The Scorching Sun
My desperate attempt to redeem the ending scene
Astarion is running away from the sunlight once the tadpole is gone, and Tav is nowhere to be seen.
Tags: hurt/comfort
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The excruciating pain pierces Astarion as his skin starts burning.
The sun's searing rays cause agony from which there is no respite. The tadpole's grip finally releases him. Still, as it does, it leaves behind a gaping void, one filled with a mind that races with panic and anxiety, amplifying the horrors that lie ahead.
Astarion is scared. He has never felt so frightened in his life. Not when he awoke in his coffin two centuries ago, dying of hunger and pain. Not when Cazador put him through horrors and torments. Not when he was sealed in the tomb for an entire year. Not when he thought Tav was dying.
Because now he is burning alive.
Astarion desperately looks at his companions seeking support, but instead, he sees disgust on their faces as if without tadpoles they suddenly realize Astarion is a vampire.
He hears a chuckle, probably from Gale, that "Now our friend has to return to shadows" and another voice, "Seems like we won't see him again soon."
Once trusted friends now cruelly mock him, their laughter an eerie cacophony that reverberates in the depths of Astarion's consciousness. Each word stabs his undead heart.
You are nowhere to be seen. You are absent when he needs you the most.
Astarion runs toward the huge crates at the pier, which cast a comforting shadow. Astarion stumbles – he can't see anything; the sun has burnt his eyes. By touch, he finally gets to the shadows, curls up in the corner, and presses his legs to the chest.
Eyesight finally recovers. Astarion hears distant voices – someone laughs, someone cheers. He is jealous. Why can't he be there, with them, in the sunlight? Didn't he suffer too much? Didn't he fight the Brain with the rest? Why, why?
Tears stream down his cheeks. Tears of pain, tears of desperation, resentment, injustice.
Betrayal.
As the sun slowly rises, a merciful shadow retreats, and a harsh ray of light burns Astarion's right leg. The once-safe haven has become dangerous, and despair compels Astarion to seek refuge in the nearest house. The sun continues to scorch him, subjecting him to wave after wave of searing pain.
However, an invisible barrier obstructs his path, granting entry only upon invitation, offering no respite for the vampire. Astarion is left to writhe in the agony of the daylight.
He must go to the Inn. The vampire's invitation is forever, but the city lies in ruins, with only fleeting shadows left. Baldurians cheer, praising the gods for saving them from unimaginable horrors. Amidst the joy and light, Astarion feels like crying, for he knows he doesn't belong here. Life, light, and happiness are not for him; he remains a creature of the night, a monster. His foolish hope for anything else has faded away.
At last, he reaches the Inn. Astarion pushes the door open and collapses on his knees, palms pressed into the wooden floor. The pain clings to his body like acid sweat. The tavern is empty, and Astarion manages to stumble upstairs, each step feeling like an eternity. Even the cruelest tortures in Cazador's mansion did not leave him feeling so helpless and weak.
Finally, he crawls into the room he once shared with you and collapses onto the bed. The dark room envelops Astarion like a lover, providing a shred of safety. The echoes of his former companions' laughter still torment the vampire like cruel ghosts from the past.
In desperation, Astarion questions if he heard your voice. Were your promises of love empty words? Could you no longer want him, and the tadpole was the sole reason for your affection? These tormenting thoughts whirl in his mind, threatening to drown him as hunger and pain draw him closer to the abyss.
The hunger is insatiable, gut-wrenching. The tadpole had once dulled it like a medicine. Now, it is back, threatening to turn Astarion into a feral, mindless monster.
Astarion clenches his fingers, trying to grasp the reality: he is alive, his master is dead, and he is free. But it all means nothing.
Hours pass, and Astarion attempts to enter a trance to escape the agony, but his sunburnt body refuses to cooperate. He longs for respite, for a brief escape from reality, but the pain and dark thoughts overwhelm him.
Yes, he did hear your voice in that laughter, and he envisions an evil grin on your face. Perhaps you despise him and have moved on to someone else. Silent tears stream down his face, bearing witness to the profound betrayal he feels from those he once trusted and loved and to the unending nightmare of his existence.
Then, he hears footsteps. The door swings open.
"Astarion! I should have known you were heading here," you exclaim as you sit on the bed and take his hand.
Astarion looks at you in disbelief. Your face, your voice, your scent. You are back. He wants to grab you, to press his face against your collarbone. But he is so weak he can't move.
"Does it hurt?" you ask. Astarion nods, and you press your lips to his knuckles.
"I'm so sorry. I fainted when the tadpole was removed. When I woke up, they told me you had run away, and I've been trying to find you ever since. Hey, look at me," you gently caress his cheek. "I am here. I'm not going anywhere."
Astarion finally manages to look into your eyes. He sees the same love, care, kind smile, hope, and support he thought he had lost.
"I thought… I thought you were never coming back," he whispers.
"Well, if you had run even further, I would have lost you forever," you say.
The tears prickle his eyes once again. How could he have ever doubted you? What kind of person was he to assume that his lover would betray him?
"You didn't answer if it hurts."
"Like a hellplane," he replies.
"I am so sorry. I truly am."
Astarion finally manages to lift his hands and he presses you against his chest. You roll over and lie beside him, putting your head on his shoulder, and he wraps his right hand around you as you place your hand on his stomach.
There are so many things he wants to say to you but simply can't.
"What are we going to do next?" you ask.
He shrugs. "I don't know. What do you want?"
"Anything that doesn't involve staying in this city. We could settle somewhere…"
"It would be tediously boring," Astarion interjects.
"Agreed. We'll always have time for that. Maybe we should go to the Underdark to help other spawns."
He strokes your hair. "I'm not taking a living person to a den of seven thousand vampires, that's for sure."
Astarion presses you tighter, wanting to feel your heartbeat. Then, a realization washes over him: he is no longer in pain. His skin doesn't burn, and his muscles aren't being torn apart. Your presence alone alleviates his suffering. He kisses your forehead and responds with a smile.
"What do you think about getting away? Traveling with me and seeing the world?" you finally propose.
"Darling, I thought you'd never suggest it. I'm sick of this place."
"And we can find a cure for you. There are probably ways to allow you to walk in the sun or even reverse your vampirism. This world is full of cruel wonders, so why not give it a try?"
He nods and gazes at your face as if trying to memorize every little detail.
"I'm not going anywhere, Astarion," you smile. "Stop looking at me as if I'm going to disappear." You sit up and ask, "Can I kiss you?"
"Only if you promise me something," Astarion counters.
"What is it?"
"Stop asking for permission to touch or kiss me."
"You sure?" you hesitate.
"Yes. Stop treating me as if I'm made of glass. It's you. Your touches can never be unwelcome."
You giggle and kiss him. At that moment, you are the two happiest people in the world.
**
You both lay in each other's arms until sunset. When night falls, you leave the city walls and enter the wilderness. You continue forward, holding hands as if afraid to lose each other. Astarion's undead heart rejoices. He has everything a man needs.
Freedom.
A woman he loves, who loves him in return.
A future.
He would be a fool to exchange all this for false promises of power.
Suddenly, you stop, wrap your hands around his neck, and press your lips against his. Then, you proceed to kiss his cheeks, his forehead, and everything you can reach while standing on the ground.
He flinches for a second but then hugs you back and tightens his grip.
"Never ask for permission," he whispers into your ear. "You are always invited."
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Simple, Easy, Effortless
prompt: ( requested ) from across the dance floor, Felix locks eyes with you and is instantly smitten. is it love at first sight? lust? he's determined to know.
pairing: Felix Catton x female!reader
fandom masterlist: Saltburn
word count: 5.1k+
note: this man is a SLUT but i'm sluttier in theory
warnings: the ducklips in the gif, obviously cursing, sexual tension, "love at first sight", author def uses her own university roommate experiences for inspiration, Lord's name in vain, mention of illicit drug use.
REMEMBER: don't run from cops unless with Felix - or absolutely necessary - or you KNOW you can get away.
song featured in the movie and request: Murder on the Dance Floor
Humid. Sweaty. Pulsing. Overpopulated.
All good adjectives to describe your first university party with your roommate, Polly Schwartz. She had already been to loads of parties already, probably more than her actual classes, but being as you were a "scholarship kid", you took your education much more seriously than she did. Perhaps being why you spent your weekends studying, and she spent hers getting drunk, sleeping with randoms constantly, and partying nearly every weekend. You didn't think there was anything wrong with her habts, in fact, you encouraged her to go out most of the time; but after midterms, you were burnt the fuck out and Polly recommended you have a night out with her.
When she needed it, you helped Polly study, and now, it was time for her to return the favor in her own area of expertise. Tonight's party was hosted in an off-campus flat, making you worry about the authorities being phoned, but Polly assured you that nearly the entire complex was composed of Oxford students and there was barely a threat of this party being busted.
The moment you stepped into the humid, sweaty, pulsing, overpopulated flat, a drink was shoved into your hand by a barely-standing boy with a nose ring. He was decently attractive, but the belch he let out made you grimace and follow after Polly. He might've yelled something after your retreating form, but who could tell with the noise level?
"You need to loosen up, bitch! Jesus Christ, you're as stiff as a board, and trust me! No guy is gonna wanna approach you!" She laughed, missing your protest that you didn't care for male attention. "Wait," she gasped, "where'd you get that?"
"Uh, that lad over there," you pointed, blinking in mild shock when she snatched the drink from your hand and poured it out in a dying houseplant.
"I thought you were the brains of us," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Never accept a drink you didn't see being made! That's how you get drugged!"
"I'm not sure how this is supposed to work, Polly, for fuck's sake," you whined, hugging your arms as you gazed around nervously. "Maybe I should just go back to the dorms, this isn't really my scene - "
"Nope, you're staying," she shook her head, leading you by the hand to the kitchen. "Here - hang on, I'll get us something. Farleigh, my love!"
The handsome lad with a head full of fluffed coils turned with a small glare, but softened when he noted Polly's appearance. "There you are! I was wondering when you'd get here, darling!"
She giggled obnoxiously and you understood, this must've been the lad she was seeing on-and-off for the whole semester. "Well, I finally got this one out of the library, so we're a little late for a reason," she laughed, pointing her thumb back at you and making the boy eye you with judgement.
You gave a small wave, and he instantly offered his hand, introducing himself as, "Farleigh." After giving him your name, Polly was insisting you both needed a drink and Farleigh was nodding in agreement. "Here, drinks are this way - but it's self serve."
"Nobody made juice?" Polly pouted, the three of you approaching a decent-sized table that was full of bottles of liquor and mixers.
"Not this time," Farleigh laughed, and you let Polly make your drink because you were busy trying not to get run over by the other party goers.
"Christ Almighty, surely the floors will cave in with this many people?" You frowned when another drunk bumped into you and sloppily apologized.
"Only if we're lucky," Farleigh laughed. He directed at Polly, "Oh, remember Stephen's party? Donovan put a hole through the wall!"
Polly laughed as she handed you a fresh drink and all but ignored you in favor of this boy that was tapping a bit of suspicious powder onto his hand. Your eyes rolled and you turned away from them, slowly stalking around the room and taking in the scene - hating the way your ears felt as if they were bleeding from the terrible music selection.
But after you skulled your drink, you ran into a few classmates from your anthropology class. "Here, you can have this," Chelsea took the drink from Cara, "she's had way too much already."
You figured this exchange was safe enough after seeing Cara taking several gulps; not even noticing her hands were empty because she was dancing to the floor-shaking music in a daze.
"Who're you here with?" Pablo asked, bobbing his head to the beat. "We all came as a group, don't tell me you're alone!?"
"No, no, love, I came with Polly," you shrugged, feeling looser than when you first got there.
"Ew," Pablo rolled his eyes, the other girl snickering.
"Wait, what? What am I missing?" You asked with a small whine.
"Polly Harrington?" He asked, watching you nod. "Yeah, no, your li'l friend's the one who sucked off Professor Lorde."
"What?" You gaped.
"Why do you think she's here?" He gossiped. "Surely, not for her grades."
You just shook your head, "Maybe we shouldn't throw stones, it's rude to speak about others behind their backs."
"Doll face, it's not like it's a secret," Pablo laughed, nodding at your drink. "C'mon, bottoms up, buttercup, we've gotta get you dancing. You look way too cute to be a wallflower all night, c'mon, let's go! Chug! Chug!"
You gingerly took a gulp, but Pablo and Chelsea were encouraging you to just finish it off. When you did, they cheered with pride, laughing when you began giggling, "That's the worst taste! God!"
"Oh, sweetie, we don't drink for the taste, we drink to make us better dancers!" Chelsea beamed. "Want mine?"
"No, no - "
"Down it!"
You shrugged, inhibitions already significantly lowered, and with ease, finished your third drink. "I should get us more!" Pablo laughed.
"You do that, we're gonna dance!" Your friend waved him off, snatching your hand, and leading you to the dance floor. It was hard to distinguish where it was since there was wall-to-wall college kids stuffing the place, but you weaseled your way between people and let the alcohol take control. "Hey! By the way!" Chelsea spoke in your ear, "You look really hot! I adore this skirt!"
"Me? Babe, look at you! Can I borrow this dress?"
"Only if I can borrow those shoes!" She squealed.
You giggled and took her hand, spinning her around before joining together again. When Pablo rejoined, he handed you both a drink before jumping in front of you, throwing his reasonably fat arse back into your crotch - which forced you back onto your girlfriend in a dancing train. You three cheered through your laughter, smacking the lad's bottom playfully as he put his heart and soul into his dance; hands on his knees and hips bouncing.
However, Pablo only pulled away when Farleigh reappeared and stole him away to a darkening corner; only briefly making you wonder where he had left your roommate. You looked at Chelsea, who giggled in your ear, "They've been fucking recently. Pablo's whipped."
"I don't blame him," you mused. Cara had stumbled closer to you two, throwing her skinny arms around your neck and starting on a drunken ramble about how much she loved you - despite only sharing the one class together and knowing each other from a distance. Still, you appreciated the sentiment and let yourself feel loved; taking a sip from the plastic solo cup in hand and swinging your hips to the pulsing beat. In that moment, you just happened to look up, gasping, "There's a stripper pole!?"
"Go get on it!" Cara laughed. "Oh, wait, Felix is on it - oh, shit, Felix!"
"Who?" You asked.
"Felix, you know!? Felix Catton? Felix fucking Catton!" Cara blinked, then offered you an incredulous look and turned to Chelsea. "She doesn't know Felix?"
She waved Cara off, instead explaining to you, "He's that tall lad, in the white button up."
When you looked, Felix happened to glance over and your eyes connected. You were absolutely done for.
"Oh, yeah, she knows Felix now!" Cara giggled loudly. "Go! Go talk to him!" She encouraged, making your eyes bug widely.
"What?" You looked at the two girls, shaking your head, "No, no, I don't even know him!"
"Babes, 75% of the people you see paired up right now didn't know each other before this party!" Cara rolled her pretty eyes. "But hey, if you don't, India definitely will. Girl basically lives on his cock, it's decently pathetic - but just look at him! God took his time with Felix!"
"Oh, are they dating?" You asked innocently, looking back over to the tall boy in a white, linen button up. He grinned at you from the short distance.
"No," Chelsea laughed, seeing the way you two just stared and smiled softly. "Here, finish your drink and let the liquid courage do its job!"
"It's literally my first party," you laughed, "I'm not interested - "
"Oh, fuck off! Everyone's interested in Felix," Cara interrupted. "And I do mean, literally everyone."
"I can understand why," you mused, taking a long pull from your cup. "Cara, that lad, there, has been staring at you," you distracted, her swinging around instantly and thanking you before dancing over to the boy leaning on the wall.
He smirked when she reached him.
"She's a social butterfly," her roommate, Chelsea, giggled. "Do you need a refill?"
"Huh? Oh, no, I'm okay!"
"Okay, don't go too far - I'll be right back!" She grinned, knowing something you didn't, and disappearing into the thick crowd.
You swallowed another drink before you felt a hand on your waist, making you jump in surprise and turn. Before you towered the object of seemingly everyone's desires: Felix Catton.
"Haven't seen you around before," he spoke in your ear over the music.
"Oh, first timer," you nodded back.
"Doin' all right? Yeah? Havin' fun?"
You agreed, "Yeah, 'course. This your party?"
"No, no, uh," he glanced around the heads of students, "honestly, I'm not really sure who's flat this is."
"Oh, well, I guess as long as it's not damaged, it doesn't matter much, right?"
"Exactly," he smirked, offering his cup to yours. You clinked them together, both taking the obligatory sip, and swaying unconsciously to the music. "Who're you here with?"
"Polly - "
"Oh, Christ, yeah! Yeah, you're, uh, you're her roommate?"
You nodded, "You know her?"
"Who doesn't?"
"Oh," you frowned in discomfort, brows pinched.
"No, no, I just meant, she's popular, innit she? Not that - that she's sucked me off or anything like that!"
You laughed, "Wasn't thinking that, but good to know."
His cheeks flared a bright red, "That was a bit brash of me, wasn't it? Sorry, love, I should know better than to use such vocabulary with a pretty lady."
Your eyes rolled, "This 'pretty lady' has both heard and used much worse vernacular."
Felix slowly grinned, "You want a smoke?"
"Dying for one actually, yeah."
"This way, c'mon," he offered his free hand, and without thinking, you accepted and let the tall, slender lad lead you through the crowd. All of a sudden, you felt as if every eye was on you - watching, stalking, clocking you like predator does prey. You were directed to a balcony, a few lingering smokers standing around.
The moment the glass door slid shut, the music was semi-silenced and you breathed in slight relief. "Christ, 's always this loud?" You asked, leaning on the railing beside your companion while rubbing an ear to relieve the ringing sensation.
"Usually, yeah," he smirked, handing you a cigarette before placing one between his lips.
"You looked real natural on that pole," you teased, leaning in when he flicked a lighter to life.
"Oh, God," he laughed, watching you inhale. "Saw that, did you?"
You hummed, holding the smoke in your lungs, "Kinda hard t'miss. You were really into it."
He shrugged, lighting the end of his own nicotine filled stick. Upon exhale, he eased, "Was a really good song, wasn't it? Easy t'dance to, you know?"
"Hm," you nodded, "actually, I wouldn't know - I don't know half these songs."
"You livin' under a rock, love?"
"No, just with my nose in a book."
"Smart girl, are yah?"
"I would hope so, considering my scholarship."
"Even more impressive," he grinned. "You know Oliver, then? Oliver Quick? He's on scholarship, too."
"No, not quite, us scholarship kids don't all know one another," you shot back with a smirk.
"Fair enough," he agreed, eyeing you up and down. "So, why tonight?"
"Hmm?"
"Why come tonight?"
"Polly thought I could use a little stress relief," you answered, taking a long puff. "Not exactly the way I saw my night going, though."
"How's that?"
"Look at you!" You laughed. "Of all the ladies here, you danced your way over to me? Now you're having a conversation instead of working that pole?"
"I like to think that I just had to introduce myself to the prettiest lass in the whole joint," he flirted.
"And yet," you inhaled, "you've haven't made introductions."
"No? I haven't?" He smirked, watching your head shake. "Apologies, love. I'm Felix, uh, Felix Catton," he offered his hand, and when you shook it, you told him your own full name. "Now that that's outta the way," he took his own inhale, "how's about we go dance?"
"Oh, I might need to finish this drink before all that," you lifted your cup to your lips.
"Nah, I saw you earlier," he chuckled, stomping his cigarette out under his boot. "C'mon, love, not letting you get outta here without at least one dance."
"Surely, India would be a better option?"
He scoffed, "Oh? And how would you know that?"
"Chelsea and Cara might've made mention earlier. I wouldn't want to steal someone's man - girl code, and that shit."
For whatever reason, this made Felix snicker, "No, no, you've got it wrong, India and I are just friends."
"That's what guys say when they're sleeping with their 'friend'."
"Either way, she's not my girl," he smirked. "C'mon, love, one dance. If you're not convinced after that, I'll let yah go - no fuss."
"Oh, well, that doesn't sound remotely creepy," you laughed, dropping your own cigarette and stomping it out. "All right, yeah, one dance."
"Just one."
"A single dance."
"No more, but no less," he smirked, lacing your fingers together when you laid your hand in his. "Deal?"
You nodded, feeling absolutely giddy by his attention. When you reentered the party, it was almost as if it had grown in population, and suddenly, you wanted to be back on the balcony just to breathe. But Felix had a secure hold on you, and after downing the last of your drink, you set the cup on a random end table you passed before taking position on the "dance floor".
What you absolutely did not anticipate was that Felix wasn't the best dancer, but holy shit, did he not care; letting go and having fun. You let the alcohol in your system propel you, and soon, one dance turned into two, and two turned to three. It was like nobody else was there, it was just you and Felix; dancing like fools, letting your hair down, and you actually found yourself enjoying the music that vibrated the entire flat.
The song that played wasn't one you recognized, but the lyrics felt strangely appropriate for your current situation. Though there was no groove to be killed, no moves to steal, and no murdering on this dance floor, there was a whole lotta tension that fueled your movements together.
"Oh, oh, here we go, c'mon!" He laughed, tugging your hand after him to approach the stripper pole the flat's owner had installed. "Go on, love, show me how it's done!"
"Oh, fuck no!" You barked in laughter. "You're the master, let me take notes."
"I'll warn you, once you see my moves up close," he planted a hand on the pole and swung around it once, "you won't be able to resist!"
You waved him on, eyes widening when he danced around the pole as if nobody was watching, but in reality, he had an entire audience. Not that you noticed, you were solely focused on the boy putting on a show for you; both wearing goofy grins. When he got REALLY into it, you had to admit your stomach knotted in attraction when his lips pushed into a slutty pout. Never had you wanted to kiss someone so bad in your life before, but it increased ten fold when he swung around and grabbed onto your waist; effortlessly pushing you onto the pole as he released it.
"C'mon, then!" He beamed, watching you stand for a single awkward moment before figuring, why the hell not?
So, you swung yourself around before shocking Felix to his bloody core by holding the pole and grinding down it - giving a teasing peek at your panties when your legs spread slightly to accommodate your dance moves. His jaw slackened, eyes raked up and down your form, lips pulling in a smirk the longer he watched you go. Your hair flung around, hips gyrated in movements that made his pants tighten, and when he couldn't stand it any longer, he caught you in another swing.
Hips against yours, arms around one another, he danced you back onto the crowded floor; a hand raising to caress the side of your face as if he was mesmerized by all you were, all you are.
It was so simple to lose yourself in his dancing, in his scent, in his aurora. It was so easy to move against him. It was so simple to exist with Felix fucking Catton.
He was intoxicating, making you feel more drunk on him than the alcohol you had ingested. And while the moment felt serious, once you were surrounded by peers again, you melted into a sense of silliness. Any care you had, any worry - it all melted away, it evaporated, got swept under the rug because Felix commandeered your entire attention.
From the side of the room, Cara and Chelsea squealed in excitement for you, high-fiving when they noted India's jealous glare. Farleigh and Pablo even snickered, wondering how long it would take for Felix's charm to get you into bed; a bet being placed between the two lads before taking another bump of cocaine that distracted them for the rest of the time.
On the dance floor, your laughter was genuine and a little loud when he swung you around before dying in your throat when he pulled you in close. Again, the party melted away and it was just you and Felix; his hands on your hips, head bowed to corral you close, his warm brown eyes intense as they flitted between your eyes and lips.
You knew what he wanted, but didn't want to give into temptation yet. Keeping an air of mystery, you smiled coyly and pushed back slightly - but he was yanking you right back in.
When a friend of his came around with a tray full of shots, his arm coiled around your waist tightly to keep you anchored as he accepted the Jell-O concoction. You still buzzed from your earlier drinks and nicotine, bobbing and humming to the song playing, Felix instantly moving with you.
And just like you worried earlier, from deep in the party, someone shouted, "IT'S THE FUZZ! GO! SCATTER!"
"Oh, shit! Oh, my God!" You gasped in worry, the music cutting and students rushing for the exit.
"C'mere, c'mere, 's all right," Felix rushed, pulling you back into a wall to let the stampede rush around you as he planted you in front of him. Your hands held his waist, watching those around you run away, and when you looked up, Felix was already staring at you.
The moment your eyes met, you both snickered in amusement before bursting into full-on laughter. "Oh, Jesus Christ!" You mused, leaning your forehead to his pectoral. "I knew it - of course my first party is busted, hey?"
"Just makes it all the more memorable, yeah?"
"You were doing a pretty good job on your own with that," you met his gaze again - feeling coy and playful.
"Yeah?" He grinned. "Well, I try."
"I think you succeed."
He opened his mouth to respond, caressing your cheek, but someone else shouted, "GO, GO, GO! Felix, c'mon, mate! The fuck you doin'! We gotta go! I can't get another citation!"
"Let's go," he told you instead, lacing your hands together again and joining the last of the stream filtering out of the flat.
"Where're we - "
"This way, trust me," he dodged down a separate hallway, a few others following his lead. Down a flight of stairs, turning down another hall, and you two were bursting into the chilly night air.
The lights of the copper's cars flashed from around the building and you realized you were at the back. Others were rushing from the door, scattering into the night, but Felix just leaned on the brownstone and waited, checking your surroundings.
"What now?" You worried, panting lightly from the rush of adrenaline.
"We go that way," he nodded, "walk slow and calm, we don't know shit about a party. We're just walking back to campus, yeah?"
"Oh, like that'll work," you snickered, but again, laced your hands together. "On your lead, my lord," you joked.
"That make you my lady?"
"Hm, nah," you refused with a smirk, "I don't do well with sharing and you seem to be well liked, aren't yah?"
He hummed, letting go of your hand to toss his arm around your neck, still subtly checking around you for any police officers. Your arm latched around his waist, reaching up to hold the hand dangling from your shoulders. "I might be well liked, but for you, I'd drop everyone," he flirted easily - as if second nature, as if he didn't even have to think about the words that oozed out of that slick mouth.
"Oh, how flattering."
"I would hope so," he breathed, leading you out of the back garden. "Swear, love, never been so caught-up before. Just saw you and had t'come talk - had t'know who you are. I mean, just look at'cha, sweetheart, can you really blame me?"
"That line usually works, does it?"
"More often than not," he laughed, you joining in as you slipped from the back gate.
"HEY! YOU TWO! STOP RIGHT THERE! STOP!"
"Oh, shit," Felix gasped, snatching your hand in an instant as two officers started to clumsily rush towards you two.
"What do we - "
"Run!" He laughed, yanking you after him.
"Felix!"
"HEY! STOP! STOP! COME BACK HERE!"
You couldn't stop laughing as you both sprinted down the street and around an alley, taking three more turns before coming to a panting halt; pausing to listen.
"Hear 'em?" He whispered, keeping you on the inside so he could peer down the alley you had escaped down.
"No...?"
"I don't either," he nodded, glancing down at you and chuckling. "You're fast, you on the track team?"
"Oh, please, you should be fast when running from the law, shouldn't you?"
"Knew I liked you," he barked in humor. "C'mon, love, 's a nice night, innit it?"
"Nice night for what? Breaking laws?"
"Well, yeah, but I meant for a walk," he mused, walking backwards, snagging both your hands in his to pull you off the wall you were hiding behind. "It's a bit of a hike back to campus, might as well make the most of it," he smiled, turning to keep pace beside you with his arm around your waist. "Not every night I get t'walk in the moonlight with a beautiful lass."
You pulled his arm up to your shoulders again, holding his waist comfortably, and being as you weren't familiar with the area, trusting him to lead you back. After a beat, you admitted in a sigh, "You know, tonight wasn't what I expected and yet, it's exactly what I thought."
"Was it better or worse than you could've planned?"
You laughed, "Well, running from the cops wasn't on my bingo card."
"How's it feel? 'T be such a bad girl?"
"You tell me."
Felix laughed, "Ah, love, not my first time, but it's just as exhilarating."
"Jesus," you rolled your eyes in humor. "Not exactly what I wanted to hear, you having other run-ins with officers."
"Oh, you like it!"
"I might," you agreed, stepping onto the sidewalk of a main street. "Oh, shit, oh, my God!" You halted, looking nervous and frantic. "I left Polly! Fuck!"
"Nah, nah, nah, don't worry, love, I saw her leave earlier while we were dancing."
"Huh?"
"Yeah, she left with Johnny."
"Who the fuck is Johnny?"
He grinned, "Yeah, that's it, you're hanging with me from now on. We'll get you aquatinted with your classmates, yeah?"
"Maybe I have no want nor need to know people," you spoke softly. "I'm here for an education, not t’socialize."
"Doesn't hurt though, does it?"
"After tonight? I don't know if you can make that case."
"You seriously telling me you didn't have fun? Oh, sweetheart, that hurts. I'm hurt, honestly," he pouted dramatically, free hand to his heart; glittering gold ring winking at you under the street lamps.
"What's that?" You asked, alcohol making you easily distracted. He glanced at his hand and held it out for you, showing his ring. "What's the design? It's real pretty - didn't think I'd see it on a guy."
He chuckled, "Ah, it's a signet - my family's signet, actually."
"Jesus, I knew it," you groaned. "No way you were just a regular somebody! A bloody signet? What? Related t'the Queen, are yah?"
"No, not exactly," he snorted. "But my father is knighted..."
"Holy shit," you blinked. "What's that like?"
He looked down at you, brows slowly furrowing, "You really wanna know? Most people just, I don't know, kinda assume I'm rich and that's all there is to my life."
You felt a single pang of empathy, smiling up at him, "I really wanna know, Felix. C'mon, what's your family do? Both parents still alive? They still married? Where's home?"
For the entire walk back to campus, you and Felix talked as if old friends. Sure, you were getting to know each other, but it felt as if you'd known one another for ages by how easy it was to talk to him. And he seemed enthralled by your questions; wondering about his life, not just the pretty face he bore. Not just the money to his name. You seemed genuinely curious as to who "Felix Catton" was... Something he hadn't known his entire time at Oxford.
When you got back to your dorm, you felt sad by the idea of parting ways, something that genuinely shocked you. Yet the obscene sounds from behind the thin, wooden door alerted you to Polly and her guest, making you pause and sigh. "Well, that's awkward," you mused, leaning on the opposite wall. "Uh, thanks for walking me back, but I'm just gonna crash in the common room."
"Oh, bollocks to that, love," he shook his head, offering his hand again. "C'mon, you can crash with me."
"Hm, sounds sketchy."
"Oh? How's that?" He laughed.
"We just met!"
"C'mon, sweetheart, it's just a bed t'sleep in. Promise, nothing's gonna happen - even if you beg."
"Oh, what a gentleman," you laughed, much to his amusement. "All right, yeah... If I can borrow something to sleep in? Not entirely comfortable sleepin' in this..."
"I've gotcha," he nodded, leading you from your dorm and to his. Which, to your surprise, was the housing beside your own.
"Oh, Felix, NO!" You gaped when you entered his room. "Oh, darling, no, no, no, what's this?"
"It's not that bad - "
"No, I'm talking that!" You laughed, not phased by the mess, pointing to the Manchester football flag. "Don't tell me - "
"Nah, hey, don't do that, 's my father's team," he chuckled. "It reminds me to watch, gives us something t'talk about..."
You cooed, "Well, that's actually sweet of you. I guess I can let it slide."
"Oh, you're a saint."
He tossed you clean boxers and a tee shirt, letting you change in the adjoining restroom as he quickly changed in the bedroom. When you joined him again, you both got comfortable on the bed, but sleep evaded you... Leading into a long night of chatter, jokes, and establishing friendship that would eventually turn romantic.
But for that night, it was simple. It was easy. It was effortless.
You both crashed around 4 am, and when you woke the following afternoon, your head was on his chest, his arm tight around your waist, and there wasn't a single concern in your heart or head.
"Jesus, fuck," Felix groaned when he woke, tightening his arm to constrict you against his warm body on the teeny, tiny dorm bed. "Ah, Christ, remind me not t'drink again, yeah, love?"
"You and me, both," you grumbled, nestling closer.
He sighed, "Yah hungry?"
"A bit."
"Wanna go t'yours, change, get something t'eat?" He offered, rubbing your waist. "C'mon, my treat."
You lifted your head to check his bedside clock, grunting as you laid back down, "It's past noon."
"So? Stomachs don't open or close."
You let your chin prop on his chest, smiling, "Food sounds nice."
He nodded, eyes once more dancing between yours. "Know, you look real good in my clothes. Might have t'let you keep it."
"Much appreciated, pretty boy. C'mon, food helps with the hangover, doesn't it?"
"Very much," he nodded, reaching for his cigarettes. "Hmm?" He offered.
"Mhm," you accepted, both settling on your backs, but he pulled you in close to light your stick. "You always like this?" You whispered, smoking swirling in the air above you.
"What's that?"
"Charismatic?"
"Ah, if I could turn it off... Well, bein' honest, I wouldn't."
"Oh, shove off," you both laughed lightly at your words, looking up at him. He seemed ethereal in the morning light, and then - it happened. He set his cigarette to an ashtray to free his hand, caressing your cheek and making you go still.
"Would you think less of me if I kiss you?"
"I'd think less if you didn't, I think..."
He smirked and curled over, lips finding yours in a searing, breathtaking kiss that tasted like the previous night's alcohol. Yet he still tasted so pleasantly spicy and unique, making you inhale sharply and hold onto the back of his neck to keep him close. He hummed lightly, tongues swirling like the smoke that still hung in the air, and when he pulled back, again, you both just laughed lightly before he was swooping in for another kiss.
It was like I said... Simple, easy, effortless.
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Terror
Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost
A/N: By popular demand! This turned awful in my brain very quickly. I know instantly that this won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, so please read the tags before jumping into this. Not everything is fun and games for hubby.
Summary: Javier doesn’t think that he has nightmares about Colombia anymore until he suddenly does. The difference is that he also has you and the family that you have given him.
Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no y/n)
Tags: +18, graphic description of gun violence, some gore, PTSD night terrors, major character death (but not really), panic attacks, domestic, cuddles, hurt/comfort, family time, love confessions, pregnant reader dies in this dream
Word count: 2.6k
Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54592621
Terror
Javier searches and searches to no avail. He walks with frantic determination between burning cars and bullet shells, occasionally hitting the latter with the tips of his shoes so they go cascading down the asphalt with a clinking sound. He doesn’t trip on them though, as his steps are sure, moving around the chaotic scene of the aftermath of an ambush by grabbing at whatever he can to push himself forward.
He knows where he is but he doesn’t remember getting here, and he has no clue if he was involved in the shooting that has evidently occurred here. However, when he looks down at himself, he finds no bullet wounds and no tactical gear either. So why does he think that you are here? He yelps as he accidentally grabs the hood of a car that seems to have been burning for a while, the metal so hot that it scorches his skin. The heat radiating from the vehicle makes his body prickle with sweat, his shirt clinging uncomfortably to his skin that is riddled with damp sweat from anxiety. He clutches his burnt hand and continues down the never-ending street.
Where are you? Where are they? He searches through several empty cars, nearly ripping the doors off of their hinges to get to you quicker. Perhaps you know where they are but he doesn’t even know where you are.
When he gets to what feels like the hundredth car, finally reaching the end of the road that somehow resembles a labyrinth despite only moving forward, panic has started to rise in his throat. He calls for you but you don’t answer, and then he calls for Lucas in case he has managed to hide himself and his sibling somewhere.
“Lucas! It’s alright, it’s just me!” He yells out but it’s just the echo of his own voice that answers him, “You can come out now, it’s over, te prome— (I promi—).”
Javier has turned the corner. It is the sight of Horatio Carrillo’s face that makes him realize that this isn’t real. Carrillo is dead, and he has been for nearly twenty years. Javier will never forgive himself for not having been there. He should have been there with everyone. It should have been him; he had had nothing waiting for him back in Laredo.
In front of him, a row of children and teenagers are kneeling but he doesn’t recognize any of their faces. He has seen this scene before. He remembers doing nothing back then, and the thought is enough to make his gut twist with guilt and nausea even if nothing could have been done to change Carrillo’s attitude towards the kids. He hears a gunshot and a young child falls to the ground, head split open from the way the bullet has torn through soft, young flesh. He flinches in a way that he didn’t back then, in a way that only a man who is a father can.
Carrillo’s blank and indifferent stare terrifies him to the point where he wishes that he could wake up. It is clear that this is a nightmare, so why hasn’t he woken up yet? Aren’t you supposed to wake up when you have figured it all out? He tries pinching his arm but nothing happens, and the claustrophobia of being stuck in his own head makes his chest constrict and his heart, too big for his rib cage by now, hammer with the speed of a hummingbird’s wings.
The stare he is watching is not one of being rid of emotion but rather the look that washes over a face when the person it belongs to is dead. His old colleague is standing in front of him in a zombie-like state and Javier cannot shake the feeling that Carrillo looks less like a person and more like a thing.
“Carrillo,” he says sternly. On the ground, the blood oozes towards his feet and he shifts to avoid it soaking through his shoes.
His colleague turns to him but doesn’t say anything. He still has the weapon in his hand, arm stretched out, and pointing the gun at the row of innocent children. Javier speaks quietly despite his anxiety, “C’mon, they’re just kids. Look at them; they’re just ki—“
He turns to look at the kneeling figures but the faces aren’t unknown to him anymore. His blood runs cold at the sight of his eldest son who has his arms stretched out to hold Inés close to his body, effectively shielding her from any shot that may be coming at her at any moment.
“Lucas,” he croaks, “¿Dónde está tu madre (Where is your mother)?”
“I don’t know, Dad,” his son replies, “I’m scared.”
“I know, don’t worry, I— I’m gonna take care of it,” he replies with a dizzying heartbeat followed by the urge to throw up.
It’s then that you appear too. His heart skips a beat as you materialize right behind your kids, pregnant with his child and vulnerable as tears stream down your cheeks. Your arms are in front of you, wrapped around your children as you try to protect them while whimpering in a way that makes Javier more than desperate. He tries to sound more assertive than anxious but listening to his own voice, he doesn’t feel very successful. He turns back to Carrillo who hasn’t moved the firearm even an inch, “For fuck’s sake, get that gun away from my family!”
“Están trabajando para Escobar, Peña. Si quieres justicia, entonces esta es la única manera (They are working for Escobar, Peña. If you want justice, this is the only way),” is the only reply he gets. Carrillo spits at the ground.
Javier takes a step forward but suddenly, a shot is fired at his feet and he is forced to jump back with his hands in the air. His eyes are pleading, his voice wavering, “Jesus Christ, Carrillo, they’re not working for him. Put the damn gun down! They’re mine. They are my kids. You’re pointing a gun at my wife!”
Lucas shifts on his spot on the ground. His knees can barely hold himself up anymore, gravel gnawing at his kneecaps but Javier holds out a hand to stop him, “Don’t move, mijo (my son). I know you’re scared but—“
But Lucas’ eyes are wet with terrified tears. He panics, throws himself to the side to crawl away and the ghost of Javier’s previous colleague seems to come to the conclusion that it is too risky to attempt a shot in the boy’s direction in case he misses, so instead—
Javier flinches at the loud sound of the gun going off. You lie on the ground in the next moment. He lets out a cry of anguish, crawling across the gravel road to get to you until his hands are scraped and his knees are dirty. The love of his life and his unborn child.
“No,” he yells as tears spring from his eyes. He clutches at you whilst you breathe rapidly and try to hold onto him as well but your grip is slowly loosening on him with every beat of your heart. He can see the way your pulse slows in how your clothes soak slower and slower, knows where it is going. You try to say something but he cannot understand it, your voice having been replaced by gurgles of blood, “No don’t try to talk, baby. Shit, I— look, it’s not even that bad. Shh, it’s okay, baby. It’s not even that bad, it’s fine, you’re gonna be fine, mi vida (my life). You and the baby. I promise.”
The same blank stare as the one that Carrillo sports washes over your face. He says your name over and over, “Mi amor (my love), no, no, look at me. No, no, no no no.”
Inés has started screaming in panic. She’s crying for you in the most heart-wrenching manner, terrified when you don’t react to her words like you always do. Her pitch climbs with each passing second but Javier has no strength to soothe his daughter because he yells your name until it feels like he cannot breathe.
Lucas yells for his mother in the background. The agony of hearing his children cry mixed with hearing you say nothing is too much for him. He panics, shakes you violently—
He jolts awake in the next moment to the sound of your voice. Fear still has him in its grip and leaves him disoriented, ready to fight whatever comes his way. He hyperventilates until he feels lightheaded and tries to figure out where he is, beads of cold sweat having collected on his forehead during his restless sleep.
“Javi,” you say with a hand on his shoulder and he whips his head around to face you. A moment ago, your eyes had been glazed over by death.
Immediately, he grabs your wrist in an iron grip. You place your other hand on top of his, speaking softly, “Javier. Let go.”
“Are you alright?” He chokes out and grips you harder, eyes wild in the dimly lit bedroom. He wants to run a million miles, “Are you alright?”
“I am okay, baby. We’re both safe,” you reassure him with a hand on your pregnant belly. Tears start to roll down his cheeks. He is unable to shake the image of you lying dead on the ground, “Shh…”
“Are you sure?” He whimpers, eyes flickering from your face to your stomach and back to your face again.
“Yes. It was just a bad dream. It was just a nightmare,” your voice is still ever so gentle and nowhere near the way it had been in his state of terror. He releases the clutch on your arm and you carefully run a hand over his forehead, “Breathe. Hold my hand. Tell me you love me.”
You offer your free hand to him and he carefully takes it, trying to convince himself that you won’t slip away from him in the dark bedroom. You squeeze his hand slightly. It’s a silly thing you came up with years ago.
“I love you,” he says quietly, already feeling a little better but when you say it back ever so gently, he finds himself bursting into tears. He cries and it is the kind that comes from the very bottom of one’s lungs; frantic and breathy sobs that sound almost painful.
He thought that the nightmares had stopped. They had been bad when he first met you, and he connected it to his decreasing alcohol consumption because back in Colombia, he was sometimes too boozed up to even dream. However, meeting you - marrying you - had been a glimpse into a future where he could get better because you were together. So why does his brain still do this once in a while?
“Pensé que te había perdido para siempre (I thought I had lost you forever),” he sobs when you engulf him in your arms. He rests his head against your soft chest, grabbing onto whatever he can of you to make sure you are real. It’s only times like these when his strong, broad hands feel unsure on your skin.
“Oh, baby. I’m right here,” you rock him carefully in a way that a mother does, “I’m not going anywhere, te prometo (I promise you).”
“No puedo vivir sin ti (I can’t live without you),” he continues. You reassure him that he won’t have to, that by then, someone will have discovered eternal life or made all of you into kind-hearted robots. Despite the chuckle he lets out, you also let him cry for as long as he needs to.
It takes you a while to calm him down again, resting your chin on top of his head as he lets himself fall into you instead of going out of his mind. He mumbles, “Where are the kids? Where’s Inés?”
“They’re in bed,” you promise him, arms cradling him and rubbing his back until his breathing starts to slow again, “They’re okay. They’re just asleep.”
Except they are not asleep. Your hand stops moving on his back, and he looks up at you to find your eyes on the door.
“Inés. Lucas. Stop standing at the door,” you say gently.
“Sorry,” they say in unison.
Relief floods Javier’s system at the sound of his children’s voices. His chest expands as he breathes in deeply for what feels like the first time since he woke up. He watches their little faces, hears the click of the lamp on your nightstand as you turn on the light.
“Is Daddy okay?” Inés asks carefully. Her eyes tell Javier that he has noticed the tears on her father’s face.
“We heard you yelling,” Lucas elaborates to his father, “Inés didn’t want to go in here alone. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize, sweetie,” your voice is sweet and calm. It is in these moments that he loves you the most; when you prove to be the anchor in any storm, knows that the only times he might actually get a good night's rest is when you are right here beside him.
“Come here, mis amores (my loves),” he scoots a little away from you to open his arms. His children look uncertain for a moment but then Inés rushes forward to climb into bed and into his embrace. Lucas follows a moment after, the both of them earning a kiss on top of their heads.
Inés’ eyes are wide as she stares up at him, “Papá, you scared me.”
“I had a bad dream,” he explains to both of them and attempts to smile, pulling them closer to his chest. They make faces as they are squished but he doesn’t let go, “but I’m okay now. I’m sorry for waking you.”
“Then why are you crying?” Lucas gets out of the embrace to study his face, shocked to see the tears running down until they drip down from his chin.
“Daddy! You are crying!” Inés parrots her older brother as she notices too. She kneels in front of her father and tilts her head.
“I am?” He asks, pretending not to know. Inés’ tiny hand reaches to wipe a few tears away without much success and his heart clenches in his chest with how lucky he feels to have such a beautiful family.
“It’s okay to cry,” Lucas explains softly, “That’s what Mom says.”
“Alright, let’s give your father some space,” you lock eyes with your husband, cup his cheek for a moment before brushing away the last traces of tears from his face with the back of your hand. He smiles at you and it is completely genuine for the first time.
“I don’t want to sleep,” Inés protests loudly.
“What if you both sleep in here for the rest of the night?” You bargain whilst still smiling at Javier, however a little more goofily now, “Just for tonight.”
Lucas is already crawling under the covers to cuddle up next to you, and Inés lays down next to her father. It takes a moment of quiet chatter and soothing caresses to make them both fall asleep again, their bodies exhausted from being awake in the middle of the early hours of the morning.
Javier can’t fall back asleep but from the way you breathe, he can tell that sleep hasn’t found you either.
Outside, the first light of dawn has begun to filter through the curtains. There’s a warmer glow in the room now, and he peeks at you from where he lies, looking like someone catching a glimpse of their crush.
"I love you," he whispers, his voice barely audible.
You turn your head to face him and smile tenderly, the morning glow illuminating you from behind. You are so beautiful, he thinks, beautiful and pregnant, and he is so lucky.
Your voice is filled with genuine happiness, warm and loving. You look down at your sleeping children, place a hand on your bump, and then look back up at him, "We love you too.”
.
.
.
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