liked the fic. You just came up to the chef, slammed your empty plate down, and demanded, "More." It's not as flattering as you think it is.

As for asking or requesting for more ideas from the audience, let's move onto:

Popular Fanon Is NOT CANON and Please Stop Acting Like It Is

This is one of those requests where I am willing to beg on my metaphorical hands and knees. This is an issue I have only seen in DP and DPxDC thus far, and that's because we have so much fanon and fanlore that it's just about everywhere you go in the fandom. On one hand, that's awesome!! We're exploring the worldbuilding opportunities and sometimes that means some favorite tropes or headcanons emerge from it. But that doesn't mean you should expect to see it every time.

Here are some examples: Danny is not Ghost King in every fic. Danny is not even eligible for Ghost King in every fic. Jason does not have Pit Madness in every fic. Danny cannot 'cure' Jason's Pit Madness in every fic. Jason is not liminal in every fic. Jazz is not liminal in every fic. Dan does not get redeemed in every fic. Danny does not have a Protection Obsession in every fic.

I have written 69 Danny Phantom fanfics, and not a single one of them gives Danny a Protection Obsession, but you would be surprised by how many people automatically assumed he did, just because it's popular fanon. I have written more than one fic where Danny was eligible to be Ghost King and people assumed he already was King, despite all evidence that he wasn't yet and didn't intend to be.

I understand these are popular headcanons and tropes. I understand people enjoy them a lot! But it does not mean they are relevant to every fic out there and for you to act like it is just leads us to believe you have poor reading comprehension. ESPECIALLY when we have EXPLICITLY STATED that it's not going to happen.

This leads onto the next subject:

Please Stop Asking Us to Include Specific Characters

I get it. You want to see your faves interact. Who doesn't? But I am crying screaming throwing up and asking you not to demand a character appear. It's one thing to be curious about how a character might react or interact in a situation, and it's another thing to go: "Where is So-and-So? This would be totally different if they were here-" And that's why you'll never see them in this fic! Problem solved. And we can do that, by the way. No one can stop us from declaring someone dead off-screen.

I cannot tell you how many people have demanded that Ellie appear, or Jazz appear, or Dan appear (for some reason? Which goes back to- please stop expecting every author to give him a redemption arc, I quite like him as an ostentatious bastard of a man). I have had more people ask where Ellie and Jazz are than Sam and Tucker combined and those two were more the main characters than Ellie and Jazz ever were.

These characters have lives of their own! Please do not expect for them to leave everything at the drop of a hat. Sometimes their appearances will just further complicate the plot so they aren't included ahead of time because of that. This is not a 'plot hole' on our parts. For you to indicate that it is somehow shows a gross disrespect for our planning skills and writing abilities.

Most of all,

Please Just Respect the Author's Direction

Would you like for things to go another way? Maybe true, but we wrote the fic this way for a reason and please respect that. It might not make sense right now, but there's a very likely chance it's building up to something! And if it bothers you that much, then no one is stopping you from hitting that back button and moving onto another fic that's more to your liking. All the power to you.

But we are not going to change our entire plans for our fic because one person or a few people didn't like it. If I were to change all my plans now for certain fics, then it would be unrecognizable and make no sense, because I had built all the puzzle pieces to paint the exact picture I wanted it to. And maybe to you it's ugly, but it's art to me, and art I worked very hard on.

A General Consensus

Everything is based on respect. If you don't have the words to describe how you feel, then please don't feel pressured to make an elaborate comment about it. I adore keyboard smashes, and heart spams, and even comments going, "You made my cry, fuck you 😭❤️". We appreciate the effort you do make, and we understand all too well when you don't have the spoons and energy to write something longer.

If at any point you wonder, "Can an author take this the wrong way?" A good rule of thumb would be to remove it from the conversation entirely, or rephrase it in a way that makes your point clearer. We cannot always decipher your tone through text, and sarcasm doesn't come across as clearly as you might expect. Unless the authors know you, they can read something very differently than how you intended it to be.

I have readers who comment regularly, who I've chatted with in comment sections. I'd say I know their tone and humor well, in some cases, so when they make certain remarks, I know how to read it. Not everyone will have that luxury.

I know this might seem like a lot, but these are some very real frustrations I've struggled with for a long time. Please don't be discouraged if this feels overwhelming all at once. You've already put in some effort by trying to find out what you can do to be more thoughtful to authors! And that's the kind of effort that doesn't go unnoticed. <3

#halfagone replies #fandom #just fic things #reminders #friendly reminder

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secretmellowblog · 1 year

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I noticed a bunch of new people in the Les Mis tag because of @lesmisletters, so I thought I’d share my Les Mis Blog recommendation list! If you’re looking for Les Mis blogs to follow, here are some people I recommend checking out! : D

Because Les Mis Letters is a readalong of the Brick I’m going to keep my recommendations to “currently active Les Mis blogs who focus on posting primarily canon era Brick-related things, are participating in the readalong in Some way, and post a lot of meta or academic analysis or information about historical context/political context/artistic movements relevant to Les Mis.” if I were to include every Les mis blog I enjoy this post would be 200 miles long XD.

1. @pilferingapples is basically the pillar of the Les Mis fandom on tumblr! They’ve been here for a decade and have an extremely organized blog that basically feels like an archive of the entire fandom- including everything from meta on all the different characters, information about lesser known adaptations like the anime Shoujo Cosette, and discussions about the historical context around the novel/French Romanticism/Victor Hugo’s life. I definitely recommend looking through the tags in their pinned post ajdjdjd. They are also just Very Nice.

2. @everyonewasabird is a Brick-Club member who has already done exhaustive chapter by chapter analyses of the entire book, and writes amazing intensely researched fanfiction. They are also very nice! (Just assume everyone on this list is nice)

3. @fremedon also has tons of exhaustive analysis/meta, and also writes great funny intensely researched fanfic that captures Hugo’s writing voice extremely well.

4. @bobcatmoran posts a lot of great things, but i especially love their recent posts about the Arai Manga and its translations!

5. @vapaus-ystavyys-tasaarvo has been posting tons of great historical context/footnotes lately—- and they’re also the number one source of Les-Mis-related maps!! So many high quality maps

6. @psalm22-6 posts translations of old 19th century reviews of Les Mis, as well as vintage advertisements and other weird ephemera. It’s very fun and often deeply cursed stuff.

7. @thevagueambition also does a lot of historical research (especially into things like queer history) and writes really great intensely researched Grantaire fic!

8. @persefoneshalott does a lot of great translations of Spanish adaptations of Les Mis, and has recently been posting about what things were removed in censored editions of the novel.

9. @alicedrawslesmis is a great Les Mis art blog that also dives into jokes/analysis too!

10. @shitpostingfromthebarricade posts a lot of brick-focused stuff, and does a lot of clever clever and thoughtful modernizations (ex. Retelling an entire chapter with nearly the exact wording Hugo uses, but changing the setting/historical references to modern day ones)

11. @ueinra posts illustrations from old editions of Les Mis across the world and screenshots of/ information about obscure adaptations. :3

I might add more later because I know I’m missing people, but these are just the first currently active brick-focused somewhat research-heavy blogs that came to my head! :D

#Les mis #les mis letters #and I hope no one is insulted by the way I described their blogs ? 😂#But YEEE there are so many more blogs I could add #like there are people whose stuff I love but #who don’t primarily post Les mis right now #including some of my fandom friends ….#anyway I recommend following Everyone but this is just my non exhaustive top-of-my-head list #obviously there’s also pureanon and byjuxtaposition #and badlesmisimagines #and etc etc #but yeah i spent too long on this XD

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aylacavebear · 3 months

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Stockroom Antics - Chapter 1

Maria had changed jobs numerous times over the last five years, more to keep herself safe than anything else. Her mother had told her she was a fairy but she thought it was just her mom being weird. Honestly, though, she had no other way of explaining what had happened to her that stormy day before she'd gone into a coma for two weeks.

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will probably be 18+ I haven't decided yet!

Word Count: 1747

Pairing eventually Dean Winchester x OC

Warnings: Angst (mild)

A/N: This one's written a little differently than my last one. Let me know what you think. It's the first time I've tried this type of writing. Chapters will alternate viewpoints as well. I also looked into an actual area so this one could feel more realistic.

----------------------------------------- Stockroom Antics Chapter 1

You’d think being something supernatural you’d prefer to stay away from people, and live more of a solitary sort of life, but no. You like people, love laughter, and having a job with amazing coworkers brings you a sense of peace and happiness in your life.

One of your best friends at work is Sarah. She’s adorable, fun, and goofy, and you both make each other laugh all day at work while you unbox the truck shipment and get things on the hummers and into the bluebins, to get put out later.

She knows what you are, sort of. Although, not even you yet know the actual name of what you are. You haven’t found anyone you can really trust outside your immediate family to tell the whole truth to. Hell, you don’t need to scare anyone. Most people have no clue what’s really out there and you like keeping it that way. You’ve researched to find a name for what you are but so far, there isn’t a single thing that has your abilities/powers description.

As you’re out on the floor, getting out one of the hummers with the kitchen items on it, your mind wanders back. When did it start, you think to yourself, absentmindedly. Four years, five now. You’re not sure anymore. Technically you’re in your early forties but ever since it happened, you feel like you’re in your mid to late twenties again. It also seemed as though aging had practically stopped. Most things a forty-year-old body would go through, you haven’t been experiencing. Just the opposite, you truly feel as though you’ve been getting physically younger.

“Excuse me, do you work here?” A woman asks, pulling you from your thoughts, as she can’t see the nametag hanging around your neck with how you’re standing.

You turn to her with a friendly smile, “Yup, how can I help you?”

“I’m just looking for a pan I can cover the top of my stove with,” the woman attempted to explain.

Neither you nor the woman knew the exact name of that particular thing, but glancing down, you notice a rather large cookie sheet on the shelf on the endcap of the aisle you’re stocking, “This might work,” you tell her, picking it up.

The woman is impressed, looking it over, “How much is it?” she asks.

You flip it over and find the tag, “Nine dollars,” you let her know, “Not bad. This is really nice.”

“What about that price? Fifteen?” the woman asks.

“Oh, that is the price you’d find it for at another store. Our price is always on the bottom of the tag,” you reassure her.

The woman is very happy, letting you know that if it doesn’t work to cover her stove, she’ll be making cookies. Of course, this is when your lighthearted side comes out, “I’m here Monday through Friday, always in the afternoons,” you tell her, playfully.

She finds you adorable, smiling at your playfulness and the two of you spend almost three full minutes talking about cookies before she thanks you for your help. You know it will bring your times down that you have to run the hummer in, but to you, seeing a customer smiling and enjoying their visit to the store is what brings you the most joy at work.

You smile happily to yourself as the woman goes on about her shopping trip and you get back to running your hummer of kitchen items. It’s while you’re putting out some of the food that the mess of the section bothers you again. This is one thing you’re not responsible for, straightening the shelves up to make them look nice. You frown a bit, seeing that there is nowhere to put out the box of bagged oats. Checking around, and not seeing anyone nearby, you just think that there is room on the shelf, that it looks a little neater, and it happens in less than the blink of an eye.

What you didn’t notice was that you were being watched. A man, in his mid-thirties was standing near the women’s clothing racks, just watching you. He was fairly average, with short brown hair, and brown eyes, only about an inch taller than you, wearing jeans, a blue t-shirt, a hoodie, and sneakers.

You finished the kitchen hummer and then grabbed a toy one, making sure to write down your times on the sheet in the stockroom. The toy hummers were a little different. They had toys, pets, and craft supplies. Being a kid at heart, as well as loving anything stationary, you loved running these hummers. As you were putting out some of the dog toys, you heard the sound of one of the bluebins heading in your direction. It was like the hummers but those bluebins were for women's, men's, and children's items specifically.

Sarah was soon standing at the end of the pet aisle, phone up and recording, a playful smile on her lips, “Aaaannd, you’re fired,” she tried to say seriously.

You pretend to look upset and sad, then toss your arms up with playfulness, “Party at my house!”

The two of you laugh as she saves the video, only to post it online later, your Stockroom Antics tag included. The man who had been watching you earlier continues to do so. Every aisle seems to be a bit of a mess today, so again, you think about it looking a little nicer. Only a little though, you don’t need to draw unwanted attention to yourself from your boss if they watch the cameras.

Ten minutes before your shift ends, Sarah comes back up to you, “Code 99 me?” she asks, and you smirk.

“Oh, so if I don’t, that means you’re stuck here,” you chuckle.

“Not cool,” she replies, playfully, “Should I go find someone else?” she raises an eyebrow.

“Na, I’ll let you out,” you laugh a little.

The two of you walk to the front of the store, in front of the doors so that you’re both on camera. Sarah opens her bag, and you peek in, “Looks good. See you tomorrow?” you tell her.

“Yup. See ya,” she replies before leaving.

You smile a bit and head to the stockroom. There’s always some cleanup that needs to be done and you enjoy doing those little things that there never seems to be time for others to do. The man continues to watch you, and you still haven’t noticed him, not really anyway. You’d seen him, yes, but to you, he’s just another customer.

The backroom isn’t bad, not today. The girl is working on tagging the shoes with the alarms while a couple of other girls are in the clothing pods tagging clothes and getting them on racks to go out either later on or the following morning. You get some sweeping done, straighten up the bluebins and hummers, then bid them all farewell for the evening. Just as you reach the register to clock out, your ‘end of shift’ alarm goes off.

“Thank you phone,” you say out loud, pulling it out of your back pocket, and then turn it off. Smiling and shaking your head a little.

“See you guys tomorrow,” you tell the two cashiers as you punch out.

They smile and say goodbye as you head for the door. Since you don’t carry a purse, there’s no need to have a code 99 before you leave. The air is a little crisp, it being the beginning of January in Southern Arizona and you put the hood of your hoodie over your head. It’s been a cold few weeks, although this week has been the worst with the rain. For three days now the low in the mornings has been in the upper twenties and the days barely over fifty. That’s cold for where you live but it happens every so many years.

As you’re walking toward your truck, which you love with all your heart, the man from earlier is following you still. The chill doesn’t seem to be bothering him at all. For now, you believe he’s still just a customer, not paying him much attention. The wind blows just right, from behind you, and all you can smell is sulfur, and a chill runs down your back. You take a deep breath though, calming your nerves. You should have known that picking a job across the street from where you had previously worked wasn’t the best of ideas.

You stayed calm as you walked to your truck. She was quite the beast of a truck. A 91’ F350 XLT Lariat, crew cab, long bed, with a two-inch lift, 1500 lb leaf springs, and 4-wheel drive. You hadn’t saved up enough to have her fixed up like you wanted but you loved her dearly. As you rounded the hood, the man pushed you against your truck, right in front of the tire.

“Found you,” he said in a low, pleased tone, smiling devilishly, “The boss is gonna be pleased.”

Without thinking you put your hand on his chest and the black smoke of the demon's soul began expelling out of his mouth, toward the ground. This wasn’t the first time you’d had to deal with demons and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. The demon looked at you through the man’s eyes, almost in terror but more in shock at what you were doing. He apparently didn’t get the memo of what had happened to the last demon that had gotten too close to you. A smirk crossed your lips as the demon's soul left the man’s body, went into the ground, back to hell where it belonged.

With the demon now gone, the man was unconscious. You sighed before carefully dragging him over to the closest tree in the parking lot, which you had parked near, and propped him against it. At least he was still alive. Most demons rode whoever they possessed hard, usually killing them in the process. He’ll wake later, you told yourself before heading home.

That night you thought long and hard about whether or not to go back to work the following day. You knew the demon would tell his boss, whom you’d never met, just heard about. That’s when you sat up a little straighter on your couch, a determination in your eyes.

“I’m not letting demons run me out of a job I love,” you said confidently.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 2

A/N: If you'd like to be tagged in this one, and future chapters, leave me a comment and let me know. :)

Link to the series Master List

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stayarmytinyzenmoa-l · 1 year

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Without a Trace [Ch. 9]

Vigilantes AU TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Descriptions of Blood, Minor Character Death, Gun Use, Knife Use, Major Character Death, Mentions of Falsified Suicide, Descriptions of Murder Genre: Drama, Angst, Light Comedy Pairing: ATEEZ x Reader Y/N Pronouns: Not Specified Word Count: 10.0K Summary: Vigilante work has been outlawed, thus sending nine prominent vigilantes either into retirement or into lower ground and, while some abide by the law, a few continue on. Then, one day, a greater threat forces these vigilantes to come together once again, regardless of the law.

(9/11) [First] | [Previous] | [Next] [Other Groups Masterlist] | [Without a Trace Masterlist]

Notes: Breaking my hiatus for a bit to finally post this monster of a chapter AHAHAHAHAHAHA Have fun lovelies Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in these actions. The idols mentioned in this work are meant to be seen more as face claims rather than the actual idols themselves.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!! Thank you for reading!

“Shit, shit,” you cursed more under your breath as you and San ran out of the building. San more of limping, to be exact, but still able to keep up with you easily. You turned over to the corner where Mingi was originally parked at, the car he’d been inside turned into a complete mess of bullet holes through the windshield and splashes of red. “Oh god, oh no,” you shook your head, running over to it and pulling open the already broken door. There was no sign of Mingi or whoever was in there with him. Just as you were about to run off, three patrol cars blast past you. Hongjoong must have finally heard from Yeosang.

Yeosang, what the hell happened to the signals? Could it really have been Radiohead? She was a total sweetheart, though, you’d worked with her a number of times. Unless the Charlatan got to her, that is. You shook the thought out.

“Spades!” Seonghwa pulls over next to you, tossing you your keys. He revs the engine on your motorcycle. “Yeosang texted us the car, we’ll get to him first before anyone else,” he says. “Just get me close enough to the van, we’ll get him back,” he taps the rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Yeah, got it,” you climbed on in front of him.

“Hey! What about me?” San winces.

“Rendezvous with Cheshire and Broker!” And you took off, speeding between other cars and narrowly avoiding obstacles. Seonghwa looked at his watch and, with the press of a button, a holographic screen projected from it, showing the vehicle that Mingi had been shoved into.

“Got it?” You asked.

“Got it, just focus on driving!” Seonghwa stood up on the bike, just enough to see over your head as you moved faster. Then, speeding nearly as fast as the two of you, was a van matching the exact description from Yeosang.

“It’s on our right,” you shout and speed up, weaving through traffic like you’d done many times before. As you started to gain on the van, you felt Seonghwa steady with the rifle just inches above your head, and you tried to keep the motorcycle as still as it could be just as Seonghwa took the shot. The bullet whizzed above you and into the van, causing it to crash onto the sidewalk. You skid to a stop and Seonghwa jumped off, practically throwing the door open and…

“Empty,” Seonghwa’s voice wavered. You ran next to him and, true to his words, the only thing in the van was its driver, who had a blossoming bullet wound on his shoulder now. Then another van sped behind you.

“That one!” You pointed after it and, in seconds, another car comes barreling down the street with three of your teammates inside and keeping their eye on it. “Damn, let’s catch up,” you and Seonghwa were quick to follow after the rev of your engine.

“No, no,” Yeosang stood up fast and his chair clattered to the ground behind him. His eyes darted between all screens and one hand tangled into his hair. “This is all wrong, it’s all screwed up…” he pulls on the strands now, pulling a few out in the process. He looks at the loose hairs hanging off of his fingers and takes a deep breath. Then there were rapid knocks at his door, causing his head to whip toward it. His breathing, although labored, rang loud in his ears, second only to the loud bangs at his door. He picks up the pistol under his desk before approaching the door and threw it open, training the barrel at the intruder.

“Just me,” Hongjoong held his hands up.

“And me,” Jongho walks into view. “Let’s go, no time for questions.” Yeosang could only nod, they were working against time now.

No doubt, this will be the first time they face the real Charlatan.

It didn’t take long for them to catch up, though.

Yeosang was quick to run up to the other five who were at the door to the complex, trying different ways to get in. Hongjoong was next to follow, and finally Jongho.

“What’s the situation?” Hongjoong asks.

“We just got here too,” you tried the keypad once again and with blinking red lights, you stopped. “Been trying to get in. We already surveilled the place and this is the only entrance. Even the vents are welded shut.”

“They’re clever,” Hongjoong grumbles. You all cleared for him to stare at the keypad. A sticky note was placed above it, with the simple message ‘To the smartest A.’

“I already tried it, but it didn’t work,” San scoffs.

“Who the hell said you’re the smartest?” You snarked.

“It didn’t work for you either!” He fought back.

“Alright, alright, I got this,” Wooyoung stepped forward, skimming over the message under the sticky note, and punching in a code. The red light laughed at him. “It’s broken. Yunho, you’re good with numbers, you try,” Wooyoung invites him.

“Don’t look at me, I’m too dumb for that contraption,” Yunho shrugs.

“I already know I won’t get it,” Seonghwa leans against the door.

“Haa…” Hongjoong sighs and grabs the note. “There are how many of me a day, there are how many suits, there are how many As, and there are how many of me,” he recites the hint carefully. His hand hovers over the keypad and presses on the first code that came to mind: Four, Four, Nine, One. Four parts of a day, Dawn, Day, Dusk, Night. Four suits, Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds, and Spades. Nine members of their team. And one Charlatan. The green light is like a beacon as the doors slid open.

“Well, that was expected,” Seonghwa led the group in. The complex was as big as it was empty, with their footsteps seemingly bouncing off of the walls. There was another floor early accessible by the ladder against the wall, and to make the task harder there were four doors that Mingi could be in, each sporting a different sticky note. The door shut behind them, a simple sticky note stating ‘Good luck!’ written on it.

“How childish… Looks like we’re going to have to split up to be efficient,” Hongjoong says. “Read the notes, what do they say?” He looks at the closest one to him. To the most agile and the most watchful.

“This one says to the smartest and to the most cautious,” you called out across from him.

“This one says to the most confident and the most greedy,” Seonghwa announces on the top floor.

“And this one says to the most secretive and the most deceived,” San crumples the note in his hand.

“We know one, at least. Mastermind’s the smartest,” you crossed your arms once everyone had regrouped.

“The most cautious, then, who would we say that is?” Hongjoong asks.

“Huntsman?” Wooyoung nudges his head toward Seonghwa.

“Safe bet, I’d assume any hunter would have to be cautious,” Yeosang adds.

“But if we follow that line of reasoning, then I’d nominate you too,” you cut in. “Who can be more cautious than the one who avoids conflict?” You reasoned.

“Possible but now you have to consider the other positions. I’d argue that Huntsman is the most confident, considering that you know every shot hits their target,” he says.

“And with Cypher, I’d argue that you’re either the most watchful or the most secretive,” Yunho chimes.

“For most cautious then…” Hongjoong hummed and looked around the group. “Timekeeper.” Jongho, pointed to himself, a curious look on his face. “Who is more cautious than the one who meticulously picks out their targets?”

“I guess,” Jongho shrugged.

“The most confident has to be Huntsman!” Wooyoung volunteered Seonghwa for him.

“I never miss,” Seonghwa confirms and Wooyoung grins.

“I rest my case,” he rests his hands on his hips. “As for the most greedy…” everyone’s eyes settle on Yunho.

“Wow, you’re not even going to debate it?” Yunho’s eyebrows scrunch together. “I mean, you’re not wrong, but ouch.”

“Can I take the most agile?” Wooyoung points at himself. “I was known for my quick attacks, you know!”

“We know!” The group resounded.

“I can’t think of anyone faster anyway,” you hummed. “We all agree that Cypher’s the most watchful then, right?”

“Has to be, I know you’ve been spying on me, creep,” San glowers at Yeosang, who responds by rolling his eyes.

“And by process of elimination that leaves you two,” Hongjoong looks at you and San, standing side by side. “The most secretive and the most deceived, huh?” He hums.

“Don’t look at me, I don’t know what it means either,” you shrugged. “Blackguard?” You looked next to you, but San just shrugged too.

“Well, that settles it then, Blackguard and Spades, take the left top door, Cheshire and Cypher you take the right, Huntsman and Broker will take the left bottom door, while Timekeeper and I take the right, am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Wooyoung was the only one to respond while everyone else broke off. Wooyoung followed Yeosang into the door and the two stopped as soon as they saw themselves through a mirror. The door slammed shut behind them and they steadied themselves. “Looks like we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Wooyoung mutters. The room was dark except for the light under the mirror. Then the sound of others lighting up filled the room.

“Great, my worst enemy,” Yeosang rolls his eyes. “Myself,” he huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Is it really just a mirror though?” Wooyoung knocks on it and looks around. “Looks like we’re in the middle of a maze,” he points out. “Oh, look, this one’s a trick mirror,” Wooyoung chuckles and pointed to the mirror that made them look longer.

“Hm… there has to be some kind of gimmick,” Yeosang looked behind him, the door they had entered from was now replaced with a mirror. Then, he turned to his side and, thankfully, it was an opening. “Let’s go this way,” he waves Wooyoung over to follow him and they both walk through cautiously, their peripherals occupied by their own reflections. Wooyoung rolls his shoulders enough that his uniform’s sleeves become looser around his joints and he rolls his neck after. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?” He throws a few air punches to test his mobility.

“You only do that when you know something bad’s going to happen, it’s like an instinct,” Yeosang shudders.

“Oh, relax, we’ll be fi—” Before Wooyoung could finish his sentence, the mirror next to them shattered. “Fuck, what the hell?!” Wooyoung stumbles back, steadied only by the arm Yeosang threw out to catch him before he could fall completely. Wooyoung froze in Yeosang’s arms now, core strength just barely holding him up otherwise while the two stared at each other. “When did you…?” Wooyoung stutters, not fully grasping his friend’s newfound strength until now that he stared at his arms. “Oh…”

“Don’t even think about it,” Yeosang drops him and straightens himself before offering Wooyoung his hand, which the latter politely obliged. The two stared at the now shattered mirror pieces before them.

“That’s bad luck.”

“Hmm… it’s weird too,” Yeosang lowers himself to observe the shards.

“What’s weird?” Wooyoung follows suit.

“The shards… why are they on the other side of the mirror?” Yeosang asks.

“What do you mean?”

“If the shards were on both sides, which would make more sense, then the force of impact would have been above the mirror. If they were on our side then that means something behind the mirror broke it. But they’re on the opposite side so that means one of us must have hit it,” Yeosang explains. Wooyoung hums and grabs one of the shards.

“Wait… yeah, you’re right,” Wooyoung mumbles and twists the shard in his gloved hands. Then, on the shard's reflection, Wooyoung saw it and was quick on his feet to hurl the shard towards the figure behind them.

“Shit,” Yeosang bounces up just as the masked figure fires a warning shot between the two, shoulder impeded by the mirror shard Wooyoung had embedded into them.

“Run!” Wooyoung pushed Yeosang forward through the opening and the two took off.

“Who do you think this one is?” Yeosang asks just as he moved out of the way of the red aim light.

“Uh… can’t tell under that godawful uniform,” Wooyoung pulls Yeosang down the corridor. "One thing’s for sure though, it’s not Mingi,” Wooyoung ducks under the shot and makes a sharp turn, Yeosang just barely running into the mirror before he turned too.

“What are we supposed to do in here?! Survive?!”

“Maybe find the exit? Mingi in the middle? Who knows?!” Wooyoung shouts and turns quickly again, only this time smashing into a mirror. “Ow, fuck,” Wooyoung winces and Yeosang tugs him along.

“We don’t have time for this!” Yeosang skids to a stop just as the mirror in front of them shatters. On the other side of the mirror is yet another masked figure, only this time, a glint of red shone beneath the mask and Yeosang swallowed harshly. There was only one vigilante who was crazy enough to indulge in that kind of bodily modification. Lee Sangyeon, or better known, as “Crosshair,” he shudders.

“If only we had Huntsman,” Wooyoung looks around for another way out, but the mention of the vigilante seemed to have triggered something in their second pursuer, enough to make him pissed.

“Why’d you have to go and mention Huntsman?! You pissed him off! You…” Yeosang stops.

This was new. This revealed something very important.

Though under control, the Charlatan’s henchmen were still somewhat conscious underneath the brainwashing.

“Cypher! Focus!” Wooyoung pulled Yeosang back to reality and they began to run again.

“Wait, I think we can reason with them! If Crosshair’s upset over the mere mention of the Huntsman then that means they still have some autonomy in there somewhere, and I think we can tap into that somehow,” Yeosang looks over his shoulder, only one of the henchmen was following them, Crosshairto be specific.

“Sangyeon! Come on, listen to me! I know we were never the closest friends, but you gotta come back,” Yeosang kept a reasonable distance while shouting toward their attacker. But Crosshair instead trained his gun on him.

“Leave it, Cypher, they can’t be reasoned with! The brainwashing is too strong while that mask is on!” Wooyoung insists, then, right as they turned the corner, their second pursuer blocked the way. They raised the butt of their rifle and swung it down on Yeosang’s leg.

“Fuck!” Yeosang’s pained voice rang out in the room, the only thing louder than the sound of his leg snapping in half, leaving Wooyoung to look around him for any possible solution. They were cornered, and there wasn’t an opening in sight. Anything, Wooyoung would take anything right now. He pulled Yeosang up and slung his arm over his shoulders.

“Sorry, buddy, this is going to get crazy,” Wooyoung pivoted on his heel and broke the mirror with his elbow before running through the new opening with Yeosang essentially dragging behind.

“Just drop me off here, you need to tell Mastermind that the henchmen are still somewhat in control, it could change everything,” Yeosang insists.

“No way, I’m not leaving you, Yeo,” Wooyoung adjusts him over his shoulder and continues running down the corridor while keeping an eye out for the openings. “We’ll get out of here together or not at all,” Wooyoung taps on the comm in his ear but is met with dead static. Wooyoung could barely make out the faint outline of a staircase just ahead, but how he was going to get there he wasn’t sure. “Come on,” Wooyoung takes a deep breath and continues to run.

“This looks… eerie,” Yunho’s comment bounced off the walls of the empty room. Though his hands were in his pockets, it was clear that he was ready to defend at a moment’s notice. His eyes scanned the empty room, his discerning eye was one that he had long prided himself on, and for good reason. Being in the business that he is his instincts had never been wrong, he couldn’t afford to let them be wrong, he had to be able to see any threats before they could even be considered one.

And it is those same instincts that flared inside of him now. Something was horribly wrong about this wrong, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly. What was it that put him on edge like this? The room was empty except for the two of them, it was so empty that he could hear their footsteps echoing behind them. There wasn’t a single camera in sight, either, no windows, and two sets of doors, the one they entered in from and the one before them now. It was a large and foreboding thing too, at that, ready to slide open once it was ready.

“Empty room, nowhere to hide, no vantage points, almost like an arena,” Seonghwa hummed.

“An arena, huh?” Yunho’s voice was tense.

“What are you sensing?” Seonghwa asks with a narrowed glance.

“I’m not sure yet,” Yunho followed Seonghwa around the room. There were no signs of any trap tiles or loose sections of the wall. “You feel it too, right?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa walks over to the large door now and knocks on it lightly. The clang of metal filled the room and Seonghwa turned away from it. “That’s not opening until we finish something, that’s for sure,” he says.

“You think Mingi’s back there?” Yunho asks.

“Who knows?” Seonghwa and Yunho approach the middle of the room now. Yunho throws his arm out now, stopping Seonghwa from proceeding any further. Yunho takes a deep breath and, he was certain, he still heard it. He still heard it echoing, the footsteps. Yunho looks around, then, right before they could take a step further, Seonghwa is somehow shoved aside right as a knife grazes Yunho.

“What the hell?!” Yunho stumbles back, trying to figure out where the attack came from, all the while Seonghwa rolled to the side and grabbed his rifle, aiming it at particularly nothing. Then, when his rifle is shoved out of his hands, he realized what was happening.

“They’re invisible!” Seonghwa called to Yunho.

“Yeah, I kind of got that!” Yunho barked back. Seonghwa grabbed his rifle just as the doors opposite to them slid open. Another one of the Charlatan’s henchmen stomped out, one of a noticeably larger build, and the doors behind him shut quickly after. “Well… safe to say that that is not Mingi.” Yunho pulled his revolvers out of his pockets and trained them on the larger henchman before firing a few incapacitating shots, which unsurprisingly did very little to stop him. Yunho twists his head toward Seonghwa, who’d gained a considerable distance from the large henchman and was now training his rifle on him. “Huntsman, stop! Remember who we’re fighting, we can’t take reckless shots!”

“Speak for yourself,” Seonghwa fires his rifle and the bullet pierced through the large henchman’s arm. Then, right before he could reload, the rifle is once again pulled from his hands. “Got a way to deal with the invisible one?!” He shouts.

“Maybe!” Yunho ducks under the heavy swing of his opponent and falls back while digging through his pockets again. Knives, lighters, bullets, and playing cards all toppled from his hands before he finally found what he was looking for. “Aha!” Yunho pulled out a pair of large goggles and pulled them over his head.

“You look ridiculous, man,” Seonghwa groans while swinging the end of his rifle aimlessly, hoping to hit the invisible henchman somewhere. Yunho turned on the goggles, his vision filled with a technological interface for a brief moment before activating its true purpose, heat-seeking. Then, just like that, the heat traces of everything in the room was visible. And, to his curiosity, he noticed the large heat traces concealed in the walls. Ignoring the tank of a man heading his way, Yunho trained his sights on Seonghwa, spotting the two figures close enough to each other.

“He’s on your left!” Yunho shouts. Seonghwa pivoted on his heel and swung his rifle again, and he heard the crunch of bones after. “He’s on the ground, you got his arm! Don’t shoot to kill!” Yunho commands.

“I heard you the first time,” Seonghwa slams the rifle down one last time, hitting the invisible henchman’s abdomen hard enough that the invisibility device strapped to the henchman’s chest ceased to function, rendering them passed out on the floor. Seonghwa wiped the sweat from the side of his forehead with a handkerchief and took a deep breath.

“Geez… pretentious mu—” before Yunho could finish his thought, the last henchman swung at him, sending Yunho tumbling across the ground. He winced and groaned loudly and clawed beneath him to get up, but it was hard with his sudden blurred vision and ringing ears. He could barely make out the heavy footsteps, let alone the way Seonghwa grappled for a bullet to reload. Yunho’s hands moved beneath him quickly, all of the contents of his pockets had been for the most part emptied in his search for the goggles, if he could find even one thing to use he’d be set. Luckily enough for him, that one thing was all he needed, the cold steel of a knife, a recent buy of his and one he spent both a pretty penny and a select few lives for, but nevertheless it was meant as a gift for none other than you. The one reason why he hadn’t given it to you yet is the lack of testing, but it should be fine. He grabbed at it, wincing again as he felt the flesh under the blade slice open, and flung it forth before passing out.

“Shit,” Seonghwa slung his rifle over his shoulder and ran toward Yunho just in time for the large henchman to fall backward with a loud thud. Seonghwa eyed the one knife that had embedded itself into the henchman’s chest before refocusing on his teammate. “Yunho, wake up,” Seonghwa shook him awake, but Yunho didn’t stir. “Get up! We don’t have time for this!” Seonghwa said it louder. The door once again started to open, painstakingly slow at this rate. Seonghwa shook his head in frustration and smacked Yunho across the face, waking him up in an instant. Yunho touched his stinging face and glared and Seonghwa.

“The hell was that for?!”

“Pull yourself together! There’s more coming!”

“Fine!” Yunho looked down at his right hand, the thing frozen in the same way it was when he flung the knife.

“What happened?” The doors are fully open now.

“Cut my hand with Mono’s prized weapon,” Yunho glanced behind Seonghwa, seeing two new henchmen enter, “paralysis tonic, great.” Yunho grips one of his revolvers in his good hand.

“You don’t have an antidote?!”

“Not on me, but it should wear off in a few… hours,” he lets Seonghwa pull him up.

“Talk about timing,” Seonghwa takes a couple of steps back, watching one of the henchmen taunt him with their mace. “You can tap out at any time, of course, I can handle things.”

“Don’t praise yourself too much,” Yunho shoves him forward and the next round begins

“What do you think this room is?” Jongho looks down at all the cables running through the floors.

“Hard to say, let’s find a light switch,” Hongjoong starts feeling around the walls while Jongho minds the floor. The only light source at the moment came from the open door behind them, but aside from that, they were working in the dark. Finally, Hongjoong flips the light on and the room illuminates with a bright light. Jongho shut his eyes and allowed them to readjust before he opened them again and saw that the room’s purpose was apparent.

“Looks like we found where he brainwashes them, huh?” Jongho mumbles. The cables led to various machines, and in between those machines was “Mingi!” Jongho, who in his concern and excitement could care less about code names, ran forward and pulled the mask off of him. Mingi’s eyes slowly opened before looking around before he groaned and hung his head low.

“Hold on, friend, I’ll help you out of this,” Hongjoong pulled out his pocket knife and sawed at the ropes before Mingi was free. Without standing up, Mingi rubbed his wrists and pulled at the white jumpsuit he now wore. “That was a close one, we almost lost you,” Hongjoong shakes his head while Jongho examined the mask.

“Mastermind, come over here,” Jongho waved him over while taking steps away from the machines.

“Why?”

“Just do it,” Jongho insisted. Once Hongjoong was close enough, Jongho turned the mask around and showed him the inside. Unlike the mask they had already, this one was completely empty, it was just like a mask from a costume store, and behind them Mingi stood up and grabbed the back of the chair, the metal screeching against the floors. Hongjoong pulled the sticky note off of the mask.

‘You found your treasure! But now you must earn it. You must face the opponent no one sees coming, the opponent who is as swift as he is efficient, the one who moves just like a Shadow,’ is all it read before Jongho pulled Hongjoong out of the way in time for the chair to slam against the wall and leaving a large dent in its attack.

“Shit,” Hongjoong turns around quickly just in time for Mingi to slide a Charlatan mask over his head.”

“They actually got him,” Jongho slides on his brass knuckles before rolling his head.

“Pull your punches.”

“I know.”

“We can’t hurt him.”

“I know.”

“We can’t save him.”

“I know.” Jongho’s answers were short, he knew what he had to do. They had to break Mingi out of whatever hypnotism he was under first. Jongho toyed with his wristwatch before stepping forward and blocking every hit that Mingi threw at him. Hongjoong, meanwhile, looked around the room for something, anything, to use. They were able to break Juyeon out of his trance by breaking the mask, but would it be the same for Mingi? He wasn’t wearing one earlier, so there was no telling. “Aim for the mask!”

“Right!” Hongjoong pulled his pistol out. “Sorry for this, Mingi, I don’t have a choice,” Hongjoong pointed the gun at Mingi’s leg and fired, a shot that missed only by a thread. Mingi stopped in his tracks and reached behind one of the machines before pulling out a pair of gauntlets, heavy-set ones at that. But Hongjoong could’ve sworn up and down that he recognized them, he had to, and every weapon the Charlatan used was stolen.

“Mastermind! Don’t let him hit you under any circumstance!” Jongho pushed Hongjoong toward the door and Mingi started to follow. “Run!” Jongho ushered him forward, but the door slammed shut. Then, the ceiling above them slid open just as the floor beneath them started to rise.

“Talk about avant-garde,” Hongjoong keeps his pistol trained on Mingi, who slammed the knuckles of the gauntlets together. Then, the dust settled, and Hongjoong and Jongho found themselves standing in the middle of a large room.

“Mastermind! Timekeeper! Thank fucking god,” Yunho runs up to them, beaten, bloodied, and bruised, but notably dragging a worn-out Seonghwa with him.

“The hell happened to you two?!” Hongjoong exclaimed. He looked around and saw the scattered bodies of henchmen around him and, to say the least, he was a little impressed.

“Too much,” Seonghwa used his rifle to support him.

“How about this one, then?” Yunho flipped the knife in his hands, having grown used to using it after being paralyzed at least once.

“Don’t hurt him,” Hongjoong says quickly.

“They got him, we were too late,” Jongho stretches his arms.

“No…” Yunho looks over just when the doors behind Mingi slid open again. “No!” Yunho wailed.

“Did we lose them?!” Wooyoung shouts with Yeosang slumped on his back.

“Yes!” Yunho shouts. Then, when a bullet grazed his face, leaving a shallow cut in its path, he exclaimed again. “No!” Wooyoung and Yeosang ran out of the double doors, past Mingi, and toward them.

“The whole gang’s here!” Wooyoung looked relieved and Yeosang waved weakly. “Wait, where are Blackguard and Spades?” He asks. “Did we find Mingi?” The other members pointed behind them and Wooyoung turned quickly. “No!”

“Yeah,” Jongho sighed. Yeosang climbed off of Wooyoung’s back carefully and fell on the floor.

“Nothing is going well,” he mutters. Again, Mingi slammed his fists together and the click of a bullet sliding into place is heard.

“Fuck, where did he get that?” Seonghwa’s voice wavered.

“What is that?” Wooyoung asks.

“You don’t recognize them?” Seonghwa fights to hold his rifle up. “Those are the Ace of Diamonds’ gauntlets,” he takes a stabilizing step back.

“Oh shit,” Yeosang frowns. Where was Spades when they needed them?

“Huh… two roads diverged in a wood,” you looked at the two doors, each with their respective sticky note written on it. “How’s your leg?” Your hand naturally brushed against the shallow wound.

“I’ve been through worse,” San tightened the cloth around it. You and San naturally went to either side and ripped the note from their place. “The Seeker,” you read it aloud. San remained silent.

“This room is mine,” he says. “Guaranteed,” he put his hand on the doorknob and, as soon as he turned it, iron bars rose from the middle of the room and San was quick to run toward you. “What the hell?!” San gripped one of the bars and you approached it slowly while observing the floor beneath you.

“Oh they’re good, I’ll give them that,” you muttered. “Whatever is in our doors… we’re on our own,” your voice trailed off as you wondered what could be awaiting you on either side. “I’m guessing that once we’ve both completed what we had to in our rooms we’d be able to regroup,” you theorized.

“Probably, but then again I really can’t think of anything else it could be,” San leans against the bars and closer to you. “Don’t die, (Y/N),” he says just barely above a whisper.

“I should say that to you,” you responded. You tapped your finger against his enclosed fist and turned away from him. “Be careful.”

“I will.” You heard him reply behind you before you entered the room. San pushed away from the bars and toward his own door, staring down at the note in his hand.

The Liar.

It’s always going to follow him, isn’t it? San could only shake his head as he pushed his way into the room. It was small, no larger than a bedroom, and at the end was another door. But, most noticeable, was the collage of news articles splayed against the wall.

The Newest Vigilante on the Block: Aegis!

Capital Bank Stormed! New Vigilante Saves the Day!

A Breath of Vitality Into a Dying Movement: Aegis!

Who is Aegis?

Aegis: The Shield of Zeus Personified

Aegis’ Debut at the Capital Bank!

Aegis.

San tore the news articles down and crumpled them in his hands. The ones he didn’t crumple he ripped. And the ones he didn’t rip he ground beneath his boot. Aegis, Aegis, Aegis! What did the world see in him anyway?! All he was was a coward with a shield. San hesitated before pulling the last article from the wall.

Who Could Aegis Be?

The headline was simple, but it was the first paragraph that somehow caught his attention.

Who is Aegis? We decided to ask a group of students who seem to be excited about the emergence of the new vigilante. (L/N) (Y/N) comments that “it’s nice to see a younger vigilante, he even looks like he’s around our age! The older vigilantes will always be cool, but at one point we have to look forward to the younger wave!”

It’s always going to follow him, isn’t it?

San shook his head and went for the next room. It was nearly identical to the one he had just left, even down to the collage of news articles on the wall next to him

Aegis Saves the Day Again!

Aegis Becomes a Ray of Hope.

Aegis in the Center of Action.

Aegis Throws Himself into Danger to Save Everyone!

Aegis Has Gotten More Active!

Aegis Sighted in Further Zones from the City.

Aegis.

Aegis!

San found himself tearing the articles again. But, once his frustration had quelled, he stopped. He stopped and he took steps back until his back hit the wall. Aegis. The name loomed over him like an untouchable monster. Then, just under the articles, San made out the faint hint of writing on the wall, and again San found himself tearing the papers off until the sentence was visible.

Uneasy is the head that wears the crown.

San stared at the writing, an undefinable ringing starting in his ears as his head started to feel heavier. He looked back at the door he entered and backtracked to pull the rest of the articles from the wall and, just as he had expected, there was writing there too.

In the beginning, was the myth.

San walked back to the next room.

The myth is the beginning of Aegis, the impenetrable shield wielded by Zeus and Athena. And as for the second quote, San would rather not dwell on it. He knew what he was signing up for when he became a vigilante.

The next room, as expected, was just like the last two.

Aegis Becomes the Forerunner of Vigilantes.

The Dawn of a New Age: Aegis.

The Shield of Light Aegis!

Aegis Spotted Running Toward the Scene of the Altercation. Mass Casualties Avoided!

Aegis vs. TNT: An Explosive Battle with Few Injuries

Aegis Becomes the Forerunner of the Dawn of a New Age for Vigilantes!

Aegis!

Aegis.

San ripped the papers off again to reveal the message underneath.

The truth is often one’s best shield.

The shield strapped to his back weighed heavier now. Or had it always been heavy? If it was so great then how the hell did he break it so easily? San looked at one of the now torn articles. Aegis stood proud with the senator, hands locked in a strong handshake. It’s clear to everyone, Aegis was never the shield, it was always the person. Against all possible odds, Aegis stood strong, and it was that strength that would later become Aegis’ downfall. An impossible standard to herald, it was a fool’s errand to begin with. San continued forth. The next room was different. Each wall had a door on it except for the one directly in front of him with a single news article taped to the wall.

College Student Eric Son Found Dead in Rose Haven Apartments.

Eyewitness (Y/N) (L/N) reports that after checking in on a neighbor, they found their partner dead in their shared apartment. Officers on the scene ruled it as a suicide with a single gunshot to the head. (L/N) was cleared from suspicion after confirmation of their alibi, but the residents around the area remain on red alert. Everyone has commented that Son didn’t seem the type to die in such a tragic way. Some sources share that Son was wrapped up with shady figures and events. Who knows? Is it really the case that you can’t run from the past? We will update the story as it continues.

Eric Son, his greatest failure. There was no writing on the wall this time, there didn’t need to be. No, instead, there was a passage highlighted. You can’t run from the past. San tore it off and ripped the article to shreds. He destroyed it to the point that no one would be able to tell that it was a news article to begin with. The Son case was a turning point in the career of Aegis. It was a turning point in the creation of Blackguard. It was a turning point in the founding of the Aces. It was a turning point in the Vigilante Ban. Everything revolved around this one case.

And it was his fault.

The doors slid open next to him.

“Blackguard!” Wooyoung called him over. San turned around just in time to dodge the knife that lodged into the wall behind him. San pulled the shield from his back and secured it to his arm. “Don’t be too harsh! It’s Mingi!” Wooyoung shouts after.

“Mingi?” San looks at the Charlatan in front of him. He looked at the gauntlets around his hands. Then, Mingi turned away from San and started to walk toward Yunho, who was still paralyzed from moments before.

“Shit, shit… I have to think of something,” Yeosang looks around the room, but there was nothing to work with, nothing they could use to distract Mingi long enough to get the mask off of him.

And of course, came his aha moment.

“Blackguard! That’s still Mingi! He’s brainwashed, but it’s still him! Talk to him and he’ll respond!” Yeosang, though nursing his leg, was able to stagger up somehow.

“The hell’s wrong with the rest of you?!” San shouts.

“Yeosang’s leg’s busted and Yunho’s shooting hand’s paralyzed!” Hongjoong explains. “Plus, you were the one who broke Juyeon out of his brainwashing! You’re the best person to do this!”

“Ugh,” San charges toward Mingi, shield in front of him and ready for impact, and finally he smashed the shield against Mingi’s side, effectively sending Mingi staggering back. “Fuck… I forgot this dude was built like a goddamn tank,” San ducks behind his shield just as Mingi throws a right hook, the gauntlet collided with the shield and the firearm inside of it went off, leaving the loud clang of a bullet hitting metal resounding in the room. The bullet ricocheted off the shield and around the room before it embedded into Seonghwa’s shoulder.

“Argh, fuck,” Seonghwa gripped his shoulder but half his rifle up regardless.

“Don’t shoot!” Jongho stopped him. “We can’t afford it!”

“I won’t hit anywhere vital!”

“That’s Mingi!”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Seonghwa squeezed the trigger and Hongjoong pointed the rifle up. The bullet hit a ceiling tile and sent it crashing against the floor.

“Where’s Spades? They should be able to do something!” Wooyoung pleads.

“No time,” Yunho dug through his pockets and pulled out a first aid kit, “Mingi’s preoccupied with Blackguard, we have to use this opportunity now.” San looked over to the group. Realistically, Seonghwa was his best bet but he won’t be much if Hongjoong is holding him back. Then he tossed a hopeful glance to Jongho, who just adjusted his wristwatch and shook his head. Wooyoung wasn’t even an option, with Yeosang out of commission then Wooyoung’s first thought would be to keep him safe.

Yup, he’s on his own. As usual.

“Mingi! Hey, buddy,” San took careful steps around Mingi, who seemed to follow him with his gaze. “Remember me? Blackguard?” He asks. No response, instead, Mingi loaded his gauntlets again and San took steps to distance himself away from him. “Come on, big guy, how about Bobby? Remember him?” Mingi seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Gotcha.” San’s excitement was clear, he found his way in and all he had to do was pull that sentiment out.

The door shut behind you as soon as you cleared it, but you were too busy staring at the scene before you paid much mind to the sudden slam. The room you were in was small enough with a large control console in front of you with six large monitors behind a simple setup consisting of a keyboard and mouse. But it wasn’t this that caught your attention, no, it was the display on the bottom center screen.

For the eyes of (Y/N) (L/N), the Ace of Spades, only.

Just how much did he know about you?

“Take a seat, (Y/N).” The Charlatan’s voice filled the room. You did so, you had no reason not to oblige. Whatever was going on, it was clear, he had the upper hand in this already dangerous gamble. As soon as you were situated, the screen changed to a singular man hidden by the darkness. “Hello, Vigilante.”

“Charlatan, I assume? The real one,” you asked. The figure nodded.

“I’m sure you have questions.”

“I have plenty.”

“Ask away then, we have time.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“All will be revealed, the Mastermind isn’t the only chess master in this game.”

“And I can ask anything? Anything at all?”

“Sure.”

“Who are you then?”

“Everything except that.”

“Of course,” you rolled your eyes. “Why then? Why do all of this?”

“Mm… I’ve always hated vigilantes,” he says bluntly, “it was through their reckless behavior many times that I lost something or someone important to me, and many others share my sentiment. So, now, I wish to rid the world of them completely.”

Talk about textbook answer. You didn’t expect anything else from someone who despised vigilantes, but you did expect a little more. The way he spoke, you wondered, which vigilante ruined him?

“If you hate them so much, why bring other vigilantes into it?”

“I alone cannot execute my plan, but I have a way to make others do it for me.”

“The masks.”

“Yes. Your friend, Cypher, he got very close to decoding it.”

“What is it then?” You pressed.

“Rhythmic flashes and certain sounds.”

“So nothing more than common hypnosis?”

“Common, sure, but effective. But, (Y/N), you must remember that the fundamentals of hypnosis still apply. I can’t force someone to do something they wouldn’t want to do already. And, with that, you realize what point I’m getting at, don’t you?”

“What can I say? Vigilantes crave action.”

“You’re all destructive. And here you are, cracking jokes.”

“It can’t be possible that every vigilante is that bloodthirsty though.”

“Of course not. That’s why I killed them.” You didn’t know why, but that statement did send chills down your spine.

“So you killed him then?”

“Your friend?”

“Yes.” The Charlatan didn’t answer, instead, the screen next to you turned on to show CCTV. You recognized San’s shield from anywhere, and it wasn’t long before you noticed the others.

He got him.

You watched Mingi thrust his fists together and your throat ran dry.

“They’re a magnificent weapon.”

“You shouldn’t have those.”

“I apologize, I know they’re something of a sentiment to you.”

“Where did you get them?”

“Where do you think? You only put it in one place.”

“How did you get there?”

“Obviously, I had access.”

“Who are you?!” You repeated your question from earlier, but the Charlatan didn’t respond, so instead you took a deep breath. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“I want to make a deal with you.”

“Hell no.”

“You haven’t even heard what I had to offer yet.”

“Why would I work with you? All you’ve done is kill people I’ve cared about.”

“I’m just offering an exchange,” his voice was uncomfortably calm. Then you saw the panel next to you open up, revealing the Charlatan’s signature mask next to you.

“I’m not putting that shit on,”

“It’s just there for insurance, if I do this correctly, you won’t even need it.”

“Fuck you, I won’t agree to any deal you offer me.”

“Do you mean that? Even if I can provide you with the answer you’ve been looking for since the beginning?”

“Likely story, I’m not looking for anything right now.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” you stood up from your seat now, ready to turn around and leave.

“Shame. I thought you were still interested in the Eric Son case, but it appears that I was wrong.” That’s one way to stop you. “What do you think about it, (Y/N)? The foundation of your career, the Eric Son case. It’s fascinating.”

“What do you want me to say about it? What more than the facts?” You sat back down on the chair and the screen in front of you changed showing a basic profile of Eric. “He killed himself, that’s all there is to it.”

“But he didn’t though, you know that.”

“I don’t have proof.”

“You had plenty, you had enough to found the Aces with your group, right?” You stayed silent. “A fantastic group you all were, the five of you were all friends, right? How sweet.” Still, you stayed silent. “I must applaud your sentiment, did you ever find out who killed him?”

“No.”

“Would you like to know?” You swallowed harshly. It had been years already, though that was the original cause of the Aces, your purpose grew, you all grew. You all grieved, you all moved on, and you all left. “You’re the last active Ace, you owe it to them to find out what they fought for. What he died for.” You could feel the cold sweat run down your neck. “I will ask you one last time, Ace of Spades. Would you like to know what happened to Eric Son?”

“…” You took slow and deep breaths. After all these years, were you really going to find out your life’s work from a villain of all things? “Yes, tell me.”

“I’d rather show you.” Then the screen in front of you went black. After a few moments, it sparked to life once again and you felt your heart stop.

Eric tapped on the screen of the lens.

“Man… (Y/N) is so going to kill me if they see this,” Eric adjusted the camera to better get a good range around the bedroom. “Okay…” he looks at his phone screen. “Should be fine… I’ll just turn it on when I’m out, I guess…” he continues to mumble to himself while walking around the room. Your bedroom to be exact. The camera caught everything, from the bed, the closet, to the window, it had a good vantage point. “Crap, the one in the living room’s offline again.”

“How do you have this?” You asked aloud. The Charlatan didn’t answer. Instead, the image flipped off again and turned back on to show a different day and in a different position, the living room. You didn’t even have to look at the date stamp to know what day this was, you remembered that conversation verbatim. It haunted you in your nightmares as much as it did your waking hours. You watched your past self collapse on the couch with Eric following shortly after, the way his arms opened for you so naturally was like a habit to you and him at that point and the way you saw yourself melting into them was a common occurrence. How bittersweet this all was, and how tragically poet.

“Are you really sure you don’t want to have the others over?” Your voice sounded so different back then.

“Yeah, the worst case scenario is that our neighbors over there have hate sex while we’re playing Mario Kart,” Eric’s voice, just as it always had, warmed your heart. “Sorry, I know you really wanted to do it.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You have a point too.”

“Yeah, it was nice just going out with them, even if it got so rudely interrupted.”

“Rude interruption is a nice way to put it! I thought you died!”

“But I didn’t!”

“Christ, Eric, you can’t just rush into danger like that, you could get seriously hurt.” How ironic. This whole conversation. The feed was silent for a while and you remembered why, you remembered the way Eric looked at you when you said that, you could even catch a hint of that expression from this footage. You couldn’t hear it, but you remembered what he said next.

“You know I would never put you in that situation, right?” You watched him tighten his arms around you. You remembered that embrace being the most comforting thing in the world, you really were so scared for him that day the bank got robbed, you were so stressed about it that you could barely hold in whatever was inside of you.

“I know.”

“I love you, (Y/N), I would never want you to get caught up in danger.”

“I know, I love you too.” You felt your chest tightening. You knew what came next. That glass shatter must have been loud if you heard it through this footage. You saw the way Eric turned to the front door, followed by you.

“There goes Mr. Shin again,” Eric shook his head.

“I should go check on Yuna, I’m so worried about her.” You felt your breathing pick up now. This was it. The truth.

“Yeah, go ahead. Let me know if she’s okay, and if Mr. Shin tries something, you call for me right away.”

“I will, I’ll be quick.” You watched your past self stand up and leave the unit, all the while Eric watched you go. As soon as you heard the door shut, you saw Eric’s shoulders visibly relax.

“Hooo boy, I have got to figure out (Y/N)’s new schedule, that was close…” Eric ran his hand through his hair and shook his head, “it’s a good thing that I wasn’t in uniform.” He lifts one of the couch cushions and pulls out something, keeping it well concealed in his hand before getting up to leave.

“How do you have this footage?!” You asked it more forcefully this time, but the Charlatan still didn’t answer. Instead, the camera flipped to the bedroom, where you watched Eric walk to the closet and open it wide, then, after some clothes were removed, he pulled off the backboard of the closet and placed whatever he had taken inside. Suddenly, you saw Eric shut the closet quickly as he turned around faster than you would’ve thought possible from him.

Were you really ready to see what was next? You turned away from the screen and you heard the footage stop.

“Did you want to stop?” The Charlatan’s voice cut through your thoughts. You shook your head and steeled your nerves before turning back to the screen and allowing the footage to resume.

You watched Eric stare toward the window that slowly opened to allow for his murderer to walk in. Clad in black with lightning motifs you recognized this second person well.

“Blackout!” Eric’s voice was ecstatic, of course, it was what with how excited he always got about vigilantes. But when you saw Blackout load his gun you felt a stone in your stomach and, just as if a switch flipped, Eric grew serious, you could see it in the way his shoulders rolled back. “You know… a villain hiding under the guise of a vigilante, it’s not a good look. Let’s make this fast, my partner’s out helping one of our neighbors and I’d rather keep this between us.” His voice was steady, a tone he didn’t usually use and one you weren’t too used to hearing from him.

The fight was surprisingly evenly matched, Eric held his own well despite the odds, but with every punch and every block you knew what the end result was and it made the whole thing even more heartbreaking. You wondered why Blackout didn’t just shoot him there, you wondered why Blackout even let him fight, but then you realized why. You realized why he let Eric struggle when he finally pinned him to the ground, loaded gun held to the side of his head, and you heard Blackout laugh. He did this because he enjoyed it, the thrill of it, the inhumanity. A true villain.

“Senator Johnson sends his regards.” Blackout’s voice was gruff, maybe strained from the fight before, but it was the name that got you. Senator Johnson was the head senator who proposed the Vigilante Ban in the first place, and yet here he was working with one.

Bang.

You shut your eyes and the audio came to an abrupt stop. Why was he making you watch the whole thing? You opened the slowly and you could still hear the aftersound of the gunshot. You watched blood stain the floor under him and you tried to ignore the blood splatters against the wall. Blackout stepped over Eric now and he wiped the gun in his hands before placing it in Eric’s, curling his fingers over the handle carefully while he started to set the scene. You had to hand it to Blackout, he really did well in making it look like a suicide. You watched Blackout move things around the room and move some things back, then, he reaches the closet, which he opens without a care, but then he hesitates. You watched Blackout bring a fist to cover his mouth while he takes a few steps back from the closet. Then he turns around to look at Eric, and back at the closet, and back to Eric again, and back to the closet again.

Blackout takes a step forward and pulls something from the closet. Something you, no, everyone would recognize.

“Aegis…” the name slipped out of your mouth so naturally.

“No, no, no… this wasn’t what they told me,” Blackout’s voice shook and he walked back to Eric and fell on his knees, checking for a pulse that wasn’t there. “What have I done? It was just a job, it was just supposed to be a job, how could I have killed Aegis? I… oh god,” Blackout drops the shield and holds the side of his head, clearly thinking to himself and clearly trying to find out what to do.

“Oh fuck… I killed Aegis…” he repeats again. “I killed Aegis and I have to hide that…” his breathing grows labored and he grabs onto his mask, pulling it off quickly to breathe easier. It was like something clicked in his mind because his next move was to run back to the closet, taking a duffle bag from it and shoving the contents of the closet into it. Aegis’ uniform, Aegis’ mask, Aegis’ tools, and, of course, Aegis’ shield. He packed them tightly and headed toward the window, but he stops next to Eric, he stops for a moment before leaving the way he came. And when he turned to close the window?

You saw him.

You saw who murdered Eric Son.

“I’m sorry, buddy.” After who knows how long of fighting, San had finally pinned Mingi down. Mingi took labored breaths and San held the shield above his head before bringing it down on the mask, leaving a large fissure in it’s wake until it finally broke in half and slid down either side of Mingi’s face. Beneath him Mingi was winded, he gasped for air like he’d been drowning moments before, and he looked around like a madman who’d never seen light. He scrambles away from San and spots the others.

“Mingi?” Wooyoung asks shakily.

“Woo?” Mingi swallows nervously.

“Oh, he’s back!” Wooyoung cheered and started to run over, but San beat him to it and offered a hand to Mingi, who just stared at it. After some deliberation, he took it and San pulled him up.

“I still can’t forgive you for what you did,” Mingi says quietly.

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“I don’t care that I know the whole story now.”

“I figured.”

“But… I will work with you,” Mingi shakes San’s hand and pulls away from him.

“All’s well that ends well, right?” Wooyoung hugs Mingi and helps him to reach the others. “Let’s go find Spades, they went with you, right, San?”

“Yeah, there were two rooms, so Spades went in the other one while I came here, it was just through that door,” he point to the large doors in the back.

“So much shit came out of that door,” Seonghwa clicks his tongue.

“I know, right? No wonder Blackguard came running out of it,” Yeosang chides. The doors started to slide open again, and the group went quiet.

“Jokes aside… I don’t think we can handle another Charlatan in this state,” Hongjoong watches in tense silence, but then relaxes upon seeing who entered.

“Spades! You’re okay! We were just about to come check in on you!” Wooyoung was always the first to reach out, but your eyes were glued to the floor. You pulled your mask off and tossed it aside. “Spades?” Wooyoung’s voice grew uneasy.

“Shit, did they get you too?” Yunho’s voice wavered, but his gaze never broke away from you.

“Spades?” San approached you slowly. “Everything alright?” He really didn’t want to break another Charlatan mask, and knowing your skills, there’s no way he’s getting out with all four limbs intact.

“You…” your voice was shakier now.

“(Y/N)?” He said your name quietly, his hand reaching out to break you out of whatever trance you were in, then you snapped.

Everything moved so quickly. You wrapped your hands around his neck and shoved him to the ground, thumbs pressing down on his windpipe with strength that was fueled by adrenaline alone. San grabbed onto your wrists, trying to pull your hands off of him but struggling because of his exhaustion from the fight before. The shouts around you fell on deaf ears while you readjusted your grip to apply more force, letting go only to push off Mingi’s hand on your shoulder.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?!” San shouts despite the strain on his voice. “(Y/N)! Snap out of it!”

“Fuck the Charlatan, he couldn’t get me if he fucking tried,” you grabbed the knife strapped to your belt and held it up. “It was you! It was always you and I trusted you!” You brought the knife down and San just narrowly avoided it.

“What the hell are you talking about?!”

“It was you! You killed him!” You saw the realization in his eyes, the way they widened, and the way he shook his head. He knew. He knew what you saw in that room. All the tears you held back in that room came out now. It all made sense. The way you’d suddenly run into San so much more after Eric died, the way he treated you, and the way he took care of you. Was it some sort of twisted guilt he felt toward you? Guilt not just from killing Aegis but also from killing someone you loved? “How fucked is that, San?! You sick bastard! You killed Eric and you had the audacity to pretend that you had nothing to do with it!” San grabbed your wrist before you could bring the knife down on his neck.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t know who he was, I didn’t know!” You’d never heard a more genuine apology from him until now. Someone grabbed onto your shoulder, but you couldn’t care to see who it was. You couldn’t care to push them away, whatever they tried wouldn’t be fast enough anyway.

“I don’t care.” With your free hand, you grabbed another knife and plunged it first into San’s shoulder, causing him to release your other hand to allow you to

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