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maidragoste · 8 months

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The Parent Trap: Chapter One

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: After the disastrous divorce between Aemond Targaryen and Y/n Velaryon the twins Baelon and Aemon were separated. Each was raised by one of their parents. Baelon was raised by his father while Aemon was raised by his mother. Years later they both meet at a summer camp and discover the existence of the other. The twins realize that there are many secrets in their family, eager to discover their past, they put together a plan to deceive their parents.

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Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. and this does not follow 100% the movie.

Daeron tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, glancing sideways at his nephew. Since he started the trip, Baelon had not said a word, revealing his bad mood. Daeron knew he wasn't the reason for the boy's anger but he still couldn't help but feel bad for him. Aemond was supposed to be the one to take Baelon to summer camp but at the last moment a work meeting came up that he had to attend, although Daeron doubted it because it's not like it was a secret that Aemond is addicted to work, so now he is in charge of being his nephew's driver.

“I'm sure your father is as angry as you are that he can't come with you,” he said in an attempt to start a conversation. "He told me that he will do everything possible to come look for you when the camp is over," he added, hoping that would calm the boy's annoyance a bit.

“He is a liar. He won't do it ”said the boy without taking his eyes off the window” He had already promised to take me. ”

Baelon was upset. Just days before he was excited because his dad had said that they would have a road trip like in the movies and that he would take him to an amusement park where he was on the way to camp before dropping him off. It was supposed to be their last outing together because they wouldn't see each other for weeks. Sometimes Baelon couldn't help but think that his dad didn't really mind spending time with him, that he only did it because it was his obligation. Every time he thought that he ended up thinking about his mom. He knew she was alive—not because of his dad, he never talked about her—thanks to his uncle Aegon. It's a secret but when he came to visit for his birthday he always brought gifts from his mother. The first time his uncle cut him off from the rest of the party and gave him a gift from his mom was on his fifth birthday. He had been so excited that he wanted to run and tell everyone, but before he could, his uncle stopped him and told him that he couldn't tell anyone, not his friends, not his family, not even his dad. that it had to be a secret between them or her mom would never be able to send her a present again. Baelon had never seen his uncle so serious so he complied. He kept the secret and he looked forward to each new birthday waiting to see what his mom got him. Lately, he had been wondering what it would be like to live with her. Sometimes he dreamed that the next time his uncle came he would bring his mother with him. Other times he imagined that his uncle would show up as a surprise while his dad was away and tell him to pack everything for him to take with her. But deep down he knew it wouldn't happen. His uncle never told him what his mom's job was but Baelon supposed her job was busier than his dad's and that's why he stayed with him instead of her.

“It was a last-minute thing,” Daeron said.

"It's always something," Baelon grumbled, crossing his arms and this time Daeron couldn't come up with any excuse to defend his brother. In his opinion, Aemond wasn't the best father but he wasn't the worst either… At least he was better than his father. Viserys barely remembered the existence of him and his brothers. He was sure the man couldn't remember any of his birthdays or say anything he liked to his children. Aemond knew his son's hobbies and despite not spending much time at home whenever he was there he gave Baelon his full attention. But that wasn't enough to reward the canceled plans or his lack of presence at some school events.

"Open the glove box" he requested and Baelon glared at him before reluctantly opening it. Baelon's frown was left behind and a smile appeared in his place when he saw that his favorite snacks and sweets were there. “Your father couldn't take you but he had already bought things for the trip. He also gave me the address of the park where he wanted to take you so we can still go there ”Daeron took advantage of a red light to ruffle the boy's hair

"Your dad loves you, kid, don't forget that"

Normally you wouldn't let Aemon ride up front with you, in the passenger seat, but this was an exception because you wouldn't be seeing your baby for weeks so you wanted to get him as close as possible before you had to say goodbye. You'd think you'd be used to this after all this was Aemon's third year going to summer camp but even so, you always had a hard time saying goodbye. You would miss him immensely. But he liked to go and you were not going to deprive him of experiences just because it was difficult for you to have him away.

"Promise you won't continue reading Harry Potter without me," Aemon asked and you looked through the mirror to find that Aegon, who was sitting in the back next to Joffrey, just like you was smiling. You two were happy that your son was growing up and wanting to have his own things but it was sweet to the heart to know that he still wanted to spend time with the two of you and the three share moments like family readings every night.

"Don't worry, we won't read a single chapter without you," Aegon said as he picked up the stuffed dragon Joffrey dropped again. The baby seemed amused to see his dad bend down to retrieve his toy "But we'll probably watch the movies."

Aegon had never really been in the habit of reading. He hated every time at school they forced him to read a book. He preferred a thousand times to see a movie before reading the book. That took less time. But he became interested in reading after the first time Aemon asked him to join you in reading to him before going to sleep. Books were something his godson liked—which Aegon wasn't surprised knowing you and Aemond were total nerds—and he really wanted to bond with him so he started reading the books Aemon liked only to have more topics to talk about with him. Aemon's excitement when he understood what he was talking about made him more than satisfied. It didn't take long for him to stop seeing reading as homework and he began to really enjoy it thanks to Aemon and you.

"You can only see the first two" Aemon reminded him turning to face him seriously. The three have the tradition of first reading the book and once finished it would watching their movie. You hadn't finished reading The Prisoner of Azkaban yet so you were forbidden to watch the movies that follow Chamber of Secrets.

"Aemon, those movies have existed since before you were born and we saw them all when we were teenagers," Aegon said and he and baby Joffrey laughed at the boy's annoyed grimace.

"Don't worry, Aemon. I'm sure he doesn't remember anything. He barely paid attention when I made him watch the movies with me. He's just trying to annoy you" you said.

"In my defense, I was distracted by your beauty," Aegon said making you laugh.

Perhaps another child would be disgusted or uncomfortable that his parents were flirting in front of him but Aemon just looked at them curiously. He knew that they had known each other since they were very young, but he had no idea that Aegon seemed to have feelings for you since he was a teenager. He sometimes saw you and Aegon so in love and happy that he couldn't help but wonder how you ended up with his biological father before. It's not like you never talked about his father. He didn't know his name, you never called him by his name when you talked about him, but he knew some things like his father also liked to read a lot like him, that like him he practiced fencing when he was young, that he also had the light sleep. Baelon knew trivial things about his father but he didn't know anything about how your relationship with him was. Perhaps you had broken up with his father to be with his godfather? But that didn't make much sense to him because if it did he would have met Aegon sooner. He met his godfather when he was four years old, although he knew that Aegon had been a part of his life when he was a baby from the pictures in the family album that you showed him but something had happened in the middle so that you and Aegon stopped seeing each other.

"So what do you and Rickon plan to do this year?" you asked, snapping Aemon out of his thoughts. Wasting no time Aemon started talking excitedly about how this time he and his best friend would go hiking in the mountains.

Daeron parked in front of the camp cabins. There were already a lot of boys and girls. You could feel the excitement of everyone from the big smiles, the laughs, and the shouts. He hoped that Baelon's experience would be good and that he would be able to make friends. That something good would come of having him away from home. It would be weird these weeks without his nephew at home, surely it would be quieter. Vhagar would surely be depressed by Baelon's absence. He would miss it too. He had gotten into the habit of going to the park every afternoon to take the dogs out together and play ball—sometimes Adam and Nettes would come over too—then they would come home and watch silly reality shows while criticizing the contestants.

"Don't get in trouble, Baelon" he reminded his nephew and ruffled his hair again to the boy's annoyance "I love you"

"Dude, don't be weird. I had enough of grandma crying as if I were going to live on the other continent. I'll be fine” Baelon said before opening the door not wanting to see his uncle's face. He sighed and turned around again. "I love you too and I'm going to miss you," he said quickly before leaving to find his luggage. He barely got out of the car and grimaced when he began to hear the screams get louder.

Daeron hurried down to help him as he tried to ignore a boy's scream of “Aemon”. When he was removing the suitcase from the trunk of the car, a boy with dark hair and gray eyes appeared behind his nephew. He was tall though he didn't seem to be older than Baelon.

“Hey, Aemon, are you deaf? I was calling you” he said pouting. He didn't even give Baelon time to tell him that he was getting the wrong person when he took one of his platinum locks between his fingers. "Oh, you cut it off, I knew you were upset because Joffrey kept pulling your hair but I didn't think you'd do anything so drastic”

Baelon took the stranger's hand and pulled it away from his hair. He wasn't obsessed with taking care of his hair like his dad but it was rare for a stranger to feel free to touch him “I'm not Aemon. My name is Baelon"

"But you look just like Aemon" said the other boy with clear confusion "Why do you look just like Aemon?"

Baelon looked to his uncle for help, wanting Daeron to get him out of this situation, but Daeron seemed to be in a trance. For a moment he thought that his eyes were shiny but he dismissed it as a sun effect.

Daeron couldn't believe it. Aemon was going to be in the same camp as Baelon. At any moment he would arrive. He should be in a panic. He should be telling Baelon to get in the car to drive away because that's what Aemond would do. He should call his older brother. But he wouldn't do that. After years the twins had the opportunity to meet and he was not going to stop it. Baelon deserved to meet the rest of his family… But if he was there when you arrived with Aemon then you would be the one to leave. This couldn't happen. This was a unique opportunity. This one meeting could make life better for everyone.

“I have to go,” Daeron announced, slamming the trunk shut.

Baelon eyed daggers at him. He had just told him that he loved him and now he was leaving him with a complete freak, didn't he care about him? Definitely from now on Daeron was no longer his favorite uncle and when he returned home he would tell his grandma so that she would scold him.

"What's your name kid?" asked the adult looking at the boy with dark hair.

"Rickon" he replied, still without taking his eyes off Baelon. He wanted to touch his face to make sure it was real but he had a feeling that if he did then he would get hit.

"Baelon, you will stay with Rickon," Daeron ordered.

"What?!" Shouted his nephew with a mixture of surprise and indignation.

"Rickon, you will take Baelon to your cabin and wait until Aemon's mother leaves or whoever she brings him to introduce him to Baelon"

"Wait, do you know Aemon?" Baelon asked trying to understand what the hell was going on.

Daeron didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He wanted to tell him that of course, he knew Aemon. He remembered how scared he was the first time he picked him up, he remembered how little Aemon used to fall asleep in his arms, how when he learned to walk he used to follow him everywhere, and how he loved to give Tessarion kisses. On his phone, he has a folder with all of Aemon's photos. Every time he saw them he felt like he finished seeing them so fast. He wished he had taken more photos… Maybe after this camp, he could get new photos.

"Rickon, don't let Aemon's family see Baelon" he asked ignoring his nephew's question "Enjoy the camp," he said and got into the car ignoring Baelon's protests.

Daeron felt bad when he started the car, if he had time he might have stayed to explain to Baelon or try to prepare him for this surprise but you could show up at any moment. He couldn't risk you seeing him and deciding to leave.

When he thought he was far enough from the camp, he waited for the next red light to take his phone and call Aegon. He had to ask his brother if he knew that Aemon was going to the camp and that was why he had told Aemond that he should take Baelon there or was it just a fluke.

Aegon never responded.

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wheresarizona · 8 months

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Learning to Live Part 23

summary: Javier is living the fucking dream and has never been happier with the woman he planned to marry—until the mistakes of his past are brought to light, and his world comes crashing down.

rating: E (18+! Age gap (about ten years), Soft Javier Peña, Protective Javier Peña, Angry Javier Peña, explicit smut, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, oral sex (m receiving), masturbating (f), deepthroating, spanking, dirty talk (he talks you through touching yourself), praise kink, breeding kink, spit mention, mentions of assplay, canon typical violence (Javier punches someone), angst, Chucho being the best dad, Javier being cute with baby animals, Javier saying very romantic things during sex)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

word count: 12.1k+

a/n: I’m just going to say I’m sorry. This will be part 1 of 2 for the Colombia arc. This chapter is all in Javi’s POV, and the next will be in reader’s. Thank you to @juletheghoul for betaing!

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

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The fifth of November landed on a Thursday this year, and the temperatures were finally beginning to come down—just not enough for Javier to turn off the air conditioning in his truck or wear his suit jacket on his drive, the navy blue garment hanging over the back of the middle seat with his burgundy-colored tie.

The news radio station was a low chatter while he had his left palm gripping the steering wheel, the other holding up his Nokia cellphone to his ear, waiting for the other person to pick up.

Ring.

“Murphy,” his old partner, Steve, answered.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hey, Jav—it’s earlier than you usually call. Are you off work already?” For the other man, it was a little after five o’clock his time, and from the sound of it, he was on the road heading home to his wife and kids.

Javier’s hand squeezed so tightly on the wheel it made the leather creak at imagining getting to do the same, his heart picking up in pace and a smile curling up on his lips that someday he would.

On Thursdays, he called Steve when he got off work—he did it when he worked for his dad, talking to his best friend while having a cold beer in the kitchen or cooling off from the hot day on the couch in the living room, always checking up on how Steve, Connie, and their three kids were doing. Once he started dating the woman who’d be his wife, the phone calls started taking place on his drive from the ranch to her apartment, then from his job at the Sheriff’s office to their shared apartment.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I had something to do and couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of there. I spent my whole fucking day prepping for that stupid fucking meeting tomorrow.”

The one with the DEA.

The one with the DEA that he didn’t want to have.

Communication with them over the phone was fine because it was easy to get out of the calls—feigning he had meetings to attend, or another call coming through from his boss, or he just didn’t answer and let it go to voicemail since he recognized the numbers.

And maybe there might have been a time or three when he just hung up on them simply out of annoyance.

But tomorrow was in person, and he had no choice except to sit through the asshole of an agent questioning every little fucking thing about the busts the narcotics unit made and having Javier try to explain why they still hadn’t found out how the drugs were getting smuggled into their region. He didn’t understand why he was getting grilled about it when there were multiple agencies in the area, including the fucking DEA, trying to figure it out. He knew this meeting would put the irritating shit he sat through as attaché in Colombia to shame.

“I still can’t believe he’s asking so many goddamn questions,” Steve replied. “You’ve been handing him busts on a silver platter, and if I were him, I’d be thanking you, not giving you so much shit.”

Javier sighed. “Yeah, you’d fucking think. Why does this guy even give a fuck about me?”

He could hear the smile in his friend’s voice. “Like I told you the first time you called about this asshole: it's his first big assignment, and The Javier-fuckin’-Peña is one of his contacts—” Javier scoffed. “He’s just trying too fucking hard and is jealous of all the arrests you’ve made. Plus, you work for a law enforcement agency, Javi. The DEA has relationships with law enforcement agencies, and yours is smack dab on the border of a country with a history of smuggling, so you’re gonna be popular whether you like it or not.”

“I fuckin’ hate it,” he grumbled.

Steve chuckled. “I know, but suck it up, and tomorrow, scare the kid shitless with that mean ol’ glare of yours so he’ll leave you the fuck alone.”

His eyebrows rose, nodding his head.

“That’s definitely an idea...”

His friend laughed.

“I’m serious,” Javier said. “He wouldn’t take the fucking hint when I hung up on him. I could just… scare him a little.” Frowning, he whispered, “Mi Cielito can’t know.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Steve chuckled. “Things still good with you guys?”

The thought of her had him going soft, picturing her perfectly in his mind.

He smiled. “Things are going so fucking good.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Jav. She seems like a great girl.”

Taking a deep breath, he slowly let it out. “She’s fucking amazing, man—perfect, beautiful, wonderful. I love her so much and can’t wait to marry her.”

“Then propose to her already.” That made Javier frown. “You’ve known for months now that she’s the one, and you’re holding off, for what? A future date, when you can just do what you really wanna fucking do and marry her whenever you want. You’re not beholden to that date, Javi. Do what makes you happy.”

“When did you become a fucking motivational speaker?”

“When I became a dad—gotta give fatherly advice and pep talks. When you have a kid, you’ll become one, too.”

That made him smile again, thinking of his conversations with his father and how the older man always had wisdom to bestow upon him or knew exactly what to say. It was the same with his mom, almost as if once you became a parent, a plethora of knowledge was imparted on you to pass on to your child when, in actuality, it was just your life experience you were using to make sure your kid succeeded in life as best they could.

“I guess I will,” he replied. “Speaking of kids. How are mis sobrinos (niece and nephews)?”

The Murphys had three children.

Olivia was their eldest, who they adopted as a baby nine years ago in Colombia while Steve was working down there. Steve Jr., or Stevie, was three and their only biological child. Nathaniel, Nate for short, was just adopted the prior year and had turned one not too long ago.

Their kids (who could speak) called Javier ‘tío Javi,’ and he loved them all like they were his blood, sending presents on every birthday and Christmas that he double-checked with Connie they’d enjoy. Before the Thursday phone calls, it was a random day of the week calls when Javier had time while in the middle of trying to take down the Cali cartel, and they were a nice reprieve from the stress, especially when Olivia excitedly told him about her school day.

He spent a lot of time with them when he first got back to the States and even got to meet their new baby, but it’s been months since his last visit.

“They’re good. Pretty sure Olivia and Stevie are still on sugar highs from all the candy they got on Halloween.” That was the previous Sunday.

“What’d they dress up as?”

“Olivia was some princess from a cartoon movie with a beast, and she wore a pretty yellow dress—”

“Belle,” he interrupted. “She was Belle from Beauty and the Beast.”

“Yeah! That’s it. Wait. Why do you know that?”

“Lucky guess—what were Stevie and Nate?”

“Stevie was some blue spotted dog, and Nate was a lion.”

Javier was frowning.

He never celebrated Halloween growing up since Día de Los Muertos (Day of the Dead) overshadowed it, but if it was something his future wife wanted to do with their kids, he’d like them to have some kind of theme for their costumes… If he could get them to.

“I can’t wait to see the pictures,” he said, which was true. He kept all of the letters Connie sent with photos of their family while he’d been in Colombia and after he returned home. His girlfriend suggested putting them in an album after he’d taken her to the ranch and pulled out the small box containing the collection—so they got one that now lived on the bookshelf in their living room, hanging some of the pictures on their walls.

“Bring your girlfriend over here for Thanksgiving. We’d love to have you both.”

“Thanks for the offer, but we’ve got plans with my family.”

All his family members who lived in Laredo were getting together at his tía María’s, who had the biggest house, a good-sized patio space, and backyard to accommodate the dozens of adults and children who’d be in attendance to eat. He and Cielito would be spending the night before and morning of making pies and side dishes at the request of his three tías.

“Alright. But remember, our door is always open, and we’re dying to meet the woman that’s gonna make an honest man out of you.”

He snorted.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. We’re thinking sometime next month.”

“Any time is fine.”

“You want us to visit that bad?”

“Since the moment she found out you had a girlfriend, Connie has been on my ass about getting you to bring her here. For the love of god, Javier, please come visit us so she’ll leave me the fuck alone.”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“Thank you. Any time, Javi.”

“Probably right before my birthday.”

“Any time, just get your ass over here.”

“Will do.”

“I’m home, so I’ll talk to you later.”

“Give Connie and the kids my love.”

“Of course. Tell the future Mrs. Javier Peña we’re all excited to meet her.”

Javier smiled. “I will.”

“Bye, you asshole.”

“Adiós, pendejo (Goodbye, asshole).”

Clicking the end call button, he set the phone in the seat next to him and turned back up the radio, the top news stories being all about the latest midterm elections.

Minutes later, gravel crackled and popped under the truck tires as he drove down the long driveway past his father’s house to the back, parking in the empty spot beside his dad’s rig that, since he’d started driving, had always unofficially been his.

His door squealed when he opened it, his feet hitting the ground as he got out of his seat with his aviators sitting on the bridge of his nose, his phone put back in his pocket—the first few buttons of his white dress shirt were undone, taking a second to roll the sleeves up his forearms to make him more comfortable. Lifting his left wrist, his eyes narrowed to get a better read of the silver watch face, seeing he only had an hour before his future wife would be expecting him home, and by now, his family out here should’ve returned from checking on the herd of cattle; his father would either be in the small office across from the house doing paperwork or shirking his responsibilities elsewhere in the vicinity.

Javier went with his gut on where to find Chucho, the truck door slamming shut, the small rocks crunching under his steps as he made his way around the back of the vehicle heading toward the barns.

Passing the large paddock, all the horses, including his own, Sombra, and his tío’s, Enrique the Asshole, were stretching their legs and roaming around. His attention moved ahead to his primo (cousin) Diego, coming out of the new barn, wheeling a wheelbarrow full of hay his way.

The younger of his uncle’s sons got the Peña genes—brown hair, brown eyes, tan skin. The oldest, Sebastián, had a striking resemblance to his tío but was light-skinned and green-eyed like his Spanish mother. Their baby sister, Alma, and tío Ángel’s pride and joy was a mix of her parents—her mother’s beauty and eyes with her father’s tan skin and brown hair.

A beaming smile appeared on Diego’s face when he spotted Javier.

“¿Qué tal, Javi (What’s up, Javi)?” he asked as he approached. “¿Dónde está tu esposa (Where is your wife)?” he asked, looking around for Cielito and making Javier grin.

“Mi futura esposa está en nuestra casa (My future wife is at home). Estoy aquí para ver a mi papá (I’m here to see my dad). Necesito hablar con él (I need to talk to him).”

“Oh, él está allí en el granero de ganado (Oh, he’s over at the cattle barn),” he said, pointing in the direction with his thumb.

That was just what Javier suspected after something his dad said the previous day.

“Gracias, primo (Thank you, cousin). Tengo prisa (I’m in a hurry). Te veré el domingo en casa de tía María (I will see you Sunday at aunt Maria’s). ¡Adiós (Bye)!”

“¡Hasta luego (See you later)!”

His strides were long as he made his way toward the older barn, its wooden exterior wearing a new coat of bright red paint and the trim snow white. His father was standing at the pen’s fence, his straw cowboy hat shielding the sun’s rays as usual, holding a small plastic bucket in one of his hands, the other feeding carrots to the animals. Javier smiled that his assumption of what Chucho would be doing was correct as he approached, hearing his dad softly cooing words in Spanish.

“Stop spoiling mis hijas (my daughters),” Javier said, getting closer. At the sound of his voice, the two calves came bounding toward him on the other side of the fence, shoving their heads between the metal bars at him. He chuckled, crouching as he gave Daphne and Velma pets, their hair soft under his palms. “Hola, mis preciosas (Hello, my lovelies),” his tone was sweet. “Tan lindas que estan (You two are so cute). ¡Están creciendo tanto (You’re growing so much)! ¿Me extrañaron (Did you miss me)?”

At dinner the night before, Chucho had told them he was planning on bringing the girls in for a long weekend since they weren’t treated like the rest of the herd and didn’t live out on the pastures with them 24/7. His dad sometimes had them stay in the pen at the barn or hang out in his backyard. They were kept more like pets than cattle and spoiled as such.

He could hear his father’s footsteps coming near.

“I will spoil mis nietas bovinas (my bovine granddaughters) as much as I like since you haven’t given me any human ones to spoil… yet,” Chucho replied, holding the bucket toward him.

Javier groaned, this being a constant conversation they were having. “I know, I know, you’re not getting any younger—it’s gonna happen.” He took a couple of long orange carrots and started feeding them to the girls, who were happily munching away. “Like I’ve told you before. There’s just some shit we gotta take care of first, and fuck, we’ll need to buy a house.” The thought of hunting for one sounded like a real pain in the ass, especially with everything they’d want it to have.

“Javi?”

His head tilted up to meet his dad’s eyes. “Yeah?”

“Have you guys thought about building a house?”

Javier’s eyebrows dipped together.

They’d discussed what their future home would need—a big backyard for garden space, a spacious living room, and a good-sized kitchen. They also planned to move into a house around the summer of the following year. If they were to build, though, it would be to their specifications. He could give his future wife the kitchen of her dreams, a big sunroom for her plants, and a soundproofed master suite.

“We haven’t…” he answered slowly. “We’d have to find land, an architect, contractor, whatever fucking else is needed to build a house.”

“The land is taken care of,” Chucho said with a wave of his free hand like it was no big deal.

Javier knew he had to look confused. “What?”

Daphne and Velma had finished eating, and he was back to petting them.

His dad smiled. “I’ve got all this land, Mijo.” He held out his arms. “Be my next-door neighbor, or live up the road. Don’t stress yourselves out over finding the perfect house when you can just build it—and with us living so close together, it’ll be easy for you to bring mis nietos humanos (my human grandchildren) over all the time.”

Javier’s eyebrow arched. “How do you know we’re gonna have more than one kid?”

He hoped they would and wanted as many children with her as she was willing to have.

There was a sad smile on Chucho’s face. “Because you’ve always wanted to be a father, Javi,” he answered, and Javier’s heart clenched hard. “That whole mess all those years ago before you left? You didn’t want to marry her, and I don’t blame you. She told you she was pregnant, and you just wanted to do what was best for your unborn baby—they were your main priority, and you were willing to do anything for them. Yes, you were scared about becoming a dad, but we could see you were excited, too, and how much you loved that child you thought existed.” His dad put a comforting palm on his shoulder. “You were ready to devote yourself to being the best father to them.” Javier’s eyes were watering because it was true he always wanted to be a dad, and he didn’t think anyone knew. “I know her lie hurt you deeply, Mijo, and also gave you relief, but it’s such a good thing you didn’t end up marrying her because look at where you’re at now.” The older man was softly smiling now. “You found the right woman who truly loves you, and your mother would’ve loved—I sure do, and when you hold your child for the first time, you will fall in love with them immediately and want ten more,” he chuckled.

Javier laughed through the tears, taking off his sunglasses to wipe at his eyes with the back of his arm before putting them back on.

“Also,” Chucho continued, “I know you’ll have more than one because the two of you can’t be left alone for more than five minutes—it’s surprising she hasn’t fallen pregnant yet.”

“She has good birth control.”

Too good, in Javier’s opinion.

He started to stand up, involuntarily grunting from the ache in his knees and lower back.

His dad’s eyebrows rose, nodding his head. “Well, that explains things. You were just here yesterday. I wasn’t expecting to see you again until Sunday. Something on your mind, Mijo?”

Therapy had been a fucking godsend, and Javier no longer constantly worried about shit, feeling like he was finally in control of his thoughts and emotions. Still, sometimes, he just wanted to drink a beer with his dad and talk about what was on his mind.

Javier smiled cheekily. “More like someone on my mind.”

Chucho laughed. “She’s always on your mind!”

“Yeah, she is, but, uh—” He scratched at the back of his head. “—I needed to talk to you about something alone…”

The elder Peña sobered up immediately, putting a hand out to squeeze his arm. “Is everything okay, Javi?”

Javier gave him a smile. “Everything’s fucking amazing—especially with her, and that’s why I’m out here…”

His father’s face lit up with a huge grin as the realization dawned on him. “¡No puedo esperar para decírselo a tu mamá (I can’t wait to tell your mom)! Vamos a la casa y me lo puedes contar todo (Let’s go to the house, and you can tell me everything).”

On the drive to their apartment, there was a lot to think about between the meeting the next day and plans for the future. The whole building a house was a great idea that he wanted to run by Cielito to see what she thought about it, then there was the other thing he needed to figure out…

Arriving home at his usual time, it wasn’t a surprise her car was already parked in her spot when he pulled up since she was usually off a little earlier than him. His truck took the space beside hers, towering over her tiny Honda that Javier had to contort his body in order to drive when he took it every weekend to fill the gas tank.

Before leaving the ranch, he washed his hands and hoped his cologne masked any kind of animal smells, not wanting her to know where he’d been—if she happened to ask, he’d tell her the truth of his whereabouts because there was no reason to lie.

Walking to the apartment, his suit jacket and tie were dangling over his arm, the other hand holding his keys that jingled as he unlocked the front door. Once inside, he shut the door and locked it, tossing his ring of keys into the large bowl on the long, narrow console table in the entryway, toeing off his Chelsea boots in front of the shoe rack on the floor beside it.

His body completely relaxed, a long, relieved sigh leaving him at finally being home.

The familiar smell of the apartment calmed him—he was safe here, he was loved.

“Cielito?” he called, turning toward the rest of the room and immediately jumping in his skin at her standing right there in front of him. “Jesus Christ,” Javier breathed, his heart pounding in his chest, pressing his hand over it.

She wore a deep purple oversized t-shirt that had faded and thinned over being washed and worn so many times, her legs bare beneath it.

A laugh sputtered from her lips. “I’m sorry for spooking you,” she said, moving forward to wrap her arms around his middle. He hugged her back with his free arm, a smile turning up on his mouth. “This was supposed to be horny, not scary.”

“How is you scaring the shit out of me supposed to be horny?” he asked, kissing her forehead.

Pulling back, there was a mischievous grin on her face. “Give me your jacket and tie.” He handed both over, watching as she turned to toss them on the couch behind her. When her attention returned to him, she said, “Okay, so you carrying your jacket kinda threw off my groove. Now, pretend you just took off your shoes and are super happy to be home.”

“I did just take off my boots, and I am happy to be home…” he replied with knitted brows.

“Yes, I know, but turn this way—” She made him face the shoes again. “—Okay,” she said, taking steps away from him. He turned his head toward her. “No! Don’t look at me yet!” Her outburst startled him, making him look forward once more.

“Mi amor (my love), what are you doing?” he asked.

“You’ll see, and you’re gonna love it. Trust me.”

“I trust you, Cielito. I trust you more than anyone else.”

And he did.

There wasn’t anyone else he trusted more or with whom he felt comfortable being genuinely vulnerable. Yes, he still hadn’t told her about Colombia, but he just wasn’t ready to open all of the old wounds and muddy her with the blood of all of the awful shit he’d seen and done—honestly, he didn’t want to think about any of it or bring her into that world, he liked keeping her separate from it all.

She was heaven. Colombia had been hell.

So, he was biding his time.

“I know, you big cutie,” she said. “Okay, now turn.”

He was beyond confused and unsure what was going on, but she was excited, so he was more than willing to go along with it, knowing she’d make whatever it was good.

Turning in place toward her, he was met with a look of determination on her face as she came at him quickly, his eyes widening when she grabbed the open collar of his dress shirt, shoving him back against the front door, smashing her mouth against his as she kissed him hard.

Smiling into her lips, one of his arms pulled her close, the other hand going lower to grab a handful of her ass, groaning when he found no underwear.

She was right. He definitely loved this.

Blood rushed to his groin, his cock twitching when she slipped her tongue into his mouth to tangle with his own. Her hand slithered down the tight space of their bodies to rub over his hardening length, making him moan when she nipped at his bottom lip, arousal igniting in his belly.

Her mouth was a hair's breadth away from his as she breathily whispered, “I wanna suck your dick. Can I, Javi? Can I choke on this big cock?” She ended the question by lightly squeezing it in its half-hard state.

“You can do whatever the fuck you want to me,” he answered huskily, feeling her smile when she kissed him.

Both of his hands were now under the hem of her shirt, groping her bare backside.

“You don’t know what you’re offering when you say that,” she murmured into his lips.

“Yes, I do,” came his muffled answer. “Anything. You love my ass as much as I love yours.” He squeezed her asscheeks in his big palms.

The revelation he was into assplay was surprising, to say the least. Now in the right circumstances, he loved when she used her fingers while going down on him, or there was that one time she experimented with her mouth, and he about lost his damn mind.

“I do love your ass and you, but I didn’t bring lube.”

He smiled. “Later then, and I love you, too,” he replied, kissing her harder.

He deepened the kiss, their tongues moving together in a practiced dance while she made sounds in the back of her throat that went straight to his cock, loving how her scent was enveloping him—knowing he’d smell her all over him by the time they were done, it permeating his clothes, his hair, and his skin, hating that he’d have to wash it all away later.

When her lips left his to take a breath, the plush softness of them met his chin, then her teeth lightly nibbled, making him smile while both of her hands went to the front of his pants—his belt clinked as she expertly undid it, popping open the button of his slacks, unzipping them, his dick now completely hard.

“You’ve been on my mind all day,” she said in that sultry tone she knew drove him wild, unable to keep from giving her a quick kiss.

“What were you thinking about, Cielito?”

She looked up at him under her lashes, crookedly smiling.

“Sucking this beautiful dick,” she answered, stroking it over his pants, the sensation making his breath hitch in his throat.

His tongue wet his bottom lip, wanting nothing more than her mouth on him. “What else, baby?”

“Well, we haven’t fooled around since Monday—“ Fuck, had it really been since he tied up her hands and fucked her in the kitchen? “—because you had to work late Tuesday, and we went to your dad’s last night.” Her free hand went up his chest. “So I’m really in the mood for you to make me feel it tomorrow.” She bit her lower lip.

“I can do that,” he replied. He covered her hand on his cock with his own. “This is yours, and you can have it any fucking way you want it, mi amor (my love).”

Her mouth collided with his, saying as she kissed him, “God, you’re so hot—I love you so fucking much.”

It made him smile. “I love you, too.”

One last kiss, and she was crouching in front of him, yanking the navy blue material down his thighs, leaving his dick confined by his white boxer briefs. She rubbed him over them, his chin dropping to watch as she mouthed at his hard length over the cotton, the warmth of her mouth causing his own to go slack and his skin to heat.

Her hands went up his thighs, the color of her neatly trimmed nails catching his attention.

His words came out rougher and deeper, a smile on his lips as he picked up her hand and inspected it, “You’re wearing the nail polish I picked out.” It was bright cherry red, and he’d chosen it the prior day at the drugstore before they’d gone out to the ranch, the cheesy name on the cap of the bottle reading, ‘Not Red-y for Bed.’ “It looks fucking gorgeous on you, baby,” he continued, swiping his thumb over the tops of her fingers.

She grinned up at him. “Thanks. My future husband has excellent taste,” she replied with a wink. “Now stop distracting me from sucking your dick.”

“Yes, mi reina (my queen),” he said, letting her palm go and watching as her beautiful fingers pulled down his underwear, his cock springing free. Moving onto her knees, he was glad they were cushioned by the soft, thick runner rug they’d invested in, her spitting in her palm and taking him in hand, his mouth falling open at the first stroke.

He started working open the buttons of his shirt, keeping his eyes on her as she languidly jerked him, getting glimpses of her red nails when she’d twist on the upstroke, and fuck, they looked good wrapped around his dick.

She took him into her mouth, and Javier forgot how to breathe.

There was only one button left to undo on his dress shirt, but that didn’t matter with her gaze on him, watching as she hummed in enjoyment, taking him further and further into her hot, wet heat. Her other hand slipped between her legs, and his cock twitched that she was touching herself.

“Fuck, hermosa (beautiful),” he rasped, his hand resting on the back of her head. Javier gulped hard at the pleasure. “It feels so fucking good, Cielito—you’re so fucking beautiful playing with your pretty little pussy while my dick is in your mouth. You gonna make yourself come, baby? Can you do that for me? Come all over those gorgeous fingers.”

She moaned while continuing to blow him, doing this swirly thing with her tongue around the tip and on the underside of his cock that had him groaning loudly. His hips were rocking, knowing she was on her way to turning him into an absolute mess.

Her eyes were watching him through her lashes, all heavy-lidded and dark, the arousal evident in her gaze while her lips stretched around his dick and her head bobbed, twirling her tongue around the head on each upstroke. Her hand worked what couldn’t fit, the other moving at the apex of her thighs.

“Are you rubbing your clit?” he roughly asked. “Does it get you off sucking my cock? You like this, don’t you? You like getting yourself off while choking on it.”

That made her moan again, and he could see on her face how much she was enjoying this.

Truth be told, before her, Javier didn’t really care for blow jobs—not that he didn’t like them, he loved them; the problem was he could tell when his partner wasn’t into it, and there was no bigger turn-off than someone doing something they didn’t want to do.

But Cielito was different.

He was pretty fucking sure she had some kind of addiction to sucking his dick with how often she wanted to do it, and the thing was, every, single, time, he could tell she was having the best time—he had never seen someone enjoy blowing him more.

Javier loved it when she wanted to go down on him, her enthusiasm making it incredible.

All of a sudden, her mouth came off him, a string of spit keeping them connected as her eyes closed, and he knew that look on her face. Her free hand left him to pluck at her pebbled nipple through her shirt.

“Are you gonna come for me?” he asked, curling his fist around his wet cock, slowly jacking off as he watched. “You gonna be my good fucking girl and come for me?”

“Yes,” she moaned, nodding. “So close.”

“I was gonna get down there and eat you out—make you come on my fingers and tongue, but I think you’d like it better if I didn’t loosen you up before I got my dick inside you. Isn’t that right, baby?” Her breath stuttered, a sheen of sweat coating her forehead. “It’s been three fucking days, and you want to feel how big I am—how much I stretch you open.” Soft sounds were spilling from her lips that were getting louder. “You’re my dirty fucking girl and want to feel me all day tomorrow while you’re at work.” He could tell she was close. “I bet you’ll want me to fuck you again tonight in bed and tomorrow before work so you’re stuffed full of my come—”

Her body tensed up, coming with a gasp of his name, and he smiled.

“There it is,” he said. “Such a good girl—you did so good for me, mi amor (my love). God, you’re amazing. It’s fucking sexy how hungry you are for my dick.”

Her eyes blinked open, smiling dreamily at him. “Because it’s perfect,” she replied. “And you’re perfect—you make the best noises when I go down on you, and you never try to fuck my face without asking or are ever pushy.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “I honestly don’t think you’ve ever asked me for a BJ, which is shocking.”

He was smiling. “I’ve never needed to, and I wouldn’t.”

Her brow arched. “You wouldn’t ask for a blow job?”

“I only want one if it’s something you want to do—otherwise, I’d rather just fuck or eat your pussy,” he answered with a shrug.

“I am living the fucking dream. Now move your hand; I wanna feel you in my throat.”

He chuckled, doing as she said, and was not at all surprised when her lips wrapped around his cock. She bobbed her head, working him inch by inch into her mouth until she swallowed him down into her throat, taking him all the way to the root, Javier groaning.

Those bright red nails were digging into his thighs, the knot in his belly was beginning to wind tighter, and his cock pulsing in the tight space. Sweat coated his brow, a flush crawling up his chest and neck, his heart pounding in his chest.

Her eyes were on his, tears gathering at the edges, saliva escaping at the sides of her mouth, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“My good fucking girl,” he praised, feeling where he was bulging in her throat. “Such a good fucking girl taking my dick down your throat—god, I love you so much.”

She gurgled around him like she was replying, ‘I love you, too,’ then her head was coming up, sputtering as she coughed.

“You okay?” he asked.

She gave him a thumbs up, finally answering, “Yeah.” Saliva was coating her chin and around her lips while she breathed hard.

His thumb slid along her bottom lip as he smiled. “Hermosa (Beautiful),” he said.

“Messy,” she corrected.

“Still beautiful.”

Playfully, she rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’m not done.”

Not wasting another second, she took the tip back into her mouth, circling her tongue around the sensitive ridges. Javier swallowed thickly, feeling the pleasure build inside him, entranced with her stroking him again, the flash of red as her hand easily glided up and down his spit-slicked shaft. When her other hand started lightly massaging his balls, his cock jerked, a shaky breath leaving his lips.

He didn’t want to come like this.

Quickly, he got the last button on his shirt undone, shrugging it off and tossing it toward the couch, it landing on the floor.

“Baby?” he said, her eyes immediately meeting his while pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses down his shaft.

“Hmm?” She hummed.

“Don’t make me come.”

The power was in her hands.

“You close?” she asked before being fucking mean and dipping her head low to lick at his sack.

“Fuck,” he moaned. His throat bobbed as he thickly swallowed, trying to control his breathing and the tightening in his gut, not wanting to blow his load so soon. There was no other choice but to gently push at her shoulder. “Stop,” he gasped, and she did immediately, hands and mouth coming off him. “Thank you,” he panted, swiping at the sweat on his forehead with his arm. She shuffled back on her knees, looking up at him. “Do you want me to eat your pussy or give you my dick?” he asked. He was fine with either and was pretty sure she was going to choose—

“Dick,” she answered immediately.

He smirked. “Fucking knew it.” His thumbs went into the waistband of his boxer briefs, shoving them and his slacks down to his ankles before peeling off his socks. Groaning, he straightened and held out his hands to her, saying, “Come on, mi futura esposa (my future wife). You deserve better than getting fucked on the floor.”

She accepted his help, Javier grunting as he pulled her up to stand in front of him.

“Fucking on the floor is hot, though,” she pouted.

“Sometimes,” he said, grabbing her hips and turning her the other way. “Most of the time, it just fucks up my back and knees, and I don’t want to deal with that shit tomorrow. Let’s go.” He smacked both of her asscheeks to get her to start moving, earning a giggle as he followed her to the bedroom.

Their first big purchase as a couple was upgrading the queen-sized bed she’d already had to a king. They’d gotten a sturdy frame that Javier tweaked to ensure there’d be no squeaking and a white metal headboard that was arched with thin vertical slats for obvious reasons, precautions made so it wouldn’t bang against the wall—yes, he did spend an entire Saturday morning sex-proofing their new bed for the sake of their elderly next door neighbor who glared at him every time they crossed paths.

Late afternoon sunlight was slipping through the cracks in the closed blinds and illuminating the blue linen curtains covering them in their shared room. The only lights on were both bedside lamps—her watch, a paperback, alarm clock, and a corded telephone accompanying hers; a small framed picture of them kissing with fireworks going off above their heads that his dad took at the town’s Fourth of July event, a book with his extra pair of reading glasses on top of it, and his alarm clock beside his.

His attention was on her ass as she crawled up onto the bed, his knees sinking into the mattress when he followed. Once she was far enough up the bed, he pounced, gripping handfuls of her backside and tackling her to lay flat on her stomach, making her laugh when he sunk his teeth into her plump flesh. It made him smile, placing a loud, smacking kiss over the indents of his teeth before he sat up and helped her flip onto her back, his hips nestling in the space between her thighs.

Their noses were almost touching, his arm beside her head holding him up while his other hand rubbed up and down her belly over her shirt.

“Hi,” he said.

She smiled, sliding her fingers into the hair at the back of his head, making him shiver. “Hi, babe. I love how we get so horny we forget to greet each other.” She quickly pecked him on the lips.

“Or you decide to scare the shit out of me.”

“I really didn’t mean to. I was just trying to channel my inner Javi.”

His eyebrows dipped together.

“What?”

“You know, just showing up and going zero to horny in under thirty seconds. Like Monday, when you stormed into the kitchen and started making out with me? That was so hot. I was trying to be like that.”

He smiled. “You’re cute,” he said, nuzzling her nose. “Don’t sneak up on me next time, and it’ll go better.”

“Noted.” She pulled him in for a kiss, and he happily reciprocated, deepening it quickly with a slide of his tongue along her lip for her to open. His cock was still hard, pressing into her skin, his hand moving up to palm her shirt-covered breast, listening to those sounds he loved coming from her throat while they kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

His lips left hers to catch his breath, moving them along her jaw to nibble at her chin.

“I love you in this shirt,” he said into her skin.

“Thanks,” she panted. “It’s comfy. Now please, fuck me, Javi.”

“Need my dick, Cielito?” He kissed over her pulse point, feeling the steady beat of her heart beneath his lips.

“Yes,” she answered.

That was all the answer he needed, pushing up with a grunt to sit up on his knees while she turned onto her stomach, which required him to help move her legs around him. Her hips rose automatically without his help, presenting her glistening pussy, and that had a shock of arousal hitting his gut at how ready she was for him. His cock throbbed between his legs, wanting to feel her squeeze around him.

One hand smoothed over her ass, spitting on the fingers of the other that he rubbed over her entrance, repeating the action to slick his dick up, notching himself at her drenched hole.

“You ready?” he asked.

Her head was resting on her crossed arms. “Dámelo (Give it to me).”

“Es tuyo, mi reina (It’s yours, my queen),” he replied, pushing in.

His eyes slipped shut, and his mouth went slack as her hot, velvety walls embraced him, smoothly sliding all the way home in one thrust.

“Fuck,” he breathed, it feeling like her tight heat was trying to suck him in deeper.

“God, that’s good,” she moaned.

Pulling out halfway, he pushed easily back in. “Fucking love this pussy—sit up with me.” He tapped her hip.

Her legs were on either side of his, getting her up on her knees to have her back to his chest, his arm going across her front to hold her breast, the other palm gliding down the soft cotton of her shirt to the apex of her thighs.

His pace was slow; there was no hurry, wanting her to really feel him by keeping his cock buried deep inside her, barely thrusting in and out while moving his hips in a circular pattern. He welcomed it when she reached behind to dig her cherry-colored nails into his ass, her other set doing the same to his arm as she softly moaned, the fire in his belly slowly building.

Had he really gone three days without this? Feeling her warmth, the way it rippled through his body, and her softness, having her so close to him, and the connection. He needed to feel more of her. He needed more of her skin on his. He needed it all.

His thrusts didn’t waver as he pressed his lips to the shell of her ear, whispering, “Mi amor (My love)?”

“Yes?” she gasped.

“Do you wanna keep the shirt on?”

Even though he told her constantly how attractive he found her and her body, there were still times when she felt more comfortable wearing a shirt during sex, and he respected that.

“No.”

As soon as the word left her lips, he was tugging it up, her arms going over her head for him to get it off, tossing it to the floor.

Pulling her back, her skin on his felt amazing, languidly moving in her while he kissed along her shoulder and neck and up to bite at her earlobe. His fingers between her legs were rubbing at her swollen clit, his other hand plucking at her hardened nipple, feeling her arousal dripping down his dick.

His lips were back at her ear, panting hot breaths against it as he asked, “Did your needy little pussy miss me, baby? Did it miss being stuffed with my cock or my come?”

“Both,” she moaned.

With the way her cunt was starting to flutter, he knew she was getting close. Their bodies were sticky with sweat, not caring how they stuck together or the wet sounds where they were joined, Javier smiling at hearing the wet suck of his dick moving in and out of her sopping pussy.

The angle was awkward, but he kissed her cheek, and she turned her head to chase his lips, kissing him while he built her up higher and higher, his own orgasm taking shape at the base of his spine.

His mouth went back to press at her shoulders, Javier in heaven.

“I love you so fucking much,” he said through heavy breaths, muffled into her skin. “So fucking much. Eres todo para mí y siempre lo serás (You’re everything to me and always will be). Te daría la luna si pudiera (I would give you the moon if I could). Te daría todas las estrellas del cielo (I would give you every star in the sky).” He started moving a little faster, putting more pressure on her clit, her moans getting louder. “Te mereces todo y más y movería cielos y tierra para dártelo si pudiera (You deserve everything and more and I would move heaven and earth to give it to you if I could). Pero solo soy un hombre así que te estoy dando todo de mí (But I am just a man, so I am giving you all of me). Cada parte de mí te pertenece porque yo soy tuyo y siempre seré tuyo (Every part of me belongs to you because I am yours and I will always be yours).”

Her pussy seized up tight around him as she came with a cry of his name, his fingers gently swirling over her sensitive bundle of nerves to help her ride out the wave.

“So good to me,” he softly said, kissing the side of her neck. “You did so fucking good for me, my good girl—god, I love you.”

It took some seconds for her to speak, her voice sounding rougher than usual. “Javier, why would you say absurdly romantic shit you know is gonna make me cry while you’re balls deep inside me and on the cusp of making me come?”

“I don’t know,” he panted, shrugging. “Felt right. Still got you off, though,” he pointed out.

“Yes, and cry at the same time, which is rude.” She wiped at her eyes.

His hands were rubbing circles on her hips.

“I don’t see that as a bad thing—are you still wanting the special thing you say I’m good at?”

“The Javi special, that you know the name of and refuse to use—” That was true. “—Yes. Pretty please.”

He smacked her thigh. “Hands and knees, baby.”

His cock was still achingly hard inside her when she lowered onto her arms, figuring he could go a bit longer before he’d come. Gripping the flesh of her hips, he moved, watching as he pulled almost all the way out, seeing himself shining in her juices and fucking back into her hard. She loved getting pounded from behind, and he was more than happy to oblige with his dick slickly moving fast in and out of her tight, hot heat, carving out space inside her with every stroke that had her mewling.

A layer of sweat was coating his forehead and chest, feeling a drop slide down his cheek while he grunted in exertion, fucking her how she wanted, her moans of his name spurring him on. His big hands grabbed onto the cheeks of her ass and squeezed them, gripping them to pull her back and fuck her on his cock. One left her, coming back down on the jiggling flesh with a loud smack that had her cunt clenching around him and her crying out in pleasure. He kept up the punishing pace, his heart thudding in his chest, spanking her again in the same spot, then on the other side, feeling her getting wetter.

“You gonna give me one more?” he asked through bared teeth.

Her arms and legs were trembling, and he was pretty sure he could make her come one more time. It looked like she couldn’t hold up her weight anymore, moving onto her forearm, her head resting to the side on it, noticing her other arm had gone under her body to play with her clit.

“Javi?” she gasped his name.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“I want you to come inside me.”

Pleasure was curling and knotting in his gut, and her words ramped it up.

“I will.”

“I wanna feel you come inside me.”

That sentence confused the fuck out of him in his wrecked state, not knowing at all what she meant since he already said he was going to do it.

“I’ll fill you up, baby,” he panted, now focusing on chasing his high, closing his eyes, needing that sweet release more than anything. “I’ll fuck you full of me, stuff you full of my come, and get you preg—” The sentence cut off into a strangled moan as she reached between her legs to cup his sack, the sensation tipping him over the edge, hitting the point of no return. He pushed into her all the way as his balls tightened, and he came, his cock jerking hard, pumping spurts and spurts of his spend inside her. His mind had gone blank, euphoria taking over every molecule in his body, feeling her cunt spasming and tightening around him as she went with him.

When a coherent thought came to him, it was that he needed to lie down—a hiss slipping through his teeth when he pulled out, moving to fall onto the mattress beside her.

The second thing to cross his mind as the cool air in the room felt chillier on his sweat-dampened skin was he missed her warmth—frowning, he sat up with a groan, his heavy-lidded eyes seeing she was sprawled out next to him.

“Lay back down,” she said, turning her head toward him with a little smile and looking just as wrung out as he felt. “I could feel your sad eyes on me.�� She yawned, speaking through it, “I just needed a second to be able to move—I was heading your way, baby.”

He didn’t have to be told twice, lying back down and getting comfortable with his head cushioned on a pillow. Seconds later, she was in his space, making herself at home with her body half on top of his, Javier smiling when her fingers slid into his sweat-dampened hair, wrapping his arms around her.

His words were rough. “That was new.”

“Robyn told me about it.” That was her best friend and co-worker. “But I just made it extra horny by feeling them while you came.”

“I liked it.”

“Good.”

She cuddled closer to him, sighing happily as they laid there.

If someone asked him what his favorite thing in the entire world was to do, his answer would be what they were doing right now—not the sex, but the being naked, holding each other in their relaxed, happy states, enjoying the other's company.

This was also when he was most vulnerable physically but mentally, too. All his carefully built walls crumbling, aware that he’d answer any question she asked him and ignoring the one on the tip of his tongue that he could taste the words of.

“Yes,” she said, tilting her head up to kiss under his jaw, and his heart started hammering that maybe he said aloud what he was thinking.

His lips pressed to her forehead. “Yes, what?”

“Just practicing how I’ll answer when you finally ask—I wanna be ready.”

He smiled.

“I do.”

“Huh?”

“Just practicing how I’ll answer when I’m asked if I’ll take you as my wife.”

She sat up to hover her face over his, looking him in the eyes. “That was really fucking smooth.” He smiled. “I love you, Javi, more than anything.” Her lips met his, kissing him tenderly, his hand cradling the back of her head.

They separated after a few seconds. “I love you, too,” he replied.

Her red-nailed fingers pushed the hair off his forehead while she looked at him fondly. “I know you do. Let’s go shower, and then we can make dinner.” She started to get up, moving to the edge of the bed. “Does pasta sound good?” she asked as she stood.

His back protested when he sat up and got out of bed from the opposite side. “Sounds great. We’ve got stuff for salad, too.”

“We do.” She nodded, her head turning to look at him.

“Go start warming up the shower. I’m gonna go grab my clothes from the living room.”

Her mouth turned up in a grin. “What a good, responsible man, cleaning up after his sexcapades. Okay, hurry up!” She started heading for the en suite, and he went to grab the pile he left by the front door, taking out his wallet from his pants pocket and putting it in the bowl on the table, picking up his dress shirt from the floor, grabbing his suit jacket and tie.

He could hear the overhead fan blowing and the water running in the bathroom, light streaming out from the door that was almost all the way closed.

Tossing his clothes on the bed, he kept his pants in his hands as he walked the few steps to his dresser beside the bedroom door, glancing toward the noises over his shoulder before pulling open the top drawer that contained his socks and underwear. His hand went into the pocket of his slacks, pulling out the small white leather ring box, popping it open to see the gold band with a modest-sized diamond in the middle with two smaller ones on each side.

“You don’t know that you’re gonna get to answer that question a lot sooner than planned,” he whispered, “and I can’t wait to see you wearing this.”

“Javi?” she called from the bathroom.

Quickly, he shut the box. “Coming!” He dug into the back of his drawer for the old pair of wool socks he never wore, bundling the ring box inside of them and stashing it away in the depths.

Now, all he had to figure out was when.

Friday, November 6, 11:58 AM

The conference room didn’t have a fucking clock.

He needed a cigarette, his fingers itching for one, thinking he could probably bum a smoke off of someone when this was over. His reading glasses were sitting on the bridge of his nose as he brought up his wrist to read his watch for probably the thirtieth time in the last fifty-eight minutes he’d been in this pointless meeting.

The DEA agent he was currently half-listening to and who has been the bane of his existence since he started this job, had come in on some kind of power trip, thinking he had authority over Javier and the people he worked with—it’s been an ongoing issue and a reason there was animosity between the two men.

It all made sense when he finally put a face to the name of asshole DEA agent Jesse Clemons.

The other man was in his late twenties, if he had to guess—definitely too young for the assignment he’d been given since there was no way he had enough experience, and he was hiding it by being a grade-A dick. In terms of looks, the kid was smaller than him, thinner, shorter, with the face of an average white male, and had the attitude of someone whose parents paid for him to get into an Ivy League school—which made Javier think he had connections that landed him this job since something about the guy screamed ‘nepotism hire.’

Javier put him in his place before they even sat down and made it clear he was the one in charge here—possibly scaring him too much because the kid was stuttering and stammering through the whole meeting.

Glancing at his watch, he saw the hour was finally up.

“Well,” he said, interrupting the agent as he closed the files before him, putting them into a stack. “I’ve got another appointment to get to.” Standing, he took off his glasses, sliding them into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, and picked up the manila folders. “It was nice to meet you in person, and we’ll see how your suggestions play out.” They wouldn’t. “Doors this way.” He held out his arm toward it.

The agent looked relieved it was over, quickly putting his things away in his brown leather briefcase and letting Javier usher him out of the room.

They paused just outside the door.

“Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me, sir,” Jesse said, holding out his hand that Javier quickly shook.

“Yeah.”

“My, uh—“ He scratched at the back of his neck. “—My nana sends her regards.”

That had Javier’s eyebrows pulling together as he tried to figure out who he could possibly be talking about.

“Your… nana...?”

“Yes, my grandma Noonan. She was a former ambassador in Colombia…”

Javier huffed out a breath—there it was, the reason this kid was hired. His grandma was a real hardass but pretty decent at her job, and with her connections, it’s no wonder her grandson had such an important assignment.

“Yeah, I remember your nana. You give her my best. Thanks for stopping by.”

The younger man nodded, retreating down the hallway.

Javier sure as fuck didn’t miss the DEA and their bullshit, the meeting turning out to be just as irritating as he’d expected it to be. He’d been prepared for the questions and had the files to back up his answers and prove they’d been working their asses off.

The only good thing about this was that the kid would probably leave him alone now, or at the very least only be in contact when necessary, which is what Javier hoped.

Once the agent disappeared around the corner at the end of the hall, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in, his eyes closing for a moment.

He didn’t actually have another appointment. It was lunchtime for him and the woman he loved, who he needed to talk to in order to calm his nerves.

“Never thought I’d see you again.” That voice hadn’t spoken to him since he uncovered just how corrupt the Colombian government was. His eyes flew open, turning his head toward them.

“Why the fuck am I seeing you, Stechner?” he practically spat out.

Bill Stechner looked balder and his beard longer, standing half a dozen steps from him down the hall. His appearance had Javier’s heart speeding up and jaw clenching, knowing that nothing good would come from this.

The older man walked a little closer as he spoke, holding a file in one hand and the other in his pocket, “I was in the neighborhood on business and heard you were working here. Wanted to stop by and see how my old friend was doing.”

His eyes narrowed.

“We’ve never been friends, and how I’m doing is none of your fucking business.”

“What? I can’t be happy for you?”

Javier’s blood ran cold—what the fuck did he know?

Stechner removed the hand from his pocket to open the folder. “You know,” he continued, glancing down at it. “That girl of yours is too good for you.”

Dread came over him, feeling the heaviness of it in his gut and having to swallow hard because there was a chance he might throw up.

“I know she is,” he answered.

“No, no, I mean she’s really too good for you and is another woman with questionable taste in men. Did you know she graduated top of her class in college?” He didn’t. “She had the pick of any hospital in the country, and she chose Dallas, which, let me tell you, is quite far from her family, but I’m sure you know that.” He did. “Speaking of her family—” Stechner flipped a page. “—talk about notoriety and wealth. I’m honestly surprised you live in that tiny condo with all of the money she has. Looking at this, she should be with a doctor, or a surgeon, hell, even someone from a family as affluent as hers.” An opinion her parents shared. “I’m not seeing why she’d choose a disgraced farmer boy.” His teeth clenched, the sentence repeating over and over in his head, ‘Because she loves me. Because she loves me.’ The other man looked up to meet his eyes. “But you, the only reason you’re with her is the money, right? Because someone like you isn’t the settling down type. You can’t stick to just one woman, and with that kind of cash, you can afford more pussy than you were paying for with Uncle Sam’s money in Colombia.”

What money? What money was he talking about?

The jabs about his sex life were fine; he was used to it, but he was beyond confused at being accused of only dating Cielito for her money since he’d seen her bank statements—they sat at their kitchen table writing checks to pay bills together every month, and balance their checkbooks. Her accounts weren’t anything crazy, and his savings was even bigger than hers from not having to pay for a lot in Colombia. Her job did make more than his, though; that was a fact and understandable with the work she did.

But she wasn’t some millionaire, which was what was being implied.

Maybe he was assuming that since her family had money, she did, too?

Too bad his research didn’t tell him her relationship with her family was strained with them all being a bunch of uptight, snobby dicks and that there was a chance she’d been written out of her parents' wills due to her life choices (dating him)—so, she didn’t have access to their money.

Everything else Stechner said had him taken aback at how he’d managed to tug at Javier’s relationship insecurities—he knew he wasn’t good enough for her, that his career was lacking, his wealth was mediocre, that his past should be a glaring red flag.

But she still chose him despite it all.

Despite it all, she still loved only him.

His face had heated as it pinched in anger at the fucking audacity of this fucker trying to mess with his relationship, rage roiling in his belly that Stechner misused his authority with the CIA to get information on his future wife and invade her privacy.

“I don’t owe you any explanations,” he gritted out. “Leave me and her the fuck alone.”

“Oh, you didn’t know about the money.” The file closed in his hand. “Like how she didn’t know about all you did in Colombia? I could tell I caught her off guard when I brought it up.”

Panic erupted inside him, his eyes widening, papers scattering on the floor when he dropped the folders in his hand to take the strides and grab the other man by his dark green jacket lapels, slamming him into the wall. “What did you tell her?!” The words roared from his throat.

His mind was racing, thinking of all Stechner could’ve told her and knowing without a doubt he’d twist things to make Javier look like a heartless monster—he was so fucking scared he could cry.

It irritated him how calmly the other man spoke. “Well, I couldn’t believe she didn’t know why you weren’t there to catch Escobar with how ‘serious’ you two are and figured it must’ve slipped your mind, so I just told her the truth of how you got a lot of innocent civilians murdered by helping Los Pepes—men, women, children. I also brought a copy of Judy’s interview for her to read as proof.”

This was his worst nightmare.

That interview pinned all of the leaked intelligence to Los Pepes on him when they were also getting it from other high-ranking members of Search Bloc, the police force in Colombia dedicated to taking down drug lords. It made him look responsible for all of the carnage and innocent casualties, including the war that happened between Pablo Escobar and Los Pepes that had the former setting off a bomb at a busy shopping center a week before schools were starting, killing a bunch of kids.

“You’re looking awfully pale, Javier,” Stechner continued. “Do you need to sit down?”

He didn’t have a chance to explain the truth to her.

She was going to leave him over his past mistakes. There was no way she’d want to be with someone who fucked up so badly—he was going to lose her, and his heart felt like it was breaking into a million tiny pieces he’d never be able to put back together.

He was spiraling, his eyes burning with unshed tears as he let go of the man, turning around with his face in his hands, screaming into them FUCK!

Why was this happening to him? Why was Stechner trying to ruin the only good thing in his life? Was this payback for disobeying and taking down the Cali cartel? For revealing the corruption in Colombia? Or was this just for his own fucked up amusement?

His entire world was crumbling. He should’ve told her sooner. She should’ve heard all of this from him and gotten the truth.

She was everything to him, and without her, he was nothing.

He had nothing left to lose if he already lost her, and now he was just angry and fucking tired of people ruining his life. His blood was boiling, rage bubbling up inside him over this vindictive motherfucker who wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone.

His hands fell, and he turned on his heel to face the bastard.

“I should’ve done this a long time ago,” he said.

Stechner smiled. “What’s that?”

His right fist was tightly clenched, and then he swung, hearing and feeling the sickening crunch as it connected with the other man’s face, who yelped in pain.

Javier was numb, shaking out his hand as it flexed at his side while Stechner tried to staunch the bleeding coming from his nostrils, the file he had tucked under his arm.

Javier glared, his tone menacing as he raised a finger, “Leave me and her the fuck alone. If I see you around here again—” He jabbed the other man in the chest. “—I’m getting a fucking restraining order.”

“I could have you arrested for assaulting a government agent.” He sounded nasally.

“And how will the CIA feel about one of their agents using government means to harass a civilian? You get me arrested, you lose your fucking job for being a creep. Leave. Us. The. Fuck. Alone. You got what you wanted. She’s probably at the apartment packing my shit as we speak.” He snatched the folder from Stechner. “I’m taking this—now fuck off.”

With that, he turned around, his heart pounding, heading to where he dropped his files.

Sheriff Arturo’s assistant, Joy, came out of the conference room, holding her notepad to her chest with wired-rimmed glasses on her freckled face. He’d forgotten she’d been taking notes for her boss at the meeting.

“Go to the hospital and talk to her,” she said. “I’ll clean up the mess here and make sure he—” She glared at Stechner. “—is escorted out of the building.” Her eyes came back to him, the fresh college graduate looking worried, when she continued, “Whatever is going on sounds bad, and you need to go right now and fix it, Javi. Go to her! Hurry!”

She was right.

“Thank you,” he replied and started jogging down the maze of hallways to get out of the building.

By the time he made it to his truck, sweat was coating his forehead, and he didn’t bother putting on his sunglasses, tossing the file Stechner had on the passenger seat, the tires screeching as he turned onto the roadway. His hand tightly squeezed the steering wheel while the other dug his phone out of his pocket, holding it up to his ear as he speed-dialed Cielito.

Ring.

“Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system—”

“Fuck,” he hissed, redialing.

Ring.

“Your call—” He hit the end call button, glancing at the clock on his dashboard.

She should be on lunch right now and have her phone.

She should be answering.

She always answered.

He dialed again.

Ring.

Dread filled him once more.

“Your call—” He clicked the end button.

Was she screening his calls? Was she letting him go to voicemail?

Was she done with him? Was this all over? Was she even going to be at the hospital when he got there? Or did she leave work early to go home and pack his things?

He didn’t want to call her work, but he needed to know if he was heading to the right place, scrolling through his cellphone’s phone book until he found the number he was looking for and pushed call.

Ring.

“Doctor’s Hospital of Laredo, how may I direct your call?”

“Post-op nurse’s station.”

“One moment.”

Ring.

“Post-op. Robyn speakin’,” her cheery voice answered.

He let out a relieved breath.

Robyn would know where she was at.

“Robyn, it’s Javi—“

“She can’t talk right now,” she interrupted in a serious tone, her change in demeanor jolting him and making his stomach drop.

“Just…” His throat felt tight, swallowing hard while his eyes watered. “Just tell me if she’s there, please,” he all but begged.

“Of course she’s here.”

“Okay… Thank you…” he numbly replied, ending the call and setting the phone on the bench seat beside him.

A tear rolled down his cheek.

“Fuck!” he shouted, hitting the steering wheel.

How was it that hours ago, his life had been perfect?

Everything had finally fallen into place—he’d found the perfect woman who loved him and who he loved; he’d gotten his mother’s ring from his dad the day before and was going to take it to the jewelry store Monday to have it sized and altered, actively planning how he was going to propose so it’d be perfect.

She deserved perfection.

He’d been living the fucking dream, and now he wasn’t even sure if he still had a girlfriend.

She wasn’t answering his calls, and she’d roped in her friend to keep him from talking to her.

She promised him she’d still love him after finding out about his past, and he believed it, but he also knew Stechner was a sadistic prick, and Javier didn’t know what she’d been told—what lies, and exaggerations were said to make him look as horrible as possible.

It must’ve been jarring for her, and she wanted space—what she needed was to hear the truth, the whole truth of everything he went through down there, that he should’ve fucking told her months ago. He felt like a real piece of shit that he put her in this position. Javier knew her better than anyone else, and had she known about Los Pepes, and all the other shit he’d been keeping from her, he knew for a fact she would’ve sniffed Stechner out right away and ripped him to fucking pieces for trying to sabotage their relationship. But she didn’t know, and that rat bastard got what he wanted.

The traffic light turned green, and he laid on the horn when the car in front of him didn’t immediately go, passing them when he could as he sped over the speed limit.

All he could think about was how he had to get to her and straighten this all out—hell, if he needed to, Steve could corroborate everything he was going to tell her.

He would fix this. He had to fix this.

There was no other option.

He couldn’t go back to how he was living before her, which wasn’t living at all; it was just existing with no purpose. There was a purpose now; there was more than a purpose, expanding to hopes and dreams for their future together.

She was his sun, shining brightly, giving him life, warmth, and helping him grow. He was her moon, faithfully following her anywhere she’d go, reflecting her radiant love, loving her day and night in her best and worst moments.

He loved her more than anything, and he would do whatever it took to make this right.

His eyes were burning.

“Tengo miedo, amá (I’m scared, mom),” he whispered under his breath. “Me duele el corazón (My heart is hurting). No puedo perderla, amá (I can’t lose her, mom). La amo más que a nada en el mundo y no puedo vivir sin a ella (I love her more than anything in the world and I can’t live without my her).” Tears fell down his cheeks. “¿Puedes hablar con alguien en el cielo o dondequiera que estés (Can you talk to someone in heaven or wherever you are)? ¿Por favor, amá (Please, mom)?” He wiped at his face, sniffling. “¿Por favor (Please)? La amo y haré cualquier cosa para recuperarla de vuelta (I love her and I will do anything to get her back).”

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Tagging: @theorganasolo @nicolethered @nessamc @vanemando15 @fiscinthirst @melancholyy-hill @hnt-escape @sherala007 @jadesabre83 @rainbeaubrightchild @blub-senpai @pedrohoe04 @theherothesavior @captain-creampuff @javiersjeans @zetasaturno99 @amb11 @lovedbyth3sun @siidereeus @marvelousmermaid @mrszdjarin @themarcusmoreno @ms-loverman-066 @star-wars-fan-2005 @kissing-stars @chloeinpink @notyourlovemonkey @unofficialavenger90 @fictionismyreality @sheetsof-lennon @damnyoupedro @katareyoudrilling @iamskyereads @enjoyourlattebitch @daddydindjarin @absurdthirst @kirsteng42 @littlemisspascal @athalien @thevoiceinyourheadx @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @mswarriorbabe80 @theewokingdead @guess-my-next-obsession @pedrostories

#pedro pascal #javier peña #javier peña/reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #wheresarizona writes #learning to live series

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nouvellevqgue · 6 months

Note

Hey, I loved the lance fic you did for me, and was wondering if you do another one but like a soc media au (pref fluff). If you have time

Have a good day/night

-🪐

INTERNET'S HEART! ✷ ﹙ LANCE STROLL ﹚

SUMMARY: a compilation of them being lovesick for each other on instagram.

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆｡✦

lancestroll

liked by chloestroll, fernandoalo_oficial, sza, and 422,980 more

lancestroll lazy day routine

👤: yourusername

view all 241,970 comments...

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yourusername added to their story!

caption: spent some time to fly with lance. especially when kiko's around. what a great save bed 🛩️🫢

yourusername

liked by lancestroll, arianagrande, fernandoalo_oficial, and 725,293 more

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lancestroll

liked by landonorris, madelinecline, yourusername and 659,778 more

lancestroll happy 5 years anniversary to my best friend, lover, sleeping pillow, and a mom to kiko! more years to come to be with you forever, baby😚🥰❤️

👤: yourusername

view all 247,125 comments

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yourusername

liked by astonmartinf1, bellahadid, blakelively and 620,157 more

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👤: lancestroll

view all 310,554 comments...

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ˑ⭒ʚ ִinstagram ݁.٭

lancestroll

liked by yourusername, landonorris, pierregasly, and 621,423 more

lancestroll y/n's version i mean...

👤: yourusername

view all 238,452 comments...

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yourusername

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comments on this post has been disabled

#✶!#lance stroll #lance stroll fluff #lance stroll smau #lance stroll x you #lance stroll x y/n #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll imagine #lance stroll x female reader #f1 x you #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x y/n

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cupid-styles · 6 months

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/cupid-styles/733368300315213824/my-eye-is-physically-twitching-bc-i-just-thought

Yes please!! It’d be so cute to see Harry really step up and become the very doting father figure, super cautious with the kid and turning very silly while playing games. While y/n is just watching it all happen and getting more of a crush on her baby daddy. They’d be so cute 🥰

this is a lil bit longer than I anticipated it being fjsjsksjdjs and I also changed some things around butttttt I hope u enjoy !!!!!! . . .

”What if she doesn’t like me?”

“Harry, she’s three.”

“Three year olds have opinions.”

Y/N sighs as she twists her hair up into a claw clip. She notices his grip tighten on the steering wheel as he pulls into the driveway of her sister’s house, where they’re spending the night babysitting her niece.

(What had started out as a favor for her sister was now an experiment in co-parenting and toddler communication skills — once Harry found out she was doing this, he wanted in. And frankly, it was damn near impossible to say no to him, especially since he had a minimum of two parenting books on him at all times.)

“You’ll be fine. Stop stressing.” She mumbles when he puts the car in park, climbing out of the car, a hand pressed against her budding stomach. She’s a few weeks out from her fifth month, nearly halfway through, and her bump seems to be growing by the day — not that Harry’s complaining.

With their bags over his shoulder, Y/N’s sister, Rena, answers the door as they’re approaching it. She’s sweet — much friendlier than Y/N — and doesn’t mention anything about their unusual circumstances, much to Harry’s relief. She gives them a rundown of everything they need to know (she and her partner are going away for the weekend), complete with a 5-page packet on the dining room table consisting of Eden, Y/N’s niece, favorite foods, nighttime routine, and the names of her stuffed animals.

It’s all going pretty well until Rena and her boyfriend attempt to leave. That’s when the breakdown ensues.

It’s a mess of ear piercing screams and crying on Eden’s behalf. Every time Rena tries to put her down, her chubby little hands just grip her shirt tighter, burying her face into her neck through her loud wales.

“Edie, c’mon baby,” Y/N tries to soothe her, doing her best to maneuver her little body from Rena’s to hers, “Mommy and daddy are gonna be back so soon! In the meantime, you get to have fun with me and Uncle Harry!”

Harry’s heart swells at that and he clears his throat, stepping forward.

“Eden, I know it’s scary. We all get a little nervous sometimes.” He murmurs, testing the waters by reaching out to smooth his palm over her messy hair, “Right, Y/N?”

“Auntie Y/N gets nervous all the time, bug. But I promise, we’re gonna have the best night together.”

Eden sniffles, eyes peering over her mother’s shoulder to size Harry up. Finally, she loosens the fist clutching her shirt.

“Uncle Harry, do you like Peppa Pig?”

. . .

Rena and her boyfriend all but made a run for it the second Eden showed some sort of comfort. As soon as she allowed her mom to put her down, she wrapped her fingers around Harry’s hand and guided him to the living room, requesting that he put Peppa Pig on. The more he showed interest, the more she trusted him — currently, they were playing princess tea party, with a tiara tucked into Harry’s curls as they sip imaginary concoctions to the tune of Peppa’s snorts.

“Edie, it’s time to get ready for bed,” Y/N says sometime around 7:30. Per the packet left by Rena, her usual bedtime is 7, but Harry pushed her off for another half an hour.

“No!” Eden immediately yelps with a stubborn shake of her head.

“We can keep playing tomorrow, bug—“

“Not sleepy!” She exclaims, even though her eyes are already hazy with exhaustion.

“Eden, it’s past your bedtime. It’s time to go upstairs.”

For the second time that day, Eden begins to wale in Y/N’s face. Her lips part and Harry watches on as her cheeks redden, his stomach tight with anxiety from the discomfort of the situation.

“Why don’t we just start with brushing our teeth and putting our jammies on?” Harry speaks up, “You can pick out a book to read, too.”

In classic toddler fashion, her cries immediately cease and she nods her head sadly, her bottom lip formed in a pout. He chuckles at that and Y/N swallows a sigh, standing from the couch.

“No!” Eden suddenly exclaims, and Harry’s stomach drops again, “Want Uncle Harry. Not Auntie Y/N.”

Y/N blinks before sitting back down, giving a curt nod to Harry.

“Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

Feeling guilty, he nods, accepting Eden’s small hand in his as they go upstairs to her bedroom.

. . .

Y/N has never cried in front of Harry, but she supposed there’s a first for everything.

When he comes back down from putting Eden to sleep, she can’t even pretend like her eyes aren’t watery, cheeks stained with salty tears and a tired chest from keeping her sobs silent. As soon as he sets his eyes on her, he rushes over, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Shhh,” he murmurs into her hair, “Breathe, Y/N, you’re okay.”

“I’m— I’m gonna be s-such a shit mom!”

His heart breaks and he shakes his head, holding her even tighter to his chest.

“Don’t say that, it’s not even close to the truth. You’re gonna be amazing.”

“S-she hates me though! And she loves you! That’s what the next 18 years a-are gonna be!”

“Y/N,” Harry sighs, leaning down to catch her eyes. He presses a gentle thumb to her face, wiping away the fallen tears. “She’s a toddler. She’ll hate me tomorrow and forget who I am in a week. Three is a tough age, I just finished the toddler chapter in that parenting book I’m reading.”

She swallows a hiccup, smiling gently. His recent addiction to parenting books always makes her laugh, even if she teases him about them all the time.

A silence takes over as he continues rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades. She sniffles periodically before peering up at him through slightly damp eyelashes.

“Do your parenting books say anything about ordering ice cream for dessert?”

A dimpled smirk appears on his face. “Mm, not sure. I brought a few, we can look through them together.”

#writing #ymls concept #Harry styles writing #harry styles blurb

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lavendertales · 9 months

Text

SEÑORITA: Chapter 5

pairing: Javier Peña x Murphy!f!reader

summary: you agree to go out with Steve & Connie to get their idea of a blind date out of the way. but once Javier arrives, you're nothing if not overly excited to give your time to him instead.

word count: 5.7k

series warnings: reluctant friends to lovers, lots of playful banter, mutual pining, slow burn, secret relationship, filthy smut.

chapter warnings: mentions of alcohol & smoking; jealous!Javi, tension, mutual pining.

gif: @beldros

series masterlist | AO3

Within the following days, you allowed guilt to chew you and spit you up. You avoided Javier’s eyes at any cost, barely responding to his “good morning” as you continued your morning ritual together. It felt tainted, such a small act of curtesy; tainted by basic biological needs, filthily and sneakily performed in the darkness of your bedroom, culminating in a name you refused to moan in full, but one that still lingered on your mind.

Doesn’t matter whether you said Javier’s name in full or not. He was the one you thought of in the throes of seeking your solo ecstasy and now, whenever you were met with his polite face, bright and early, you felt your cheeks burn red as you inevitably recalled burying your fingers in your wet heat, thinking they were his instead. You were beyond embarrassed, and you swore that under no circumstances he could ever know. Not that you believed the topic could ever come up, but just for safe measure, you had no intention of confessing this to either Connie or Sylvie.

It was just a momentary lapse of judgment, the result of a long dry spell and the presence of a charming, handsome man in your house. Nothing else.

But Saturday rolls around, and you find yourself wondering whether Javier would join you for drinks or not. He hadn’t made his answer clear when you asked, not even replying something sly when you mentioned you were quite certain that you were being set up for a blind date. Maybe he really didn’t want to witness all that; after all, that would mean he’d be the fifth wheel at a table with two couples.

Not the most pleasant atmosphere, and this you know firsthand.

So maybe Javier has no intention of showing up tonight. Truth be told, it’s probably for the best; you don’t need to be sipping alcoholic drinks and avoid looking at him in fear that he’ll notice your blush, ask about it, and then find out he was the star of your random moment of weakness.

You make an effort for tonight to look as good as possible. You find yourself excited about the idea of going out, letting loose a little and simply living. You put on a black dress with spaghetti straps that goes just above your knees, a pair of sandals and do your makeup to the best of your abilities. Then you take a cab and head downtown, your heart thrumming in your chest as you remember that tonight you’re most likely going on a blind date.

It was Connie’s idea; she told you about this guy from her job—Dean, was it?—that would apparently be a great match for you. Funny, kind, smart and a cook—the description sounded too good to be true, really, but Connie managed to spark your interest so you agreed to go, more on the premise of “let’s see what happens”. You found that living life from day to day was better than planning weeks or months ahead and then ending up disappointed or even hurt when certain plans wouldn’t come to fruition.

Which means that you have no plan for tonight. You just want to enjoy some good music, have some drinks and maybe, hopefully, dance.

You notice Connie first upon entering the bar, mostly because she’s wearing a white dress that definitely stands out in the washed out crowd of grey and black. You wave at her and she excitedly waves back, then you notice Steve sitting next to her, looking a bit uncomfortable. You’ve been on speaking terms, but you haven’t hung out since that dinner at their new apartment, so you understood the level of discomfort.

Thank goodness you were in an environment which provided an endless supply of drinks.

“Wow, you look gorgeous!” Connie exclaims as she comes in to hug you.

“You look just as gorgeous, if not more. Look at you, little miss angel!”

Your eyes meet Steve’s, and you spontaneously decide to hug him as well. He’s stiff, clearly taken aback, but not a second too late he reciprocates, wrapping his large arms around you, thus nearly covering you completely.

“Long time no see, huh?” you tease.

“A few weeks, hasn’t it?”

“I’d say so. Where’s Olivia tonight?”

“Going to bed early club. My mom offered to watch her, so we have the night off,” Connie explains.

“Feels good to be out of the house.”

“Tell me about it!”

You have a seat, ordering a Long Island Tea, and strike up a conversation about work. You gladly listen to Steve’s stories from the precinct, they are far more interesting than anything that usually goes on at the library.

But now your mind is somehow set back on Javier, so you take a bigger sip of your drink.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you that Javier stopped by the library last week,” you blurt out.

“He did?” Connie’s tone is filled with surprise.

“Yep. He was on his lunch break and wanted something to read.”

“What did he get?”

“A Pablo Neruda book.”

You abstain from laughing at Connie’s frown and her parted lips revealing shock.

“I know, I had the same reaction,” you say. “Would’ve never thought a guy like that reads romance poems.”

“Yeah. Me neither,” Steve says in a low voice.

“In Javier’s defense, there wasn’t much time to pick up a hobby like that in the middle of everything that was going on in Colombia.”

“Fair point.”

“He said he started reading poems shortly after returning to Laredo.”

Steve’s eyes shift onto your face in a feeble attempt to read through it and see if anything’s amiss, but you don’t give anything away. If there’s something you’re great at in this life, it’s hiding things from your big brother.

“Sounds like you’ve got to know him quite a bit,” Steve deadpans.

“We talked for like five minutes, handed him the book and called it a day.”

Nothing else happened.

“Well, we talked some more when he stopped by to fix my pipes but—“

Steve nearly chokes on his drink. “Excuse me?”

“Didn’t I mention that? How silly of me, I’m sorry. Yeah, I asked him if he could stop by my place to help me with the pipe issue I’ve been having. He was more than capable. Handled it like a pro, actually.”

There’s a big vein on the side of Steve’s forehead that’s about to burst at any given moment simply because from the way you phrased everything, you’re about 97% sure he’s picturing something else entirely and being beyond aggravated by the fact that he spend five, six days a week with Javier and the latter definitely did not mention this to him.

“Don’t dwell on it, big bro,” you tell him amused. “That vein of yours is about to pop.”

Connie chuckles behind her hand as she tries to hide away from the discussion, but her face changes when she glances in the direction of the entrance.

“Heads up, my colleague is here,” she turns to you excitedly. “Don’t freak out, but this is supposed to be kind of… well…”

“Connie, I know it’s supposed to be a blind date.”

Color drains from her cheeks. “Oh. I’m sorry, I just—“

To which you giggle, placing a hand over her exposed arm. “It’s fine. You weren’t exactly smooth about it.”

There’s plenty more Connie wishes to share with you, based on the way her lips remain parted and she stares at you desperately, but a man approaches the three of you at the bar, shaking hands with Steve, then briefly hugging Connie and—his eyes land on you.

“Hi,” he smiles, and oh shit, is that a dimple? “I’m Dean.”

You shake his hand, introducing yourself, and only then notice that he’s much taller than you. He has charcoal hair, styled nicely and carefully, and what appear to be green eyes. He’s wearing a black t-shirt underneath a leather jacket, and you gulp. He might not be a bad boy from Connie’s descriptions, but he sure has the look.

The only thing missing would be a tattoo and you’d even consider leaving this bar with him tonight.

“You are way more beautiful than what Connie said,” Dean smiles, and you already feel flustered. “And she did offer quite an in-depth description.”

“I’m glad to hear her words don’t do me justice then.”

“They really don’t.”

The way he’s staring down at you has you a little weak in the knees, but you do your best to remain composed. You cannot be acting out tonight, certainly not in front of Steve.

“Can I buy you a drink so we can go somewhere and get to know each other maybe?” Dean proposes.

“Sure, that sounds great.”

“What’s your poison of choice?”

“They don’t have that on the menu, but I’ll stick with a Long Island Tea.”

Dean chuckles, ordering exactly that and a greyhound. You turn around to ask him what he does for work, only to witness him removing his leather jacket and accidentally revealing a forearm tattoo that extends all the way to his bicep, by the look of it.

Oh no. oh, this is not good.

Calm down, girl. Just breathe.

“Maybe we can find a booth,” he suggest.

You’re stuck in some sort of trance as you keep glancing at his tattoo, but you quickly nod, hoping to dismiss the rush of emotions the entire image forces out of you.

“Told you she’d like him,” Connie playfully smacks Steve’s arm, visibly enthusiastic over the possibility of having set up a fantastic date for her sister-in-law.

“Dean’s a really cool guy.”

“They fit together quite nicely, don’t you think?”

“I’d say so, yeah.”

You spend the next forty minutes just talking to Dean and you gotta admit, he seems like a fine man. You find out he works in statistics—which undoubtedly means he’s smart—he has a dog, loves plants of all kinds, and he managed to squeeze several chuckles out of you in the past few minutes. Worst—aka best thing of them all—he’s a huge Star Wars nerd.

You’re sold on the idea that if by the time you finish this second drink and manage to dance with him, you might just take him home because the opportunity is too good to pass on. Dean doesn’t strike you as the one night stand kind of guy, but you decide to live even more in the moment and see where and how the night progresses.

By the third Long Island Tea, you decide to firstly cut yourself off, and secondly, if Dean keeps making you laugh, even as you manage to persuade him into dancing, you’ll almost have no choice but to take him home with you.

You are having the best time you’ve had in a long time; that much can be noticed even by Connie and Steve, who watch everything unfold from the bar. Everyone seems so focused on you and Dean that nobody notices the silhouette emerging from the shadows around 11:37 p.m., an exhausted look residing on his face as he makes his way through the crowd with an unquenchable thirst for some hard liquor and a cigarette.

God, he’d give anything to smoke right now; it’s been such a long afternoon stuck in the office trying to explain to that moron of a Lieutenant why the Berger case hasn’t been closed yet. But it’s been almost months since he last smoked, and he’s quite proud of the progress he's made, and there’s no solid reason to interrupt this marvelous streak he’s got going on.

That is, until he loosens his tie, takes off his blazer and orders a whiskey neat and in the sweaty crowd on the dance floor, he sees you.

He wasn’t even looking, not at first; his eyes were merely scanning the crowd, just eager to see anything else but case files before them, and somehow they managed to land on your silhouette, covered in what appears to be a rather sultry black dress, dancing the night away next to a guy who is so tall, it makes Javier squirm in his seat, feeling unusually small.

“Javi? What are you doing here?”

Steve’s the first one to approach him and they shake hands, followed by a brief kiss on Connie’s cheek.

“Wanted to blow off some steam,” Javier shouts towards them. “Your sister mentioned you guys were going out tonight.”

“She did?”

“Yep.”

“Glad you could join us!”

“Me too. Thrilled, really.”

The way he chugs his whiskey is anything but an indicator of his presumed excitement. He instantly orders a second one, the craving for nicotine even stronger when he has to force himself to peel his eyes from the dance floor.

“Who’s that?” Javier asks passively.

“Her blind date. Connie’s idea.”

“Guy from my office, his name’s Dean. Amazing guy.”

“Right, the blind date.”

“They really hit it off, look at them laughing!”

There is no reasonable explanation for the feeling that’s bubbling inside Javier’s chest. All he knows is that it’s something ugly that he deeply resents and spends the next half hour or so denying its existence, all the while stealing glances at you and this guy Dean.

And what he’s left with is the fact that you look really pretty when you’re happy.

It’s uncanny to think this way when he doesn’t see anything happening between the two of you, but even Javier cannot deny that tonight you look really ravishing and that seeing you smile is quite the sight.

You sure look happy dancing with that Dean guy. And Javier hates what it does to him because it’s all so bizarre and new to him. Though he draws one conclusion as he sits at the bar and sips from his third whiskey of the evening: he doesn’t like seeing another guy around you and that can only mean…

No. No fucking way.

It’s just a typical case of wanting what you can’t have. You’re off-limits, and Javier’s lizard, primal brain, along with the never-ending dry streak, decided that being stuck on you is a good idea. You’re cool and funny, sure, but still far from Javier’s usual type.

Which means that even if he were attracted to you—and you sure are a pretty girl, objectively speaking—he absolutely cannot sleep with you as a form of palate cleanser. If you were any other woman, maybe; but Steve’s little sister? Never in a million years.

The amber liquid in his glass worked its magic and loosened him up, though in the past it hasn’t been proven to be the best choice when around an attractive woman.

But knowing that you are beyond off-limits does help in a way. So he grits his teeth, swallows whatever it is that’s bothering him so deeply and forces himself to look away from the dance floor.

“You’ve got some moves!” Dean leans over to chuckle in your ear.

“Thanks! It’s mostly the Long Island Tea, but I gotta give credit to my college partying days.”

“Celebrated a lot, I take it?”

You grin, your hand resting ridiculously comfortable on his bicep. “Oh, Dean. You can’t even begin to comprehend.”

You faintly notice the way his eyebrows cock upwards, revealing surprise. He smiles, spinning you around to the rhythm of a song you do not recognize, and then he pulls you back to him.

“Listen, I have to make an appearance at a friend’s birthday party in a bit. Two blocks away. Would you like to come?”

You open your mouth to offer your response when you notice a third silhouette by Steve and Connie. You gulp, suddenly your back sweating more than before.

Shit.

“I’ll take a raincheck on that if it’s okay,” you smile politely.

“No problem. I guess we’ll be in touch?”

“Sure. It was nice spending time with you, Dean.”

“With you too.”

He leans over and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek and you feel that very same spot burning with flattery instead of guilt, which is a more than welcome change. But when your glare returns to the bar and you notice the figure dressed business rather than casual, you gulp and miraculously, your guilt returns full force.

In spite of your better judgment—which really left the building after your first drink—you make your way back to the bar, now face to face with a visibly exhausted and grumpy Javier.

“Hello there,” you greet him.

His face lights up once you address him—or so you’d like to think. Why on earth do you want to think that?

“Hello yourself,” Javier replies. “You look—“

“Where did Dean go?”

Steve’s question bothers you more than what you let reveal. “None of your business,” you reply.

“But I thought—“

“Let them be.”

You don’t say anything else to Javier, and neither does he, but somehow he still finds himself standing up from the rather uncomfortable chair and walking you back to the dance floor, as if that would make both of you invisible to your family.

“I was—what—what are you doing?”

Javier stares at you dumbfounded, his hands not even touching your waist, yet frozen in that very direction.

“I thought you wanted—“he begins, now questioning his every intention.

You shake your head, guiding his hands back to your hips and gulping with difficulty. God, your throat is like sand on paper.

“It’s fine,” you reassure him.

Of course the song in the fucking background had to be by Carlos Santana. Of fucking course. The song bumps all around you, Javier’s hands guiding you steadily along the rhythm and your body naturally following. It’s quite relaxing—if you wouldn’t be busy thinking about the way that your body seems to naturally respond to his touch, as if you’ve been doing this for years.

You were already sweaty from before, but now, with all the people grinding around you and the unbearable heat gathered from the alcohol and the dancing, your temples were dripping with beads of sweat, as well as your neck. You couldn’t help but notice that Javier suffered of the same predicament: he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, the first two buttons undone, and again you gulped. You are painfully reminded of the night a similar image had sent you over the edge, and you blush right there with his calloused hands pressed ever so gently on your waist.

He moved both of you expertly, guiding your hips; eventually, your hands found solace around his neck, feeling the heat radiating from his body. But then he makes a move that spins you around, then pulls you back to him so that you bump into his chest, his skin on yours, and you feel afire. His eyes are locked on your face, and when they finally meet with yours, it’s electric. Goosebumps erect all over your skin, and you swear you didn’t feel this way when you were dancing with Dean. For fuck’s sake, you considered going home with Dean. You felt attracted to Dean, he was so handsome and funny and sweet—

But somehow, this moment right here feels more intimate and forbidden than anything else, and it’s evident in the way your breaths come out—ragged, almost as sweaty as you. You swallowed hard at the sensation of being so close to Javier, this mystery man with a troubled past that was the star of your illicit fantasies.

At first you thought it was the drinks that made you see things, but once, twice, thrice you’ve seen his eyes roam all over your body, every once in a while pausing to admire a certain part of you that wasn’t stereotypical to the male gaze: your collarbones, shoulders, the way your waist fit in his hands—

“Penny for your thoughts?”

His voice is like honey dripping straight on your skin when he asks that next to your earlobe.

“You really do know how to dance,” you observe.

“It’s a curse.”

“Cause the ladies can’t stop jumping on you?”

“You one of them?”

In spite of his smirk, you chuckle mockingly, as loud as you can go. “Don’t flatter yourself, Texas.”

“How did things go with the Dean guy?”

You frown at him. “Do you really want to know?”

“Just making conversation.”

“Ask me something else then.”

“Okay. What’s new at the library?”

“Literally nothing. All of our stock is fairly old. Except the two librarians working there. They’re fine.”

I know for a fact one of them is, Javier thinks fleetingly.

“Why the sudden interest in how am I doing?” you can’t help but inquire.

Javier shrugs, spinning you around once more. “You said we’re friends.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Sometimes I feel like I barely know you. Just trying to get some intel.”

“Old habits die hard, huh?”

Javier makes a funny face, and you hold back laughter. It’s the first time you see this side of him, loose and almost worry-free, and there’s something inherently captivating about it. When he spins you again, he doesn’t let you face him—instead, your back is against him, and you feel every ridge and bump possible.

Including, but not limited to, the outline of a growing erection.

You try your hardest not go gasp, though the heat that shoots through you is nothing if not making your mouth dry. You want to get lost in this moment more than you’ve wanted anything in a long time, but the rational side of your brain reminds you that your brother and sister-in-law are probably watching the spectacle, and you’re not fond of that audience one bit.

Otherwise…

“So you want intel?” you tease him once you can look at his disheveled yet impossibly handsome face again. “Okay Texas. Let’s see. I’m almost finished writing a book, actually. A real book, my own story.”

Javier’s eyes widen in the slightest. “Really? That’s incredible.”

“Thanks. You’re the first person I told this to.”

“Me? You didn’t tell Steve or Connie about it?”

You shake your head. “Connie, I might. Sylvie, I might. But Steve… you heard what he thinks about fanfiction. Why should he get to see my actual book?”

“He can be very supportive, you know.”

“I know. But I don’t feel like sharing this with him, not right now at least.”

“Did he ever read anything else of yours?”

“No. After his comments, I didn’t want to share my craft with someone who mocked where most writers begin. Especially since that someone happens to be my flesh and blood.”

“I understand. It’s a shame though. I bet you’re really good.”

“Still talking about writing?”

Javier cocks an eyebrow, the faint outline of a smirk gracing his lips. “Are you?”

“Touché.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Peña, I’d say you’re trying to butter me up to get into my pants.”

He scoffs. “Not a chance.”

“Good. We wouldn’t want chaos in our lives, now would we?”

“No, we definitely wouldn’t want anything so… troublesome.”

Back at the bar, Connie’s fed up with Steve’s relentless questions about you and Javier. She doesn’t have any answers, but she sure plans on getting some; that’s the mission in her mind as she strolls through the crowd of sweaty, grinding bodies to get to the two of you.

“What on earth is going on with you guys?” she shouts at the two of you.

To which you and Javier exchange a confused glare. “What do you mean?” you ask.

Ever so foolishly, might you add.

“It is very much obvious that you two like each other.”

“She’s not even my—“

“Oh, shut up, Javi.”

You make a shocked face. It’s not often you get to see someone as sweet and calm as Connie be so bold.

“Damn,” you mutter.

“You shut up too. You’re both adults! Grown ass adults acting like kids hiding from their parents. And for what, may I ask? I doubt either one of you is scared of Steve.”

“I just want to be respectful. I made a promise to him, and… we’re friends. That’s all.”

“Spare me. That is such bullshit. Friends don’t look at each other like that. They don’t dance with each other like that. How much longer are you gonna keep up this lame charade? All the lying…”

“We’re not lying to anyone, much less to Steve,” you remind her.

“To yourselves! Good God, you guys gotta figure this out before it’s too late.”

“But we’re not—“

“There is no ‘but’, Javi. Figure it out or cut it out before someone gets hurt.”

Whatever good mood you were in before, now it’s long gone. Guilt returns and simmers in the depths of your stomach, even as you do a twisted version of the walk of shame back to the bar. You refuse another drink, your head still buzzing from the three you’ve already had—and the moment you just shared with Javier. You can’t even bear to look at Steve brooding and judging you from afar. Not that you care; you really don’t give a shit what he has to say about your friendship with Javier, but Connie does have a point.

You have to figure out what this is between you and Javier.

Obviously you find him attractive. Very much obvious by now. But you meant what you told him: you do consider him a friend. Though you must admit, strictly to yourself, that you’ve never masturbated to the thought of a friend before, regardless of how attractive said friend was. Which mean that at least physically, you enjoy having Javier around you. Which also means… you’re physically attracted to him. Okay, that’s not bad. It happens. And based on what you’ve heard about him and women, he wouldn’t be opposed to getting this attraction out of the way so you can continue to be friends. Maybe under the right circumstances you can—

What the fuck are you doing? Thinking about propositioning Javier with a one night stand? Well that’s a new fucking low. You shake your head several times, prompting a few concerned glares from Javier in the backseat of the cab, and look straight ahead. Connie and Steve left separately on account of letting you two talk things through, but the silence residing in between is earsplitting. It’s like you’re both trying to figure out what to say to each other whilst also reminiscing of the evening you left behind.

Javier’s mind is racing as fast as his heart. He can’t get over how beautiful you look tonight, how he held you in his arms, barely touching you, and yet his body burned and ached all at once as if—

As if he belonged to you.

No. It’s just the booze and the hormones. He can’t do relationships, that much he knows with certainty, and he won’t ruin his friendship with you or with Steve by initiating something he will regret later. Eventually, something always goes wrong and somebody does get hurt. He doesn’t want that for you.

He takes a big, deep breath, a sudden scent invading his nostrils. It’s not bar-like, nothing pungent of the sort; no, this one’s pleasant and calming. He turns towards you, discreetly inhaling again, and then he holds his breath.

It’s you. Your smell. Something comforting and reassuring, yet all the while alluring, calling out to him.

When the cab driver announces your arrival, Javier practically sprints out of the car. Despite your protests, he still walks you to the door of your apartment. While you search for your keys in your purse, he lingers with his gaze one second longer than he would’ve personally liked, but he can’t fully help it. It must be around two in the morning now, and yet you still look so mesmerizing.

“That scent,” he almost groans.

You look up from your purse. “What scent?”

“It’s—you. Your scent, it’s—I swear to fucking God it’s everywhere.”

Taken aback, all you can do is stare at him and gulp. Your mouth still runs dry, as if no amount of water will ever feel the quench that resides deep in your bones.

“It’s lavender soap,” you clarify in an unusually small voice.

“Fuckin’—lavender.”

Before you can chime in with any other word or even think about what is happening, you find yourself closing your eyes and leaning dangerously closer to Javier’s face. He does the same, his heart thrumming at insane rates in his chest and in his ears by now. You exhale, and Javier abruptly pulls away, eyes wide open and his mind in control once again.

“Go inside,” he orders.

His voice is stern and yet caring, but it still surprises you. “If that’s code for something—“you try to joke, but your smile fades when you see Javier’s face.

“Don’t,” he warns. “Go inside, get some sleep.”

“Why are you so adamant about it?”

You do hear him groan this time, a sound to reenact some pain he’s in, and you shudder.

“Because if you don’t, I might just do something very regrettable within the next few seconds and I’ll break my promise to my best friend,” he nearly whispers, his warm breath tickling your face and your sense. “And just like that, I’ll be the Javier Peña everyone knew in Colombia. And I don’t want to be that Javier Peña anymore. So please, don’t—don’t do this to me. Not now, not ever.”

Stunned, you only stare at him for what feels like an eternity. You take that time to soak up every detail of his face, the way it’s scrunched in pain, the desperation in his eyes, the neediness and urgency in his voice—and it breaks you.

“What if I want to do something regrettable?” you ask instead.

“Just—just go… inside. Please. I’m askin’ as a friend.”

You don’t think you’ve heard Javier ask or beg anyone, not this way, so tenderly desperate, and it’s disarming you of any speck of self-control you thought you had left.

Mark my words, this Javier is gonna be on his knees before you, asking you to teach him how to be good.

“You can come inside too if you want,” you whisper.

You regret the words the second they leave your mouth, especially after seeing Javier’s nearly shocked expression. He cocks his head to the side, eager to dismiss your words and complain, but you’re one step ahead of him.

“We’re both a little buzzed and… a little tense too, so let’s have a cup of coffee and call it a night. We don’t even have to talk,” you tell him.

There’s no verbal confirmation; just Javier following you inside your apartment, hyper vigilant and aware of his surroundings. He’s afraid that any move he might make now or any word he might say will conspire against his sanity, and he’s already having trouble keeping focus. So he admires your book shelves while you make the coffee, slowly pacing around the living room. Something out of place catches his eyes, something that looks handmade and colored purple by hand. He takes it out, examining it.

“Believe it or not, that is my Star Wars story,” you smile fondly.

“This is it?”

Suddenly Javier feels like he’s holding a very important artifact in his hands, and he takes a mental note to treat it as carefully as possible. He flips through the pages with utmost interest, soaking up the words as the smell of coffee and lavender fill the tense air.

“Here we go,” you announce, handing him a cup. “Decaf. I thought you wouldn’t want to be up till six in the morning.”

“Thanks.”

Javier still reads through, as much as he can, picturing a younger you scribbling down this story so excitedly, coloring it to make it seem like it’s a book in and of itself, and the sight makes his heart grow even fonder.

So maybe he’s not just lonely and horny. Maybe he cares about you a little more than initially anticipated. But that’s not bad.

Is it?

“Thank you,” you say after a while. “For walking me home. I mean, you do live right above, but… still.”

“It’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

You can tell he’s avoiding looking at you, a sentiment you are certainly familiar with. After all, the very fingers that hold your improvised book between them were in your head less than a week ago as you pictured them buried knuckle deep in your most sensitive place.

“I really respect you a lot, Javier. You’re being very honorable towards my brother with this stupid request of his. And towards me too.”

Javier swallows hard, feeling anything but honorable.

“Yeah, well. He’s my best friend. And you’re—“

“Not your type. I know.”

Feeling less and less honorable at this very moment.

“You—you can’t be,” Javier seems to warn you. “I’m not someone to love. I’m someone who can offer some temporary pleasure and call it a day. And you deserve more than that.”

“I’m no stranger to temporary pleasure.”

So much for the right timing in terms of propositioning something so outrageous.

“You should get some sleep,” Javier coos, removing a lock of stranded hair from your face.

You shudder. You don’t have it in you to protest anymore, not after that dance you shared with him and the tense moment by your door. You just can’t. Maybe you do need some sleep, after all.

“See you Monday morning?” he asks.

That gives you hope. You smile and nod as Javier leaves the coffee mug on the table and promises you that he can let himself out. He’s thankful you didn’t see him sneak your story behind his back while he left, and he’s thankful you can’t read his mind to see the plan he hatched.

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tags: @pedrostories @psychedelic-ink @milkymoon2483 @ifall4dilfs @casa-boiardi @spidermanfrog

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carniferous · 1 month

Note

okay hello i’ve come to offer a vague concept ❤️🤲 the first thing that came into my mind is like being in a car. and something being wrong w the car. which sounds so stupid but is hopefully vague enough?? also idk if i’m meant to specify a ship but (and you probs already know what i’m gonna say) ur bartylus genuinely changed my life and it’s always on my mind and im obsessed w it forever and ever and would die if you ever wrote them again (but also like. no pressure. i don’t wanna try and tie you down to one specific pathway) ANYWAY i hope this is vague enough but also not too vague that you’re just staring at me blankly rn… icl babe u really didn’t set any parameters so i’m kinda trying to spear fish in the dark here but im gonna stop talking now…. eagerly (but patiently!!) awaiting ur response <33

LMAO NOOO thank you so much this is exactly the level of vagueness i wanted!!! i simply need to let things cook in my beautiful mind palace before i can write + vague concepts work best for that

anyway i tried to do it justice for u. it's more barty character study than bartylus sorry but. also it's compeltely unedited!! do with that what you will xoxo

“I knew it,” Regulus murmured, a hand coming up to cover his eyes. He was slumped down in his seat, the lines of his face stark in the pale moonlight. The motorway stretched out empty and endless before them.

Barty clenched his jaw and turned the key in the ignition once more. The engine sputtered loudly, just enough to give him some small shred of hope, before it promptly died for the fifth time.

“Dammit,” he hissed, thumping his hand against the steering wheel. He turned to Regulus, “What?”

Regulus lowered his hand and glared fiercely. “I knew I was going to die in this metal box the moment you persuaded me to get in.”

“And yet, you still let me persuade you.”

“Barty.”

“What?” Barty grinned. “You’re not going to die, Regulus. Cars are only dangerous when they’re moving.”

Regulus scoffed. He looked about five minutes away from having a conniption—which meant that Barty had about three minutes of continuing to fuck with him before he got properly angry. His hands were clenched in the fabric of his trousers, and when he turned his face towards the window, Barty could glimpse the deep shadows under his eyes as they appeared under the light.

He felt his heart soften, just a tad.

“I have a plan,” Barty said.

Regulus rolled his eyes so far back that they disappeared into his skull: “Oh, joy. Another plan.”

“They’ve gotten us this far, haven’t they?”

“Yes, stranded on the side of the road with you,” muttered Regulus. “Exactly where I want all my plans to lead me.”

At that, Barty felt a strange, wild sort of affection swell up within him. He wanted to lean over and bite the nape of Regulus’s neck hard enough to draw blood, wanted to crowd him against the door until all that bluster and exasperation fell away. But there would be time for that.

“Don’t you want to hear my plan?”

“No,” Regulus said sullenly. “I want—”

He stopped. Barty’s grin abruptly fell away. He reached over and cradled the back of Regulus’s head, firmly enough that he had no choice but to face him. Regulus kept his eyes downcast, an unhappy twist to his mouth, a sickly tinge to his face that the low light couldn’t hide.

“Hey,” Barty said, and he curled his hand into a fist in Regulus’s hair. “Look at me.”

Regulus’s gaze flickered up.

He was a living bruise, a walking heartache. Two weeks ago, Barty had looked at him as they packed their things for the end of term, and he’d known that Regulus wouldn’t survive another summer in that house—not as himself, anyway. He knew it the way Sirius must have, before he left, and he understood. Better than he’d like to admit. Sometimes it was easier to pack your bags than to watch someone like Regulus tread water and insist that they weren’t moments away from sinking.

In that respect, though, Barty was different. He didn’t care what Regulus wanted. He wasn’t going to leave him to drown.

Besides. Barty was fed up, himself.

When he spoke, his voice was low and steady, and Regulus listened with wide, unblinking eyes: “We’re not going home. Do you understand? There’s nothing back there. Nothing. Forget it, Regulus.”

A beat of silence. Barty’s grip loosened, he made to pull back, and then—

“What about your mother?” Regulus asked with a horrible little glint in his gaze.

“What about her?” Barty replied without missing a beat.

Regulus blinked. Barty almost laughed at him. Could have, at the idea that Regulus thought he’d trapped him with that. His mother, who’d wanted Berty out of that house perhaps even more than he himself did. Regulus could never understand that.

What he could understand, though, was the terrifying, exhilarating sensation of freedom. Of the surprising vastness of your own mind when it was vacant of everyone but yourself. Of sitting in a car stranded on the side of the road and becoming aware of your own mortality. Death was suddenly an end to something real and full of potential.

After what felt like an eternity, Regulus asked, “What’s your plan?”

“I turn seventeen in five hours,” Barty said. “Once midnight hits, the Trace will disappear. I’ll fix the car then.”

“You don’t know how to fix it.”

“At least I know it’s called a car and not a ‘metal box.’”

“You want us to spend five hours in this thing?” Regulus said, as though catching up with his own disbelief.

“Technically, seven hours,” said Barty. “We still have to make it to Bath. And then, once we pick up the twins…”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Barty shrugged—a loose, slouching thing. He noticed Regulus’s eyes track the motion with nothing short of predatory glee. “Orgy in the metal box?”

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” Barry cajoled, grinning from ear to ear. “Why else would you run away with me?”

There was a long moment of silence, in which Regulus gazed, baleful and petulant, out at the road in front of them and Barty gazed at him. Already, he was more animated, more tetchy, more acerbic than he’d been just days ago. The cobwebs slowly clearing from his eyes.

Sometimes, Barty recognized Regulus like the slant of himself in a shard of glass. But other times, Regulus was just very beautiful. Barty wondered if there an element of vanity in wanting him, to the prideful joy he got out of fucking him out of his own head. The idea that he could press Regulus down hard enough to mold him back into himself.

On very rare occasions, he wondered if he was like his father. If the only love he knew was what he learned from the voice in his head as it puppeted his limbs about. If that presence was more himself than he was. A normal person would look at it with revulsion, would see complete and total control as a firsthand abomination.

But it was because Barty knew the abomination firsthand that he knew also the complete, total, clean satisfaction of such control.

“You were hardly the first to ask,” Regulus said mildly.

Even in the darkness, Barty could see the flush travel down his neck. He grinned and, without another word, reached over and unhooked Regulus’s seatbelt.

“I didn’t ask,” he replied, just as mild.

#my writing #bartylus #ask #thank youuu i had so much fun writing this! bartylus is such a fun challenge for me #regulus black #barty crouch jr

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hbyrde36 · 2 months

Text

No Vacancy

Chapter 9: Weekend Retreat

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 CH 8

WC: 4924 | AO3 link

*EDDIE*

“Fuck!”

Eddie shouted long and loud, the sound echoing inside the hollow interior of his van as he pounded the heel of his hand against the steering wheel over and over again. The lines on the road in front of him blurred as he flew down the highway with tears swimming in his eyes.

The thing was, he had known from the second he walked away from Steve that he was making a mistake. The entire time, as he stomped his way up to their room, packed an overnight bag, and went back down to take off, he knew he was doing the wrong thing—but he couldn’t seem to stop.

He was running away like he always did. At the first sign of trouble he’d jumped to the worst possible conclusion and used it as an excuse to bolt.

Not that he didn’t have a reason to be upset. They had lied to him, all of them.

Even Steve.

His Steve, who knew how Eddie felt about that kind of thing, who knew how hard it was for him to trust, had lied.

And sure, he’d had a flimsy justification locked and loaded for why he’d done it, if his story of only just finding out about the room situation were to be believed.

Eddie was hurt. He felt betrayed, and honestly? He was angry.

Never in his life had he been as happy as he was these last few weeks. He was staying in a beautiful place where he was able to see his best friend as often as he wanted, had a job he enjoyed with a boss he actually liked, and after a lifetime of keeping his heart on ice he’d finally found someone worth thawing it out for, or so he’d thought.

Maybe he should have seen this coming, things had been going far too well, in his admittedly cynical opinion, but it had been easy to push those feelings aside and just enjoy being with Steve.

It wasn’t just the steady diet of sex that had lulled him into a false sense of security either, though their chemistry was undeniable—their insatiable desire for each other unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It was all the rest of it too that had infected him with so much hope.

Steve actually cared about him, as a person. He listened, no matter what crazy shit came out of Eddie’s mouth. Even the hard things, the stuff Eddie never thought he’d share with another human being, apart from Chrissy or his Uncle, he had told it all to Steve. He gave himself freely, openly, and Steve had held him, validated him—was never impatient or unkind. And Steve had, or so it seemed at the time, shared himself freely with Eddie too.

But it was all ruined now.

If not by Steve’s betrayal, then surely Eddie’s running away had finished the job. By taking off, hadn’t he simply proved Steve’s point?

He drove straight through the night, only stopping to pee or to get a coffee whenever his eyelids started to droop, and managed to make the 9 hour drive to Hawkins in just over 8, pulling up to the trailer right as Wayne was getting home from his shift.

Eddie shut the ignition off and stepped out of the van on shaky legs. After pulling his bag from the back, he staggered over to meet his uncle as the man was getting out of his own truck.

“Hey, Pops.”

“You drive all night?” Wayne asked, frowning as he studied Eddie’s face.

It wasn’t the first time, or even the fifth, that he’d shown up on his uncle’s doorstep unannounced since officially moving out years ago, and Wayne didn’t look all that surprised to see him.

“Yeah.” Eddie admitted.

The older man grunted, a disapproving sound Eddie was all too familiar with, though he knew it was only because his uncle was worried. “You better come on inside then. We’ll have some pancakes and you can tell me what you done now.”

Eddie sat at the small two seater kitchen table, the same one that had lived in the trailer's kitchen since he was a small boy, watching as Wayne gently stirred a hefty handful of chocolate chips into the bowl of prepared Bisquick mix and began cooking off pancakes one by one, while a pan of sausages sizzled on the other burner.

“You want coffee?”

“No, thanks. I think I've had enough. It’s not even perking me up anymore, it’s just making my skin vibrate.” Eddie said through a yawn, rubbing at his strained eyes.

Fatigue was finally catching up to him, maybe he was getting too old for all nighters. The exhaustion was seeping into his bones and he knew he’d have to lay down soon or his body would decide for him where a good place to take a nap would be.

Wayne was quiet as he finished cooking their meal, waiting until he’d plated it all up and sat down across from Eddie to finally ask the obvious question.

“So, what is it that’s made you drive all the way out here and leave Chrissy-girl and your beach paradise behind?”

“I’ve been… seeing someone.”

Wayne’s fork slipped from his grip and landed on his plate with a loud clatter, his mouth hanging open in utter shock for a moment before he snapped it shut. He looked down, clearing his throat as he casually picked the fork back up and cut into his stack of fluffy goodness as if it’d never happened.

“Oh?”

Eddie sighed, pushing his untouched plate away and resting his head on the old cracked formica. “I guess I should say was. I was seeing someone, but I'm pretty sure it’s over now.”

“How long was this going on?”

“Two weeks, give or take.”

Wayne let out a long whistle. “You must really like this boy.”

“Was that sarcasm?”

“Son, you’ve never even mentioned dating anyone before. So for you to go from that to a two week long relationship—and don’t think I didn’t notice how you haven't taken a single bite of those chocolate chip pancakes, you’re favorite. He must be something special to have you this torn up.”

“Yeah. At least I thought he was.”

“What happened?”

“I found out he lied to me about something, so I freaked out and left.”

Wayne was quiet for long enough that Eddie had to lift his head to make sure the old man was still there. He was leaned back in his chair sipping his tea, his plate of food now empty, watching Eddie with a thoughtful expression.

“What did he lie about?”

“Does it matter?!” Eddie snapped, pounding his fist down on the table. “How am I ever supposed to believe him again after that? How do I know everything else he’s ever told me hasn’t been a lie too?”

“That’s a child’s question, Eddie. Life’s a little more complicated than that. Things aren't always as black and white as we’d like them to be, and not every lie is meant to hurt you.”

Eddie shook his head. “This is exactly why I don’t date, you can’t trust anyone!”

Wayne hummed noncommittally. “I think maybe you’d better tell me the whole story.”

Barring the gory details, i.e. his sex life, Eddie told his uncle the whole saga—from showing up at the motel to find a blast-from-the-past waiting in the lobby, to becoming involuntary roommates with the guy, ultimately finding out it’d all been a ruse, and everything in between.

“So, you see? It was all just a setup. None of it was real.”

Wayne tilted his head, setting his empty mug down on the table. “S’a little dramatic, don't you think?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

“And he’s from here, y’say?”

Eddie waved him off. “Yeah, but that doesn’t–”

“You gonna make me drag it out of you? What’s his name?”

Eddie sighed. He was the injured party here, why was Wayne interrogating him.

“It’s Steve.”

“Wait, it’s not… the Harrington boy?”

Eddie felt his face flush and knew his cheeks had to be bright red.

Wayne cackled, laughing so hard there were tears streaming from the corners of his eyes by the time he was through. “Christ, you’ve been ass over tits for him since you were fifteen years old!”

“I have not!”

“You used to come home talking about him all the time!”

“I was complaining about him.” Eddie grumbled, slumping down in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. “Because he was an asshole.”

“Someone takes up that much space in your head, s’not usually cause you don’t like them.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Can we get back on topic please?”

“Sure. So, clearly the setup worked.”

“That’s not… well, yes… but–” Eddie sputtered. “Everything was fine, great even. We were happy. I opened up—I was fucking vulnerable, and then it turned out he knew it’d been a scheme. We were watching the front office for Chrissy and Robin last night, and I found some stuff proving most of the rooms were empty. I confronted him about it and he said he’d only just figured it out himself but–”

“But you don’t believe him.”

“I- I don't know. I want to believe him.”

Deep down, and if Eddie was honest with himself and searched his heart, he knew Steve was telling the truth. All those times Eddie had kicked him out of his own bed for a hookup? If Steve had known there was another option, he might have taken it. And if he’d done that they might never have…

“So what was his crime?” Wayne asked. “He found out after the two of you had already gotten together—I gotta be honest it sounds like you put that boy through the fucking ringer to accomplish that miracle, and you were happy, as you said yourself–”

“He should have told me.” Eddie cut him off, so sure in his conviction that he was right on at least this one point. “And Chrissy–”

“Seems to me those girls did you both a favor.”

Eddie glared.

Wayne stood, still talking as he cleared the table and began to work on the sink full of dishes.

“It might not have been the right thing to do on paper, but their hearts were in the right place. Chrissy just wanted to see you happy, Ed, and she ain’t the only one. It’s kept me up at night, thinking about you out there in the world all by yourself. I don’t want to see you wasting your life wandering around and winding up alone because you're scared.”

Eddie got up automatically to stand by his side with a clean dish towel, drying and putting away each piece as it was cleaned.

“How do I know it’s not going to turn bad, like Mom and Dad?”

“I suppose you don’t, but sometimes you just gotta take a leap of faith—with both feet. Do you think Steve is anything like your dad?”

“No.” Eddie answered without hesitation. “He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.”

Snarky? Yes. Bitchy? Occasionally, but never truly mean.

“Well, there you go.” Wayne said, as if it were that simple. He was quiet for a moment, rinsing the last pan before handing it off and shaking the excess water from his fingers. He turned, facing Eddie head-on as he leaned a hip against the counter.

“Look, it’s never a guarantee that you're gonna find someone in this life, and that’s okay too. Look at me, I've found my home and happiness in other ways, but you—you've kept yourself so closed off. It sounds like you have three people out there who really care about you, so what are you doing here?”

The more they talked the less sure Eddie was about the answer to that question.

“There’s something else too.” He found himself saying, because it wasn't only Steve who had hurt him. “Chrissy… she’s in trouble, the motel is failing. I found stacks and stacks of overdue bills, and she never said a word. Does she not know how much I love her? That I'd do anything I could to help her and Robin out?”

“Oh, Bubba.” Wayne said softly, drawing Eddie into a tight hug. “She knows, I promise you she knows.”

Eddie let himself sag in the other man’s arms for a minute. His throat was painfully tight, and it was an effort to blink back the tears that so badly wanted to fall. He pulled back, running a hand over his face.

“I don’t understand why she wouldn't tell me.”

“That’s something you’ll have to talk to her about, but I think maybe she and Robin wanted to succeed on their own. Chrissy wants you to be proud of her, not see her as a failure.”

“Of course I'm proud of her.”

“Then that’s what you tell her, after you apologize for snooping through her stuff. It’ll be alright.”

Eddie’s bedroom looked exactly as it had since the day he’d left for good. He’d only taken what would easily fit in his van, his clothes, his guitar, and it always surprised him whenever he came home for a visit that Wayne hadn’t boxed all the rest of his shit up and made better use of the space. It wasn’t as if he couldn't sleep on the couch when he visited. The trailer was small, too small to give up one of its only two bedrooms for someone who didn’t even live there, but Wayne always made sure he had a soft place to land whenever he needed it.

He hadn’t slept without Steve since the night they’d fallen into bed together, and it felt strange and wrong to lie between the sheets by himself, even here in a place where Steve had never been.

Had he not been so thoroughly drained and worn-out he might have struggled to fall asleep without his human teddy bear to hold on to, but he was that tired, and though he missed Steve with a fierceness that made his chest ache, he dropped off almost the moment his head hit the pillow.

When Eddie woke up hours later the room was bathed in late afternoon sun, the light shining in through threadbare curtains. It took a moment to remember where he was and why, and he was hit with a familiar wave of sadness—and something else. It was the same thing he’d been feeling for a while now, the last year or more, as he roamed from place to place.

Homesickness.

He didn’t know when it had gone away exactly, but some time between arriving at the Buckingham and running away from it, he’d stopped longing for a place to call home, and started feeling like he was already there.

He had to go back. He had to make things right with Steve, and tell Chrissy how amazing she was no matter what happened with the business. Robin too—even though they tended to butt heads, he fucking loved her just as much as the other two.

He loved Steve.

He was in love with him.

Full stop.

No almost. No falling. It was wonderful. It was terrifying.

And it was far too soon, not that Eddie had any basis to judge such a thing, but also maybe it wasn’t? Because goddamnit Wayne was right. He had been a little obsessed with Steve for more years than was probably healthy, and in some serious denial about why. His sudden crush this summer wasn’t sudden, or new. Lying there now in his childhood bed he could admit all of that to himself.

Now he just had to be brave and admit it to someone else.

He changed into some of the clean clothes he’d brought, forgoing a shower to not waste another minute. He needed to get back to the motel as soon as possible. He’d have to apologize to his uncle for the hit and run, though he was sure the man would understand.

Speaking of the devil, Wayne was up for the night too. He was sitting at the kitchen table when Eddie rushed in, sipping coffee while he flicked through the newspaper.

Eddie dumped his bag in the other chair and began to rummage through the cabinets.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” Wayne asked, not looking up from his sports section.

“That old travel thermos. Thought I'd take some coffee with me so I can get right on the road.”

Wayne put the paper down and got up, quickly locating the exact thermos Eddie had been looking for, which had been right in front of his face.

In his defense, he was in a rush.

Wayne chuckled, sitting back down as Eddie filled the cup. “What’s your hurry?”

Eddie screwed the lid on and set the thing down, freeing his hands to wind his disheveled curls into a bun as he explained.

“Just anxious to clean up the mess I made, Pops. I promised myself that I’d make it up to Steve for all the shit I put him through if he gave me a chance, and I've already broken that promise. He might have lied by keeping something from me but—I’m not perfect, and I can't expect him to be either. I shouldn’t have left, and I definitely should have given him the benefit of the doubt. We could've worked this out together.”

“Eddie, I think–”

“I love him, Wayne.” Eddie didn’t mean to interrupt, but he’d been bursting to say the words out loud since he thought them. “I don’t know exactly what I'm going to say to fix it, but I've got hours of driving time to think about it.”

Wayne smiled broadly, trying and failing to hide the gleeful expression behind his mug. “You might need to figure it out a little quicker than that.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s here, Bubba.” Wayne said quietly, using the cup in his hand to gesture towards the living room.

Eddie whipped his head around and sure enough there Steve was, sitting quietly on the couch watching him with an unreadable expression. His stomach flipped as they locked eyes.

Wayne clapped him on the shoulder as he moved past towards the hall. “I'll leave you boys to talk. It was nice to meet you Steve.”

Steve stood, offering an awkward wave. “You too, sir.”

When Wayne was gone Steve turned back to him, taking a few tentative steps towards the kitchen.

Eddie met him halfway, smiling sadly. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Steve said.

Tension was thick in the air between them, the silence heavy.

“I'm sorry to just show up like this.” Steve said abruptly, at the same time Eddie asked, “So you heard all that, huh?”

They both chuckled nervously. Steve looked down, running a hand through his hair.

“What are you… how are you here?” Eddie stuttered out. “I mean, how did you know I’d be here?”

“With Wayne is where you feel the safest,” Steve shrugged. “And this is where you planned to go last time.”

Once again Steve had proven himself to be so far beyond anything Eddie thought he deserved. He was a flight risk. Steve could have made his life so much easier by just letting him go, it’s what most people would have done, but Steve had come after him—thought he was worth finding. How could he have ever considered running away from that?

Eddie took one more step forward, close enough to reach out and take hold of Steve’s hand.

“Do you want to go for a walk with me?”

There was a path that cut through the woods that sat on the edge of the trailer park. Eddie used to take it all the time as a kid when he was bored. It wasn’t a terribly long walk, just enough to get you lost in your thoughts before reaching Sattler’s quarry.

Eddie sat them down on a log a few feet from the cliff’s edge when they arrived, the irony not lost on him. It was a beautiful view, especially this close to sunset as the changing color of the sky was reflected in the dark water below. They hadn’t talked at all on the way there, and Eddie took that time to enjoy the feel of Steve’s palm in his, so comfortable and familiar, and thought about everything he wanted to say.

Birds chirped, clouds drifted by, and Eddie let the quiet settle around them for a few more minutes as he willed his racing heart to calm, taking a few deep breaths before he began.

“I have been so scared my entire life, and maybe I learned the lesson a little too intensely to guard my heart and make sure I didn’t wind up like the people around me—that was a good thing for a while, it kept me safe and sane but at a certain point it just left me… alone. It wasn’t just romance I avoided, I was too afraid to make any close connections. I had Chrissy and Wayne and that was enough. Two people with the ability to break me was about all I could handle.” Eddie paused, letting out a wry huff of laughter. “But then you came along…”

He stared down at his feet, tracing patterns in the dirt with the heel of his boot.

“I’m sorry that I left, I’m sorry I assumed the worst, and I’m sorry that I hurt you again after begging you to give me a chance. I thought I was all in, but really I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Steve's hand found its way to Eddie's knee, stilling his leg which had started to shake up and down with his nerves. He covered Steve's hand with his own, and finally looked up to meet his eyes for the first time since they’d arrived.

“I’m sorry too.” Steve said. “This isn’t all on you, y’know. You have every right to be upset. I should have told you as soon as I realized.”

“You were afraid I'd freak out… and you weren’t wrong.” Eddie admitted.

“Still.”

“Steve, I- I don’t know how to be anything else, but I know I don’t want to be who I’ve been.” Eddie shook his head, sure that he wasn’t making any sense but he pressed on anyway. Steve had a special talent for deciphering his rambles. “I can’t be that guy anymore because I will keep running away—that version of myself won’t let me have this. I’m sure it will take time, and maybe it’s too late, but I want to learn a better way to be.”

“It's not too late,'' Steve murmured, turning his hand over where it rested beneath Eddie’s and lacing their fingers together. “You said you were waiting for the other shoe to drop, I think… I think I was doing the same thing, and maybe I don’t show it the same way but, I’m scared too. I should have trusted you enough to tell you and maybe it wouldn’t have come to all this.”

“So, we could both do better.” Eddie said, grinning as he released a breathy laugh. Which Steve returned as they both leaned in for a moment, brushing shoulders.

Eddie quieted, looking down at their joined hands and felt so lucky. He was ready to let go of all the shit that he’d allowed to hold him back for so long. He was ready to be happy.

“Did you mean it? What you said back there to your uncle about me?” Steve asked, his face suddenly serious.

Eddie nodded, fighting the urge to hide his face or look away—the intensity in the other man’s gaze almost too much to bear, but he held on.

Steve bit his lip. “Will you say it again—to me?”

Eddie smiled, choking back a single sob as he became so overcome with it all, but in the best way, and quickly lost the battle with his own tears. The good kind this time.

“I love you,” he said, voice cracking a little over the words he never thought he’d say to someone in quite this way.

Steve's face lit up, his own eyes glistening as he too gave up the fight with his emotions. He leaned in, ghosting his lips over Eddie’s as he replied.

“I love you too.”

Steve had barely finished the phrase before they crashed into each other, mouths working in desperate tandem, tongues sliding together like a well rehearsed dance. They kissed like they hadn’t seen each other in months, instead of hours, as if any separation was unbearable. Eddie whined, a high and needy sound in his throat as Steve guided him over to straddle his lap.

It was risky to be like this out here in the open. Things might have been a little better on the coast for the gay community in recent years, but that acceptance hadn’t yet made its way to rural Indiana, and the wrong person could easily stumble upon them out here.

Though it went against every base instinct he had, Eddie forced them to slow down. Breaking the kiss with an apologetic smile, one hand held gently against Steve’s chest to stop him from chasing after.

“It’s not safe out here, baby,” he said, sliding himself out of Steve's lap and rearranging his clothes. “We could be seen.”

Steve tried to pull him back down. “I don’t care. You’re out, I could be out too. Let them see.”

Eddie groaned, the problem in his jeans getting worse by the second as Steve ran hands up and down his thighs. He wasn’t making it easy to be good.

“It’s dangerous.” Eddie said, cupping Steve’s cheek. “And I’d hate for our happy reunion to be disrupted by a hate crime.”

It was dusk when they finally left the quarry, and dark by the time they got back to the trailer. Steve's lack of sleep was starting to show, he’d only managed a few hours before giving up, getting in his car, and making the trip to Hawkins.

They had discussed going to stay at Steve’s house for the night where they could be alone, maybe finish what they started without having to worry about a parental figure being in the next room, but Steve insisted he’d rather stay at the trailer and spend a little time getting to know Wayne while they were here.

Eddie knew he meant it, but he was also sure it was for his own benefit too, so he could spend time with his uncle who he didn't visit nearly often enough.

They’d be heading back to the Buckingham in the morning. Steve could get away with calling out for two days but he was due back on the beach for the 4th, as was Eddie at the bar. Independence Day was a big deal for the town, which went all out every year with a huge fireworks display over the ocean set off from a local fishing boat.

Wayne cooked up a half dozen burgers on the grill outside and the three men spent the evening sitting on the front porch shooting the shit and drinking beer until Steve could scarcely keep his eyes open. Though he’d slept most of the day away Eddie was right there with him. It was best they rest up for the long drive ahead anyway. They said their goodnights and goodbyes, knowing Wayne would likely be asleep when they got up to go.

The full size bed in Eddie’s room was a tight squeeze for two full grown men, or it would have been if either of them had any sense of personal space, but they happily clung to each other.

Tired or not, it was inevitable that a few well-meaning goodnight kisses would turn into more, and soon they were feeding at each other’s mouths like starving men, until both their lips were swollen and sore. Eddie slid his hands up under Steve’s shirt, resenting the amount of fabric between them. Usually they didn’t bother with clothes at night but out of respect for Wayne, and in an effort to restrain themselves, they’d both worn pajamas to bed—to Eddie’s lament.

He slid his leg between Steve’s, swallowing back a moan at the feel of him long and hard against his thigh.

“Can I at least blow you?”

Steve gasped, bucking his hips once in a desperate bid for friction before forcing himself to stop. “Not with your uncle on the other side of this wall.”

Eddie licked a wet line up the column of Steve’s throat. “You can be quiet.”

“I think you know by now that I can’t.” Steve sucked in another sharp breath as Eddie nibbled on his ear lobe. “It’s that fucking mouth of yours.”

“You love it.”

“I really do.”

Eddie pulled back, threading his hands through Steve's hair as he gazed down at him with a heart so full he could hardly breath. He was so in love, and by some miracle the beautiful man in his arms loved him right back.

He pressed his lips to Steve’s forehead, brushing them over each cheek, and finally kissed his mouth one last time before turning over, pulling Steve's arms around himself. Steve tightened his grip, pulling their bodies flush as he buried his face in the back of Eddie’s neck with a contented sigh. It wasn’t often he played the little spoon to Steve’s big but tonight Eddie was happy to be held.

Chapter 10

Special thanks to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta, friend and cheerleader.

Reblogs are always appreciated and if you want to be tagged, just let me know! I'd be more than happy to do so 💜

Taglist: @manda-panda-monium @hellion-child @dreamwatch @brbsoulnomming @epiclazershark @estrellami-1 @lokfae @raisedbylibrarians @impala314 @meganwinchester @kacatshi @warlordess @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @garden-of-gay @meela86 @gregre369 @finntheehumaneater @pearynice

#steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #buckingham #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #90's beach motel au #no vacancy #no upside down au

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iamfitzwilliamdarcy · 1 year

Text

Thinking about how Kipps is everything an adult supervisor should be and it’s those exact reasons he cannot live with himself being one... this was just supposed to be a post of contrasting block quotes and it’s still mostly that but I added a bit of commentary/context:

“The adult supervisors had zero psychic sensitivity and, since they were mortally afraid of going anywhere near an actual Visitor, never ventured far into a haunted zone. Instead, they hung around on the sidelines, being old and useless.”

- Lucy in The Creeping Shadow

Kipps, meanwhile, during the Guppy escapade:

“The one exception was Kipps, who sat cross-legged in the kitchen, drinking hot chocolate and reading a newspaper. He didn’t have sufficient Talents to do psychic exploration.”

(emphasized because he’s actually in the home, none of Lucy’s adult supervisors have ever done that -- also he’s staying out of the way)

Later, he makes an official suggestion in his capacity as Fittes observer, but when the actual psychic kids reject it, he goes along with their plan anyway. Not only that, they’re actively trying to draw out Guppy and Kipps helps:

“Lockwood inserted his crowbar into a narrow space between a countertop and the cupboard below. ‘Kips and I will start,’ he said. ‘The rest of you keep watch” ....After a bit, he moved back and let Kipps take over with the mallet.

And then :

“We have to go and help him, Kipps,” I said. Kipps didn’t seem to have moved since Lockwood had left the room. His face was white. He gathered his wits. “Yes. We must. Come on.”

He doesn’t end up having to do anything because George finds the Source a moment later but he’s willing! He can’t see the ghost but he’s gonna go help Lockwood fight it!

I don’t have my copy of Screaming Staircase with me to double check so I’ll edit this later-- I can’t remember if Lucy asking Jacobs to come into the house and offer advice is in the book or a show addition, but it’s such a contrast!!!

And then, of course, these are all the reasons that Kipps ends up resigning-

“I just had a realization,” he said when we were on the train and rocking slowly through the south London suburbs. “After the Guppy job. I mean, there we were-- in a house possessed by a wicked and powerful entity, and you all were running around like madmen-- fighting, screaming, being fools-- but dealing with it... I was just a fifth wheel. I couldn’t see it, I couldn’t hear it... I was too old to do anything useful. And that’s what being a supervisor is: it’s a life of sending others out to fight and die. I’ve known that for a while, but it took you to make me realize I couldn’t bear to continue with it.... it was probably another dumb decision... like agreeing to come along with you today. Lockwood says he wants my expertise, but I’m not sure what I can contribute aside from standing around like a fence post. Maybe I can make the tea.”

which like wow! The acceptance that he no longer has Talent, that his leadership can no longer continue to the way it used to -- which is exactly what an adult supervisor should do -- be there for input, listen to the psychic kids, advise and support-- it’s what Kipps does !

we very frequently see Kipps actively engaged with his Team in Whispering Skull and Hollow Boy- obviously he has a Prideful streak, he’s pompous and makes mistakes, but we generally see him trust his team and do his best as a Leader. Again, don’t have my copies with me so can’t make the point further in those books, but also remember the reason he falls into hot water with Fittes in the first place is he goes a little rogue-- and the reason for that is because none of DEPRAC or the other Adults know what’s going on with the Chelsea outbreak, and, in the wake of his agent’s death, Kipps doesn’t want to lose anyone else to arbitrary nonsense (there’s something here in direct contrast to Marissa but maybe I’ll expound more in another post) -- instead, he trusts a Talent he actually knows and makes the best choice for his team members

Which is all to say-- Kipps is a good adult supervisor, but the system isn’t made for good adult supervisors

#quill kipps #mostly #creeping shadow #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #This got wildly out of hand lmao #I lost the point somewhere along the way

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gonegirlaccount · 1 year

Note

hey bsf. you totally don't have to do this but it could kinda be like a part two to the last dally fic. after they all find out darry decides to give their relationship a week trial run and if he doesn't like it or something bad happens they have to break up. i saw this idea somewhere forever ago but i can't find the author😭 thsnks babe!

(A/N: my slow ass had to re-read this twice 😭 but I got you stink!!!🤞🏽🤞🏽🤞🏽)

“Uh-Oh!” Curtis!Fem!reader X Dallas Winston. Part 2

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

After the long conversation you had with your brothers about you dating Dally, Darry came up with something.

It made you upset to hear when Darry said “I don’t like this relationship but I’ll give it a chance. For a week. If I don’t like it or see something bad that I don’t like ya doing (Y/N), then you and Dally will have to break up.” You felt tears prick at your eyes. “That ain’t fair! You all be hanging out with greasers and stuff but when I date one, it’s a total headache for you all! That ain’t fair!” You argued with your oldest brother.

“(Y/N), if ya don’t start listenin’, I’ll start restricting you from seeing him from now on till you die.” Darry stated firmly. You gave an annoyed sigh and looked away, upset . “Fine.” You grumbled.

But you started thinking about it. It’s simple! Just bring Dallas over to the house and act all good and stuff, Darry will have no choice but to let you date him!

Easy, right?

Wrong.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Almost everytime you and Dally went out for one of y’alls midnight adventures, somebody from the gang was always tailing the both of ya! But the most annoying out of them all was Two-Bit.

He wasn’t even discreet or sneaky about it! He just came up and wrapped his arms around both of you whenever it was his time to spy on y’all. (More like third wheel.)

On the fourth day, Dallas did something bad. He shoplifted. A beautiful necklace just for you. You loved it and thought it was the most stunning jewelry ever but you knew Darry would instantly make you break up if he saw it.

So you hid it. In your bra drawer. And it was successful! Darry never found out about it. So Dally kept shoplifting and bring your more beautiful jewelry. And you’d give him the sweetest kiss ever as a thank you to him.

Fortunately, the gang never saw him do this but if they did, they kept quiet about it.

But then on the fifth, almost close to the end of the week, Pony told on you again. You got upset and you kept asking why he would do this to his sweet older sister.

He told you it was because he wanted you to be safe and not get into trouble because you’re his sister and you’re the best thing ever(even though you were mad at him, his reason was cute enough to cool down your anger). He told Soda, who told Darry, who told you to come to the living room, with Dallas.

“Shoplifting jewelry? Then puttin’ it on her? She could go to jail for Christ’s sake Dally! And she’s a good girl.” Darry scolds Dallas.

“Darry, please, he was just tryna show me he’s a good boyfriend! Darry, please, pretty please, let me stay with him! I…I love him!” You pleaded, clasping your hands together in a beggar way.

Darry looked at you then looked away. He knew what you were doing. You we’re using the puppy dog eyes on him. He hated the fact you could get whatever your heart desired. And it desired Dallas.

He sighed, upset as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Y/N…” He began. “Yes!” You perked up, looking up at him. “If I let you continue to date Dallas, do you promise me you won’t get in trouble with the police, you won’t get pregnant, you won’t do anything dangerous that could possibly kill you or somebody else?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, yes! I promise! Oh, thank you Darry!” You smiled and hugged him tightly. He sighed and smiled, hugging you back and patting your head.

Dallas just grinned at the scene and started to leave before you turned to him. “Wait Dally! I’ll be with ya in a second.” You said, letting go of your brother and putting back your sneakers on.

“Don’t teach her how to do anything illegal Dally!” He yelled out after the both of you.

“Too late Darry!” Dallas laughed and so did you.

That’s when you saw Darry come out of the house with his shoes on. He was coming after the both of you. Well more specifically, Dally.

“Uh-oh!” You and Dallas laughed before running off and away to somewhere.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

I tried my best with this yall🫶🏽

#the outsiders x reader #the outsiders #the outsiders x yn #dallas winston #dallas winston x reader #ponyboycurtis #sodapop curtis #darry curtis #two bit mathews #robbinkeene

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jadeandroses · 6 months

Text

This might be the Hispanic in me showing, but one of my headcanons about Sonic’s bio family is essentially, “all of your possible parents are now a huge extended family, and no one knows which one of them you spawned from”

Hear me out.

This works best if Jules, Aleena, and Paulie are siblings. Chuck’s their eldest brother, while Brenda and Bernadette married in—but they’re all very close. Brenda and Aleena had their kids at about the same time (I’m talking days, if not hours, apart), and while Brenda only had one, Aleena shocked the family with three.

(Alternatively, Aleena only had two, and one of them was born to Bernadette—again, around the same time. That’s largely irrelevant, though.)

So naturally, you’ve got a very confused mom getting wheeled to the nursery to see her babies, like:

“I thought you said there were only three.”

A hapless nurse, or possibly Jules: “…Yes?”

Aleena, shaking: “Then why are there four of them???”

Whoever their parents are, Tania grows up very, very close with Sonic, Manic, and Sonia. They’re effectively siblings despite being born cousins. Naturally, everyone in the family leads very busy lives—and whether you imagine them in a royal household, in the midst of a rebellion, or as commoners in peacetime, that doesn’t matter much either. They’re family, they have each other—which means that if one of them has to to work a particular night, someone else is babysitting their kids that night. And they all do it to each other, so it evens out.

(Except for Chuck. Chuck has no kids of his own. He insists he get to help because he loves his nieces, nephews, and siblings, but Chuck will get paid for babysitting.)

They’re not alone, either. Longclaw is functionally the matriarch/cryptid of the family—no one knows for sure how old she is or how she’s related to them, but they do know she’s lived through two wars, two virus outbreaks, and despite her kind demeanor, has epic tales of the time she fought Black Doom with a spear. Maddie was once friends with somebody’s cousin, and while that cousin is long gone, she and Tom are now too close to the family to leave, and always organize the family potlucks because no one else wants to. And Sonic and Sonia’s adoptive parents from Underground—haven’t thought about them long enough to have names for them yet—are here too. They’re aunts and uncles who are slightly more well off than the rest of the family, so if there’s ever financial trouble, and they catch wind of it, they’ll always race to the struggling one’s doorstep with a warm meal and a modest gift of money, hidden in a couch cushion.

The point is, they’re close. They rely on each other a lot. Somebody would always be available to take the kids. The kids would need not look very far to find loving arms to hold them, or teach them about the world, or patch up a scraped knee or two. Or eight.

And the moment Sonic brings home Tails?

Well, they’re already shuffling four kids between them. What’s a fifth, in the midst of all this chaos?

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erabu-san · 8 months

Note

i think one of the funniest things about Tighnari being aroace is that everyone around him in falling in love and dating people etc etc while he's just kinda there😭

him hanging out with Freminet and Collei and Nilou and Cyno just fifth wheeling is so funny to me😭

BAHAHAHAH YESSSSS !!

Cyno also asking love advice to Tighnari

"Bro wtf i am aro, i don't even get the concept of romantic stuff"

Anyway tighnari just standing there, sipping tea while everyone is lovey-dovey and he is living his best life

#Aroace friends are always the best to give you love advice. 🤨#reply #THANK YOU FOR TALKING TIGHNARI AROACE WITH ME 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#not but not only cyno and collei #but also kaveh #bro listening everyone love-life

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sirianasims · 3 months

Text

Chapter 39

Invisible String

Myra sighed.

“… but you know what my mom is like. There’s no mercy. So I had to apologise to my dumb teacher. Ugh, parents.”

I tried to mimic her tone.

“Yeah. Parents. Can’t live with them, can’t leave them yet. At least not for two more years. But then you’ll be off to Britechester.”

Myra laughed hoarsely. I liked the sound.

“Yes! Freedom! And I’ll scout out all the best hangout spots for when you join me.”

I turned my head, distracted. A couple of girls from my year, Sophia and Emma, were standing behind the hedge and whispering.

Myra saw them too.

“Stupid bimbos. Think they’re better than us just because they’re popular.”

“Look at them, Julia, not an intelligent thought in their head, spending their days gossiping and posting inane shit on Social Bunny about pillow fights. As if we don’t know what it really means. They seem to think the amount of likes they get somehow decide their worth as people. Why would anyone ever care about being popular?”

Her voice was dripping with venom, her thin lips curled in a sneer. I briefly wondered what it would be like to kiss her but pushed the thought away as so many times before. Myra wasn’t someone you kissed. Myra was something to be admired from a safe distance, all sharp edges and opinions.

“Maybe they just like having a lot of friends.”

“Friends? Julia, people liking you on social media are not real friends anyway. There’s a reason they call it followers. Like you were some sort of guru or something. It’s ridiculous.”

“I guess.”

Myra narrowed her eyes.

“Please don’t tell me you want to be popular.”

I hesitated. Myra was my best friend – my only friend, really. I should be honest with her.

“I don’t want to be popular, but sometimes… it would be nice to be… liked?”

I forced the words out, slowly withering under her glare.

“Seriously, Julia? You, the most unique and creative person I know, one of the only girls in this dumb town that doesn’t suck – you want to be just another clone?”

“No! I just feel alone sometimes, you know? Like, I’m already the fifth wheel in my family. My parents have each other, my sisters have always been really close and my brothers are twins. Sometimes I just think it would be nice to have friends.”

“And what am I, chopped liver?”

“You know what I mean, Myra. You don’t always have time for me and I’ll still have a whole year left after you graduate. All alone.”

The bell rang. Myra got up and brushed off her jeans, smiling at me. As quick as she was to anger, it never lasted long.

“Are you sure you can’t hang out after class? My dad is making Bhel Puri.”

“Sorry, not tonight. I’ve got to finish a project.”

It wasn’t really a lie.

beginning / previous / next

#duchellilegacy #duchellichapters #duchelligen5 #julia duchelli #myra hart

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light-yaers · 1 year

Text

Maroon.

Masterlist | AO3 | Ko-Fi

Cassian wasn’t like the others. He was like the red clay beneath the white salt on Crait outpost. He was maroon, and he used to be yours.

Or: the time you and Cassian met, up until the Battle of Scarif.

Warnings: major character death [follows Rogue One: A Star Wars Story], grief, trauma, implied sexual content, masses of angst.

A/N: I will just say that I think this is the saddest thing I’ve ever written. Also-- I do attempt to say something in Kenari in this work. I got it by combining Portuguese and Spanish words. It’s not real Kenari. It’s just the best attempt I had.

Word Count: 10k+

maroon.

Red.

That’s the only colour you can see now. Sketched upon every surface, splattered on every flight suit, hidden beneath every fingernail.

You see it so often now that the entire world seems red. The sky had an ominous haze to it, foggy, with a sickly shade of pink that resembles evaporated blood; sucked up by the clouds; preparing to rain down upon all that you find holy.

Cassian sees it too, but in different ways.

His red is made up of Ferrix bricks, and the clay that makes up Rix Road. The maroon tinge of grease on his palms, the luminescence of the whiskey that Maarva used to love, B2EMO’s distinctive paint job.

He described them all so well that you could imagine everything so vividly. Often times, you found yourself spacing out on perimeter searches and ground missions, mapping out the Ferrix roads and Bix’s section of scrapyard inside your head.

He didn’t tell everyone about his life.

You were special, in that sense.

It had been a while, you knew that, since he’d left his home. For a few months, he worked closely with a higher-up— Luthen Rael— until his expertise was needed elsewhere.

The more time passed, the more savvy the Empire got when it came to double agents. Luthen was under a constant watchful eye now, too far gone to try and bite back against the thumb that he so callously lived beneath.

It just wasn’t worth it; for him; or for Cassian.

You were there when they dropped him off on base; an outpost on Crait. There was nothing much there, bar the salty taste of the air and the vast wasteland.

But, there was red. Red everywhere. The clay that lay beneath the thick, ice-like layer of salt that covered the planet, exposed by footsteps and tank wheels and X-wing take-offs.

So. Much. Red.

And then, there was Cassian.

He jumped off the lander hesitantly, strength lined his shoulders and jaw. All he held was a bag of personal belongings, and the eyes of someone who had seen too much, too far, for how old he was.

But, he still hadn’t seen salvation. None of you had.

“Lieutenant,” your commander said, jumping off the ship behind Cassian. You nodded at him on approach, not yet acknowledging the unknown rebel.

“Commander. Glad you made it back safely,” you said respectfully.

“Almost didn’t, but—,” he smacked his hand on Cassian’s shoulder, alerting you to each other. “Andor here got us out of an Imperial mess,”

You regarded him then, taking in the complexity of his gaze. “You’re a pilot?” you chided.

“Anything that can run, I can fly,”

“You’ll fit right in,” you smiled, and Cassian’s shoulders instantly relaxed. You stuck your hand out to him in proper greeting. He smacked his palm against yours, shaking your hand softly in return.

“Lieutenant,” Cassian said.

“Andor,” you replied.

You were one step closer to friends.

Being on a planet such as this left you with free time— the worst disease you could ever want when in the rebellion. Free time meant suffering souls. Free time meant overthinking.

Cassian was in briefings. Having not been on base before, he was subjected to different training. Security, what to do in the event of an attack or ambush, dormitory regulations and the like.

A few hours after greeting him, you were in the landing bay, going over the mechanic rounds for the fifth time. You’d got so bored that you’d taken to memorising the mechanic teams shift rotations. You were in communications, a Lieutenant, but when things were stale it often left you lonely.

“Lieutenant,” your commander called, but you were so zoned out you hardly heard. “C-26!” he boomed, prompting you to drop your data pad abruptly. It crashed to the floor, a few buttons pinging off and rolling in all directions.

You internally cursed.

“Commander,” you turned to him, noticing Cassian behind him as you did.

“I know things are dry. Show the new recruit around, will you? The escape routes, the fire doors, the dormitory building,”

You saluted him, gaining back some of your composure. “Yes, Sir,”

He left as soon as he’d arrived, leaving Cassian and you in the landing bay alone. As soon as he was gone, you instantly relaxed, letting out muttered curses beneath your breath as you dropped to the floor, looking for stray data pad parts.

“He’s a real stick in the mud,” Cassian spoke first, peering down at you as you scrambled on the floor.

“He’s a very good commander. You’ll learn that with more time here,” you snapped, annoyed more at yourself than at Cassian. He huffed behind you, amused.

“Is it always this… quiet?”

“No. This is abnormal,” you admitted, standing up and assessing the data pad parts in your palm. “Luthen’s off the radar, you know?”

Cassian nodded gravely.

“It was getting too hot,”

“What work did you do with him?” you asked, trying to be as unbothered as possible, but Cassian immediately stumbled.

“Why do you want to know?”

You laughed, a belly chuckle. “This isn’t some random planet, Andor. Nor a back alley. This is the rebellion. We share here. We’re on the right side of the war,”

Maybe this was a test. Your own secret one to assess him. To work him out. To see what game he was playing. Everyone did it, even if you were all on the same team.

Cassian regarded you quizzically, trying to work you out.

“You already know,” he replied. You smiled. He’d caught on immediately.

“Aldhani. That’s a feat,”

“So I’m told,”

“You were there. No point in pushing away congratulations from the rebellion. You deserve it—,”

“No, I don’t,” he cut over you, stiff as a board, as hard as steel. His gaze had turned soured, his eyes stone cold.

Silence descended the landing bay. You reattached the buttons on your data pad quickly, the clicks of metal upon metal clanging throughout the empty bay.

“Come on. There’s much to see,” you said finally. The two of you started the tour of the outpost.

He never mentioned home, never mentioned Maarva or Bix or Ferrix, in the first few months. Only after you’d been assigned a few dual missions, scouting patrols, being a pilot and comm unit, did he finally open up.

You did, too.

“My mother is from Sorgan,” you said gently, five hours into an eight-hour perimeter scout.

It was customary to split up tasks on the outpost. It wasn’t like other rebel bases. There weren’t masses of cadets around to borrow.

“She never liked grey. Only greens, and blues, and the oranges of the sunset. My father was from Yavin. Same greens, same trees, but completely different ways of living. She moved there for him, uprooted her small village life because she fell in love as soon as she saw him,”

You loved talking about your parents.

You missed them. They were some of the first to join the Alliance, and some of the first to die. You were raised with rebellion in your blood, brought up by your godparents and moved from base to base with them.

Crait outpost was their attempt at keeping you safe, but all it did was drive you insane. Why someone such as Cassian was here, you didn’t know— it was effectively a ghost town now, with no more than one hundred officials on base, and only acting as a secure link for meetings to take place, or for transport missions.

“They were rebels?” Cassian asked, sat in front of you and piloting the ship. The space was small, compact, and your flight suits were stuffy, but this was the only time you felt free.

Shoved in a tiny ship, scouting the outer atmosphere of a planet that you knew like the back of your hand— but you were in the sky, dotted amongst the stars. You craved this.

“Yes. They died rebels, too,” you said it quickly, getting it out of the way. All rebels had lost someone; maybe everyone; who was close to them. It was customary.

“And now, you will finish what they started,” Cassian said, no hint of falseness in his voice.

You glanced to your left, catching his reflection in the control console. It was the only way you could see each other sat like this. His reflection was wobbled, warped, but you still got to see his eyes.

You sort of loved them, really, over the months you’d got to know them with increasing intensity.

“That’s the plan,” you leaned back in your seat.

The urge to say what about you? was overwhelming, but you bit on your tongue. Getting personal was not obligatory. Being more than acquaintances was less normal than this, but you opened up because this felt different.

Cassian felt different.

You swallowed through the silence, through the cogs whirring in Cassian’s brain.

Until they finally clicked.

“I had a mother. She wasn’t my real mother, but she was as good as. She was all I ever knew,” he started, and you breathed out slowly as relief washed over you.

This went two ways.

Good.

“Maarva was the bravest person in the galaxy. That’s not an exaggeration, it’s the truth. A daughter of Ferrix. Died with honour. She protected me through it all,” he listed off everything he wanted, recalling small details and going on tangents whenever he pleased.

You listened intently, laughing at his funny stories, envisioning the copper streets of Ferrix.

“I was a pain in her ass, I knew it. From age fourteen I was scaling over the wall in the scrapyard to find Bix. We were just kids,”

“Was there something more?” this is the first time you properly interjected. He perked his eyebrow up at you in the console reflection.

You squinted back at him, amused.

“Come on. A man like you has to have some broken hearts behind him,” you let out, smiling uncontrollably. He does the same.

“For a little while, yes,” he admitted.

“Knew it,” you muttered, and Cassian leaned forward slightly. Maybe he was embarrassed. Maybe he was shocked, because you read him so easily.

A silence descended across the tiny cockpit, encasing you both in a feeling of knowing. Knowing each other, knowing the stars in the sky, maybe even knowing that all of this was temporary; probably.

“When I left Ferrix for the last time, I put her on a ship with Brasso, Bee, some others,” Cassian continued slowly, leaning back in his chair and letting out a sigh. “I promised I’d find her,”

He hadn’t.

“There’s still time,” you said strongly, meaning every word.

You knew Cassian well enough by now to know that, when he put his mind to something, more often than not he ended up succeeding. It’d been a long time since he’d left Ferrix; many moons had passed and grown and disappeared in that time; but not Cassian’s love for Bix.

Not his allegiance to justice, or the rebellion. Not his skill and brash nature and overly annoying attempts at getting you to laugh during meetings with General Mon Mothma or other higher-ups.

You meant every word, every breath. If he tried to, now, he would find his family again.

“My time is for the rebellion, now,” he replied finally, sending you a soft smile into the console reflection. “Wherever they are, they’re safer without me,”

There was nothing you could say to make it better, nothing you could offer to give him even a shred of hope when you knew it was pointless. He was here, and they were elsewhere; that was the way he wanted it, as much as it pained him.

You remembered that perimeter search well. You dwelled on it often, mostly when Cassian was off world for missions and you weren’t in contact; or when he was pissing you off to oblivion that you wanted to blast him between the eyes.

But, upon every landing; every return to Crait that he graced you with; his hugs got even tighter.

When the Death Star hit Alderaan, he was away. You fretted, you cried in private, worried for his safety and whether the Empire would hit his planet next. But, when he returned, you were the first to sprint out to his ship.

He dropped himself from the cockpit, skipping over the last two ladder rungs, and almost tripping upon landing, as he scrambled to you— sprinting, full pelt, directly towards each other.

He dropped his helmet to the ground, unbothered, before you embraced with an unceremonious smack into each other.

“Thank the stars,” you whispered, only loud enough for him to hear. He laughed, but it wasn’t full of comedy; it was relief filled.

“Did you miss me?” He squeezed you harder.

“Shut up, Cassian.” You squeezed him harder right back, until you were just two rebels, standing in an almost empty landing bay, clutching onto the other like he was the very air that you needed to breathe.

On base, you would work around each other in the way giggling school kids would. He would come to the comms rooms just to ask you one question, before hitting you with a joke on his way out. You’d head to the Admiral’s quarters with a message to deliver, only to be hit by Cassian’s gleaming gaze as you entered the room.

He was higher-up than you, a Captain, hot shit. But he never looked down on you; not ever.

“Captain Andor,” you announced. He stood up straight from his position, leaned down, next to the Admiral.

“Lieutenant, how can I help?” He smiled at you jokingly. When formalities came into play, he loved chalking it up, making it worse. Purely because neither of you were like it behind closed doors.

“I’ve intercepted a relay from a close-by Destroyer. I think it’ll interest you to listen, considering we had a tip from someone on a planet close by about the defector,”

The Defector. An Imperial pilot that randomly decided to join the side of the rebellion. He’d been the talk of the Alliance since Alderaan had been hit.

“Good work, Lieutenant,” Cassian started rounding the circular table that separated you. “Tell me everything you’ve heard,” he stopped to peer down at you, smile on his face, before the two of you left for communications.

It wasn’t long after that when he left again. On another mission, out amongst the stars while you played the housewife, fixing the same coolant compartments over, and over again, and trying not to go crazy. You could count on one hand the months that you and Cassian had known each other, but that didn’t stop either of you from falling into the trap—

The trap of care and concern. In the rebellion, it was the worst trap of them all.

Against protocol, Cassian sent you message relays this time. Maybe it was due to everything feeling less stable, everything going to shit. The Death Star was in full flight; citizens were at war with their own minds, worrying about whether they’d be the next planet to be destroyed by the power of a dying star.

Jedha City, that’s where we’re going. Saw Gerrara is close, as is the defector. I’m with someone who’s very valuable to the cause, someone who can get us close to Gerrara. I’m safe. I miss you.

You read them at night, over, and over again. Every crumb and speck of communication that he could muster or even allow.

Jedha City, that’s where he, K-2SO, and this mystery helper were. His written words allowed you to imagine him, surrounded by sand, by the wind, by the ruins of old temples and all that sandstone that made up the planet, and the city itself— alone, yes— but also being him.

Cassian was brave, Cassian was fearless. He was born to be a rebel, and, despite his troubled upbringing, he was still kind. That was a good sign of his character.

“C-26,” your commander approached you one morning. You were alone in comms, choosing to stay during breakfast to get more done. The quiet was the only place where you weren’t reminded of Cassian. “A word?”

“Of course, Sir,” you swivelled on your chair to peer up at him.

“We just received news,” he started, but the tone of his voice shifted immediately. Your heart dropped. “Jedha City has been hit by the Death Star,”

Words couldn’t describe the jolt that slashed its way through your entire body.

“We haven’t received word from Andor or Kay-Two, but due to their mission parameters, their location was on world—,”

“Stop,” you let out harshly, trying to come to terms with the words he was saying. He stopped when you asked, standing up straight as he waited for you to reply. “You think they didn’t make it out, is that what you’re saying?”

“I just want you to prepare for the worst,” he replied sullenly. “That’s what I’m saying, C-26. I know you and Andor are close,”

“That’s irrelevant—,”

“No, it’s not,” he said strongly, taking you by surprise. “I’ve been at this outpost with you for close to two years, seen you when you’re bored stiff and wondering what the hell your purpose is,” you listened to his every word. “As soon as Cassian showed up, that all changed, don’t deny it,”

“I’m not,” you said defensively, standing up abruptly to face him, but there was part of you that had completely shut down.

This wasn’t the time where you needed someone else to confirm just how close you and Cassian were. This wasn’t the time where you needed someone to drill into you about the extent of your lonely, prior life on this outpost— only gleaming brighter after his very arrival.

You needed to raise your guard and focus on your breathing and not spill your guts all over the floor by your commander’s feet.

“We’ll find out in a few hours,” he added, finally. “Feel free to take some time.”

“With all due respect, Commander, I’d rather be so busy that my fingers go numb than sit in the silence of the landing bay and wait for him to come home.”

He nodded at you, taken aback by the power laced between your words.

“As you wish,” he said, softer this time. “Back to work, then, C-26,” he gulped after speaking, like he didn’t want to have the formality of it all right now. Not while you were tensing every muscle in your body to stop yourself from screaming, and he could see that pain written all over your face.

“Yes, Sir,” you breathed out as you sat back down, swivelling yourself back towards your screens. Your fingers got to work, and your commander disappeared once more.

You stayed at your desk for eighteen hours straight. You looked up images of the Death Star hitting Jedha City. You reached out to other bases to see if they had any updates themselves. You scanned the skies with radar until the clockwise motion of the visuals had fucked up your eyes for the night.

When you dozed, dreams finally took you.

You and Cassian are on a forest planet, somewhere that looks like Yavin and Sorgan combined. He looks younger, almost, less stressed by his years as a rebel. His clothes are clean. Gently, he turns to you as you both stroll through the lush greenery, sticking out his hand for you to take.

“Come,” he urges, as you slip your hand into his grasp. When he smiles, it’s like nothing can ever be wrong with the world. “I have to show you something,”

You follow him as he leads you to a clearing; large and built from limestone. It’s moss covered, dazzling in the sun rays as the vibrant green lights up the entire clearing. It’s soft, it’s warm, and you have Cassian’s hand in your own— there is nothing that could have made you happier.

“Here,” he says, tugging you forward with more excitement. You squeal as you stumble into him, but he simply repositions himself and holds you to his chest warmly.

You both look out over the horizon. You’re at the top of a cliff; steep and deadly should you fall; but quiet and beautiful where you’re stood. You see mountains on the horizon, snow-capped and covered by a subtle fog. The sun is setting as you breathe in sync, as Cassian gently drops his cheek onto the top of your head.

“This view,” he says. “This view reminds me of you,” you watch in silence, a warmth cascading through your gut, as the sky changes to a glowing red. “The colour red reminds me of you. Maroon, burgundy, whatever shade, it doesn’t matter. When I see something red, I think of you, wherever I am in the galaxy,”

You peer up at him, eyes glassy with emotion. “Red reminds me of you, too,” you admit. “The red of Ferrix bricks. The clay that makes up Rix Road. The maroon tinge of grease on your palms,” you pick up his hand softly, but it is spotless. “The luminescence of the whiskey that Maarva used to love. Bee’s paint job,” you list everything one by one, certain that you’re thinking on the spot, but there is an odd sense of Deja vu that falls over you.

Gently, smiling, he takes your chin into his hand, resting his thumb just below your bottom lip. His eyes skim every feature on your desperate face, every wrinkle and bump and scar and bruise. The sign of a rebel is etched on your skin, while he is completely perfect. The small scar above his eyebrow is gone. The collection of dirt stains from clay don’t litter his face.

He is perfect, but not his usual perfect. He is perfect in aesthetic ways, not in the ways that make Cassian; Cassian.

You suck in a breath as he starts to lean forward, softly, gently, your gut lurching within your body with the desire to absolutely crumble against the feel of his lips on your own.

“The red of the Death Star ray,” he whispers, just an inch from your face.

“What?” you gasp suddenly, tugging away ever so slightly.

“You remind me of that red, too,” he smiles at you so genuinely that you feel sick. “The red of the Death Star. The red of the Death Star that killed me,”

“Cassian—,” you stutter, pulling away from him. He’s still smiling, and you feel like you might vomit your guts upon the forest floor at any moment. “No,” you find your words. “You’re not my Cassian,”

“Here it is, now,” he says, turning back to the horizon. The sunset that once faced the sky has now been replaced— by an explosion the size of a small moon. Debris already litters the crater, as the impact of the ray heads in every direction on the planet.

You look at him, distraught, but he’s in some kind of trance.

“Look at that,” he breathes out, before turning back to you. “What a beautiful way to die.”

You woke up to beeping. Incessant and shrill, you shot up in your chair as you realised what had happened. You’d fallen asleep at your desk, drifted into dreams that were unable to replicate Cassian in person. Quickly, you shut off your systems. When the beeping stopped, you leaned back in your chair and tried not to think about how your fingers were shaking, how your heart was beating out of your chest.

Inhale. Shake. Exhale. Shake. Inhale. Shake. Exhale. Cry.

You wiped away a stray tear, not wanting your own subconscious to be your downfall. You wouldn’t let it, wouldn’t let it show. He had to be alive, somewhere out there, he had to still be completing this mission.

What a beautiful way to die.

You switched off the light by your desk, knowing it was time to call it a day. You wouldn’t be of help if you were sleep deprived. Hoisting yourself from your chair, you left communications glumly. Your back clicked when you stretched yourself out.

The bays were empty. You had no idea what time it was, but from the quiet of the outpost, you guessed everyone was in their dorms. Gently, you placed your hand on one of the X-wings in the bay. It was customary for pilots to swipe the noses of their ships before take-off, just for good luck, just for the hell of it.

You always oddly loved the way Cassian did it. Before every perimeter search or recon mission, the methodical way he so delicately placed his hand and dragged it against the smooth metal of his ship reminded you of the soft way he draped his arm around others; around you.

Oh, Maker, please let him be alive.

Back in your dorm, you didn’t sleep— but you still dreamt. You dreamt of him, of the real Cassian, not the one that had infiltrated your mind beforehand.

In the morning, a knock woke you from your dozing. As the door wooshed up, you were hit with the face of your commander. You saluted him immediately, standing to attention.

“Sir,”

“At ease,” he said breathlessly. He’d run all the way here. “There’s a call for you,”

“Sir?” you let out, but he was already smiling.

“It’s Cassian.”

The two of you sprinted to the control room, hearts in your throats. Your commander was older, but not by much. Your godparents had placed you under his command for a reason, and you knew this was one of those times. His softness was needed, as too was his formality and allegiance to the rebellion as a whole.

He cared; and that’s what mattered in the long run.

You rounded the corner to the control room and almost stumbled, but he grabbed your waist before you could trip. “Come on. He’s on the General’s frequency,”

The General’s frequency? This was a line solely reserved for Alliance Generals to talk to one another undisturbed. This was unheard of; Cassian was a Captain; you were a Lieutenant.

As you passed the control table, you slowed your breathing. A comm headset sat atop a desk, just waiting for you. Your commander stayed behind you, filling the room with a calmer energy. “Go on, C-26,” he urged, and you almost burst out laughing; from relief.

You peered back at him, sending him the softest smile you had within you. He reciprocated in full.

“I’ll leave you be,” he decided, before stepping back slowly. When the thud of his boots disappeared down the corridor, you finally allowed yourself to pick up the headset.

You slipped it on, feeling the pump of blood in your ears and the incessant beat of your heart as you prayed to the Maker. Then, you clicked the relay button.

“Cassian?” You whispered pathetically, but there was no other way around how you felt.

“Meu korazon,” his voice trickled over you like honey, in some language that you couldn’t identify. He’d called you it many times before—it was a long time joke that he never told you what it meant, but you still felt warm whenever the name cascaded over you. The relief in his tone is what got to you the most.

“What does that mean?” you asked, on the brink of tears. Cassian chuckled; it was a sound you loved.

“Nothing,” he let out, changing his tone. “I’m just happy to hear your voice. Meu korazon,” he repeated. You shut your eyes, trying not to utterly explode into tears. You’d never felt more relieved in your life, never been happier to hear someone’s voice.

“Where are you?”

“Yavin 4. We got off Jedha in time, just before the planet was destroyed,”

“We?”

“Me, Kay, and some stragglers we’ve picked up. The defector is with us, and two protectors of the temple from Jedha. And—,” he stopped, sucking in a deep breath. “Jyn Erso,”

“Erso?” You let out instinctually. Everyone knew of Galen Erso, Imperial weapons designer, the man responsible for the fucking Death Star.

“It’s complicated, not something that I can explain over a comm relay,” he admitted, and your heart sank. You knew things were escalating, knew missions were in place. You waited for orders to rally every single day, knowing that it was only a matter of time before a strike occurred on the Death Star.

“Are you coming back?” You whispered. “To Crait,”

He went silent for a moment, and you knew what his answer would be.

“No, I’m not,” he let out. Your heart broke, the blood rushed to your head. “You’re coming to Yavin 4 instead.”

The shuttle came for you as soon as possible. Your commander had set it up without question, knowing that it was time for you to get involved elsewhere. This wasn’t just about Cassian; it was about you. You packed in record speed, bringing the limited items that you owned and fitting them in one bag alone.

Before you left your dorm, you etched your name on the underside of the small desk in the corner. Others had done it too, names like Lynx 2BBY. You added yours, scribbling 0BBY next to it, knowing that you wouldn’t be coming back again. You had more purpose than this, more than working behind the scenes when you knew you were capable.

Cassian knew it too. Knew that you could do more; wanted to do more; to end this war once and for all.

You jumped on the shuttle before your commander, but he stopped by the hull door. You turned back, rucksack on your shoulder, and peered down at him. “You’re not coming, are you?” You knew. He shook his head with a small smile.

From this position, you were closer to his height now, basically the same. It felt odd, being able to look him in the eye fully; it also felt needed.

“There’s still work for me to do here,” he said finally.

It sunk in then that this might be the last time you saw him for a long time. Depending on how things went, depending on the mission at hand with Jyn Erso.

“Thank you,” you said. “For being the best commander to work beneath, and for being my friend,” you meant it.

“It’s been a pleasure,” he smiled, before saluting you once more. You saluted back strongly, before the hull door slowly rose, cutting you off from each other.

He waved as you took off, flying high above the outpost until you left the atmosphere.

You arrived at the hight of the meeting. Mon Mothma and Bail Organa were present, amongst others. The room was packed to the brim as you entered at the back, rising onto tiptoes to see better.

“There’s no choice but to retreat! The Empire will stop at nothing to ensure every base, every planet that we inhabit, is dead and gone—,”

“There’s a flaw!” A young woman spoke up, someone that you knew to be Jyn Erso. You stepped through two others, looking out into the light. The breath hitched in your throat when you saw Cassian next to her. “There’s a flaw planted specifically for this use. We need to gather a team and strike it while the iron is hot,”

“With all due respect, Gerrara and your father are dead, Erso,” Tynnra Pamlo spoke up softly, but with purpose. “How can we believe these claims? When there is so much at stake and our resources are already running so thin,”

“I can vouch for her,” Cassian stepped forward abruptly. You flinched as he did, his eyes skimming the crowd of higher-ups and rebels— until his gaze finally hit yours.

He stopped, going silent for a moment as a few sets of eyes hit yours from following his own. Jyn followed his gaze, too, and when her stare hit yours, her expression softened. Perhaps, Cassian had told her about you. He’d gone to all this trouble just to get you here; had called you over the General’s frequency to ensure that you knew he was alive and well. Had called you meu korazon, whatever that may mean.

My heart. My heart.

You smiled at her, before glancing back to Cassian.

“Go on, Captain,” Mon Mothma urged him, and the moment ended. “Continue.”

“I can vouch for Jyn,” Cassian repeated. “I was there, both on Jedha and on Eadu. I saw the hologram with my own eyes,”

“That’s all well and good, Captain, but there is no evidence. It’s been destroyed. We simply have no choice,” Vasp Vaspar chimed in, but he looked almost apologetic.

“You’re asking us to invade an Imperial installation based on nothing but hope,” Pamlo spoke up again, looking directly at Jyn. Jyn smiled sadly, strongly.

“Rebellions are built on hope.”

It wasn’t enough.

“So, it is decided,” Pamlo spoke again. “We will scatter our fleet, retreat to safer planets, hide away— until we are strong enough to fight back against their weapon,”

“No— please, Senator—,” Jyn persisted, but Pamlo held up her hand.

“All those in favour of retreating?”

The majority put their hands up. The room fell silent.

“It is done.” Pamlo left first, followed by the scattering of cadets and rebels.

You fought against the dissipating sea of people to get to him. Cassian caught your eye, pointing to the door, so you followed the rest of the gaggle back to the landing bays. Your heart was in your throat when you made it out, glancing and scanning over all the pilots, mechs, and techs that left the meeting with upset frowns on their faces.

When Cassian emerged, he pushed himself through the crowd and broke into a run immediately.

“Cassian—,” you breathed out, but the air was ripped from your lungs when he bombarded you into an embrace. He held you for a long moment, so hard that you could feel his heart as it pumped in his body, syncing up with your own. “Thank the stars,” you let out from relief; a saying that you’d said to him so many times before, on missions where he almost hadn’t made it home.

“Did you miss me, meu korazon?” He whispered, only loud enough for you to hear.

“I always miss you,” gently, he brought his hand to the back of your head, stroking your hair softly. You nuzzled your cheek into the nook between his shoulder and neck, breathing him in.

This felt different. They said that distance made the heart grow fonder, but you and Cassian weren’t like normal people. Perhaps it was the threat of death that kept you so close, the worry that one of you might never return when they left. Either way, it had come to this. You thanked the Maker for him.

When he pulled away, he raised his hand to your cheek. You smiled; before punching him in the stomach swiftly.

“Hey!” He yelped.

“How many times do I have to tell you to not die?” You exclaimed.

“I didn’t!”

“You almost did!” You pointed at him threateningly.

“But— I didn’t,” he said, straightening himself out as his surprised tone mellowed. He smirked at you, but you shot him with a look of fire.

“Don’t you dare make that face at me,”

“What face? This is just my face,”

“You know exactly what face I mean, hot shot. That little smirk,” you imitated the smirk. “Like you know everything, like you’ve just thrown an insult at me and are proud of yourself,”

“Have I ever told you that you look beautiful when you’re angry?”

You almost swallowed your tongue, stepping back and immediately feeling your ears go boiling hot at his comment. You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the way his gaze was eating you up inside. It skimmed down your body and all the way up again, divulging all your secrets within seconds.

“No, you haven’t,” you almost spat it out, knowing that the heat was growing onto your cheeks as well. “You should more often, you piece of Bantha shit,”

His smirk turned into a full grin, which then prompted chuckles to burst from his lips. You rolled your eyes at him, pissed off and flattered and wanting him all at the same time.

“I hate you, I swear,” you said through clenched teeth. A lie.

“Don’t swear it. You know you don’t hate me, meu korazon,”

“Tell me what that means,” you uncrossed your arms, stepping closer to him again. “Tell me, Cassian.”

He sucked in a deep breath, and suddenly the roles had shifted. His ears got warm; his cheeks went rouge. He kissed his teeth as he accepted this; he had to tell you the truth after so many months.

“It means—,”

“It means cooler than him,” Jyn spoke up suddenly, approaching you both gently. “Because you are definitely cooler than him,” she said, and you couldn’t help but smile. She stuck her hand out to you gently, which you took happily. “Everything he’s told me about you has been good,”

“I should hope so,” you joked, as the two of you looked back at Cassian. He looked awkward, or caught out, or both.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” his voice trailed off, as he placed his hands on his hips and looked uncomfortably around the bay.

Eventually, others gathered. You were introduced to Bodhi, the defector, a scrawny pilot with a big heart; Chirrut and Baze, the temple protectors; a few others who wanted Jyn’s plan to be set in motion. It was clear that they’d all been through a lot— Jedha, Eadu—and now their want to do something good had been denied.

Throughout the solemn chat, you stuck by Cassian’s side. At one point, he placed his hand on the small of your back, peering down at you like you were pure gold. This was the Cassian that you adored— tired, but still fighting. There was dirt on his forehead and some dark circles under his eyes, but he still looked perfect.

“I knew they wouldn’t believe you,” he said to Jyn, peering down at the floor with his hand on his hip, the other on you. Gently, you wrapped your arm around his back, too, just so he knew you were there.

Jyn stepped forward, a look like fire on her face. “Thanks for the support,” she said stubbornly. Cassian met her eye.

“But I do,” he said strongly. “We do,”

Men and women gathered, over thirty of them, all ready to stand up and fight for the cause that they believed in. When Cassian spoke, you held onto his every word. He was impossible not to listen to, impossible not to go utterly silent whenever a speech erupted itself from his mouth.

Jyn approached you and Cassian after it was decided; they would all fight.

“I’m not used to people sticking around,” Jyn smiled, a smile that you knew to be genuine. She turned to you gently.

“Welcome home,” you let out.

What ensued was a heist of epic proportions. You helped Bodhi locate a stray passenger lander, watched as he powered it up, checked the fuel gage and coolant compartment. You sat in the co-pilot seat, going through checks.

“I thought you were in communications?” Bodhi asked somewhat frantically. He had a rapid way of talking, but he was sweet.

“I am,”

“Then how do you know so much about ships? Do you pilot as well?” you scoffed at his question.

“In the Alliance, we’re all all-rounders, truthfully. But—after my parents died—I wasn’t allowed to fly anymore,” you admitted.

“Why?” you shrugged, sad whenever you remembered your godparents taking that away from you.

“My guardians when I was growing up, they just want to protect me. I just wish—I wish that they’d realise I’m good for more than this,”

“This is legendary,” Bodhi said suddenly. “Hijacking an Alliance lander, going to Scarif for the Death Star plans. This is what someone like you was made for,” you knew you’d only just met him, but your heart reached out to him.

You placed your hand on his forearm, nodding at him in appreciation.

“Thanks, Bodhi.” You smiled at him, eyes glassy.

“This is what I’ve been saying for almost a year,” Cassian’s arrival made you flinch. You swivelled around to meet his gaze, looking at him knowingly as he peered down at you proudly. “You’ve always been capable of so much more, but you’ve been held back your entire life,”

“Who are your guardians? Are they here?” Bodhi asked. You sucked in a sharp breath.

“They’re both Admirals,” you confessed. “They’re not posted in this system, they’re elsewhere, but,” you glanced back at Cassian, shooting his own smirk back at him. “What they don’t know, won’t hurt them,”

Cassian pointed at you, leaning down affectionately, and bringing his fingers to hold you by the chin. His thumb rested just below your bottom lip; just like the dream; but this was real.

“This is why I love you,” he said lowly. Bodhi turned away with an awkward smile on his face.

“Tell me what meu korazon means, you coward,”

“Not until you ask nicely,” Cassian joked, shifting his thumb ever so slightly upwards, so it was swiping against your lip. You fought the urge to smash your face onto his; he was so close, it would be easy, and he’d definitely expect it. “You’re looking at my lips, meu korazon,” he whispered, and you all too late realised that you had been staring at his mouth.

It was hard not to.

“Because I’m waiting for you to tell me what it means,” you lied.

“I’ll go find Jyn—the ship is ready to fly,” Bodhi said quickly, removing himself from the cockpit as soon as possible. Cassian laughed to himself, a knowing laugh that radiated through every pore in your body.

“I forgot he was still there, truthfully,” Cassian let out. You held your breath with embarrassment, falling into him ever so slightly.

“We’re awful people,”

“We’re only human, you can’t blame us,”

“I can, and I will blame us,” you chuckled out, bobbing your shoulders softly with built up laugher. You had to bring a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from giggling to oblivion.

“Hey,” Cassian said, annoyed suddenly. “Don’t do that,” he grabbed your hand gently and pulled it away from your mouth, holding it in his own. “I was about to kiss you, that’s just not fair,”

He swiped his thumb over your bottom lip. Your heart jolted beneath your ribcage, lurching forward so quickly that you’re surprised you didn’t kiss him as soon as his words had stopped being spoken. He was looking at you like you were gold, like you were the red of the sunset that both of you loved, the maroon clay that laid beneath the salt on Crait, where you’d both met all those months before.

“Tell me what meu korazon means, and you can kiss me all you like,” you whispered, giving him an ultimatum. He let out a soft huff, peering down at the floor as an excuse to lay his forehead on yours.

His hand wound its way onto your cheek, his thumb swiping there instead.

“You’re impossible,” he let out. You shut your eyes, feeling the strength in his arms as you laid your hands on his biceps, just to hold him as he squatted on the floor by the co-pilot chair.

“That’s why you love me,”

“I do,” you opened your eyes. “I really do,” he admitted. “My heart. It means—you’re my heart, meu korazon.”

My heart, my heart. How many times had he called you it? He’d started after a trip where his cover had been blown. He’d come home, beaten and bruised to within an inch of his life. You cared for him for days, fussing over him in the med-bay, reading him books as he lay in bed.

That’s when he’d called you it for the first time, all those months ago. Since then, you’d asked around about it. What language it could be, if anyone knew what it meant, since Cassian had been so against telling you every time you’d asked.

Now you knew why. He’d been waiting for to realise it, waiting for you to understand that you were his heart, his body, his love.

You kissed him before you lost your nerve. It felt like coming home. It was everything you’d ever wanted and more. He was soft, but you felt the fire within him. One that started in both of your guts and grew outwards, overtaking every sense and controlling your every move.

When you pulled away, you took the time to indulge in the way he looked. A deer in headlights, flushed, breathing heavily.

“If you’d told me that sooner, I would have kissed you sooner,” you let out, a few chuckles escaping alongside the words.

“We’ll just have to make up for lost time,” he smiled, holding you close.

You both stayed like that for a while, laughing subtly at the fact you’d finally done it—you and Cassian had finally told each other the truth, spilled your guts upon the floor for each other, felt the other in a way that you’d both so desperately wanted behind closed doors.

When the shuttle engine started, all of you held your breath.

“Cargo shuttle, read back, please. What’s going on out there?” the control tower spoke through the pilot comms. Jyn approached Bodhi, squatting by his side to hear better. “That ship’s off limits, no one’s supposed to be on board until further instructions,”

Bodhi clicked the relay. “Uh—yes, yes, we are. Affirmative,”

“That’s an impounded Imperial ship. What’s your call-sign, pilot?”

Bodhi looked to Jyn, stuttering over his words. You watched her mouth we have to go, while Bodhi continued to struggle with what to answer.

“Say something,” Jyn whispered, fierce. “Come on,”

Bodhi exhaled shakily. “Rogue,” he glanced around for approval. “Rogue One,”

“Rogue One? There is no Rogue one,”

K-2SO switched on the radar scanner, evidently running out of patience. “Well, there is now,”

The shuttle took off abruptly, rising into the sky as fast as Bodhi and K2 could get it off the rebel base. As soon as you left the atmosphere, you were punched into hyperspace. You stood with Cassian by the cockpit, watching the blue lights of lightspeed cover the ship windshield.

You were going into the belly of the beast, right into the enemy’s hands, but you’d never felt more part of something.

Flying through Scarif’s shield was up there as the scariest moment of your life, but still you all persisted. Cadets in the back got on their gear and checked their blasters, dusting off their helmets and preparing themselves both mentally and physically for what was about to come.

Upon landing, Cassian took you aside gently.

“I need you to stay here,” he explained. “We need someone on the ground with Bodhi while Jyn and I find the data inside. It’s too risky having more of us inside the building,”

“Okay,” you said, just so he knew you understood. Gently, he placed a communicator into your hand, wrapping your fingers around it slowly.

“For you and me. You need me, you call me,” he whispered. Once again, this was not allowed, but he was doing it for you.

All of a sudden, everything hit you all at once. He was leaving, the same way he did every time he took off from Crait outpost and went off world. He was leaving, and he may not come back this time. Really not come back this time.

You peered up at him with all your strength, widening your eyes to get across every fibre of your love for him, everything.

“Come back to me, Cassian.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he laid his hand on your cheek. “I promise,”

“Because, I swear, I’ll kill you otherwise. I really will,” you let out, stuttering over your word and trying not to crumble completely.

Cassian leant forward and kissed you simply—as if it was the most normal thing he could ever do. When he pulled away, that fucking smirk was on his face again. The one you loved to hate, but dreamt about when he wasn’t around.

“What a beautiful way to die, meu korazon.” he said.

And then, he was gone.

And all hell broke loose.

First, it was the troopers. There were so many of them, all with their blasters firing. You stayed with Bodhi in the ship while cadets fought them outside, knowing that you needed to be here for the transmission of the plans. It was essential.

Then, it was the walkers. They bombarded over the landing bays and destroyed ships and people alike. Smashing their bulking feet down upon the ground without so much as a second glance.

Chirrut and Baze were dead. You struggled to breathe.

Come on, Cassian.

Bodhi had sent distress signals to all branches of the galaxy, praying for rebels to arrive. It was a call to action, a cry for help. You needed all the help you could get, as the war raged outside and you focused on not losing your cool.

“Bodhi!” you screamed, just so he could hear you. You were sat at the secondary comms, heart in your throat at what you were hearing. The tears came faster than you could have imagined. “They’re here! They heard us!”

Above Scarif’s shield entrance, two dozen rebel ships had arrived. They were there to help, there to answer your call. Bodhi grabbed his comm immediately, knowing what to do.

“Rogue One to the Rebellion!” he yelled.

“This is Admiral Raddus to Rogue One!”

“Raddus, they have the plans. They found the Death Star plans. They have to transmit them from the communications tower! You have to take down the shield gate, it’s the only way we’re gonna get them through!” he spoke quickly, efficiently, and for a moment you allowed yourself to feel relieved.

“Pull up a hammerhead corvette—I have an idea. Stand by Rogue One, we’re on it!” Raddus replied. Bodhi bowed his head in thanks.

After the battle for the past hour, the fear of death from every trooper and walker and higher up on this godforsaken planet, you were hopeful—you were hopeful.

“This is for you, Galen,” Bodhi whispered to himself. It was go time.

“Bodhi, we need to tell Cassian—,”

“Grenade!” he yelled over you, as the tinker of metal upon the hull of the ship alerted you both to the danger.

You had seconds to live.

You did the first thing you could think of; you clipped a blaster to you hip and jumped out of the shuttle; right before it exploded and blasted into a thousand pieces. You fell onto the sand of the landing pad, covering your head and ignoring the agonising sting of burns on your back.

All around you, troopers and cadets lay dead on the floor. Debris littered the sand. The once beautiful seclusion of the bay, surrounded by swinging palm trees, had been obliterated.

And Bodhi. Bodhi lay, burning, on the hull of the destroyed and on fire wreckage of Rogue One.

It was hard to hope for the best when all you wanted to do was join him. You felt the guilt first, then the grief, then the excruciating pain of all the losses you’d endured. You knew what you’d signed up to, knew this was always inevitable, but that didn’t stop you from feeling broken.

When you moved, your skin burned. But still, you moved. You moved into the tree line, into the last of the greenery that surrounded you. You think your mother would have done the same, and your father; hidden in the foliage; made friends with the leaves as you focused on not dying.

You gulped down the pain, knowing that you needed medical attention; badly. It would have to wait.

You grabbed the communicator Cassian gave you and turned it on. You clicked the relay.

“Cassian,” you croaked. “Cassian—everyone’s dead,” you said, not even knowing if he was listening on the other end.

Static was all you were met with, until he finally replied.

“I know,” was all he said. “So is Kay-Two. But, you are alive,”

“And you,” you said bluntly, struggling to be emotive when your energy was all but gone. “I’m trapped, at the landing pads. There are walkers, and—there were troopers—Bodhi. He’s—,” you stuttered through the words, trying to hold it together.

“Use that big brain of yours,” he urged you forward. “I know you can get out, meu korazon. Through the shield gate, back to the Rebellion,”

“Not without you,” the tears came thick and fast as you realised what was happening. “Where are you, my love?” you struggled to get it out.

“We’re at the communication tower. Krennic—he got me with his blaster,” you stifled a sob. “We’re waiting now, for the shield to go down. We’re so close,”

You allowed yourself to picture the perfect outcome: Raddus manages to open the shield gate, allowing the Rebellion into the atmosphere. They blast away the last of the enemy, kill Krennic where he stands, destroy their ships and leave them marooned on the planet to rot.

You find a ship and pick up Jyn and Cassian from atop the tower. They crawl into your ship and fall to the ground, hugging, safe, while you fly them far away from this god-awful place—back home; back to Yavin 4.

You kiss Cassian a thousand times; you kiss him until your lips go numb and your belly hurts from all the laughter that he causes to burst from within you. He touches you softly and warmly, keeping you safe while also letting you roam free; the way you’ve always wanted to live.

You destroy the Death Star. You destroy the Empire, together. Alive.

“Okay,” you said, shutting your eyes and dispelling the last of your cold tears. You sucked in a shaking breath, forcing yourself to stand. “I’m finding a ship and getting off this fucking planet. And then—I’m coming back for you, Cassian. I will always come back,”

“Meu korazon, I know,”

His comms cut off. You forced yourself to move.

You blasted your way through the last trooper stragglers, going from landing pad to landing pad, looking for a ship. When you found one, you thanked the Maker within your heart. Somewhere deep down, you let yourself rejoice.

Just this once. Only for a second.

You’re working on autopilot when you entered the beat-up lander, praying that the engine is still usable. It stopped and stuttered to life, while you worked on powering up the comms systems. The static pinged abruptly, and you fiddled with the frequency knob until you could hear Admiral Raddus.

“Admiral, this is—,” you stopped. You didn’t know what to say. “I’m on landing pad four. How is the shield gate plan going?”

“Tell me your call-sign, Lieutenant,” he pushed you, replying over the static. You sat in the pilot seat, looking out the dirtied windshield.

“Rogue Two,” you made it up on the spot. It was fitting.

“Rogue Two, copy. Look at the sky,” he said knowingly.

You leaned forward, looking at the sky above. The blue haze of the shield gate had all but disappeared, after a Star Destroyer had crashed directly through it. It was still falling—in that slow motion sort of way that is both menacing and beautiful.

“They did it,” you whispered, but your comms were still on.

“The plans are being transmitted and uploaded as we speak, Rogue Two,” he announced. You thanked him, before clicking off your relay and got to piloting.

Before you could think, you took off in you ship. Quickly, you headed to the tower. If they were still up there, there was a chance that you’d be able to pick them up. You prayed, you hoped, you dreamed.

Cassian.

“Cassian,” you said over yours and his comm. “I’m in an Imperial lander, circling the tower. Where are you?”

Only static came from the communicator.

“Cassian, come in,” you urged, as tears fell from your distressed eyes.

Nothing.

“Cassian!” you shouted, you screamed, you raged.

“Rogue Two—get out of there!” Admiral Raddus exclaimed over your ship comm. “They’re here. The Death Star is here,”

You ceased to breathe. On the horizon, you saw it. Hulking, large, a sickly shade of grey and the size of a fucking planet as it loomed over everything. It covered the sun, casting a shadow over the entire planet.

“Rogue Two, that’s an order!” another voice came over your comms, but it wasn’t Raddus. “Don’t you dare disobey your commander,”

“Commander?” you replied, eyes still glued to the horizon as you circled the tower for a third time.

“The shield gate is down. Leave the atmosphere, Rogue Two. Now,” he pleaded, and you wanted to rip the control console before you. You wanted to destroy every scrap of metal, every bolt, every button, and scanner that resided in this grim ship.

You only wanted him. You needed him.

“I can’t, Sir,” you croaked.

“Yes, you can,” he urged. You could picture his face, concerned and worried and on the brink of a meltdown in his X-wing, up in the stars. “Yes, you can!” he exclaimed again, shouting at you full pelt.

With every wasted second, the Death Star was gaining power and would soon blow. It would destroy the planet in minutes, seconds. Immediately.

“Please,” he let out. “You have so much more to do in this life.”

You grimaced when you left the tower, heading for the upper atmosphere. You could see the collection of rebel ships, above the destroyed shield gate. Admiral Raddus, Bail Organa, your commander. They were all here—they’d all responded and helped.

You didn’t say a word as you entered space, letting the darkness encase you. You ignored the stars; the stars weren’t the same without him here. They would never be.

You blocked out the frantic comm relays from your ears. Something about Vader himself, something about the plans still uploading—nothing about Cassian. You turned off your comms altogether; you would follow the rebels back to base when you saw them jump into hyperspace; but this time was for you and Cassian.

Picking up your communicator, you looked down at the planet beneath you. Somewhere, Cassian was still down there. Jyn was still down there.

“Cassian,” you tried again, hating the sound of the static after each word. “Cassian,” your voice wobbled, your tears started to fall again. “My love, I need you. You said, if I needed you, to call you. I’m calling you, Cassian. I need you,”

The air shifted when the Death Star fired on Scarif.

You watched in horror as the initial blast slowly erupted, crumbling the crust of the planet as if it were nothing but a piece of paper that had been stabbed by a sharp lead pencil.

“Do you see it, meu korazon?” Cassian’s voice croaked over the comm. You almost vomited up your heart. “The colour of the sky. It’s red, but still soft. It reminds me of you,”

You bit away the want to scream.

“Describe it to me,”

“The skies used to look like this when I was a boy—on Kenari. They were so soft, so red, casting a glow over our forests and reflecting off the waxy leaves that we used to build our homes,” his voice was beautiful. You memorised every syllable and note and croak that he could muster. “My sister would clap at the sunset, every night. It happened so fast. One minute, the sky was still blue, the next a pale pink, and then—you,”

“Me?” you sniffed through your tears. You couldn’t see properly.

“You. That shade of maroon, the deep kind. The kind that warms you. The kind that I see whenever I close my eyes. You,”

The explosion was spreading fast, forcing the water from the vast ocean of the planet in all directions.

“Where are you, my love?” you asked. You wished you hadn’t.

“On the beach, meu korazon. It’s beautiful. I’m with Jyn,”

“Good,” your voice shook.

The first of the rebel ships flew into hyperspace around you. Time was up.

“Cassian,” you wobbled. “I love you,”

“I know,” he said, huffing slightly. “I’ve loved you since you dropped that data pad and scrambled on the floor to pick up the buttons,”

“Meu korazon,” you stuttered out.

“Meu koraz—,” the communicator went dead.

All you could hear was static, the ugly kind, the kind that made you want to vomit up your heart and use it to drive the ship home.

“Cassian?” you shut your eyes, feeling every muscle in your body give up. The air was ripped from your lungs. “Cassian!” you let out a scream so shrill it could’ve curdled cream.

Below you, the last of the planet was being destroyed. The crust crumbled like breadcrumbs, scattering out into the stars, while the core lay slowly dying. The light of a dying planet—it was maroon.

Just like him.

Admiral Raddus’ ship blasted into hyperspace quickly, so you had no choice but to follow. There were only a few ships left now, including the looming Star Destroyer on the horizon that you knew wasn’t the ally.

You blinked away your tears, punching your ship into hyperspace as you collapsed onto the console. You wept, you cried so badly that your throat went red raw. The communicator was flush in your palm, cutting off the blood circulation and turning your knuckles white all the while.

You could no longer dream.

When you returned to base, you didn’t speak for four days. You went back to work, helping Mon Mothma with a statement and planning the first stages of the attack on the Death Star. Despite doing it without words, Mon Mothma still chose to rank you up.

Captain. You were a Captain now, just like he was.

“Congratulations, Captain,” your commander approached you in the comms room. You were alone, but you preferred it that way. He was staying on Yavin 4 until rebels were needed at Crait once again.

He saluted you, and you silently laughed, allowing yourself a small smile.

“How does it feel, hm?” he sat next to you, smiling at you sullenly.

You said nothing, still not comfortable with the sound of your voice after you listened to it for so long—screaming, wailing—a few days prior. It made you feel sick.

When you didn’t reply, your commander shuffled to find something in his pocket. “I thought I’d bring these for you. He was always leaving his stuff around, you know? His dorm was next to mine, and it was gross,”

Gently, he dangled Cassian’s dog tags before you. He never wore them, there was no point when he was always on recon missions. It would be a dead giveaway. You sucked in a deep breath as he slowly lowered them into your palms. They were cold, freezing cold, like they’d been left in the snow for days. You instinctually warmed them with your fingers. Turning them over, you read his name.

Captain Cassian Andor.

You were speechless, and not just because you’d decided not to talk for days on end. There were no words that would be thanks enough for what your commander had just given you. You had nothing of Cassian’s, nothing to remember him by, until now.

Gently, you skimmed your fingers over the metal over and over again, furrowing your brows when the tears started to well behind your eyes.

You looked up at your commander. “Thank you,” it burst from your lips, a coarse whisper, but words, nonetheless. He smiled.

“There she is. I was starting to miss her,” he said fondly.

He left you to have some time, smiling as he exited the communication bay. You exhaled shakily as you finally put them around your neck. They were cold when you shoved them beneath your shirt, resting them over your heart.

This was the Alliance. The Rebellion. And Cassian had fought valiantly for what he believed in. An excellent pilot, a stellar fighter, the man you loved and who loved you back. It seemed only fitting that he would return to the sky, where he came from.

Scattered amongst the stars forevermore.

Meu korazon.

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