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jo-harrington · 1 month

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Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Chapter 2: Out of Character

Previous Chapter: Alternate Universe

Summary: Things are starting to get weird in Hawkins. Weird for Eddie, especially. (AKA Eddie Munson and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week)

Word Count: 9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Fluff, Angst, mention of virginity, Smut (male masturbation), sexual fantasies, brief Breeding Kink mention (I SWEAR IT WILL MAKE SENSE bear with me), Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events and characters, Lovesick Eddie, jealousy, satire, a Monkey’s Paw type situation, Cliffhanger, Meta Fiction, Eddie acts a little OOC—it’s in the title

Note: Hey everyone, we're back with hopefully some more regularly posted chapters now that my baby SMVerse is complete. Very sorry for how long this chapter is, the next one is admittedly planned to be shorter. There was just a lot of dough to knead here. Thank you to @dr-aculaaa @powderblueblood and @rosewaterandivy for their contribution to some details of the chapter. IYKYK. And they know. Especially how much it means to me.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

It goes without saying that your newfound independence had led to the most fun you’d ever had.

You weren’t afraid to be by yourself; on the contrary, it was almost like you were by yourself for the first time in your life.

That was the thing about living in a small town, everyone knew everyone else and your friends and neighbors always popped in unannounced, usually to a lot of fanfare and excitement.

There was never a dull moment with your friends.

But every aspect of your life in Port Geneva hinged around them, and now you could really focus on you. Realize that you were worth more than what you did to enrich someone else's life. Now you could enrich your own.

You listened to music you'd never heard before. What music had you even listened to before?

You ate foods you'd never eaten before. If you really thought about it, what had you ever eaten but short stacks with strawberries and sandwiches from the deli and cafeteria pizza?

You saw the world; sketched buildings and landscapes that were so different from the ones you were used to. Had you ever seen a house that didn't look like the ones in your cookie-cutter suburb? Or seen grass that wasn't perfectly manicured?

Who knew that wildflowers existed outside of storybooks?

Sometimes you stayed for a while; got a little room at a motel in a town that reminded you a lot of home and nothing like home at all. Too homesick to keep jumping around but not homesick enough to go back. You'd get a job for a few weeks--always lucking out on an opening for a waitressing or babysitting gig or something--pad your pockets, fall in love with the town and sometimes with the people there.

Then the need to leave simmered in your bones once again and you were forced back onto the road.

There was one town you were almost loath to leave. A midwest town and a goofy guy named Ed who made you laugh and called you sweetheart and kissed you shyly; he really understood you, understood the need to march to the beat of your own drum, because his big dream was to get out of his hometown too and make a name of himself.

Which is why he wasn't mad when it was time for you to go.

You'd always remember Stuckeyville.

But it was no matter; the world was yours for the taking. You'd keep going, on and on to the next destination, until you couldn't anymore.

Then one day, a year-or-so into your trip, it happened.

You'd been driving, thinking of the postcards that were burning a hole in your backpack to be sent back home. It was late, and you were tired and ready to make it to your next destination.

That's when you crashed.

December 1985

"Ed..."

"Hmmm?"

"I've gotta get up."

"Five more minutes."

"You're lying on my arm." He could feel the slight movement of something beneath him. "God, you and your big fat head, my hand is numb!"

Eddie groaned as you pushed at him and before long, your finger--cold and wet with spit--slid into his ear, rendering him fully awake and squirming to get away from you.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed as he hopped off his bed and tried to rid himself of the phantom feeling of your invasion. "Gah, ugh, gross!"

"A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do," you grinned and got up from the bed to stretch. You put your hands on your hips and glared at him playfully. "Especially when she's gonna be late. You should know how Bev is better than anybody."

Violation quickly forgotten, Eddie watched you run back and forth around his room; a satisfied feeling settled in his chest as you picked bits of clothing up to layer back on, fixed your hair, swept the fingers over the corners of your eyes to wipe the sleep from them as you got ready for your shift at the Hideout.

It was a feeling that he was quickly becoming addicted to.

How many weeks had you been dating now?

Not enough to satisfy his rapidly increasing dependence on you.

Dating.

You even called him your boyfriend. God it still seemed like such a dream to him. One he never wanted to wake up from. But it was real. You had dates and you took naps together and talked on the phone; sure it was just easier to cross Forest Hills and sit on one of your porches to chat until it was past midnight and you were dozing off, but as the cold weather rolled in, the phone was the easier bet.

Racked up a bit of a phone bill but who was he to complain?

He always paid Wayne back.

It was worth it.

More often than not he started the call with the obligatory “what are you wearing” despite having most likely seen you earlier in the night. But you, not one to leave a man hanging, would always come up with a comical response: astronaut suit, Princess Leia’s bikini and a clown nose, pajamas made out of the hide of Big Bird himself.

It was ridiculous and nothing less than Eddie expected from his favorite tv character and the one true love of his life.

Thankfully, the two of you decided that sickeningly sweet was not your style. Not like some couples. There was no you hang up first or schmoopsie pet names. More often than not he just called you sweetheart; it rolled off the tongue. And you? Called him your idiot.

Yours.

He'd worried with Paige once upon a time that he didn't know how to be someone's boyfriend. Turned out, he just had to find someone to be a friend first, then the rest just...fell into place.

And aside from some of the nerves he'd had when you first showed up in town, and the ever-present question of just how you came to be in Hawkins--

There was a knock on the door to his bedroom.

"'Right Ed, I'm heading off to work," Wayne said through the door.

"Wait up," you called out to him as you hopped to pull your boots on. "I'm about to leave too."

You stopped briefly to give Eddie a tender kiss, and he chased after you when you tried to pull away. His lips refused to part from yours, his hands found your waist to tug you closer, and his heart soared when you sighed and gave into him a little longer.

--Everything was perfect.

You gave him a dreamy smile when you pulled away, one that quickly turned into a feral grin.

"I'm gonna be late," you whispered conspiratorially. "And the old man is gonna question whether your innocence is still intact or not if we take any more time."

Eddie froze.

Well. Almost perfect.

You took the opportunity to stick your tongue out at him and reached up to honk the tip of his nose, before you bolted from the room to leave.

Once the door to the trailer slammed shut and Eddie was alone, he fell back onto the bed with his hands over his face; his head spun as he wondered how the fuck he'd gotten here. To this point. This moment in time.

Because somehow...some way...you thought he was still a virgin.

"Somehow," he grumbled to himself after a second. "You're the one who told her you were, you idiot!"

And he had.

It was a funny story; it always was with Eddie.

Except this was anything but funny.

It has been the third date and there was just…a natural progression of things on your sofa after a day out at StarCourt. Music was playing, hands were wandering; he’d gotten a bit excited and rocked his hips against you creating a delicious crescendo of moans from both of you.

Then for some reason, Eddie thought back to Port Geneva.

Besides a few sweet kisses you shared with douchebag Mark Fisher, you never engaged in any…physical show of affection. No one did, actually. There had never been anything heavier than hand holding and kissing—maybe the occasional make out—shown on screen. Which, in hindsight he should have rationalized as being obvious; it was a family show on television, after all.

Instead he’d opened his big mouth and asked “hang on, are you a virgin?”

Rather than answer, you got bashful all of a sudden; you turned the question back on him, stuttering all the while.

“Eddie…a-are you a-a virgin?”

What could he say looking into your big wide eyes and kiss-bruised lips, thinking you were nervous and wanting to fix his gaff—especially considering all the blood had rushed from his brain to his cock—but yes?

Next thing he knew you were cuddling him, coddling him, and telling him that you could proceed with whatever next step he wanted, whenever he was ready.

In that moment how could he admit that it was all a lie? That he was an idiot and a liar trying to make you feel better? That he was no bumbling, blushing virgin; he was only saying it because he thought you were.

He knew if he tried to backtrack, you’d either believe he was a jerk or that he tried to lie again to feel less embarrassed.

So he let it slide.

Whatever. Virginity was a bullshit concept anyway.

The truth would come out eventually. It just made everything a little more complicated in the mean time.

“As if everything isn’t complicated enough anyway,” Eddie huffed.

Speaking of complicated, between napping in your comfortable embrace, your kiss, and thinking of the events that led up to the unfortunate virginity confession, he was in a bit of a situation.

Stiff and aching in his jeans, he did what he always did: Eddie took care of himself.

He unbuckled his belt and quickly rid himself of the barriers of denim and flannel, then scrambled to find the bottle of lotion that he unceremoniously shoved into the drawer of the bedside table. Just like all of the other things he tried to hide whenever you came over.

Other things...including the poster of you that he'd cut out of the TV Guide.

There was a spark of desire in him—of need—at the sight of it. Of you.

"I shouldn't," he muttered as his fingers hovered at the edge of the drawer, ready to close it. He'd already found what he needed. Best just close the drawer and crank one out and be a happy camper til the next time the need arose.

"It's just...not right...right?" he tried to convince himself as you stared up at him from inside the drawer.

He weighed the pros and cons, tried to convince himself that it was a normal thing. How many other times had he jacked off to pictures in magazines, or crushes from school. Shit, he'd even done it to the fantasy of you.

But now you were real and his girlfriend. Wasn’t that some kind of moral dilemma?

On the other hand, he would just be using a picture of his girlfriend to get off. That was normal, right?

Except...well...it was you, but not you you. Rosemary Glass you. The real you just left for work. The you in real life and the you in the TV Guide were not the same. You were full of life and energy and affection and not an ultra posed picture on a page.

There was another beat of debate before Eddie made a decision.

"Fuck it," he groaned and grabbed the flimsy magazine page and then slammed the back of his hand against the drawer to shut it. If he spent any more time weighing the moral implications here, he'd lose out on the opportunity.

So, poster in one hand, lotion well-coating the other, Eddie immediately sought out his hard cock and groaned with the brief sense of relief.

"Yeah," he sighed. His tongue traced the seam of his lips and he locked eyes with yours in the poster. "That's it."

Internal debate forgotten, he lost himself to his imagination with every stroke and squeeze and twist.

You kissed on him and your hand replaced his. No, your mouth instead of your hand. His mouth on you? He knew what your mouth tasted like; what about the rest of you? It was a delicious fantasy to explore.

His eyes roamed over the dips and curves of your body; he focused on the way your legs looked in that skirt as he squeezed the base of his cock and moaned.

What he wouldn't give to rip that skirt off of you. No, wait. You deserved better than that. He would undress you carefully, show how much you meant to him, then skink into your warmth. How would you feel? Like Heaven, he was sure.

His hand moved faster now, his toes curled, as he imagined this scenario and that one. What if he fucked you in the backseat of your car? Or shit, what about if he bent you over it? Take a drive out to the quarry and have his way with you.

"Fuck, fuck," he groaned and stilled for a second, savoring the intense build of feelings, before he bucked up into his fist repeatedly. "Yeah sweetheart just like that."

He focused on that sly smile, that tilt of your head.

Would you smile up at him like that when he was buried deep inside you, finding all the ways he could make you whine and keen for him. Shit, finding all the ways he would whine for you, just like he was now. Would you ask him for more?

"I'll give it to you baby," he muttered and bit his lip as the wave of his pleasure began to crest. He closed his eyes again to savor it. Savor the fantasy of you there with him, rocking and riding the wave with him. He couldn't wait for the day. "All of it. Whatever you want. Whatever you need."

Would you let him cum inside? You'd beg for it. Beg for his cum.

"Yeah? You'd let me?" he asked breathlessly.

"Please, please," you'd whine.

"Uh-huh? Yeah?"

"Please." You'd scrunch your eyes tightly, pull him in as deep as he could go. "Put a baby inside of me Eddie."

Eddie's eyes shot open and he choked on air. He let go of the now-crumpled magazine and his throbbing cock with a shout.

Panic gripped him.

"W-what the fuck?" he panted, rapidly coming down from his high like a man plummeting to the earth with a parachute that simply wouldn't open. "What the fuck? Why?"

His mind raced.

How had he thought of that? Where did it come from? He wasn't...he didn't...he'd never fantasized about something like that before. With anyone. Ever. Not alone either. Shit, he'd even accidentally checked out a porno from Family Video once that had a pregnant...

"Blagh," he gagged at the memory and fully lost the edge of his erection. The need to come was now gone; in fact, he suddenly never wanted to come again. Not if it meant that he was going to think thoughts like that?

With intense clarity, he tried to retrace his metaphorical steps. Tried to remember what exactly got him to those thoughts, to that...well, he could hardly call it a fantasy now could he? Nightmare. But he simply couldn't fathom how it had cropped up.

"Fuck," he groaned and looked down at himself. At his softening cock slick with lotion, at the crumpled picture of you with the sparkling eyes and smile. And he was reminded of the moral dilemma that he'd encountered a short while ago.

"No," he shook his head. "Not her. Rosemary Glass. That's all it is. I just...fucked myself up fantasizing about Rosemary Glass and my mind punished me. Haha Eddie, jokes on you, got the girl of your dreams and you'd prefer a picture. That's it."

Yeah, that's all it was.

All it had to be.

Otherwise...what the fuck was wrong with him?

What the fuck was wrong with Eddie Munson?

That seemed to be the question of the day, every day, for the rest of the week.

Well, that was what everyone seemed to ask Eddie; friends, teachers, bullies. To Eddie, though, it seemed like everything else was wrong.

It all started in O'Donnell's history class the following day after the, uh...fantasy incident.

He was excited to show up to class.

No, that wasn't why things were wrong. He'd been passing History, working hard ever since that first study date, excited to show up and succeed and actually graduate. And that day they were due to get a test back, one that he actually studied and prepared for.

So yes, he was excited.

Imagine his surprise when Mrs. O'Donnell placed the packet face-down on his desk and shook her head at him.

"I don't know what went wrong here Edward," she tutted. "You were making some real improvements. Such a disappointment."

Eddie frowned as she walked away, and he quickly flipped his packet over to the oh-so-familiar sea of red pen scribbles and a big fat F at the top of the page.

Not just an F. A zero.

"What the fuck?" he whispered.

He might not have been a star student but he’s never outright tanked a test before. Especially not one he’s studied for.

He went over every question again and every answer, wracked his brain for the responses he knew to be true—he had several B’s and C’s on quizzes to prove it—and then read the wrong answers on the test for all of them. Written in his obvious chicken scratch with doodles in the margins just like he remembered drawing when he took the test. So it's not like someone just wrote his name on their test.

O’Donnell took pity on him at the end of class and said he could sit for the test again during his study hall, especially since he’d been making some improvement. He’d practically kissed her.

Only for him to fail again.

He burned with self-hatred at first, and then simply turned his rage on O'Donnell, because he knew all of the answers. She must have just been a picky grader.

That was it, right? She just had it in for him.

But then other things just got worse.

Jason Carver might have been a tool bag and an antagonistic bully but he’d never been outright hostile before. Not like some of his predecessors.

Not like Tommy…Tommy H.

On an unrelated note, that bothered Eddie too. He couldn’t remember Tommy’s last name. Tommy who bullied him and his friends viciously. Tommy H…Tommy Hayes? Tommy Hagan? Both existed in his mind. And yeah normally he wouldn't give a shit but what the hell? First the History test and now Tommy H?

Regardless, Jason had been especially brutal lately.

Overly antagonistic, even calling Edde a freak in the middle of class. He and the rest of the basketball team had even begun their physical assault on him and his friends openly. The jocks pushed them into lockers, spit on them, and threw things. Gareth even got a black eye when they "ran into" the jocks after gym on Thursday.

Eddie knew he wasn't well-liked, but it burned him deep inside that no one spoke up, students and teachers alike. It was all out in the open, where everyone could see or report to the faculty. Even his friends kept their mouths shut and endured the abuse.

No one seemed to be bothered though; they kept to the status quo. And Eddie wasn’t gonna try his luck with Higgins on his own.

Cowards.

Friday morning, Eddie thought he had the answer; Chrissy Cunningham—Queen of Hawkins High and Jason’s girlfriend—spoke to him in homeroom. Not only spoke to him, but made moon eyes at him in every class they shared and in the hall between the classes that they didn't.

And it was getting annoying.

“Dude, Chrissy keeps looking over here,” Jeff whispered at lunch.

“I know!” Eddie slammed his hands on the table, startling the others. He took a calming breath and repeated himself, softer, to Jeff.

“What’s her deal? Does she wanna join Hellfire or something?”

“I dunno man, something strange is happening,” he shook his head and picked at his food. “I don’t know if she’s in some…argument with Jason and is trying to make him jealous. Or if she’s just bored and is enjoying his torment of the village idiots or something.”

“Maybe she wants to buy some weed,” Gareth piped up. “Slumber party with the rest of the cheer squad. She is the Captain. It’s her job to score.”

“Nah man,” Dave chortled. “I think it’s more likely that she’s trying to score in a different way. Get Eddie to fall in love with her or something and make a fool out of him.”

The guys all started laughing and making kissy noises, much to Eddie’s growing annoyance. Every puckering noise grated something deep within him. And it only pissed him offs more when the freshman started to get in on the fun, with Mike and Lucas singing about Eddie and Chrissy sitting in a tree—

“K-I-S-S-I-N—”

“Shut up!” Eddie slammed his hands on the table and shouted, voice echoing across the cafeteria, practically silencing everyone at the intrusion.

His shoulders heaved as he glared over at the jock’s table, where a certain someone with a bouncing strawberry ponytail waved hello, even as she sat with her boyfriend’s arm comfortably around her. And said boyfriend was glaring knives at him; if looks could kill, Eddie would be done for.

His thoughts spiraled and his ears started to ring.

What the fuck was going on? Why was everyone trying to fuck with him now? Why was everything suddenly out of control in such a short period of time? Was this karma? He got one thing he desperately needed so everything else was going to shit?

Suddenly he had an out of body experience, or at least…that’s what it felt like. He watched it all happen, felt all the movements and the words fly out of his mouth but he wasn’t in control.

One moment he was sitting at the head of his table, hands tented in front of his face as he contemplated life, and the next he was standing. Standing on top of the table, actually, and while that wasn’t an unusual occurrence, it’s what he did up there that was.

“Hey Carver, you have a fucking problem with me?” He shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. “Why don’t you step into my office and file a complaint!”

His arms swept outwards of their own volition and he bowed over to gesture to the table and to his friends.

“Pretty sure my associates have a few choice words for you too.”

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck…

Jason was on his feet immediately, with Patrick and Andy quick to follow.

“What’s your damage freak?” He chuckled sardonically through gritted teeth. “Trying to have your own little David and Goliath moment? Prepare to get toppled.”

“Wait, do you think you’re David right now? You think you’re a hero?”Jeff scoffed and got to his feet, spurning the rest of Corroded Coffin to do the same, sending jeers and taunts across the room. The jocks did much of the same, name calling and shouting vicious threats.

“I’m gonna kick your ass Emerson!”

“Kick? How about kiss! Just like your mom likes to do!”

It kept going until Eddie took a few steps down the table, leant down, and scooped his fingers through Mike’s gloopy mashed potatoes, ready to fling a handful towards the enemies.

He was prepared for the worst as he witnessed it all from inside his own body, as he felt the gravy slip down his hand and into the sleeve of his jacket. An all out war, the need to protect his friends again—worse this time with the Freshman—the dread of listening to Gareth’s fingers breaking once more…it would all start once the first shot was fired.

If there was a God—or some fate writing this in the books of the universe who was just really bad at writing a fight sequence—now would be the time for them to make themselves known.

“Munson!”

Eddie inhaled the air greedily as he regained control of himself, and he marveled at Higgins' sudden appearance: standing in the doorway to the cafeteria with Coach Palmer and Nancy Wheeler standing behind him.

He’d never been so happy to see them in his life.

“Munson,” Higgins shouted at him. “Get down from there!”

Jeff, knowing what was good for them all, pulled Eddie down from the table and he stumbled on legs made weak from the rapid loss of adrenaline. Lucas passed a handful of paper napkins for him to clean off his hands as Higgins and Coach crossed the cafeteria, Coach to take care of his little minions, and Higgins to take care of him.

Despite their tenuous truce, Higgins grabbed Eddie by the arm and tugged him towards the cafeteria doors.

“Detention,” he hissed in Eddie’s face.

“My fucking pleasure,” Eddie replied desperately, suddenly a devout believer in whatever deity he had evoked.

Man, this was getting to be a habit.

As he was escorted out of the cafeteria, Eddie vaguely heard Dustin over the din of classmate whispers.

“Guys, that was weird. What’s wrong with Eddie?”

“What do you mean?” Gareth answered blithely. “He’s always like that.”

"I can't believe you got detention."

"I mean, Higgins could have expelled me. Or tried to get me to drop out again."

"I really fucking hate that guy," you muttered and reached out to grab a box from the shelf. "How about this one?"

"Seen it, fake blood is obviously fake."

"You're such a horror snob."

"Don't deny it," he whispered in your ear and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "That's your favorite thing about me."

You put the movie back on the shelf in a huff and then the two of you shuffled forward down the aisle.

Saturdays were made to be spent together; Saturday mornings specifically. Eddie would take as much time with you as he could, but Hawkins was Hawkins and there was only so much to do. So you designated Saturdays as mornings out before you went to work and Eddie made the rounds to whatever parties he could safely show his face at and make some quick cash.

You traded off on whoever made plans, and today he had pathetically suggested a movie, snacks, and cuddling on the couch, needing to find a respite in your arms after the abject chaos of his week.

He already felt worlds better, more like himself, because you listened and understood.

He ranted and cursed during the drive and you hung onto every word, only interjecting to offer gentle encouragement. You didn't pity him or blame him--well, you blamed him for almost starting a food fight and since he couldn't explain what overcame him in that moment, he accepted it--but you made sure he knew that you had been in his shoes and understood exactly how he felt.

His dependence on you made itself known when you got into the store. As much as you protested his arms latching around you immediately, he knew you secretly enjoyed the proximity and the sweetness that he lavished you with.

Hobbling down the aisles with him practically attached to you; whispered stories, jokes, and terms of endearment; and an occasional raspberry on your neck if and when you had differing opinions about a movie.

Eddie thought The Outsiders was a good movie. You preferred the book. Which was fine. You tried to tell him Rob Lowe was cute, though; that earned you some punishment.

"Oh come on, don't tell me you never had a crush on a celebrity," you snorted and squealed and tried to free yourself from his grasp. Which you did successfully as your words made him freeze. "Or like...a character from a tv show or something."

You didn't know how close to the truth you were.

He felt his world tilt on its axis as you kept browsing and spouting off names and laughing, and with each celebrity or character you named, the more he thought of Port Geneva with intense clarity.

He could hear the theme song, see the neon text of the closing card, and feel his heart skip a beat when you'd show up on screen and greet your friends "Hey guys!"

"Hey guys!" your same voice rang from the other side of the partition of tapes, same emphasis and volume and cheer as you would on tv, as you greeted Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington. "Are those new?"

"Mmhmm," Robin affirmed. "Technically they were supposed to go out yesterday for the weekend, but someone was too busy flirting with Melanie Hartford."

Steve's embarrassed trip-up over a response was overshadowed as you called out.

"Hey Eddie, come here, I think they're putting out some new movies."

Eddie took a breath to compose himself, carefully placed the mask of cool and adoring boyfriend back on, and then rounded the corner to join you.

"If it's Death Wish 3 on tape, it wasn't that goo--" Eddie trailed off as he stopped in his tracks.

He understood why Steve sounded so embarrassed.

Eddie mainly steered clear of Steve Harrington over the years; yeah he was a shithead and a bit of a bully, but especially since the Freshman insisted that Steve was a nice guy, he'd tried to put it all in the past. Best not think of King Steve and all of the opportunities and advantages that he'd gotten, no matter how good of a guy they claimed he was.

Knowing Harrington's reputation and then fall from grace over the past few months though, he wondered if Steve had ever had some unreciprocated crush before.

Because he was certainly acting like he had a crush in front of you.

A crush on you.

Eddie knew what it looked like when someone had a crush; shit, he'd felt that way plenty of times over the years. The shifting eyes, the nervous stuttering. He'd gotten pretty good at hiding it, being able to put on the cool guy front. But Steve was doing it all out in the open.

Steve watched as you and Robin passed tapes back and forth--watched you more than Robin, actually--threw a comment in every now and again. When he cracked a joke, his eyes slid directly to you, and when you laughed, he beamed brightly.

And Eddie didn't know what he was more grateful for: the fact that you seemed oblivious to it all, or that he was there to witness it and put an end to it.

He tamped down the fire that built up inside of him and closed the distance; he threw an arm over your shoulder with a cool greeting to Robin and Steve.

"I've never even heard of some of these movies, have you?" Robin asked with some bewilderment.

"I don't know, this one sounds familiar," you hummed thoughtfully.

"See that's what I told Rob," Steve interjected and Eddie grit his teeth.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Robin scoffed.

"Isn't this the girl from Legend?" You held up a video box to Eddie to show him. He couldn't be bothered to really notice the titles of the movies on display--Ferris Bueller's Day Off, The Lost Boys, Lethal Weapon--and instead he chose to press a kiss to the side of your head and continue glaring at Steve.

You turned back to Robin.

"Do you guys have Legend? I saw it when it came out but it'd be nice to see it again."

"I can show you!" Steve jumped at the chance, but Robin rolled her eyes and pushed him away.

"I've got this dingus," she waved at the tapes on the counter. "If you could finish processing these like you should've done yesterday?"

Steve huffed as you and Robin walked away, but Eddie stayed behind. He leaned over the counter, elbows resting against the edge.

"How've things been Harrington?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Uhh," Steve shrugged but pointedly ignored Eddie's eyes. "Good, fine."

"Did I overhear Buckley right? Going on dates? You finally over Nancy Wheeler," Eddie's voice got progressively louder.

"What the--listen keep your voice down, Jesus," Steve laughed nervously, gaze shifting in the direction that you and Robin had disappeared. "A guy's gotta move on. Can't be lovesick over Nance forever."

Eddie plastered a fake smile on his face and laughed heartily.

"Yeah? Gotta find someone else to obsess over?" The smile dropped almost immediately and he became dead-eyed. "Stop making goo-goo eyes at my girlfriend."

"Hey, Munson, I'm sorry--" Steve held his hands out innocently. "She just came in one day and I thought she was cute; I didn't know that you were--"

"I'm sorry," Eddie mimicked Steve, standing stiff and straight with shaking hands. "I didn't know the freak could have a girlfriend."

He reached across the counter and grabbed Steve by the vest and pulled him forward, close enough so he could get in his face.

"Don't look at her again, don't talk to her again," he hissed. "You can have literally any other girl in Hawkins, King Steve. So you better get over your crush fast."

Yeah, it was harsh, and in hindsight he should have been a little nicer about it. But after everything had compounded on him all week, it was nice to just be a raging asshole like everyone expected him to be.

Unfortunately, you had never experienced Eddie The Villain Munson.

"Eddie, what the hell!" you exclaimed as you appeared in his peripheral vision.

Until right that second.

"Let him go, what are you doing?" you rushed forward and slapped at his hands to get him to release Steve. He did, but continued to glare as he backed away and took several calming breaths.

"Hey, in all honesty," Robin laughed nervously as she returned to the counter. "Dudley Do-Right here probably said something dumb and deserved it."

"What's going on?" you ignored her and whispered to Eddie. "I thought we were just gonna have a relaxing day. You were fine two seconds ago. What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," he deflected. "Don't worry about it."

"We can just go home and hang out like you wanted; you said Wayne has some Bonanza reruns on tape. We can laugh at Hoss and Little Joe and--"

His eyes went wide; the Bonanza tapes were by the TV, mixed up with the Port Geneva tapes.

"No!" he shouted aggressively...defensively; it startled you. "No Bonanza!"

"Oh...kay."

Then your whole demeanor changed.

You crossed your arms in front of you and your eyes went cold and distant; you frowned, deep enough to create lines on your forehead and around your mouth. You suddenly looked a lot older than you were, aged by disappointment and...guilt maybe? He didn't know. He'd never seen you like that before, and he suddenly felt bad.

"Let's uhh...let's just go," you offered quickly, then apologized to Steve and Robin for taking their time.

"Hey wait, I'm sorry," he tried to apologize. "We can still get a movie and hang out. I just...I don't know...I fucked up. I'm sorry."

"No, I...I forgot Bev said she might need some extra help today. Making some changes, I don't know. I need to go in. It's my fault. I'm sorry."

"Sweetheart wait!" he called out as you walked out of the store and towards your car. He looked back at Robin and Steve, who pointedly avoided looking at him, and then huffed a sigh and followed you.

The ride back to Forest Hills was tense and silent.

Eddie knew he fucked up, knew he hurt you, but didn't know what to say or how to fix it.

"What the fuck is wrong with Eddie Munson?"

That was the question of the week, and now even Eddie was asking it of himself. Especially since he couldn't even control himself.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to you when you parked in front of his place. "I don't know...I'm just sorry."

"It's ok," you shook your head. "Seriously Eddie, don't worry about it. You just had a bad week. I need to go to work. We'll hang out another time."

"I'll call you tonight," he promised. "After work."

"Sure," you offered a tight-lipped smile. "Just rest today ok? And feel better."

"Yeah."

"Everything's gonna be ok."

"I know."

He leaned over and gave you a kiss and there was something about the way that you kissed him...that made his heart ache, and he didn't know why.

Eddie watched as you drove away, off to the Hideout to help Bev, or whatever else you could do if it ended up being a lie so you could just get away from him.

He'd fix it; he had to. He just got his wish, got you; he couldn't lose you. It would be the last straw.

He climbed up the porch steps, lost in his own thoughts, but when he opened the door--

"What the fuck?"

--all of his worries were forgotten, because the trailer was trashed.

Wayne was blissfully asleep on the fold-out bed, but there were piles of laundry on the couch, dirty dishes piled in the sink in the kitchen. Empty, crushed beer and soda cans littered the floor; honestly, there was just trash everywhere.

Eddie had only left an hour or two ago, and the trailer...well it might have had some clutter but at least it was tidy. It looked like an atomic bomb of trash had exploded in here.

If he had just been wondering what was wrong with him, he was suddenly wondering what was wrong with the universe again.

"What the fuck?"

The rest of the weekend had been spent cleaning.

Not tidying, literally cleaning.

He'd tried to ask Wayne about it all--maybe some weird trash bandit had come or kids trying to pull a prank, it wasn't like they really locked their doors--but what was even more suspicious was that Wayne didn't blink an eye at the mess.

"I work, you have school," he shook his head and tried to go back to sleep. "Chores pile up kid. That's the way it's always been. We'll get ahead of it again eventually."

And that just made Eddie feel bad; had it actually been this bad all along and he never realized it? Had Wayne done all this cleaning and housework on his own and now the weariness and the years just started to catch up? It must've only gotten worse now that Eddie lived with him.

So Eddie kept his head down and his mouth shut and tried to make it all better.

He cleaned and cleaned, and it seemed that no matter how much he cleaned, everything only got worse. The laundry on the sofa had been put away--more laundry than Eddie or Wayne really even had clothes to be honest. The fridge was somehow both empty--even though he'd just remembered to do a little grocery shopping...or had that been the other day--and full of rotten food at the same time. There was plenty of beer though. The dishes were all cleaned and spotless, only for him to come home from school on Monday afternoon to find them all to be right back again. Has they even used real dishes? Not that he could recall.

Fuck.

He complained to you on the phone late Saturday night--

"I don't know how it happened. It's like suddenly out of the blue it all just...appeared."

"Wayne didn't hold a secret party while we were out?" you asked, although your voice seemed stiff...distant.

"He just rolled right over and went back to sleep."

--but aside from some sympathy, you didn't seem to think anything was weird.

Hell, even his friends didn't seem suspicious.

"The trailer is always dirty," Gareth scoffed at practice on Monday night. "Like...no offense man, it's a trailer park, what do you expect."

It took everything in Eddie not to knock his buddy out right then and there; how many times had he told them how awful and stereotypical that kind of idea was. How hurtful people were when they found out he'd moved in with Wayne. Only for Gare to come back and spit it back at him again?

Instead he put that hateful energy into coming up with some kind of way to make you...forgive him...or love him again or something. He'd floated the idea of a ballad or some kind of love song to the guys at practice, ready to wow you on Tuesday night at the Hideout.

They hemmed and hawed but after he promised they'd all roll with advantage during the following Friday's session, they agreed and even suggested songs to get him back in your good graces.

Now it was Tuesday night. Time had passed by in a flash and he was standing at the door to the Hideout, ready to knock your socks off.

The guys were inside already, setting up, but he'd needed a moment to think of what to say to you.

He paced in the gravel, thought about his apology, thought about the song that he'd picked. The last song of the set, one he'd dedicate to you.

It would be perfect.

He mustered up the courage and walked inside, only to be hit by shock once again.

How many times could someone utter the words "what the fuck" in one week? Eddie had to be going for a world record.

When Eddie had suggested the Hideout when you mentioned looking for jobs, he'd warned you that Bev was a curmudgeon but the nicest curmudgeon you'd meet, and that the bar itself was, affectionately, a shithole. A house turned into a bar on the side of the highway, with a bunch of plywood in the corner that doubled as a stage, a makeshift bartop that was probably older than his uncle, and chipped glasses.

Now, it was almost...nice?

With an actual small, raised stage and a few spotlights hanging from the ceiling, neon signs boasting brands like Old Style and Coors--something Bev had always said was just the glitter and not the gold--and a sleek black bar with a marble top and comfortable-looking barstools. And it all had Eddie wondering if he'd stepped into the Twilight Zone.

That was it right? That had to be it. He'd stepped into the Twilight Zone the minute you'd showed up outside of his trailer and he hadn't returned to the real world since.

"Hey, there you are," you approached him from behind the bar with a tense smile. "The guys were wondering when you'd come in. I got them all cherry cokes to shut them up."

"You didn't have to buy them drinks," Eddie shook his head. "They don't deserve it."

"On the house," you reassured him.

"I'm sorry," he choked on air. "On the...on the house? On the house meaning...Bev's treating? Bev who must've secretly won the lottery or something? Look at all of this." He gestured around the bar and then lifted his feet. "The floors aren't even sticky."

"I told you that she was making changes," you shrugged, but refused to meet his eyes.

"Changes, not...a full renovation, wow." He looked around in awe, then squinted when he saw something on one of the tables. "She even sprung for printed napkins too."

"Yeah," you laughed nervously. "Guess she did. It's as much of a shock to me as it is to you. You, uh, better get the guys before they cause too much trouble."

"Yeah I should," he nodded slowly, but grabbed your wrist when you tried to walk away. "I know I've said it a million times sweetheart but I'm sorry I scared you."

"You didn't Ed, I promise," you tried to smile but it didn't quite reach your eyes.

"Can we talk maybe? After the set? Like really talk? I'll even wipe the tables off for you." You hesitated but nodded, and he gave you the briefest peck on the cheek before running down the back hallway to the little smokers exit to find the guys.

Only to find them in a legitimate green room in what he was sure used to be the storage room where Bev kept the kegs. His friends were all laid out along leather couches that sat along the perimeter of the room, sipping their cherry cokes and chatting. There was a coffee table right in the center laden with snacks and magazines.

"Man," he commented with a whistle, alerting the guys to his presence. "Can you guys believe this?"

"I know," Jeff giggled maniacally and then reached out to grab a bag of peanut M&M's. "Brand name snacks, and not the generic kind we usually get."

"Makes me feel like we're about to hit it big," Dave agreed.

Eddie tripped over his words for a second, not entirely sure that they were as astounded by the Hideout's transformation as he was, but he shook off the bewilderment to tell them it was time to go perform.

They raced back down the hall to the stage, and although the bar had just been empty when he walked in--save for you and some of the regulars slumped in their seats--there was definitely a crowd. Or the beginnings of one. A couple canoodling at a table, a few college-aged people ordering beers, and a group for a bachelorette party or something at the large booth that had been installed in the corner by the door.

"Wow," Eddie breathed out, nerves suddenly overtaking him. They'd never played a crowd like this before. "Hope they like metal."

And they did. They were head banging and once they were familiar enough with the lyrics a few people were singing along.

It was invigorating. Refreshing. Aside from the handful of people who'd been involved in the whole...record label fiasco, he'd really never experienced this many people who were excited for his sound. Their sound.

He wasn't gonna betray his friends, his band, like that again.

There were a few songs that Jeff and Gareth suggested that weren't originally on their setlist, and they really weren't metal technically, but they all knew the songs and the crowd was excited for them, so he couldn't complain.

Towards the end of the set, he felt his stomach churn with nerves again. Worse now, because it was time.

"Uh," he stepped up to the microphone, a little too close as it squeaked with feedback. "Hey guys, thanks for uh...thanks for coming out. Make sure you...tip your bartender...and her lovely assistant." He gestured over to you and a grumpy-looking Bev at the bar.

The audience clapped, even the handful of drunk regulars.

"Now uh, speaking of the lovely assistant, I...um..." he cleared his throat and looked down at his guitar. "I might have messed some stuff up with her the other day, and I know she's still a little mad at me. So sweetheart, without further ado, this one's for you. Corroded Coffin's rendition of..."

He paused. Froze.

The words were right on the tip of his tongue: All Through The Night.

They'd practiced it for hours, really making the cover theirs. They added all sorts of guitar riffs and a sick solo that ended with him sending a kiss across the bar to you. It was supposed to be perfect.

He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Corroded Coffin's All..." He shook, struggled to get the words out. "All...All My Only Dreams. Enjoy."

What the fuck? What the fuck?

He felt that out of body experience again, just like he had in the cafeteria, as his fingers plucked at the strings of his guitar and Gareth and Dave set a slow beat.

It felt like some bad knockoff song from the 60's. Maybe something he heard on one of his mom's records. But he couldn't place it.

What was this song? How did the guys know it? Why had he said that? What was All My Only Dreams?

It was certainly not metal. Certainly not music.

"Every night I pray, I'll have you here someday," he felt himself sing. "I'll count the stars tonight, and hope with all my might..."

He stared at you across the bar as the song continued, out of his control; the couple stood from their table and began swaying back and forth and you stood there behind the bar, wide-eyed with a hand covering your mouth. In shock or disbelief or pain he couldn't quite tell.

"Every waking hour it seems, I only have you in my dreams."

All he knew was, this song kept going and going and he couldn't stop it even if he wanted to. Couldn't stop himself from playing or singing, couldn't stop Jeff from harmonizing with him on certain verses.

Until the song was over.

"If I could have just one request, stay with me girl I'll confess, all my only dreams."

He strummed the last few notes, and as soon as the audience started clapping, he felt whatever puppet strings get cut, felt himself in control again.

Eddie panicked. He didn't even wait for the applause to be over, didn't thank the crowd like he usually would. He just swung the guitar over his shoulder and jumped off the stage with the guys hot on his heels.

"What's going on?" Gareth hollered after him.

"Yeah Ed, where are you going?" Jeff caught up to him and tried to put a hand out to stop him, but Eddie just shrugged him away.

"That was our best performance ever," Dave insisted. "And applause on an original song to boot."

Eddie froze as he reached the green room, and then turned on his friends, hackles raised.

"Original song." He parroted. "Original song? That wasn't an original song!"

"Yeah it was," Jeff nodded. "All My Only Dreams. You made us practice it all night last night so it was perfect."

"We practiced All Through the Night," he laughed dryly. "Are you high right now Jeff? Fuck, am I high right now?"

"Are you?" Gareth exclaimed. "Because I didn't just learn that song so you could make it up to your girlfriend just so you could act crazy like this man."

Jeff walked over to the pile of their stuff in the corner of the room, and fished a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of his backpack.

"Here I'll prove it to you," he grumbled and unfolded it. "All My Only Dreams. By Eddie Munson."

He shoved the paper into Eddie's hands and Eddie stared at it in disbelief. His handwriting, again, with words that he didn't remember writing. A little heart in the corner with your name scribbled inside of it, just like he did in his school notebook sometimes.

"What the fuck..." he muttered to himself, and then looked up at his friends, suddenly lightheaded and sick.

He felt angry, he felt like crying, he felt like...like everything in the world was turning upside down on him and it was some kind of cruel joke that everyone was in on but him.

He opened his mouth to start yelling, when your head appeared behind the guys.

"Hey, 'scuse me guys," you announced your presence and Dave, Jeff, and Gareth all parted so Eddie had a full view of you.

You looked just as sick as he felt. Your face was crumpled in a terrible pensive frown, hands wrung together in front of you.

"Can you give me and Eddie a few minutes alone? While you all break down your stuff?" you asked softly, and Eddie felt his heart drop into his stomach as the others left.

You closed the door to the green room behind you and then took a few deep breaths.

This was it.

You were gonna break up with him.

The universe was cruel to let Eddie have you, only to play these games and lose you in such a short amount of time.

He was so caught up in the panic of possibly losing you that he didn't notice you talking until you were right in front of him. Your hands cradled his face and you stared into his eyes, your own full of worry.

"Eddie, Eddie are you ok?" you asked, voice edged with panic.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "Yeah, sorry...I was..."

"It's ok, don't worry," you reassured him. "It's...fuck...it's ok."

"Did you like the song?" he questioned, dumbly.

You let out a snort of laughter and then squished his face between your hands for a second.

"We need to talk," you whispered. "It's gonna be a lot. And it's not gonna be easy to hear, and I know you're gonna have a lot of questions, and I don't...I...fuck Ed...I'm so sorry."

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"I..." You looked lost for a second. "Eddie, I don't know how to answer that question. No...not really."

"Not really isn't no."

"Alright smartass," you scoffed. "No, I'm not breaking up with you. But that doesn't mean...doesn't mean that this thing we've got going on now isn't over. It's...what I'm gonna tell you right now is gonna change everything."

You helped him to sit down on one of the leather couches and then you paced back and forth, nervously chewing your thumbnail and looking for a way to start.

"This..." you began tentatively. "This isn't...real."

"So I am dreaming," he looked around for a moment. "Makes sense."

"No...you're not dreaming. It's just...well, ok, Ed. It's gonna be really hard to understand. But I'm gonna need you to tap into that big imagination of yours. Ok? Because God damn, if there was anyone I could get to understand, it's honestly you. Making up all sorts of stories and fantasies for Dungeons and Dragons.

“I’m sure you’ve started noticing things happening? Weird things, uncanny things, impossible things. And it’s making you go a little cross-eyed, a little crazy, makes you feel like you’re losing your mind because the only person who notices the changes…well it’s you. But it isn’t only you.

"This..." you waved around. "It's all real. It's a real world and we live in it. I'm real, you're real. I can touch you, kiss you. But it isn't. Not really."

He suddenly felt like you were talking down to him, and felt that irrational anger start to build again. You’d made sense up to a point. This was real, but it wasn't real, but it was real enough so he could kiss you? But somehow not real enough because you were bringing up stories he created for DnD, like it was all part of his imagination. But somehow he was also crazy?

"What the fuck is going on?" he demanded.

"Eddie," you took a breath and closed your eyes for a second. "This right now? Everything you see? This room, that song, me, and you?"

"Yeah."

"We're all fictional. We're all...in a fan fiction."

Next Chapter: Lore Dump

There is no taglist for this series, please follow the STFF Updates tag or check the series out on AO3.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #Eddie Munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger than (fan)fiction #stff #stff updates #stranger things fic

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lalal-99 · 2 months

Text

of the big city {h.j.} | track 2

©March 2023, February 2024 by lalal-99

Han Jisung x afab!reader | trope: slice of life, coming of age | word count: 6.9k

Synopsis: The one where uni starts and you meet some interesting people.

Check Chapter Overview for complete list of warnings

Note: The next chapters are gonna be much shorter, I promise. The overwork is going smoothly so far, I have the next chapter ready and will probably post beginning of next week. I also wrote two whole new chapters this week which I'm very proud of. I really hope I can finish this story this time around :)

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Please don't flag as mature or repost this story - Thank You!

“Baby? Do you have some paper for me?”

With an annoyed eye roll you ripped a page from your new notebook, smoothing over the edges of the torn binder. You pushed the single page over towards him with reluctance.

“You forgot your notebook on the first day already?”

And to think notebooks and pens were the main reason you had gone to the store yesterday.

“Don’t blame me. You know I’m not a morning person. And you didn’t want to wake me up with sex, so...” The smugness in his voice made you wonder if he actually thought he had won this discussion. You raised your eyebrows at him, hinting at the thinness the metaphorical ice on which he was walking.

You usually didn’t get annoyed that easy. If you had, your relationship sure as hell wouldn’t have lasted this long. The reason: Jisung and his lack of understanding social cues. To take the hint and not bother you any further when you were already frustrated, all it took was a look.

Although he wasn’t the reason for your irritation today. Or at least not the sole one.

It was the first day of university, so naturally, you were a little on edge. Whatever happened from this day on would decide over the paths your life took in the future. It was a step you had waited so long to take but dreaded all the same. Jisung, as your loving boyfriend, should have known how much this meant to you.

Sometimes, you speculated if he did it on purpose. Rile you up when you were anxious to give you something to put your focus on instead. His intentions might have been sweet, but this wasn’t taking any tension off your shoulders. Jisung forgetting his notebook and blaming you for it, even as a joke, could have likely been the last straw.

“Baby?” As you looked back at him, you noticed his cute pout. It was almost cute enough to make you forget what you had been so annoyed about a minute earlier. “Do you also have a spare pen? And some highlighters would be nice, too.”

Shaking your head at Jisung, you let out a snort. So he hadn’t forgotten just his notebook, but his pen and highlighter too? Got it. Very unwillingly, you handed him the items. You thankfully always had a spear set in case of emergency. Or, in this case, your boyfriend’s scatterbrain you had been dealing with for many years already.

“You have got to be kidding me.” He blew you a playful kiss, thanking you for your service. “Don’t let this become a habit. I’m not piggybacking you through university as I did in High School. Understood?”

As much as you loved him, Jisung had his fair share of annoyances. Like his living-in-the-moment type of attitude. A contrast to your thoroughly organised persona, you usually appreciated your differences. Without his Yin, your Yang wouldn’t shine as bright and vice versa.

That still didn’t change that you wouldn’t be his personal secretary this time around.

Jisung was old enough to care for himself and not rely on his girlfriend for every one of his needs. Whether it was some paper and pens, your skillfully crafted cue cards, or an all-nighter before one of his final exams. How ever you had talked him into studying for that one anyways.

“I love you, too.”

If he only weren’t so damn cute.

Out of pure principle you ignored his comment with an unintentional snicker. You continued your draft outline on your first notebook page—your attempt of getting a head start on future lecture notes—thus almost missing the voice chatting up Jisung.

“I’m taking you won’t be sleeping in the dorm a lot, will you?”

The depth of the second voice made you look up from your notebook. As the light shone into the room from behind the boy, it almost blinded you. Once your eyes got used to the brightness, you could finally make out a lean figure. He set a reusable coffee cup on the desk next to Jisung before sliding onto the wooden chair.

The boy was clad in comfortable attire, loose hanging jeans paired with a simple t-shirt. His long, blonde hair messily framed his face, a green beanie rounding off his skater-boy look. Something told you he had more to himself than what his cover showed. The several silver rings on his fingers could have been the reason for your suspicion. Or it was how he carried himself—a perfect line leading from his soles to the tip of his head. In exact contradiction to your boyfriend’s slouching posture.

“Morning to you too, sunshine.” The smirk in Jisung’s tone indicated his playfulness and a sense of closeness. “Why do you care? You’re not in love with me, are you?”

“No,” the boy scoffed, his bag placed neatly under the table. “I just wondered if I can stop waiting up for you or if I will have to identify your corpse at some point.”

Looking past Jisung, the boy noticed your presence, sending you a heart-warming smile. The freckles all over his nose and cheeks juxtaposed the darkness of his voice and over-all looks. Something about his aura relaxed you, his company drenching his atmosphere in happiness.

“Hi, I’m Felix!”

“I’m Y/N. I’m Jisung’s-”

“Girlfriend. Yeah, I know. He talks about you a lot.”

Jisung leaned in closer to you, though he kept his voice at the same volume, “Be careful, baby. He’s very much in love with me already. I might leave you for him.”

“You can have him.” You leaned past your boyfriend, directly addressing Felix. “But make sure to always have a spare pen and paper. And also a spare pair of pants.” The scene from earlier this morning came back to mind, a teasing look creeping onto your face. “He might say he can care for himself, but he will wear your leggings and pink baby-girl crop top when there’s no alternative.”

“Good to know,” Felix replied with a deep chuckle, amused by the picture you had painted. He ran his hands through his blonde hair, showing off his ears and all the piercings. Okay, so, definitely not a skater-boy-type.

“You might be joking now.” Jisung threw a know-all look in your direction. “But you won’t be laughing when I wear your fishnets to your grandpa’s next birthday.”

“Don’t you dare put on my fishnets! They were expensive.”

“That’s alright. We’re about the same size, so he can wear mine.” Felix’s words came unexpected and not even Jisung couldn’t conceal his amusement.

“Great, there’s two of you now. Is it too late to drop out?”

In all the years you had known him, Jisung rarely ever made friends this easy. Not even a week on campus, and he had gotten close enough to Felix to joke in his usual manner. How they had even gotten this close when Jisung had spent most of the day at your place was a mystery to you. Still, the little time they had spent together was enough to have discovered a mutual hobby—catching Pokémon. As they argued over who had found the rarest creature, you picked up your previous task. Though that didn’t stop your joy in finding that Jisung had made a friend. And a nice one at that.

You felt guilty for even thinking it, but Jisung had never been particularly good at making friends. Not before meeting you and not afterwards either.

Most of all, you blamed the lack of a ‘do not say’-filter in his conversational skills. His openness posed an obstacle to making new acquaintances—or at least it had many times before. After years of getting side-eyed or complained about, he had stopped talking to new people all together. Like he already expected the sole attempt to make connection to backfire. The few relationships he had formed despite his shyness had been pure luck. And your very own relationship only existed due to your perseverance.

That Jisung had already befriended Felix, at least as much as possible in three days, put you in a bright mood. One of your biggest fears about moving was your boyfriend rooming with someone he didn’t get along with. With someone as talkative and easily compatible as Felix, Jisung would likely not be clinging to you as much. Which wouldn’t have been the worst scenario, but still.

With every passing minute the lecture hall filled more. When something sharp scratched your shin, your head finally snapped towards one of the new-comers. A blonde girl had sat down next to you, and you found the culprit when you noticed her pink heels.

“Oh my God. Did I hit you? I’m so sorry.” Her hand came to her mouth in shock as she apologised a couple of times. You rubbed over the sensitive skin which was already bruising from when you had hit that crate of boxes yesterday. Talk about unfortunate accidents. You pushed the urge to groan at the pain down, forcing a smile onto your face instead. “It’s those dang heels. I knew I should have worn the sneakers today.”

“It’s fine. Surprised me, that’s all.” Embarrassment reached over her cheeks to her ears, a frown painting her face. “No worries.”

For a few seconds she hesitated but finally accepted your willingness to let it go. Out of the corner of your eye, you followed her as she unloaded the contents of her purse. She pulled out a torn notepad and a vintage-leather pencil case, which must have seen better days. She reached back into her designer bag, face distraught as her search came up empty.

She tried grabbing the attention of two boys on her right side, tied deep into their conversation. When she eventually realised she had no other option, her gaze tiptoed towards you. “Sorry to bother you again.” Teeth nibbling at her lip, she forced herself to get over her embarrassing mistake seconds earlier. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?”

Even if your shin had hurt worse, you would have still helped her out. With a genuine smile, you nodded, searching your pencil case and then your bag.

“I wanted to grab one before leaving my room, but I noticed a stain on my shirt and needed to change it. So, I forgot about the pen,” the girl recounted her morning ventures. “I’m so sorry for bothering you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” you assured her. Your smile turned to an apologetic scowl once you realised you couldn’t help her out after all. “I’m sorry. I always carry at least one extra pen, but scatterbrain next to me left his head in bed this morning.”

“You talking ‘bout me?”

Jisung, who you hadn’t expected to react to the mention of his unflattering nickname, turned to you.

“Hey, Felix,” you called the boy two seats from yours, ignoring your boyfriend. “Do you happen to have a spare pen?”

“Sure. I always carry an extra one in case.”

“Interesting. So, some people do use their heads before leaving the house.” It was a reproachful remark addressed to Jisung and his forgetfulness, and he caught the meaning.

“Some people do use their heads before leaving the house,” he scrunched his nose, teasing you by mimicking your voice and repeating your previous words as you snickered. Your perfect boyfriend, everyone.

Felix handed the pen from his jacket past you, the girl accepting it with a thankful smile.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“I usually go by Felix. But lifesaver is good, too.”

The girl giggled, before introducing herself, “I’m Yuqi. I live in the student housing off campus. You know, the ones next to that coffee shop with the green doors. It’s open 24/7. Genius marketing move, right?” Biting her lip after that info dump, you noticed her nose doing a little scrunch. “Sorry. I talk a lot.”

“I haven’t noticed,” Jisung joked, your elbow gracing his rib at his sarcasm. You wondered if there would ever come a day you didn’t have to act as his personalised filter.

“Don’t listen to the idiot next to me,” you declared, “I find it charming.”

“Me, too,” Felix agreed, and Yuqi relaxed. It told you that she usually didn’t get that reaction when spraying words like a waterfall.

“I live in the same building.”

Excitement took over her features. “What? No way! Which room?”

“B4.”

Yuqi shrieked, her hand touching your arm, “I’m B12! That makes us floormates.”

“I guess it does.” Yuqi was the first person you met who lived in the same building that wasn’t your roommate or her girlfriend. “I’m Y/N. And this,” you thumbed back at your boyfriend, “this is Jisung.”

“Hi,” he greeted her with an awkward wave.

“Nice to meet you all.”

With that, Yuqi picked up her purse, pulling out an old folder. Well, it appeared to be rather new, but the edges were already torn, some of the plastic cover coming off the corners. The latter especially gave you an ick, and you forcefully pushed down the urge to smooth over them. You could handle some chaos, even if this was a lot.

Good thing, Yuqi spoke up again, giving something different to concentrate on.

“What’s your major?”

“I’m doing Business Admin.” Before you could return the question, Yuqi already reacted, hand touching your biceps in excitement.

“No freakin’ way! I’m in Marketing.” The delight in her voice was addictive as you couldn’t help a grin pulling on your lips. “See, I even wore the perfect outfit for our first lecture later today.”

Yuqi leaned back, giving you a better look at her clothing.

She was in a pair of white jeans, a rosé-coloured blouse adorning the upper half of her lean figure. A single, thin gold necklace decorated her neckline, fitting the two golden earrings. The one thing that stood out in that well-rounded outfit was her other earrings. About a dozen of them decorated both ears from the dainty top to the slim bottom. To round the fit off, she wore a pair of light-pink high heels. The very same that had already made acquaintance with your shin.

“Pretty, right?”

“Very girlboss,” you agreed in earnest. Your own clothes contrasted her colourful optics, made up of mostly black items.

“I’m so glad I’m not the only girl in the classes.” There was a hint of playful disgust in her statement, making you chuckle. “All the other people I met who are in Business were boys. Not that boys are bad or anything. I love boys. But they can be—a lot.”

“I get it. I lived with three boys back home. Well, technically, my dad is a man,” you air-quoted, “but where’s the difference, right?” Yuqi chuckled. “It’s nice to have a girl around every once in a while.”

Yuqi reached for her coffee cup as her gaze wandered to the grey haired middle-aged man who entered the room. He walked up to the desk at the end of the hall, his briefcase landing on the table with a loud thud.

With that, you straightened up, pen in hand and ready to take notes the second your prof opened his mouth.

05:23 PM: Hey, are you studying in the dorm tonight?—Y/N 05:25 PM: No. The place is all yours :)—Hwasa 05:25 PM: Is lover boy coming over again ;)—Hwasa 05:26 PM: He’s hanging out with his roommate tonight... Bonding. I’m thinking about inviting a friend over. I met her at orientation earlier this week—Y/N 05:27 PM: Sounds fun—Hwasa 05:27 PM: Anything special planned?—Hwasa 05:27 PM: Not yet. Maybe eat something and a movie? Explore the city?—Y/N 05:28 PM: You wanna explore this bar Joey’s? I’m meeting some friends there later. Happy Hour starts at 8—Hwasa 05:29 PM: You sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude—Y/N 05:29 PM: I told you I’d be taking you out one of these days—Hwasa 05:30 PM: Texting you the address right now!—Hwasa

Stepping through the dark wooden doors, a wall of warmth hit you like a thick blanket.

It had gotten colder the past few days, fall beginning to hit the city. You took off your scarf, looking around the place in search of the familiar, pretty face.

This place seemed to be the city’s hotspot, every table packed to full capacity. Red velveteen clad the round tables right by the entrance, the seating options becoming wider once you reached the back. Couches fanned out in random patterns all over the dark oak floor. The furniture’s vintage finish further accented the brown parquet.

You felt like you had stepped straight into a movie scene.

The wave of a dainty hand over the crowd’s heads caught your attention as you spotted your roommate in the back. You grabbed Yuqi by the hem of her sleeve, dragging her behind you as you made your way to the group of girls with a smile.

“Hello,” you greeted the table once you had gotten close enough for them to see you.

Hwasa hugged you in bliss, almost tipping over the drink in front of her, “Hi! I’m so glad you could make it.” As she noticed Yuqi, she pulled her in for another warm embrace, “Nice to meet you! I’m Hwasa.”

“Yuqi,” your friend replied, joy written on her face at the enthusiastic welcome.

Knowing Hwasa and her usual calm persona, you knew she must have already taken full advantage of Happy Hour.

“Nice to meet you.” You introduced yourself to the two unfamiliar faces, sending Wheein a quick nod as she met it with a smile.

The two girls with your roommate and her girlfriend couldn’t have been much older than them. The first had straight black hair reaching the bottom of her back, at least from what you could tell. The other sported a short grey bob. It highlighted her sharp jaw in what you could only describe as a tomboy-ish look. Like Wheein and Hwasa, they were beautiful and made you somewhat self-conscious. You shouldn’t have come here unprepared, or put on mascara, at least.

First to introduce herself was the black-haired girl, her smile almost blinding you. “Hi, I’m Solar.”

An extraordinary name for an extraordinary beautiful person. Fitting. In your mind, there was no doubt she made people of any gender fall in love with her the moment she stepped into a room. Her calm, almost carefree aura was truly something else.

“And I’m Byul.” She was just as pretty, though in a less traditional sense. A boyish charm surrounded her, though her blazer hinted at a seriousness to her person. She looked—important.

You introduced yourself and Yuqi, pulling out the two remaining chairs. They must have fought off several people to reserve these. “Are you students, too?”

“We used to be,” Solar explained as she emptied her tulip-coloured drink.

The girls seemed to have stocked up on various drinks; more glasses than people were at the table. If the drinks were half as good as they looked, you’d be in for a long night.

“We graduated last year,” the black-haired beauty continued, bumping shoulders with Hwasa. “I used to be Hwasa’s roommate, actually.”

“I didn’t even notice!” Hwasa giggled, thus proving your assumption about the amount of alcohol consumed before your arrival. “She’s my ex, and you’re my next.”

You chuckled in amusement, reaching for the menu at the edge of the table. The faux leather was soft beneath your fingertips as you skimmed over the Happy Hour options. When your eyes landed on your favourite drink, a smile spread on your lips as you handed the menu over to Yuqi.

“They have Long Island Ice Tea in three different flavours?” Yuqi exclaimed, the scenic buzz of this place rubbing off on her. Not that she wasn’t this emotional about almost anything. “Would it be very immature to try them all tonight?”

“Not at all. I am browsing through the new offers myself. We can get drunk together.”

Not a fair fight. Hwasa had already gotten a head start.

You called over the waiter by raising your hand, and he headed for your table not a minute later. He raised an unintentional eyebrow at the consumption level—One Mojito, three Long Island Ice Teas and another Piña Colada and Gin Tonic. Even so, the boy sent you a smile, spinning around and wandering back to the bar.

Once he was gone, Hwasa swiftly emptied her previous drink. All it took was one strong sip through her straw, and the Tonic and ice was gone. The coldness reached her brain soon after, prompting her eyes to grow wider—like those of a comic-book figure.

“Babe, you should slow down,” Wheein suggested with a chuckle. But her girlfriend waved her off.

“I’m fine. Also, I don’t have any courses tomorrow, so I have the whole day to sleep off that hangover I’ll be having.”

“Great. I’ll remind you when you’re hugging the toilet seat later.”

“I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Mhm.” Wheein didn’t seem uber-convinced Hwasa would keep her promise but let it go anyways.

As the girls went back to their previous conversation, you tried your best to follow them.

You understood that Solar was passed over for a big promotion at her job and that she was convinced, her boss was sleeping with her opponent.

“What do you do for work?” Yuqi’s question took the words right out of your mouth.

“I am an assistant buyer at a small fashion label,” Solar explained, making you look at Hwasa in surprise.

“Don’t you also study fashion?” Taking a sip from her already empty glass, she nodded in silence. You frowned when you noticed her uncomfortable look at Wheein following your words. There must have been some form of backstory, and the last thing you wanted was to make things awkward. Instead you attempted correcting your mistake. “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

Passing a few glances around the table, Byul finally spoke up. “Our cutie Hwasa here used to study Chemistry full-time. She developed a small crush on Solar in her second year, so, she changed majors to spend more time with her.”

It took a moment to dawn on you why Wheein and Hwasa had reacted the way they did.

“Yes, but I hadn’t met my love then.” Hwasa bobbed her girlfriend’s nose, pouting to cheer her up. After a few seconds, Wheein couldn’t stop her frown from turning into a giggle. They were just the cutest.

“You’re a little drunk, aren’t you?”

“Drunk of love!”

“I stand corrected. You’re absolutely hammered.”

Playfully nudging her girlfriend, Wheein relaxed, emptying her own drink. Non-alcoholic, from what you had gathered.

“Anyways, since Solar is into boys only—”

“Men,” Solar interrupted her friend with a sigh. “I stopped dating boys a long time ago. They never know where to put things.”

“Sorry, since Solar is into men only,” Byul corrected, her eyes meeting yours again, “that didn’t work out. Now Hwasa is stuck with fashion. She met Wheein not too long after.”

“That’s right!”

The enthusiasm in her reaction made Hwasa finally tip over her glass. The melted ice cubes went all over the table, the cool liquid running down the sides. Some of it landed on your jeans, so while Hwasa apologised profusely, you called over the waiter a second time in five minutes.

A moment later, the young man rushed over with your drinks, handing you a towel to dry yourself. It didn’t go by you that his gaze focused on you for a few extra beats, but you ignored it. Your returned the now moist towel with kindness and he left with a light blush.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice that.” Solar’s caught your attention by the touch of her hand as she nodded towards the waiter.

“Notice what?”

“That the waiter was flirting with you,” she explained, looking around the table. “You noticed too, didn’t you?”

Byul agreed, “Sure did.”

“You’re not one of those girls who are, like, super slow on cues, right?” You chuckled at her question, shaking your head.

“No, I noticed, too.”

The confusion on the beauty’s face made you chuckle a little. “So what, then? He’s cute. Get his number.”

“Nah, I’m good.” You waived her off, taking a sip from your fresh drink. The rum burned down your throat, the lime juice and sugar adding a bittersweet taste to it. “Also, I don’t think my boyfriend would be particularly happy with me asking other men for their number.”

If everyone’s focus hadn’t been on you already, it sure was now.

“You have a boyfriend?”

“Very much so, yes.”

Solar seemed surprised by the information.

“Is it serious? I mean, you obviously shouldn’t cheat on him. But you are at university. If you don’t explore and get to know yourself now, when will you get another chance?”

You took another sip to ease the discomfort from being the center of attention. Not exactly where you usually were. “We’ve been together for five years. I’d say that’s pretty serious.” That did the trick, her mouth now agape in shock. She leaned in closer to you, cradling her chin in her palm.

“Five years? So, you’re High School Sweet Hearts?”

“Middle School, actually.”

“Is he any hot?” Yuqi interrupted, also leaning in further. How your relationship had become the talk of the whole table had gone right by you.

“What do you mean? You met him at orientation. He sat right next to me.”

“No way! That’s your boyfriend?” You hummed, agreeing. “But you called him dumbass like 5 times in one hour.”

“I did, but it’s more a term of endearment. I call Jisung dumbass; he calls me stupid. It’s a whole thing.”

As soon as you had cleared that up, Solar was back at it, hitting you with question after question.

“Wait, but like, for real. You’ve never been with anyone else since Middle School?”

You shook your head, correcting her statement. “I’ve never been with anyone else ever.”

Usually, you never talked about yourself and your relationship this much. You were rather private in that sense, though, you also understood their curiosity. It wasn’t every day that you met someone who had been with the same person since they were 14. You understood the length of your relationship was uncommon for someone your age.

“So, he’s your first boyfriend?”

“Yup.”

“So, you never kissed anyone else? Had sex with anyone else?” Byul further interrogated, now also fully invested in your love life. That you had only met the girls maybe 20 minutes ago seemed irrelevant. Not like you hadn’t seen that question coming sooner or later.

You agreed with a nod. “I never wanted anyone else.”

“How do you even maintain a relationship for that long?” Yuqi budded in again, her focus different from the older women’s. “My longest relationship lasted 4 months, and then I got tired of him.” For some reason, her statement made so much sense to you. Yuqi definitely needed constant excitement to fill her heart. “What’s your secret.”

You thought about it before answering shortly, “Shared trauma, maybe?” When no one laughed at your words, you backtracked. Your honesty might have been too much for them after all. “That was a joke. Obviously. We have a lot in common and went through similar stuff in life.”

It became quiet for a few seconds, though you sensed that Solar was holding back. Whatever she might have had dancing on the tip of her tongue, she took her sweet time wording it in her pretty head.

“Please, don’t take this the wrong way.” Always a great way to start a sentence. “If the shoe fits, tie that bitch up. But you’re in college now. This is your time to explore your interests—your options. No one comes out of college the way they go in. It’s a life-changing experience.”

“So, I should cheat on my boyfriend, is what you’re saying?” You started getting a little defensive now that your love life appeared to be under attack. All the attention got uncomfortable as much as you understood where it was coming from.

“That’s not what I was saying at all.” Some of the tension fell from your shoulders. “I’m saying people change. So, don’t be surprised if your boyfriend and you don’t work out.” Still not the direction you wanted this conversation to go. But Solar continued anyway. “Take Byul, for example.”

Solar leaned back, her hand coming to her friend’s shoulder.

“Byul started college, wanting to become a lawyer.” Byul nodded, agreeing. Her blazer somehow made more sense now. “She finished her degree and opened her own music production studio not two months later. And Hwasa—” With that, Solar went on to your roommate, who threw her a playful wink. “The first year of college, she cycled between so many partners, we were certain, she’d end up pregnant or with an STD. And look at her now.”

From how lovingly Hwasa was gazing at Wheein, there was no doubt in your mind that she had happily moved on from those days.

“And when Wheein started college,” Solar continued her list, “she was straight as a ruler. Do you see what I’m saying?”

“I do.”

And it was the truth. You understood that most people used college to find their path in life. The women around you were the best example for it. All four of them had found their place in the world, who they wanted to be, through university. You didn’t doubt that whatever had happened to them was necessary for them to grow into the women they were today.

At the same time, you knew your life better than anyone else at this table. You remembered every little thing you had gone through together, with Jisung. You understood how his mind worked. What he struggled with and how to get him through it emotionally—you had witnessed most of it with your own eyes.

And there was nothing one-sided about it either. There was no doubt in your mind that the same went for Jisung. He knew you like the palm of his hand—and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m still very sure we are not gonna break up.”

“I hope you don’t.” Yuqi finally came to your rescue, cutting the tensive atmosphere. “He’s adorable.”

Thankfully, Solar accepted it as the end of story. She sat back as Yuqi diverted the conversation from you to Byul, asking her about her work at the studio. You calmed down as the centre of attention drew from you and towards the ins and outs of the music industry. When Hwasa playfully bumped her shoulder into yours, you looked up at her. A teasing wink showcased her support and affection. And probably her drunkenness.

“Sorry about her. Solar can be very straightforward, but she has a good soul. She’s a realist, and very openly so.”

“It’s alright,” you told her, taking your glass and a huge sip of your Mojito. “I know most relationships at our age don’t last. But we’re solid as a rock. It’d need a tsunami to separate us.”

You hoped the rest of the night would go a little less awkward than this. Though, as the alcohol ultimately entered your system, you soon forgot about the whole conversation.

“I’m gonna be sick.”

A second later Hwasa bent over the nearest bush.

“What happened?”

“She got sick,” you explained the situation as you used your hair tie to fixate Hwasa’s long locks behind her neck. “You good?”

Hwasa wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and nodded as she stumbled towards the housing entrance. Wheein supported her other side, the two of you exchanging concerned looks.

“Is she gonna be alright?”

“I think so. It usually takes a glass of water and an aspirin, and she’ll be back to her old self.” You didn’t doubt Wheein knew how her girlfriend usually handled alcohol. “I’m gonna take her to my room to make sure. It’s closer to the bathroom, and I don’t have a roommate she could disturb.”

“You have a single room?” Yuqi questioned in surprise. Her enthusiasm after midnight was still higher than yours had been all evening. “Man, I should become dorm supervisor next year.”

“It has its perks.”

Yuqi took over once you had reached your room, holding up Hwasa so they could lead her to her girlfriend’s room.

“Good night. Call me if you need help,” you told Wheein, who nodded thankfully.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” After Yuqi had bidden her goodbye, you turned to your door, entering the four-digit code to unlock it.

Once inside, you rid yourself of your shoes, turning the lights on as you set your bag down by your dresser.

A groan came from your bed, making you jump and stumble back against the wooden cupboard. Your blanket moved at the disturbance, a bulge the size of a grown person appearing underneath it. It took a mop of familiar brown hair to calm you as you realise that not an intruder had overtaken your bed.

“Dang it! Jisung, you creep! You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Noticing the tired haze in his eyes, you strolled over to him. You slid next to his torso as your hand reached for his chubby cheek, grazing his skin. It woke him up, your action met with a sigh and his head leaning comfortably against your palm.

Under the blanket, you noticed his shirt, which didn’t even begin to cover his bulging biceps. It took you a moment to recognise why it didn’t fit him like his other clothes usually did.

“Are you wearing my crop top again?” Amusement laced your tone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You almost didn’t understand him, his vague mumbling blurrier than typical. He must have been asleep for a while.

“What are you doing here? I thought you wanted to hang out with Felix tonight.” You took out your earrings, neatly placing them on the small nightstand by your bed. “What happened to bonding with your roomie?”

“We hung out for four hours,” he explained with a yawn. “Then I came over because I missed you.”

Running your hand down the side of his face, he grabbed it as soon as he could reach it. He brought it to his lips to give your skin a quick peck.

“Now, come to bed, so we can sleep.”

“I need to get changed and brush my teeth first.”

“I can help you get out of your clothes. And I don’t care if your breath stinks.”

“I care.” You got off your bed to rush through your evening routine so you could fall into your love’s arms already. Yet, your intentions were rudely interrupted. “What the heck!”

Before you could take a step, Jisung’s arm snapped out from beneath your blanket, pulling you back. You couldn’t react fast enough as he dragged you into a lying position next to him, still fully clothed.

“See? I don’t care.”

“What about the light?”

Lifting his head off your pillow, he grabbed the tissue box from your nightstand and tossed it at the light switch. You didn’t know when he had suddenly learned to aim, but it hit smack-bang in the middle, shutting off all the light in your room.

“I gotta admit, that was impressive.”

“Now, let’s get you out of those clothes.”

You giggled as he effortlessly opened the button and zipper of your pants and dragged them down your legs. He tossed them towards the end of the bed, to be dealt with tomorrow. Next was your top, which he swiftly brought over your head, throwing it to join the rest of your clothes.

“If you only cleaned as quick as you undress me.”

“Everybody has their own forté.” You snickered at his words, closing the gap between you. “I could also be way quicker than that. We haven’t had sex in a week. Right now, your clothes are my nemesis.”

The heat of his body caught you in a warm hug, “A week already, huh?”

“8 days and 7 hours, to be exact. But who’s counting?” His arm came around you, scooting you closer so your back pressed flat against his chest.

“You wanna reset that clock?”

“Nah,” he brushed your suggestion off. “I’m way too tired to have sex right now.”

“Tomorrow then?”

“About that.” His hot breath fanned over your neck. “I know it’s date night, but there’s this party I was invited to. I thought we could go to that instead.”

“A party?” It was the first week of university. How had your introverted boyfriend already been invited to a party? You should have probably seen the answer coming. “Whose?”

“I think you know.”

Of course, you knew. How could you not when his parties had been legendary even back in the day? Though, until now, you had suppressed his present at this campus all together. His being the one who shalln’t be named.

You thought about Jisung’s suggestion for a second.

Sure, a party would intervene with your bi-weekly date night. And, on top of that, it was organised by someone, you didn’t know how to approach after everything that had gone down. But this was university, after all. And, as Solar had said before: University is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. So, why the heck shouldn’t you go to a party?

“So? What do you say?”

“Fine.” Jisung’s previously unbothered expression turned into a smile as he grazed his lips to your neck. “Just... Don’t tell your sister we’re going. I’m not sure she would appreciate us hanging out with her ex.”

“Lying to my sister? Who are you, and what did you do to my girlfriend?” A yawn hit your ear, your face scrunching at the unwanted ASMR session. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

As Jisung slipped into a deep slumber, your mind raced through the events of your day. It usually did at the end of the day, your mind too tired to do anything productive but too awake to rest. The silence around you allowed you to remember an earlier text message you never got to answer.

Pulling your arm out of your boyfriend’s iron hold on your body, you reached for your phone on the nightstand.

Your dad had sent you a voice message about three hours earlier when you had still been at the bar. You pushed the play button and brought the phone to your ear to not disturb Jisung’s beauty sleep. By all means, he needed it. Or so he said.

“Hi, honey. It’s dad. I hope you had a lovely day and aren’t studying too hard already.” You smiled at his words, knowing it was one of his biggest hopes for you to get some time to yourself. “Remember what I told you when you left? Live a little!” A pause as he was seemingly picking up something from the ground. “I just wanted to ask when you were coming home Friday. I’m planning brunch with you two and Jia, so if you could be here by noon, that’d be great.”

Friday was the day after tomorrow. You hadn’t forgotten you’d be going back home for the weekend, but you sure hoped the party tomorrow wouldn’t keep you up all night. If you had to be home by noon, you’d have to leave campus by ten. And after a party, like you expected this one to be, you prayed you and a certain someone wouldn’t be too hungover.

“Anyways, sleep tight, and have a lovely night. We miss you!”

A second voice appeared in the background, not too far from your father’s, and your heart skipped a happy beat. The words were harder to make out as he was munching on an apple, cereal, or something else crunchy.

Still, there wouldn’t come a day you wouldn’t understand his babbling.

“Come home soon, please! Mhpf—I miss you, mommy.”

With a loving smile plastered on your face, you replied with a heart emoji. After such a perfect goodnight-messaged, you’d be sleeping like a stone tonight.

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 1 month

Text

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 8

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, fluff, some smut.

Word Count: 6,667

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: As I said in a previous post, this chapter just kicked my ass. I hope after battling with it for so long, you find it worth it. 😊

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

Y/N and Dean followed Cas into the tent, curiosity hurrying their step. When they entered, Y/N went to sit beside Emma on her cot and smoothed back her daughter’s messy hair. “You were supposed to be sleeping.” She said, her tone scolding.

Emma just shrugged and Y/N rolled her eyes. Dean added some wood to the stove to warm up the tent a bit more before coming back to where Cas stood impatiently. Dean crossed his arms over his chest and lifted a hand towards Cas.

“Okay, Cas, what do you know?”

Cas opened his mouth to speak but then looked down at Emma. “Perhaps…perhaps the child should be removed.”

Y/N felt Emma tense next to her, but before she could say anything, Dean leaned down to scoop Emma into his arms, settling her against his left side.

“No, she’s fine.” He kissed the top of Emma’s head. “Right kiddo?” Emma nodded and beamed up at Dean before she tucked her head under his chin and snuggled into his chest.

Y/N felt like her heart might burst with happiness and warmth as she saw the evidence of the deep connection that had been forged between Dean and Emma. She was so distracted by the sweet moment that it took her a second to realize Cas was speaking to her.

She looked over at him and shook her head. “Sorry, Cas, what did you say?”

The angel sighed heavily, and repeated himself. “I asked you how old you are.”

Thrown a bit by the question, Y/N frowned. Cas thought he understood her reluctance and tried to address it. “I realize that it's a generally accepted practice to never ask a woman her age but this is important.”

Y/N chuckled and shook her head. “No, it’s fine, Cas. I’m twenty-eight.”

The angel’s eyes lit up. “What month and year were you born?”

“Um, March 1986. Why?”

Cas clapped his hands together once. “I knew it!”

Dean seemed as confused as she was. “Cas, man, what are you talking-”

“When did Azazel die?”

Dean pulled up short as Cas interrupted him and then he was clearly wracking his memory. “Uh…I think 2006 or - no,” he corrected himself, “no, it was 2007. May 2007.”

Cas looked back to Y/N. “And how old were you in May 2007?”

She tried to do the math quickly, but Dean answered for her.

“Twenty-one.” His voice was almost a whisper and it sounded full of awe. “You were twenty-one.”

Y/N stood up from the cot, tired of craning her neck to look up at the two tall men. She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and shrugged. “Yeah, that seems right. Why?”

Dean and Cas exchanged a look and then the angel’s handsome face split into another rare smile and Dean followed very quickly - a bright beautiful smile spreading across his face. It didn’t matter that Y/N had no idea what they were so excited about - Dean’s pure, unfiltered smile was like sunshine and it warmed her just as much. She couldn’t help but smile back.

Dean looked down at her, his expression full of wonder before nodding and looking back at Cas. “Yes. She was twenty-one when Yellow-Eyes died. That’s why the psychic connection was never triggered between them. By the time she turned twenty-two, he was already dead.”

Cas was nodding. “So, she has the blood in her system, hence the immunity, but -”

“None of those pesky psychic side effects.” Dean finished.

Y/N put up her hands. “Okay, you both have to stop speaking in riddles and explain what the hell you’re talking about.”

Dean shifted Emma to his other arm, so he could face Y/N easier. “The demon gave you his blood; we know that for sure because you're immune to the bite you got, and there’s no other way that could be true. But every other person I've seen with the blood in their system started getting various kinds of psychic powers as soon as they turned twenty-two. But,” he pointed at Y/N, “you don't have them.”

He smiled at Cas. “And now we know why.”

He looked back at Y/N and his face was the happiest she'd ever seen it as he continued explaining. “Because by the time you turned twenty-two, the demon was already dead. So the psychic connection couldn't be made between the two of you.”

He was beaming at her, and Y/N smiled back, but she was slightly confused by his joy. She shrugged. “Well, that's…good.”

Dean shook his head. “It's so much more than good, sweetheart.” His voice dropped to a whisper of awe. “It's a cure.”

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat. “What?”

Cas moved closer. “Don't you see? The antibodies in your blood, they can be used to create a vaccine. And now that we know there's no inherent, potentially evil, psychic powers associated with the blood itself, there's nothing stopping us from trying to make one.”

Y/N felt an incredible sense of surreality fall over her, like she was suddenly in a very vivid dream.

A cure.

A cure for the world.

Inside of her.

It suddenly felt very hard for her to breathe, like she might just float away.

But then Dean's big hand was on her cheek, pulling her back to reality, grounding her with his warmth and the light in his emerald eyes.

“This is incredible, sweetheart. But it’ll be a process, probably a very long one. So, don't let it overwhelm you right now. Small steps, remember? Small things will add up to big wins, right?”

Y/N was so grateful for his steady calm and strength. She nodded as tears filled her eyes and she closed them, leaning into his palm.

“What's wrong, Mommy. Why are you crying?” Emma's little voice sounded slightly worried and Y/N popped open her eyes to see Dean kiss her forehead.

“Nothing's wrong kiddo. Mommy's just happy.”

Y/N nodded in reassurance, smiling brightly to put her daughter's mind at ease. “Yeah, baby. These are just happy tears.”

Emma seemed satisfied and smiled back.

Cas spoke again, his deep voice rumbling through the tent. “You know Y/N, it’s also unlikely that the responsibility will fall solely on you.”

Y/N and Dean looked at Cas questioningly as the angel explained.

“Well, Azazel never turned just one child at a time. He spoke of generations, didn’t he? So, there would be Sam’s generation, born in eighty-three, and now we know Y/N’s generation born in eighty-six. There may have been others. We don’t know when he stopped creating his psychic kids. So any kid he visited after nineteen eighty-six would have the blood with no psychic connection.”

He shrugged. “So, we could be talking about dozens of immune people, potentially more, depending on when he stopped. There may be many people out there that are just like you, Y/N.”

Dean pulled Y/N into his side and shook his head. “No, there’s no one like Y/N.”

Cas seemed confused for a moment as though they simply hadn’t understood what he said. But Dean just shook his head again. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re right. We’ll have to try and figure out his system, how he did things, how and why he chose the kids he did. That’s gonna be a lot to try and search out. We should start figuring out how to go about researching with our very limited resources.”

Cas looked like he thought of something, opening his mouth to speak. But then he stopped himself and just nodded. “Yes, research.”

The three of them talked for a long time, going over thoughts and theories without coming to any firm conclusions.

Finally Emma let out a loud yawn, and Y/N wrapped her arm around Dean’s waist. “But Dean’s right. We’re not going to figure everything out right now. Small steps. We’re all snowed in here for a couple of months now, right? So, we can take that time to try and come up with a game plan for spring.”

The men both nodded and Cas moved towards the exit, but Dean called him back. “Wait, Cas.”

When the angel turned back to him, Dean took two long strides towards him and then pulled him into a one armed hug, trying not to bounce Emma too much as he was pounding him on the back.

“Thanks, man.” He said, his voice slightly rough. “For everything. And for…not giving up.”

The angel was obviously awkward with the show of affection, and just patted Dean on the shoulder. He was looking down at the ground as he answered him. “Actually, I gave up many times. I just couldn’t manage to stay given up.” He said with a shrug.

Dean chuckled. “Well, then thanks for not staying there.”

The angel nodded and left the tent.

Silence reigned for a moment before Y/N took a deep breath and then turned to her daughter. “Okay, baby, I think it’s time for you to actually go to sleep now.” She admonished her with a smile.

Emma pouted slightly, but then giggled as Dean tossed her gently into the air, and then swung her downward to let her feet touch the floor. He held the back of her head in his big hand as he kissed the top.

“Goodnight, kiddo.” He looked at Y/N. “You’re low on firewood, I’m gonna grab you some more.”

As Dean went out into the dark, Y/N tucked Emma back under her thick blankets. She leaned forward to kiss her cheek, and Emma's expression turned curious.

“Mommy, are you going to marry Dean?”

Y/N felt her jaw drop. “What?”

“Are you going to marry him now?”

Y/N shook her head. “Where is this coming from? Why are you asking?”

Emma shrugged her thin shoulders. “In the fairytales, after they kiss, they get married.”

Y/N just chuckled. “I don’t know baby, it’s way too early to think about that.”

Emma’s brow furrowed in confusion. “It’s nighttime.”

Y/N laughed happily. “Yes, it is.”

Emma’s expression cleared and she smiled shyly. “I like him.” She nodded as though confirming her own words. “Lots.”

Y/N booped her nose. “I like him lots too, baby.”

In fact, I’m madly in love with him. She admitted to herself and the feeling warmed her.

She’d known it for quite a while, and in fact she wondered whether she’d actually fallen in love with him when she was sixteen years old and he came to save her from the dark. It was entirely possible. But either way, she was completely in love with him now.

But she didn’t say any more to Emma, telling her goodnight one more time and then moving slowly around the tent, putting things away and straightening up the small space.

As she tidied, she worked to process everything, all the incredible information that had been relayed to her so quickly tonight. But the long term effects of Cas’ revelation made too many emotions and thoughts swirl around in her mind. It was a bit too much to contemplate at the moment, so she pushed it aside.

Instead she let her mind drift back to the memory of Dean’s kisses, before Cas had shown up. The way his lips had felt as they moved against her skin was lodged firmly in her memory and it made her sigh.

Her mind slid back to the way he’d touched her, the way his deft fingers had played her like an instrument. The memory of him pushing into her body, of how he’d so easily plucked pleasure from deep inside of her, had her biting her lip as wetness flooded her again.

Her excited reverie of Dean was interrupted as the man himself came back inside with an armful of firewood. He walked towards her, stopping short when he saw her heated expression as she looked up at him. A slow, knowing smile crossed his face.

“Penny for your thoughts, sweetheart.” He said. “Or, let me guess.” He moved to the box beside the stove and unloaded the wood before turning back to her and pulling her into his embrace.

His voice dropped low and quiet as he spoke into her ear. “Thinking about our time outside the tent?”

Y/N nodded, and then dropped her hand between their bodies to cup the slight bulge behind his zipper. “Yeah, I’m very sorry we got interrupted.” She whispered back. “I guess I owe you one.”

Dean growled quietly and she chuckled. He kissed her lightly, his lingering lips telling her that he wanted so much more. But he pulled back.

“Looking forward to it.” He said with a smirk. Then he sighed. “But for now, I should head back to my tent and let you get to sleep.” His voice and his expression were full of regret.

Y/N nodded and then shrugged. “Or…”

She thought of Emma asking about kissing and marriage and realized that they clearly weren’t actually hiding much from her. So she decided to just go for it.

“Or, you could stay the night here.”

She was quick to elaborate her offer when Dean’s eyes got wide. “I mean, we’d just be sleeping. But it would be nice to…” She dropped her gaze to the ground. “It would be nice to wake up with you.”

Dean nodded and lifted her chin with his forefinger so he could smile at her. “Yeah, it would.” He kissed her again softly and then glanced at the narrow cot. “Gonna be a tight fit.”

Y/N laughed and then pressed tight against him. “Well, guess we’ll just have to snuggle a bit then.”

Dean moaned softly. “Not sure if that’s an offer of heaven or hell.”

Y/N smiled wickedly. “Probably a bit of both.”

***

As winter settled heavily onto the camp and the snow grew higher everywhere, rotating groups of ten to twelve people per week were tasked with making sure the snow was shoveled from pathways and piled up safely and effectively against the tents to act as another layer of insulation from the wind.

The food boxes Brandy had suggested were a big hit; everyone already had to deal with freezing trips to the outhouses, so limiting more outside time was greatly appreciated.

For the most part people hunkered down in their tents, but there was one thing that brought folks out - The Mid-Winter Feast, as Y/N had dubbed it. She’d decided that before they had to fight through January, and most of February, always the harshest part of winter, they should have a little celebration of their community.

So, she’d asked Monique, Brandy and a few other interested campers to meet her at the main cabin, with the electrical heat turned on for an hour or so a day, so they could plan. In the beginning, they’d just been planning a small dinner - just people bringing some rations together to enjoy as a group. But as more people became involved, the celebration expanded.

The camp hunters offered to go out into the very cold surrounding forest and hunt down some kind of fresh meat. After a few days of hunting they returned with a half dozen rabbits, two geese and a young buck. So, there would be lots of rabbit stew, a couple roast geese and salted venison for the feast, with a bunch of leftovers too.

The elderly quilt-maker, Hannah, spent an afternoon giving a lesson to the kids (and a few adults as well) teaching them how to make small bannocks over the fire, which were then donated to the feast. All the campers also each donated two days worth of their vegetable rations so that everyone could have a feast of mashed potatoes, green beans and corn.

The camp builders chopped down a tree and brought it into the big cabin. It would eventually be firewood, but for now it was the star of the show. Y/N had the schoolkids take labels off of empty tin cans and fold them into stars as decorations for the tree, while the builders took the empty tin cans themselves, and cut them into wintery shapes like snowmen, sleds, and mittens. The metal was a bit dull, but it still added some shine to the tree when they were hung there.

When Y/N read to the kids in the cabin at the end of the week, parents and non-parents alike came in to listen to the stories while they stood at the tables and folded evergreen branches into boughs and wreaths.

Everyone pitched in, and soon the cabin looked incredible, draped in green and other bright colors.

The actual day of the feast was busy and happy. The rabbit stew was made in a big pot over a huge outdoor fire where the geese were also roasted, and soon the whole camp smelled like sizzling, delicious food.

Everyone carted chairs from their tents to the big cabin, trying to jam them all in. The grownups all managed to sit at the big tables lined up around the room, even though everyone was pressed in tight beside each other. But the kids table ended up being the floor at the base of the tree. But the kids sure didn’t seem to mind; they kept forgetting to eat while they chattered with each other loudly and looked up at the decorated tree with wide and wondering eyes.

Brandy and Y/N made sure that baskets of food were made up and taken out to the soldiers who were at their outposts making sure the camp stayed safe while everyone celebrated.

It was a truly incredible day, and when dinner was finished, and the food packed away safely, they all stayed in the cabin a few more hours, playing simple games like simon says or charades, or talking and laughing together, and just generally enjoying the company of other people before the cold mostly bound everyone to their tent for the next couple of months.

As the evening ended and people began heading for their tents, happily full and tired, Dean came back into the cabin, having gone out a bit earlier to check on his soldiers. He walked up to where Y/N sat with a sleeping Emma on her lap.

He smiled at them as he approached and in that moment Y/N felt a peace flood through her that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Obviously the world was still dangerous, and they still had so far to go before they were safe, but in that moment she felt completely happy.

When Dean got to them, he reached down to lift Emma out of Y/N’s lap and hold her in one arm, so he could reach his other hand out to Y/N. She clasped it tightly and they walked slowly back to their now shared tent.

As they walked along they could hear people calling out goodbyes to each other, as well as a continued murmur of conversations through the paths of tents. There was a sense of peace and happiness hanging over the whole camp.

Dean stopped in the middle of the path back to their red tent and turned to look down at Y/N. His face seemed awestruck and he shook his head.

“Last winter we all had to huddle in the cabin just to stay alive, and this year we were all crowded in there again, but this time we were actually living. People used to walk around the camp nervous every time I passed by. But now they smile.” He bent his head to press a soft kiss to Y/N’s lips. “You’ve changed everything, sweetheart.”

Y/N blushed. “That isn’t because of me. The winter just hasn’t gotten too brutal yet this year, and everyone helped out with the feast. And if people are less nervous around you, that’s obviously because of you, not me.”

But Dean just shook his head. “No…it’s you.”

***

Six weeks later

“What are we doing here?” Y/N asked with a laugh as Dean finally let her open her eyes and she saw he'd led her to the garage.

Dean was smiling at her. “I wanted to show you something.”

He took her hand and led her around the side of the garage. As they came upon the black Impala that sat beside the building towards the back, Y/N gasped. Snow had been cleared away all around it, and the weeds and grasses that had overrun it had been pulled up. There was still some rust on the doors and the tires were still flat, but the cracked windshield had been replaced and it looked much spiffier than it had before.

The big, black beauty looked like she knew she was getting love again.

She looked at Dean as he brought her closer. “You've been working on her.”

Dean looked a bit sheepish. “Yeah, just when I had a bit of spare time, so there's still lots to do. She still doesn’t have an engine, but I put in a new battery that lets me do this.“

He brought her to the driver's side door and opened it with a heavy creak. He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, the moonlight glinting off the silver keychain. Then he leaned inside and pushed them into the ignition, turning them so that heat and radio turned on. Of course the radio had nothing but static, so Dean quickly turned it off.

Dean closed the front door to open the back and lifted a hand, inviting her to precede him into the back seat. She climbed into the soft leather seat, Dean following behind her. She could see the inside had been lovingly cleaned and restored.

“This is amazing!” Y/N said enthusiastically, her hand running over the buttery leather of the seat.

Dean nodded, looking around. “Yeah, gotta a lot of work left, obviously. But…”

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as he took off his jacket. “It's good to be back with her.”

He caught Y/N's eye and his expression became teasing.

“Now let me show you the new feature I installed.” He reached past her shoulder where a thin blanket hung; it was more like a small sheet. He pulled it across the two passenger side windows and then did the same on the driver side. He leaned over the front seat and tucked the ends of the sheet into the visors in the front, effectively closing off the interior of the car, with only a thin strip of the windshield left uncovered.

Y/N laughed as he sat back down beside her. He raised a finger. “And my very favorite feature is this one.” He reached forward again and pushed down the door locks on the front doors before doing the same in the back.

He moaned softly as he leaned back into the seat. “Privacy, blessed privacy at last.”

Y/N was smiling wide as he looked over at her. The heat in his gaze made her blush and duck her head; his need was so raw and blatant it made her stomach clench and wetness pool at her core.

The last six weeks had indeed been both heaven and hell. It had been too cold to go outside very often, so they were mostly left inside the tent, where their touching and kissing was very limited. Stolen moments here and there were simply, not nearly enough.

So to finally be somewhere they could be together, privately with a lock on the door…

Y/N bit her lip. “You said you asked Monique to watch Emma?” Dean nodded. “For how long?”

“Hours. At least. There was talk of a sleepover.” He answered roughly.

Y/N felt her heart beat double time as she watched Dean. The set of his jaw was harsh as he leaned over to pull her easily into his lap so she straddled him. Y/N braced herself against his wide shoulders as he reached up to suck on her pulse point.

He pushed her jacket off of her shoulders and then shoved up her t-shirt so he could cup her breasts through her bra. His voice was a rattling groan.

“Ah, fuck sweetheart, you’re so goddamn perfect.” He murmured as he laid nibbling kisses along the tops of her breasts. Y/N was quickly overwhelmed with her need for him, but she tried to find her breath and form thoughts, so she could tell him something.

But then he thoroughly distracted her as he pushed the cups of her bra up, freeing her breasts so he could push them together and bury his face in the cleavage. He licked and sucked at her skin, teeth scraping and biting as his big hands squeezed one breast and then the other. Y/N lost her thoughts completely as he reached between her legs and pushed at the soft material of her sweats and leggings, pressing them against her soaked core.

He pushed his hand under her waistband, not stopping until he buried his fingers deep inside her. His invasion was so sudden and forceful Y/N cried out loudly as her walls clenched tightly around his thick fingers.

He grunted against her lips before biting her bottom one and tugging on it. Y/N let out a gasp and ground down against his hand. Dean swore and pumped his fingers into her faster and rougher, adding a third and stretching her. The mostly pleasurable sting of the stretch reminded her of what she wanted to tell him and she laid a hand on his wrist where it disappeared into her pants.

“I have…have to tell you something.”

Dean stilled the movements of his hand, but kept licking and nibbling on her breasts. “What?” He asked in a rough voice.

“I um…I think I might…” He sucked hard on her nipple and she ground down against his hand again. He resumed his movements, pumping in and out of her fast and hard. He found her sweet spot and pressed against it, making her fall forward onto him, burying her face in the side of his neck and rambling out the end of her sentence.

“I think I might suck at this.”

Dean stopped moving all together and his breath left him in a whoosh as he pulled back from Y/N and pushed against her shoulder so he could look her in the eye. His brow was furrowed in complete confusion.

“What?” He asked, his breathing rough.

Y/N was embarrassed. “Nevermind, it’s stupid.” She reached for his mouth, but Dean turned away and shook his head.

“No, explain what you mean.” He said as he pulled his fingers out of her body. Y/N groaned.

“No, I don’t want you to stop.” She pulled his hand back so he was cupping her wet heat through her clothes. “Please don’t stop. I just…wanted to, I don’t know, warn you I guess.”

She shrugged. “So you could limit your expectations.”

Dean was staring at her and his expression was incredulous. “Why on earth would you think that? What would make you believe that?”

Y/N shrugged again, embarrassed and wishing more than anything that she had just kept quiet. “It’s just…well, it’s been a long time.” Her face was bright red. “I mean, I haven’t exactly been dating. The last guy I was with was Emma’s father and….”

She swallowed thickly. “...and he was also my first, so…I have, I mean I don’t have a lot of experience. And I got the feeling that…well that he didn’t really like what I was doing.”

She couldn’t look at Dean as she spoke, staring at his neck instead. But Dean called her name softly and she slowly looked back up at him. In contrast to his gentle voice, his expression was fierce, and his eyes were blazing.

“Listen to me carefully. There is no possible way for you to be bad at this.” Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but Dean pressed a finger to her lips. “No. There’s no argument to be had here. The facts are simple, you are stunningly beautiful, sexy as hell, and you make my whole fucking body hard.”

She rolled her hips against him with a slight smile and he groaned.

“God damn woman, I’ve wanted you since that first day I took you to the river and you came out screeching and covered in leeches.” He grinned.

Y/N batted his arm. “You weren’t supposed to be looking.”

His grin turned wolfish as he pulled her t-shirt off completely and unhooked her bra to toss it into the front seat. “Well, I was. And what I was looking at hasn’t left my mind since.”

He trailed the calloused pads of his fingers down the soft sides of her breasts. “You’re so perfect, Y/N and I want you so much. The way you respond to my touch,” he tweaked her nipple and she gasped, “it’s what I dream about. And I can’t get the taste of you off my tongue.”

He wrapped one hand around the back of her neck, pulling her mouth down to him, and sucking her tongue into his mouth. He trailed kisses down her neck, inhaling deeply. “And fuck, when you’re not near me, I can still smell your scent on my clothes. And I get so hard thinking about you that it actually hurts.”

He pressed her hand against his straining cock and Y/N whimpered slightly. She caught his gaze as she reached for his zipper and he nodded, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as she reached into his pants to caress him. Holding his breath, Dean lifted his hips so he could push down his jeans and underwear, giving her complete access to him.

She held him in her fist tentatively. “Can I…um…”

Dean responded to her truncated sentence quickly. “Yes. Whatever you were going to ask, the answer is yes.” She squeezed him slightly and he groaned harshly. “Yes, please.” He added in a harsh whisper.

Feeling bold and confident now, she slipped down to the floor, her knees scraping against the rough floor mat beneath her. She began placing kisses up and down his rock hard shaft. Then she licked the slit at the tip of his cock before taking the whole head of his dick into her mouth and sucking hard. Dean slammed his head back against the seat and pushed his fingers into her hair, guiding her head as she bobbed up and down.

She pushed as far as she could, until he was at the back of her throat. Then she pulled off him with a gasp, but went right back, getting him further down her throat the second time, and working the base of his cock with a tight fist. Drool and cum dripped down his shaft, lubricating him, and she used it as she pumped him.

Finally Dean tugged on her hair gently and shook his head. “Fuck, Y/N, you gotta stop, sweetheart. I'm gonna come, and I've waited way too long for the chance to be inside you, to move in you and feel your tight, sweet pussy clench around me, feel it pull me into your heat.”

Y/N moaned at his incredibly hot words, and came off of his cock with a pop. Dean helped her up from the floorboards and when she was mostly upright, he yanked down her pants and underwear. They got caught up in her boots and she stumbled back onto Dean’s lap, laughing, her feet tied together. But she was too impatient to try and get her boots unlaced and off, so she just left them. But she tugged his t-shirt up and off of him, kissing a path across his chest.

She held the base of his cock steady as she rose to her knees and lined him up at her entrance. Both of them groaned in unison as she sank down on him slowly. He was so big it made Y/N bite her lip as he stretched her with the same slight sting she’d felt on his fingers. But it was so worth it; the way he filled her so completely made her breathing extremely harsh as she began to rock against him.

Dean pulled her back down to his mouth so he could kiss all the air out of her lungs as she rode him. He slipped one hand down between their bodies and pressed his thumb against her clit, making her gasp and dig her nails into his shoulders as she held on tightly.

The coil in her lower abdomen was getting tighter and tighter as he pressed so perfectly against her. Finally he pulled her nipple into his mouth again, sucking hard and Y/N tumbled wildly over the edge. She slammed her hips up and down on him as she rode out the climax.

Dean pulled away from her breast and grabbed onto her hips, taking over their rhythm, lifting her up and slamming her down against him as she faltered and fell onto his chest. He wrapped an arm around her waist, jackhammering into her tight sheath, and once again swirled his middle finger around her sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Come on, sweetheart. I wanna feel you clutch me tight one more time, just one more.”

Y/N’s head spun with pleasure and she sat up and then leaned back, resting her hands behind her on his thighs. The new angle had him hitting her sweet spot with every thrust. It didn’t take long to send her spinning into another climax; this time when she fell, Dean fell with her, bending forward to nip and lick at the valley between her breasts as he bucked up into her, spending every drop of himself.

Finally he rested his forehead against her sternum and just breathed hot and panting against her damp skin. There was no need for the curtains now, every window was covered in condensation and impossible to see through.

Slowly their breathing returned to normal and Dean wrapped them both up in his jacket. The heat in the car was on, but it was still just late February, and the air was cold on their overheated skin.

They shifted slightly so that Dean was leaning back in the seat and Y/N rested against his chest. She loved the feel of him inside her, even soft, and she wasn’t ready to give it up yet. Dean pushed her hair back from her temple and kissed her there. His breathing was still a bit rough as he spoke.

“Would you care to tell me again how you think you’re bad at this?” Y/N chuckled and Dean shook his head. “Guy was a fucking idiot, obviously.”

Y/N just nodded. After a moment, Dean kissed her forehead. “What happened there, with him? Emma’s father, I mean. Where is he now?”

Y/N sat up slightly and shook her head. “I have no idea. He was gone long before the world ended. Pretty much as soon as the stick turned pink.”

Dean kissed her softly. “Asshole.” He said simply and Y/N nodded again, smiling and laying back against Dean’s chest.

They dozed there gently for a while until there was suddenly a light tapping on the front passenger's side window. They both jolted awake and Dean groaned.

“What?” He called out angrily.

It was Johnston who answered. “I’m so sorry to bug you, sir, but I was told Y/N was here. It’s Emma, she’s hurt.”

***

By the time they got dressed, turned off the car and ran to the medical tent, it was already quite full of people. Monique, Keisha and Julianne were there and both little girls were crying. Brandy and Theresa were there too. Patrick, who'd been an EMT before the end came, and who therefore acted as the camp medic when needed, was standing close to where Emma sat on a folding table that was covered in a sheet.

Her daughter’s big blue eyes were swimming in tears and as she saw Y/N enter she began crying in earnest, reaching her left arm out towards her, while she held the right one close to her body. Y/N could see that her right arm was bent at an odd angle.

Broken.

Her stomach twisted and she felt a bit sick as she looked at it. But she walked up to Emma and pulled her tight against her. “Oh, baby, what happened?”

Monique stepped forward, her face awash in guilt. “I’m so sorry Y/N. The girls were all playing together just outside the tent, while Brandy and I were talking. We’d left a flap open and we could see them. But it just happened so quick we couldn’t stop it.”

Brandy took over the story. “They were all taking turns sitting on Theresa’s back and she was riding them around like a pony, and Emma just took a tumble off her back and…and then just started crying. We got her over here as fast as possible.”

Monique covered her mouth with her fingers. “Y/N, I’m so sorry.” She repeated. But Y/N just shook her head.

“Oh, Monique, no, it isn't your fault. Or anyones.” She said looking at Theresa whose face was ashen and also wore a look of guilt. Y/N kissed Emma’s forehead. “Accidents just happen.”

But Emma’s little shoulders still shook with quiet sobs and Y/N felt awful for her baby girl. Patrick started to lift her arm slightly and Emma let out a painful cry. Dean stepped up behind Patrick, and his voice was hard with authority.

“Be careful what you’re doing.” He scolded.

Patrick just nodded. “Yes sir. I just need to try and figure out how the bone is broken, so I can splint it properly.”

As the medic/soldier poked and prodded as gently as he could, Emma continued to cry and buried her face in Y/N’s chest. Accepting that his soldier was being as careful as he could, Dean stopped hovering over him and moved around to stand behind Emma instead, rubbing soothing circles over her skinny back.

Finally Patrick nodded. “I think it’s a greenstick fracture. I’m gonna get a splint to hold it in place.”

He walked away to a sideboard that had medical paraphernalia sitting on it. As he did, however, Cas walked into the tent. Y/N looked up at the angel, and was taken aback by the way he was staring at Emma. His expression was cautious and a little frightened as he approached her.

“It’s a broken arm.” Y/N explained and he just nodded.

“Emma,” he said quietly, “hold still okay. I think,” he glanced at Y/N and then Dean, “I think I can fix you.”

“Cas?” Dean asked, clearly confused.

The angel lifted his hand over Emma’s arm and for a moment it just looked like he was going to grab hold of it. But suddenly, a white light began to grow beneath his palm and his already blue eyes glowed bright, like blue flame.

Y/N held her breath, as seconds later, the light left his eyes and he pulled his hand away. Emma’s eyes became wide and then she clapped happily. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, Mommy!”

Y/N tried to smile at her daughter, but her eyes fell on Cas, and Dean asked the question uppermost in her mind.

“What the hell, Cas? Since when can you heal anymore?” He shook his head. “What…what does this mean?”

Cas’ face was serious, and the fear Y/N had seen before was still there as he answered.

“I’m afraid that…I think it means the other angels have returned.”

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only: @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @hobby27 @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96

#endverse!dean x reader #endverse!dean #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #endverse!dean fan fic #endverse!dean series #spn fan fic series

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rorywritesjunk · 5 months

Text

I can’t tell where the journey will end But I know where to start

Prequel to my Kid Buggy fic, set about 11-ish years before that story.

Buggy meets you by chance when he needs his buttons sewn back onto his jacket. He’s young, up and coming, and he thinks everyone should cower before him wherever he goes, but all you do is smile at him.

Rating: PG-13ish just for some swearing. Warning: Buggy’s in his early 20s. He’s an asshole. He just is because I wanted to write him loud, demanding, everything. There’s 3 new characters thrown in because why not? Future Wife gets a name as well! Also, in this chapter, Buggy's an asshole and the Reader is just a bit as well. A/N: I have no idea when Buggy became a Captain, so he’s a fresh faced captain in this. No clue how long this fic will be. I just started on the 4th chapter but I’m excited to write it out! I had fun with the original fic and decided to write the prequel to how they met. Enjoy! I also wanted to get this posted because I work the next six days in a row, and I may get some things posted but I wanted to get this chapter up soon because I may have teared up a bit writing it.

Title comes from “Wake Me Up” by Avicii.

TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @ane5e @kingofthemfingpirates @the-angriest-angel @tiredemomama @valen-yamyam16 @i-reblog-fics-i-like @plethora-of-fickleness

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 + Chapter 14 + Chapter 15 + Chapter 16 + Chapter 17 + Chapter 18 + Epilogue

Chapter 5

Buggy managed to find you sitting by yourself on a blanket at the lake. There were ducks coming up to you, quacking as you tossed seeds to them. It only took him an hour of asking around to find out where he might be able to find you. He didn’t even go to the shop to ask because he wasn’t keen on coming face to face with Miss Pins after she hit him with the broom the other night. He made sure his hat was perched right on his head and that his jacket was buttoned right before he marched over to you.

You heard someone approaching but only looked up when a shadow was cast over you. When you looked up and saw Buggy, you couldn’t help but smile. How he managed to find you, you weren’t sure, but there also weren’t that many places in town with ducks so it shouldn’t have been too hard. You scooted over on the blanket and patted a spot beside you for him to sit.

“I thought ducks were boring.” You said as he sat down. He tensed up when you said that, looking away as he said nothing in return. “There isn’t anything more exciting for you to be doing, Buggy?”

“I… yes, there is, always.” He grumbled. “I’m a pirate after all. There’s always something exciting to be done.”

“But you came to sit with me while I fed the ducks.” You pointed out. He looked back at you, glaring as you dipped an apple slice into peanut butter and held it out to him. “Snack?”

He grumbled and took it from you, shoving it into his mouth before he replied. “I wanted to… wish you a happy birthday, but I didn’t get you anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” You handed him a napkin but he didn’t take it. “I mean, I like that we seem to be becoming friends, but you didn’t have to come wish me happy birthday or get me a gift. I know you’re busy but don’t go out of your way for this.”

“I-I can do whatever I want!” He sputtered, staring at you in disbelief. How could you be telling him what not to do? He could do whatever he wanted, and if he wanted to wish you a happy birthday while you fed the damn ducks then he would. “I don’t have to answer to anyone, and, and I don’t-”

You cut him off by pushing an apple slice against his lips. His cheeks flushed and he glared at you, but he took it out of your hand before shoving it into his mouth like the other piece.

“Well, thank you, Buggy. I appreciate it.” You smiled at him as you looked back at the ducks. Several of the mamas were quacking at you, wanting food, while one of the ducklings pulled at your skirt. You tossed more seeds out to them and looked back at the pirate. “Miss Pins doesn’t want you coming around the shop anymore.”

“She can’t turn my business away!” Buggy exclaimed. “I’m a well paying customer!”

“She’s convinced you’re lovesick and will steal me away.” You chuckled. “This morning she warned me again about seeing you because she doesn’t want you to steal me from her.”

Buggy crossed his arms and looked away again. “Well, can’t you make your own decisions? You’re an adult. She can’t tell you what you can and can’t do.”

“Are you planning on stealing me away then?” You asked as you tossed more seeds for the ducks. Buggy refused to look at you. “Buggy-”

“How can I when I still don’t know your name?” He shot back. “You never told me.”

“Miss Pins said it in front of you.” You told him with a shrug. “At least once.”

“Once isn’t enough to remember!” He snapped. “Not to mention I rarely see you, so how can you expect me to remember something stupid like your name?!”

And as soon as he said that he realized he should have shut up. He didn’t like the way you were looking at him just then, no traces of a smile or that look you had in your eyes when you talked with him, of warmth and kindness. Instead there was disappointment, maybe even hurt, and before he knew it you were gathering your things into a basket.

“I need to get back to the shop.”

“It’s your birthday, you said you had a few days free.” Buggy replied as he stood up. “Let’s go do something, I’ll take you on my ship and, and we can go do whatever you want!”

“No, I need to get back to the shop.” You told him as you gathered your blanket into your arms. You weren’t looking at him and he hated that, he didn’t want you to look away from him.

“We should do something!” Buggy insisted as he reached for your arm, but you jerked away and glared at him. He stopped moving in that moment, horrified to see tears in your eyes. Did he cause that? Did his stupid behavior lead to this?

“No.” You said as you brushed past him. “And Miss Pins doesn’t want you coming by the shop anymore, Captain, so please don’t come around.”

He stood and watched you leave. He fucked up, didn’t he? One of the only people to be kind to him and he managed to ruin it by being an ass. He wasn’t lovesick, he just wanted a friend, but the way his heart was feeling right then as he watched you walk away was different from how his friendship with Shanks ended. His heart hurt and felt heavy, like it was sinking into his stomach and weighing him down. You didn’t even say his name, just called him Captain before walking off. He didn’t follow after you, his legs wouldn’t work, but he wanted to. He wanted to call you back to him, make a stupid joke to get you to laugh and smile. He didn’t like seeing tears in your eyes because of him, but maybe he should stay away if he was just going to upset you.

He was an idiot.

A duck quacked at him before it nipped at his ankle, startling him. No, he decided he wouldn’t stay away. Yea, he was an idiot, but he liked being around you. Buggy scowled and crossed his arms. He didn’t want to lose you.

You didn’t speak to Miss Pins or the girls as you went up the stairs and to your room. It was nice being the oldest as you were given your own room, you didn’t have to share like the younger two did. You shut the door and set your things down before falling face first onto your bed, hiding your face in the blankets as you sighed heavily.

Buggy was rude from time to time, but that was the first time he was mean to you. Why did he have to react like that? You were sure it wasn’t intentional but it still hurt. And it hurt enough that you weren’t sure you wanted to see him again, but it made you wonder why he was so insistent on seeing you in the first place. Did he want to be friends with you, or was Miss Pins right, he wanted to steal you away from here? You weren’t sure about that part. While you were nearing the end of your apprenticeship with her, you hoped to stick around a bit longer to help her out.

You rubbed your eyes and sighed. This wasn’t how you wanted your birthday to go. You only wanted to relax and watch the ducks but he had to come along and ruin it. Maybe you could do something tomorrow to make up for it, but you didn’t want to risk the chance of running into Buggy.

Maybe you’d just hide in your room for a while.

It was five weeks before you saw Buggy again.

Every time the door opened to the shop you’d look up, hoping it was him, only to be disappointed that it was someone else each time. He wasn’t coming back even though you still had two pairs of socks for him. Maybe he decided to listen to you when you told him Miss Pins didn’t want him coming around anymore.

The girls left the apprenticeship, deciding they didn’t want to deal with pirates anymore. Miss Pins had been out of the shop and you were in charge when a big and very threatening pirate came along, scaring the girls into quitting, so it had just been you and Miss Pins taking on all the customers and tasks for a few weeks until the new apprentice showed up and honestly, you were relieved.

Benji was only 13 but he was happy to fight any pirates that came along being rude to either you or Miss Pins. Honestly, it was kind of adorable but you made sure not to say that to him. He quickly became fiercely protective of the two of you and it became apparent when the shop door opened one afternoon and Benji was met with a scowl. He glared back at the pirate and crossed his arms.

“What?”

The pirate made a face when he saw him. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” Benji shot back.

“I’m Captain Buggy!”

“Oh, you’re that pirate.” Benji moved around the counter and crossed his arms as he glared up at him. “Miss Pins doesn’t want your business so you can leave.”

“I don’t care what she says and I’m not here for her anyways!” Buggy snapped. “I’m… I’m here for…”

“Benji, what’s going on?” You sighed as you stepped out of the back. While you appreciated the protective nature, you hated how he talked to customers. You were working with him on that. When you saw Buggy you stopped in your tracks. Benji turned around to look at you.

“I’m just chasing this good for nothin’ pirate off, Sunny.” He said with a grin. “So no worries, okay? I got this.”

Buggy resisted pushing the kid away. He wanted to make amends with you, not make it worse. He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. “I’m here to see Sunny, not the old lady, kid.”

Benji looked back at him. “No, you’re not welcome here. Boss’s orders.”

“Miss Pins isn’t in right now.” You reminded him. “So it means I’m in charge.”

Benji narrowed his eyes at Buggy before looking back at you. “Do you want him in here then?”

That was a fair question and you weren’t sure how to answer it. Part of you wanted him to stay around and talk about what happened on your birthday, but the other part of you was still hurt. He said your name just now but you knew it was because Benji just said it; Buggy didn’t know your name until now. Was it fair to be upset at him for this? When Miss Pins said your name that day, he had just hit his head and been insulted all in the same five minutes, but he thought it was stupid and that had hurt when he said it.

“Boss?” Benji asked as Buggy pushed past him. “Do you want me to kick him out?”

Honestly, you did, but you didn’t want Benji involved in this nonsense. You crossed your arms and looked at Buggy.

“I don’t have any services to offer you today, Captain, so please leave the shop.” You said as politely as possible, ignoring the look on his face that went from anger to confusion to heartbreak all in seconds. “I’m busy with orders.”

You and Buggy locked eyes for a moment; you almost wanted to take your words back but he straightened up and knocked into Benji as he turned around to storm out of the shop. Fine. He wouldn’t come back if you didn’t want him around.

Benji followed after him and shut the door before looking back at you, giving you a thumbs up. “Good job, boss! I’ll let Miss Pins know you got rid of him quickly.”

“Thanks.” You smiled sadly as you headed to the backroom to finish your tasks. Your heart was hurting from that interaction and you wondered if you went too far.

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x you #buggy the clown x oc #buggy x oc #opla buggy the clown x oc #opla buggy x oc #sunny x buggy #one piece #one piece oc #one piece fanfiction

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mychoombatheroomba · 4 months

Text

Bruises are the Best Teachers

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 4

Leon asks you for your help, and for some fucking reason, you say yes.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

It wasn’t the first time you’d felt the heat of angry stares on your back. When dinner time came and Leon’s unit returned from their ruck, many of them zeroed in on the reason for their hours of misery. Some of them muttered curses at you, but most just looked on, well and truly pissed off. For your part, you didn’t mind the anger. You understood it, even. You’d been on the receiving end of Krauser’s little unorthodox drills, just as well as the punishments he dealt out for not doing well enough. So, as the now drained recruits filed in to take their seats at the tables, you didn’t hold their hot iron glares against them. They would learn soon enough that it was all for their own good.

You did wonder if Leon would share their animosity, but you only had to wonder for a moment.

“Sergeant?” He sounded exhausted, and as you turned to face him, you found that he looked it, too. His hair - still absurd, as far as you were concerned - was plastered to his forehead and his shirt was darkened by sweat around the collar. There was still some redness to his face, and it made the fading bruise you’d given him stand out all the more. Krauser had run them hard, the Major’s disappointment written on him like a book.

Even so, tired and tenacious were at war behind his eyes as he looked at you. You knew that look. You’d seen it in the mirror often enough.

“Do you mind if I sit?” He asked, surprising you right off the bat.

No one really asked that. Not here. You weren’t over fond of any of your squad mates, nor were they over fond of you. Still, you all shared bunkhouses and long hours of work, so you had long since stopped asking people if it was alright to sit by them at mealtimes. You just sat, ate, sometimes talked, and that was that.

Still, you shook your head. “Spot’s open.”

Leon nodded and climbed over the bench, settling in across from you. He didn’t even have a tray of food with him yet. “I wanted to say thanks for the-” he paused, trying to think of the right word. “Well, for the advice.”

There was that graciousness again, almost endearing. Almost. Was this really what he came to you for? To say thank you? You couldn’t imagine that was the case. Not after he had just gotten back from a forced march for not taking you down. Still, you weren’t such a bastard to completely rebuff a little kindness.

“Like I said, you did better this time.”

That made him almost-smile again, something stopping him just short of it. “Better, sure. But I still got my ass handed to me.”

“You’ll do a lot of that before you’re any good.” Especially if Krauser had anything to say about it.

“I know,” Leon nodded. “That’s what I wanted to ask you about.” Something made a knot form along his brow, and the weathered look in his eyes didn’t match the boyish youth of his face. “I know I’m not where I’ll need to be. I want to be better, and I’ve seen you in the training yard after hours.” There was a respect in his voice that you had not heard from anyone in . . . well, in a long time. And his eyes, bright blue, softened to something more hopeful as he finally got to the real reason he’d joined you at the table. “I wanted to ask if I could have you teach me what you know? When you have time.”

Ah. You supposed you should have guessed this was where this was going. Practice was the biggest reason you interacted with your own squad, after all. You were here for training, same as them. There was no reason to look for comfort in company that might be dead within the year. Best way to delay that death was through practice. Leon must have taken Krauser’s words to heart. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was just trying to win some brownie points with the Major. Be the goodie-goodie that you suspected he had been before all this.

The tightness of his voice, though, told you that there was more to it than that. He was asking because he wanted to be ready for what was out there. It was something you understood better than anyone, something you were reminded of every night when you closed your eyes.

Was it just Krauser’s threats of peril that spurred Leon to be better? Or was it something else? You’d seen the way he tensed when the Major spoke of what he might face.

Had Leon noticed your own eyes going unfocused during that speech? The way your nostrils flared and your brow furrowed?

You'd agreed to be here to stop exactly what Krauser had been talking about. Even if you didn't want to be close with your fellow soldiers, you wanted them to be able to do their jobs well. You wanted them to live as long as they could against what was out there. Leon Kennedy, with his sad eyes and kind heart, was no exception. If anything, you couldn't help but think that if you wanted anyone to outlast the rest of you, it should be him.

“Even if it’s just us sparring, it would help,” Leon went on. “And I understand if you don’t want to-”

You cut him off before he could continue. “We’ll start tonight. After dinner.”

His eyes widened for just a moment, and that determined look was back. He looked like he wasn’t too surprised that you said yes, and that bothered you a bit, for whatever reason. Maybe you’d been too familiar, giving him the advice in the first place.

“Thank you,” he said, and you just shook your head.

“Don’t thank me yet. I’ve never taught anyone anything before.” It was less an excuse, more a fair warning. Still, Leon wasn’t about to be deterred, if his expression was any indication.

“I think I’ll learn a lot from you, anyway.”

Optimism. There was another thing that wasn’t common around the base. Again, you found yourself puzzling over Leon Kennedy, wondering just how a man like him ended up in a place like this. More than that, you wondered what the rest of the world would do to him. Would it change him the way it changed you? Or had it already begun that brutal work?

Would you play a part in breaking that optimism?

“‘Bruises are the best teachers’.” You repeated the words Krauser had so often spoken to you, knowing Leon would recognize them too. He had to know that you weren’t going to hold back. He wouldn’t learn anything that way. You certainly hadn’t. It had taken bruises and bloody noses to get you to where you were now, and it would take the same for Leon.

He took a breath, resolving himself as he nodded. “I’m sure you’ll give me plenty of them. And who knows? Maybe I’ll even give you a few, some day.” It was said with a muted humor.

Gracious. Optimistic. Smart mouth. Another trait to add to the list. One that almost made you laugh. Instead, you just raised a brow, deadpanning through his joke.

“If you haven’t, I’ll have done a shit job.”

“Guess that’s true,” Leon agreed. He let a quiet moment expand between the two of you before he nodded and stood. “I’ll meet you in the training yard, then?”

You nodded, silently grateful that he wouldn’t be spending the whole dinner with you. You felt like an asshole for it, but you were grateful all the same. Conversation was a skill that you had not been practicing much of, lately. It let you focus on other things. With Leon, though . . . it seemed there would be a fair bit of conversing to be done.

He proved that much when he stopped himself from walking away, just as you had a week before. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours. Your first name,” he clarified, and you almost laughed at the feeling of deja vu. What goes around did, in fact, come around.

So, you gave him your name quickly, getting it over and done with like you were taking a shot of cheap tequila before you were allowed. There was no warm feeling to follow it, though. No giddiness or satisfaction. Just the feeling that you were getting yourself into something that maybe you shouldn’t. When Leon repeated your name back to you with a little smile, like he liked the way it sounded, that feeling only got worse.

Like tequila indeed.

⧫⧫⧫

The weight of the practice knife in your hand felt good. Comforting. You found a twisted bit of peace as you spun it between your fingers, switching your grip back and forth, making the steel dance to the song coming from the radio in the officer’s bunkhouse. It was some bluegrass tune, one that you paid little attention to next to the blade you tossed up in the air. You let it rotate a full three-sixty before its handle smacked back into your palm. Get to know your weapon. Strangers don’t make for strong allies. Someone told you that, once. In another life. He’d been talking about guns, but you imagined the same applied to knives, too.

So, you liked to assess the balance. The weight. Didn’t always get the chance to, especially in training, but when you had a spare moment, you liked to get lost in these little ministrations. At first, with the knives, it felt like you were playing with fire. Now, you enjoyed getting to know the weapons you used. It felt easier - safer - than getting to know the people around you.

Weapons didn’t die the same way people did. They were better to know, in the long run.

Leon didn’t seem to share that opinion. “Krauser teach you all of those tricks?” he asked, watching as you tossed your knife once more, this time catching it in a reverse grip. He chose a practice knife of his own and rolled his shoulders back, no doubt feeling the pain of lugging so much gear on such a long hike earlier that day.

“Picked them up myself,” you answered honestly, though you had seen the Major fiddling with his own knife in the same way. Seemed he liked to be comfortable with his weapons, too.

“Before? You were in the military, right?”

It was like he could read your thoughts - like he knew that you were thinking about another time and another place. One where you thought you knew the worst that the world had to offer, and your training was just a difficult distraction. There was no way he could have known, but his question pinched your mouth into a frown all the same.

He realized he’d said something wrong. “I just assumed, with your rank, you were-”

“I was Army,” you nodded. “Now, get your guard up.” You weren’t interested in sharing stories. At least with your own squad, everyone understood that. Valeria might talk, but it was always a distraction. Always her trying to get an edge in some way. Alejandro just went straight for the throat, sometimes before you even had a knife in your hand.

You got the feeling that working with Leon would be an adjustment. Still, he listened to your order, bringing his own knife up and bending a little at the knees. His stance was good - Krauser had likely drilled that knowledge into him and every other recruit on base. The Major made everything seem life or death, even the way a person stood. He was right for being so attentive, you knew. It made for soldiers that knew exactly what they were doing. He'd perfected his teaching style over years, and you had no doubt that was why he'd been chosen to instruct the STRATCOM recruits. He got results. As for you . . . well, in the brief time between dinner and this moment, you’d thought a lot about how to approach this attempt at teaching. In the end, you just realized that you had no idea what you were doing. Was it as simple as spotting errors and giving notes? Krauser didn’t make it seem that way. None of your earlier instructors did. With them, it was all about learning from experience.

So, ultimately, you’d decided that you would give Leon experience.

You gave Leon no time to prepare before you moved, switching the knife to your left hand. You didn’t give yourself a spare moment to feel guilty for surprising him, either.

Three moves. That was all it took. A slash to his undefended leg, then up to his arm, then across the belly when he moved to block. You felt the knife drag along his shirt and the skin beneath it and heard him curse under his breath as he retreated away from you. He hadn’t been ready, but then no one was ever really ready to have a knife swing at them. You knew that all too well.

“Didn’t realize we’d started,” Leon said, keeping away from you, now. In your previous fights, he’d been the only one with a weapon. Now, he seemed hyper-aware of the danger he was faced with.

“You don’t always get a warning,” you said simply, and then you were coming after him again. It wasn’t fair, and you knew it. Leon looked overwhelmed each time you approached, like he was trying to remember what to do with every swing you took. Still, something in you pushed you onward, your heart going from thundering behind your ribs to feeling absent altogether, just as it always did when you were faced down with a blade. You knew you were being a little cruel, and you tried to stop it just as much as Leon tried to stop your blade from meeting his flesh. In the end, his best defense seemed to become falling back, keeping himself out of reach of your blade. He wasn’t really attacking, and when he did try for one, it would end up swinging just out of reach of you. He was getting frustrated, you could see it.

“You won’t hit anything from over there,” you observed, finally collecting yourself for a moment enough to actually think of something to say.

Leon, breathing heavily, shook his head, keeping his knife up. “I can’t hit anything anyway,” he said, and you could hear the frustration creeping in. Another few swings, and again he backed away. He was getting sluggish, the long day catching up with him. Part of you insisted that he’d had enough, that even a little practice was better than nothing.

That part of you was held under the water by the hard lessons you’d learned. It wouldn’t matter if he was tired out there. It wouldn’t matter how much punishment you or he had already taken.

He knew it too, you could see it in his eyes. He looked nearly ready to give up, but you watched him grip his knife tighter.

You took a step closer, and he stood his ground. Another, and even if his nostrils flared and his eyes began to search for your next move, he remained. Then you lunged. He went to block your slash, he missed, and your knife smashed hard against his knuckles.

“Fuck!” Leon hissed, the pain crossing his face betraying the effort it took for him to hold onto his knife. The distraction was enough for you to move, your free hand trapping his knife against his stomach while your own blade stabbed forward. You stopped the point from running too hard into his chest, just where his heart was beating beneath.

He was about to move back but stopped short. He knew it wouldn’t matter. If it were a real fight, he would have an inch of steel in his heart and that would be that. Being so close to him, you could see the shame in his eyes. The anger, whether it was meant for you or himself you couldn’t say.

How many times could this boy make you feel guilty for doing what you were trained to do?

You stepped away from him, releasing his hand and lowering your own weapon. You crossed your arms, letting the steel of your blade rest flat against your side. Feeling it against your ribs grounded you, let you think. You didn’t get far into those thoughts before Leon clenching and unclenching his fist caught your eye.

“Nothing broken?” you asked, knowing that the odds of that were low. Still, best to be sure. It would make you feel better.

Leon shook his head, still frowning as he answered. “No. Just stings.”

You nodded, realizing that you might be done for the night. Leon certainly looked like he was fed up with losing. You were given a few moments of silence before Leon spoke again, his voice small as he flexed his hand.

“You make it look easy.” He was trying not to sound discouraged, but he wasn’t doing a good job of it.

In that moment, you were reminded of a STRATCOM recruit that had arrived not so long ago. One who flinched away whenever a knife was brought up against them. One that had that fear beaten out of them. You didn’t want to have to do that to Leon. Didn’t know if it was your place to. But then, it worked for you, didn’t it?

“It wasn’t always easy,” you admitted, looking over at him with as soft an expression as you could manage. “It still isn’t some days. That’s why we train.”

“Can’t imagine you ever struggling with this,” Leon huffed, like he really didn’t believe you.

“I do. We all do. But the more you practice, the easier it gets.”

“I know.” He switched his knife to his other hand, looking back up at you like a man resigned to his fate. “So, any other notes?”

He just kept finding ways to surprise you.

“Still need to watch your movements. And you can attack with more than just your knife.”

“Yes, sir,” he nodded, and you wished that you knew how to be a better teacher. Still, you knew how to fight. Maybe that would be enough.

You noticed the way his legs shook a bit as he dropped into a ready stance. You knew then that he wouldn’t let the fatigue stop him. A mad man after your own heart, then.

You raised your own weapon. “Ready?”

He tilted his head a bit before he responded. “I thought you didn’t give warnings.”

That distant radio began to play something with a bit more swing, and the dance began again.

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Chapter Index

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #jack krauser #resident evil x reader #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil #between the bones #gender neutral reader #leon kennedy x you #no y/n

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teaberrii · 3 months

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Year of the Dragon

You and Dan Heng are a match made in heaven until fate takes him away from you too soon. Years later, you think you moved on with a mutual friend who shared your grief and stuck with you during tough times until you meet a mysterious man with a striking resemblance to your past lover and a hidden motive. You’re determined to get rid of him, but how are you going to get rid of a god?

Dan Feng/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on Ao3

Genshin Impact and Honkai: Star Rail crossover

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

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Chapter 1: Take Me Home

The strapless, white dress with light, gold sparkles all around hugs your bodice and flares out at your hips and thighs, creating a dramatic silhouette that makes you look ethereal. Yet, the happiness reflected in your eyes is far from what should be present in a wife-to-be. You step off the small stool and leave the changing room, where your friends are waiting for you.

"This is the one!" March exclaims. Then, with a teasing smile: "Looks like a dress he'll want to get his hands on if you know what I mean."

Stelle sighs. “Is there no limit to your inappropriate innuendos?”

March puts her arm around you. “You know I’m right, Stelle. They’re taking the next step together as blissful newlyweds where intimacy is at its finest.” She winks at you. “You gotta take advantage of those golden years.”

“Gotcha,” you say. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”

March puts her hands on her hips. “Hey! I’m serious!”

Stelle has a hand on her chin, looking you up and down. “I agree with March. It’s a beautiful dress, but most importantly, it fits you very well.”

“Oh my! You look absolutely gorgeous!” You hear the heels of a woman working at the high-end boutique. She's already behind you, admiring the dress, by the time you turn around. “It’s like it was made for you.”

“...It’s like it was made for you.”

You were standing in front of a mirror with him behind you. His hug was warm and comforting, and when he put his chin on your shoulder and smiled, you felt like the luckiest woman in the world.

“It’s beautiful,” you said.

“You really like it?”

You turned around. “Of course!”

“Then, it’s yours.”

“Wh—What? Just like that?”

He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. “I… designed it for you. It was my first time, and I wasn’t sure if you’d—”

You cut him off with a kiss on his soft lips. “...I love it, Dan Heng.”

“Would you like to see some accessories that’ll go perfectly with this dress?”

“Oh, yes, of course she would,” March answers for you.

Soon enough, you, Stelle, and March are following the worker toward another part of the boutique. You’re walking up the stairs when she looks over her shoulder and asks:

“So, who’s the lucky man?”

There’s a brief pause before you answer her. “We were high school friends.”

She gasps. “Oh! High school sweethearts? That’s adorable! I adore those kinds of stories. It’s so rare for a relationship after high school to work out, and… ”

The rest of her rambling falls on deaf ears. It’s something you’re used to hearing when you tell people the simple basics about your “fairytale relationship” with your fiancé. You met in high school and were friends for a very long time before you got together. As soon as people heard that, you never had to explain how you got together as most people were enamoured by the "high school sweetheart love story." You never want to explain anyway, considering how you ended up with your fiancé is as beautiful as it is painful.

If you never lost the love of your life, you and he never would've happened.

“Is there anything you have in mind?” the woman asks as soon as you reach an area filled with expensive but stunning wedding accessories for women.

“Not anything in particular, but—"

Elegantly displayed on the neck of a female mannequin is a crescent moon necklace made out of pure gold. As soon as the woman notices what you're looking at, she says:

“Oh, good eye! That design is new! It’s…”

Again, her explanation falls on deaf ears when you’re once again reminded of him.

“Can I look now?”

“Patience.”

You were standing on the balcony of Dan Heng’s room, facing the view of his family’s garden with his eyes closed. You had a hunch that Dan Heng had a surprise for you, but nothing could’ve prepared you for what you were about to see.

“...Okay. Open your eyes.”

You were speechless upon seeing an elegant, golden necklace in the shape of a crescent moon where your initials are engraved. Dan Heng unclipped the necklace and put it around your neck. His hug was warm and comforting, and you could feel his heartbeat.

“Happy birthday.”

“Hey!” You turn at the sound of March’s voice. She and Stelle are looking at some headpieces in a glass case. March gestures for you to come. You come up beside her just when she says: “This would look great with your dress.”

“Mind the pricetag,” Stelle cautions.

March takes a breath. “Ooh, okay, never mind… This might be a little out of our budget.”

You look back at the necklace. Stelle, noticing that you’re a little distracted, turns and sees the beautiful necklace in the other corner of the room. She looks back at you but says nothing.

Eventually, you wander toward a different corner of the room, looking at earrings and bracelets when you hear Stelle’s voice.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Why do you ask?”

“You keep staring at that necklace.”

“Oh, well… It looks just like the one I have.” You force a little smile. "I guess I was a little surprised."

You turn back to look at a new collection of earrings, but Stelle knows what’s on your mind. And like you, she’s reminded of the loss of a friend. She’s seen it all. Your ups and downs with Dan Heng, the man who went from a childhood friend to a lover with the evolution lasting for close to a whole decade.

“This is… truly amazing,” Stelle said, looking closely at the necklace Dan Heng had got you for your birthday. “Rich kid’s… riching.”

“Is that even a word?”

“Probably not.” She stood upright. “But I expected nothing less.” Just then, a large advertisement of a high-end fashion brand introducing their latest fall collection flashed on a tall building. “You never would’ve thought by looking at him.”

You looked in the direction she was looking and saw models with perfect skin and fits on the screen. Then, an elegant-looking logo in the shape of an L appeared on the screen. Seconds later, the name ‘Lunae’ appeared underneath the logo.

Stelle was right. You never would’ve thought Dan Heng would be the heir to one of the biggest and most luxurious fashion companies in the world. When you first met, he was a scrawny, stubborn kid who ruined your sandcastle. And now, he was someone you loved with all your heart.

March stretches as soon as the three of you leave the boutique. The only thing you bought was the dress.

“Gosh, that was exhausting. I’m starved.”

“Isn’t there a Cultural Festival going on right now?” Stelle asks. “We could go there for some food.”

“Oh, you’re right!” March takes out her phone. “Today’s the second day… I think? There’s supposed to be some awesome performances happening.”

You’re on the way there with your friends when your phone goes off. You slow down and take the call as it’s from your fiancé.

“Miss me?”

“Oh, of course. It’s…” You look at your watch. “It’s only been an afternoon.”

“That’s too long without you.”

“Okay, okay. What’s the real reason you called, huh?”

“On my way to drop things off at the pawn shop, and then I’m going to grab some groceries for tonight. Anything you want for dinner?”

March looks back and sees you smiling and talking about something. Then, when you get off the phone and join her and Stelle, she asks:

“Was that your man?”

“He has a name, you know,” you say. “But yes, that was. Nothing exciting. Just syncing up for what we’re going to have for dinner.”

“Should’ve flustered him and said—”

“March,” Stelle deadpans.

“What? You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

Your fiancé had been a friend of yours, Stelle’s, and later Dan Heng's in high school. He’d confessed his feelings after knowing that your life was on the road to normalcy after the terrible, horrific accident that left you as an empty shell. Because of him, your days became brighter, but there was never a day where you didn’t think of Dan Heng and… what could’ve been. But, you love your fiancé, and that’s all that matters.

It’s late afternoon by the time you reach the Cultural Festival, which is bustling with visitors from all walks of life. You got to do some wine tasting from the Mondstadt booth—where you also heard the not-so-subtle gossip about how “hot” the bartender was—and showed off your calligraphy skills at the Inazuma booth. As the Year of the Dragon is right around the corner, you also enjoy a memorable lion dance performance with people from your hometown, Xianzhou, and the neighbouring region, Liyue.

“Oi, Haitham! Where’s my wallet?”

You and your friends walk by a pretty male who’s searching for something inside his bag while not too far away another handsome blonde is showcasing his swordsmanship with a blue-haired male on stage.

“Ooh, there’s also a fortune-telling booth,” March says. The map she’s holding is so big, it covers her entire upper body as she holds it. “Wanna check it out?”

“Lead the way.”

You and Stelle follow March past a popular circus show by the Cirque de Fontaine. You almost bump into a tall man with long dark blue hair with red tips and his friend, a man with long blonde hair and green eyes, as you’re distracted by the cheers for a young man and woman who look nearly identical on stage.

"Careful."

Is it silly that you remind yourself you're getting married when you look into the eyes of the man with the long, dark blue hair? He's handsome, you admit, and his gentle demeanour is reminiscent of Dan Heng. In the end, you quickly apologize and continue on your way.

“We’re here.”

Stelle looks around. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

Unlike the lively atmosphere at the other booths, the one a short distance away is a little… cold. There are no visitors around the dark green tent; the only occupant is a person sitting inside wearing a dark green, brown, and red robe. The hood is up, so you can’t see the person’s face.

“...This looks sus as hell,” March whispers. “Maybe we should go.”

Stelle takes another look at the map. “It’s a registered booth, though.”

“Hello, lovelies.” You and your friends turn toward the person—who you believe is an elderly woman from her voice—inside the tent. She puts her hands together and slightly bows. “Happy New Year… Would you like a free fortune prediction for the upcoming year?”

You and your friends glance at each other, and Stelle says:

“Sure. Why not?”

March grabs her friend’s arm just as Stelle steps forward. “...Girl, are you sure?”

“Ah… the one in pink,” the woman says, and March points to herself. “I see a raise… and possibly a promotion in your future this year. Would you like to learn more?”

March immediately sits in front of her.

“Well, that was fast,” you say.

Stelle sighs. “That’s March for you, I guess.”

You aren’t surprised that your friends are getting such great predictions for the upcoming Year of the Dragon. You assume it’s a business strategy, so you’re expecting to hear how you’ll also thrive and prosper this year. Once you sit in front of her and the woman takes your hand, she immediately looks at you, whereas her head has always been tilted down when reading Stelle and March’s fortunes.

“My child… A wedding is in your near future..." Well, that’s not creepy at all. If you recall, no one has mentioned your wedding, nor are you wearing your engagement ring. “...But, you will walk a path of uncertainty, and only when you walk with the man in the shadows, you will see the light at the end of the tunnel.”

“...Did you… understand any of that?” March whispers.

“No,” Stelle answers flatly. “Not at all.”

“...Man in the shadows?” you ask.

“I cannot see who it is,” the woman says. “...His presence is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.” Her head tilts downwards, and you assume she’s looking at your palm. “My dear… You’ve suffered a great loss in your past." Your heart freezes over, and your eyes widen. "Fire, destruction… Their bodies were never—”

“Stop!”

You didn’t mean to sound so anxious. But the short cry is clear that time does not heal all wounds. March has a comforting hand on your shoulder while Stelle is baffled and intrigued, though she does not show it. Just who is this woman?

You take back your hand. "Sorry... I... I think that's enough for today."

Then, you stand, but before you can leave with your friends, the woman says:

“...It’s up to you, my child.” You look over your shoulder. “Your Year of the Dragon will be the most exciting yet. Reap its rewards or fall further into darkness.”

“C'mon.” Stelle grabs your arm. "Let's go.”

The woman’s voice is quiet, but you hear:

“Be very careful, my dear.”

◆◆◆

The large golden gates creak open, revealing a spacious room where small, floating lights flicker until they settle on a glowing honey yellow. A tall, slender young man with fair skin, black hair, and green eyes walks with an air of confidence over a gold, dragon-shaped bridge. Statues of dragons are situated around the room—where endless, liquid gold pours from their mouths—into a small river that runs underneath the bridge and into crevices of the walls. If one looks up, it will remind you of a cathedral with large arched windows… except if you look out, you’ll be looking straight into the galaxy.

The footsteps stop just before a set of wide stairs. Two men are sitting across from each other on golden thrones in the shape of a dragon.

“You’re looking well for not having shown your face for weeks, Dan Feng.”

The one with pale skin and waist-length show white hair doesn’t spare Dan Feng a glance. Instead, he’s focused on the chess board in front of him where all the pieces are dragons.

It’s his playing partner, a man with yellow, diamond-shaped pupils and short brown hair with a long fringe on the side of his face, who says:

“Yes. Where have you been? We were quite worried.”

“Worried is a stretch, Zhongli,” the white-haired man says. With a snap of his fingers, one of the chess pieces moves to a different spot and suddenly takes out a weapon and smashes the other piece to smithereens. “I’m sure Dan Feng is capable of taking care of himself. He is one of us, after all.”

“Yes, well, before you two can continue talking as if I’m not here… The Aeons have escaped to the human realm.” Now, Dan Feng knows he has their full attention.

“How do you know this?”

“Not sure if you’ll like it, Neuvi, but a dead, little birdie told me all about it.”

“Sampo?”

Dan Feng nods.

"Did you confirm he was telling the truth?"

"Always the careful one, aren't you?" Dan Feng asks. "But, I did. Went down to the dank dungeons of death myself. Honestly, can't blame them. Their quality of life must've been horrendous."

Zhongli puts a hand underneath his chin. “...The Aeons have been locked up for centuries. How in the world could this happen?"

"Someone must have helped them," Neuvilette says, “why would they do that? And… What would the Aeons want with the humans?” Neuvilette looks at Dan Feng—”Why did Sampo tell you this now?”

“Well, my water dragon friend," Dan Feng says, "Sampo wants us to do something about it. The Year of the Dragon is coming, which means the gates to the human realm will open again. Assuming the Aeons left during the last Year of the Dragon, then they've been causing chaos for over a decade down there. We need to haul their asses back up because this is where they belong."

Suddenly, thunder rumbles in the distance, but no one is fazed. Then, a disembodied, cheerful voice sounds throughout the room:

“Happyyy Year of the Dragon!”

Lightning strikes a spot between Neuvilette and Zhongli, and when the smoke clears, there’s a young girl with mint-green eyes and long purple hair.

“It’s our year once again, my brothers!” She makes a fist and gently hits her heart. “How are we going to celebrate this year?”

“Work, Bailu,” Dan Feng answers flatly. “We have work to do.”

Bailu looks at him incredulously. “What do you mean we have work?” After Zhongli tells her about the conversation earlier, Bailu puts her hands on her hips. “So, you’re telling me that we have to spend the year cleaning up someone else’s mess? We won’t get to go down and party with the humans for another twelve years!”

“We aren’t supposed to get involved with humans in the first place, Bailu,” Neuvilette says. “You know that.”

“Well, yeah… I know. But, I’ve been seeing all the cool technology they’ve been coming up with. Like, did you know they have robots that’ll create art and write for you now? It’s literal magic!”

“It always baffles me how you can get so excited about human technology,” Dan Feng says. He snaps his fingers, and parchment and a quill appear in midair, where the quill writes what’s on Dan Feng’s mind:

We’re Gods.

“But, the fact that humans aren’t and can develop all these cool gadgets makes them so much more interesting!” Bailu looks at the disinterested faces of her dragon brothers. Only Zhongli seems to show mild interest. “Just wait until we get down there and we lose all of our godly powers. You’ll be forced to adapt to human technology just to survive.”

“...We lose our powers?”

“Guess you weren’t expecting that plot twist, huh, Neuvi? You would know if you visit every dragon year. The longer we stay down there, the more human we become. But, as soon as we poof back here, we slowly gain our powers back.”

Neuvilette almost looks disgusted.

“If the Aeons left during the last Year of the Dragon, they would’ve stayed in the human realm for twelve years…" Zhongli says. "At least, they'll be weakened, but we cannot underestimate them."

“We have one whole year!” Bailu whines. “Can’t this Aeon hunting mission wait until after we celebrate? It’s literally our year!”

“I guess it can’t hurt.” Everyone looks at Dan Feng. “It’ll be interesting to see the foolishness of humans during this time.”

“Woo! That’s one for Brother Moon!”

“Brother Moon?” Neuvilette asks.

“He’s the Dragon of the Moon, isn’t he?"

“Anyways,” Zhongli says, “looks like we’ll have no choice but to go to the human realm this year. Make sure you’re prepared.”

Neuvilette sighs. "And if we refuse?"

"Oh, come now, Neuvi," Dan Feng says. "Show some camaraderie. We have a traitor out there... At least the cronies of death know that we're innocent."

Only Bailu is beaming with excitement.

Later that evening, Dan Feng is in his room, looking out at the galaxy when he senses a presence. He doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“Need something, Brother Earth?”

“I’m sure Bailu would be thrilled to hear you’re catching on to her nicknames,” Zhongli says.

“It’ll be our little secret.”

Zhongli is beside him just as an asteroid flies by. “...Sampo is neither friend nor foe." Dan Feng glances at him. “Call me curious, but I just find it strange he would go out of his way to tell you that the Aeons have escaped. How would he know? He’s the Reaper. The Aeons are none of his business.”

“...Sampo may act on his own interests, but even he is afraid of what the Aeons are capable of. Considering if they were to interfere with the natural order of things, it would be disrupting his work.”

“Natural order of things… Are you saying they’d interfere with the afterlife?”

Dan Feng briefly closes his eyes. “Sampo was the one who approached me first.”

The star-covered skies were different shades of purple and pink, and occasionally one would see shooting stars or meteoroids fly by. A tall, muscular man with tufted dark blue hair stood on a cliff, overlooking a long bridge where small, floating lights were bobbing their way across. They were the souls of the deceased, crossing the bridge that would erase their memories of their past life and toward an unknown realm, and only Sampo, the Reaper, could see what they looked like before they died.

“That bored, huh?”

Sampo turned around. “Let’s just say I saw something quite… intriguing. I can’t stop thinking about it, which is why I called you here.”

“Okay,” Dan Feng says, not interested in the slightest. “And what would that be?”

Sampo walked a few steps toward him. “...Did you know you have a doppelganger? A man who looked exactly like you in the human realm. Honestly, I thought it was you but with a better haircut.” He smiled upon seeing the hard look in Dan Feng’s eyes. “...Is it just me, or did you already know about him?”

So, he reincarnated, and if he looked like him, then his life was cut short once again… Dan Feng clenched his fists as he saw his brother’s face. What had happened to him this time? Was it because of a woman… again?

“Your silence is telling me a lot of things,” Sampo said.

“How did he die? You know, don’t you?”

“I do. I had a front-row seat to his untimely death so to speak. Very exhilarating, however.”

“...Untimely? Are you saying it wasn’t time for him to die?”

That cat-like smile was even more annoying than usual.

“I’ll tell you what you want to know. But, in exchange, I need a favour from you and your dragon friends.”

“...That’s when he told me he senses there's something strange going on in the human realm," Dan Feng says. "Over the last decade, he gradually noticed people are dying... when they aren't supposed to."

"And that led to the discovery that the Aeons have escaped?"

"Not directly. It was a fleeting thought, but someone went down to check anyway, and"—Dan Feng slightly smiles—"'lo-and-behold... our big, bad gods are gone. Apparently, there was an investigation without alerting everyone else, and while they couldn’t find our dirty, little traitor, they’re sure it wasn’t anyone from Castle of Dragons.”

“That explains why they entrusted this task to us.” Zhongli glances at his friend. “But it sounds like it worked in your favour. Sampo probably wouldn’t have told you about your doppelganger if he couldn’t get anything in return.”

“He would've baited me for as long as he can,” Dan Feng says flatly.

“...Who is this doppelganger of yours, if I may ask?”

Dan Feng closes his eyes for a brief moment and mutters a name that hasn’t left his lips in centuries.

“Dan Heng, my brother.”

◆◆◆

Over the next couple of days, you and your fiancé are settling nicely in your new home. But, you never told him about the strange encounter with the fortune teller at the Cultural Festival, even though it’s been on your mind. You already know what he’ll say:

“It’s just a creepy coincidence… Don’t let it bother you.”

You’ve never asked, but you gradually noticed how he’d change the topic or brush it aside when it’s about Dan Heng. Perhaps the wound hasn’t fully healed.

Your fiancé is cooking a special dinner for New Year’s Eve when you go to the kitchen to find him.

“Have you seen my necklace?”

“Necklace?” he asks, looking at you. “What necklace?”

“The one Dan Heng gave me. I've been looking for it over the past few days, but—”

“...Oh, that. I… I pawned it.”

“You… what?”

He turns off the stove. “I told you I was dropping some things off at the pawn shop the other day.”

“Why would you do that?!”

“You never wore it anymore. I just…" He walks up to you and attempts to put his hands on your shoulders. But, you step away. "I thought you didn’t want it anymore.”

“Didn’t want it anymore?” You clench your fists. “You should've asked! That wasn’t for you to decide!”

“I’m sorry. I…” He takes a small breath. “You’re right. I should’ve asked instead of making that choice for you. But… It’s about time we move on.”

“...What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you think keeping that necklace is hurting you? Hurting us?” Is it just you, or do you have no idea what he’s talking about? “It’s been years since the accident. Keeping something like that… It’ll only remind you of the past.”

“So, according to your logic, I should also get rid of all the things my parents got me as well.”

“No! Of course not! That’s not what I meant.” You walk out of the kitchen with him following you. “Dan Heng wasn’t just a friend.”

You turn around with a hard look in your eyes. “I’m getting my necklace back.” Then, you walk to the closet near the door to grab your jacket.

“It’s late.” His tone isn’t so kind anymore. “Is it really that important?” You don’t bother answering that question but instead, ask for the address of the pawn shop. He hesitates, and it isn’t until you ask for it again that he finally tells you. You grab your car keys and are about to open the garage door when he grabs your arm. “...It’s my fault, I admit. But, can’t you wait until tomorrow? It’s going to rain.”

Even if it can, you still want to get out of the house anyway.

By the time you arrive at the pawn shop, it’s already raining. The vintage-looking pawn shop looks as if it popped out of a fantasy novel. As soon as you step inside, you smell the scent of fresh wood. The place is lit entirely out of oil lamps. Some are hanging from the ceiling. Some sit on small stands. Old paintings and shelves with books and other knicknacks populate the walls. You walk past a glass case with old journals, compasses, and objects you’ve never seen before—not in Xianzhou, at least. Just when you reach the counter, a young woman pushes the beaded curtain aside.

“Hello.” She steps out. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here for a necklace.”

After describing it to her, she looks almost apologetic. “Oh, I’m sorry… Not too long after that young man dropped it off, someone bought it.” Your heart immediately sinks to the pit of your stomach. “Were you interested in buying it?”

“Buying it? That belonged to me," you say, trying but failing to let your emotions get the better of you. “...Do you know who bought it?”

“A woman. A very pretty one, at that. Long blonde hair and gray eyes. I didn’t get a name, though.”

Well… That really narrows it down.

“I’m sorry," the woman continues. "I wish I could be more helpful.”

You look around, checking the store for any CCTV cameras. When you finally find one, you point to it. “Could you check and see if you can identify her?”

“I can try, but… it's quite old, so I hope I can get some clear footage. Could you come back tomorrow morning?"

What other choice do you have?

By the time you leave the shop, it’s pouring. You quickly get in the car and take a glance at your phone.

Are you coming home? Are you okay? I’m sorry… Please forgive me.

You don’t want to forgive him, but a part of you still hopes that you can talk things out. You shoot a quick reply, telling him that you’ll be back at the shop tomorrow. As soon as you toss your phone in the passenger seat, it buzzes, but you don’t bother looking at it again.

You’re driving slower than usual as it’s getting difficult to see the road in front of you and your only companion is the heavy sound of rain against your car.

The one day you forgot your umbrella was the one day it rained. You were standing awkwardly at the bus stop, noticing that you were the only one to take public transportation while everyone else left in cars or had someone to drive them home. A bunch of your classmates drove past you, but you weren’t too surprised that they ignored you. You were like the black sheep of the school. You weren’t rich; you didn’t have connections. But, you did have good grades and loving parents who encouraged you to apply to this private school as it’d “look good on college applications.” There wasn’t any evidence that it’d truly help you, but it was an elite school with good programs. So, why not?

It wasn’t until a week in that you realized everyone knew each other. Or, at least they knew of each other. The community was small, and some people had asked about you and your background. You quickly caught on that telling the truth was a mistake. Some of your classmates made fun of you; others avoided you. The better ones were those who gave you a polite nod and smile. But the best one was Dan Heng, a boy who you met at a park almost a decade ago. A quiet, calm kid who made an effort to sit with you at lunch and unknowingly drew attention to you by giving you his.

You took a breath. Okay. Maybe you can run home. Twenty kilometres isn’t that bad. You ran 5 kilometres and survived. Then you’d have a fun story to tell your parents who were currently overseas. Just as you finished tightening your shoelaces, thunder rumbled in the distance, but it was the sudden calm, male voice that startled you.

“...Hey.”

You turned and almost gasped. “D-Dan Heng? What are you doing here?”

“...Practice got cut short.” He was still in his track uniform. “You don’t have an umbrella?”

“It’s refreshing to run in the rain, don’t you think?” Dan Heng continued staring at you until you finally sighed. “No, I forgot mine.”

“...You’re not running in this weather.”

“Yeah, well, if I continue waiting, it’ll be midnight.”

Dan Heng moved closer to you until you were under his umbrella. “I’ll take you home…”

Suddenly, the truck, speeding in the opposite lane, starts swerving.

Tires squealed.

The incoming headlights come as fast as the speed of light.

You swerve.

A crash. A bang. And soon, you’re plunging into total darkness.

…

You want to open your eyes but can’t. But you know you’re still alive. You taste the fresh blood that runs from your head to your mouth. You feel the pain of a million needles stabbing you from all angles. You want to cry, speak, or move. But, you’ve become a vegetable. In the darkness, you see the silhouette of a man. Who is he? You have no idea. So, with the last of your strength, you mutter the name of the person you wish to see:

“...Dan Heng.”

And then the silhouette disappears. Now, you hear a calm, male voice.

"...Save her."

A chuckle.

“And here I thought you didn’t like getting involved with humans.”

Then, you hear someone snap their fingers, and then everything goes completely silent.

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

End notes:

I don't think anyone can be more excited about this story than me lolol This began as a little seed of an idea a few months ago, and it wouldn't leave my head. At the time, I was thinking of just posting it as a one-shot. But after finding out it's the Year of the Dragon, I kept getting more ideas about it, and what better time to post than, well, now? lmao

There will be a little bit of Blade/You but I've yet to decide if it'll turn into a love triangle... Regardless, I'm determined to make this an epic crossover with fun character interactions between the two worlds. LET'S GOO.

Tag list (open): @lunavixia @aerithsthingss @boomie-123 @sunsethw4

#dan feng #dan feng x you #dan feng x reader #imbibitor lunae #imbibitor lunae x reader

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odyssean-flower · 4 months

Text

The Winding Path of Fate Chapter 10 - The Honeymoon (Part 2)

Masterpost

Pairing: Neuvillette x Female Reader Summary: You and Neuvillette have a fun time on Erinnyes Warnings: None except for the fact that this story is 50% written based on vibes Note: I update this story on AO3 first so please subscribe to the fic there if you’d like to read it faster Note 2: If you want to be on the taglist for this fic, please make a reply to this post, send a message or send a private ask

Have a pic of Neuvillette hanging with one of his kin

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“Madame, we have arrived at Marcotte Station.”

The whisper in your ear was accompanied by a gentle shaking of your arm. “Ugh…?” you let out a moan and opened your eyes. Your head was resting on something soft—what was it? You turned your head and was met with lilac eyes peering into your own.

You had been resting your head against his shoulder.

“Oh!” your head practically flicked back. “I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I fell asleep…”

Great, just great. Way to start your date with a good impression! You glanced at his shoulder. It didn’t seem as though you had drooled on him, at least.

“No need to apologize,” Neuvillette said as you took out a small mirror from your purse and fixed your hair. “You should get all the rest you need. We have a long walk ahead of us, after all.”

“A long walk…” you repeated as you gazed out at the long walkway that stretched into the distance. Why did they have to build everything on the other end of the island? At least you wore comfortable walking shoes today.

You stood up and stretched, then thanked Elphane before climbing down the aquabus’s ladder. Neuvillette followed, and the aquabus soon departed after.

You started marching ahead. The burbling of the fountains and the chirping of finches, along with the refreshing morning air made a pleasant accompaniment to your walk. All your earlier nervousness seemed to melt away, replaced with a bubbling excitement. You now understood a little why people woke up early to jog in the morning.

“There is no need to walk so quickly,” Neuvillette said, even as he easily caught up to you with his long legs. “We have plenty of time, and personally, a walk is much improved by enjoying the scenery.”

“Is there scenery to enjoy here?” you asked, confused. You had visited the opera a few times over the years, and while you always found the sight of the opera house rising into your field of vision awe-inspiring, you didn’t find the walk there very interesting.

“Of course. Why, just look at this river running beneath our feet and converging into the vast waters in the distance. See how clearly the water reflects the mountains, grass, and flowers. I have always considered Erinnyes to be the perfect combination of land and water.”

You couldn’t help but smile at hearing Neuvillette wax poetic about the water. Neuvillette might seem inscrutable on the surface, but he was really a man of simple pleasures and predictable habits. Although you suspected that you and him had different aesthetic tastes, you enjoyed the challenge of trying to see the world through his eyes.

“But don’t you get tired of seeing the same sights every day for hundreds of years?”

“Not at all. There is always something new and interesting to see, whether in the land or the people, particularly the latter.”

“The people?” you looked up at him. “You’re a people-watcher?”

Neuvillette rubbed his cheek awkwardly. “Is that such a surprise?”

“Yes. I mean, well…” you struggled to word your thoughts the right way. “It’s just that…you always make an effort to maintain a distance from people in order to stay impartial at all times, so I assumed that you didn’t have that much interest in humans.”

“You’re not entirely wrong,” Neuvillette admitted. “But I do in fact enjoy observing the citizens of Fontaine go about their daily lives. It helps with my duties as the Chief Justice as well.”

“That does makes sense,” you said. “Tell me about the kinds of people you see here, then.”

“Very well then, Madame, if you insist. I’m afraid I’m not much of a storyteller, however.”

Neuvillette then started to tell you about all the strange and interesting sights and incidents he had witnessed here. Though he claimed not to be much of a storyteller, you found him easy to listen to and happy to be interrupted whenever you asked for more details.

Before you knew it, the sun had climbed higher in the sky and the opera house stood before you. There were very few people around. The Fountain of Lucine danced high in the sky.

“You know, it’s funny how I've never attended a trial here since we’ve gotten married,” you said as you gazed up at the tall building. “Perhaps I should rectify that in the future.”

“I thought you didn’t enjoy trials.”

“I don’t,” you admitted. “But lately I’ve started gaining an interest in them.”

It was true. Before, you would mainly read the newspaper for the news of the day and the serialized novels, but now you've started to read the judicial affairs section, particularly the court cases presided over by Neuvillette.

“Besides,” you added. “I’m a citizen of Fontaine too, so it’s my civic duty in a sense, to contribute my part to the power source.”

You had somewhat expected Neuvillette to tell you not to force yourself, but instead he said, “If you ever decide to attend one, tell me, so I may reserve a seat for you.”

The two of you turned left, in the direction of Erinnyes Forest. As paved stones gave way to uneven dirt, you felt the atmosphere change. Not just in the sky, which seemed to darken all of a sudden, but between the two of you. It felt as if this honeymoon-date was beginning in earnest. You glanced up at Neuvillette, wondering if he felt the same way you did, and found him looking down at you with an unreadable expression in his eyes. Both of you hurriedly looked away.

“This place is very beautiful,” you said, in an attempt to distract you both, but it was also the truth. You liked the feel of the pine trees lining one side of the path and the slate gray cliffs lining the other. It felt like you were being shepherded to somewhere magical. “It’s a shame that not a lot of people come here.”

Your hometown was to the west of the Court of Fontaine, located in pretty much the middle of nowhere. It was a peaceful—some might say boring—locale. The only time you had ever come close to running into monsters was when a group of hilichurls set up camp on the outskirts of your village, but they were soon cleared out by some hired adventurers.

“I agree, Madame. But there are reasonable justifications as to why that is. Erinnyes is different from the other regions of Fontaine.”

“Because of the strange fog and the vishaps? But I read that they don’t attack you unless you attack them first.”

You had been nervous about the vishaps, but assured yourself that with Neuvillette there, there was nothing to worry about.

And, there was the long-suppressed adventurous part of you that really wanted to see them for yourself.

“You are correct, but it is still better to be careful when you come here.”

You nodded, then looked around. So far, you haven’t seen anything even remotely similar to a vishap. You didn’t even see any hilichurls or Treasure Hoarders, even though you had also read that there were plenty of both that could be found here. Perhaps Neuvillette was taking you on a safer path.

You stopped when you passed by a small waterfall.

“What kind of flowers are these?” you knelt down and stared at a small azure flower growing by the water. “I think I’ve seen them in a book, although I don’t recall their name.”

“This is a Lakelight Lily,” Neuvillette knelt down next to you. “They mainly grow in Erinnyes.”

Then, after seeming to consider something, he picked it and held it out to you. “My apologies,” he said, suddenly looking awkward. “I am of the understanding that it is a custom to give flowers on dates, but I didn’t know what were your favorites. It’s not suitable, I know.”

You stared at the blue flower in his hand, feeling your heart flutter and heat rise to your cheeks. “I…um, thank you,” you carefully accepted it, and brought it to your nose. It smelled pure and refreshing, like a mountain spring. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

You could feel Neuvillette staring at you again. You wondered what sort of ridiculous expression you had on your face right now. “I…I wish I have my flower press with me. I would love to preserve this flower. It was one of my hobbies back home, you know, flower pressing. I had an album full of clippings from the plants that grew around my village. I liked looking at pressed flowers as well. Oh, Lakelight Lilies, I’ve read about them before! Do you know the legend where the previous Hydro Archon was said to have given one to the last Lochknight?” you babbled.

It was funny. You were able to talk to him relatively easily at home, despite the fact that it was arguably a more intimate environment than here, but now it felt like you were talking to him for the first time. Although, I was nowhere near as bad as this when we first met.

“Your album must be a sight to behold. Would you allow me to see it some time?”

“Oh, you can’t now. I threw it away a long time ago. It was just a childish pastime for me anyways.”

There was an awkward silence. Neuvillette looked caught off guard. You wanted to punch yourself in the face. This is why…

“Oh, um, by the way,” you said, your voice sounding too loud in tranquil environment. “I don’t really have any favorites. For flowers, I mean. It’s not something I really thought about before. So you don’t need to worry about buying me a bouquet or anything. …Do you have a favorite flower, sir?”

Your eyes were fixed on the flower, so you couldn’t see the expression on his face as he quietly said, “I am of a similar opinion,” He then reached for the flower. “May I?”

“Oh, sure…” you said, giving the lily to him. He took it, and then proceeded to tuck the flower into your hair, just above your left ear. Even through his glove, you could feel the warmth of his hand. It lingered in your hair for a moment.

“I don’t mean to go against your opinion, Madame, but in my view, flowers are most beautiful when they are alive and placed where they look best,” he said, then gestured to the water surface. You looked no different than before, except for the fact that there was now a Lakelight Lily in your hair, and yet you couldn’t help but feel that your reflection showed a stranger. “You see? It’s beautiful.”

You couldn’t look away from his eyes—you weren’t sure you even wanted to. Somehow, you managed to tear away and turned your head to the side and spotted another lily next to the one Neuvillette picked for you. You reached for it and, spurred on by a sudden spurt of boldness, picked it and tucked it in Neuvillette’s hair.

“There,” you said. “Now we match.”

A soft sigh escaped from Neuvillette’s lips. The distance between the two of you wasn’t so close, but you swore you could feel his breath against your hair.

After a charged silence, Neuvillette stood up. “Let us not tarry here any longer. I want us to spend as much time at our destination as we can.”

“O-Okay,” you nodded, still feeling flustered.

As you continued your walk, you soon encountered a wall of thick fog. As you remembered, this place was called the Foggy Forest Path, and it did indeed live up to its name. Instinctively, you reached out your hand, and it bumped into a silk-covered one. You held onto it tightly. The hand was limp for a moment, as though its owner was surprised, and then it hesitantly squeezed yours back.

“We should hold hands so we don’t lose each other,” you said and looked up at him, or rather, where he should be. The fog was so thick that you could only see the faint blue glow of the Lakelight Lily in his hair.

“…Yes, you’re right,” Neuvillette said. His voice sounded like it was coming from far away. His hand gripped yours even tighter. “Please try not to let go.”

“I won’t,” you said, and started walking forward. Everything except the dirt road right before your eyes was obscured. You couldn’t even hear the chirping of the birds. It was as though the whole world had disappeared, and the only thing anchoring you to reality was the firm, warm grip on your hand.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes, the fog cleared.

“Wow…” you breathed out as you stared at the sight before your eyes.

It was the azure blue Weeping Willow, standing in the middle of the lake like a fountain spout eternally frozen just before its water droplets hit the ground. There were smaller willows standing on the banks of the lake, like the attendants of a glorious lady.

You stepped forward, taking your hand out of Neuvillette’s grip. You didn’t notice him staring at his hand intently after you did so.

“This place is incredible!” you exclaimed, turning back to Neuvillette. He looked up at you. “I can definitely understand why this is your favorite place in all of Fontaine.”

You had seen pictures of the willow, but seeing it for yourself was a completely different experience. Your legs seemed to run forward on their own before you remembered yourself and stopped. This was technically supposed to be a date, after all, not a field trip.

“Ahem, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you said. “Shall we go on ahead?”

Neuvillette strode up to you. “But of course, Madame,” he said, then extended his elbow out to you. You stared at it for a few moments before realizing that he wanted you to link arms with him. How unexpected.

The sun shined brightly down upon the two of you as you descended the slope. You expected Neuvillette to move into the shade, but he didn’t. The tree was even more majestic and extraordinary up close. It looked as though it was floating in midair.

“If only I have a Kamera,” you groaned. “I need to take pictures of everything!”

“In that case, let me unveil another surprise for you,” Neuvillette said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a well-polished device. “A Kamera.”

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you, sir?” You took it in your hands and examined it. It looked a bit different from the Kameras you were used to seeing. “I didn’t know you owned one.”

“It was a recent gift from the Melusines.”

“A recent gift? Was it a birthday present?”

“Yes, from about a hundred years ago.”

You nearly dropped the Kamera. “A hundred years ago? That’s not recent at all! This is an antique.”

Neuvillette looked genuinely confused. “It isn’t?”

It was easy for you to forget that Neuvillette was actually hundreds of years old. If asked how, you would have to say that he simply didn’t act like it. Not that you knew what a person who was hundreds of years old acted like. Perhaps it was the fact that he never talked about his past very much.

Come to think of it, the Melusines were hundreds of years old as well. Lately, you had been surrounded by people who were vastly older than you.

The thought of it made you feel small, but also exhilarated. You imagined that this was what explorers felt when they encountered ancient ruins for the first time.

The Kamera wasn’t difficult to operate. After fiddling with it for a bit, you figured it out and proceeded to snap photos of all the flora and fauna. Neuvillette followed behind you as you trekked around, occasionally directing you away from threats.

You could feel his gaze boring into your back. He followed you at a respectable distance, neither too close nor too far, but you couldn’t shake off the feeling like you were being stalked by a starving beast that wanted something from you. It was unnerving, and it made you feel awfully self-conscious. But more than that, you felt guilty. Despite your lack of romantic experience, even you knew that this wasn’t how a date should be. Hell, not even an outing between two friends should be so one-sided. But you knew that if you brought it up with Neuvillette, he would just say something along the lines of “I’m happy as long as you’re happy.”

You had always been the type to follow the lead of others when it came to situations like this. It was easier that way, and you justified it to yourself with the reasoning that you were boring anyways. But now that you were dealing with someone who was content to follow your lead, you were beginning to understand the pressure it placed on others.

“Monsieur Neuvillette,” you turned around to face him after some thought. “I’m getting tired of this.”

Neuvillette’s face fell. “…I see. Yes, of course you would be. There isn’t much in entertainment here. I can take you back to the Court of Fon—”

“Not in that way,” you interrupted him. “I mean of this silence. This is your favorite place, and yet you’re not telling me anything about it.”

“I’m afraid that I have no talent for being a guide. I’m sure the books you’ve read are more than sufficient.”

“It doesn’t matter. I just want to hear your voice.”

Neuvillette was silent for a minute. “…Very well, Madame, if you insist. What would you like to know?”

“Well…tell me about the water here.”

Neuvillette brightened a little at that. He is so predictable, you thought. He started to tell you about the water veins that spread underground throughout Fontaine, and how the tree is affected by them. According to him, the water veins contained information, making Erinnyes a sort of information system.

“And you can learn that information by tasting these water veins?” you asked, fascinated.

“Yes, I can.”

“Isn’t that a bit…disgusting? I mean, drinking water straight from a lake is a bit…”

“Disgusting?” Neuvillette seemed genuinely perplexed. “Why would it be?”

Then, before your astonished eyes, he took out his cup and filled it with lake water and drank it. His face relaxed into a smile. “Ah, exquisite. Would you like to try some?”

“Um…no thank you, sir,” you politely declined. Sampling his imported water was one thing, but drinking lake water was something else.

“So, is this the lake where the maiden of the lake, Daeira, gave Hauteclaire to Erinnyes? Was this the place where Erinnyes threw her sword before she disappeared?” you asked a question that had been on your mind since you arrived here.

“It may very well be. I know that many of the prevailing theories believe that this is that very lake.”

“What do you mean? Surely you were…”

“No, Madame, I’m afraid I must disappoint you. I was not around during that era.”

“You weren’t?” You were mortified by how rudely you blurted that out and the genuine disappointment that sprang up in your heart. Your expression must have been equally impudent, because Neuvillette actually let out a chuckle, covering his mouth with his hand. But you could still see his crinkled eyes.

The air between the two of you was no longer quite so awkward. Neuvillette was smiling now, so everything was alright. You would endure a thousand humiliations just for that.

And now you learned something new about him.

“How old did you think I was?” Neuvillette asked, still smiling.

“I, um, shouldn't say. It’s rude,” you mumbled, looking away. “You do look very…er, good for your age, though.”

“What was that last part, Madam? I couldn’t quite make it out,” Neuvillette stepped closer. You couldn’t tell if he was serious or teasing you.

“It’s nothing. Can we go to the tree now?” You awkwardly changed the subject. “I’ve been dying to take a closer look at it. I heard that people used to worship it in ancient times.”

“Why, certainly,” Neuvillette held out his arm to you. “Let us go.”

The lake spread out before you. It was bigger than you thought. You could see geese peacefully swimming on the surface. The water was so clear that you could see down to the bottom. The tree’s thick roots stretched out beneath the water, disappearing into countless underwater caverns.

“How are we going to get there?” you wondered out loud. You hadn’t brought swimwear, and you weren’t a very strong swimmer. Was Neuvillette going to…?

“No need to worry,” he said, then led you to one of the blue trees by the lake. There was something next to it covered by a tarp. He lifted it up, revealing a wooden rowboat.

“Oh, wow,” you said, walking around the boat and taking pictures. It looked newly painted. “Did you prepare this?”

“Yes,” Neuvillette nodded, looking a bit bashful.

“It’s wonderful. But where are the oars?” You couldn’t find them inside the boat or outside.

“We won’t be needing them,” he said. “You wished to see me demonstrate my powers, did you not?”

“Agh…” you scratched your head in embarrassment. He got you there. “You really don’t have to do this just to entertain my idle curiosities…”

“Nonsense. I’m doing this simply because I want to,” he said.

Neuvillette dragged the boat out to the water, then helped you into the boat before getting into it himself. He placed his hand on the side of the boat, and it started moving out on his own.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting—something flashier, perhaps. But this was just like him.

“Shall we take a tour around the lake before going to the tree?” Neuvillette suggested, and you agreed.

The boat moved at a leisurely, peaceful pace. The swans from before glided past your boat, seemingly unperturbed by the new arrivals. Neuvillette pointed out the schools of colorful fish swimming in the depths. You couldn’t see those water veins he mentioned, though. Perhaps they were deeper under the water.

You snapped as many pictures as you could, partly because you wanted to capture all the beauty of this place, but also partly to hide your face from Neuvillette’s stare with the Kamera. Occasionally, he would take a sip from his cup.

You wondered if he realized how unsettling it was. Maybe he was so used to being watched that he had become desensitized to it. You, on the other hand, fidgeted at being the focus of someone’s attention.

At last, you couldn’t take his stare anymore. Your face wasn’t that interesting and you knew it.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, would you like to take a picture of me?”

A breeze blew a strand of your hair against your eyes, and you tucked it behind your ear. Neuvillette’s eyes followed that motion. He didn’t say anything.

“Monsieur Neuvillette?” you raised your voice.

He blinked several times, as though he was rousing himself from deep thought. “Pardon me, Madame?”

“I said, would you like to take a picture of me? You’ve been staring at me for too long now. Shall I return the Kamera to you?”

“Have I?” Was it just your imagination, or did the tips of his ears turned red? “I apologize for my discourteous behavior, Madame.”

“I would have thought that you understood how uncomfortable it felt after I did the same thing to you before. Was it enjoyable for you, at least?”

You said the last part sarcastically, but Neuvillette didn’t seem to have picked up on it. “Yes, very much so,” he said sincerely. You gave him a look. “Ah, my apologies, I didn’t realize you were being sarcastic.”

There was a short silence as Neuvillette looked anywhere but you. He took another sip of water. You noticed that his hand was shaking slightly. Was he that flustered?

At last, he spoke again. “May I have the Kamera, then?”

“Sure,” you said, handing it to him. “What are you going to take a picture of?”

“You, of course. Didn’t you offer?”

“Yes, but…never mind, do as you will. It’ll be good to have a picture of me for Lady Furina.”

“Lady Furina?” Neuvillette’s brows knitted together. “Why would I show it to her?”

“For proof of the date. I’m sure she’ll give you a hard time if you have nothing to show for today.”

“Furina,” Neuvillette said, his tone sharp. “Will have no choice but to accept what I say, proof or no proof. Please do not worry yourself about her.”

Neuvillette’s touchiness about this subject was something you were well-acquainted with. It put you on edge as well. But you didn’t feel like arguing about it with him right now.

“How should I pose for the picture? If you want me to smile, then I must refuse. I am not good at smiling on command.”

“It’s fine. I simply want a picture of you. That is what people do on dates, is it not?”

Neuvillette looked around, and his eyes landed on something. The boat moved closer to one of the smaller blue willows growing around the lake. Lakelight Lilies grew in profusion near the roots. The boat turned so that your back was facing the tree.

Neuvillette took a long time with the Kamera, frequently looking up from it. He doesn’t need to take it so seriously, you thought. It’s just a picture. In the meantime, you tried to concentrate on smiling naturally. Despite what Neuvillette said, you wanted to smile for his picture. It was the least you could do.

You thought of all the things that made you happy. The pictures of Remurian ruins in my books, that spot in the woods near my house, the cake my old housekeeper makes for my birthday each year, my comfy reading nook, talking to the Melusines…Neuvillette putting my painting in his office…

“Pfft…” a laugh threatened to burst out of your mouth as you felt the corners of your lips lift. It still made you giddy just thinking about it. Ah, this is so embarrassing…I’m getting too excited over something so trivial…

Click. Click. Click. The sounds of the Kamera went off in succession.

“I thought you said just one picture,” you said.

“My apologies. My finger slipped.”

His finger looked pretty deliberate to you. “I thought the Chief Justice didn’t lie.”

No response. It appeared that you got him.

“Shall we go to the willow tree now?” you said to spare him the awkwardness of having to explain himself.

“…Yes,” Neuvillette nodded.

The boat made for the island at a quick speed. Once it made land, you stepped onto the ground and looked up at the tree in awe. Up close, you could see that the top part of the tree was in fact connected to the base by several thick blue roots. The drooping branches were like droplets of water suspended in air. They covered the entire island and practically blotted out the sky. You could understand why the ancients revered this weeping willow.

You asked Neuvillette for the Kamera back and resumed taking more photos. Unfortunately, there were no traces of any interesting ruins as far as you could see. Maybe they were underwater. Of course all the good stuff is there.

Neuvillette was looking at the branches as well, but not in the way you were looking at them. He was staring at them critically, as though examining them for blight. You remembered what he said about the tree reflecting the state of the waters.

You walked over to him. “Does the Chief Justice’s job extend to inspecting trees?”

“This is one of my duties, although it isn’t entirely related to my position,” Neuvillette said, gazing at a branch. He took it and displayed it in front of you. “Do these leaves look a bit yellow to you?”

You stared at the leaves closely. At first glance, they looked to be a vibrant blue, but comparing them with the leaves on the other branches, they did seem to have a greenish cast.

“I’m not entirely sure,” you said at last. “The color does look a bit different.”

Neuvillette looked thoughtful at your words. “I see,” he began to walk towards the water. “It would not hurt to check the water veins to see if there are any hazards that need to be dealt with.”

“Are you going to go underwater?” you asked, following him.

“Yes, but I promise to make it quick,” Neuvillette stepped into the water, still with all his clothes on, and submerged himself.

You watched him as he swam around. He was quite the swimmer.

It was noon now, so you decided to set the picnic up. You laid down the blanket in the shadiest spot and spread out the food, which consisted of sandwiches, a pie, and of course, plenty of water for Neuvillette. Your stomach was grumbling, but you needed to wait until Neuvillette came back before you could eat.

You sat down on the blanket. In the distance, you could see little cottages here and there. They must be summer houses. Ah, if only you had the money for that.

A pleasant breeze blew. The sunlight shining down through the branches cast your surroundings in a blue light. It felt like you were underwater.

This place was very different from your claustrophobic hometown, where everyone was in everyone’s business, and the big city, where it was easy to get swept into the tide of people and never make it out. Both places have their own charms, but Neuvillette had introduced you to somewhere outside of those two paradigms.

You doubted that you would be able to come here often, but it was nice to know that places like these existed and were accessible.

Just as you decided to go to the edge of the water again to see if you could see Neuvillette again, you spotted a flash of purple out of the corner of your eye. You turned and screamed when you saw what was there.

It was a large, purple beast with a long snout. It was covered in spikes. Its magenta eyes looked oddly familiar, but there was no time to think about that now.

There was a vishap in front of you.

“Neuvillette!” you shouted. “Neuvillette, please get up here! There’s a vishap here!”

There was a loud splash as Neuvillette emerged from the water. You rushed into his arms, hiding your face in his robes. You felt him freeze up.

“What is it, Madame?” he asked urgently. His arms wrapped around you, and he began to stroke your hair. “Are you hurt?”

You pointed behind you with a trembling arm. “It suddenly appeared out of nowhere…”

“Ah, I see…” you heard a note of sternness in his voice. He gently turned you around. “It’s perfectly natural to be scared, but I promise you that no vishap in Erinnyes will ever hurt you.”

You looked up at him. His lilac eyes stared back into yours. You could see the worry in them. You felt your heartbeat settle down.

“Do you trust me?” he suddenly murmured.

“…Of course I do,” you said, and he let out a sigh of relief.

Now that you were no longer scared, the gravity of what you just did came back to haunt you.

“Um…pardon my impertinence, sir,” you said, and nonchalantly stepped away from Neuvillette. Talking with him casually—okay. Holding his hand—questionable, but at times necessary. Pressing yourself against him—the height of shamelessness. Even if you were scared for your life, you had to behave in a dignified manner. I have to remember my place!

He did see you in just a towel, though, a part of your mind whispered. So what does it matter?

Oh, do be quiet! You thought back.

Neuvillette’s hand, which had been on your shoulder, lingered in the air for a moment before dropping. You could feel him looking at you, as though seeking something, but you stared resolutely at the willow’s trunk.

After a moment, Neuvillette went towards the vishap. You heard him say something in a language you had never heard before. He sounded cross. The vishap answered him back. Was it the language of the vishaps? Did Neuvillette have some sort of connection to them?

Oh, now you remembered why the vishap’s eyes looked so familiar. It and Neuvillette both shared the same slitted pupils. Hmm…

“Come here, Madame,” he said to you. You hesitated before obeying and stopped just behind him. Perhaps it was just your imagination, but you thought that the vishap looked a bit ashamed.

“I’ve reprimanded this vishap for frightening you. She shouldn’t have shown itself before you without my presence. She told me that she didn’t mean to surprise you. She came up from the water because she smelled an unfamiliar scent.”

“Oh, she must have smelled the picnic food…”

“She apologizes for the scare,” Neuvillette said. “She hopes you’ll forgive her.”

“Um…I accept…your apology,” you said to the vishap. The vishaps here were supposed to understand human language. “Sorry for screaming.”

Now that everything was cleared up, it was time for lunch. The vishap showed no sign of leaving, so you supposed that it was joining you two as well.

You sat down on the blanket cross-legged, making sure to leave enough space for Neuvillette without having to sit too close to him. He sat down across from you. It took a few moments for him to adjust due to his long spats. He could have worn shorter ones, at least, you thought. Perhaps you should have brought a chair.

“We’ve got tomato and lettuce sandwiches, an apple pie, and water from rivers of Qingce Village,” you gestured at the spread. “I made the sandwiches, and Marie baked the pie.”

“Thank you for your hard work,” Neuvillette said. He picked up one of the sandwiches and bit into it. He closed his eyes.

“Is it good?” you asked nervously as you watched him eat. “I hope it’s not too dry.”

“It’s delicious,” he said after he swallowed. He smiled at you. “You’re a woman of many talents.”

“It’s just sandwiches…” you said. Neuvillette could really go overboard with the compliments sometimes.

“Be that as it may, it was excellently made,” Neuvillette said, then reached for another sandwich. You started eating as well.

“So, Monsieur Neuvillette, how were the water veins?” you asked as you cut a slice of pie after finishing a sandwich. “Did you learn anything from them?”

“Yes, but it is nothing too serious, thankfully. It can be dealt with swiftly,” he said, as he sipped his water. He glanced at you a little, as if wanting to say something else.

“That’s good to hear.”

Before you met Neuvillette, your idea of a Chief Justice’s responsibilities was the same as anyone else’s. You assumed that he mainly dealt with trials and other court matters. But now you were learning that his duties extended beyond that. It made sense, considering he was an ancient being. Just what was Neuvillette, anyway?

The puzzle of his true identity was not something you had ever indulged in before, but now for the first time, you were a little curious.

The vishap was sniffing at the remaining sandwiches. Was she hungry? You picked up a sandwich and held it out to her. “Would you like to try one?” you asked, then turned to Neuvillette. “Sir, can she eat human food?”

“She can,” he said. His voice sounded a bit strange.

You moved your hand closer to the vishap’s mouth. She opened it, revealing rows of sharp teeth. You tried not to recoil. The sandwich disappeared into the mouth.

The vishap blinked her eyes, then made a noise. She seemed happy.

“Hey, that tickles!” you laughed as the vishap licked your hand.

“Ahem,” Neuvillette cleared his throat behind you. The vishap ducked her head.

“Oh, it’s alright, sir,” you waved your hand. “I don’t mind feeding her our food.”

“That is not what was on my mind…” Neuvillette murmured. But he didn’t elaborate any further.

After cleaning up, you and Neuvillette spent the next half hour taking pictures, chatting, and enjoying the scenery. The vishap would occasionally go underwater and bring you treasures like shells and Tidalga, which you carefully tucked away in your purse.

Before long, it was time to leave for Merusea Village.

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Taglist: @just-simping-over-genshin, @xalphafox, @jqnehr, @favficdump, @thetwinkims, @cielclassy, @the-mxs-of-many, @mxyarylla, @lynettezz, @rosedpetal

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x female reader #the winding path of fate #my fics

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ma1dita · 4 months

Text

'en route' - i. imaginary friend

pictures are not mine, 3rd is a photo concept by @geloyconcepcion on ig

read along here (will update) : part ii, part iii, part iv

song of the chapter: revolution 0 by boygenius

en route playlist: here

words: 3.9k

summary: pt ¼ of ‘en route’. You and James are kindred spirits. Fighting in the First Wizarding War just seems to be your only escape.

warnings: no use of y/n, religious iconography sprinkled here and there, depictions of loss/war, angst, unhappy(?) marriage, fake marriage, twin flames vibe, they’re just kids they should be at the club bro

a/n: setting the scene is always so hard LOL. i love writing morally grey characters, please feel free to comment if you want to be added onto the taglist, or scream at me <3 thanks for the patience, you won’t have to wait as long for the next part lol

(posted 12/28/23, might come back to edit)

—

END OF MARCH 1980

There’s not a lot of things you like to remember about the year 1980. The memories blur together, highly repressed in a busy corner of your mind, and if someone held you at wandpoint to ask about what happened, you’re not sure where to begin. You don’t talk about it much anymore, but if you did, it wouldn’t be sufficient to put it in a few simple words.

And maybe if you did, the remembering wouldn’t hurt as much. With little physical things to hang onto, however—holding onto this hurt reminds you it was real.

From what you can remember anyway, it all started on his birthday.

You felt eyes on you as soon as you stormed into the room. In this congregation of people trying to save the world, it was easy to feel unseen in your struggles to keep moving forward. A pair of kaleidoscope eyes meet yours for a small moment, and that’s when you knew it was risky. It’s easy to hide in a crowd of Aurors enjoying the reprieve from the reality of the world outside of headquarters’ protected doors, fading into the background.

But he saw you, and that was terrifying–to be perceived.

Frank Longbottom pours you a pint, and you nod your head in thanks, taking a long sip before settling down into a chair at the bar. The same pair of eyes see through you, past your hunched frame, down to the core of your grief. Something about it resonates with him deeply, and the boys notice his attention is away from the conversation they’re having in the living room.

“She's pretty, yeah? French, I think. Never says more than a few words to anyone though, I tried. All business,” Sirius mumbles to his best friend over a glass of firewhiskey.

James looks up at Sirius from his position in the armchair, his head tilted to one side in curiosity at the way you fold into yourself.

"Yeah, I guess," James replies reluctantly. "I've never properly spoken to her, but I can tell she's very... mellow."

“Heard she lost people. The war hasn't been kind to her like it has to a lot of us. Don't know if she'll budge, Prongs. Some pages are best left unturned,” Remus says, shuffling a deck of cards between his scarred fingers. Sirius grunts in response, not caring for the conversation as he takes another sip of his drink.

James knows now what he recognizes within you. Grief has been looming over him too, latched onto his spine, weighing him down as the responsibilities grow by the day. His eyes flicker to his wife’s baby bump as she stands near the window laughing at something Marlene and Peter were acting out. Lily falling pregnant was his sign to get his shit together, because if he didn’t, who would?

Like a shadow, you shy away from the light and laughter that fills the room. But there was no escape once he started walking in your direction. There was no grandiose introduction, no heart-stopping, earth-shattering moment. Both consumed by grief unseen by most, two people sat at the bar in silent reverence of each other’s breathing, daring the other to say something.

“Didn’t know I was crashing your birthday Potter. Seems I don't have a gift,” you say suddenly, words rushing out as your eyes trace his profile.

A beat passes.

His head bobs up and for a second you think you’ve said the wrong thing until you realize he’s smiling. He looks up grinning like the devil, eyes meeting yours with a smile you could only describe as radiant. It stirs something deep within you, and you watch your hands reach toward your butterbeer to avoid his searing gaze.

“Terrible time to have a party anyway. I think it’s more for them than it is for me.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you scoff lightly, and his head jerks towards you as you continue, “You’re a bit too happy for my liking.”

“Oh?” His body turns to follow, knees bumping against yours under the bartop.

“How come you know so much about me then? You don’t give any of us a chance with you.”

James says this jokingly, but a part of it rings true like a punch in the gut. You were so impressionable, left soft and malleable by the grief that became you that you found it quite infuriating that someone like him could be so happy in the middle of a war like this one.

A noise of acknowledgement leaves your throat and he watches your fingers clench around the glass. Too much? Change the subject.

“What’s the ‘T’ necklace you have on?”

The chain swings against your chest as you adjust yourself on the barstool, becoming aware of the weight of it.

“What?”

“What does it mean? Must be important to you, whoever this fellow is. See you wear it every day,” he says adamantly, before backtracking and realizing how stalkerish that sounds.

“Potter, have you never met a Christian?” Your eyes dart between him and his hands on the bartop, more glaringly, the platinum wedding band on his left hand. Surely, anything should be more interesting than conversing with a stranger at his own party.

“A who? Who’s Christian? Are you?”

The beginning of a smile breaks onto your face like daybreak. It’s refreshing, he thinks. He doesn’t think he’s made someone smile like that in a while.

“You idi–,” you exhale, “It’s not… Muggles don’t have magic like us, so they have belief systems. Higher power they believe in. Weren’t you Head Boy at Hogwarts, how did you pass Muggle Studies?”

“Elective. Do you believe in that stuff? God and what not?”

Your calf brushes his pant leg accidentally. Why can’t you stop fidgeting? He makes you nervous, all these questions, and then you blurt your response out in rapid succession that he’s almost unable to catch it.

“No. Maybe. My parents did, and God was important to them, so I wear this necklace because of it. They’re important to me. I used to before I found out I was a witch. Used to pray that God would save me, make me something other than mundane—well, here I am now. Not quite sure if he heard me.”

It hits you that the last time you’ve been able to speak about your parents like this was at their funeral two months back. Right before you joined the Order, and sitting here in front of James suddenly feels stifling. You roll your jacket sleeves up, hyperaware that he’s watching your every move.

He keeps his tone light, but the smile on his face is kind as he mutters, “You think some bloke up top is calling all the shots for everyone?” James says this without judgment and your breath quivers.

“I don’t know, but I think things happen for a reason. I’m still trying to find out what that exactly is.”

His pinky nudges yours on the sticky bartop, and his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose as he tilts his head in thought.

“Did. Is the believing past tense?”

You’re not sure what’s changed in the past few minutes that’s made you comfortable in his presence, but you crack a joke before you think too hard.

“My parents are. Past tense.”

Laughter spills out of you like the bubbles on your refilled pint glass, and James scrunches his face, holding back until his shoulders are shaking from the effort.

“Merlin….yeah. Mine too.”

Oh.

You look at him through your eyelashes, silence filling the space between you two as the rest of the party goes on in the background. James clinks his glass with yours, and there’s a silent understanding that bridges between you, connecting you together.

—

END OF APRIL 1980

“You know if we’re gonna be friends, you should probably call me James.”

The two of you were left sitting in the den to deliberate on the mission you were being sent at the end of this week. Three whole months with James Potter could be a nightmare. But it could also be quite fun, you think, watching him flick through the mission files with a quirk in his lip that can only signal mischief. Signing away your life wouldn’t be so bad if you had him to keep you company. You’d never tell him that though.

“Will we be? You don’t seem that excited.”

“Excited to be shipped away from everyone we know is definitely a statement, love.”

“I’m not eager if that’s what you’re insinuating. Just feel obligated, especially if it helps the cause. That’s why you’re here, right?” Right. In a war like this one, ordinary people like you and him pay the highest price. But nothing seemed ordinary about you, like a complex puzzle he was constantly wracking his brain to figure out. There are aspects of your personality that come to light the more he talks to you over these past few weeks, almost luring him in so he can unveil the secrets you hold. Why do you put yourself on the front lines like this, mission after mission? Who do you have in your life that makes you want to fight against the odds? What do you think of to keep you going? Why can’t he stop thinking about you?

He blinks, before looking at you, “S’not that I don’t want to go with you, and do my duty, I just…”

“You love it. I can see it in your eyes, you were trouble at school, weren’t you?” James’ smile gets wider, thinking back to the last few years, before everything went to shit. Back when it was easier, just him and his three friends, and his biggest worry was getting Lily Evans to look at him.

“Just a lot to worry about. People to take care of.” His mind falls back to his wife sitting at home, probably wondering why he isn’t back from the Order meeting, getting more agitated by the minute. He thinks of the nursery he still needs to set up, and the legal affairs he’s left behind after his parents’ death. He thinks of checking in on his boys, who barely know how to take care of themselves if they don’t come over for dinner, and finally, he exhales.

“You?“

It’s an honest question, and by asking it, he extends himself to you, an insight into the burdens he carries with him daily. The difficulty and complexity of having a large capacity to love is carrying the weight until you cannot.

“Just me and my rucksack. Gives me something to do.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, busying yourself with packing the supplies Dumbledore gave you two earlier. Vials of Polyjuice Potion, two golden wedding bands, magically enhanced IDs— it was like playing pretend. That’s all this has to be. Easy enough.

James looks at you and understands a bit more. You need this job. And if he’s being honest, so does he.

“I still wonder what would happen if it doesn’t work out, don’t get me wrong. But then I think, what if it does? What if no one else has to die?” A noise of agreement rises from his throat as he straightens his posture on the couch.

War shouldn’t be an escape, much less a distraction to two people grieving. There are countless muggles and wizards alike losing their lives to a genocide of people undeserving of a fate dictated by a person who plays god. But when you’re fighting for your life before you can even legally drink in some countries, there are two things left to consider when making a decision: to choose something difficult or to choose wrong.

And neither of you have ever found anything easy. Not in this life at least.

He sighs. James really needs to get home.

“Well…We will be friends by the end of this. I’m sure. Already gonna be married to you anyways,” he jokes.

“Don’t get used to it, what a pity that would be for your ego,” you gripe, but a trace of amusement is present on your lips as you watch him stand up to leave.

“We’ll see about that, love.”

He apparates home. Onto the next difficult thing.

When James told Lily that he’d be on a mission for the latter half of her pregnancy, she didn’t take it well. But to be honest, with everything going on, James couldn’t help but feel exasperated. How bad is his marriage that he’d rather risk his life instead of tending to his family’s needs? James sits at the dining table listening to her yell, and he feels extra heavy today, wondering how he feels so ancient at 20 years old.

Years ago he dreamed of this, a wife, kids, a pretty townhouse. But this isn’t what he quite imagined. He looks at his wife as she paces around the room, hand on her bump, red hair spreading little fires as she goes. She’s his everything. Truly. He spent years trying to even find that spark in her, dedicated his life to her, and gave up everything to take care of her—but she struggled a lot these past few months. Her pregnancy brought on incendiary words falling upon him like lashes as she blamed him for moving too quickly. Blamed him for the fact they’ve felt like strangers in this little house. But with his parents both sick, getting married seemed like the next right thing.

An owl flits to his kitchen window once Lily storms out again, leaving nothing but ashes of her disappointment in her wake. Ashes, ashes… James wonders where his spark has gone. He hates to disappoint.

Just wanted to owl and check in. I found myself thinking about you and wanted to make sure you’re okay, with everything changing so quickly. Hope you and your wife figure it out, I’ll be on the 11 AM Knight Bus tomorrow outside Diagon Alley regardless. See you.

He thinks of you, so brave and filled with a spark he used to recognize within himself. This isn’t wrong, he reasons, just difficult. But he won’t admit that taking his wedding band off before settling onto the couch was easier than he thought it would be. He feels lighter. As he takes off his glasses and stares at the ceiling of his living room that night, James wonders how much longer he can ignore his problems by not looking at them properly. How much longer does he have to carry the weight? When will someone help him carry the load?

For now, he tries to sleep. One step at a time, James. Like always. There’s a mission he has to start tomorrow. And he doesn’t want to disappoint you.

—

You’re not surprised when he turns up to your meeting point the next morning, not addressing him when you stick your wand hand out to summon the bus. He bites back a smile, knowing you were right and thinking you see right through him. Now look who’s the eager one.

After paying eleven sickles each, you lead him to a window seat, ignoring the babbles of other passengers as you look out the window.

“You ever think about all these people, with their little lives and everything they have to do?” you pipe up, head against the glass. James scoffs, “I always think about other people. Sometimes I wonder if anyone thinks of me like that. If anyone worries as you do over strangers.”

“I thought we were friends,” you say coyly, still not looking at him, and his heart skips a beat. Probably nerves. “You think Dumbledore cares that he’s sending off two teenagers to fight a war and save the wizarding world?”

“I’m an adult, thank you very much.”

“We’re kids, James,” You look at him, and he blinks at the sound of his given name falling from your lips that he almost loses the next part of your sentence, “we’re kids working towards a bigger picture of world peace. Isn’t that fucking insane that this what our lives amount to?”

He couldn’t agree more, but his forehead creases at your tone.

“Why do you act like your best years are behind you? There’s a lot to live for still,” he murmurs knowingly.

He pats your thigh and the only thing you notice is the tan of his hand against his missing wedding band. Soon it will be replaced by one that binds him to you, temporarily, but it’s jarring all the same. You shake off the uneasy feeling that rises in your stomach.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

James is doing that thing again, the whole savior complex bit that you notice is one and the same with his trying hard to be carefree personality. But you’re coming to learn that James cares. A lot.

—

“Apartment 11B?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Two swigs of Polyjuice Potion did the job once you stepped off the bus and walked through town to the place you’ll inhabit for a fourth of the year, and quickly, you both become unrecognizable to even each other. A blonde eyebrow looks at you under James’ glasses at your hesitation, so you clear your throat.

“For Mr. and Mrs. Fawley. We just got married, you see. Newlywed jitters.” His voice is lighter and more posh as his hand reaches out to rest on your shoulder.

“Hmm, yes. Harry—er…Henrietta and Draco–” the receptionist squints at her paper, and you sigh at how pretentious the names sound together. Not in this life. You ought to wring Alice’s neck. That girl loves to make stories, and the more frilly your personas she created, the more difficult it’ll be to upkeep.

“No need, Etta and Drake are fine, love,” you say with a more confident grin, leaning against your faux husband.

The keys slide across the countertop, and you walk to the elevator, hand in hand until you’re out of sight. As you approach the door, James crouches a bit and puts his hands on his knees.

“What are you doing?”

“Jump up. Gotta carry you over the threshold.”

“Shut up, Drake,” reminding yourself to use his false name in case someone’s watching, but he looks at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Exactly. Just in case. Come on, just indulge me.” You shake your head in disbelief but hop onto his back all the same. Not exactly traditional, but it stirs up a feeling in you that you haven’t felt before. He carries you through the doorway and spins you once, twice, three times before you squeal and he giggles, placing you gently onto the sofa. It’s a cozy apartment with enough space for the two of you, cream walls, and a small kitchen with an island overlooking the entertaining space. The hallway leads to what you presume is the only bedroom, and there’s a nervous energy that sifts through the air as you both place protective charms everywhere, to ward off prying eyes and ears. How intimate. James falls back onto the sofa with a huff, sitting next to you, and both of you are unsure of what to say.

“I can take the sofa,” he says into the silence, and you turn to look at him incredulously.

‘For three months? James, I can't ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

“You’re gonna be hunched over by the end of the week. What if we rotate?”

There’s no disagreement, feeling the springs in the cushion beneath your bottoms already. James perks up, leaning over to grab something from his bag, and by the time he leans back up, he looks like himself again, the small dose of Polyjuice wearing off. You can feel your hair go back to its original shade and texture, and he smiles wider when he sees your face.

“Look what I got. Remus gave it to me back at Hogwarts but I never really used up all the film. Thought we could take some pictures and look back on this one day.” It’s sweet, how he loves his friends like they’re an extension of himself. You reckon you don't have anyone like that, smiling at him fumbling with the tiny camera in his hands.

“It’ll take a while to develop. Gotta keep it safe if we’re making it out of this,” you say, taking it from him and throwing yourself back onto the backrest leaning against him to point and shoot one of yourselves in this moment, disheveled and domestic. The flash goes off and he looks like a deer in headlights, making you cackle.

“You miss them?” He’s not sure who you’re referring to, so he rattles on anyway. He loves talking about the people he loves.

“The boys…Just miss being kids at Hogwarts, y’know? The end of the world back then was not getting enough O’s on NEWTs. You?”

“Mhm. None of them are in Britain though. They came for my parents’ funeral, and they always say they’ll visit but…That’s my fault too, I guess.” You tuck your leg underneath you, turning to face him, and he’s cuddled up against a throw pillow.

“Your parents were awesome. Didn’t know them well besides your dad being in the Order and stuff, but they were really brave. Your mom hugged me at my parents’ burial and I think that was the first time I let myself cry after they died. That’s one of the few things I remember from that day.”

A breath of air escapes your lungs at his anecdote. It’s been a few months since they passed but you’ll never stop missing them.

“I don’t remember a lot from theirs either. It’s all kind of been a blur since. I think I remember you and Sirius smoking in the back and him offering me a cigarette.” He laughs silently at the memory of his best friend.

“No one ever talks about how much there is to do after your parents die,” he says, and you roar with agreement.

“Yes! I’m still battling out their assets in court! It’s difficult to live life alone, thinking they’ve set you up for the future, but feeling like a rug’s been pulled out from underneath you. I just wish…They left this world together, y’know? And that’s great, but sometimes I feel selfish wondering what will happen to me.”

James nods slowly, taking your words in. He’s never had anyone to talk about this with, people pitying him instead, or acting like it didn’t matter, but it’s been almost a year and he can’t go to bed without thinking about how his parents died a week apart because even in death, they couldn’t be away for long. James wonders if you’ve noticed that he hasn’t talked about missing his wife, and the selfishness you mentioned prods at him. He smiles grimly, and takes the ring box from your bag, asking for your hand.

“Hey. You’re never gonna be alone again, alright? Not if it’s up to me.”

You roll your eyes as he flips the cover open, revealing the two gold bands, yours with a sizable diamond in the center.

“Do you think I’d give you that much power over me, James? This is all fake.”

“Fake marriage, but a true promise. I think you might, eventually.”

He slides the ring onto your left ring finger, sealing it with a gentle kiss on the back of your hand.

—

“The first time you caught my eye it was not love at first sight. Instead, a quiet curiosity was planted in my chest and I knew it was only a matter of time before you sunk beneath my bones and nurtured this deep-seated familiarity into a love so fierce that I would question if I had ever been in love before.” - Lyra Wren

general taglist: @jsjcue

en route taglist: @xcinnamonmalfoyx @babyclea @idkman5335 @timhalamet @ttulipwritezz @lilylovesu @thatonedogwithablog @lovemerigt

#made by ma1dita ♥︎#james potter x reader angst #james potter x reader #marauders x reader #marauders era #mischiefmoons er

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gerrystamour · 1 year

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i could be honest, i could be human [Chapters 9 & 10]

Rated E | Steddie

[ FIRST PART ] [ PREVIOUS PART ] [ NEXT PART ]

When a smirk tugged at the corners of Eddie’s mouth as he crouched to examine the bat bites closer, Steve chuckled lightly. “What, Munson?” he asked, trying not to think too much about the position Eddie was almost in. “Damn, Harrington,” Eddie said, his tone teasing as he looked up at him through his lashes. “Who hurt you?”

Chapter Nine: March 1986

It took Robin until the spring of the following year for the stars to align in a way for her to figure Steve’s crush out, and by then he thought he’d largely gotten over it.

Between graduating and working full-time, he hadnʼt actually seen Eddie since that night over the summer. The only times he would was while he was dropping Robin off at school and picking her up, and the other man was usually too busy with his friends to notice him. Part of him used to wish Eddie would notice him, look over and see his Beemer and wave, maybe even walk over.

But he never did, and they stopped running into each other in public, so Steve put his thoughts and energy elsewhere. No use pining over someone he wasn’t even brave enough to be friends with. Things with his dad were more tense than they had ever been, and Steve didn’t want any of his rage directed at Eddie if he could help it.

After the fight over the summer, Robin instated a new rule and enforced it ruthlessly: Steve was never to go back to his house alone. It was tough to keep the reason for the rule a complete secret, so eventually Steve sat down and talked about it to Nancy. It had been a rough conversation, one that left them both raw and feeling guilty for things all over again. But once it was over with, Steve had another ally in his corner, another person who saw him and loved him all the same.

When his parents were in town, Steve was either at Robin’s house or he would crash in the spare room at Dustin’s. Over the years, Claudia had grown increasingly fond of Steve and he had dinner with them multiple times a week, especially after he “saved” Dustin in the mall fire. It wasn’t long until Claudia gave Steve a spare key and told him to come and go as he pleased, that her home was his.

The last time Steve went to the house in Loch Nora was to pick up the rest of his clothes and the handful of keepsakes he actually cared about. His next stop was the post office to have his mail forwarded to Robin’s address.

Steve knew he wasn’t free yet, that he would have to actually deal with his parents eventually, and he knew his every action was likely still reported back to them by some nosy gossip, but he felt free.

It wasnʼt a surprise when Steve started seeing the Freshmen following Eddie around eventually. He was even less surprised when Dustin started talking about him constantly. Eddie was exactly the type of person Dustin would latch onto and become obsessed with.

It was… annoying, if Steve was honest.

For one, Steve felt an intense jealousy when he listened to Dustin talk about Eddie; over the fact that Dustin could hang out with Eddie so often or because Dustin seemed to like him more than Steve, Steve couldn’t tell. Secondly, there really was a limit to how many times someone could tell the same story about the same person before it got old.

So yeah, Steve was over Eddie. He even took several very successful solo trips to a bar in Indianapolis and felt like he really figured himself out. It felt… nice to be around a whole new group of people and to be wanted for simply being himself. No one there knew him as King Steve, or that he came from money. No one knew his father and avoided him. Steve was just some small-town pretty-boy and he liked the anonymity in that.

While he wouldn’t call himself experienced, it was enough that Steve knew what he enjoyed when he slept with other men. He liked to think he didn’t have a type either when it came to men either, just like he didn’t think he had a type of woman. Just because the men he ended up going home with had longer hair, calloused fingertips, and a preference for wearing leather and denim didn’t mean anything. They always just happened to be the men brave enough to approach him.

One of the bartenders told him it had to do with his whole Good Boy get-up, and she’d laughed when Steve informed her that he was wearing his normal clothes. That was an enlightening night, as she had taken him home after the bar closed and he learned just what was possible even when sleeping with a woman.

It was through his experimentation and flirting at the bar that Steve realized that Eddie was possibly actually interested in him at some point, or at the very least attracted to him. There was something about the way the men he slept with would touch and look at him, before they were kissing or falling into a bed together that brought back little moments with Eddie. It was a bittersweet thing to realize, knowing he couldn’t do anything about it.

Eddie Munson would always be Steve’s wakeup call, and he would always be grateful for that, but Steve learned his way through a whole new aspect of his sexuality on his own.

And again, he felt that he was well and truly over his crush.

So in March, when Steve recognized the trailer behind a reporter describing a gruesome murder that took place and the kids burst through the front doors of Family Video demanding use of their phones to find Eddie, he didn’t have to try that hard to be nonchalant about the whole situation. Nevermind how deeply invested he was in the search, even as he tried to ignore them and instead do his job.

It wasn’t until Eddie had pinned him to a wall with a broken bottle against his throat that Steve realized his crush was very much alive and thriving. He knew it was inappropriate, especially given that Eddie had clearly been crying and looked close to doing just that again. But Steve had still blushed a bit, glanced at Eddie’s mouth, and then blushed even more.

Quickly regaining his composure, Steve looked over Eddie’s shoulder at Robin to plead for her help in calming Eddie down, and to his dismay there was a thoughtful expression on her face. It was just a second of her glancing between them, and then it was replaced with wide-eyed understanding. Thankfully she exercised some rare tact and focused on helping Dustin talk Eddie down, but she gave Steve a look that clearly said, ‘You will not hear the end of this for the rest of your life.’

As they left the boathouse after debriefing Eddie on the horrors that lived under Hawkins, Robin grabbed Steve’s wrist and pulled him to a stop. Max and Dustin continued without them, bickering about their next move.

“We’re going to talk about that,” she said firmly, but there was a smirk threatening to overtake her mouth.

“Don’t you think we have bigger problems, Buckley?” Steve groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Hell-ooo! Lovebirds! We’re kind of in a hurry!” Dustin yelled, practically shrieked from the car.

“Henderson, can you lower the volume?” Steve hissed, gesturing around them at the darkness before turning to look back at Robin. “See? Bigger. Problems.”

“Of course,” she agreed before she started walking again, quietly adding, “we can’t have your boyfriend framed for murder by an evil wizard from a shadow dimension underneath Hawkins, right?”

Steve let out a long-suffering moan, trudging along behind her. “Ugh, can you shut up?”

❖

Steve sat in the back of the RV, struggling with removing the scraps of Nancy’s sweater from his injuries. They were looking pretty bad after several hours of not cleaning them out properly. That wasn’t even mentioning the injuries on his back that largely went unattended. Plus his throat hurt from being strangled, and the taste of the Demo-bat’s blood wouldn’t leave his mouth, no matter how much he brushed his teeth or tried to wash it out.

Altogether, Steve was not having a great time. Why was he always the one who got beat up every time the world ended?

He knew the answer to that before he even finished asking himself the question. Maybe if he stopped throwing himself between malevolent beings and his loved ones, he would come out of these situations looking a lot less like he had been processed through a meat grinder. However, Steve knew that the only way he would ever stop is if it actually finally killed him one day.

A noise caught Steve’s attention, and when he looked up he saw Eddie sitting in one of the front seats. They were still pulled over at the field, preparing for battle, and Steve hadn’t realized Eddie had gone inside at all. When their eyes met, there was something about Eddie’s gaze that seemed… weird, but he schooled his expression before Steve could figure it out.

“You need help?” Eddie offered, gesturing at Steve’s pathetic attempts at first-aid.

Steve knew it was probably a bad idea to let Eddie put his hands on him. He knew it wouldn’t help his sad, wishful thinking at all.

“I can’t get to all of the injuries,” Steve admitted, and he put down the gauze as Eddie got up and stepped closer.

Neither of them said anything at first as Eddie took stock of the injuries around Steve’s middle. When a smirk tugged at the corners of Eddie’s mouth as he crouched to examine the bat bites closer, Steve chuckled lightly.

“What, Munson?” he asked, trying not to think too much about the position Eddie was almost in.

“Damn, Harrington,” Eddie said, his tone teasing as he looked up at him through his lashes. “Who hurt you?”

Steve barked out a laugh, even as a spike of heat lanced through his gut, and rolled his eyes. “I’m still trying to figure out the cover-story for these bad boys,” he joked, gesturing vaguely down at the angry wounds and keeping his thoughts as clean as possible. “Ask me again after the government finally shows the fuck up with the confidentiality paperwork.”

Eddie chuckled lightly even as his frown deepened, and he got to work. “Was… were all the other times cover-stories, too?” he asked after a few minutes.

“What?” Steve asked, wincing as Eddie worked.

“The other times you were injured. I’m just—I’m thinking about the timeline you guys gave me and now I’m just—did you actually get beat up by Jonathan Byers?” he finally asked outright, and Steve laughed.

“Yes, I actually got beat up by Jonathan Byers,” he confirmed, sighing. “He accepted my apology after I saved him from the Demogorgon, though.”

“Ah, okay. Him forgiving you makes a lot more sense with that context,” Eddie murmured teasingly, and Steve gasped in mock-outrage.

“Hey man, my apology was very sincere. I’m sure that would’ve done the trick, too,” Steve insisted petulantly, and as he’d hoped, Eddie smiled.

“Hey, y’know, I actually ran away? The first time the Demogorgon came?” Steve admitted and Eddie snorted.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed and Steve shook his head with a grin.

“Seriously, I made it through the first attack, had a freak-out, and when it came back…” he trailed off at the memory, shuddering a bit as the vague memory of his gut wrenching fear came back. “Nancy told me to leave— I mean, she pulled a gun on me—”

“She what?” Eddie exclaimed, looking up at Steve with his wide brown eyes that always made the butterflies in Steve’s stomach dance.

“I was freaking out pretty bad,” Steve offered as an explanation, shrugging when Eddie’s brow pinched together skeptically. With an embarrassed roll of his eyes, Steve continued, “then I ran. Made it to my car and everything. Almost got in and drove away, too.”

“What stopped you?” Eddie asked quietly, blinking up at him.

“I, uh, dropped my keys. When I got to my car, I mean, and I donʼt know, stopping like that gave my brain enough time to think,” Steve explained, grimacing as he thought back to that moment when he stood in Jonathan’s driveway and watched the lights start flickering. “I realized I was just gonna go home? And Nance and Jonathan were going to fight this… fucking demon? And they might die?”

“You were what, seventeen?” Eddie asked, standing up to meet Steve’s eyes properly. “It would’ve been normal to fucking run, Steve.”

“Almost seventeen, yeah,” Steve replied flippantly before he looked at Eddie pointedly. “Still. I couldn’t just leave them. Just like you couldn’t sit tight and hide. Or stay in the boat.”

Silence lapsed between them again as Eddie mulled that over, his cheeks turning a bit pink under Steve’s attention. Clearing his throat finally, Eddie glanced away.

“And the next year, did Billy actually try to kill you?” he asked after a bit, and Steve sighed.

“Yeup. I basically told you the whole story. Max was afraid he’d kill her, and he was actually going to kill Lucas,” he answered as if it was not a big deal, and to him it wasn’t. It all felt like the bare minimum, even in retrospect. “I was with the kids because Hopper was taking Eleven, y’know, the—”

“The girl with the psychic powers, yes,” Eddie interjected with a chuckle. “You’ve mentioned her.”

“Yeah, he was taking her to close the portal. Ms. Byers was dealing with Will, who was possessed by the Mindflayer.”

“Jesus,” Eddie hissed as he moved around Steve to clean up the wounds on his back. There was a long pause before Eddie asked, “And the mall fire?”

Steve tensed up at that, the entire Starcourt mess being the memory he wished would go away the most.

“Russians,” Steve said after a bit before elaborating, “My injuries, I mean. Russians. They tortured me and Robin, almost killed us. Dustin and Erica saved us. The mall fire was us fighting a giant flesh monster with fireworks.”

“Holy fuck,” Eddie muttered, and Steve startled when the other man rested his forehead on the back of Steve’s shoulder. “Sorry, man, that’s just a lot to take in,” he said, clearing his throat and lifting his head again.

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” Steve laughed, shrugging, his skin still tingling where Eddie had rested against him. Clearing his throat, he gestured at the denim vest on the table. “I think your vest is toast, I’m really sorry.”

“Nah, man, don’t be sorry,” Eddie said softly, and suddenly he was resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder and grinning sidelong at him. “It demands payment in blood, and only that of idiot pretty-boy jocks will appease it after the first bloodletting, so really, you’re doing me a favour.”

Steve stared at Eddie out of the corner of his eye in confusion, a deep blush on his face at how close they were to each other, and then the memories finally came to him and he snorted unattractively. “Shit, sorry, I kinda forgot this isn’t the first time I bled on it,” Steve admitted while he laughed, and Eddie joined him quietly.

“I remember that day vividly, Harrington,” Eddie admitted as he backed away to get back to cleaning and dressing Steve’s injuries. “I think about it a lot.”

“Same, I mean thinking about it. A lot of details are really fuzzy, and there’s kind of… gaps in the memories,” Steve confessed quietly. “There’s a lot that I don’t remember from the aftermath, y’know? Maybe this time it’ll be different because so far, no concussion.”

“Okay, but you were strangled and oxygen deprivation—”

“Let me have this win, Munson,” Steve whined with a grin on his face, and Eddie laughed.

“I meant what I said down there, in the Upside-Down,” Eddie said suddenly after a short silence. “That you’re a good guy, even if that pissed me off at first. More than that, you’re amazing Steve. You’re funny, you’re actually kind of a nerd, and you’re a hero. I’m… really glad I got to know you, even if the world is ending tonight.”

Steve had been thinking about their conversation down there since it happened, and it had been gnawing at him the whole time. Having Eddie pushing him back toward Nancy had been frustrating at the time, nauseating even.

Of course, Steve knew why people always jumped to that conclusion.

She was his first love, his first real long term relationship and Steve hadnʼt been successful in the dating world since. Even his trips out to Indy werenʼt yielding results outside of casual flings and learning more about himself. Even Robin asked him one night when they were a little bit tipsy if he was still in love with Nancy. There was a part of Steve that questioned himself after a particularly long series of swings and misses.

Nancy had been, at one point, his everything. Steve had seen a future with her that was within reach, something he might have been able to make even his dad at least tolerant of, and then he lost her. She was a bright spot, a candle in his lonely, dark world and when Steve fucked it up, he was left stumbling alone.

If Nancy was a candle, though, Eddie was the goddamn sun.

Eddie brought a warmth and brightness to every space he entered, and Steve desperately wanted to bask in it for the rest of his life if he could. Steve wanted Eddie, and he wanted to actually be with him. His need for the other man went so deep, it had become painful to keep it buried inside himself.

Steve didn’t want to— no, couldnʼt go back to the Upside Down with Eddie thinking he wanted anyone else, especially his ex-girlfriend. He wouldnʼt march dutifully toward what might be their deaths without telling Eddie.

Even if Eddie didn’t feel the same way, or he was never attracted to him at all, Steve had to let him know.

“You got something wrong down there, though,” Steve started.

“If you even try to downplay how fucking brave and selfless you are, Harrington, I’m—”

“I don’t want to be with Nancy anymore,” Steve said, turning to face Eddie properly. “And yeah, Nancy loves me, but not like that. We’ve been through too much together to not love each other. She jumped into the water because she knows I would’ve done the same. Any of us in this group would.”

Eddie stared down at Steve, the frown on his face deepening a bit. “Okay?” he said after a minute.

Steve sighed heavily, trying to quiet the butterflies in his gut, and then reached out to cup his hand around Eddie’s jaw. Eddie froze, wide-eyed, and Steve waited for Eddie to do something before continuing. After a few moments of Eddie’s huge brown eyes searching his face, a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. When Eddie relaxed and tipped his head minutely into his hand, Steve let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and stepped a bit closer to Eddie.

With another deep breath, Steve hooked a finger into one of Eddie’s belt loops and tugged on it a bit. When he looked up through his lashes at Eddie’s face, the other man didn’t look confused anymore; he looked hungry and Steve let himself bask in it for a second.

There was a small part of Steve that couldn’t believe his luck, but he wasn’t going to question it either. He wanted Eddie so much, and it appeared that Eddie was into him as well.

Steve was allowed to have this.

Breathing in sharply, Steve tipped his mouth up, close enough that he could feel Eddie’ breath on his lips, and started to say, “I’m saying all this right now because—”

The door to the RV banged open and the kids piled in, laughing and goofing off despite the situation. Steve would have been happy to hear it if they had waited maybe ten more minutes.

Eddie apparently had the same thought. “Jesus H. Christ, your timing!” he lamented, having already jumped out of Steve’s space, leaving Steve standing there with his hands awkwardly in the air for a second. “Can you guys just go back outside real quick, for five more minutes? Stevie’s still not decent.”

“We’ve all seen Steve with his shirt off,” Lucas said, his tone disgusted as he looked Steve over.

“And we don’t have five more minutes. Time to put your shirt on, Steve,” Dustin commanded, and Steve sighed as he grabbed the shirt he picked up at War Zone and put it on.

When Steve turned around, Robin was looking at him wide-eyed, as if she knew exactly what was about to happen when they all stormed in. Steve shrugged and put the leather jacket he bought back on and then, looking over his shoulder at Eddie again, he grabbed the battle vest and shrugged it on over top. Glancing down at himself, he definitely saw the appeal of wearing an outfit like that.

When he met Eddie’s eyes again, there was a moment where it looked like he was about to do something about Steve, their audience be damned, and Steve just raised an eyebrow.

The world was about to end, who cared anymore?

“Steve, come on, we’re losing daylight,” Nancy said urgently, an eyebrow raised high as she looked back and forth between him and Eddie. She was in the middle of setting down the weapons and organizing them. “What are you even doing?”

Steve turned away from Eddie fully and headed to the front of the RV, smirking slightly to himself as he heard Eddie cursing up a storm behind him.

Robin followed Steve to the front seat and smiled politely when she shoved past Nancy to take the passenger seat. “I’m invoking Best Friend Shotgun Privileges,” she said when Nancy looked like she was about to argue with her.

At that, Nancy just raised her eyebrows, glanced between the two of them then threw her hands up in surrender before wandering to the back of the RV to sit next to Eddie.

“Is Steve being weird right now?” Steve heard Nancy ask Eddie.

“Oh, Nance, you have no idea,” Eddie replied, and when Steve glanced back, Eddie was grinning and doing that thing where he hid his mouth with some of his hair while he looked out the window next to him.

Steve smirked a bit and got to hot wiring the RV again like Eddie showed him.

Once they were on the road again and the noise of the RV blocked any conversation from the front reaching the back, Robin leaned over and rested her chin on Steve’s outstretched arm as he drove.

“Please tell me we didn’t interrupt what I think we just interrupted,” she begged softly and Steve laughed.

“You want me to lie to you, Robs?” he asked, raising an eyebrow down at her and she groaned.

“I am so sorry,” she said.

“It’s fine, you didn’t know,” Steve reassured her, lifting his other hand to pat her head. “Honestly, I didn’t know I was going to say anything until right before I started to say it.”

“You were just going to blab?” Robin asked, lifting her head with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, actually. I figured there’s a very high chance at least one of us might not make it out of this mess, so…” he trailed off, shrugging one shoulder.

“Well, now you’ll both just have to survive, won’t you?” Robin said, and while her tone was teasing, there was a desperate edge to it.

“Yeah, Robs, we will,” Steve said, smiling over at her before smirking again. “I think I got my point across anyway.”

“Oh, yeah? You have telepathy now, Steve?” Robin said sarcastically and Steve snorted.

“It’s called body language, Robs,” Steve replied, looking sidelong at her while she made a face up at him. “Is he still blushing?”

Robin looked back and snorted. “Oh yeah, and he’s gotten not only Nancy’s attention, but Dustin’s as well,” she explained and Steve just smiled broadly.

“Still got it,” he teased, winking over at Robin.

She laughed out loud and began digging around the glove box until she found a clean napkin and a pen that worked. Then she spent the next little while scribbling while angling her body so Steve couldn’t see what she was doing. Finally, out of the corner of his eye he could see her cap the pen and then fold the napkin in a way that it hid what she wrote, like the notes that girls used to pass around class.

Leaning over, she slid the folded napkin in the pocket of his leather jacket. “Promise you won’t look at that until this is over and we’re all alive, okay?”

“I promise, Robs,” Steve said, smiling gently at her when she rested her chin on his arm again.

They were going to make it, Steve decided, because he had a boy to get and a note to read.

Chapter Ten: B-Side

The battle vest was ruined, Steve knew it was.

Just the blood from his own poorly tended wounds would have been enough to call it. But then he had to haul Eddie out…

Inhaling sharply through his nose, Steve shook his head and submerged the vest in the bathtub again for another soak. He had already tried the steps he knew for removing blood from denim, but that was drops from a nosebleed, or a skinned elbow.

This was from someone bleeding to death. This was from the boy he cared about so deeply it hurt bleeding out.

Another sharp inhale, another violent shake of his head, a slow breath out.

The water in the tub wasn’t even changing colour anymore, at least not by any amount that mattered. Steve would wring it out one more time and figure something out if it didn’t work. He’d let it soak for the time being, and maybe this was the time that the stain would just lift right out. It just needed patience and perseverance.

Steve’s fingers were almost painfully wrinkled with how long he had been working at his lost cause. He knew he didn’t have to hold the vest under the water, but there was something grounding about the pain of the cold water when Steve would submerge his hands for just a bit too long. Whenever he’d get too far inside his head, he would lean over the edge of the tub and hold the battle vest under the water until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Distantly, he heard the egg timer go off behind him and inhaled sharply before he lifted the vest out of the tub.

The water in the tub was practically clear.

Steve wrung the vest out as much as his numb fingers could manage, and the water in the tub stayed clear. Steve sucked in a breath through his nose, and it stuck in his chest, his throat filling with glass as he tried blotting the vest with a rag, but nothing was happening.

The battle vest was ruined. Steve couldn’t fix it, just like he couldn’t protect Eddie and Dustin, and he couldn’t stop Vecna before Eddie decided to be a hero, even after he promised.

There was a part of Steve that recognized he was barely keeping himself from having a breakdown on the bathroom floor of Claudia Henderson’s master bathroom. He had to get up and deal with the vest, to do something with it that wasn’t another soak-wring-blot cycle. He had to get off the floor and do something.

Distantly, he heard a vehicle out front and told himself that it was time to move. Steve couldn’t stay on the floor like that, it would upset Dustin. Claudia would be mad that he was in here; her hospitality would only go so far, he was sure, and this was her private space.

Steve had to get up.

The weight of everything—Max almost dying, Eddie bleeding out, almost failing to kill Vecna—kept Steve on the ground holding the ruined battle vest. Everything went blurry and a sob shuddered out of his chest, followed by another.

It sounded muffled, but he heard the front door open and shut, a voice call out and then footsteps thundering down the hall.

Steve could tell Claudia hadn’t taken off her shoes and he had to get himself under control. He bit his cheek hard enough to make it bleed, trying to use the pain to snap himself out of it, but he was too far gone.

The bathroom door opened, and Steve could hear Claudia say his name as she stopped the egg timer quickly.

“I’m fine,” he tried to choke out, but it came out as a garbled mess around a sob. “I’m sorry,” he tried, and he managed to make it understandable.

“Oh, Steve, sweetie,” Claudia cooed, and Steve realized she was kneeling next to him on the floor and rubbing his back.

He leaned toward her before he could stop himself, something inside him aching for something it had never received. Claudia didn’t miss a beat, immediately wrapping her arms around him and resting her chin on top of his head.

“You’ve been so brave through so much, haven’t you?” Claudia sighed, petting Steve’s hair. “I’ve got you, sweetie, don’t you worry.”

Steve couldn’t have pulled himself together after that if he tried. He just sobbed, letting all of his fear, anxiety, and grief out while he held the battle vest to his chest. It felt like hours that he sat there on the floor, crying his eyes out while Dustin’s mom held him and ran her fingers through his hair.

Eventually, he wore himself out, either running out of sadness or tears. Taking a deep breath in, he released it in a shuddering sigh.

“There it is,” Claudia said happily, patting his back carefully and pulling back to smile at Steve.

“There what is?” he asked, his voice a bit hoarse, and he frowned at the tears on Claudia’s face.

“I like to call it the ‘first free breath.’ When you finally let out all the hurt and the sadness, and then you can breathe,” she replied, and she said it like it was so simple.

And yet, it was easier for Steve to breathe, easier than it had been in years, perhaps his whole life even. As if there had been something around his chest, slowly getting tighter every time he breathed out for as long as he could remember. Now, it was gone, or at least loosened.

“Now, what’s this?” Claudia asked, gesturing to the vest Steve was still holding tightly to his chest.

“It’s… my friend’s battle vest. He made it himself, and I was—he was bleeding a lot when—I wanted to fix it for him,” Steve answered, and it felt like he should be crying again but his body couldn’t muster the tears. “I wanted to fix it for when he woke up.”

Claudia searched his eyes and face for a long time. “Is this the young man that’s in surgery right now?” she asked, and Steve nodded quickly, opening his mouth to defend Eddie if she brought up the murders. She reached up and patted his cheek, shaking her head. “Dusty cares about him a lot, too.”

“He’s great with Dustin, Mrs. Henderson. You’d love Eddie, and I really hope you get to meet him,” Steve insisted quickly, and Claudia smiled warmly.

“I’m sure I’ll meet him. Can I see the vest, Steve?” she asked, holding her hand out for it, and he immediately passed it to her. Humming thoughtfully, she turned it over in her hands. “The vest is probably ruined, but a lot of the patches are fine, and the others might be salvageable. You get changed into some dry clothes, okay?”

Steve blinked at her a bit dumbly but nodded once. Claudia pulled him into one more hug before she got up and hurried out of the room. Doing as he was asked, Steve got into new pajamas and then went to Claudia’s bathroom to drain the tub and clean up the mess he made with water on the floor.

When he came back out, Claudia was sitting at the kitchen table with a seam ripper and carefully removing one of the patches. On the table were several Polaroids of the vest from all angles, and draped over the back of the chair next to her were a couple jean jackets.

When she glanced up at him and saw him frowning at the pictures, she smiled. “We’ll use the pictures to put them back where they belong,” she explained, gesturing between the vest, the pictures, and the jackets next to her.

Steve knew he should understand what she was getting at, but thoughts were moving through his head like molasses, and he couldn’t connect them. “What?” he asked softly.

Claudia looked up at him and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I’m used to talking to Dusty—you know how he is,” she laughed fondly before she looked up at him properly. “We’re going to make your friend a new one with as many of the old patches we can save, okay?”

Steve crumbled all over again, but this time it felt a lot less jagged.

Stepping closer, he wrapped Claudia in a tight hug and let out a sobbing laugh. “Thank you, Mrs. Henderson,” he murmured.

“When are you going to call me Claudia like I keep asking you to, Steve?” she asked with a chuckle, carefully rubbing his back. “This is your home if you want it, for as long as you want it, and I don’t want you to feel like I’m just your host.”

Steve thought about that, and about this house being one of the only places that had ever felt like home to him. He thought about how he felt safe there, wanted, and even loved. Then he thought about how he intended to tell Eddie about his feelings as soon as he woke up and could handle a conversation like that. Steve didn’t want to live in a house where he had to hide parts of himself again.

He had kept himself formal around Claudia to keep his distance, like if he talked like she was a host it wouldn’t hurt as much once he overstayed his welcome. It wouldn’t hurt as much when she inevitably turned on him.

But she was insistent, and Steve wanted to stay here, and he wanted to know that if he did stay, he could bring Eddie around and not hide what they were to each other.

Pulling away, Steve sat down on one of the other dining room chairs and looked down at his hands while he thought about what he was going to say.

“Eddie isn’t my friend, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve said after taking a deep breath, and he flinched at his wording. “I mean, he is, right now because everything happened before I could tell him my—that I like him. That I might be a little in love with him.”

Silence followed his confession, and Steve cleared his throat.

“Is that okay?” he asked quietly, balling his hands into fists.

Claudia put the seam ripper down and took his hands in hers, encouraging Steve to relax his fingers. “Sweetie, I know why you think you do, but you don’t need my permission to love anyone. I want you to know that I will never tell you who you can or cannot love, do you understand?” she asked gently, and Steve nodded frantically.

“But it won’t be a problem if I bring him around? Or you see us holding hands?” Steve pushed, needing to be sure.

“It won’t be a problem, as long as he makes you happy, sweetie,” Claudia said so sincerely, Steve couldn’t find a single part of him jaded enough to doubt her.

Finally, he lifted his eyes to meet hers as he said, “Thank you, C-Claudia.”

The grin and hug he was rewarded with were huge, and Steve felt a properly happy laugh bubble up out of his chest.

❖

The next day, Steve returned to the hospital feeling a bit less like he was drowning. Eddie was stable and in recovery. The wounds themselves were relatively superficial, there had just been so many, and he had lost so much blood before he received treatment. At least that had been roughly what Wayne had explained to him on the phone that morning.

When Steve arrived at the hospital, he stopped to visit Max first like he always did. Ms. Mayfield was asleep on a cot next to Max’s bed, so Steve was quiet with his greeting and little updates. It broke his heart seeing her like that on the bed, quiet and pale, barely any movement aside from her chest rising and falling with her breaths.

Once he finally arrived at Eddie’s room, he was surprised to see Wayne still there. He knew the man worked nights, so he figured he’d need to be sleeping.

“Hello, Mr. Munson,” Steve said awkwardly as he shuffled over to the other available chair.

“Harrington,” Wayne greeted, looking him up and down with an unreadable expression.

Steve settled as comfortably as he could in his chair, trying to ignore Wayne staring at him while he pulled a book and a pair of glasses out of his backpack. He had the new battle vest in his backpack to work on since Claudia taught him how to do some basic stitches, but for some reason he was nervous about doing that in front of Wayne.

“What’re you doing here, boy?” Wayne asked, and Steve looked up at him, wide-eyed. Steve appreciated that Wayne at least tried to hide his disdain, but it was impossible to ignore.

“Sorry, I’ll leave,” Steve said quickly as he put his book away, even if leaving made a hollow feeling settle in his gut. “I’m sorry for—”

“I didn’t tell you to leave. I asked what you were doing here,” Wayne interrupted with a sigh, and something relaxed in his jaw.

Steve couldn’t think of a good answer, not sure what Wayne knew about Eddie. Then again, Steve was largely assuming that himself based on several years of too-gentle touches and one kiss that nearly happened.

But even if Wayne knew about Eddie, what should Steve say here? That he wanted to be there the second Eddie woke up so he could breathe properly again? That he wanted to be here to see Eddie’s smile and hear his laugh, to finally confess the feelings he had been building gradually inside him until they were spilling over? That he waited until the last possible moment to drum up the courage to say something, and then the moment passed, and he almost lost him forever?

“I care about him,” Steve said, and it felt woefully inadequate. “I want to make sure he’s okay.”

“You care about him,” Wayne responded thoughtfully, skepticism lying thick under the words. “What does that mean?”

Steve frowned at Wayne, knowing the man was challenging him. This was some sort of test. “I’m—I might be in love with him, Mr. Munson,” Steve replied, his heart pounding hard enough in his chest that he was sure Wayne could hear it.

As it was, Wayne’s eyebrows shot upward on his forehead at the confession. That was a bit satisfying, all things considered.

“What would your old man think about that, kid?” he asked after a moment, his eyes searching Steve’s face.

“Pardon my language, Mr. Munson, but I don’t give a shit what he thinks,” Steve replied firmly, shrugging with one shoulder. “The people who actually matter know about my feelings for Eddie. Richard Harrington can shove his thoughts about it up his ass for all I care.”

Steve ignored the flash of fear that went through him saying that. It frustrated him how scared he still was of his dad when he hadn’t even seen the man in months.

Wayne was looking at him, assessing him, before he relaxed fully in his chair. “Does he know?” he asked, nodding in Eddie’s direction.

“I think he does,” Steve replied sadly, slouching in his chair. “I tried to tell him, but I waited too long, and then everything happened. We just… ran out of time.”

Wayne nodded, rolling his eyes skyward. “I’ll make sure you’re allowed in here, no matter the time, alright?” he said after a bit and his gaze met Steve’s again. “You better make good on your plan to tell him, got it? I’ve had it up to here with his lovesick pining for you.”

“Wait, what—?” Steve started, completely baffled, but Wayne just groaned loudly as he stood up and stretched.

“Keep an eye on him, would you? I’m going for a smoke,” he said and then left the hospital room.

Once he was alone in the room, Steve looked at Eddie and his heart ached. He looked so small and frail, his face gaunt and white as a sheet. But he was breathing on his own and Steve would take that as a good sign. He allowed himself a small smirk.

“Lovesick pining, huh?” Steve asked the sleeping form on the bed as he reached into his backpack and pulled out the new battle vest and got to work.

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#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fic #stranger things fic #gerry writes #i could be human fic

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larkspyrr · 5 months

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chapter viii — deeper than the truth (wc. 4.1k)

prev — masterlist / ao3 — next

reblogs are appreciated!

NOTE: i made some changes to the last chapter bc im fickle and didn't like it lmfao. you can either reread for the new context or check the tldr i posted on ao3

You had been right about one thing — Wriothesley was not a stupid man.

He was not unaware of himself. It was this self-awareness that had been key to Wriothesley's ascent from the very bottom to the slightly-less-so — to making the most of his station, regardless of whatever Celestia-forsaken obstacles had been thrown into his path. That, and his dogged determination to get there, at any cost, even if he had to fight tooth and nail.

And, by the Archons, he was going to fight now.

He understood precisely what it was that propelled him forward as he rose to the overworld the morning after you left, fast enough that one might think the Abyss itself nipped at his ankles like an angry hound, snarling, snapping. He’d known for a while the name of the beast that curled around his ribs and squeezed , even if he hadn’t been brave enough to yet speak it aloud. He was afraid that to utter it would be to invite it in closer, ever closer, leaving no room in his chest even for breath, for the frantic thundering of his heart. No room for the inevitable break once your arrangement came to its conclusion and you went on toward your future and Wriothesley stayed exactly where he had been all along, fractured but trying to mend.

Maybe he should have named it. Maybe then you wouldn’t have walked away.

He’d known there was nothing more for him to do when you left; that to follow you out would only push you away further. So he had stayed, and plotted out the next course of action he would take, so long as he was able to bide his time until the morning—if what he'd gathered from vague correspondences in Paquette's office was correct.

Paquette was clever, that much could be said. He'd covered his tracks with an almost masterful finesse and it had been a challenge to glean so much as a date from what seemed like mostly mundane communications with Thibeault.

He was good, sure. But Wriothesley was better.

After you’d left, Wriothesley had waited, sleepless, and then allowed himself no more than the time required to dress and make the Fortress’ arrangements for the day before he fled his quarters, not even sparing the bronze doors to his office a passing thought as he blew by.

Wriothesley had never been one to stand down from a challenge, not even those who crash-landed into his life bedecked in pearls and lace and more spirit than he knew what to do with; witty, and kind, and dutiful to a fault; a fallen meteorite from somewhere else, somewhere more.

And Wriothesley would sooner dive into the Primordial Sea and become no more than a ripple in cold waters than let you march to your death. Before he allowed you to throw away your life for the sake of the people you cared about.

Before he let you go.

So he ran, and the hounds howled in his wake.

When he arrived at the stables, half-wild, muscles screaming, his heart nearly stopped its thrumming at the same moment his purposeful strides came to a halt. The sun hadn't even fully risen.

Lucy’s stall was already empty, neither the mare nor her rider anywhere to be seen.

“So she’s accepted the job?” asked Thibeault, bony fingers curling delicately around the handle of the fine china teacup he held — an imported piece from Liyue, hand-painted, and worth more than most of the working class in the Court of Fontaine would see in a year. Thibeault’s mouth was as straight a line as it ever was, but his eyes glittered with something that looked dangerously akin to delight.

As close to delight as a miserable bastard like Thibeault could achieve, as it were.

Paquette, by contrast, smiled; a luxury he didn’t often allow himself, as frugal and dignified a man as he was, but he postulated he could spare himself a moment of frivolity on the eve of his triumph without too great an impact on the perception of his unblemished decorum. A smile would not be remiss, not amidst the host of more secular pleasures he wreathed his lifestyle in; though if you asked Paquette, and you should, they were simply par for the course for a man of his rank, so long as his taste remained staunchly on the side of ‘classy’ and gave a wide berth to the realm of ‘gaudy’, a feat he was loathe to say still escaped some of the peerage—present company very much withstanding, he noted, observing the garish hue of magenta in the tie his companion donned, not an ounce of shame in sight.

Dreadful.

Paquette tutted quietly, sipping his own tea. A custom blend, catered to his very specific needs and preferences. He swallowed thickly. He’d send this one back, as he had the others.

They still hadn’t gotten it right. Clearly, they hadn’t heeded his generous advice that the best mint was grown on Kannazuka Island.

“But of course she did,” Paquette said, placing his cup down on the tea table between the gentlemen. “As I told you she would, my friend.”

Paquette fought back a sneer at the word on his mouth; a cheap lie, but one he had to maintain if he wanted to remain on good terms with the sniveling man across him. They didn’t need to like each other, per se, in order to work together toward a common goal, but he supposed their machinations were easier to architect if there was some degree of civility between them. It would make it much easier to coexist while they awaited their vision coming to fruition.

A vision so very in reach now. Paquette looked quite forward to the privilege of dispensing with the pleasantries and he imagined Thibeault felt much the same.

While Paquette had certainly become adept at maneuvering around the other members of the court over the decades, he certainly hadn’t grown to like it any more than he had at the start. Especially that old bat Vellerot, a man (loosely called) made of little more than wealth and rot.

All in good time.

Thibeault leaned back in his chair, folding two withered hands in front of his stomach, a self-satisfied gesture that might have been reminiscent of a well-fed house cat if he weren’t so serpentine. His lips curled, teeth bared, and Paquette started; it was a gesture far too vicious to ever be considered a proper smile, though it was an effort nonetheless, even if it was as tasteless as the rest of him. “Once she’s little more than a smear in the woods, the rest will become much simpler,” he mused, drumming his fingers against his abdomen, a rhythmic tap-tap-tap that made Paquette wonder if it was an unconscious gesture. An appalling lack of composure. “The old man hasn’t paid attention to the world beyond his cups in nigh on a decade, and the two younger ones haven’t got the intelligence nor the fortitude to accomplish anything at all. She would be the problem. One terrible accident and she’s gone. Then the old man drowns in his cups from ‘grief', at least as far as anyone is concerned.”

Paquette hummed. “It also takes that delinquent whelp out of the equation, what with all the sniffing around he’s been doing. He will be utterly shattered at the loss of his love, I’m sure. Might do something reckless.”

“I still can’t believe our luck on that front,” said Thibeault. “Two birds, one stone, as the commoners are known to say.”

“Tale as old as time,” agreed Paquette.

Thibeault grimaced again in that way which was so unlike a smile. Paquette fought against his every instinct telling him to pull back from the frankly upsetting expression.

“The Viscountcy has been wasted on him for far too long,” said Thibeault, and he sipped his tea.

Neuvillette stood at the edge of the bridge, his hands folded primly behind his back, chin tilted towards the rolling sea.

Wriothesley heaved a breath as he approached and the man turned his face towards him.

“Neuvillette.”

“Wriothesley,” said the other man, eyebrows rising ever-so-faintly in surprise and interest. “I wasn’t expecting you. You look flushed.”

“Went for a run,” Wriothesley panted. “Can I have a word?”

Something flickered in his eyes, but Neuvillette merely gestured his chin towards the Opera without a moment’s hesitation and made his way towards the structure. Wriothesley fell into step behind him easily, fighting every cell of his being that was telling him to rush the other man, to urge him to walk faster, Archons damn it all.

He bit his tongue, yet it seemed Neuvillette sensed Wriothesley’s urgency and picked up his pace nonetheless.

Finally, after an eternity and then some, they settled into Neuvillette’s office at the Epiclese; a smaller rendition of his office at the Palais, though no less elegant and organized. It was a bright space, walled in books and ornate masonry, bathed in the light that sparkled off the water just beyond the stained glass windows. It smelled like the sea and romaritimes; a light fragrance that Wriothesley had come to associate with the Iudex over many years of knowing him.

Neuvillette looked over at him from behind his desk, his face kind but eerily calm, a direct juxtaposition to Wriothesley’s own storming, blazing heart.

Wriothesley inhaled. Exhaled. “I’m sorry to impose but this is an emergency.”

“It’s no imposition,” Neuvillette said. “I am at your disposal.”

Wriothesley held the other man’s gaze. “Which Melusine Marechaussee Phantoms are off-duty today?”

You clicked your tongue and pulled, bringing Lucy to a halt just before the clearing Paquette had described came into view. You dismounted her, quickly hitching her to a nearby tree, tucked safely behind a dense thicket. She looked at you, ears pitched forward, eyes restless. You moved to pat her gently on the nose, but she tossed her head away from your touch. You frowned, letting your hand drop back to your side.

The last time she had rebuffed you like that, there had been a hilichurl hiding in a nearby tree.

You would be on your guard. This time, you had the element of surprise on your side.

You tried again, satisfied when Lucy allowed your pat this time, and moved onward alone. The sun was high in the sky, casting the upcoming smattering of tents a warm golden hue as they slowly came into view, a collection of brightly-colored headstones in an otherwise silent graveyard.

Immediately, you missed the rhythmic beat of Lucy’s hooves on the dirt as you entered the soundless clearing. Even the wind, forever a comfort at your back, seemed to hold its breath.

It was empty.

You surveyed the camp with careful eyes. Five tents, hastily constructed, flaps lowered to conceal the interiors of all but one — large, royal purple, dead-center. A table sat in view from within. A fire pit, lush with kindling and several freshly cut logs, though it appeared to never have been lit. A hitching post, though there wasn't a horse in sight. A weapons rack, battered but vacant.

You continued to inspect the area with growing unease.

But then, you saw it. In the purple tent, on the wide table. A folder.

The documents.

Emboldened by the silence of the deserted camp, you moved in.

You did not make it far.

You heard a twig snap from somewhere to your right, and you whirled, your heart leaping into your throat. Leaves rustled from all around, every corner of the clearing, and you heard the sharp crack of a slap, followed by hooves — Lucy’s hooves — barreling away into the wilderness, away and away, until you couldn’t hear her at all anymore.

Slowly, one by one, as though they were visions from a nightmare, men emerged from within the dense brush, cloaked in shadow, smiles jagged and cutting on the faces whose mouths weren’t clothed.

Your thoughts came to you rapid-fire, like bullets firing from a pistol.

An ambush.

They had known you were coming.

This was a trap.

Wriothesley had been right.

Your limbs shook. Your mind went foggy. Your fear was streaked with shafts of other emotions—regret, shame, resentment. Longing.

You shook your head to clear the haze, clenching your jaw, flexing your fists.

You didn’t have time to regret; you didn’t have time to wish.

You would get out of here. You had no other choice.

You had to get back to him.

But you were alone. They had known you were coming. Lucy had been scared off. No one was coming.

You were alone.

They began advancing.

Blades with wicked edges glinted in the afternoon sun as they emerged from the shade of the trees. You clutched at the hilt of your sword, savoring the tiny fraction of power you reclaimed at the feeling of the warm leather against your shaking fingers. Fingers that you found were getting increasingly difficult to control.

You fought to master your breath.

One man stepped ahead of the others, brandishing a razor-sharp rapier in your direction, your eyes following the way it swayed in his loose, unworried grip, light and free as wild barley. His eyes gleamed with profane delight from over the cloth secured around the lower half of his face. You didn’t need to see his mouth to know he was smiling.

“Right on time, my lady,” he sneered, voice reedy and meandering. You had never hated the honorific more. Several of the others snickered. “We’ve been expecting you.”

You met his gaze, willing yourself to maintain your composure as you assessed the situation—two, three, four Treasure Hoarders stood in the clearing with you. They didn’t appear to have any horses themselves; at least, not any that were nearby, so hijacking one to make a swift escape was not an option. It seemed all four men carried various swords; not a bow nor arrow in sight, but that could only help you, as you wouldn’t need to concern yourself with avoiding or deflecting ranged attacks while focusing on the close-quarters combat. On defending yourself from their blows. Looking for an opening to make an exit.

You unsheathed your sword, the metal hissing against the scabbard. You widened your stance, rolling your shoulders, willing your breathing to a slow, controlled pace.

Dozens of lessons swam through your mind and you fought to sort through your learning.

So many lessons. So little to show for it.

Wriothesley’s voice floated to the forefront, a memory as sharp and piercing as ice.

Don’t overthink it, he’d told you, over and over, lesson after lesson.

Muscle memory and instinct are your greatest ally.

Trust yourself.

You tensed, ready to trust yourself, to trust him , even if it was too late, to at least try —

Something slammed into your arm and side and you gasped, your sword clattering away across the rocks and into the thicket. Gone.

“Ah, ah, ah. I don’t think so,” sing-songed a new voice.

A low, feminine laugh warbled from over your shoulder and the four men echoed, reveled in the cruel mockery of it. You felt as though all the blood drained from your body. The edges of your vision darkened in panic, further blurring the tangle where your sword now lay, hidden. Out of reach.

Five. There had been five tents.

The woman slowly made her way around you, inching into your line of sight excruciatingly slowly, playfully, circling around you like a vulture circles its prey before it dives. Her eyes glittered, impish and hostile. She held an enormous claymore in her hands.

She opened her mouth to speak.

Don’t overthink. Trust yourself.

You lunged before she could utter a word.

Wriothesley hurried, urging the mare forward, faster, faster.

The Melusine in front of him froze, going stock still in her place on the saddle. Her shaggy, dusty rose hair whipped in the wind and she placed a tiny hand on Wriothesley’s wrist, drawing his attention to her.

There was another horse barreling through the woods, not far ahead. Chestnut, with an auburn coat. A familiar leather saddle.

A saddle which was empty.

Wriothesley wasn’t sure he remembered how to breathe. He pressed into the stirrups, signaling his mare to stop.

Lucy, in the distance, slowed her gallop, noticing the new arrivals; darted directly to them.

Trow frowned as the chestnut mare came to a sliding stop a mere few feet away, tossing her head and stomping, hoof to hoof, more agitated than Wriothesley had ever seen her. He hopped off the mare and went to her, checking her over for injuries or any sign of her rider. She seemed fine, if stressed. Nothing on her to indicate what might have happened to cause her separation from you.

“Your Grace,” Trow said abruptly, blue nose wrinkling. Her eyes flicked away from Lucy and towards the denser forest ahead, narrowing in concentration. “I smell something… just over there. Sweet, but bad. Like gasoline.”

Wriothesley’s stomach flipped. He looked ahead at the thicket, but beyond it was utterly silent. Unmoving. He could vaguely make out the trampled shrubbery from where Lucy had emerged. His hand felt heavier than stone against the side of Lucy’s quivering neck.

He flexed his fingers against her, scratching lightly. For her, for him.

“Wanna help me save our friend, Luce?” he asked softly.

Lucy, of course, said not a word; but whether or not she understood what Wriothesley was asking, her gentle brown eyes seemed to agree with the sentiment.

Wriothesley turned his gaze back to Trow.

“Can you ride?” he asked.

She hesitated before nodding shallowly. “I can get by, sir.”

“Go back,” Wriothesley said. “Notify Neuvillette of what’s happened and where we are. I will take it from here.”

Trow's look was long and searching and for a moment Wriothesley wondered whether she would protest his order. But then her worried lilac eyes softened and she nodded once more. Her tail flicked behind her. “Be safe, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley took the reins in-hand and quickly mounted Lucy. He gave the Melusine a small smile. “Thank you. You too.”

He didn't even have to signal for Lucy to go before she was off, hurtling back towards the trees.

Back to you.

Falling back on your months of training in the Pankration Ring was easier than breathing; particularly at the moment, when it seemed breathing had suddenly become very difficult.

You acted without thinking.

You shot forward, swiftly sweeping a leg out from beneath the prowling woman, sending her hurtling onto her ass before she could register you had even moved. She made an undignified squawk, throwing her arms out to try and save her fall, the claymore slamming into the ground, fanning dirt out around it.

The others burst into action, trying to ascertain the best way to subdue you, kill you, you didn’t know, it didn’t matter — you didn’t allow them even a second. You dove for the woman’s claymore, unclaimed at her side, your fingers closing soundly around the hilt before spinning to face your attackers, the new weight unfamiliar and unwieldy in your palm. You would adjust. You had no other choice.

The woman had clambered back to her feet, yanking a dagger from her boot with a vicious snarl that raised the hair on the back of your neck. A lock of dark hair had shaken loose from beneath her hood. Her eyes no longer held any trace of the violent glee they’d had a moment ago; searing rage was all that was reflected in them now.

The masked man dove, rapier swinging in a wide arc towards your side; you deflected it with ease, the clang of metal on metal ringing in your ears as the heft of the claymore easily intercepted the strike.

You adjusted your grip, the shift in weight causing your fingers to slide on the hilt.

Another lunged, sword pointed for your gut. You narrowly avoided impact, sidestepping on already unsteady feet and directly into the range of the woman, who was ready to pounce on your moment of imbalance.

Clearly, subduing you wasn’t part of their plans. And you were sorely outmatched.

You weren’t quick enough.

Swift as a viper, she lashed out, bronze dagger flashing in the sun the only warning you received before you felt its bite. She nicked your dominant wrist, loosening your grip on her claymore—your only weapon—

You dropped it, your hand disobeying your order to hold on as blood dripped down your trembling fingers from the wound on your wrist.

You wouldn’t walk away from this, you realized then, as the claymore fell. No level of skill would allow you to overcome this.

Fool. You were a fool. And you were about to die for it.

You scrambled for the claymore once more—

One of the men sent his boot hurtling into your side, throwing you off course and forcing all the air from your body.

You slammed down onto the rocks and curled in on yourself instinctively, defensively, tucking your legs into your chest before pushing yourself away, away from them; from the threat. You fought to catch your breath, but your lungs and throat burned like ice.

Your back hit the base of a wide tree and you could go no farther.

The woman gestured angrily at one of the men, who then yanked the claymore off the ground. She stalked over to your hunched form, eyebrows lowered.

She flipped the dagger in her hand and squatted before you.

“That’s enough,” she cooed, flicking the tip of the blade across the curve of your neck, softer than a kiss. You felt a sting followed by the feeling of—something warm collecting at the base of your throat. “This is pathetic. It's getting hard to watch.”

She swung her unarmed fist then, and the resulting impact on your head set your ears ringing and your vision blurry. You vaguely made out the sensation of...of being tied, restrained, bound at your wrists and ankles.

You thrashed, but you were too late. You could barely move. Your wrists burned as you pulled. Your head pounded. Your legs would not—could not—obey.

“Get the canister,” one of the men ordered, the words hitting your ears as though delayed—you felt like you couldn't keep up with the pounding in your skull. Another man disappeared into one of the tents, reemerging after a moment with an opaque container in hand.

Your nostrils flared at the familiar smell.

Gasoline.

The woman clicked her tongue, looking down on you. She wiped her dagger on a pant leg, smearing your blood onto the fabric. “Disposing of evidence. Those pesky Melusines. You understand.” Her voice was as casual as if she were discussing the weather or the latest play at the Epiclese. “You know, I had planned on killing you first ,” she explained evenly as the man sloshed the liquid from within the dark canister onto you. You gasped and recoiled, the liquid colder than you would have anticipated, overwhelming your senses as it sank into your clothing, onto your skin. The woman leaned forward, gently taking your chin in her hand, forcing you to meet her gaze. She stared at you hard for a few long seconds. “But then you went ahead and pissed me off ,” she hissed, pushing your face away roughly and stepping back, out of the spreading pool of accelerant.

You couldn't suppress the coughs that wracked your body as you continued to inhale the fumes, as you continued to fight. One of the men approached you slowly as all the others retreated, a torch lit and flickering in his hands. The sun was still high in the sky; this flame was not meant to offer warmth or illumination.

It was meant to ignite.

Something in you cracked and fell away as you realized... this was it.

There truly was no way out. There had never been a way out.

You couldn't do any more against them now than when you were a child, quivering and confused and helpless. The faces before you were different, yet you had not changed at all.

Powerless.

You had failed. You’d failed your family. You’d failed yourself. And there would be nothing left to show for all your efforts, for everything that you were or could have been but ash and regret.

You wished you had been able to protect them.

You wished you'd been braver when it truly mattered.

You wished you'd been a little more selfish.

You wished… You wished—

Everything went white and chills wracked your body at the sudden onslaught of freezing air against your wet clothes.

The world erupted into chaos—hail and snow and shards of savage, unforgiving ice. Shouting rose from somewhere in the camp, but you couldn't make out who they had belonged to or what was said.

The blizzard glittered beneath the morning sun. You fought not to squint, to try keep your eyes open in the face of the storm to see—to see—

There he was. Wreathed in the torrent of rime and burning frost.

And finally, you breathed.

a/n: title from 'war of hearts' by ruelle

it goes without saying that the ‘updates on saturday’ plan is no longer going to happen lol. im a STEM girlie and my job is very mentally taxing so i don’t always have the energy leftover to write, no matter how much i want to. and tbh then i end up rushing to get something out on time that i’m just not happy with lol

on that note: like i mentioned above, i was still not satisfied with the last chapter so i made some changes and it shifts the context quite a bit

essentially i had 2 paths in my mind for how this could go angst-wise, chose one, heard a loud WRONG buzzer, and then changed it so it is instead the other lmao

aaanyways my b one of these days i will actually have a work finished before i start publishing it (no i will not)

hope you enjoyed xo

#wriothesley #wrio #wriothesley x reader #wrio x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #reader insert #reader inserts #lark.writes #🌊

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cheesybadgers · 2 months

Text

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 23)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 12,675

Summary: It’s been more than a year since Madrid and even longer since the chaos of Colombia. As they settle into a new life in Laredo, their past no longer holding them back, Javier’s career change helps him reconnect with his roots whilst Horacio’s plans for the future of the farm and ranch start to take shape.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Smut (including leather/cowboy kink and power dynamics), grief, parental loss, religious themes and symbolism, discussions of period-typical prejudices/violence/politics/legislation, smoking, drinking, swearing.

Notes: Well, here we are at the final full chapter 👀 No one is more shocked than me that I've made it here tbh 😂 For so long, it felt like finishing this fic was an abstract concept, but somehow, I persevered!

I don't really know what else to say right now, other than, an epilogue will (all being well) be posted on Friday 1st March...exactly 3 years after I posted chapter 1. Don't ask me how 3 years have passed, because my brain cannot compute lol.

The epilogue will be much, much shorter than this chapter, but I think it rounds their story off nicely and I can't wait to share ❤️

Thank you once again to anyone still reading, or anyone who may read this at some point in the future. As always, comments/flailings/key smashes etc. are greatly appreciated 😊

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested (and there's plenty to choose from for this one…in fact, I had to split my trivia post into two as I ran out of space, oops lol).

Chapter 23: Desde La Frontera

As the faded blue truck pulled up in the front yard, the moon sat full and high, casting a pale glow over everything beneath it. A key turned in the lock of the sleeping cottage, the silver hue from above illuminating a convenient pathway, negating the need to switch on a light.

Javier shrugged off his boots and jacket in the kitchen with a weary sigh and deposited his keys in a dish on the table. The hand-painted ceramic bowl had been sent with love from Madrid as a housewarming gift, along with framed artwork of the city they left behind that hung above their bed, a bottle of olive oil, a small jar of saffron, and some homemade turrón.

It wasn’t easy saying goodbye to Señora Romero, the café or their apartment. For all of the unanswered questions they arrived in Spain with, it became their safe haven. Although they were under strict instructions not to leave it too long before visiting again, and who were they to turn down good company and an endless supply of hot, fresh churros?

The rustic limestone cottage had less square footage than the farmhouse next door but was over two stories rather than one. A decked porch ran along the perimeter with wooden chairs and plants at the front, facing a complex of outbuildings and stables. A swing seat big enough for two resided at the back, looking out onto a medium-sized garden with a chicken coop and the rolling farm fields and river bank lying beyond.

The front door opened into a hallway where boots, coats and hats were tidily stored – at Horacio’s insistence – which led to a spacious kitchen/dining area and an adjoining utility room with a door to the garden on the other side. A second hallway branched off the kitchen towards a lounge with a centrepiece stone fireplace and a staircase up to two bedrooms – a master and a smaller spare – and a bathroom.

Whilst the interior still needed some work, fresh coats of paint – off-white for most of the rooms with splashes of eggshell green in the kitchen – and the exposed ceiling beams restored with an oak oil stain gave the place a new lease of life.

The wall clock opposite the kitchen window ticked past 3:00am. Fuck, no wonder Javier felt so beat. He manoeuvred his way upstairs, slow and careful, to avoid the creakiest boards. They may have stripped and waxed the floors, but that apparently didn’t cure the squeaking of the well-worn wood underfoot.

He must have succeeded on this occasion, as it wasn’t until he got to the top that he was met with Luna’s wagging tail. He whispered a greeting to her and rubbed behind her ears until she returned to her sleeping spot beside Sol and Leo, who hadn’t even stirred. Sometimes, the trio would bed down for the night here. Other times, it was just Luna. Rarely, it was none of them now that they had two new rivals for Chucho’s affections next door.

Kira was a six-month-old Great Pyrenees, her thick coat a solid white with pale tan patches. Fuego, a male copper red and white Border Collie, was a couple of months older and already chomping at the bit to get amongst the cattle. Although they both still had to undergo a lot of training before they would be put to use on the ranch, Javier and Horacio got the distinct impression Chucho enjoyed being kept on his toes again.

Javier finally reached his destination but gave himself an extra few seconds to take in the view.

Horacio was nestled beneath their sheets on his stomach, his torso rising and falling in a calming rhythm that Javier was convinced could have lulled him to sleep if he wasn’t standing up.

He undressed, throwing every item of clothing straight into a rattan hamper in the corner of the room, keenly aware he needed to shower but too tired to do anything about it now.

Instead, he perched on the edge of the bed, basking in Horacio’s long eyelashes, rough stubble and unrulier-than-usual hair that was tantalisingly close to becoming a head of curls if he didn’t get it cut soon. Not that Javier was complaining.

He tried to be restrained and let Horacio sleep, but he was only human.

A faint groggy sound came from Horacio’s throat as delicate lips met his forehead, his lashes flickering until they couldn’t resist any longer.

Javier hushed as he gently crawled on the bed, draping himself over Horacio and kissing the nape of his neck. “Sorry it’s so fucking late. Just go back to sleep.”

“You’re making that difficult right now.” Horacio arched his back in response to the warm breath tickling his bare skin as Javier’s mouth worked between muscular shoulder blades.

“Shouldn’t be so irresistible.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No. I’m not.” Horacio twisted around far enough for Javier to slide off his back and onto the mattress, allowing them to properly embrace. And so Horacio could put his own mouth to use.

That was as far as it was going for the night, though. Horacio had an early start in the morning, and Javier didn’t want to fall asleep before they could finish.

“Did it all go okay?” Horacio asked once they had got comfortable.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, there was a delay with the paperwork, as usual. But once we were on the road, it was fine. Heavy traffic around San Antonio, but I almost had the I-35 to myself on the way home.”

“And the family?”

“Exhausted and drained, obviously. Fuck knows when their hearing will be. But at least they’re together again and safe for now.”

Javier wasn't only clueless about the date of the hearing, he couldn’t predict the outcome of it either. That wasn’t his remit. By the time the Torres Fuentes family were in front of an immigration judge, he would have helped countless more families and individuals like them. Their circumstances weren’t always the same, but their options were just as limited.

Not all days – or nights – were like this one. Sometimes, Javier would be on translation duties on the frontline of the border, triaging and directing people towards help, whether it be medical attention, food, water, toiletries, a change of clothes, a shower, or a bed for the night. Or, more than likely, access to a lawyer. His and the fleet of other aid workers for charities, not-for-profits and NGOs would be some of the first non-threatening faces new arrivals would see once the INS was finished with them, and that wasn’t a responsibility he took lightly.

Other times, he would deliver bond money to detention centres in exchange for someone's freedom, help people fill in forms and paperwork, or run community outreach sessions, reminding people of their rights. He had even hosted several families at the guesthouses for a night or two until safe transportation could be arranged for travel onward to relatives or sponsors elsewhere in the States. Flights were usually not an option for most due to a lack of papers, so the preferred method was long car journeys split between drivers like Javier. No two days were ever quite the same because no two stories were ever the same. There were commonalities, but subtle nuances and complications came with the territory of human lives.

“You did everything you could to help them.”

“I know. Just makes you realise how fucking…fragile it all is. And how fucking lucky we are.”

There was no denying luck – and money, of course – played a role in Horacio securing a visa and the Holy Grail of a green card for being an investor in the States. But Javier had also utilised an old contact at the US Embassy in Bogotá to expedite Horacio’s application. Her name was Colleen, and she had, with great reluctance, helped him secure visas for several informants in the past.

The silence over the line when Javier had uttered Horacio’s name was long, loud and awkward. But just like with his informants, she didn’t ask any questions and did him one last favour on the proviso she never heard from him again.

“We are. And I’ll never forget that.” Horacio’s palm connected with Javier’s cheek, flecks of moonlight highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. “You look exhausted, too.”

A soft chuckle filtered through the shadows. “Thanks. Sorry for waking you, though. I know you’ve gotta be up early.”

“Yeah, which is why I’m glad you did wake me. Once I’ve done the usual rounds, I’ll probably be in meetings most of the day. So, I won’t see you until late.”

“Better make the most of you now, then.”

Lingering kisses followed, but they knew it was fruitless to fight the fatigue.

“How’s everything going with the business plan?” Javier asked once he had accepted defeat.

“So far, so good. I want to go through everything with your father again before everyone arrives. Just to make sure he’s happy with it all.”

“I’ve, er, got it on pretty good authority he is.”

Horacio rolled his eyes. “I know. But it’s his money invested in this place as much as ours. And it’s not like I’m the expert.”

“Not yet. And he trusts you. They all do. You’re no longer a new face around here, remember.”

“I know. But I’m still learning the ropes, and I’m not the one in charge anymore.”

“You sure about that?”

There was a suggestive edge beneath the drowsiness in Javier’s voice. If Horacio looked hard enough through the darkness, he would have seen a quirked brow thrown his way.

“Well, I still have my moments.”

Javier mumbled a lazy hum of agreement. “I’ll say. But don’t worry about tomorrow, okay? You’ll be fine. Trust me.” He managed one last kiss for good measure, even though his eyelids were getting heavier by the second.

A muffled “I do” was pressed into the shell of Javier’s ear as he flipped his body around, his back cushioned against Horacio’s chest. Calloused fingertips weathered by hard labour nowadays rather than a trigger found their home resting on the curve of Javier’s stomach, eliciting a meditative sigh from both as they huddled down.

It didn’t matter that one of them would be up soon with the dawn chorus while the other might be called away past the midnight hour. Because they knew how lucky they were, not only after all they had been through but compared to so many who crossed the border to start a new life. And it was impossible to take that for granted.

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For all that had changed, wall-to-wall meetings and stacks of paperwork were two guaranteed constants to remain. No matter the career path Horacio chose, he was apparently destined never to escape their clutches.

The morning and most of the afternoon – with a short break for lunch – had been spent poring over business plans, maps and spreadsheets with Chucho, his accountant, Miguel, and the ranch and farm managers, Marco and Félix.

Horacio was still adjusting to being the least qualified person in the room again. But the fact that he was even privy to such meetings in the first place was a privilege not customarily afforded to ranch hands without much experience under their belts. It was hard to gauge what others thought about his…unique position here. But he was also an investor whose name, along with Javier’s, was on the title deeds of the farm. Even if people didn’t know about them, it stood to reason that he would be consulted about any development proposals.

Between his money and the safety net of his connections – whatever some may have speculated the precise nature of those were – to a well-respected ranching family, Horacio, so far, hadn’t had too many problems. Not even when shadowing or attending training courses off-site, and he was surrounded by heavy Texan drawls and the type of man who had the propensity to make his feelings clear with his fists – or a gun – if he found out a fellow rancher shared a house and bed with another man.

But the odd off-hand comment had made Horacio wonder if they knew more about his past employment than he realised. In which case, perhaps in their eyes, getting on the wrong side of the former head of Search Bloc wasn’t a wise move.

Regardless, this was what he had signed up for. And for all his investments and networking, there were no cutting corners in ranch and business management, beef production, animal science and equine studies. The Peñas were far from the only family business in the industry, and most had grown up a lot more hands-on than Javier. Horacio could never have leapfrogged over them even if he had wanted to.

By late afternoon, the meetings were done for the day – although there would be plenty more to come – leaving Horacio and Chucho to check on the pregnant heifers. The calves weren’t due until early April, another month away and just in time for Horacio’s birthday. But it was all hands on deck between now and then to ensure it went as smoothly as possible. Their main job today had been to weigh the expectant mothers, who, thankfully, all turned out to be healthy and on the right track.

Broken shards of light bounced off the ranch’s steel fences and gates as Horacio and Chucho sat on the farmhouse porch enjoying a well-earned break, the sun’s heat beginning to show glimpses of what it was capable of during the summer months. Bluebonnets blanketed the fallow fields, and the saccharine scent of yucca blossom travelled on the early spring breeze.

Chucho stirred a freshly made pot of tea and filled two cups to the brim, sliding one across a wooden table towards Horacio, who accepted with a nod of thanks.

“So, do you think it went okay today?” Horacio asked after a quenching sip of tea.

“Better than I expected, to be honest. Félix worked for Ciro and Malena for many years. I wasn’t sure he’d take to new ownership. Or if he’d even want to stay. But he seems to be on board with the idea of expansion.”

“What about the rest of the workers Ciro and Malena employed?”

“A few moved on or retired. But most don’t care who’s in charge as long as they're getting paid.”

“And what about here? Have many left or cut ties since…” Horacio trailed off, hoping he had done enough for Chucho to follow his train of thought without saying it out loud.

“Not many, no, Mijo. And only the ones I’m glad to see the back of.”

“Not many?” Horacio scoffed into his cup, sending ripples across the surface of his drink. “So, still some, then.”

“As I said…only those I don’t want the ranch to be associated with anyway. It's no loss if they can’t keep their noses out of my family’s business.”

The thing was, Horacio and Javier had everything to lose if the wrong person found out. One phone call was all it would take for the police to be banging down their cottage door. After all, that had happened to plenty of others like them in Texas. It had happened to plenty of bars and restaurants that ended up either raided or burned to the ground, the owners and patrons harassed, arrested, beaten to a bloody pulp, or worse. But Horacio couldn’t bring himself to say any of this to Chucho, so he took extra time swallowing his tea instead.

“From what I’ve heard, the majority see you’re a hard worker. You’re willing to learn the ropes. But you’re not afraid to get stuck in or take the lead if needed. You’re professional with the contractors. And you’re trusted to do a good job. That’s worth a lot around here – a lot more than gossipers. I may not know what it’s like for you both...but I do know not everyone’s like them.”

A smile reflexively spread across Horacio’s lips. “My Mamá said similar back in Manizales.”

Chucho mirrored Horacio’s expression. “She sounds like a wise woman.”

“She is.”

“And proud of you. As I’m sure your father would be. Starting over again is never easy, but what you and Javi have done here…I'm proud, too.”

“Thank you. Me too, to be honest.” Horacio let out a brief huff. “When Javier told me what he wanted to do, it was like the final piece slotted in place. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.” He shook his head this time at how blindingly obvious it was once Javier said it out loud. “But I think he needed to leave to be able to come back again.”

Chucho hummed into his tea. “That’s the thing about the past: you can’t outrun it. And once you let it walk alongside you, I think your path becomes clearer.”

For the second time that afternoon, Horacio could scarcely believe his Mamá and Chucho hadn’t met yet. But he was looking forward to the day that would change.

“A few years ago, I never thought this could be my life. Or that I wanted it to be. But now, even though it’s not easy work, and the hours are long, and I’m starting from the bottom of the ladder again, everything just feels…” He broke off, searching for the right word.

“Simple?” Chucho supplied.

“Yes. Simple.”

After Horacio finished his tea and saddled up Coco ready to help move the herds into the barns before nightfall, he didn’t mind that his legs were stiff from all the sitting in chairs he had done today. Or that the last thing he felt like doing was wrangling contrary cattle.

He didn’t mind that it would be more of the same at the break of dawn tomorrow and a long road ahead of grafting and proving himself. He didn’t mind that he wouldn’t catch up with Javier until they shared a late dinner once Javier had driven back from Austin. He didn’t mind if complete strangers couldn’t stomach what they got up to behind closed doors as long as they were left alone to live in peace.

He didn’t mind any of it because they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

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No matter what profession he worked in, it was rare for Javier to take a weekend off. He’d accepted a long time ago he wasn’t the 9-5 type, and leaving it all at the door once he clocked off had never been an option. But a new batch of aid workers and volunteers had arrived in the last few weeks. And once Luz, his boss, got wind of an upcoming birthday in the team, she insisted Javier finally use up some vacation time.

Luz Díaz was someone Javier could call a friend as well as his boss these days, especially in light of their parallel circumstances. While Luz was an aid worker on the border, she lived with Carla Moreno, the daughter of a dairy farmer several miles to the south. However, unlike Chucho and Elena, their parents, whilst not hostile, preferred to brush their daughters' relationship under the carpet wherever possible.

When Luz accompanied Javier to the guesthouses with a new family one afternoon, she had first crossed paths with Horacio. Until then, Javier had played his cards close to his chest, never knowing whether it was safe to trust anyone. But it hadn’t taken Luz long to put two and two together – or for her to realise she could share her secret in return.

Birthdays had held no real significance for Javier since childhood. But his Pops was determined to invite him and Horacio to the farmhouse for dinner that evening. In the meantime, once Javier had escaped work by mid-afternoon, he headed home to freshen up and grab a drink. It may have been late October, but the Texan heat was a stubborn son of a bitch, and was still hitting the mid-90s several times a week.

A neatly written note was pinned to the fridge that read In corn barn, so Javier took a UTV and headed across the farm. It was quieter now the harvest was over, and the cattle from the ranch had grazed on any leftovers. The herds were back next door, allowing bales of corn stalks to be gathered up and stored ready for use as bedding for the livestock on chillier winter nights.

The latest calves had thrived since April and only had two months left before they would be weaned off their mothers. Usually, several were sold at auction, but they had kept hold of them this time due to the extra space. Now the harvest was out of the way, the next step was to clear the lower fields and build a new gate linking the ranch with the farm.

When Javier arrived at the barn, Horacio was unloading the last batch of bales off the trailer.

Horacio paused for a second when Javier came into view, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Where did you get that?”

“It was on the passenger seat.” Javier gestured to the parked UTV. “Does it suit me?” He tipped the brim of a Stetson to match the one Horacio was already wearing.

Given the similarities between their outfits, anyone would have been forgiven for thinking Javier was an employee. They both wore belted dark blue jeans – Horacio’s more mud-splattered – brown boots and plaid shirts with rolled-up sleeves – Horacio’s brown and white and Javier’s green and red. The most noticeable difference was Horacio wore a white bandana around his neck whilst Javier’s shirt collar was wide open, his neck on full display.

Horacio silently lifted the side of the trailer back up and locked it now that it was empty. He shrugged the protective gloves off his hands one by one and flung them into the cab of his truck.

He followed Javier into the barn and closed the door, but his attention was on the wall opposite. A long row of hooks was hung across it, where various pieces of equipment were kept, including overalls, brushes, and a wide range of horse tack.

On the last hook was a coiled lariat, which Horacio picked up and stood facing Javier several feet away. He threaded the rope through the Honda knot until he held a loose loop in his right hand, his hungry gaze fixed on Javier as his wrist built momentum over his head in measured circles.

Before Javier could react, the tip of the rope found its target, tightening around his waist, his feet involuntarily taking him forward as Horacio reeled him in. Even when they were chest to chest and breathing hard, Horacio didn’t let up his grip on the rope.

“You know it does,” Horacio eventually rasped at the shell of Javier's ear.

Javier shivered at the timbre of Horacio’s voice, the earthy scent of the land combining with the heady musk of sweat, remnants of mud and dust still visible on his face and arms. “Someone’s been practising.”

“Well, it is a special occasion.” Horacio tugged on the rope, pressing their bodies together until his lips found Javier’s neck, stubble scratching along his jawline, finally brushing over his mouth.

Javier took the bait, responding with a full kiss, distracting Horacio enough to drop the rope. Then it was all bets off as his hands journeyed over Horacio’s back, first dipping southwards, palming his ass through his back pockets, then northwards to remove the bandana and roam under his shirt. But something made Javier pause mid-way.

He looked at Horacio for an explanation but was met only with a coy smile.

“Happy Birthday.”

Javier’s brow quirked suggestively of its own accord. “I thought we weren’t doing presents.”

“I can take it back if you’d prefer.”

“Don’t you fucking dare. Now, shut up and drive us home.”

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No sooner were they back at their cottage than Horacio straddled Javier’s lap on the couch, teeth nipping as they grabbed handfuls of fabric or skin.

When Javier made to unbutton Horacio’s shirt, Horacio stilled his attempts. “Not yet.”

Instead, his mouth ghosted over Javier’s as his fingers slid down to his belt, unbuckling it unhurriedly and deliberately.

Their laboured breaths filled the silence, the rich scent of earth and woodsmoke heavy on their senses.

“Touch yourself,” Horacio finally said, his order clear, voice steady.

It was all Javier could do not to come on the spot. But he managed to exhale through his nose, his lips pursed as he wrestled back a semblance of control.

He let his right hand slide down to his zipper, which he knew Horacio had left closed on purpose. He gradually unfastened it, his palm disappearing out of sight.

A hitched breath and tensed thighs let Horacio know Javier had made contact even before Javier’s wrist began to twitch.

For several strokes, Horacio merely observed, drinking in every detail of Javier’s face, each jaw movement and shuddered breath, their eyes locked together as Javier took himself in hand.

Horacio couldn't hide that he was more than a little affected by the show beneath him, so he upped the ante, his fingers seeking out the buttons of his shirt, popping the top one first, then the second, third and fourth.

He stopped there, giving Javier another sneak peek of the surprise he had planned for more months than he cared to admit. He could see Javier had noticed the tantalising glimpses of brown leather drawn tightly against bare skin and could feel Javier’s motions speed up.

The remaining buttons followed, allowing the shirt to fall over the broad expanse of Horacio’s shoulders until it hit the floor.

“Fuck.” Javier’s hips spasmed, slamming against Horacio’s crotch in the process and triggering a chain reaction of panting. “Shit, Horacio. Where did you – how –”

Javier was cut off by a finger at his mouth and a soft hushing sound.

Horacio pressed a digit to Javier’s lips until it was engulfed by wet warmth. “Keep going.”

As Javier’s tongue swirled and his cheeks hollowed, he set back to work, building up friction along the shaft and over the head. It was like a switch flicked in Horacio during moments like this when he was all smoky rasps and concise commands. It was the closest Javier had ever got to experiencing Colonel Carrillo first-hand, and nothing was as intoxicating.

When Javier was being regarded and instructed so intensely, he had no choice but to submit. Anything to please the force of nature who made him come harder than he ever had done in his life. And so, he kept going, fist clenched around his cock, edging himself with each edict echoing in his ears.

Running across Horacio’s chest below his pectoral muscles was a leather strap linked to another one on either shoulder that crisscrossed over his back, his biceps restrained by matching cuffs. The leather was a worn cognac brown with intricate stitching, decorative studs and buckles like the vintage cowboy belts the harness appeared to be made from.

“You like it?”

Javier’s free hand hypnotically reached up to Horacio’s torso, fingers tracing each detail of the leather in between cupping Horacio’s pecs and tweaking his nipples.

“Beautiful,” was the only word he could muster. It was by far the best birthday present Javier had ever had. Although, if he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed Horacio was trying to make this his last one.

Horacio was conflicted between watching and needing more, so he compromised by subtly rocking against Javier’s inner thigh whilst continuing his role as a voyeur. Knowing his voice alone could get Javier off was a power trip Horacio never grew tired of, even after all these years. In fact, since his career change, it had become more arousing because being in charge was a novelty now.

He brought two fingers to Javier’s lips again, which were taken greedily without the need to be told.

“Good, that’s it, and another.”

All three digits rested on Javier’s tongue as Horacio probed back and forth with increasing vigour, leaving no doubt what he had in mind as a string of saliva connected from mouth to fingers when he finally withdrew.

Horacio transferred his glossy hand straight to his chest and across his nipples, flicking the pad of his thumb over each bud just the way Javier liked to lick them.

When Horacio looked back up, Javier was tugging in a frenzy, his breathing ragged and fraying at the seams, dangerously close to it all being over.

Horacio reached out to stop Javier’s wrist, leaning closer until his lips brushed against his ear. “Not before I’ve ridden you.”

Javier immediately extracted his hand from his jeans with a huff of frustration, resenting Horacio almost as much as wanting to be fucked. Every man had his limits, and his were rapidly being reached.

With both hands free, he alternated between hot, smooth skin, the textured leather and cool metal. He slid his fingers beneath the harness, imagining all the positions he could manoeuvre Horacio around.

His hands travelled down to Horacio’s ass, pulling him further into his lap as their mouths crashed together at long last. From glutes to thighs, Javier embraced each one until he met resistance under the denim of Horacio’s jeans.

Javier ran his fingers over it a few times. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Javier growled as he lunged for Horacio’s belt and zipper, both men making light work of removing his jeans.

Whilst Horacio stood up, he took the opportunity to undress Javier and reach over to the drawer beneath the nearby coffee table. He rummaged around until he retrieved what he was looking for and stashed it on the sofa.

There was no holding back now as nails raked over hot skin and tongues connected, rough and harsh, their cocks jutting between their stomachs. Javier’s hands glided over and under the leather straps, descending beyond until his palms massaged Horacio’s cheeks apart, wider with each circular motion, his knuckles teasing up and down the cleft.

The tremor that ran through Horacio was enough to cause Javier’s arm to stretch across the sofa until he located the bottle of lube, expertly flipping the cap open and pouring liberally.

He alternated between his middle finger and thumb in a corkscrew motion, letting Horacio stretch around him, Horacio’s forehead dropping to Javier’s shoulder, teeth grazing flesh as he held their cocks in his fist.

It wasn’t long before Horacio lowered himself, steadily taking inch by inch. He initially held still, experimenting with nudges up and down as he braced his arms on the back of the couch.

A winded noise escaped Javier’s throat as Horacio sunk deeper with more force this time, gyrating his hips until he found a rhythm.

Javier was torn between the mass of muscle and leather at his fingertips but settled for clinging to the front of the harness, pulling Horacio further onto his cock.

A strained grunt left Horacio’s throat, prompting him to re-adjust so his feet were planted flat on the sofa cushions, the change in angle plunging him to new depths. He paused, giving them a chance to catch their breaths. And then, without further warning, Horacio squatted down.

The echo of his ass hitting Javier’s thighs was enough to make Horacio do it again. And again, over and over, the slap of skin on skin louder each time.

One of Javier’s hands scrambled aimlessly around for an anchor, eventually finding the couch’s arm where Horacio’s Stetson had landed earlier in the proceedings.

Javier snatched hold of the brim and brought it towards them, depositing it on Horacio’s head. “Keep it on.”

Horacio was powerless to refuse when it made Javier’s cock twitch and pulsate, massaging Horacio’s prostate as he bounced at just the right angle, his own length sliding up and down the plains of Javier’s chest and abdomen.

Now the hat was in place, Javier's hands sailed over Horacio’s thighs, pausing as he made contact with the leather band around his right thigh. He couldn’t believe Horacio had not only remembered their dirty talk the morning after Trujillo’s wedding but that he had brought Javier’s fantasy to life. And it was better than even his wildest dreams could have imagined.

A part of him wanted to remove the garter just so he could re-attach it. But he was mesmerised by the way the leather stretched around Horacio’s thigh as his pelvis pulsed back and forth, up and down, and round and round.

His fingers gravitated south, landing where the two men joined together. “Fuck,” Javier choked out, rubbing in circles around the wet rim, feeling the thrumming heat of his own cock, and wishing he had a better visual of them moving as one.

“Lie on the floor.” In complete contrast, Horacio’s cadence was calm and in control, like he was directing his horse.

Javier did as he was told, his body cushioned by a thick grey, black, and ivory Zapotec rug.

Without hesitation, Horacio sat atop Javier’s thighs with his back to him, presenting the perfect view as though he had read Javier’s mind. As he re-seated himself, he reached behind, spreading his cheeks wider as he sunk lower.

A strangled whimper was drawn from Javier’s chest as he raised his head for a closer look once Horacio started to move. He ignored the strain in his neck and replaced Horacio’s hands with his own, each palm cupping and squeezing, pushing forward, fingernails clawing, urging his rider to go faster.

In response, Horacio deepened the roll of his hips and balanced his hands on the rug beneath them.

They had picked it out on a trip to San Antonio the previous year, one of their first joint purchases for the cottage. And now they were finally christening it, surrounded by an array of décor and furnishings they had chosen together since. For their own home, an unthinkable notion in the not-so-distant past. Yet here they were against all odds.

Javier grasped the latest addition to their household, pulling Horacio by the harness in all directions as though he was the jinete (horseman) steering the reins rather than the steed being mounted bareback. But Horacio was the one wearing a Stetson. The one in the saddle daily, strengthening and toning his muscles even more than they already were, and Javier could already feel the difference.

He let go of the harness, his fingertips skimming Horacio’s voluptuous upper arms, rump and thighs, caressing the tight leather cuffs, pressing the sharp chill of the buckles against fiery skin until a shockwave rippled through Horacio and straight to Javier’s cock.

As Javier’s hips involuntarily bucked, their rhythm faltering in a chorus of moans, Horacio was beginning to regret not utilising a belt or one of the lariats from the barn as restraints on Javier’s wrists. But he changed his mind when he felt a crisp slap across the ass like a quirt used with overzealous force. But unlike the horses – with whom he was always gentle – Horacio had no objection to the sting left behind.

In fact, it only spurred Horacio on, his ass lifting higher with each strike, building momentum, one hand stimulating his own cock in tandem.

Javier could feel rather than see Horacio jerking off, and his pelvis began to automatically plough upwards again, trying and failing to keep in time when he was this far gone.

“Horacio,” Javier breathed out, his tone pleading, desperate and wrecked.

“Tell me what you need.” Horacio wasn’t going to make it as easy this time. If Javier wanted something, he would have to use his words.

“I need you on all fours.”

And so Horacio dismounted, willing and waiting to give Javier everything he asked for, a complete 180 in a matter of minutes.

Javier wasted no time and fell in place behind Horacio, lining himself up and propelling forwards with a rough thud, nails digging into hipbones hard enough to leave marks.

As Horacio took himself in hand once more, Javier slowed to bask in a bird's eye view of his cock disappearing and reappearing, his thumbs spreading Horacio wider to get a better look at where they became one. It would have been easy to take it for granted by this stage, but he never did, not when they had been forced apart by circumstance and geography so many times before.

Whilst Javier was distracted, Horacio threw back his hips, causing a hiss of pleasure that inspired him to do it again and again, his ass pounding against Javier’s groin.

Javier drove forward in retaliation, pulling Horacio towards him with a firm jerk on the harness, a dual wave of groans unleashing each time Javier manhandled him, the thick leather straps taut against Horacio’s clammy skin, hopefully leaving imprints from the force.

Javier yanked hard enough to raise Horacio up on his knees, cementing them back to chest, teeth, mouth and moustache going to town as Horacio craned his neck to meet the onslaught.

“Do you know how fucking good you look like this? How…fucking…beautiful?” Javier’s declaration was broken up with each thrust as he resumed movement.

“It’s all for you,” Horacio purred between lip bites. “Your own cowboy to play with.”

With a muttered “Fuck,” Javier pushed Horacio back down on all fours, toppling his Stetson to the floor, one hand gripping at the harness, the other at the nape of Horacio’s neck, his fingers fondling the gold chain that complemented the silver one at his own breast.

His hips hammered forward, no holds barred, as an all too familiar pressure built and threatened to consume him any second now. He glanced down, transfixed by his own fluid motions, entranced by how well Horacio held his cock, how Javier had tamed a once wild bronco who would have thrown off any other rider a long time ago. But not him, never him, so maybe he was more of a vaquero than he thought.

A combination of the visuals, the leather against his skin, and the tight heat squeezing and releasing around him took its toll. Javier let out a wounded gasp as though all the air had been knocked out of his lungs, his muscles tensing from head to toe as he watched his cock spasm and fill Horacio up.

As liquid warmth painted Horacio's walls, his wrist jolted and shook, sending him over the edge. He felt an extra weight on his back, the harsh scrape of teeth and words of encouragement at his ear as a hand took over from his own. Just the right pace and force, just how he liked it, just enough to make him coat Javier’s fingers, vision blurred, back arched.

They didn’t move as the room came back into focus, letting their lungs and heart rates return to baseline. Before Horacio could collapse to the floor, Javier slowly pulled out, smearing glistening fingers around Horacio’s fluttering hole, mixing it in with his own release. His tongue swirled and lapped from behind, making Horacio tremble on his knees until they buckled, and he could take no more.

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The spark of a lighter and deep exhales of smoke were the only sounds to be heard for several minutes as they lay recovering in bed, the hard floor downstairs proving too much for their aching limbs, even with the rug for protection.

“So, are you gonna tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Oh, come on. You know fucking well what.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Does it matter?”

“Well…no. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“Surprised you haven’t guessed. In fact, I kinda thought it was you dropping a hint.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It was one of your old magazines that gave me the instructions on how to make it. And it’s not hard to get access to leather around here. The saddlers the ranch uses are well-stocked in almost everything. They don’t need to know what it’s being used for.”

Whatever Javier had been expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. When moving into the cottage, he had cleared out his old bedroom. Hidden in the depths of his wardrobe, beneath several layers of clothes, was a pile of magazines he never had the heart to throw away or burn, one of which was a Cowboy and Rodeo Special of Drummer.

Javier blew out a low chuckle as he passed their cigarette across the bed. “I wish I had been dropping a hint. Although…looks like you did fine without my influence. Always the dark horse.”

"Hey, they're your magazines, not mine."

"You read them. Cover to cover by the sounds of it."

"Just making up for lost time when I was younger."

"At least someone's getting use out of them. So, you ready for your first rodeo, now? Based on this afternoon, I'd put in a good word."

"Very funny."

Although, whilst Javier was, of course, joking, there were plenty of men like Horacio who did compete across Texas – without hiding who they were as well. He imagined Horacio would rather die in a stampede of raging bulls than partake in such a competition. But nonetheless, it was an appealing fantasy for Javier to indulge in from time to time.

His fingers traced patterns over Horacio’s thigh where the leather garter remained even after the harness and cuffs had come off, the leftover scent of sweat and semen on their skin fusing with the tobacco in the air. He had taken great pleasure and care in removing those; however, when it came to the garter, Javier placed a ring of kisses where the leather sat but left it in position.

“You liked it, then?”

Javier gave Horacio an incredulous look as though the answer spoke for itself. But there was a hint of uncertainty behind the question, and it was only fair to provide reassurance. “I loved it. A lot. I don’t really do birthdays, but you’ve certainly made this one memorable. So, thank you.”

"My pleasure," Horacio murmured mid-kiss. "And it definitely beats my birthday."

"That wouldn't be hard."

The first few hours of Horacio's birthday were spent helping deliver calves and bedding down close by the expectant mothers every night for the following two weeks. He barely saw Javier other than at meal times, and it took multiple showers to wash the pungent barn aroma out of his hair.

“Hadn’t we better shower soon?” Horacio said with reluctance once they pulled apart. “Don’t wanna keep your father waiting.”

Javier leaned over to look at the clock on the bedside table. “Yeah, we should. I’m starving now we’ve worked up an appetite.”

“Do you want to do the honours?” Horacio gestured towards his thigh.

“Keep it on.”

Horacio could tell from the wicked glint in Javier's eye he wasn’t joking. “You do know I have to work with your father? And look him in the eye.��

“Oh, come on, he won’t even notice. Not everyone checks you out as much as me, y’know. Especially not my Pops. And…” Javier sat up and swung his leg across Horacio’s thigh until he was straddling him. “It is still my birthday, remember.”

Despite such brazen tactics, Horacio met Javier’s mouth again, groaning gently as Javier’s teeth pulled on his bottom lip. “Fine. As long as you can keep your hands to yourself through dinner.”

“I’ll try my best.”

He could make no such guarantees after dinner, though.

------------------------------------------------------

It took another week for the temperature to cool by several degrees, just in time for the residents of Laredo to visit neighbouring pumpkin patches, carve out Jack-o’-lanterns and go Trick-or-Treating.

By the time Javier had finished work and picked up some groceries, Chucho was busy in the lounge blanketing a table with a white lace cloth before arranging two extra tiers on top decorated with papel picado. Nearby trays were full of items ready and waiting to be placed on the ofrenda, including a Talavera pitcher of water, pan de muerto, a plate of salt, fresh marigolds, Calaveras, and a familiar wooden box.

Chucho looked up at Javier, who stood in the doorway with a cardboard box. “Ah, Javi, good timing. Pass those here.”

Javier held out a batch of fresh buñuelos delivered straight from Desde La Frontera. “Need a hand?”

Chucho looked at Javier with pleasant surprise. “Please, Mijo.”

Between them, they transferred everything from the trays to the table, Chucho directing where each item needed to be placed.

When it came to the wooden box, Chucho sat on the sofa to open it.

Javier watched silently from a few feet away, an ache forming in his chest when he saw the photos spread out on the furniture. But he pushed past it and sat in the adjacent armchair.

He looked closer at the pictures and reached into the pocket of his leather jacket. “This needs to go on it too,” he said.

Chucho glanced up to see Javier clutching Mariana’s poetry book.

“Of course. She can tell us how much she liked Madrid. Which reminds me…”

Chucho stood up and disappeared into his bedroom before reappearing with a card in his hand. “I always keep it by my bed, but it belongs on here.”

Chucho was holding an old prayer card of La Virgen de Guadalupe. “Abuela Rosa gave it to your Mamá for her quinceañera, along with these. ” Chucho lifted a string of rosary beads from the wooden box. “I think she cherished the card as a reminder of our ancestors. Even though your Abuela disapproved, your Mamá had her own ideas about Guadalupe.” He couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head with fondness.

“How do you mean?”

“Back in the '60s, Guadalupe became the mascot for the farmers’ union protests – the ones your Mamá marched on. She liked to think of her as someone who helped those in need. Do you remember her reading stories about the Aztecs? And Guadalupe, La Malinche and La Llorona?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

Javier blinked, keeping his eyes closed for a fraction longer than was customary. The memory was fuzzy around the edges, but he could feel the warmth of his mother lying beside him on his bed, a book between them as she read aloud tales of their ancestors. Once he started getting drowsy, she would sing to him or stroke his hair and kiss him goodnight, the comforting sound of her favourite telenovelas drifting through his bedroom door as he fell into a deep sleep.

When he was even smaller and couldn’t sleep after his older cousins convinced him La Llorona had been spotted in Laredo the previous night, his Mamá soothed him with the advice she had been given by her mother to always pray a Hail Mary and an Our Father whenever near water before making a sign of the cross for protection.

However, Javier also remembered during the first few months after she was gone, he would have nightmares about La Llorona. Except in those dreams, his Mamá had taken on the appearance of the wailing spirit, and her ghost roamed along the banks of the Rio Grande, screaming for him. But no matter how hard he tried to get closer to her, she would move out of reach until he woke up screaming.

“There have been so many versions of those stories since the days of the Aztecs, who knew Guadalupe as Coatlalopeuh, Tonantzin, or Coatlicue. La Llorona as Cihuacoatl. And La Malinche as Malinalli or Malintzin, or La Chingada. Some of those stories say they are all one and the same. And that the conquistadors made Guadalupe the Madonna above the others. Your Mamá saw Guadalupe as a symbol of hope, a mediator between the Aztec and Catholic religions, uniting all the different parts of us and our roots. The light and the dark, the old world and the new, the conquered and the conqueror, the obedient and the rebellious, the eagle and the snake, the Mexican and the American.”

“Never thought of it like that when I was younger. But it’s beautiful.”

“It is.” Chucho stood up and placed the prayer card on the altar.

“D’you think it’s possible, though? To unite it all, I mean.”

“I think we have to try as much as we can. And learn to make peace with it when we can’t. But I know it’s not easy.”

“Mexico didn’t seem far enough to run when I took the DEA job, even though it was never home. So, Colombia it was.” Javier couldn’t help but laugh at his own confused logic in hindsight. “But when we were in Manizales, I kept thinking about all the stories you told me about our family history – in the US and Mexico. And it just…hit me I was needed right here on the border. So, thank you, Pops.”

“For what?”

“For reminding me of my roots.”

“Your Mamá helped out a lot here, but she always wanted to do more. And she would have done a whole lot more if she’d had the chance. She’d have fought for yours and Horacio’s rights too, I’m sure of it. I had a feeling you’d take after her one day.”

“Better late than never, right?”

“Right. She’d be so proud of you and your work, Mijo. And so am I.”

A customary exchange of nods filled the silence that had become a trademark between father and son over the years when words seemed inadequate.

Chucho cleared his throat and turned to make one final check everything was in its rightful place on the ofrenda. “I think we’re about ready if you want to get Horacio.”

Javier headed next door with his Pops’ words – and his Mamá’s – echoing in his head. He thought about all the tangled threads that had run through him his whole life like the river he grew up on the bank of. It was ironic he could walk across bridges from Laredo into Mexico and back again, a confluence of his heritage. Yet there was always a gap that wouldn’t close. A gap those who insisted on his name meaning shame with a n rather than rock with a ñ wouldn’t let him close. All of the contradictions and dualities he had tried to reconcile, assuming in the past that he was expected to pick one or the other but never feeling qualified enough, resigning himself to an eternal conflict he could never win.

He thought about the people who crossed the invisible line in the earth every day, the one that instantly changed their identity and status whether they liked it or not, dividing and flattening their humanity into stereotypes and insults. The one that caused mothers separated from their children to cry like La Llorona and be condemned for finding themselves in desperate circumstances through no fault of their own. The one that led to Operations Hold the Line and Gatekeeper building walls and deploying an army of la migra, as Border Patrol were often called, to keep people out.

Maybe it was Javier’s recalcitrance, but the more the US government tried to put up borders – despite not thinking twice about violating those belonging to other countries – the more at ease he felt without them. After all, Texas had been part of Mexico in the past, as well as its own republic, and he had spent more than enough of his life trapped by self-imposed borders and walls already.

To be in a place like Laredo was to live on the margin of two countries and cultures, not one or the other. He was Mexican American, a Tejano. He had shared his heart and bed with women and men. Horacio was a closely guarded secret and a naked truth; they lived in the shadows and in the light. He was making a difference, yet it was a drop in the ocean of an ever-expanding problem. He regretted so much of what went down in Colombia, but not that he went in the first place, not only because of Horacio but because it brought him full circle. It brought him peace. It brought him home.

------------------------------------------------------

As the clock struck midnight and welcomed in Día de los Difuntos, the ofrenda was aglow with candlelight, and the fresh scent of copal filled the farmhouse.

Horacio stood over the altar, his gaze fixed on the image of him in his Papá’s jacket, his father’s usually stern expression relaxed and…proud. He had never really allowed himself to think of that word before. But as the veladoras flickered and swayed across the photograph his Mamá had insisted he kept, he could no longer ignore it.

Beneath the photo lay the golden pendants, temporarily removed from Horacio's neck for the festivities, a glass of his Papá’s favourite rum to match the one in his hand, and a plate of tamales.

“Not bad for a Colombian.”

“I guess I had a good teacher.”

“After dealing with a son determined not to follow in my footsteps, it makes a change to find someone more willing.”

Horacio’s eyes landed back on the photograph of him and his Pops before shifting to one of Mariana in her element at a Chicano civil rights march with a toddling Javier by her side, a bittersweet smile taking hold of his lips. “Funny how it works out.”

“True. But as long as it does, that's the main thing. Even if it’s not what you expected.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“What are we toasting?” Javier asked as he came in from the kitchen with two glasses of his Mamá’s mezcal of choice, passing one over to Chucho.

Chucho gave a nod of thanks and raised his glass. “To endings and beginnings. And reunions.”

The next couple of hours were spent telling stories, reminiscing, remembering. Welcoming the past into the present, letting it know there was still a future.

------------------------------------------------------

Chucho retreated to bed first, leaving Javier and Horacio to finish their drinks by the fire, which had burned down to its last mesquite log.

After placing their empty glasses in the kitchen, Javier stopped by the ofrenda on his way back to the sofa. His eye caught the selection of sugar skulls on display, each delicate design bearing the name of a departed loved one. Although, there were, in fact, two each for Mariana and Eduardo.

Javier traced his finger across the one which read Mariana Rosa Reyes Estrada, a pair of arms gathering tightly around his waist simultaneously.

“I never knew her with this name. She left Estrada behind in Mexico. Before she married, she was Mariana Reyes. Then she took Pops’ name ‘cos that’s the gringo way. And to make all the paperwork easier, I was just a Peña, too. But Pops likes to welcome her home with her Mexican and American names. In case she gets lost, he always says.” Javier released an affectionate chuckle at the expense of his Pops’ superstitions.

“He told me when he asked for my father’s full name.” Horacio smiled into Javier’s shoulder as he reached towards the skull that read Eduardo Horacio Carrillo Acosta.

He repeated the same motion across the shared part of his and his Papá's name. “The CNP prefer you choose one name when you enlist. So, of course, we all followed suit – Mamá included. And she left Sierra behind when she changed her papers.”

“Seems like we all have to leave parts of ourselves behind one way or another.”

“True. But if we’re lucky, we find them again somewhere down the line.”

Javier hummed in agreement as a trail of kisses soothed at his neck.

“When was the last time you did this, by the way?” Horacio asked as he traced idle patterns over Javier’s stomach.

“Día de Muertos? Fuck…I can’t even remember. When I was in Colombia, I always came home for Christmas – but not before. Pops never made a big deal out of it, but I could tell he was disappointed.”

“I’m sure he understood. And at least you’re here now.”

“I know. I think I just needed to do it in my own time.”

“Same here. So, thank you. To you and your father.”

“For what?”

“Letting me be a part of it. I think it’s something I’ve needed to do for years.”

“Horacio, of course you’re a part of it. You’re a part of the family.” Javier’s fingers found Horacio’s, lacing them together with ease above the belt of his jeans. “Tú eres mi familia.” (You’re my family)

“Y tú eres mía.” (And you’re mine)

“I was thinking about tomorrow…well, technically, later today. I, er, wondered if you wanted to watch the parade downtown. Then maybe head over to the cemetery with Pops. It's fine if it’s too much. I get it. I just thought maybe –”

“It’s okay.” Horacio cut him off, turning him around until they were face-to-face then forehead-to-forehead. “I’d love to.”

As the last embers of mesquite turned to ash, they knelt in front of the soft glow of the ofrenda, fingers connecting with their silver cross encased between their palms. A final attempt to welcome home those who had shaped so much of their children's lives, even in their absence, and sometimes in the most unexpected ways.

------------------------------------------------------

Echoes of drumbeats filled downtown Laredo by late afternoon, accompanied by a rainbow of papel picado along every street and a sea of Catrinas and Catrins. Children and adults alike wore masks or calavera face paint and marigolds in their hair, the intricate details of their costumes no doubt requiring months of preparation.

Food and drink stalls had seemingly popped up overnight, selling everything from pan de muerto, pozole and tamales to alegría, gorditas, marranitos and champurrado. It was impossible not to get swept from stand to stand, and fears of Javier and Horacio being scrutinised by anyone they happened to bump into were soon allayed. The hustle and bustle of the festivities made them anonymous yet at one with the city, as they were all here for the same reason.

Floats, dancers and puppets passed through the main roads, a spectacle Javier hadn’t witnessed in years. As a teen, the last thing he felt like doing was celebrating when it came to his Mamá’s passing. She wasn’t supposed to have gone so soon. But nowadays, he could appreciate the care and respect involved in honouring the dead. He could look back on the precious memories and not feel the need to push them away. He could accept the duality of grief and love, not as contradictions but as two sides of the same coin.

As they followed the procession at the end of the parade, making their way towards the cemetery to meet Chucho, Javier caught Horacio’s eye with a silent question. One that Horacio answered with a firm nod, reassurance that they were still on the same page.

So much had changed since Horacio was last here for Día de Muertos, not least of all the fact Javier was with him this time and had since met his family. And Escobar was dead, of course. His Papá was no longer a choking force around his neck but a warm presence that sat more comfortably on his chest. Not weightless, but manageable now.

Although darkness had fallen by the time they arrived at the cemetery, a sea of candles and lanterns lit the gravesides like an endless night sky, each one guiding the way home, even if just for one day. The celebrations from earlier continued, some families singing, drinking and eating. Others prayed or sat with blankets and hot drinks, telling stories and keeping memories alive.

Chucho had been busy when it was still light, clearing out dried flower stems and polishing Mariana’s headstone. Now, fresh marigolds were arranged around the candles, their strong fragrance carrying across the cemetery.

They were greeted with pats on the back and a glass of mezcal. A lowkey toast and short prayers were all they had planned, preferring to save the rest for the privacy of home.

“I just wanted to say thank you. To both of you for coming.”

“Any time, Pops. I’d forgotten how beautiful this place looks all lit up.”

“It reminds me of Día de las Velitas back in Colombia. People light candles and lanterns at cemeteries like this. Not that I could bring myself to join them after Papá.”

“There’s still time.” Javier held Horacio’s gaze through the flickering half-light, making the most of the only gesture he could give in public.

“I know.”

“It’s quieter here usually. A nice place to think. And she’s always been a good listener. So, if you ever need some breathing space, I’m sure she’d be all ears.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Horacio mirrored Chucho’s soft smile before laying down a tasteful wreath of marigolds he’d bought from one of the street vendors on their way here.

Javier watched with a growing warmth in his chest as his past, present and future collided once again. A first meeting of sorts, even if it wasn’t how it should have been. Even if it was built on memories and traditions, on prayers and stories, it was still real.

------------------------------------------------------

Slivers of silver reflected off the dark waters beyond the farm’s boundaries, the stars above shimmering like distant fireflies. Southern Texan Decembers were mild, but there was a chill to the air after sundown, especially by the river bank. However, it was nothing a blanket or two couldn’t fix.

Horacio was propped against a mesquite tree with Javier sitting between his legs, one blanket beneath them and the other draped over them. Coco stood watch nearby, her reins looped around a branch as she chomped on her favourite treat of apple slices – a reward for tonight’s extra work.

They shared a flask of Manizales’ finest coffee between Horacio lightly massaging Javier’s scalp and temples. It had been a hectic few days, from Chucho roping them into Las Posadas preparations to the farm being short-staffed in the past week due to seasonal colds and flu and the border seeing a higher influx of crossings in the build-up to the holidays.

Apart from a Christmas dinner or two, they weren’t expecting to take much time off over the festive period, but tonight was all about them. They had miraculously managed to escape work on time before driving to Desde La Frontera for a meal that was starting to become an anniversary tradition.

Javier played with Horacio’s hands, pressing kisses into his knuckles and pausing over his left wrist. “You like it, then?”

“Very much.”

“I know it’s not quite a garter or harness, but…” Javier trailed off, his shoulders and abdomen shaking in tandem.

“The strap’s the same colour, though.” One of Horacio’s hands snaked along Javier’s form, tickling at the waistband of his jeans enough to make him squirm.

“Oh really? Hadn’t noticed.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe. But it does suit you.”

Of course, Javier was banged to rights. He had spent considerable time picking out the watch, knowing Horacio preferred something digital – for pinpoint accuracy – and practical. Horacio had never got around to replacing his old one that was stopped by the ambush, so it was a long overdue replacement.

But if it also happened to be a gentle reminder of certain escapades every time he looked down at it, well...that was an added bonus. As was the thought of Horacio wearing Javier’s gift buckled around his wrist every day, the strap tight enough to leave a mark on his sun-kissed skin.

“Likewise with your present.”

“I dunno about that. I think you wear it better.”

“You’re the homegrown Texan boy, not me.”

“You’re the fucking cowboy, not me.”

Horacio’s fingers on his right hand took a firmer hold of Javier’s hair, coaxing him to turn around and abandon the flask he had just brought to his lips. “Technically…you own part of the ranch and farm. So, it’s about time you had a Stetson.”

Their lips met over Javier’s shoulder, still warm and tingling from the coffee.

“Fair point.” Javier picked up the flask again and downed whatever was left before it went cold. “We got any more of this, by the way?”

“Not ‘til next week. I told Alejandra to bring as much as she can fit in her luggage.”

“Well, there’ll be plenty of suitcases to choose from.”

“I know. I’m not sure your father knows what he’s let himself in for.”

“Oh, don’t worry, he knows from when my cousins and I were kids. And he gets to play host, so he’ll be in his element.”

“He’s already given me a list of groceries to pick up on the way back from the livestock auction in Hondo.”

“When’s that again?”

“The day before my family arrives. Not ideal timing, but couldn’t really say no to more experience.”

“You still shadowing Gus Montoya?”

“Yeah, he’s been in the trade since he was 16, and he’s one of the best in the business now. I thought I should be involved before we start buying the new Santa Gertrudis and Longhorns for this place next year.”

“The paddocks are gonna be in these lower fields here, right?” Javier gestured towards a recently cleared stretch of land with the newly installed gate separating it from the ranch next door.

“Yes. It’ll be easier to move everything back and forth without disturbing the other fields. Then, once the new herd’s settled in, we can expand the stables, get in some more Morgans and Quarter Horses. Maybe diversify the cover crops for next winter.”

“Sounds good.” An unseen smile had spread across Javier’s face, the novelty of listening to Horacio talk ranch business not having worn off yet. All those years he tuned out whenever his Pops did the same, yet he never tired of hearing Horacio’s plans.

“It keeps me out of trouble.”

“Shame.”

“That’s not until next year, though…” Horacio trailed off, his lips devouring Javier’s neck, nibbling until Javier wriggled in his hold.

“Well, we better make the most of this before your family arrives.”

Horacio hummed in agreement, his mouth still buried in Javier’s shoulder. “Especially as there’s a quick turnaround before New Year’s.”

“True. I take it Felipe and Juana are still okay to come?”

“I forgot to tell you – I spoke to him earlier. Juana’s feeling much better now the morning sickness has passed. And with Cali gone and FARC taking up more and more CNP resources in the jungle, it’s mostly turf wars between the smaller gangs in Medellín. So, Martínez authorised his leave, and they’re flying out on the 30th.”

“Glad to hear it. It’s all good on the Miami front as well. They arrive the same day, late afternoon, once Connie’s finished her shift and Steve’s picked Olivia up from his parents’ house.”

“Okay, good. So, everything’s sorted then.”

“Not quite…I still need to clean out the guesthouses. Don’t think our old one’s been done since the Navarro Vega family left.”

“At least it’s still getting used since we moved out.”

“Yeah, well, I guess someone always needs it. Especially with IIRIRA coming into force. So many more fucking deportations. So many people taking bigger risks ‘cos they've got no choice.” Javier exhaled harshly through his nose.

He ran his fingers over his moustache and chin, pressing his thumb into his jaw and resting his face in his hand. “It’s starting to feel like the old days again.”

“But it’s not, Javier. You’re on the other side of it all this time.”

“It’s not just the border, though, is it?”

“What isn’t?”

“Legislation that could have us arrested for fucking in the privacy of our own home.”

“We’ve always been careful.”

“We thought we were careful back in Colombia, Horacio. And look where that got us.”

Javier didn’t think about those days much anymore if he could help it. Neither man did, except on specific dates or bad days if they were unlucky. But it was hard to shake the sense of paranoia in light of what the laws of his own state had to say about his sex life. It wasn’t far-fetched to imagine someone like Mia Domínguez spying on them through a long lens, waiting to catch them out.

“True. There’ll always be a risk. But people like us have always existed under the radar. And we’ve been here over a year now, remember. Anyone who’s got a problem with us has already made their feelings perfectly clear. The rest either don’t know or don't give a fuck. Our story doesn’t have to end like the one you showed me in The New Yorker.”

“I know.”

Javier had been in two minds about whether to share it. But Horacio insisted he was the one to be read to for a change, preferring to hear the evocative imagery of the wild American landscape from the mouth of a Texan. The parallels were undoubtedly there between the glossy magazine pages and elements of their lives – but luckily, not all of it rang true for them.

“For a start, they were sheepherders from Wyoming,” Javier added with a tone of defiance.

“Exactly. Completely different.”

“Yep.” Javier exhaled loudly, his mind already returning to his previous stubborn thought. "But it’s the same government smoke and mirrors shit all over again. The same fucking hypocrisy. If it's not chasing people down the river or letting them die in the desert, it’s drug shipments they made easier to transport here in the first place. Or you’ve got couples like us crossing over looking for safety, only to run into fucking sodomy laws. It’s never gonna stop.”

It was the same sleight of hand tactics Javier had seen before. Legislation made thousands of miles away would claim to solve a problem whilst exacerbating it on the frontline. Whether it was drugs or human beings, they proved time and time again that they couldn’t be contained by a border or a statute book. Whether it was Border Patrol or the DEA, choppers would fly over the river at night, fruitlessly chasing traffickers despite the extra budget. If the usual border crossings were out of bounds, people would risk more remote or treacherous spots to try their luck.

It wasn’t unheard of for them to emerge from clusters of trees like the one they were sitting in now, drenched and shaking from the cold and dehydration. Or for Javier to be ready and waiting with towels, a change of clothes, a hot shower, or food and drink. Some would present themselves willingly to the authorities, others would disappear, never to be seen or heard from again. If anyone ever asked, Javier had seen and knew nothing.

“And neither are you. Look at all the people you’ve helped already. You might not be able to save everyone, but you’re making the difference you always wanted to make.”

Horacio coaxed Javier to face him again, cupping his jaw and rubbing a thumb over his stubbled cheek. “Estoy orgulloso de ti.” (I’m proud of you)

Javier closed his eyes, basking in Horacio’s touch and closing the gap between them. “Y yo de ti.” (And I of you)

Easy kisses followed – the kind that were grounding and familiar, safe and timeless.

They rode back to the cottage with only the moon and stars guiding the way. Horacio clasped Coco’s reins whilst Javier held onto his waist from behind, making the most of the idyllic evening spent alone. Because even here, they knew it couldn’t always be like this. But despite all that life would throw at them in the years to come, they would be there for each other, to grow and change, to sail in the same direction, even if not always in the same boat. To make peace with the past, to live in the present, and to look to the future on their own terms.

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Burnt oranges and yellows filled the stone fireplace, the crackling of charred mesquite wood accompanying the dulcet tones of Elvis on the turntable. A fresh pine tree stood in the corner opposite a set of bookshelves, its white lights and a row of candles on the mantlepiece casting a soft glow across the lounge.

By next year, they would have to re-think the room's layout as the shelves were almost out of space. They had transferred all of their old books, records and tapes when they moved in – two poetry books in particular taking pride of place – which now sat alongside newly purchased or gifted titles from the likes of Fernando Vallejo, E.M. Forster, John Rechy, Gloria E. Anzaldúa, Alejo Durán, Linda Ronstadt, K.D. Lang, Vicente Fernández, Walt Whitman, Pedro Almodóvar and Gregg Araki. And no doubt there would be further additions to their collection on Christmas Day.

Luna was the sole canine guest tonight, her bond with Horacio somehow stronger again since Kira’s and Fuego’s arrival. Sol and Leo had grown increasingly fond of their new playmates in the last few months, so it was often the three of them in the cottage nowadays. Horacio hadn’t discussed it with Chucho, but he hoped she would stay with them permanently – and see out her retirement years – once the new cattle were in place.

She lay in her favourite chair, fast asleep with her head on the armrest and oblivious to their return home beyond a drowsy wag of the tail, before resuming her dreams.

“You had a good day, then?” Javier asked from the comfort of Horacio’s shoulder, their arms wrapped around each other as they gently swayed to the music.

Horacio let out a contented hum of approval, burying himself against Javier’s shirt, breathing all of him in. “It was perfect.”

“It was.”

“Although…I think there’s one thing missing.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Your present.”

Javier’s chest shook, and something that sounded remarkably like “You fucker” was sworn against the crook of Horacio’s neck, followed by a sharp nip of the teeth.

“It’s only fair.” Horacio tried to keep an authoritative edge to his tone. But it was far from convincing when he ended up laughing as much as Javier.

“Actually…it’s only fair if you wear your hat too.” Another neck bite, accompanied this time by a trail of kisses along the open collar of Horacio’s red plaid shirt, shoving the bandana aside for easier access. “Deal?”

Horacio’s back arched involuntarily, the rumble threatening to escape from his throat tempered into an elongated sigh instead. Not much of a win, but he’d take it. “Deal.”

And so Javier fetched the Stetsons from the coat hook in the hallway whilst Horacio switched records once Elvis had finished.

Javier lowered Horacio’s hat into place, encouraging Horacio to do the same with his.

“Satisfied?” Javier asked once they resumed their embrace, the cumbia beats of Lucho Bermúdez now replacing Elvis.

Horacio’s fingers slid from Javier’s waist to the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him forward until their lips met and the brims of their hats jutted together. “I am now…cowboy.”

They let another vinyl play before undressing, every movement sensual and considered as they removed boots and unbuckled belts between slow, thorough kisses. With hats relegated to the couch for now, Javier untied the silk bandana from Horacio’s neck, teasing smooth fabric along the nape and tossing it to the floor, revealing faded tan lines from the unforgiving summer months. Buttons from their plaid shirts were next, followed by jeans and underwear, chestnut lost in charcoal as they stood bare in each other’s arms but for the silver and gold pendants.

Neither felt the need to give into temptation, not yet, at least. Instead, they put on another record and danced, hand in hand, skin against skin, soul against soul. Because they were never in a rush anymore; now they had all the time in the world. Now they were home.

#Narcos fic #Narcos #Javier Peña #Horacio Carrillo #Carrillo #Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo #Pedro Pascal #Maurice Compte #Narcos fanfic #Narcos fanfiction #Narcos fan fic #My Fan Fic #My Narcos Fic

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lalal-99 · 2 months

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of new friendship {h.j.} | track 3

Han Jisung x afab!reader | trope: slice of life, coming of age | word count: 3.8k

Synopsis: The one where you go to a Jackson Wang party.

Check Chapter Overview for complete list of warnings

Note: As promised, this chapter is much shorter than the last. The next will, again, have 6k, but after that, chapters will be shorter (I think). Also, I wrote the most angsty and heartbreaking chapter yesterday and I can't wait to post it when it's due. Hope you enjoy this :)

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Please don't flag as mature or repost this story - Thank You

You couldn’t remember the last party you had been to.

A real party, with crates of alcohol, loud music, and drunk people, that was.

Throughout your early teen years it had been a regular part of your week. Getting drunk, befriending strangers and making mistakes. You left no party within reach unattended, no matter the people or their willingness to provide alcohol to minors. You had figured out ways to always get what you wanted in the end. And what you wanted at that time was to drink away any and every one of your brain cells.

With a little luck it would be the very one that made you remember the grief of losing a parent.

Whenever you told people about those days, it was as an explanation to why you rarely drank now. Most people also thought Jisung had helped you overcome that part of your life. It would have fit right into their version of a romantic love story—girl sad, girl meets boy, boy fixes girl. Happy end.

Most people couldn’t have been more wrong.

Jisung, like yourself, was plagued by his very own share of suffocating pain. And he too wanted to forget, desperately. In meeting you, he found someone who was right as troubled, maybe even more so. Thus, a toxic relationship formed, the two of you soon becoming the life of every party you attended.

Any party you went to, you became the centre of. Be it a friend’s party, a friend’s sibling’s party, or a stranger’s party one of your mutual friends had heard about god-knows-where. Surrounded by a crowd of people, both your age and older, you became the main source of entertainment. Making people laugh and providing them with memories they wouldn’t forget. Because which other two 14-year-olds could keg-stand and funnel like grown-ups?

You weren’t proud of it, but at the same time, it was as much part of your story as everything before and after. The darkest part, filled with pain, rage, and the simple desire to forget, yes. But a part never less.

Those times were long gone; life had caught up to you at some point.

Despite your party-animal-past, a shiver ran down your back when the frat house appeared on the horizon.

People gathered on the porch, on the stairs leading up to it, and on the lawn, smoking, drinking, and making out. Whatever stereotypical frat-party scenario you could have come up with played out right in front of your eyes.

You lingered for a moment, watching the scene unfold. Unsure how to approach the evening or if you even still wanted to. Hadn’t it been for Yuqi taking matters into her own two hands and dragging you inside... Well, you would have turned around and chosen the safety of your room instead.

Your partying days sure had passed.

When you entered the house, a thick veil of warmth and sweat hit you, a breath of nausea taking over your being. A sea of people was stumbling from room to room, up the stairs or towards you, in a desperate search for fresh air. If you planned on staying here for the next few hours, you’d need a drink. Or five.

Yuqi turned towards you, excitement evident on her face, “Wanna look for Jisung?”

“Drinks first!” you yelled back, her nod telling you she had understood. Surprising, seeing someone had cranked the bass right up to 11.

With your hand in hers, Yuqi pulled you through the crowd until you reached the kitchen. It was less crowded than the rest of the house, meaning you had a safe haven you could come to if things got too much. Judging from the tension in your back not even five minutes in, you’d need it at some point.

You didn’t pay too much attention to the people around you. The couple making out on the counter or the group chatting on the other side of the room. Instead, your gaze focused on the beers in the ice-filled sink. A sigh of relief escaped you as the cold, bitter liquid ran down your throat. The first half of the bottle, you emptied in that initial gulp.

You must have needed this more than you noticed.

“Impressive,” Yuqi praised you, her lips wrapping around her own bottle for a less eager sip. “Remind me never to face you in a drink-off.”

“Trust me, my drink-off days are far behind me.”

Your voice startled one of the people standing by the side, a familiar face snapping towards you. “Y/N?”

You found Hwasa leaning against the counter, a surprised expression taking over her features.

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Your roomie had told you she’d be going out tonight too. Although you hadn’t expected her to be at the same party you had been dragged into. Pulling you into a hug, a few of her locks tickled your nose. “Jisung got invited by an old friend.”

“And you brought my new favourite person! Hi!” Hwasa greeted Yuqi with another bone-crushing hug. To an outsider, it must have looked like you hadn’t seen each other for years rather than yesterday.

“Don’t call me your favourite person, or I will cry.”

The smile on Yuqi’s face spread from one ear to the other as she let go of your roommate. After a few shorts hours spent with her, she had opened up to you about how difficult it usually was for her to make friends. Similar to Jisung, her quirky persona more times than not scared people off. Befriending not one but two people within the first week on campus, her happiness was understandable.

“So, who’s the mystery friend that invited you here? Wait, don’t tell me! I’m gonna guess. Is it Chris? He knows, like, everyone.” You shook your head, never having heard that name in your life. Scratching her chin with two perfectly manicured fingernails, Hwasa pondered. “Matthew? He’s been around for a while.” Again, you didn’t know who she was talking about.

This game could have taken forever. There were about 300 people who could have invited you, judging from the crowd inside this house. Though the fun was cut short when the door to the kitchen opened, and a familiar face entered the scene. Just like you remembered, he was followed by a crowd of eager people. Ever the centre of everything.

“No way! Am I dreaming? Y/N! I can’t believe you came.”

You startled when he pulled you into a hug, wrapping your arms around him with reluctance. You hadn’t seen him in over two years, and this was how he decided to greet you? A hug? Thinking about it, you had probably hugged him only a handful of times in your lifetime. Your birthday, maybe. Or Christmas.

“Hi, Jackson.”

He let go of you, momentarily staying in your proximity before stepping back.

He looked good, face clean-shaven and hair pulled back by a baseball cap. His clothes told the same story they always did. Rich guy with swagger, Gucci earrings somehow accentuating his baggy clothing. Jackson, for all you remembered, had always dressed like this. Drenching his aura in handsome.

“How is everyone? How’s the fam?”

“Everyone is perfect. Healthy, happy.”

Despite your best efforts to sound nonchalant, you couldn’t help the undertone of spite. Jackson seemed to understand the secret message, nodding as his lips pressed into a thin line.

You wanted to be nice to him as you were aware he was a good person at heart. But after everything, you couldn’t help being a little bitter still.

Hwasa—oblivious to a fault—interrupted the awkward shift this conversation had taken and you silently thanked the heavens. “You know each other?”

“What? You do, too?” Jackson replied, pointing between the two of you, ever the Spiderman-meme. “How?”

“We’re roommates.”

Emptying your first bottle, you pulled a second one out of the sink, opening it on the marble of the kitchen island. A party trick from back in your heyday you never quite unlearned.

“What? That’s crazy!” Jackson seemed genuinely surprised. He pulled his baseball cap off his head and repositioned it over a few loose strands. “Small world.”

“How about you?” you threw the question back to them.

“We’re—” Jackson cut himself off, eyes meeting Hwasa’s as they toasted their bottles. A quick wink, and he finished his contextually unbelievable description of their relationship. “Friends.”

Hwasa choked on her drink, laughing at his words as if it was the funniest thing she had heard all year. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

You remembered Yuqi, who was leaning against the counter beside you, perfectly quiet as she listened. Probably the quietest you had seen her since you met her. And that included the courses you visited together.

“Fine. We used to hook up. Happy?” Jackson corrected his previous statement. The wink he had sent Hwasa made way more sense now.

“Almost. You seem to have forgotten the part in which you fell hopelessly in love with me.”

Your eyes focused on the two of them. Could Hwasa be the girl? No way! That would have been too big of a coincidence.

“Okay, you are blowing that way out of proportion.” Chuckling at her words, Jackson positioned himself so that he was now facing her. “I had a little crush on you.”

“Exactly. What I said.”

Huffing, Jackson shook his head, pulling Hwasa into a side hug of sorts. Good thing Wheein wasn’t around to witness this flirtatious moment. Her absence explained why Hwasa even let someone come close to her like this. Her girlfriend’s presence seemed to put her a little on edge. Like Hwasa was in constant hope she wouldn’t do something to offend Wheein. Or, God forbid, make her think she was anything but faithful.

“We broke things off, and now—”

“We’re besties,” Hwasa ended his statement, patting his chest as they smiled at each other.

It couldn’t have been silent for more than five seconds before Jackson unwrapped his arm from his bestie. He fetched himself a fresh bottle out of the sink.

“Anyways,” throwing you and Yuqi a kind smile, Jackson turned to his friends. They were still gathered behind him, talking over each other with loud laughter. “It was nice seeing you again. I hope you and Sungie have a great night. Let me know if you need anything.”

Making his way out of the room, he left you to yourselves, sipping on your bottle like you hadn’t just emptied the last one. “Good luck finding him if you need anything. Jackson won’t be in the same room for longer than a minute.”

There was no need to tell you that.

At every party he had ever thrown, Jackson had always been nowhere and everywhere, all at once. You distinctly remembered searching for an hour once before eventually finding him where you had started. How he did it, no idea, but he sure was a pro at it.

“Let me get back to my friends. I’ll see you later?”

Nodding, you turned towards Yuqi, who had about 100 questions dancing on the tip of her tongue. The second you were on your own, she erupted like a waterfall.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” As if she would buy that. There was no way you didn’t know what she was talking about. Your body language had been very see-through throughout that whole interaction. Arms crossed, lips tight, brows cocked.

“Don’t play me, bitch!” A term of endearment, you had learned. “There was so much tension, I thought I was in Riverdale for a sec.”

You laughed at her words, shaking your head. “I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

“Alright.” Yuqi accepted, but not before getting at least one last statement out in the open. “He’s smoking hot, but whatever he did to you, I would not want to be him.”

The two of you left the kitchen on a seemingly impossible quest to find your boyfriend. You forced your way through the crowd until you reached a less dense section of the room. Only then you noticed a group of people a little further back, right by a window.

You motioned for Yuqi to follow you as you approached the couches. Your boyfriend’s mop of brown hair remained the centre of your vision.

Jisung was deep in conversation with a boy beside him while Felix listened to them. Apart from them, a handful of other boys spread over the couches. The ones that didn’t fit, sat comfortable on chairs. Seeing Jisung in a sea of people he didn’t know, talking like it’s all he was born to do, you almost didn’t want to intrude.

“Bro! Babe Alert!”

The boy next to Jisung was the first to notice you approaching. It took a lot in you to push your amusement at his obliviousness down.

As Jisung’s head followed his friend’s gaze, he gasped out a loud “Yah!” before giving the boy next to him a slap against the bulky arm.

“Dude, that’s my girlfriend.”

“Oops.”

All eyes were on you as you waved at the group. You introduced yourself while sitting on the armrest beside your boyfriend. Yuqi joined your other side, and introduced herself before leaning against you.

“I’m happy you’re here,” Jisung confessed, hand coming to your thigh, squeezing it in adoration.

“You are?”

When you looked at Jisung, you noticed the guy beside him, eyes threatening to bulk out of their sockets. Staring at Yuqi, no less. After a few seconds, he realised he’d been caught and blushed. By pulling Felix into a conversation, he hoped to cover up his interest in your friend.

The girl in question was too deep in her interaction with one of the boys on the chairs to notice. He soon offered her half of his seat, which she accepted while discussing his choice of—footwear? She really seemed to know her way around the closet.

“Yes. Because someone didn’t believe you were real.” Jisung’s eyes darted towards a boy on the other couch whose blonde tresses were pulled into a loose ponytail. “What do you say now, Hyunjin? My hot girlfriend is real.”

“That’s how you describe me to people? Hot?” You didn’t know whether to be mad or flattered.

“Just so we’re clear,” the boy, Hyunjin, chimed in, “it wasn’t the hot part I didn’t believe. It was the whole concept of a girlfriend I was questioning. But you are real, apparently. So I owe Felix ten bucks.”

Laughing at Hyunjin’s cluelessness, your boyfriend couldn’t hide his amusement. “Felix already met her, stupid! You got pranked good, dude.”

Hyunjin’s jaw was on the floor at the new discovery, gaze dramatically cutting to the boy in question.

As the two of them exchanged money and ridicule, you caressed Jisung’s thigh in adoration. A sense of pride filled you at how he had somehow already found a way out of his shell. University seemed to have a positive impact on him, the first week progressing smoother than you had anticipated. Regardless of how he made so many friends this early on, you were glad he did.

“So, who are your friends?”

Gaze wandering through the circle, Jisung introduced the boys one after another. Starting from the one sitting next to Yuqi.

“That’s Seungmin. He’s an English major.”

The boy conversed with Yuqi as though they had known each other for years. He had puppy-brown hair, parted in the middle and cut even on all sides in a fashionable bowl-cut. Two strands of light-blonde framed his face, rounding off an otherwise innocent appearance. His clothes were simple, t-shirt and cargo pants hanging loose on his lean shape.

“Next to him is Jeongin. He’s studying to become—something biology. Honestly, I didn’t understand what he does. It’s all about mitochondria and other boring stuff.”

A little more on the shy side, Jeongin followed Seungmin and Yuqi’s dialogue instead of creating his own. Like Seungmin, he clothed casual. Standing out was his thick pink hair, which contrasted his initial timid demeanour. A something-biology student with pink hair? Very eye-catching.

“On the couch, that’s Hyunjin, Minho and Chris. Hyunjin is studying art history, and Minho majors in dancing. Chris is a Music major.”

Hyunjin, the one who got pranked out of ten bucks—by Felix, out of all people—was clad in a more fashionable outfit. His grey jeans he had paired with a white button-up, a multitude of jewellery decorating his fingers and neck. Minho wore his hair in a lavender tone, a tight-fitting shirt and black leather pants. Showing off his very toned legs—a dancer, indeed. And Chris. Well, he liked his arms the size of logs, apparently. They were an unexpected contrast to his cutesy laugh, nose scrunching up as he joked with Minho.

“And the boy who can’t keep his eyes off Yuqi, that’s Changbin. Sports major. If you tell him your weight, he will send you a video of him benching it.”

“Yah, I don’t do that for just anyone. Consider yourself lucky,” Changbin interjected. Thankfully, he had only overheard the second part of Jisung’s description.

Ignoring his friend’s words, Jisung concluded his introductory round. “And you already know Felix. He’s studying to become the best teacher in the whole wide world.”

Felix ignored the mocking tone in his friend’s voice, only one of the reasons rendering him perfect for a teaching position. He stood calm whenever needed, not a word taken out of proportion. That much you had already learned from hanging out with him a handful of times. It wasn’t hard to believe, he handled children the same way he did his drunk friends.

“I’m glad you have so many friends with majors now. Maybe, they can help you decide on yours.”

Rolling his eyes at the subject you somehow couldn’t let go, Jisung pulled you from the armrest onto his lap. A tiny yelp escaped your throat, his action surprising. The two of you usually didn’t exchange PDA like that. His advances, therefore, you understood as a sign of the amount of alcohol he had already consumed.

“You will never let this go, will you?”

“Not until I know you’re not just going to university because I’m going.”

You had been gifted with so much drive to go to uni, study, become a manager. Sometimes, you forgot that some people weren’t as lucky to know what they wanted to do with their lives. Your boyfriend was one of those people.

Sure Jisung had hobbies like singing, sports and the occasional guitar session. But other than that, he was pretty clueless about his future. The two of you used to joke about it. Kidding how all the ambition and focus had gone to his sister and once he was born, there was nothing left of it. An innocent joke for as long as it hadn’t been reality.

Now that you were here and for the months leading up to your move, the joke was underlined with more seriousness.

For the longest time, Jisung hadn’t been sure he even wanted to go to university. He had debated going to work right away. Learn something handy, like electric work or nursing. That he didn’t even know a direction to go in didn’t make the decision any easier. In the end, he figured that while you were studying to go into management, he might as well join you. If anything, it could potentially give him an overview of possible fields of work.

After many discussions about your joined future and his role in it, he seemed to be over it. He wanted to explore his options—that’s what he had told you when you two enrolled. And yes, you were proud of him for getting his grades up in the last year of High School. Even if only to share this adventure with you. Though you still needed him to be a little more serious about it. Otherwise, university was four years of him exploring, ending in no degree. Four years wasted, in your eyes.

“I just want to make sure you’re thinking about it.”

“Right now, the only thing I’m thinking about, is taking you to one of the empty bedrooms upstairs.”

His breath fanned over your neck as he whispered into your ear. Goosebumps rose all over your skin, his fingers gracing over your exposed hip. You hadn’t even noticed how your shirt had ridden up before his careful touch. Repositioning yourself to sit sideways on his lap, you bit your lip at his suggestion. Your hand came around his neck, fingers running through the hair at the back of it.

“We just got here,” you chuckled as his arms wrapped around your thighs.

“So?”

“Let’s enjoy the party for a bit, yeah?” Jisung knew a final decision when he heard one, a pout overtaking his face. Good thing you had already taken measures to soften the blow. Years of being with each other gave you the confidence to play your plan as you intended. “I might know a way to make the wait worth our while.”

You smirked as you retrieved a round object from your pocket and pushed it into Jisung’s hand on your thigh. A kiss to his cheek concealed your action, his eyes widening once he realised what you had handed him. A remote control. And not just any old remote control. Connecting the dots, Jisung soon understood that it controlled the matching vibrator inside you. The very same one you had bought for his most recent birthday.

Happy Birthday, indeed, and to both of you.

Judging from his expression, you figured your plan to make his patience worthwhile erected the awaited reaction. Then again, that could have also been him pocking you from below.

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shai-manahan · 2 months

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Hi! It's been a while since I've talked about the upcoming updates, but I finally had a chance to actually sit down and make plans! (the life of a corporate slave, am I right? 🙃)

It has something to do with the changes I will be implementing on my patreon, though. I've thought for a while how to give content that's worthwhile of subscriptions while also making sure I can be comfortable with them, and in all honesty, I had a tricky time doing it. HM is too personal for me, as I used to talk about before, and some of the patreon benefits I promised before eventually felt too revealing - of my own thoughts and people whose lives were a huge inspiration for this story.

I will be talking about these changes and the update schedules as well below the cut.

UPDATES

I aim to finish at least half of HM's Book 1 this year. It seems to be a more realistic goal than forcing myself to finish everything right away (which tbh may have been a huge pressure I put on myself the past few years), though admittedly, things are unpredictable in the field I'm in; my job is full of overtime hours, and I spend most of my weekends trying to recover (or sick).

Still, I gotta finish it one way or another, and it's not going to write itself (though I wish it would!), so yeah, set realistic deadlines, pull out a few all-nighters, and maybe I'll actually get through it, who knows?

I do hope I'll have steadier finances by the time Book 2 starts so I can put more focus on writing and have sufficient energy for it, but that's a conversation for another day.

Changes in Prologue - Chapter 2

Okay. I know I promised not to make revisions until I write more chapters, but changing how some game mechanics work and reworking the stats made it a necessity, and I underestimated how much rewriting I'd have to do. A few scenes ended up not working well anymore, and I couldn't resist from revising a few clunky sections while I was at it.

Dialogue options were one of those that were significantly affected by the stat changes, but no worries, nothing is changed in the story -- meaning Wesley still fucks with the Ripper's life (oops), Richard still goes off doing whatever non-sus thing he's doing, you can still punch Bale (it's even a lot funnier this time), Bertrand remains a bitchy cop, and you'll still have your sad flashback with your former best friend/lover/crush or whatever they are to your MC.

The plan is to release the updated version of Prologue and Chapter 1 to patrons by the end of March (I will have a few days off work that week) and release it to the public once the new content is also ready, which I presume will be available next month (I will keep you all posted but I really hope I can get it done by then because it's been forever 🥲).

I might tweak Chapter 2 a little so the available portion can stand on its own rather than be divided into two parts, because it's just too long lmfao and is harming the pacing as I keep worrying about the length. I'm also incorporating a few suggestions a few folks gave me these past few months.

Succeeding chapters

I've probably said this before but things are bound to get more insane in HM once we're past the first three to four chapters. But also quicker to write in a way. They're the kind of scenes I thrive in, and while they have bigger variations, they're a lot more fast-paced, characters start being manipulative little shits, and the threats are more prevalent than ever. Your Ripper will not have a good time, but I certainly will (I say as I look at my outline and get sad doing it). There will be a few "breaks" in between, but this is not and will never be a light-hearted story. Anyway, I'm inclined to believe I'll be more consistent with updates when that time comes, so bear with me for now :')

PATREON CHANGES

This is getting long, so I'll just list the updated tier benefits and end the day with it. I'll be posting a schedule that I will be committing to (here and on patreon tomorrow morning), with the below details as well (so if you wanna stop here that's totally valid) but for now, here's the tentative list:

Tier 1

Early access - 4 days before a public update (this month will be an exception and you'll get the update as soon as the other tiers get it, too).

Sneak peeks and deleted scenes - I included the latter because apparently I delete a lot of great scenes

Hints for future revelations in the story - the categories will depend on results of polls; the hints may be about Bale's death, about Ripper's family, Pharos, Cyro, the ROs themselves, or the nightmares that the MC is getting, etc. Might be in form of vague conversations/dialogues between unknown characters, might be me dropping subtle info about those involved. Either way, it will be fun :). The polls and these hints will be given monthly.

Tier 2

Early access - 1 week before a public update

all the other benefits for Tier 1

monthly RO snippets - I'm still experimenting with this, but I might simply write MC x RO snippets (with different kinds of MCs for different scenarios because I deeply hate writing blank slate MCs, sorry)

a choice to see the POV of a character, decided through polls, for every chapter/update.

Tier 3

Early access - as early as it's available and goes through testing stages

all other benefits for previous tiers

Non-RO short stories

Previews on unintroduced characters :)

That's all for tonight! I am so tired lmfao but I hope you all are having a great weekend so far! See you tomorrow :)

#patreon #patreon changes #updates #hollowed minds progress update #interactive fiction #hollowed minds series #hollowed minds #wip #writing #hollowed minds book one #if wip #interactive novel

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sgkophie · 2 years

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Man's World - Chapter 10 - Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Cold

Pairing: Female!Leclerc reader x Carlos Sainz Jr, Carlos Sainz x reader

Warnings: angst, language

Rating: Mature

Word Count: ~5300

AN: I apologize in advance for all this angst... but I PROMISE the next two chapters will more than make up for it. 🥰

Your comments and reactions to this story have really blown me away so THANK YOU!!! I am so honored you chose to read this story.

If you haven't voted for a spin off character - please do so! Little poll for you all here!

Short Synopsis: Enemies to lovers with Carlos. <3

Check out the full intro synopsis + full story master list here!

***********

Barcelona – Georgia POV

After the kiss with Carlos, I marched myself over to the cool down room. What on earth had come over me? I mean, Lizzie told me I had to sell this – and what girlfriend wouldn’t kiss their boyfriend if they had just won their home race, right?

Right. That was the reason. 100%.

It definitely wasn’t because in that moment Carlos had the most kissable face I had ever seen. Or, because I felt so much joy for him in that moment, I couldn’t help myself. Or because I was so pissed at myself for that mistake that a kiss from Carlos was all I could think about in order to relieve my anger and frustration at myself.

Nope. Not a single one of those reasons made any sense.

George Russell walked into the cooldown room after me and gave me a big hug. “What a race there, Georgie! I thought I might have had you at the end, but that defensive move in the second half of the last lap, brilliant.”

I smiled. George might be the most British driver I had ever met, but he was also one of the sweetest. We continued to chat, lowly, for a bit as we watched the replay on the tv screen. After another couple of minutes passed, Carlos finally came sauntering in, a huge smile on his face. George and I both clapped for him, bowing at the same time, pretending as if he was royalty and we were merely his servants.

Although in Spain, he might as well have been royalty. The crowd’s cheers were louder than what I think the Spanish royal family received.

Carlos just walked in and gave me a smug grin, slapping me on the shoulder, as if to congratulate me for the kiss we had both just partaken in. I was a little annoyed at that – I was supposed to have the upper hand here. I mean I was the one who gave him amazing head on Friday, not the other way round.

Cocky bastard was still cocky even when he didn’t have a right to be.

After the cool down room and podium, Carlos, George and I were shuffled into the press conference room – or as I liked to call it, the lion’s den. I walked in first and took my spot all the way at the end. Next walked in George Russell, who came up to me and gave me yet another big hug, a huge grin on his face. It was no secret that Mercedes had some issues this year, but George was driving the car phenomenally. He no doubt had a long future at Mercedes, and he was clearly absolutely buzzing after this podium.

Only a few seconds later Carlos walked in, his clothing still drenched in champagne. We were supposed to clean up before these post race press conferences, but it was clear the Ferrari team had kept on partying. Carlos walked in and gave me a huge grin, winking at me in the process. Oh god, am I going to have to drive his Ferrari back to the hotel, I wondered. This man looks a little too drunk to drive. My smile faltered a bit as I contemplated that. Not sure what was worse, losing the race… or driving a Ferrari.

I heard George giggle as Carlos walked in and gave him a huge high five. As soon as Carlos took his seat, Will Buxton’s voice came on over the loudspeaker and the press conference began.

I took a deep breath. I knew I was going to have to discuss my terrible spin that had ultimately lost me the race. I could feel my hands start to get clammy, anxiety slowly starting to slide up into me, like a poisonous snake circling my body. I hated discussing my racing errors. What did they want me to say? I knew I had fucked up. The media knew it. The team knew it. The fans knew it.

“Let’s start with Carlos. Carlos, congrats on a well deserved win here at home for you. How does it feel?”

“Incredible, just incredible. This has been a dream of mine since I was a child, to win at Spain in a Formula 1 car, and now here I am.” I felt some warmth go through me at Carlos response. I knew how important winning at home was.

After Will’s questions were done, another journalists piped up. “So Carlos, when you saw Georgia spin behind you, what were you thinking? Were you slightly relieved, knowing that your main race competitor was going to lose some time on her lap.”

I genuinely thought the journalist hadn’t meant the question to be as rude as she had intended. Maybe it was because she was a woman, and I was projecting the fact that another woman in the sport couldn’t possibly be as rude as the men were to me. But truthfully, I think it was the fact that all journalists hated me – regardless of gender. I guess that was better? I mused to myself.

Carlos didn’t look too amused. “No, my first thought was: is my girlfriend okay. You never want to win a race because another racer puts themselves in potential danger. We’re competitive, but ultimately there’s only 20 of us in the world – we’re also friends. Once I knew she was okay, I put my head down and focused on my race.”

I looked over to Carlos and smiled. His eyes were still facing the journalist, but I could see them slightly shift to the right, as if he was observing me while he gave his answer. So much for having the upper hand, I thought to myself.

“Next one is for Georgia – Georgia, you almost had Carlos at the end. Tell us, what happened in the car today?”

“Unfortunately I made an error in the car which cause it to spin. I was fortunate that the spin was minor, and I was able to recover quickly in order to grab P2. Another mistake to learn from. We were close there at the end, but I am pleased to end with P2, keeping me in the championship lead with some solid points.” I responded. I thought my response was great and I felt confident in my answer. Absolutely nothing to worry about – press conferences were getting easier by the second.

“Sure, you’re in the lead now, but aren’t you worried mistakes like this will keep you from winning the WDC? All these small mistakes add up to something.” The journalist looked at me with a sturdy face. Clearly he was unhappy that I had mentioned I was leading the championship.

Well...shit. I could feel my blood start to boil. All of a sudden the only thing I could picture was standing up and punching the journalist. Clearly not an option – yet. I took a deep breath. I had a Louis Vuitton sponsorship to worry about it.

Keep it together Georgie.

“That applies to all the drivers. Yes, small mistakes happen – but champions don’t make them every race. If I am to be a champion, I can’t worry about what will happen the next race – I just have to focus on winning. A mistake happened this race. I’m not worried about next race until I’m in the car again.”

Good one, Georgie. I saw Lizzie in the back give me a thumbs up.

“Sure, Champions don’t make these mistakes every race – that’s evident by Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen’s past wins. But, so far you’ve made 3 mistakes in the last 6 races. How do you account for that and still think you’ll win the WDC? You’re only 15 points ahead of Charles and 20 points ahead of Max.”

I’m not entirely sure what came over me, but all of a sudden I was standing up, my fists were clenched and my face scrunched up. I was seeing red - and not the Ferrari kind.

“WHAT IS WITH YOU PEOEPLE!?” I yelled, looking straight at the incredibly rude Sky Sports reporter standing in front of me. He looked, to be fair, a little taken aback. He had clearly wanted to antagonize me, but I don’t think he was expecting this kind of outburst.

“What do you want me to say? No, I plan on making a small mistake every weekend. Can’t wait to lose the championship!” I threw my hands up in the air, my frustration showing. “I have a car that is 15x’s more reliable than a Ferrari and 20x’s more reliable than the Redbulls so far. At least I’m on the podium every race, mistakes or not.” At that moment I felt a hand on my shoulder; Carlos was standing behind me. His face was soft, his eyes laced with concern. He laced his hand in mine and smiled at me, that huge, beautiful smile.

Before Carlos could say anything, George piped up. “Want to know why Georgie is going to win the WDC this year? It’s because you guys have spent the last 6 races pissing her off – nothing motivates an athlete more than a bunch of haters. Plus, she’s got the only car that doesn’t look like a whale coming up for air,” he added with a laugh.

I turned to George and smiled, giving Carlos a silent squeeze on his hand. I walked back to my chair. Isabelle was NOT going to be pleased, but at this moment, I didn’t care.

There was some silence in the room – a few awkward chuckles after George’s comment. Finally another journalist broke the ice. The questions continued for another 7 minutes, and then we the press conference ended. No one dared asked me a question after that.

Good. I was over their nonsense anyway.

Lizzie met me at the front. She had a look of disapproval on her face. I just rolled my eyes and stormed passed her. What did she want me to say? We entered the garage and I saw both Susie Wolff and Isabelle waiting in Isabelle’s office. Once Isabelle saw me, she called me into her room.

Her look told me everything I needed to know.

“What is wrong with you?” She asked me. The question came out direct as she stared right into my eyes, her piercing blue ones gazing into me.

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. Isabelle just sighed and sat behind her desk, putting her hands on her head. There was an awkward silence around us, and I could tell she was thinking.

“When are you going to learn to ignore the journalists? They are rubbish. You know this. Why give them what they want?” she asked.

“When are the journalists going to learn to treat me like a human being?” I snapped.

“When you show them you are one,” she quipped back. She picked up her head and shot me a look. I knew what that look meant. She had always been telling me I needed to teach others by leading them. As the lead driver, I was the team leader. She was definitely a believer in 'when they go low, we go high.' I was starting to be more of a believer in, 'revenge is a dish best served cold.'

I'd beat them at their game one day.

“I’m sorry,” was all I could utter back. I felt defeated. Here I was with a big P2, a leader in the WDC, and I felt more dejected than ever.

The awkward silence continued before Lizzie said, “Carlos will be waiting for you at his Ferrari. Do us all a favor and drive it for him, I’m not sure he can drive that car back safely.” I nodded and exited the office, picking up my bag in the process.

I could feel tears prickling at my eyes, so I hurried to the parking garage, not wanting anyone to see me cry. I felt bad skipping the fans who had asked me for photos, but I knew a photo of a fan with me crying was only going to show them one thing – my weakness.

Carlos was in his car and he waved at me. He was sitting in the passenger side of the car; clearly Coco had told him he was much too drunk to drive. I smiled back, weakly, and hopped into the drivers seat and started the car. I had driven Charles’ Ferrari many times, so it felt natural to me – even if I hated it.

Maybe I should get used to driving a car that isn’t a Bugatti, unlikely I’ll have my seat much longer anyway, I thought to myself.

As we pulled out the parking garage, I could see Carlos texting on his phone – likely thanking the hundreds of friends and family that had sent him loving messages – a stark contrast to my phone, which currently had a couple texts from my bothers and mother, and I knew what Lorenzo had to say about this mess.

Some ten minutes went by and Carlos began idly chatting to me about his plans for this evening. I sighed, Lizzie had already told me there was a big VIP party going on in Barcelona and all the drivers would be attending, regardless of who would be the race winner. I had secretly hoped that I could get out of it, but with Carlos P1 and me P2, there was 0% chance of that happening. Carlos kept chatting about his day, although I could see his demeanor shift a bit when he looked at me.

Carlos POV

Tears had begun to fall down Georgia’s face, and although she was deathly quiet, I could tell something was wrong with her. The press conference had not gone as planned. That asshole was back and he clearly had it out for Georgia; it was infuriating. As if instinctually, I grabbed her hand on the steering wheel. Not sure if that was the right decision, because she began crying even harder.

“Pull over, Georgia,” I demanded softly. She nodded her head no.

Insufferable woman, I thought to myself, half joking.

“I mean it, pull over here.” The second time I asked, she complied, pulling over to the side of the road in front of a little café. Her hands were still gripping the steering wheel, and she was facing out the windscreen.

I grabbed her hand and pulled it into mine. Her breathing had started to become heavy, and her tears were falling harder. Was she having a panic attack? I pulled her out of the drivers seat and into my lap on the passenger side, putting my hand on her back, rubbing circles up and down. She was crying hard now, her eyes shut, but she let me pull her into my lap.

“It’ll be okay, Georgie,” I whispered into her ears. “It’ll be okay.” I didn’t know what else to say other than that. Was this all about the journalist? Or was there more? I knew Isabelle was a tough person to work for.

“No, it won’t, I’m going to lose my seat,” she whimpered back, trying to get ahold of her breath.

“Isabelle fire a world champion? I doubt it,” I whispered back.

“I won’t be a world champion. The press made that clear. Charles and Max are better drivers and once the teams fix the reliability, I won’t be on Podiums – I won’t get to win the World Drivers Championship.”

I held onto her tighter for a bit as Georgia continued, “If we lose this Louis Vuitton sponsorship because of me, the team won’t forgive me. They won’t have to because we’ll be out of money.”

“One outburst isn’t going to stop Louis Vuitton from meeting with you Wednesday,” I promised – although I didn’t truthfully know if that was true. Fashion brands were fickle and moved on quickly; it’s part of the reason why most of the Formula 1 teams weren’t sponsored by them. "You and Lily are much too attractive of team," I added, hoping Georgia would enjoy the little joke.

Her tears started to slow down and she looked at me, a small smile on her lips, “You’re a terrible liar Carlos Sainz.”

I chuckled and looked back into her eyes. Man, she really was beautiful. Even when she had been crying, she was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. She’d made snide remarks here and there about me dating models, but the truth was, none of them really compared to her beauty. She didn’t need make up, or false eyelashes, or fake tan. Her natural self was breathtaking. Add that with her hilarious wits and intelligence, Georgia Leclerc was a catch.

It’s why I had asked her out all those years ago.

It’s also why I stood her up on that date all those years ago. She was too good for me. I didn’t deserve someone like Georgia Leclerc, so five years ago after I asked her out, I stood her up – too scared to face the rejection I knew she was going to eventually give me. I saw the way she looked at Pierre back then; she would never look at me the same – no matter how badly I wanted her too.

“And you’re an ugly crier,” I shot back, poking her in the side. She shot me a glare but laughed at my quip. There was an easy silence between us as I continued to stroke her back, letting her wipe away her tears.

“I should get us back to the hotel,” she said finally. Much to my – secret – disappointed, she crawled off of my lap and back into the drivers seat. She put a smile on her face; it seemed forced, but not as forced as earlier.

As she rest her hand on top of the clutch, I put my hand on top of hers and let it rest there. We drove the rest of the way back to the hotel in complete silence.

Sunday Evening – Club Arrival – Carlos POV

Georgia and I had gotten ready at the hotel fairly quickly; we were expected to be at the club around 9pm and we still had to eat something. A few people had dropped by to offer congratulations, but I knew we’d be seeing most of the drivers at the club.

As we approached the hotel front desk, Charles waved to us and we walked over. He had a private limo waiting for us. If Georgia had told Charles about her outburst earlier, he didn’t show it. Instead, he gave her a warm hug and they sat at the back of the limo together.

I knew it was ridiculous to feel jealous that while I was the race winner, she chose to sit by Charles in the limo. He was her brother and she had experienced a rough day. It’s not like she had chosen to sit next to Pierre over me.

I knew I should probably let that one go. I wasn’t completely sure of what their relationship was, but Pierre had once let it slip to me a couple years ago that he and Georgia had briefly dated.

As we arrived at the club, there were photographers and fans everywhere. Charles, Lily, Georgia and I crawled out of the limo. I wrapped my arm around Georgia’s waist and pulled her close to me, smiling and waving to the fans as we walked into the club. The club coordinator met us at the door and shuffled us up into the VIP suite that had been reserved for the drivers, their partners, and a few others who were invited. I saw Pierre seated in the back with Max Verstappen and his girlfriend Kelly. As soon as we walked in he got up and started walking to Georgia and I.

“Good race over there Georgie!” Pierre celebrated, giving Georgia a big hug. He then grabbed my hand and shook it, pulling me in for a hug as well. “Congrats Carlos – winning at home, an absolute dream. Let’s hope we get to see it next week with one of our favorite twins,” he added cheekily.

Georgia just slapped her shoulder playfully, batting her eyelashes at him. “It’s not an if Pierre. I am winning next week’s race, I don’t care if it means my brother will never talk to me again.” She stuck her tongue out of Charles who returned the gesture.

“I’m going to go get us some drinks,” I called out to Georgia, and I made my way down towards the bar. I knew she liked champagne with Chambord, so I ordered her one of those and me glass of Veuve. When I came back up the stairs, Georgia and Pierre were sitting together, chatting about something. They looked slightly deep in thought together – Georgia’s eyebrows were furrowed as if she was explaining something intense to Pierre.

I wish she trusted me like that, I thought to myself. I knew why she didn’t. I wouldn’t trust playboy Carlos Sainz either.

It was petty of me to go over there, I knew I shouldn’t barge into their clearly private conversation, but I was the race winner. For once, I had achieved my dream and if I wanted to spend it with my girlfriend, I was going to – even if it was fake.

But god, part of me wished it wasn’t.

“Your drink, Georgie,” I said with a big smile, making eye contact with Pierre as I sat down next to Georgia.

There was a slight uncomfortable silence, but she turned and gave me a smile and a nod. “Thanks, Chili.” At hearing the nickname I perked up a bit. Her dress had a fairly high neck, but as I looked down to her chest, I saw the small gleam of the red necklace I had given her on Friday. It was petty of me, but I grabbed the necklace softly from inside her dress and pulled it out, putting it on display.

She quirked an eyebrow at me, clearly not amused with my action.

“Don’t want anyone to get any ideas,” I grinned. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Pierre, asking him about his race – making a clear effort to ignore me.

Fine. Two can play at that game. I got up as Pierre began to answer and sauntered over to Daniel Ricciardo and Heidi.

More of the drivers began to arrive and as the clock reached 10:30, the dance floor opened up with a new D.J. I was back at the bar, getting another drink, when I saw Pierre and Georgia move to the dance floor. My blood began to boil. The dancing looked innocent enough, but still, anyone could misinterpret what she was doing.

For someone so worried about losing her seat, she sure was putting this whole fake dating at risk. As the music started to swell, I saw them get a little closer. I felt a tap on my shoulder, and turned around to see a beautiful woman standing next to me.

“Buy me a drink?” She asked.

“Sure,” I said with a smirk and called over the bartender, ordering her a martini. We chatted for a bit before I felt her hands on my arms, squeezing my muscles a bit. Truth was, I was slightly annoyed. I hated that women felt like they could just grab my muscles because I was an athlete, but as she did, I saw Georgia’s stare meet mine and I knew she had seen it.

Good.

Fortunately for me, before I could do something stupid and ask the woman to dance, Charles came up to me; Ferrari’s golden boy had an incredibly disapproving look on his face.

“Do you mind if I get a word in with my teammate?” he asked. The woman looked at me for approval, as if silently begging for me to tell Charles to piss off – which part of me wanted to – but I didn’t. She walked away in a huff.

Thanks, Charles.

Truthfully I should have been thanking him for saving me from that reckless move I was about to make. It didn’t matter how jealous I was over Georgia, dancing with a random woman who had made it into the VIP section was a much worse decision than Georgia dancing with a childhood friend.

“Thought you were supposed to be dating my sister?” Charles hissed. His eyes were laced with anger.

“I thought the same thing, but Georgia and Pierre don’t seem to remember that,” I snarked back at him. In Charles’ eyes Pierre could do no wrong. Neither could Georgia. He just rolled his eyes at that. He could tell I was quite drunk, even if I was trying to hide it.

“There’s nothing going on between them, you know that. They’re just friends, always have been.” I rolled my eyes. Stupid, stupid Charles. I scoffed at that and frowned, giving him an “are you stupid” look.

“Friends that fuck more like it.” I hated myself the moment the words came from my lips. Charles eyes went wide, as if he didn’t believe me all of a sudden. But then he turned back to Georgia and Pierre, who were now chatting away back at the original booth they had been sitting in, and its like a lightbulb went off in his head. I could see his expression change.

Well, now at least I wasn’t the only one miserable, I thought to myself. It was very petty, but I was drunk, frustrated and jealous.

Charles walked over to where Georgia was sitting and sat down, looking her straight in the face. I’m not sure what he said to her, because I was out of earshot, but I could see Pierre’s face go wide and he looked at me, clearly very annoyed. Georgia exchanged a few more words with Charles and then got up, storming her way over to me.

“We’re leaving,” she demanded. She grabbed my hand and we rushed towards the club entrance, not saying bye to anyone. Lando and Danny whistled and cheered on our way out, no doubt hoping it was because I was getting laid. I had a strong feeling that I was not.

Georgia POV

I rushed Carlos into the cab. How dare Charles come up to me and demand to know if I had dated Pierre before? Where did he even get that idea from? He had some nerve to pretend to be all hurt. It was 7 years ago, I was barely 18 and dated Pierre for all of 6 weeks. I was fuming. Not everything was my twins business.

Across from me was a very drunk Carlos, which was not incredibly exciting for me. He was sitting there rather awkwardly. I guess I didn’t have to drag him home, but when Charles told me Carlos was incredibly drunk at the bar, I knew I had to take him home. Plus, I had seen him flirting with that woman, and I was feeling a little jealous. I didn’t own Carlos, we weren’t even actually dating, so I shouldn’t have a right to be jealous. It’s not like he grabbed her onto the dance floor, because then I would have been furious. Hypocritical since I had been dancing with Pierre, but hey, no one said I was perfect. It's why I was in this mess to begin with.

Carlos started to look more visibly relaxed in the cab, and by the time we got to the hotel, he had scooted a little closer to me in his seat. We excited the cab and made it to our suite door. I fumbled around for the key, finally finding it and opened the door for us both. The alcohol had now clearly caught up with Carlos, and he went and laid down on the couch, kicking his shoes off and flopping them across the room – without a care in the world.

The sight did make me giggle.

“Mi amor,” he called out, “it’s nice to see you laugh again.” He stuck out both his hands, as if he was inviting me into a hug. I moved closer to him, but sat on the couch next to his feet, not taking his invite for a hug.

“Oh?” I said casually, pretending not to know what he was talking about.

“You were so sad earlier… it made me feel sad.” He said simply, putting a big, stupid grin on his face. “I thought maybe you were regretting our kiss,” he mumbled out. His eyes were closing shut and then quickly opening again, like a kid who was too tired to stay at Disney World, but didn’t want to leave.

Ahh, so he had thought about the kiss. I smiled softly and looked at him. He looked adorable this drunk. “Had to show all those pretty women who Carlos Sainz was going home with that evening,” I said with a wink.

You can flirt better than that, I thought to myself.

Still, he giggled like a little school girl and sat up, leaning towards me. His eyes looked directly into mine and he sighed. He reached his hand up to my chin, his mouth was merely inches from mine. “You’re the only person I wanted to go home with tonight,” he whispered.

My heart stopped for a moment. I needed to remember that Carlos was drunk - very drunk. And yet, in his eyes, something seemed genuine. It was what I had wanted him to say all those years ago when I had originally agreed to go on a date with him. I had the biggest crush on him, and when I came back from Indy Car for winter break, Carlos had asked me on a date. I was ecstatic. Carlos was kind, funny, and Lando spoke so highly of him.

So when he didn’t show for the date, when he left me in that Monaco restaurant all alone, I was mortified. I went back home and cried. Not even a text from him to say why he had stood me up. Instead, all I saw was a live story on Instagram of him out at a club with Lando and Max. He never reached out to me to explain why he stood me up, and I was too scared to ask, because I knew why he had stood me up. I was boring, that much had been made clear by several guys I had tried to date. I was the boring Leclerc twin, who competed in a man’s sport. What was sexy about that?

And yet here I was, all those butterflies that I had experienced at the podcast show, they had come back – in full force now. He leaned in slowly, his lips were barely touching mine. It’s as if he was waiting for permission to kiss me, waiting for me to meet him 10% of the way there since he had put in the 90%.

I leaned in a little, and softly kissed his lips. They tasted of whiskey and champagne. His hands stayed on my chin, gently, and he guided the kiss a little deeper. I smiled, kissing him back just a little bit more.

Then he pulled away and looked at me. “When I saw Pierre with you, I was so jealous, so angry. It shouldn’t bother me that you have history, but it does.”

I pulled back a bit, looking right into Carlos' eyes. “What did you say?” Before he could say anything I stood up, and backed away. It made sense. That’s how Charles knew that Pierre and I had dated – Carlos had told him.

I was speechless, and angry. Carlos looked confused at me as I backed away. He opened his mouth to say something, but I put my hand up to stop him. “Did you tell Charles?” I asked.

“Wha-“

“No, tell me the truth,” I demanded.

He didn’t say anything, but I knew the truth. I huffed at him, and put my hands on my sides of my hips.

“It wasn’t your place to tell him!” I screamed back.

“I didn’t realize when Pierre told me, that it was a secret,” he huffed back at me, wobbling as he stood up. He reached out towards me.

I was livid. I backed away from him, turning on my heels and headed towards my room. But before I slammed the door in his face, I yelled back, “And to think all those years ago, I was actually sad you stood me up. Looks like I should be thanking you. Really spared me from a whole lot of heartbreak. ”

Slam.

************

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