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formulaforza · 7 months

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miss americana and the heartbreak prince

—07. Homegrown —word count: 15.8k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... I don't really have much to say lol... just that I love this chapter and it got a little out of hand. I hope you love it like I do!

Chris takes a personal day at work on the Thursday Charles gets into Georgia. She wants to make sure she’s the one picking him up from the airport, doesn’t want to spend a single second longer than she needs to without seeing him, hugging him, kissing him.

His flight lands at 10:15, but by the time he gets through customs, baggage, and calls Chris three times after getting lost in the Atlanta airport, it’s 11:30. She finally finds him outside the Maynard Terminal, backpack slung over his shoulders, suitcase next to him. He looks so perfectly like a boyfriend, she thinks. “I can see you,” she says. “Do you see my car?”

“No,” he laughs, and it pours from the car speakers like sweet honey. “I don’t.”

“Okay, well, stay put, then. I’m coming to you.” She manages to make her way across two lanes to be right on the curb, and then he spots her, his whole expression taking shape when their eyes lock. She rolls her window down as he approaches, and slots the car into park. “Oh my god,” she giggles. “Is that Charles Leclerc?”

He rolls his eyes. “Open the trunk?”

“Charles Leclerc wants me to open the trunk?” She says, pushing the button on her door-panel to pop the hatch open.

“Charles Leclerc wants you,” he says, hoisting his suitcase up into the back of the car, tossing his backpack there, too. “Could have stopped there,” he chuckles, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. She blushes, a cheek-aching smile still on her face. He slams the trunk shut and makes his way around the car, opening the passenger door. “Hi, pretty girl,” he properly greets her. “What’s this?” He asks.

Sitting there, on the passenger seat, is a bouquet of flowers. Red roses, white roses, and white carnations for passion, new romance, and luck. Filler greens and red estelles for encouragement. Manilla and sheer white tissue paper wrap the flowers, a dark red ribbon tied into a bow around the stems. Next to it, is a matching envelope with his name scribbled in purple pen. Inside the envelope is a white greeting card with “just because” printed in simple, black lettering, a handwritten note from Chris on the inside.

Chris smiles. “They’re for you.”

“For me?” He asks, the hint of a giggle in his tone. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Chris shrugs, watches him carefully pick up the flowers and the card and climb into the car where he further examines them. “It’s not a big deal,” she says, tucking her bangs behind her ears. “I had to go with Hannah to the florist this morning.”

“No, it’s so cool. Nobody has ever gotten me flowers before.”

Chris frowns. “Never?”

“I mean,” he shrugs, “my mum once, but that doesn’t count,” and then he starts to open the envelope, but Chris stops him.

“No, please,” she says, her hand covering his. “I can’t watch you read it, I’ll die.”

He laughs, “you’re so cute.”

Her face stays straight and solemn. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” he sets the flowers and the card down securely between his feet. “I’ll wait.”

“Thank you.”

Chris can feel the heat rushing to her cheeks. God, she feels like such a child. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m going to kiss you, now.”

“Okay,” she giggles. “You’re going to kiss me, now.”

His lips meet hers in a tender, lingering kiss. It’s like they hadn’t been apart at all, the way their mouths perfectly fit together. His hand finds her cheek, thumb moving carefully over her skin, letting her deepen the kiss. They let themselves just be for a few moments, to let everything else fade away and cling onto their perfect moment. “Seriously,” he says when they pull apart, and then he gives her another quick peck. “Thank you,” and then another on her forehead. “I missed you. How are you?”

“I’m good,” she nods. “Hungry. Very hungry. How are you?”

“Hungry, also.”

“How hungry?”

“Very.”

Chris nods, kisses him again, just because she can. Because she couldn’t for so many days. “I know a place, but it’s a surprise.”

It’s a twenty-three minute drive to Pig’n’Chik Barbeque in Northern Atlanta. Charles is visibly apprehensive of the little red building and the parking lot filled with the aroma of southern barbeque, but he keeps his commentary to himself. Chris knows it’s probably a little overkill, the hole-in-the wall joint being even a little too gimmicky for her taste, but that’s the whole point. The place is supposed to be gimmicky, while also being good. Chris used to love this place as a little kid—Bill would always take the kids there whenever they’d gone to the city. It was his favorite place then, and so it will always hold a place in her heart.

Charles holds open the door, a bell attached to it announcing their entrance, eliciting a greeting from the staff, a “Hey, guys! How’re you doing?”

“Good, thank you,” Chris smiles, moving through the restaurant towards the diner-style bar at the back. She holds her hand out behind her for Charles, turns to tell him: “You might not have been able to get a seat at your sushi bar, but I can get us up at the Pig’n’Chik bar,” she laughs.

Charles matches her laugh, a playful eye roll and the shake of his head before they’re sitting down on the red leather barstools.

She’s telling him before they even have the menus in front of them what they need to order; fried pickles to split, lemonade to drink because it’s not pig’n’chik without their lemonade. She’s going to order the shrimp and grits and he absolutely needs to have the catfish.

When he cocks his head at the idea of… eating… catfish… she tells him he’s not allowed to look it up, and that he also has to trust her. “It’s the best thing on the menu,” she says.

Charles quirks a brow. “Then why aren’t you eating it?”

“Because the hushpuppies will kill me,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Honestly, you probably shouldn’t eat them, either.” The grease that comes along with eating a deep-fried batter ball isn’t good for anyone’s system, especially not someone who isn’t used to this kind of food. The last thing she needs this weekend is a boyfriend who can’t be more than three feet from a bathroom.

It’s an hour and a half, at least, until they’re pulling into what Chris affectionately calls her “driveway.” Charles thinks that anyone else would more likely call it a dirt road. A trail, even, that turns into a driveway after the trees clear and you can actually see the house.

“This is all yours?” he asks, swears her yard is the size of his apartment lobby.

She nods. “I mean, it’s mostly trees, but, yeah.”

He’s taken on a tour of the old-style farmhouse, which, by the way, is so incredibly her you’d think the place was built for her—lots of beadboard, all this delicate woodworking that a FaceTime call has never been able to do justice. Thick glass windows with the frame painted over, no central heating or cooling, a couple window air conditioners and old radiators to boot. The most like her, though, is the back porch. It’s screened in, has a creek to the floor that the dusty, antique rugs can only attempt to muffle. There’s two couches that couldn’t match less, but still somehow go with each other, both cozy with throw pillows and cushions and warmth. The whole place smells like her, sounds like her, feels like her. He’s immediately comfortable.

Chris and Charles spend most of their afternoon trying to plan out their evening. Starting tomorrow morning, their weekend is on a strict schedule, so they want to make the most of their free time tonight before their dinner with her family. They want to make the most of it so badly that they can’t decide on anything at all, and end up falling asleep on her living room couch.

When Chris’ alarm goes off—the one she’d set the first time she caught herself dozing off, realizing Charles was already passed out next to her—they grumpily get ready to head over to her parents’ house. It’s then, while Charles navigates around Chris and the countertop of her makeup, that she tells him all about Thanksgiving, about her mom pointing out the hickey, and she offers up a warning. “They’re going to pretend they hate you for like, half an hour,” she tells him. “Pretend you’re intimidated.”

“And…” Charles begins, running gelled fingers through his hair. “What if they actually don’t like me?”

“My mom likes everyone,” she says, gestures away at his words. “And my Dad, well, you’ve already met him. He liked you good enough then.”

“He liked me enough to talk to me for ten minutes,” Charles counters. “That doesn’t mean he liked me enough to date his daughter.”

Chris smiles in the mirror, carefully applying her lipstick. “Lucky for you,” she says, “he doesn’t get a say.”

– – –

His leg bounces for the entirety of the ten-minute drive, so much so that at a stop light he can feel how much he shakes the car. Despite that, he doesn’t realize just how nervous he is until they’re in the driveway—which is just as long and trail-like as Chris’ is. Their house is bigger, though. Much bigger.

His palms are clammy, and he wipes them off on his jeans—should he have worn something nicer than jeans? Jeans are really all he brought besides clothes for the wedding, for sleeping, for working out in. Jeans are fine. Jeans are good. Their driveway is a dirt road, jeans are good.

“Relax,” Chris says, trying (and failing) to hold back a little chuckle. “It’s not that serious.” He rolls his eyes because it quite literally is that serious. You only get one chance to make a first impression on your girlfriend’s parents, and when your girlfriend is as close to their family as Chris is, it’s an impression you’d really rather not screw the fuck up. “And the longer we sit here, the longer they’re going to watch from the kitchen window.”

With a deep breath, he climbs out of the car, walks up the rest of the drive and onto the porch a pace behind Chris. She raises her hand to knock twice, turning the doorknob and letting herself in before anyone could even attempt to answer the knock. He steps in behind her, into a wallpapered entryway with a tall table full of keys and pictures and discarded mail on one side, and a wooden bench with tan throw pillows on the other side. “Mom! Dad! We’re here!” She shouts into the house.

A woman’s voice calls back, “in the kitchen! Dad’s upstairs in the office.”

Chris slips off her shoes and Charles follows suit, slotting them under the wooden bench next to hers. He hadn’t worn a coat, but she ducks into a hall closet to hang hers up. He’d worn a sweatshirt over a t-shirt, and he’s pretty sure he’d already sweat through the t-shirt.

He thinks he could smell his way to the kitchen, the way the scent of the home cooked dinner fills the entire house. He follows behind Chris like a lost puppy into the kitchen, and as soon as she turns the corner and walks through the archway, she’s being greeted by her mom, wrapped into an oven-mitt clad hug. He gets a perfect view of her mom, gaze slotted over Chris’ shoulder. She’s not so scary, he thinks. He can recognize more than one of Chris’ features on her face—in the way she smiles and the shape of her eyes, too. That’s where her smile comes from, and her eyes, too.

Over her shoulder, Chris’ mom opens her eyes, waves a bangle-bracelet clad, oven-mitt covered hand in his direction. Charles steps fully into the kitchen, determined to make a good first impression. “And I take it this,” her mom says, pulling away from the hug, “is the charming gentleman you’ve been telling me nothing about?”

Chris laughs, catching his eyes when she says: “Yes, Mom, this is Charles. Charles, this is my mom, Cindy.”

“Hi,” Charles offers a handshake. His friends had reminded him—briefed him, basically—that Americans are fond of their personal space, and he figures if Chris is right, and they are going to be playing the intimidation game with him, there’s no chance he’s getting anything more than a—

“Oh, please,” Cindy laughs, swatting his hand out of the way. “We hug in this family,” and he’s already being pulled in. His surprised eyes catch Chris’, who looks back at him with an oh, my God. I’m so sorry, glance, which makes him chuckle. If this is what pretending not to like him looks like, he’d hate to see what actually liking him is all about. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he hums, finally pulling away from the hug. “I have heard so much about you.”

“I can’t say the same,” Cindy laughs pointedly at Chris. “But what I have heard has all been good.”

“Well, anything you want to know, I came tonight with my life story ready.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Cindy nods. “Her dad’ll like that a lot.”

“Mama, where’s Beans?” Chris asks, and before he knows it he’s following her out into the backyard for the introduction that he knows is actually the most important. As they stepped onto the lush, green grass, a gentle breeze rustled through the trees. In the corner of the yard, the aforementioned Beans, a friendly Golden Retriever, lays beneath the growing shade of an old oak tree. The fur around his snout is a distinguished shade of white, and he looks up with wise, kind eyes as Chris approaches, his tail shaking slowly at her presence.

“Here he is, my Beanie Baby,” Chris says with affectionate enthusiasm, crouching down to stroke the dog’s ears. He follows suit, squatting down beside her. “Beanie, this is Charles.”

Charles approaches cautiously, fully aware of just how important this introduction was. He extends his hand, letting Beans sniff it gently. The elderly Golden accepts the gesture, the pace of his tail wagging picking up speed. “Hey Beans,” Charles said softly, voice warm. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

Beans responds with a content sigh, his old eyes conveying the years of love and happiness he’s had in this very yard. He leans into Charles’ touch, relishing in the attention.

Chris laughs, “I think he likes you. He’s a bit slower these days, but he’s still the sweetest dog you’ll ever meet.”

After much convincing, and the promise (and fulfillment) of several treat bribes, they’re able to convince Beans to come back into the house, where he curls up on his bed with his milkbones.

Chris’ dad, who joins everyone else downstairs ten minutes later, pops into the dining room while Chris and Charles are setting the table. Chris looks up in the direction of his footsteps with that radiant smile, warm eyes, like always. “Hi, Dad,” she says, her voice drenched in affection.

“Mums,” the man smiles softly, greeting her with open arms and a gentle hug.

“You remember Charles,” she says, and he steps forward, leaving the silverware settings on the tablecloth. Charles extends his hand first, is met with Bill’s firm, heavy handshake.

“Mr. Elliott, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” His voice is stiff, polite, but there’s still a touch of earnestness that betrays his nerves. “Thank you for having me, I’ve heard a lot about you and your family.”

“Now, son, if I’m bein’ completely honest with you. I never thought I was gonna see you again after Texas. I wasn’t feelin’ you out the way I should’a been, if you know what I mean?”

Charles nods, even though he thinks he picked up about seventy-five percent of what was said. “Yes, sir.” He thinks he’d probably answer any question thrown his way, if it meant when he left tonight it was in her parents’ good graces.

Her parents, Bill especially, do maintain their intimidating presence for just as long as Chris says they will. Sat at the dinner table with all of them, next to Chris and across from Cindy and Bill, he can’t help but feel the weight of the situation as they all eat.

“So, Charles,” Bill says, wiping his mouth with a napkin and taking a sip of wine. They’re all nursing glasses of wine, even Charles, who despite never having been particularly fond of the drink, was too scared to say no when Cindy offered. He’d glared daggers at Chris to keep her from speaking up. “Monaco, right?”

Charles nods. “That’s right.”

“A racecar driver from the rich and famous’ playground,” Bill continued. His voice is low and inquisitive. “I’m sure you can see why I might be a lil’...” he chuckles, “worried about you.”

Next to him, Chris cocks her head defensively, leans forward in her seat. “What are you trying to imply, Dad?” Charles unconsciously moves his hand to her lower back in an attempt to reassure her silently. He knows why Bill’s asking questions like this, he knows the reputation certain aspects of his life carry with them. It does put a butterfly or two in his stomach that she’s so eager to jump to his defense, though.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just quite the party lifestyle you live, isn’t it, Charles?”

“I don’t know if I would say that,” Charles laughs awkwardly. Chris takes a big sip of her wine, leans back in her chair again. He moves his hand from her back to her leg, where she interlocks it with her own under the table. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll go out with my friends when I’m in town, or we have something to celebrate, but… I’ve honestly become more of a home person these last years.”

Bill raises his brows, takes another bite of his food. “Really?” Charles nods. “That must be difficult, son, all the traveling you do. Alotta’ people in alotta’ cities. How d’ya handle that?”

Charles smiles, fully aware that Bill is just attempting to gauge his character. “It can be lonely at times, but I'm committed to a steady relationship. I like to think I’ve learned to balance my racing career and my personal life.”

“A steady relationship with our daughter.”

Chris squeezes his hand, he squeezes back, smiles softly. “A steady, committed relationship with your daughter, yes.”

Cindy takes a sip of her wine, smiles into the red liquid. She seems satisfied. Bill, not so much. “And what is it that you like most about her?” He asks.

“Dad,” Chris laughs pointedly at her father, a hint of disbelief in the action. “That’s enough.”

“Sorry, Charles,” Cindy interrupts with an awkward chuckle, an attempt to keep the peace before Chris lunges over the table at her dad. Charles isn’t offended by the question, so he wonders if maybe Cindy is apologizing to Chris more than she is to Charles. “He doesn’t mean to come off so investigative. Chris is just our baby, everyone has always looked out for her.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” he nods, takes a bite of food. “As for the question nobody wants you to ask me,” he looks to Bill, remnants of his food still in his mouth. He speaks with the napkin over his lips. “It’s hard to even find a place to start with that, right? I mean, she…” he glances to Chris, finds that she’s already listening to him intently. He smiles, “you are an incredible person,” and he has to look away, because if he keeps going while staring into her brown eyes, he’s going to be as red as a tomato, completely and utterly smitten. “If you really want me to pick something, I guess I would say her kindness, and I’m sure you’re both familiar enough with her heart that I don’t need to ramble on about how lucky I am to have her in my life.”

Chris sinks in her seat, finishes off what’s left of her wine. “Well, now that I’m properly embarrassed for the rest of my life.”

Cindy laughs. “Oh, Chrissy, I haven’t even gotten the baby pictures out yet.” Chris turns to bury herself in Charles’ arm. He can feel how warm her face is through the fabric of his sweatshirt, and it makes him laugh.

“Oh, my God,” she mumbles.

Charles’ ears perk up. “There’s baby pictures?”

Chris nods against his arm. “She’s a scrapbooker.”

He’s so boggled by the way that they can just switch up after that, the way that they stop trying to intimidate him and welcome him with open arms. He thinks that his Mum could never, that she knows within the first thirty seconds of meeting someone if she likes them or not. When it comes to Pascale Leclerc, you’re forever categorized by her first impression. He didn’t tell Chris that, because he didn’t want to worry her more than she already was in her sweats and messy-hair in Abu Dhabi.

After the meal had been cleaned up, the four of them sat comfortably in the living room of Chris’ childhood home. Their home is so nice, so warm and welcoming. He wonders if it’s always been such a comfortable place.

Chris is sprawled out on the corner-seat of the sectional couch, Beans taking up the seat next to her, his head in her lap while she pets him mindlessly. Charles sits on the floor, back to the corner cushion, legs outstretched in front of him under the coffee table. Bill is in the recliner in the corner, working his way through a newspaper crossword puzzle, half-dozing off every ten minutes.

Cindy carries a cardboard box down the stairs, sets it down on the coffee table in the middle of the family room. It’s full to the brim with worn, leather-bound scrapbooks, with Christyn Claire neatly written on the side of the box. She sits down on the floor next to him. Carefully, she pulls one out and gently sets it on the table, brushing the dust off the black leather cover.

Charles watches as she flips open the pages, each one filled with their own vibrant photos, handwritten notes, and little trinkets that tell a story of young Chris. Charles can’t help the smile on his face when he sees the images of her in every stage of life, from a curious toddler with messy, curly pigtails to a teenager with the same smile he can’t get enough of.

Cindy’s eyes sparkle with pride, and she has an anecdote for each and every photo. He’s captivated by it, not just the snapshots, but also the obvious love Cindy carries for her daughter.

“This is Chrissy on the first day of school,” She explained, pointing to a picture of a young girl with a backpack almost as big as herself. “She was so excited to learn, has always been eager to take on new challenges.” Charles nods, hangs onto every word she says. “She’s always been a quick learner, even then.”

Cindy continues to flip through the pages, her and Charles silently sharing in knowing smiles at photos they both know Chris would find particularly embarrassing, making sure she doesn’t catch onto their shared moment from her seat on the couch. Cindy reveals photos from family vacations, birthdays, and school events. Her tales of Chris’ adventures—combined with Chris’ personal renditions added in—make for quite a delightful, and humorous, evening.

“Ah, this one,” Cindy chuckles as she turns the page, revealing a picture of a grinning Chris covered head to toe in colorful paint. “We had an art day in the backyard, and Chrissy decided she'd rather paint herself than the paper.”

He laughed along, felt like he was growing more and more connected to Chris and her family with every shared memory. Part of him wonders if this is still a part of the protective parent act. If it is, it’s definitely doing its job. You can’t be mean to someone when you look at them and imagine the tiny version of them playing dress-up in a princess themed bedroom, or helping wash Dad’s car, or taking a nap at the beach on a mermaid towel. He should get a few baby pictures from his mom, he thinks. To show them to Chris, just so that she isn’t allowed to hurt him.

“She’s always had a big heart,” Cindy said, her smile warm. “Her friends were like extended family,” she continues, pointing out a picture of Chris and several other little children. She points to a blonde, “You’ve met Hannah, right?”

“We’re going there, next, Ma,” Chris interjects.

“Oh, well. This is her when she was five. I think Chris invited her to spend the night for weeks at a time.”

Charles nods, everything he knows about her, the way that she makes friends with anyone she interacts with, it all tracks, can all be seen in these pictures. He thinks that he could sit on the floor all night and go through every single picture in every single scrapbook, and still wouldn’t have enough, wouldn’t know enough about her.

– – –

They leave the Elliott’s house a little after nine, and the air outside is cooler, now, the day fully transitioned into night. Charles sits in the passenger seat, eyeing Chris’ ability to perfectly maintain a speed two under the limit, and the way that she flipped her brights on everytime another car wasn’t cruising down the road. It seemed like this entire town was half-covered in wooded areas, so he supposes it’s better to keep an eye out for any wild animals. The warmth of the evening experience with her parents still radiates through him, but their conversation is now focused on their next destination; Chase and Hannah’s house.

Chris, in the driver’s seat, is more animated than ever. She was preparing him carefully for the meeting, the anticipation of how her best friend and brother would perceive him hung in the air. She explained on the drive from the airport earlier that day that she’d “promised Hannah she would meet you before the wedding.”

As they rolled to a stop at a red light, Charles cast a quick glance over to her, feeling the weight of her guidance. “What should I know about them? Any advice on how to impress them?”

“Gosh,” she’d said, “I don’t know. Hannah’s easy. Chase is weird, but, just talk about cars or something. He really likes, um,” she pauses. “He races with you… from Australia, I think.”

Charles mulled over the comment, committing it to memory. There’s only one Australian he can think of racing against. “Daniel?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Daniel Ricciardo. He really likes him.”

Charles absorbs the information, realizing that Daniel would serve as an excellent conversation starter about racing. The light turns green, and she checks the intersection for a comically long amount of time before proceeding. He does everything he can not to laugh, and is hit with a sudden wave of gratitude towards the way he’s been wholly and completely welcomed into her life like this. The night of endless nerves aside, the excitement of learning all the chapters of her life that predate him is something he isn’t going to take for granted.

– – –

They arrive at Chase and Hannah’s house for a relatively relaxed night in, greeted by the warm glow of a bonfire crackling in the backyard. The air was filled with the smokey scent of burning wood, and the soft lull of a country song pouring from a speaker.

“Hi!” Hannah calls before the couple is even halfway through the back gate. “Hi, Hi, Hi, oh my gosh!” she squeals, hurrying over to the gate to greet them. “It’s about fucking time,” she adds, pulling Chris into a tight hug. You’d think it was the first time they’d seen each other in weeks, but Charles knew they were together just that morning. “And you,” the blonde continues, “must be Charles. Unlike everyone else around here, I’ve actually heard a lot about you,” she laughs.

He laughs too, accepts her open-arms for a hug. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

“William Chase,” Hannah calls to the man standing over the fire, a stoker stick in one hand, a glass beer bottle in the other. His head shoots up from the embers when he’s called. He holds his beer up as a welcoming gesture, but Hannah isn’t satisfied. “Get over here!”

He meets them halfway through the yard, in a part that’s unlit by either the house lights or the glow of the fire. “Hey,” Chase says with a relaxed smile, pulling Chris into a side hug, and then approaching Charles with an outstretched hand. “You must be Charles,” he says, the two exchanging a laid-back handshake before pulling each other into a bro-hug. “It’s good to meet you, man. You want a beer or something?”

“I can get it myself,” Charles assures, “just tell me where they are.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hannah scoffs, “You’re a guest,” she insists, and it is already halfway up the steps of the back porch. “You want one, too, Chris?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Chris smiles, her hand finding his in the space between their bodies, interlocking their fingers and pulling him over to the fire Chase has already returned to.

Chris and Charles find a cozy spot on the porch swing that sits in front of the firepit, a shared bench that seemed to be the ideal medium between two chairs and sitting on top of each other, perfect for family introductions. They sit side by side, thighs brushing against each other, his arm around her nursing his beer. Charles keeps the swing moving with his feet, but Chris has one leg crossed over the other, the base of her beer bottle leaving a darkened ring of condensation on her jeans everytime she picks it up.

“You want another one, Chris?” Chase asks, shaking his empty beer bottle by its neck when he heads back inside for another round, and per Hannah’s request, to check on Reid.

“I’m okay,” Chris smiles. She’s turned fully sideways, now, her back resting against his shoulder, both legs off the ground and onto the other end of the bench. “I’m driving home,” and then she cranes her neck to look at him. “Do you want another?”

“No,” he says, because he’s pretty sure he can already feel her dozing off while they swing, is almost certain it’s going to end up being him driving back to her place tonight. “Thank you, though,” and then he kisses the top of her head, pulls his arm out from under her body weight to wrap around her front lazily. She adjusts to his adjustment, leans into him and finds a comfortable curve in his chest.

Even among the scent of wood and fresh cut grass and smoke, he’s found himself in the perfect position to smell her hair without even trying. He thinks he’s finally nailed her shampoo, coconut and rose, he’s almost sure of it.

“Mate, Chris was telling me you’re a Daniel Ricciardo fan?” Charles asks, looking for a way to break the ice into a more active conversation, utilizing the very few tools he has at his disposal. Chase and Hannah seem both way lower-stress than Bill and Cindy did, but he'd still like to leave tonight knowing he made a good impression. Or, at least leave knowing he tried his hardest to make one.

“Yeah, man. We actually started racing at COTA in 2020, and Renault and Daniel did this thing with our team, gave me a little good-luck message and stuff. It was real cool. I’ve been a fan of him since.”

Surprised, and trying to find common ground, Charles asks: “Do you follow Formula One?”

“You know, I tried after the whole Daniel thing, but,” he shrugs nonchalantly, takes another swig of his beer and leans back in his seat. “Honestly, all respect, but there’s just nothing quite like the roar of a stock car at Daytona for me. It’s like thunder, man.”

Charles nodded, an eager grin on his face. He doesn’t know much about NASCAR, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t study up on it during the flight over. “The sound of those engines at full throttle must be crazy. It’s V8’s, right?”

“Yeah, V8. What are y’all running? Isn’t it hybrids?”

“Yes,” Charles laughs. “They’re crazy with the engineering. Basically, you have a turbo V6 combined with energy recovery systems… it all helps keep us lightweight.”

“That’s another thing that blows my mind, how light your cars are! I know you pull crazy downforce, but I swear it’s a totally different game on an oval, dude. Our cars are like, thirty-three hundo.”

Charles’ eyes go wide. He knew they were heavier, but that’s like… it’s more than double, he thinks, or has to be close to it “Oh, my God!” He laughs, taking another sip of his beer. Chris chuckles, too—he feels it in his chest. He also feels the nonsensical shapes and patterns that she traces over his sweatshirt sleeve while he talks, the way she seems completely lost in toying with the fabric.

“I know, you guys got fuckin’ feathers compared to us!” Chase gins, joining in on the laughter.

Charles leans forwards a bit, and when he does it, Chris adjusts her positioning. She’s somehow managed to slide gracefully down until she was curled up on the wooden bench, resting on her side with her head on his tights. She’d found a makeshift pillow in his lap, and he couldn’t mind it less. “Yeah, I don’t know,” he says, checking his watch so that when Chris asks him later tonight ‘when did I fall asleep?’ he can give her a proper answer. “We are all about precision, crazy aero packages. It’s not just about speed and downforce, it has to be managed so perfectly.”

“There ain’t no time for precision when you’re wheel-to-wheel at Talladega. It’s all about survival. We’re out there swapping paint and shit. Bumping and drafting are all a part of the game.”

“How crazy is that?” He questions, even though he doesn’t have more than an educated guess as to what drafting is. “The way the air affects your car when you’re always that close?”

“I mean, I guess I don’t notice it all that much because I’m so used to it, but yeah. We’re always pushing the limits, especially in the high-banked ovals. Drafting is both your best friend and your worst enemy.”

“Drafting, mate,” he peruses, taking a shot in the dark when he says: “that’s like getting the slipstream, no?”

“Exactly, yeah,” Chase nods. “All drag reduction shit.”

“It’s crazy, when we’re wheel-to-wheel, we’ll do about anything not to make contact”

“It’s ‘cause your shit weighs ten pounds,” Chase laughs. “It’ll fly away if there’s any contact.”

They go on like that for some time, comparing technicalities. There are few things Charles appreciates more in life than actually getting to sit down and talk racing with someone—true, technical, perfectionist racing. There’s no investigating what the problem with this year’s car is, or what he hopes happens next season. It’s just… how they work. How different formula racing is from stock cars. He feels like this is something he can actually talk about, a conversation he knows he can contribute knowledge to.

“Riveting stuff, boys, really,” Hannah finally interjects, sitting down into her camping chair. Charles hadn’t even noticed she’d left, but here she was popping the bottle cap off another beer, taking a big swig. “You put Chris to sleep and I’m on my fucking way.”

Charles stills, his movements suddenly gentler as he tries to crane his neck to see her face. “She’s asleep?” He asks, half-whispered.

Hannah nods, and Chase chuckles, “Dude, she’s been out cold for like half an hour.”

He smiles down at her, shaking his head, and then checks his watch again. 10:36pm, she didn’t even make it an hour and a half, poor girl. Charles brushes her hair out of her face and carries on with the conversation. His mind is completely absent to the fact that his fingers continue their exploration of her hair, a natural masterpiece of unruly waves. Each strand has its own rhythm, defying any form of order. The curls become even more pronounced as they cascade toward the nape of her neck, dancing freely with the erratic breeze.

At the root of her bangs, there’s a stubborn cowlick, and one side of her face-framing cut has a mind of its own, constantly threatening to tumble into her eyes. Amidst all that delightful chaos, small, intricate braids intermingle with the curls, held together with tiny brown elastics. His touch is reverent as he selects one, playfully twisting it around his finger while he speaks.

With painstaking care, he slides the elastic from the braid, and doesn't miss a beat in conversation with Hannah and Chase as he carefully unravels it. Their words dance in the air around him, and by the time he becomes cognizant of his actions, he’s on the last little braid.

When it’s time to turn in for the evening, when the conversations are more yawns than actual questions, Charles wakes Chris up softly. He runs his hand up and down her upper arm slowly, squeezes her elbow to coax the sleep from her heavy eyes. “Baby,” he hums softly.

Chris stirs with a groan, sits up and stares back at him with empty eyes, like she has no clue what year it is. He bites back a smile at the state of her, raises his brows and waits for her to say something, to scold him grumpily for waking her up. Chris Elliott is a force to be reckoned with when she’s woken up, and it’s something you only have to witness once to be scared of ever seeing again. She doesn’t scold, though.

Instead, a soft smile pulls on the corner of her lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiles back. She’s already leaning against the far armrest of the swing, curling up into the corner like she’s going to go back to sleep. She probably will, it’s been far too easy to wake her up. His hand finds her knee, thumb rubbing circles along the denim fabric. “Are you ready to go home?”

She nods, but her eyes are already closed again. Chase is already dousing the fire with water. Hannah’s already inside cleaning up. Charles opts to leave her there, sweet and peaceful, while he collects her things from inside.

It’s the first time he’s been in the house, and it's just as ambient as the backyard is. The warm glow of the dimmed lights accentuate the charm of their modern-farmhouse decor; wooden shelves bathed in the soft radiance, full of potted succulents, framed photographs, and small artworks that offer a glimpse into their lives. Large, strategically placed windows allowed for a gentle cascade of moonlight to slow, making the entire place feel calm and serene.

Chris has been wearing a pair of Hannah’s slippers since she went inside for the first time, so the first thing he looks for is her shoes. He finds them in the entryway, just outside the door, and finds her keys on a small table there, too. Her phone is on the kitchen counter, the purple silicone case practically glowing against the black granite countertops and pristine white cabinetry. In the living room, he notices a little figure lying on the couch—Reid, he assumes, lies nestled under a Cars blanket, a scene of pure childhood innocence set against the backdrop of grown-up sophistication. The entire room excludes warmth, thanks to an oversized gray sofa and a plush rug, all enhanced by the dull LCD of the quiet television and subtle nighttime lighting. Behind a throw pillow on the same couch, he finally uncovers her purse, carefully slipping it out so as to not disturb the sleeping child.

“It’s not worth the fight sometimes,” Hannah explains, but Charles didn’t need one. He remembers the age of begging to have a sleepover on the living room couch, to stay out past his bedtime and watch shows on the big television. It was the highlight of his weekends, sometimes.

“He’s adorable,” Charles says. “I love the blanket.”

Hannah chuckles softly, crossing her arms over each other to hug her small frame. “It’s his favorite movie,” she shrugs. “Wants to be just like his dad.”

He puts all of her things in the car before he even attempts at getting her into the car. Everything is neatly put into a place, her address typed into his GPS by Hannah and plugged into the aux on the radio, and she still sleeps on the swing.

His humor buoyed by the absurdity of the situation, Charles decided to start with the slippers. He gently slid them off her feet, one by one, and handed them over to Chase, who watched on with the bemusement of an audience at a comedy show. With a soft, nearly conspiratorial tone, Charles whispers: “Chris, baby,” planting a tender kiss on her forehead.

In response, she produces a mumbling symphony of incoherent sounds. “That’s not French, mon amour,” he chides playfully, prompting a breathy laugh from her lips. His aim is to keep her here, to prolong that delicate state of semi-sleep where she tattered between slumber and annoyance. “Let’s go home, yes?” he inquired.

Chris, in her hazy state, offered a subtle nod. Charles grinned, heart painfully warm, and said, “Could you help me out?”

In response, she obligingly wraps her arms around his neck, and he effortlessly hoists her into his arms, carrying her in a bridal-style embrace. He guides her to the waiting car with gentle steps, Chase strolling alongside them to open the car door. She stirs when he sets her in the seat, fastening her seatbelt.

Chase shuts the door and the two of them exchange a classic, old-as-time bro-handshake-goodbye, a silent acknowledgement of both their meeting today and their future introductions all weekend long.

It’s not until they’re at her house, the soft purr of the engine falling silent as he properly parked in the driveway, that she’s really awake. Her sleepy eyes flutter open with the automatic cab lights.

He moves swiftly, circling the car quickly to open the door for her. As she grumpily emerges from the car, he gives her an encouraging smile. “Go get ‘em, killer.” he playfully whispers, his hands working against her shoulders. She meets him with a death-glare he could never possibly be afraid of.

Chuckling, he plucks her phone from the passenger seat, locks the car before following her up the driveway.

The journey inside concludes shortly in her room. Chris has an early morning ahead, and a late night, too. Charles marvels at the resilience; doesn’t know how she’ll manage tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. As she settles in under the comforter, he can’t help but watch her for a moment, all sweet and sleepy and beautiful, like always.

Soon enough, the exhaustion creeps up on him, too, and he finally succumbs to sleep’s gentle embrace, entwined with the woman he finds himself cherishing more with what feels like each passing breath.

– – –

He wakes up when the soft chimes of her alarm break through the morning darkness. The dim glow of the clock on the nightstand reads 6:30 am, and it was clear that daylight has yet to pierce the veil of a southern winter outside.

He can’t help but appreciate her attempts to tiptoe through her morning routine. The effort is commendable, really, but the old, creaky wooden floors and the protesting door dram betray her intentions. He doesn’t mind, though—How could he? Any moment with her, even early morning ones where she bustles around the space, is better than a moment without.

Lying in the cozy bed—which, by the way, her bed is so fucking comfortable, he allows himself to fully wake up, knows that her morning rituals would be far more entertaining than any dream he could have cocooned in sleep.

His sleepy gaze watches her as she moves through the bedroom gracefully, her face illuminated by the soft glow of dawn creeping in from the curtains. He smiles at the little sounds and routines that make up her life, the ones he never gets to see, to savor. Watching her move about is a special kind of beauty, one that makes him feel lucky, insanely so, to experience a life with her in it.

Leaving the comfort of the bed, he ventures out into the kitchen. He knew she had an early start, a long day away from him, and he was determined to steal every extra moment they could share.

She’s finishing her lunch, packing it into her backpack when he sneaks up behind her, snaking his arms around her middle and hugging her from behind. “Hi,” she laughs, turning around in his arms to face him properly.

He gives her a kiss and her lips taste like her morning coffee. He marvels at the ease with which she can make someone’s day—make his day.

She grins, and there is a special kind of mischief in her eyes when she playfully warns him: “Promise you won’t get lost in the woods and eaten by a bear today,” she says, and then, because she can’t help but add it, “At least wait until I’m there to witness it.”

With a chuckle, he teases, “I can always outrun you, they say you only have to be faster than the other guy.”

Her laughter bubbles out, filling the room, and his chest, with warmth. “You wouldn’t let me get eaten by a bear,” she replies.

He pauses for a minute, then playfully concedes, “Well, I might.”

“Wouldn’t.”

“Would.”

– – –

After she left work, he found himself helpless in the war against sleep. What was the point if she wasn’t around to keep him up? If nothing was around to keep him up? It was almost eight o’clock before he finally got up for the day, feeling refreshed and ready for yet another evening of introductions.

His breakfast consists of a simple serving of toast, nothing anywhere near extravagant, but enough to stave off his hunger. Not to mention, he’d rather not make a mess in her house with the very first thing he does all day.

After breakfast, he heads out for a run, decides he’s going to try and navigate his way around without getting lost. He fails, miserably, because it seems like everywhere he looks has the same landmarks—trees, trees, and more trees. The cool air is invigorating, though, and the rhythmic pounding of his feet on the pavement keeps his mind clear, gives him a certain appreciation for the fact that he doesn’t have to keep his eyes and ears open for anyone who might be watching him. No, here it’s just him, just Charles. There’s nothing special about it, which is what makes it so fucking special.

Returning home—to her home—he enjoys a shower that washes away the cold sweat of the run. Dressed and ready, he ponders his plans for the rest of his day. It’s hours still until Chris is home and the festivities really kick off.

As if on cue, his phone buzzes, Chase’s name popping up on the Caller ID. Hannah had insisted on him exchanging numbers with both of them the night earlier. Just in case Chris decides to fuck off to another country again without telling us, she’d said.

He answers, listens to Chase’s offer to join in on a round of 9 holes with him and Bill, considers it for only a moment, and accepts enthusiastically. He’s in the passenger seat of Chase’s truck within the half-hour.

“Survived the dragon, I see?” Chase greets Charles with a smile, clearly still amused over the previous night’s encounter.

Charles chuckles. “Just barely.”

– – –

The day was pristine for golf, with a brilliant blue sky overhead and a gentle breeze. Charles has played at some pretty impressive courses around the world, but something about this one felt special. The green really wasn’t all the lush, and the views weren’t outstandingly picturesque, but. But, there was something that felt so special about it.

Bill, the most experienced of them, begins the round with an expertly executed swing that has Charles chuckling under his breath. His ball soars through the air, landing with pinpoint accuracy in the fairway. Chase follows with a powerful drive that seems to only gain momentum as it sails. It gracefully lands not far from Bill’s.

Charles takes his stance, feels a bit like a circus clown amidst his partners, but steadies himself nonetheless. He draws the club back, manages a swing with a surprising degree of finesse. The ball leaps from the tee and manages an astonishingly straight shot that lands in a… respectable position. He’s not too far off Bill and Chase.

Charles would never call himself a golfer, but he’s grateful for Chase and Bill’s attitude—the way they are constantly pretending he’s better than he is, blaming any mistakes (he has a beach full of sand in his shoes from all the traps) on the fact he’s rented his clubs from the course.

As they stroll down the lush, sunlit fairway on one of the holes, Charles decides he’s brave enough to start a conversation, rather than just participate in one. He turns to Chase as he addresses the only topic he can think of. “So, tomorrow’s the big day, huh? You’re feeling good?”

Chase grinned, golf club slung casually over his shoulder. “Dude, more than anything. I’ve been trying to marry Hannah for a long time. I’m lucky, you know.”

Bill nodded, “Y’all are all but by now.”

“Anything specific you’re excited for?” Charles questions, can’t help but be curious about the details. “Or just a big ball of excited?”

Chase chuckles. “I’m really looking forward to the ceremony. The moment I see her walking down the aisle, it’s gonna be somethin’ else.”

Charles smiles. He wasn’t expecting such a romantic answer, not given what he’s experienced from Chase up to this point. His answer feels more like something you tell your closest friends, not your little sister’s boyfriend you’d just met for the first time the night before. “How about the holiday? Any special plans?”

Chase’s eyes lit up into a laugh. “Ah, the honeymoon. Yeah, we’re going somewhere… sometime. I don’t know, it’s not at the top of our list of things to get done.”

“All I know, Son,” Bill, whose been quiet for what feels like some time now, offers up some wisdom, “Tomorrow’s gonna be real overwhelmin’, but remember it’s your day. Savor all of it.”

Chase nods in agreement, “Don’t worry, Pops,” he chuckles, pats Bill on the shoulder, “I’ll savor it all.”

“And if you get nervous,” Charles laughs, “feel free to let it mess you up out here,” he says, gesturing to the fairway. The whole trio shares a laugh, but Charles seriously wouldn’t mind if the other two suddenly forgot how to golf.

With Chase excusing himself to meet up with Hannah at the rehearsal dinner venue, Charles is left with just Bill, the pair heading up to the country club’s restaurant for a late lunch. The ambiance inside is refined, and they sit next to big floor-to-ceiling windows that offer views of the manicured greens and vast wooded area they’re situated inside.

As they settle into their table, Charles takes a sip of his water, wiping the condensation from his hand on the side of his pants. He can feel the weight of the conversation that’s likely to follow—there’s no Cindy or Chris around to keep him in check like there was last night.

Bill, cutting right to the chase, speaks in a casual tone. “So, Charles, how’re you finding our little corner of Georgia? I reckon it’s awful different from Monaco.”

Charles smiled, appreciating the comfortability of his voice. Maybe Chris was right, he was getting himself worked up yesterday over nothing. “It’s different, for sure,” he laughs. “Home is home, but there is something about the calmness here, the open space. It’s refreshing. And meeting everyone, it’s been great.”

Bill, who’s been nothing but stern in his expression for the entire time Charles has known him, seems to soften, even if just slightly. “I gotta admit, I was a lil’bit… cautious when I first learned about you and Chris. Fathers, y’know, we worry.”

“I can imagine,” Charles nods. He understands. Of course he understands. “You have my word, I have pure intents. Chris means a lot to me.”

Bill seems fully contemplative now, his usual sternness fully replaced when he looks back at Charles. “She’s real happy with you from what I can see, and her brother tells me you treat her real well. That’s the kinda stuff that matters to me.”

His chest feels stupidly warm at the remark. If Chris is half as happy as he is, they’ve really got something here. Something real. Scary real. “I care about her deeply, Sir, and I want her to be happy, too.”

Bill chuckles under his breath, shakes his head softly. “You’re not seventeen, son. You can call me Bill.”

“I care a lot about your daughter, Bill.” It’s an easy thing to do, he thinks. There can’t be a person in this world that knows her and doesn’t care for her. Not when everything about her makes him believe in luck, in something otherworldly—Gods or guardian angels or invisible strings.

“See?” Bill questions, picking around what’s left on his plate with his fork. “We’re already buddies.”

– – –

Bill drops Charles off just before Chris gets home from work. He’s not in the house for ten minutes, is still moving around the kitchen searching for a glass to fill with water when the door swings open. Chris enters the kitchen with Reid, half a dozen things in her arms and a familiar four-year-old in tow. “Hey,” she greets, lifting her bags onto the counter next to him, setting down all of her belongings.

“Hi,” he greets, hand finding a familiar space on her lower back, pulling her closer to him, to lean down and give her a quick kiss. “How was your day?”

“Long… and chaotic,” she sighs, forcing a weary smile onto her lips. Charles frowns. Searching her eyes for elaboration, she just shrugs. “Reid, say hi to Charles,” she introduces. “Charles, this is my little tornado, my nephew, Reid.”

Reid looks up at him with bright eyes and a mischievous grin. “Can I call you Chuck?”

Charles laughs. “No, you can call him Charles,” Chris answers on his behalf, before he gets the chance to tell the kid to call him whatever he wants.

Reid rolls his eyes. “Hi, Charles,” he huffs. “Auntie Chris says you’re gonna help me get ready.”

Charles smiles warmly. “That’s what I hear. It’s quite a mission to accomplish, do you think you are up for it?”

Reid nodded enthusiastically. “Totally. I’m almost five.”

Chris chuckles, and Charles’ eyes shoot over to her when she does. Hearing her laugh isn’t enough, he needs to see it, to share in it. “Good luck with the tie,” she tells him. Charles winks at Chris, grins down at the kid in front of him. “Reid, you like Cars, right?”

Reid’s eyes go wide, his head snapping over to look at Chris, who matches his expression with a smile on her face. He turns back to face Charles, “How did you know that?”

“So, it’s true?”

Reid nods apprehensively. “I love Cars. My Dad is in Cars 3, y’know? He’s got, like, a awesome race car.”

Charles feigned surprise, “No way! That’s like being a superhero.” He leans down conspiratorially, speaks quietly, just to Reid. “Do you know Lightning McQueen?”

Reid’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he launched into a passionate monologue about the Cars movies, the story, and the characters—paying a special interest to Chase’s automotive-self in the animated world. Charles listens with genuine interest while Chris quietly prepares a snack for the boy.

He gets ready while Reid eats, moves around Chris in the bathroom. “Sorry, sorry,” she says, using her entire arm to move her stuff off one side of the sink vanity. “I’m taking up your side,” she continues, pulling her curling iron out of her hair, carefully cradling the steaming strands. Charles smiles. His side. He kisses her softly, then— mindful of her unfinished makeup and hair. She smiles out of it, gives him another quick peck, “what was that for?”

He shrugs, reaching for his hair gel, “Just because.”

– – –

They get to Dahlonega right at five o’clock, thanks in massive part to Charles’ ability to comfortably drive above the speed limit, and in small part to Chris’ ability to finish her makeup while Charles does a poor job at avoiding potholes.

Every event this weekend takes place at the same place—a vineyard about thirty (if you speed) minutes from Chris’ house, but it’s nothing like what he would usually think of as a quote-en-quote vineyard. It’s more of a… barn put in the middle of a field, but. It’s beautiful nonetheless.

“How do I look?” Chris asks as they walk up the long drive from the parking lot to the barn. She runs her hands over the thighs of her jeans, straightening them out.

“Do a spin,” Charles says, and she does. “Hot,” he nods, smiles. Chris rolls her eyes. “Always hot.”

Hannah is running around with a woman wearing a nametag—the wedding planner, he assumes—like a chicken with its head cut off when they get there. Reid bolts away from them as soon as Chase is in his eyeline, chatting with his groomsmen around the bar. Charles trails behind Chris, hand interlocked with hers, as she makes her way over to a frazzled Hannah.

She greets them with a smile, swiping her hair off her shoulders and opening her arms for hugs. “You look beautiful,” Charles comments, kisses either of her cheeks.

“Oh,” She laughs. “This is new.”

Charles laughs, pulling away from the hug, “Sorry.”

“Oh, no. It’s fun,” she says, looking to Chris. “You should’ve dated someone French a long time ago.”

“He’s not French.”

“But y—”

Chris cuts her off. “Monégasque,” she continues. Charles smiles meekly. “And very proud.”

The setting sun cast a warm glow over the venue as the wedding rehearsal began. Charles found himself sitting in the second row, behind both Chase’s family and with the rest of the partners of the bridal party.

They’re orchestrated by the meticulous woman with a name tag from earlier, carefully moved through the motions of the ceremony tomorrow. Charles watches with quiet amusement as they navigate each and every step with precision. The officiant guided them through the script, the words blending into a hum that surrounded the ceremony space.

He partakes in the bland small talk with the other partners—how beautiful, how exciting, how sweet—all the stuff that random strangers with no present connections have to talk about. Charles can't help but glance at Chris intermittently, catching her eye and exchanging silent conversations that only they understand. She’s just so pretty up there, her brown curls cascading off her shoulders while she holds two mock-up bouquets of flowers. She bounces in place, practically, obviously half as tired and bored with it all as he is.

As the run-throughs progress, he can feel her restlessness like it’s his own. Her wide eyes betray her thoughts when, without words she tells him, this is so boring.

He chuckles under his breath, meeting her gaze with the minute raise of his brows, an unspoken agreement passing between them. So boring.

The repetition of the steps continues, though, each run-through blending together into the next. Charles and Chris share more glances, continue to communicate the same sentiment of impatience to a point of amusement. In the stolen moments, he finds solace in the connection, a reminder that even the most orchestrated events can’t stifle their shared sense of humor.

As the rehearsal finally drew to a close, the sun dipped below the horizon casting a warm, golden hue over the gathering. The group dispersed, heading towards the dinner that awaited them.

When Charles catches up to Chris, she’s talking with the best man—Ryan, who the wedding planner kept asking to take this a bit more seriously. He seems nice enough, brother-y enough. Charles thinks he probably has a few good stories about Chris, even more about Chase.

“Everyone always thought we had a thing going,” Chris tells him after the introduction has finished, while the two of them wait at the bar for their drinks.

His brows raise, leaning back off the bar to scan the room for the guy. “Do you want me to be jealous?” He asks, lets his hand rest on the small of her back, thumb moving smoothly against the fabric of her top.

“No,” she says, but the smile on her lips tells him she’d be entertained by the sight of a jealous version of him. “I just didn’t want you to hear it from someone else this weekend.”

He nods, picking up the drink that’s set down in front of him/ “Well, did you?” He asks, taking a swig of the dark liquor.

“Did I what?” Chris asks, moving her drink closer to her, stirring it with a little black straw.

“Did you guys date?”

“Oh,” she shakes her head. “Never.”

Charles nods. “Shame, I was going to put on a show.”

The welcome party kicks into full swing after the satisfying sit-down meal. Laughter and chatter fill the rustic barn, the air buzzing with the lively energy of the gathering, of the weekend. Charles, having eaten the entirety of his dinner earlier, finds himself following Chris as she seamlessly navigates the crowd.

The burger truck, stationed at the edge of the venue, offered a tempting array of late-night treats. The scene of grilled meat wafted through the air, enticing those who weren’t around for the earlier, intimate dinner.

The barn was alive with the murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses, the bursts of laughter. It seems like a million people fill the space, a million strangers—a mix of extended family and friends and coworkers and distant relatives and even distant-er friends. For him, all of these faces are unfamiliar, and he relies on Chris like a lifeline to guide him through most of the interactions.

She effortlessly leads the way, introducing him with a warmth that mirrors her nature of being. She moves through the place like she owned it, with a grace that seems to come naturally to her, connecting with friends and family alike. Everyone seems thrilled to see her, absolutely beside themselves. He understands them, even if he doesn’t know them, and observes with quiet admiration her ability to make everyone feel at ease.

She seems to flourish in social settings, her personality shining brightly. She greets old friends with hugs, shares jokes with cousins, compliments grandparents’ outfits, and introduces him to each and every one of them, punctuates every interaction with her infectious laughter.

He’s always felt like he’s more of a one-on-one guy, that his connections are better made independently rather than in groups. Chris, though, could lead a crowd anywhere with this unwavering confidence. She doesn’t make a single misstep all night, navigating the whole evening perfectly, makes an evening he’d spent the majority of outside his comfort zone anything but unsettling. With her, his words feel valued, important, intelligent. He’s content to be her partner in social settings longer than anyone should be.

It’s long past midnight when they finally get back to her house, the fatigue of the day well-settled on their skin, casting a convincing sleeping spell that made the prospect of a comfortable bed a welcomed one.

The house is silent, the hush of the night hugging them as they reach the bedroom, the weariness of their bones palpable. Anything but falling into the comforter seems like quite the ambitious endeavor.

The comfort of the sheets cradles them as they sink into the mattress, a shared haven offering respite from the busy weekend. “Next time I come here,” Charles yawns, the effort of the evening present in his voice, “we are doing nothing.”

She must be more drained, he thinks, she’d worked almost a whole day before this, but contently, she responds with a gentle hum, snuggled up close to him. “Mmm,” she murmured. “Perfect.” The simplicity of doing nothing seems like the perfect plan, a promise of unhurried moments and the luxury of just being together. He wants more of that. He wants more of her.

– – –

He wakes up for the first time that morning, if you can really call it waking up, to the shift of the bed as she climbs out of it. He doesn’t check the clock, doesn’t even hear more than the creak of the floor before he’s back asleep. He wakes up for the second time, and you still probably can’t call it that, to her standing over him, fingers running through his hair. She gives him a kiss and comments on something he can’t hear through sleep.

The third time he wakes up that morning, it’s to the ringing of his phone on the bedside table. Her name is on the screen, a photo of her grinning in front of a statue in Monaco and holding a thumbs-up. 8:34, his phone reads. The sun is shining in through the opening in the curtains.

She’d forgotten the steamer on the living room coffee table when one of the other bridesmaids picked her up two hours earlier. He says he’ll bring it, asks if the girls want coffee, swears he remembers her order. She texts him the other three girls’ orders. Within the hour, he’s riding with the wedding planner on a golf cart from the parking lot to the bridal suite with four long-winded coffees in one hand and a steamer in the other.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting when he walked into the bridal suite, but it wasn’t what he found. The chaos hangs in the air like a sweet perfume. He weaves between makeup artists, hair stylists, and bridesmaids to find Chris, talking with Hannah and a makeup artist about what’s about to be painted onto the bride-to-be’s face, fulfilling her maid-of-honor duties.

Chris looks up quickly to scan the room, eyes landing on him and immediately returning to the conversation at hand before doing a double-take, a heavy sigh leaving her lips when she recognizes him and the objects he carries.

“Hey,” she greets, takes the steamer from his hand and kisses him. “You’re a lifesaver, thank you,” and she kisses him again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he laughs, pulls a coffee out of the cardboard cup holder and hands it to her. “Your hot dirty chai with one shot of espresso, oat milk, and salted caramel.”

“A man after my heart,” she says, taking a sip of the drink. He winks—anything more and he’d blush bright red—and continues reading the orders off.

“Brown sugar oat milk latte with blonde espresso for Hannah,” he says, pulling it out and handing it to the blonde and pulling out the next one. “This is the… Iced matcha latte with soy milk and strawberry cold foam, and the…” he holds up the cupholder, one drink left in it, “Caramel brûlée latte.”

The groom’s house—which is where he’s affectionately sent to after the coffee delivery—is a direct contrast to the bridal suite. College football plays on the television, the cheers and groans of the game providing a lively soundtrack to the prelude of the wedding. The girls were all half-ready, but the guys are still shoveling breakfast foods into their mouths on the leather sofa.

Noon arrives, and with it the collective decision that it was time to actually start getting ready for the wedding. Chase and his groomsmen needed to be ready for pictures at three, which meant that Charles and the rest of the bridesmaid’s boyfriends needed to be ready to be anywhere but the groom’s house at three.

Between the laughter and the beers and the arguing over the best way to iron a shirt, there’s a knock on the door. He doesn’t even bother to look who it is, assumes it’s a relative of some sort. When Ryan, the never-had-a-thing, you-don’t-need-to-be-jealous Best Man has a hand on his shoulder, telling him “Chris is outside, she wants to talk to you,” he meets the guy with furrowed brows.

He finds her just where Ryan said she was, pacing outside on the concrete patio, ready head-to-toe for the wedding procession. He can’t help but be struck by her beauty, the way the delicate fabric of her dress accentuates her figure, the way the color complimented the glow of her skin perfectly. Her hair is pulled back off her face, revealing the curve of her neck, her subtle makeup highlighting her features.

He feels like he’s seen her a million times by now, in a million different ways, but there was something almost ethereal… angelic about her in this moment. The nerves in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders only add to the charm, make her feel more real, more human.

He’s never looked at her and thought she wasn’t beautiful, but there are moments where he’s particularly struck by her allure. This is one of them.

As soon as she lays eyes on him, her words rush out in a torrent. No hello, no pleasantries, just— “I’m freaking out, Charles. This speech… I’m just. I’m terrified I’m going to mess it up.”

“You’re not going to mess it up,” he promises. He’s heard Chris’ maid-of-honor speech probably a dozen times by now, and she’s a different level of nervous every time. This might be the most nervous he’s seen her about it, though. “Can you… can you listen to it, please?”

He nods, his gaze steadying her shaky one. “Of course, let’s hear it.”

She unfolds the tiny, half-crumpled piece of paper out and delves into her speech. He focuses on her words, the genuine affection and admiration for Hannah present in each and every syllable. When she finishes, she meets his eyes, a mix of hope and anxiety in hers.

“Well?” She asked, her lip caught between her teeth.

Charles smiles. “It’s amazing. You are going to do great.”

“Are you sure? Because the part where I talk about Colorado—”

Charles shakes his head, puts his hands on her shoulders. “It’s perfect,” he says, gives her a quick kiss. “You’re perfect.”

She sighs, relief visibly washing away the tension. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grins, “You would still do great. But I’m here anytime you need it.” She gives him a quick hug, and he can feel the gratitude seeping through the squeeze, so he makes it last just that moment longer. He just, he gets such a surge of pride that he gets to call her his, that he’s lucky enough to call her his girlfriend. “Go knock ‘em dead,” he laughs.

When three o’clock finally does roll around, the wedding party separates to head off for pictures, and Charles, along with the other significant others, joins the convoy heading down to the ceremony space. The excitement among the group was palpable, everyone connected in some way to Hannah and Chase’s love story, ready to witness and be a part of their union.

The ceremony starts at four, and hell if he can’t stop catching Chris’ eyes the entire time. He doesn’t think he’s ever enjoyed a wedding quite like he’s enjoying this one. Chase and Hannah are lovely, and the officiant’s words resonate with sincerity, but he’s less attuned to the details of the ceremony itself and more absorbed in the captivating spectacle that is Chris.

Her laughter, musical and infectious, is all he hears when the entire place laughs, and her discrete attempts to wipe away tears, to pretend they aren’t falling, melt his heart entirely. Even the way she plays with the ribbon on the bouquets she holds—something so small and trivial, it all captivates him.

He finds himself swept away by a tide of emotions, some messy kaleidoscope of feelings that defy articulation. There’s something magnetic about her, an irresistible urge to kiss her that seems to linger in the back of his mind, always. It’s all lined up for him, a million synchronized harmonies that underscore every interaction.

The changing colors of leaves and the smell of rain on a pine patio, the heartbeat of a conversation, a light in every room. His perception of his own emotions, the way he feels about this fucking woman, it’s so clear it becomes cloudy. Every stolen glance and shared smile is this integral part of their connection, this thing that he can’t let go of.

There’s something so fucking special about her, and he can’t make sense of any of it.

Cocktail hour is at five, and the whole family—everyone at this entire wedding he knows—are off doing ‘golden hour’ pictures. Charles lingers by the bar, stuck to the outskirts like a wallflower.

He’s suddenly hit with a wave of insecurity. It’s not often he’s put somewhere completely on his own like this, almost always has someone he can use as a lifeline if he needs to. Everyone here seems to have known eachother forever, and he feels like an intrusion on their camaraderie, worries that if he does manage up the courage to start a conversation with someone, they won’t understand him, or worse—he won’t understand them.

His social battery is just… it’s drained. It’s been a long couple days of mingling with strangers, of trying to impress everyone. He’s ready to just curl up somewhere with Chris and enjoy the limited time they do get to spend together—alone—this weekend.

Maybe then, with some more fucking time, he could sort out all his nonsensical thoughts. Make some sense of his own feelings.

At the reception, he’s seated at the family table with Bill, Cindy, and Reid. Chandler is there, too, but she and her girlfriend Lex seem about as interested in him as they are the dinner menu. They give him a passing greeting, an introduction, if you can call it that, but content to leave it at that.

They’re only a few feet away from the head table, where Chase, Hannah, and the bridal party are sat. So close, but when you’re as drained as he is, when you’ve been prim and perfectly proper for more hours than you can count, just want to be with the one person around who you don’t need to impress… Chris’ nameplate might as well be a quarter of the way around the world.

There isn’t some big announcement or introduction for the bridal party, they just filter in after the conclusion of pictures with the rest of the family. Chris is one of the last to filter in, and finds that the rest of the bridesmaids and the groomsmen are all settled in their seats. Chris doesn’t head for her seat. Instead, she makes a bee-line for her family table, for Charles, who is scrolling through his phone and nursing what she thinks is Chase’s signature drink.

She sneaks up on him, but he isn’t startled by her arms when they wrap over his shoulders. “Hi,” she greets, leaning over to kiss him. It doesn’t take her but a second to feel how tense he is—it’s in his shoulders, in his kiss, in the way he just keeps spinning the liquid around his glass instead of drinking it. Most of all, it’s in the way she doesn’t get even a hello back, just a focus smile and a kiss. Her brows furrow in concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I’m just tired. It has been a busy couple of days.”

“I know,” she nods in agreement. “I was thinking, we should get super drunk tonight, skip brunch tomorrow, and then do nothing all day. What do you think?”

He laughs, and she feels the vibrations in her hands. “Deal,” he says, holding out his hand to shake on it right as the DJ comes over the microphone. Ladies and Gentleman, Chris’ eyes go wide, practically death-dropping into a squat so quickly she nearly loses her balance in her heels. Charles laughs, but she doesn’t miss his hand reaching out to steady her. If I can direct your attention to the barn door, let’s all give a warm welcome to the reason we’re all here tonight. I’m pleased to introduce for the very first time as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Elliott! Even from her squatted position, she still claps and cheers for Chase and Hannah.

As the clapping dies down, the instrumental of their first dance song transitions in. She shifts on her feet, from one heel to the other, and thinks about how graceful she would have to be to attempt to slip her shoes off in her current position. When she looks to Charles, she’s met with the clearest what-the-heck-are-you-doing look she’s ever been on the receiving end of, and a nod that all but picks her up and puts her in his lap itself. His arms slip around her waist lazily, like it’s where they’re supposed to belong, like a magnet pulling itself to the fridge.

As their first dance song starts, as Chase and Hannah sway around the dance floor as husband and wife, Charles places a soft kiss into her exposed shoulder. The warmth of his lips sends a chill up her spine. “Are you cold?” He whispers, and she shakes her head even though she’s been chilly since she put the dress on that morning—who the heck chooses one-shoulder bridesmaid dresses for their outdoor wedding in December? He runs his hands up and down her arms to warm her up with the friction. “You can have my jacket if you want.”

“I’m okay,” she says.

“Okay.” Another kiss, and then he rests his chin on her shoulder. “Let me know.”

After the first dance, Hannah and Chase give a short welcome speech, thanking everyone for coming to celebrate with them, for making their day so perfect. And then, it’s time to eat.

She offers to pull over a chair and eat with him, and then offers again silently after Bill makes a joke about how we won’t bite him. She doesn’t like to see him like this, so tired, so drained. “I’m good,” he says, “I promise.”

“Okay,” she says, but her return to the head table is hesitant, and she keeps an eye on him the entire meal.

– – –

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Chris, and for those of you who do, you probably knew this was coming,” Chris laughs nervously, microphone in sweaty hands. She can’t believe she has to follow Ryan’s speech. He had the whole crowd laughing until they couldn’t breathe. “I’m not one for public speaking, which I know you all find very funny considering my career choice, but when your best friend since the oh-so tender age of seven is getting married, you throw caution to the wind.”

She looks at Charles, but has to look away quickly. Just imagine me in my underwear, he’d told her before she got up here. She can’t do that. She can’t look at Hannah or Chase, either, though, or else she’ll burst into tears. So, she just looks at the piece of paper in her hand.

“So, let’s talk about Hannah. We’ve been through it all together, from the back of a Sunday school class at Grace Haven where two little girls made their first friend, to hiding from customers in the kitchen of the Pool Room listening to Mr. Gordon tell us about his ‘shine days. We weathered the storms of adolescence, rocked the awkward phase, and somehow managed to make it out on the other side with our sanity intact—well, mostly,” the room chuckles. Hannah laughs, and Chris thinks that maybe she can look at her—she can’t, can already feel the tears welling, the frog in the back of her throat.

“But,” she cracks, “It’s not about the trials we faced in high school, it’s about the triumph that is happening right now. Chase and Hannah, standing—sitting—here, about to embark on a new chapter of their lives.” Chris turns to the next page of her notes, hand shaky when she does it. “It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows getting here. Life threw us some curveballs, as it tends to do. But Hannah, she’s a force of nature. She faces challenges head-on, and with the strength of a thousand warriors.”

Chris’ eyes catch Reid, sitting on Bill’s lap next to Charles. He’s not paying any attention, but what four-year-old would? Instead, he’s swinging his legs back and forth, tapping Charles’ knee with the toe of his shoes everytime. Charles takes turns grabbing one of the attacking feet, his eyes unbreaking from her, before letting Reid wiggle it away, laughing softly at the interaction each time. “My best friend became a mom at nineteen, and there wasn’t much about it that was easy. But, like I always do, I watched her rise to the occasion, and I’ve never been prouder. I work with five-year-olds every day, and as similar as Reid is to Chase, he’s his mother’s son, and I would pay a million dollars to have twenty of him in my classroom. And Chase, you were there through all of it. When things got tough, you didn’t run; you stood by her. You became not just the guy she loved, but the rock she could lean on, the partner she deserved.”

Chris nods, continuing. “Some might say they don’t have the most conventional love story. But what is love if not a journey? One that involves bumps and twists and unexpected turns? Chase and Hannah, you’ve proven that love isn’t just for fairytales; it’s for the real, messy, complicated, and beautiful moments of life.”

Chris looks past Hannah, to Chase. It's just as hard to maintain eye contact with him. Harder, maybe, because he looks like he’s about to cry, too. Chris can count on one hand the amount of times she’s seen her brother cry. “Chase, my big brother,” she laughs through a tear.

“Fuck you, dude,” he says back, through an equally tearful laugh. Hannah’s hand runs in circles on his back.

“You are so lucky to have Hannah. Everyone in this room knows that she has this magical quality about her—this remarkable ability to make even the most unlovable people feel like the center of the universe. I’ve seen her do it time and time again, watched her sprinkle her own special kind of magic everywhere she goes.”

“Hannah,” she says, turning fully to face her best friend, abandoning the piece of paper she has memorized and replacing it with Hannah’s hand. “You are my confidante, my partner in crime, my source of strength, and my beacon of light. You are the kind of friend who not only stands by people in the good times, but also holds you up when life gets a little bit wobbly,” Chris feels a single tear fall down her cheek, and then another. She sniffles softly. “Thank you for helping me through the wobbles,” she squeaks. “You’ve been my sister as long as I’ve known you, Han, I’m just glad it’s finally official.”

Chris turns back to address the crowd, raising a glass of champagne to two of her favorite people. “To Hannah and Chase. May your love be modern enough to survive the times, but old-fashioned enough to last forever. Cheers to the messy, the beautiful, and the happily ever after you both so richly deserve.”

Hannah wastes no time enveloping Chris into a bear hug, rocking back and forth on their feet. The lace and tulle from Hannah’s dress scratch against Chris’ arms, but she doesn’t mind. She’s too busy trying not to cry onto the fabric while the rest of the tables clink their glasses to her speech. Chase is next with the hugs, a stupid one that’s stronger than Hannah’s.

“Dude,” he laughs, “you didn’t have to make me cry.”

Chris sniffles. “I love you.”

Chase pauses, squeezes her a little bit tighter. “I love you, too.”

Speeches are followed by the father-daughter and mother-son dances. Chris sneaks back over to the family table during the latter, makes her dad move over into Cindy’s seat so she can sit next to Charles. He has a fresh glass of the same drink from earlier, and is nursing it the same way he did the first one.

“You know,” she says, checking the state of her makeup with her phone’s camera. “You’re going to have to pick up the pace if we’re getting wasted tonight.”

He laughs, the side of his foot bumping against hers under the table. She leans her foot back on the heel of her shoe, toys with the hem of his slacks. “Is that right?” He spins the drink, talks into the bottom of the glass, but she’s not fooled. His ears are red at the simple action.

“Yeah,” she nods. “Let me show you,” and then takes the glass from his hand, downing what’s left without a scowl. It’s dark liquor. She loves the burn.

Chris is like… she reminds him of that battery rabbit. A constant source of energy. She’s practically bouncing off the walls, giddily introducing him to anyone they come across that he doesn’t already know. She’s just so personable, and the buzz she’s gotten from the champagne and the stolen sips of his drinks only make her more lively. She knows everyone here, he’s sure of it, but she could befriend a brick wall if it gave her five minutes.

It’s impossible for even the most sullen people not to feed off her energy—everyone is swallowed up by her laugh, every conversation brightened by her presence. She’s so fun to watch that he wonders if he’s dreamt her up, created a figment of his imagination in the shape of someone just so good. God, she’s good.

They survive the newlywed games and the anniversary dances, even make it all the way to the cake cutting before it becomes an Elliott family party—which, if you didn’t know, is synonymous with a drunken rager. As soon as Hannah swipes a finger full of frosting across Chase’s cheek, it’s game over.

Drinks flow as freely as laughter echoes, and the dance floor is nothing more than a playground for a bunch of drunken idiots. Chris and Hannah, seasoned dance partners, showcase their moves with infectious enthusiasm, dancing the blurry line between elegance and idiocy.

When the music slows, though, she’s always finding her way to him, heavy arms around his neck, his around her waist. If they know the song, they take turns butchering the vocals and giggling until the other person kisses them.

“So, how was my speech?” She asks soberly, swaying along to the tune of some slow song he’s never heard of.

“You made that speech your bitch, baby,” he slurs, even though he has a million and one questions about her speech.

He’d heard it. So many fucking times, he’d heard it, and not once had he heard the ending. He thought he heard the ending—he did hear the ending. It was just different. Shorter. Sweeter. Didn’t put a confused knot in his stomach. Thank you for helping me through my wobbles. A remarkable ability to make even the most unlovable people feel like the center of the universe. He doesn’t want to entertain them as connected, to live in a world where they’re connected.

“You think so?” She beams. He can’t ask when she smiles like that.

“Yeah,” his tongue feels dry in his mouth—cottony. He’s bothered, and he doesn’t understand why. “It was great, very personal.” He shouldn’t let it bother him. It’s a fucking speech at a wedding for people he barely knows. It shouldn’t bother him, it shouldn’t rot his insides, the concept that two sentences could be in any way related to one another. It shouldn’t bother him, really. It does, though. And he can’t stop himself when he’s half-drunk the way he could if he was sober. “Everything you talked about… it’s all you two, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Hannah’s done a lot for me, y’know. I’m sure we’re like you and Joris, just. I cry more than you.”

“Even the, uh…” he clears his throat. “Even the whole thing about, um…”

“Charles,” she laughs, brows furrowed in a way he thinks only he could perceive.

He sighs. “You know that you’re the kind of person who is easy to love, yes?”

She doesn’t look at him when she nods, or when she smiles, or when she kisses him. “I know,” she mumbles, and it’s the most unbelievable thing she’s ever said. The easiest lie he’s ever spotted, but it’s even clearer that she doesn’t want him to push on it, so he doesn’t. He’s smart enough to know when it’s time to just dance with his girlfriend.

– – –

They wake up the next morning disgustingly hungover. Like, stare at the white ceiling for twenty minutes talking about how hungover they are and praying they don’t throw up, hungover. Her ceiling is textured, and the pattern repeats every foot-or-so like it’s been stamped on. That’s how hungover he is.

He showers while she makes them prairie oysters, and despite how absolutely horrifying it looks, sounds, and sells, he manages to find enough trust in her to force it down with a grim scowl. Fuck, it’s disgusting. Horrifically so.

They take an uber out to the wedding venue to retrieve Chris’ car, and she gives directions back to the Dawsonville Pool Room with her eyes half closed, sunglasses over her eyes. Everytime he looks at her he thinks she’s turning green.

The owner recognizes her as soon as they’re walking through the door. Charles doesn’t understand a single fucking word the guy says. Chris orders “two Bully Burgers, but I swear to holy Heaven if you put slaw anywhere near my plate you’re gonna see the Devil, Mr. Gordon.”

He responds in something Charles could technically call English, and Chris shakes her head, a smile pulling on her lips. “I’m serious, he’ll back me up,” she says, thumb pointing to him. “He’s not from around here, you’re just another stranger.”

The greasiest, sloppiest, most mediocre burger he’s ever eaten is put in front of him five minutes later, and he feels like a new man after. Still absolutely strung out and exhausted, yes, but like his stomach is content to stay inside his body.

Later that afternoon, when they’re both half asleep on the couch, some stupid sitcom playing as background nose, he’s still thinking about her fucking speech from the night earlier. It’s still bugging him. “Baby?” he mumbles against the skin of her shoulder. He doesn’t even know if she’s awake to answer.

“Hmm?” She hums.

“We do not have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but. You are a very lovable person, I think.” He couldn’t give any specific examples of what makes him so sure of this fact, he honestly couldn’t. But isn’t that proof enough? That just her being is enough to answer the question.

“Babe,” she stretches against him, speaks through a yawn.

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I just. I don’t know.”

“No, it’s okay. We can talk about it.” She adjusts, if just slightly, so that it’s easier for her to look at him while they speak. “When everyone has the same complaint, all your old friends and old boyfriends tell you that you’re too much or too little, you realize maybe you’re the crazy one.”

He doesn't like that reasoning. He thinks it’s a load of bullshit, actually. “Why do you think of yourself in this way?”

Chris laughs. “It’s fine, really.”

“It’s not,” he says, because he knows it’s a lie.

“It is, because I’ve come to terms with it. I accept it.”

He frowns, hates the way she seems so content with this. Like it’s something that is even kind of rational. It’s not, he knows. He pauses, can’t even come up with something to say to her level of absurdity. “I don’t think you should accept that.”

She turns away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, and laughs softly. “I’m sure you don’t.”

“You are not unlovable.” She’s not. She’s not. He knows she’s not. He knows, he knows, because of rain on a pine patio and leaves that change colors. He knows, because if she was unlovable, he wouldn’t love her. And he does, he does love her.

Wait.

“Well, we’ll see. Everyone always sees.”

No, hold on. Wait. His stomach is tangled, flip-flopping and fluttering like every butterfly this side of the Atlantic has suddenly taken up residence in his insides. You don’t love her, you idiot, he thinks. But he does. Fucking… His heart races. He hopes to God, pays to something he’s not sure he believes in that she can’t feel it against his chest. That he can get away with it. “See what?”

She shrugs. “If I knew, nobody would see it,” she laughs. He laughs along, too, but it’s so forced that it sounds like some pre-recorded bit. She’s so casual about all of this that he feels like he needs to pinch himself. It doesn’t make sense, he can’t wrap his mind around it. But Chris, she’s comfortable enough with her bull-fucking-shit ‘facts’ that she can pull her phone out and scroll through it while they wrap up the conversation. “And before you ask, ‘What if I don’t see anything?’ like everyone else but Hannah always asks, nothing happens.”

“Nothing happens?”

She opens her fucking email. He’s in love with her, and she’s opening her fucking email while telling him it’s not possible. “You win, I guess.”

“I win you?”

“I mean, I don’t like to consider myself something that can be won,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. His heart is beating so loud he thinks the neighbors can probably hear it. “But for lack of a better word… sure. You win me.”

He nods. There’s nothing more he can add to the conversation, not now. Not when he’s just ran face-first into a brick wall of I love you. Fuck. Fuck. He’s totally in love with her. What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

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#ma&thp #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x oc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst #f1 edit #f1 fic #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 #f1 imagine #ferrari f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x oc #scuderia ferrari

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jeyusos-girl · 3 months

Text

a/n: lets pretend this didn't take almost a month to finish 😁

word count: 1221

@harmshake this ones for you 😭

💙💙💙

Daniel's attention hadn't been captured like this in a long time.

She walked into the club, her aura exuded confidence. Her mere presence commanded attention without even trying. Daniel’s eyes followed her every move and in that moment, it felt as though time had slowed down, the chaotic energy of the club fading into the background as she became the sole focus of his thoughts.

Daniel stared a beat longer before downing the rest of his drink and stalking his way to the bar, squeezing through bodies until he was feet away from her.

He slid into the space next to her, and the scent of her sweet vanilla perfume filled his senses.

Daniel set his glass down and waited for the bartender.

The sound of the glass hitting the bar top got her attention.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and glanced to the left of her.

Their eyes met for the first time.

“Hey,” he spoke.

Daniel felt weak in the knees as her dark eyes stared into his soul.

“Hi,” she muttered.

She was the first to break eye contact. As Daniel went to speak again, the bartender appeared in front of him.

“Sorry for the wait, what can I get you?”

He gave his order and the bartender slid the drink in front of him within a minute.

He returned his attention to the woman beside him.

“You come here often?” Daniel asked, taking a sip of his drink.

He heard her scoff lightly.

She turned her head, resting her chin in her hand.

“Has that line ever worked for you?”

Her sultry voice sent a chill down his spine. He set his glass down and leaned on the bar top.

"Not my go-to, but I had to give it a shot,” Daniel smirked as she hid her smile behind her glass.

Daniel's attention remained fixed on the woman beside him.

“Did it work for you?”

“Nope, better luck next time,” she replied, a smirk painted on her lips.

“Already planning on seeing me again?” he leaned in closer as she laughed loudly. The sound was like music to his ears.

“Is there something you want from me?” she raised a brow.

“How about a name, beautiful.”

She cocked her head to the side, studying his features.

“Y/N. Anything else?”

“Yeah, your number would be great too.” Daniel licked his lips.

“Hm, I don't think so. I don't give my number to strangers,” Y/N took a sip of her martini.

Daniel leaned back slightly, his smile unfaltering despite the rejection.

"Fair enough. In that case, allow me to introduce myself. My name’s Daniel. I'm a 25-year-old professional wrestler from Buffalo, New York, and I-”

“Wait wait, did you say you were 25?” Y/N interrupted.

“Yeah, is there an issue?” Daniel tilted his head.

“Yes, the issue is I'm a whole decade older than you,”

Daniel squinted, pursing his full lips.

“Forgive me but I'm still not seeing the problem.”

Y/N chuckled, biting back a smile. She turned in her stool to face Daniel. She didn't miss the way his eyes traveled the length of her body.

“How about finding someone closer to your age to hit on.” she dared.

Daniel leaned back, his expression thoughtful.

“Why would I wanna do that when you and I are having such a lovely conversation?”

Y/N laughed again, a sound that Daniel was quickly becoming addicted to.

“Look, age doesn't matter to me. What matters is the connection we have-“

“Connection? I’ve known you for less than 10 minutes. I wouldn't call what we have a connection,” she narrowed her eyes.

"But there's something, isn't there?" Daniel countered, his gaze intense.

"I mean, you're still here talking to me, aren't you?" Y/N paused, her eyes flickering with something that Daniel couldn't quite pinpoint.

“And correct me if I'm wrong but if you weren't at least a little bit interested I'm sure you'd have no problem telling me to back off.”

Daniel took a sip of his drink as Y/N paused, her gaze shifting as she contemplated his response. The corners of her lips twitched, a hint of amusement playing across her features.

She couldn’t deny the truth in Daniel’s words. Y/N had no problem brushing away unwanted attention from men who thought they’d have a chance with her. But there was something magnetic about Daniel, something enticing about his confidence and charm. And while she wouldn’t dare admit it out loud, she was intrigued by the young man's attempt at winning her over.

Y/N met Daniel’s gaze, her eyes gleaming.

“Look I don't know what your game is, but let me tell you, Daniel. It's going to take more than a few smooth lines to impress me. I’ll give you an hour to prove that this connection you seem so sure of, is real.”

“An hour is all I need,” Daniel smiled before downing the rest of his drink.

For the next hour, their conversation flowed smoothly.

They shared stories and experiences freely. Y/N was surprised at how comfortable she was sharing such detailed information with Daniel. It put her initial apprehension at ease knowing that Daniel was just as interested in her life as she was his. He seemed genuine in his attempt to get to know her and that made her feel good.

As the liquid courage from the several drinks they shared kicked in, the conversation became more flirtatious.

Their attraction was undeniable and the tension between them grew thicker and thicker with each prolonged period of eye contact.

They noticed the way their bodies seemed to gravitate toward each other. The distance between them got smaller, their legs intertwined and their hands roamed freely, never leaving one another’s touch.

Neither of them dared mention it, too afraid it would ruin the moment.

The world around them faded, and their attention focused solely on each other. Every touch, every glance exchanged became a silent confession of the attraction they were trying (and failing) to hide.

Each compliment Daniel sent her way was met with a shy smile that made his heart flutter.

“You certainly have a way with words, Daniel,” she remarked, a faint smile painted on her lips.

“So I've been told,” he smirked.

“I bet you have,” she rolled her eyes playfully.

Daniel smiled and lifted her hand to his lips. Their eye contact never faltered, and as his lips met her knuckles, a chill ran through her body.

“I think our time is up,” he noted.

“Yeah I think it is, unfortunately,” Y/N mumbled that last part, hoping Daniel wouldn't hear.

But he did.

“Unfortunately? Does that mean I passed your test?” he raised a brow, hopeful that she'd say yes. She bit her lip to contain her smile.

“Yeah, you did. I enjoyed talking to you Daniel,” she sighed as she dragged her heeled foot up his leg.

“I don't want the night to be over,”

"It doesn't have to be beautiful. We can continue this elsewhere, my hotel isn't that far from here." Daniel suggested, offering her a devilishly handsome smile.

Y/N leaned in closer, resting a hand on his thigh.

“Are you going to make it worth my while?”

“I promise you I will just give me an hour.”

#daniel garcia #daniel garcia aew #daniel garcia imagines #daniel garcia x reader #daniel garcia imagine #aew x reader #aew fanfiction #aew imagines #aew imagine

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shanastoryteller · 1 year

Note

Happy Holidays Shana! Fem!MXY!WWX has infected my brain! More of that, please?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Wei Wuxian has the deafening talisman on his chest and a blindfold wrapped tightly around his face and held together with a different talisman so he doesn’t have to worry about it slipping. He leaves his sword sheathed for now – it wouldn’t do well to start out too strong.

He stands, loose and easy, but nothing happens. He huffs. “I really will punish you if you refuse to help me. I am your superior. Don’t overthink it, just do as you’re told.”

Rich advice, coming from him, but they don’t know that.

He feels the air move to his left and he lifts his hand, grabbing a slim wrist and twisting it so she has to let go of her sword. He yanks her forward, thinking of the moves he used to drill Shijie in, and pulls her over his shoulder and slams her to the ground.

He pops upright, bracing himself for the next attacks, but none come.

This is getting annoying.

“I’ll tell you when to stop,” he says. “Until I say otherwise, keep coming up at me. I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough.”

This time he feels their footsteps through the ground. Lazy. What, are they stomping? That has to be a funny image at least. He raises his sheathed sword to stop one attack, while kicking out his leg towards his other attacker. He aims too high, hitting meaty thigh instead of fragile knees, and has to throw himself on the ground to avoid the next attack. That does mean he’s low enough to yank their feet out from under them and then he rolls around just in time to avoid the attack that he’s pretty sure was coming from behind, which means his two opponents should have just taken themselves out.

“Someone remind me to assign footwork lessons after this,” he says. He’s just going to assume someone answers in the affirmative. They are Lans.

More come, two more sets of two before they figure out that’s not going to work, and then they’re attacking in groups of three and four. That’s when he stops being able to dodge every hit, but it’s also when his mind quiets. Everything slows down and he feels his lung expand, the sweaty grip he has on his sword sheath, and the growing collection of throbbing wounds across his body. He almost unsheathes his sword a dozen times, but this is good, he can almost feel his core straining and fighting against the confines of his body.

Finally. This is what he wanted. It’s not about thinking, fighting like this, just reacting, just trusting his borrowed body to notice things in time to react to them. It’s been close to an hour, his breaths are coming out more as wheezes, he’s at least twisted an ankle and possibly broken a rib, and he has some sort of head wound that’s causing blood to soak into his blindfold. It’s miserable and painful and not something this body is trained to handle, but he’s endured worse for longer. At last none of the Lans are trying to eat him.

Suddenly it all stops. He widens his stance, holding up his sword sheathe defensively, but nothing happens. “I didn’t stay stop,” he croaks. “Do as you’re told. Attack.”

The moment stretches on long enough that he’s getting genuinely annoyed about it when he’s throwing himself to the side, only realizing why when he feels the reverberation of a powerful cultivation blade hitting the ground next to him.

They’ve called in reinforcements, it seems. Maybe one of the elders? Fair enough, honestly.

Wei Wuxian unsheathes his sword, meeting the next blow more on a guess than anything else. The strength behind it is enough to send him skittering back several feet, but he doesn’t let his grip slip an inch. Then they’re pushing away from each other and he’s meeting the next blow based on what he would do, which probably isn’t fair to this random Lan elder, but oddly enough it works.

Every blow is powerful enough to make his bones shake and his opponent is skilled enough that Wei Wuxian can barely sense the air moving until it’s almost too late. His few minutes fighting this person are harder than the past hour of standing against disciples, but Wei Wuxian learned a long time ago how to compartmentalize his pain to keep fighting.

Doing this is making him stronger. He needs to be stronger to figure out what Mo Xuanyu wanted him to do. Mo Xuanyu killed herself to get his help. He can’t disappoint her.

He can’t give in.

New energy surges through him, bright and searing, painful even in its usefulness. He doesn’t let himself think about it, instead he pushes through, uses it to put his opponent on the defensive for once. Their fight is flowing faster, almost as if it’s a pattern, like they’re dancing instead of fighting.

Wei Wuxian feels a cool blade against his throat right as rests the edge of his sword on his opponent’s shoulder, flush against their neck.

A draw. Better than he’d expected, given his current physical condition.

His opponent doesn’t lower their sword, so he doesn’t either, but he does release the talismans with a burst of cultivation energy. At first he thinks it doesn’t work because everything is still so silent, but then he can hear the harshness of his own breathing and his blindfold slips off his face.

Lan Zhan is standing there, his sword at his throat, and his face pale and eyes wide. He’s hit with a dizzying sense of déjà vu. It’s like they’re fifteen again, on that rooftop with two bottles of Emperor’s smile dangling between them and the bright, fat moon hanging above.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice coming out too high and strangled.

This can’t be happening. He can’t know. He’ll hate him and throw him out if he doesn’t kill him outright and then Mo Xuanyu will have died for nothing and Sizhui will be so said and he won’t understand – and what if his siblings find out, that’s the last thing he wants –

He keeps his voice steady and face even as he asks, “Who is Wei Ying?”

Lan Zhan’s face shuts down. “I – please excuse me, Xuanyu.” He lowers his sword, turning and doing the closest thing to running away that Wei Wuxian has seen him do since they were teenagers.

All the Lans are staring at him and gaping. The adrenaline leaves him all at once and he collapses to the ground, his legs refusing to support him.

He groans and then several dozen Lans converge on him, multiple concerned shouts of, “Madame Lan!” nearly deafening him all over again.

It’s kind of nice, actually.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #math-is-magic #untamed #i feel like we need a non-wwx pov of this for full effect

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ultralightpoe · 3 months

Text

Pinky Promises - Chapter One

Authors Note: Yeahhhhh baby. Chapter one is out.

Word Count: 8,316 Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

x Prev Chapter x

Song of the Chapter : Hungry Like The Wolf

September 17th, 1983 - Saturday

“When I marry rich the first thing I’m doing is buying Eddie better taste in music.” Cece Miller mutters angrily whilst following her best friend through an over packed house 30 minutes outside of Hawkins, keeping a freshly manicured hand wrapped around the blondes wrist to keep her close as both their feet stumble across the floors. Via’s heavy boots thud against the linoleum of the kitchen while Cece’s heels click. The complete opposites.

When Via stumbles under the harsh new light of the kitchen her hand pulls Cece who stumbles as well, the former trying not to laugh when Cece’s face smushed into her back quickly with a disgruntled gasp.

“Slow down, Via.” She grounds out, her nails digging into the flesh of Via’s arm which makes her gasp out in pain.

“Easy on the flesh, I’m going as slow as I can. Unless you want to be stuck between a bunch of people grinding?” She teases, reaching her free hand behind her to release some of the tension of Cece’s hold. Both of them back up with a simple step as a random jock in a letterman jacket dashes past to the bathrooms. “And so the mighty are already falling.”

“Jesus.” Cece grimaces as they both watch him shove past others. “I can never tell if I love these types of parties or hate them.”

“A bit of both as I’ve come to realize. You know, from all my years attending them.” A shit eating grin spreads across her face as she turns to look at her friend, biting back a laugh when the brunette merely rolls her eyes as she smooths out her hair.

“How could I forget? Show me your partying ways ‘oh wise one’.” She mocks a little bow as she says it. The both of them already knew that their only experience of parties came from this past summer and this school year, and even then it’s whenever they can trick their parents.

“Well we’ve already had a couple drinks-”

“Whoope.”

“And Eddie is still playing this trash metal music-”

“Are you shocked?”

“So another round of drinks and then we go on a hunt for the damn speakers and switch out the music for something worth a damn.” Via offers, wiggling her eyebrows as Cece cracks out into a fit of laughter.

“Mission accepted. Let’s get moving.” With that she takes the lead, Via having to grab onto her wrist to stay connected as they once again make their way through the hectic floor. Bumping shoulders with partygoer after partygoer.

Cecelia Miller was a force of nature in settings like this. She was one of the few girls that knew how beautiful she was and flaunted it well. She wore short skirts, that had once been longer skirts her mother thrifted but the girl had a knack of turning anything into her fashion. 10 minutes on a sewing machine and she was wearing the type of clothes that could have been in one of those lame fashion magazines Via had seen her obsess over day after day.

It was a shame her fashion sense and beauty had earned her the label of ‘School Slut’ at Hawkins when anyone that knew the girl knew she was a virgin. But that didn’t matter to any of the assholes at school, they didn’t truly care about anyone else but themselves.

Tonight she wore a skintight black skirt that had once been a pair of pleather pants, and a pink off the shoulder top that had once been a long sleeve floral shirt that Cece’s grandmother would wear to their church.

Via’s own outfit had been one of Cece’s creations. A tight purple and black checkered dress hemmed from one of her sister's old ankle length skirts with a pair of pantyhose and an overly large gray blazer. When Via had thrown the blazer on she felt the same nervous bubbling she used to get whenever she tried on Nana's homemade dresses.

Cece’s face always held the same amount of excitement her Nana’s once held whenever she looked at her creations. It always made something churn in her gut as she remembered the worn lines of her Nana’s face and the happiness laid in her eyes. But that was gone. Her Nana was gone.

And Harrington had laughed.

But she couldn’t think about that memory right now, not when her friend had led them both to the kitchens and had snatched two cups. As she inspected the insides of the cups to make sure they are clean, Via moves to find the last unopened bottle of vodka and turns to pour them out.

Her father once said something about ‘yin and yang’ the first time Cece had spent the night at the old house. He laughed about how well they worked with each other, smooth and unbreakable. Working in tandem as they did the dishes or homework. Each others exact opposites and still never missing a beat.

That carried to this day, and Via truly had no clue what she would do without her friend.

“Do you want coke or lemonade?” Cece asks, still holding both the cups as she looks over to where the chasers were.

“The cap to the coke is lost. Better safe than sorry.” Via hums out and grabs the lemonade to pour into the cups while Cece keeps an eye around them. Once both of them are filled enough the lemonade is set half haphazardly on the table again and Cece passes a cup to Vias outstretched hand easily, scoffing a bit when the bleach blonde tries drinking before cheers. “Sorry sorry.”

“Cheers to us, bitch.” Cece giggles, wiggling side to side in excitement before she gestures for Via to cheers her back.

“Cheers to…” Surviving another year at Hawkins, not killing anyone and passing grades. “Being here?”

“Terrible toast. You’re never speaking at my wedding.”

“You mean when you marry a rich man?”

“Don’t laugh. I’ll buy you all the nice art supplies you want when I’m making the money.” She huffs once more, glaring at the boy that tries to come up and talk to them with his shirt off. “A little busy here? Find someone else to bother.”

He grumbles something under his breath before storming off and she merely rolls her eyes. “Ugh. Everyone here is disgusting.”

“How shocking that you think people are disgusting.” Via mocks, giggling at her friends' annoyed expression before they tap their cups together and pinch their noses to chug the drinks quickly.

They move to pour one last round before they abandon the kitchen and stagger their way across the floor in search for where the music was being played from. Their hands stay entwined tight, always keeping close no matter what. It was one of the rules they made at the first party they had ever been to after a risky interaction with one of the freaks Eddie had invited from that bar he always went to.

Now, no matter what party they went to, one of them had to keep their hands on the other. Like the buddy system in kindergarten.

“Okay so get into Eddie’s mindset.” Cece giggles, leading them into a hallway that has a little room to loiter. “I’m some sort of evil genius that throws random ragers which are just ruses to torture a crowd with my shit music. Where do I hide the radio?”

“Up his ass probably.” Via laughs, fanning her hand out to cool herself down a bit. Sweat began to cling to the back of her neck. “Do you have a hair tie?”

“Shhhhh I am thinking.” Cece snaps, putting her hand up to the blonde's face as she looks around.

“Or we can follow a chord from one of the speakers?” Via offers, snatching her friend's hand and stealing a hair tie from the slender wrist and putting her hair up while the other girls gasps in excitement.

“You are a genius. And not the evil kind like your cousin.” She exclaims before moving to find a speaker and before they know it they are following the chord to the radio and hijacking it to a different station. The crowd is a mix of boos and excited chants as dancing begins downstairs.

They escape the scene of the crime, giggling the entire time, especially when Via trips on the bottom step of the staircase leading back down to the living room area where most of the dancing was beginning.

Hungry Like The Wolf begins blasting through the speakers and Cece yells in excitement, dragging Via the last couple steps towards the dance floor and throwing them both in without a second thought.

1 song turned to 3 more. Which turned to 5 more songs and by the time Via managed to drag Cece away from the crowd and out the door, the sweat that had covered most of her skin sent chills down her spine as it soaks up the cold night air.

Cece leans against the railing close to the door, leaning back and fixing her hair so the air can hit her face a little better while Via staggers to the opposite railing with her eyes closed as every muscle in her body relaxes, wrapping the oversized blazer around herself to preserve some warmth.

“It’s not warm looking cool is it?” A voice from below the porch snaps her out of the calm daze, scaring her a bit before she blinks away the blurriness and finds her cousin sitting in the grass of the lawn smiling from ear to ear. “You the little shit that switched my music?”

The scent of caramel and sweat fill Via’s senses as Cece joins her side with an overdramatic huff. “The music you were playing sucked. So you can’t pull your better than thou attitude with us.”

“Hello, Cecelia.” Eddie grins, leaning against the wall of the house as he stares up at her. “You both would be a lot warmer if you dressed like me, you see I have a leather jacket and a flannel because unlike you I-”

“Look like a dweeb?” Cece scoffs, using her fingers to swiper under her eyes in an attempt to clean the makeup that had pooled there.

There is a slam of a car door not far off that pulls Via’s attention as the two around her continue their small argument, but the people getting out of the car have fully grabbed all of her attention. The three boys in the Hawkins jerseys all shoving each other drunkenly and laughing like maniacs as they stagger across the lawn to get to the front door.

Via watches for a moment, waiting to see if another figure would emerge, one that she knew like the back of her hand. When he doesn’t she takes a deep breath in and turns back to where her cousin was still sitting and hauls herself up onto the railing to throw her body over. The only problem was she had a little too much to drink so it’s not as smooth as she would like it to be and she ends up just falling forward.

Cece gasps out and it’s like a slow motion horror story as Via watches the ground come at her quickly, or well maybe she was coming at the ground too quickly but who's to say? Before she can really crash her cousin is there, laughing as he takes most of the hit and they both sprawl across the dirt and grass.

It takes her a moment to catch her breath since the fall knocked the wind out of her lungs, and by the time she finally does she has to pick herself up off the ground to spot Cece climbing through the rails rather than over them.

Eddie groans in pain as he dashes to help her before the jocks hit the porch, all three of them ducking down so the clowns in jock jackets don’t see them.

“Is there a reason you are hiding in the bushes?” Via taunts, still a little out of breath from her fall and her back shooting with pain.

“Party got a little boring.” He shrugs, leaning against the wall again as his hand pats down his jacket before he pulls a sandwich baggie with a joint and a lighter tossed into it. “Needed a break.”

“You fell down here after leaning on the railing.” Via guesses which makes her cousin lean to punch her shoulder harshly. She grunts in pain once more before slapping his arm back and before he can hit back Cece leans to snatch the joint from him while he is distracted.

“Of course. You two follow me out here just to team up on me as usual. This will not stand, you hear me?” Eddie rants, shaking his head. “I’m putting my foot down, Cecelia.”

“Don’t say my name like that, Edward.” She snaps, lighting the rolled up joint and taking in a deep inhale before passing it to Via. Eddie whines in the background as Via follows her friend's lead before handing it to Eddie finally.

“Do you ladies like…. My humble abode?” He squints, gesturing to the big house behind him before smoking as well, watching both of the girls look at the house fully now.

“How do you even find these houses?” Via questions, closing her eyes and laying down as the dizziness threatens to consume her.

Eddie had made a habit of throwing parties in houses for sell, empty and out of town bounds. An idea Cece gave him the last time Hopper caught him with weed, he had gotten into a lot of trouble and she was upset. So now the parties are in houses where Hopper couldn’t find them, and Eddie could sell to people from other towns.

“Oh it’s so easy. I simply read a newspaper and look for open houses then I go to the open house and look up what time they close and once I’m sure they are closed up for the night I break in - which isn’t a crime if I don’t get caught so do not make that face at me Cecelia-”

“Hate when you call me that Edward.” She grunts.

“-And then I call a random number to a different school from a telephone that cannot be traced-”

“A payphone.”

“Olivia, please I am trying to lay out my master scheme here. Anyways I call from a phone that cannot be traced to a random student from different schools and tell them the address for the night so I can never be tracked. It’s so simple.”

“I think you need help, Edward.” Via hisses, sitting up to flick his nose before Cece lays down to put her head in Via’s lap and close her eyes. They sit in silence for a moment, just taking a deep breath in as the party is still loud and booming within the house. Hungry Like The Wolf begins to play through the speakers again.

“I hate you guys for changing the music.” Eddie groans.

“This party blew before we did that so lose the tone Edward.” Cece mumbles with her eyes still closed.

“How are things going with you two? It’s been forever since I have seen you both.” He is quick to change the subject.

“We saw you yesterday.” Via reminds him, leaning back on her palms to relax as he relights his joint and Cece hums out while still using her friend as a pillow. No matter how many parties they went to somehow they always ended up sitting alone and gossiping about the dumbest things possible. Did that make them lame?

Via didn’t think so but Steven Harrington would probably disagree. Just the thought of his stupid face has her clenching her jaw and imagining ways to hit him with a car. But the thoughts betray her, just as they always do. It goes from hitting him with a car to remembering his face that night.

When she had heard the news about Nana, when she panicked and ran to the one person she thought would make her feel better. But she should have known better, she should have known that he wasn’t who she thought he always was.

Eddie had warned her long before that and her freshman year had proven as much. But she was still a fool, and she was upset and he had been so drunk .

The glassiness of his eyes made her stomach sink, the wet of the grass digging into her socks as she tries to process her next words.

“My Nana is gone…” She sobs, and he only blinks.

“Are you crying?” He slurs and she can’t tell if he can hear her or not. When she does go to respond she is interrupted by the sound of Tommy Hagan cackling behind Steve.

He turns to stare at Tommy and Ollie watches in slow time as his chest begins to rise and fall with… laughter. Steve was laughing. At her.

“Via? Helloooo?” Eddie calls, snapping his fingers in front of her face.

“Sorry? What?” She balks, trying to act calm as both of her friends peer at her as if she were crazy.

“We thought you were like…. Dying or something. We have been trying to get your attention for hours.” Cece huffs, tears in her eyes. “Don’t die.”

“Okay, don’t get too dramatic Cecelia.” Eddie huffs, though his face still holds a small but of panic. “She is right though. You went pale and just zoned out for a minute.”

“Sorry. Got caught in my head.” Via answers, tension coiling in her chest as they both watch her with fear. When neither of them seemed to relax she lets out a fake laugh, doing her very best to make them believe it. “I’m fine mom and dad. Take a breath.”

“Fine. Just tell me if I need to go grab water.” Eddie huffs, finally sitting back which makes Cece relax as well, though she doesn’t lay her head back in her friends lap and rather sits against the wood hold of the porch with a skeptical look. One Via notes immediately.

“What were we talking about before I zoned out?”

“We were just catching up.” Eddie mumbles and Via doesn’t miss the way he smears out the rest of the joint, throwing it back in the bag and shoving it in his jacket with shaky hands. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good.” Steve’s laughing face is still deeply engraved in the center of her thoughts but that’s where he stayed whether she liked it or not.

“I was telling Eds about my essay, the one you helped me with? I got an A on it.” Cece mutters, reaching up to smooth out her hair. “Who knew Cleopatra was so interesting?”

“I did…. And Wiley. He gave me the books for the research, you know?” Via smiles as both their faces melt at the mention of her little brother.

“Oh I love Wiley!” Cece blurts, her voice filled with the same tone in which you talk to a tiny kitten. “He’s just so sweet!”

“I don’t understand how Wiley doesn’t have friends!” Eddie snaps aggressively, his face pinched up in annoyance. “That kid is so metal. He rocks and I’ll pummel those kids that made fun of him. I promise you that.”

“That’s a crime, Eds.” Cece reminds.

“Only if you get caught.” He snaps back. “I seriously don’t know what that Wheeler kids problem is.”

“We don’t know it was Wheeler.” Via rushes out, palms outstretched in an attempt to get them both to calm down like they were wild animals. “But the stutter has gotten better around the house. I have no clue what he sounds like at school.”

It was a partial truth. Wiley had developed a really bad stutter due to some bullying at school and over the years he started to avoid talking all together. His stutter had gotten better around their family lately but that was due to the fact that he avoided talking any chance he could. No matter how much their dad pried for conversation.

“We should dress up as middle school boys and sneak in to see.”

“Hate to break it to you Cecelia but you have a very large pair of knockers.”

“EDWARD!” She snaps, sitting up to slap his forehead quickly which makes him gasp out in fake shock.

“That was so rude Cecelia. You truly just hurt my feelings.” He whines, and she rolls her eyes when he smiles at her.

“Grow up, Munson.”

“You first, Miller.”

“Get a room, Mutts.” Via scoffs, moving to stand on shaky legs.

“Get a life, Ollie.” Eddie scoffs back, eyes widening when Via picks up a tiny rock to throw at him, and within seconds he’s scrambling to run away as both girls move to attack him.

20 minutes later Via stands before the side of the house, two cans of spray paint within her hands as she sticks out her tongue from the corner of her mouth in an attempt to better concentrate. Steve used to say it was ‘frog mentality’ and that she would pass all her classes if she kept doing it. But that was back when Steve wasn’t the devil incarnate.

Cece and Eddie lean against the tree facing the house, both watching my work and critiquing it any chance they get to bother her.

“I would like to remind the group one more time that I am still working on the project. And you shouldn’t judge it until it’s done.” Via snaps out, tossing the red spray paint into the duffel bag and snatching up a different color, shaking it quickly as Eddie tilts his head to admire the work.

“It looks uneven.” He smirks and Cece gasps dramatically. “Eds I was literally about to say that.”

“I hate you both.” Via mumbles under her breath which makes them laugh as she continues on. They begin talking amongst themselves, Cece reminding Eddie about homework to which he argues that he did it and they begin a whisper debate, and at some point Via begins to zone them out and focus on the project at hand. Their words fade out, and the colors become the only thing that matters. They blend together and soon enough a face comes into view, the brick all turning into a portrait of despair.

By the time she steps back all she can do is blink at the creation, smiling from ear to ear as her cousin whistles slowly and walks up to where she stands. “Is that Marilyn Monroe?”

“Oh my god Eddie. It is obviously Marilyn Monroe.” Cece sighs, coming up to huddle next to them both for warmth as each of them fight off shivers. “I cannot believe you did that with spray paint.”

“Is she crying or smiling?” Eddie asks, tilting his head to further admire the portrait.

“Both? I don’t know. I kind of just let the paint take control.” Via admits, face heating as both of them immediately groan out.

“I’m Via and I speak to the paint.” Eddie mocks, pretending to flip his hair over his shoulder before his face goes dead serious. “You’re not….huffing the paint are you?”

“Shut up Edward!” Cece snaps which makes Via smile, laughing a bit until the defense turns against her. “She only does that every now and then. She mostly huffs the bleach for her hair.”

“YOU do my hair!” Via groans, shoving Cece away as she packs up the duffel of spray paint and snatches the polaroid camera from the bag before stepping back and taking a picture of her latest mural.

The second the picture is formed she can do nothing but smile at it.

“Alright, go pose.” Cece giggles, snatching the camera and shoving Via in the direction of the mural. The blonde doesn’t argue, and immediately dashes to pose in front of the brick wall with a wide smile, both her middle fingers pointed to the camera as Cece takes the picture.

She shakes the picture with excitement as Eddie shuffles closer to see it. Once it’s developed they both show their excitement, Eddie with a ‘hell yeah’ and Cece with a loud squeal.

“You look so good!” The brunette laughs.

“Badass.” Eddie confirms and Via snatches the photo to look at it herself.

Sometimes seeing her reflection or photo these days still kind of shocked her, like a stranger she had never had the chance to properly meet.

After Nana had passed she had gone through many changes.

It had started the day she chopped her long hair down to her collarbone, sobbing violently until she rushed to Cece’s house before her parents could see it. Cece’s mother had evened out the chop and helped the girls bleach her hair, since she was a hair stylist.

The pink came from a night at Cece’s house while her mom slept over at her nasty boyfriend's place. Cece had been upset and Via had of course rushed over, they read in one of her lame magazines that color in the hair was the new thing so they started with Via. But by the time the pink had been dyed Cece lost her nerve and had never added any blue to her own.

This led to a fight, one of their biggest, and they went a whole 20 minutes of not talking to each other. It was intense. (Eddie says they are both too codependent. They both tell him to shove it)

Gone were the days of the handmade dresses her Nana used to spend hours making, gone were the days of being bullied over them. Not that Via ever hated the dresses, they were all gifts from her Nana, but she liked that she could grow into her style some more. There were still a couple dresses kept safe in the back of her closet though. Kept safe and hidden.

Cece had taught her makeup…. Well she tried to teach her makeup but the two had very different thoughts on how makeup should look. Cece went for a glam look, foundation and glitter. Via went for a…. She liked eyeliner.

And Via loved her new look, she loved everything about it. She just wishes she had more time to grow into it rather than changing it in one summer.

But it was time things moved forward. Freshman year from hell had proved as much. Harrington and his friends had made it dreadful. And her one best friend…..

“Okay, we need to get out of here before the cops show up. That party is only getting louder.” Eddie reminds. He makes sure everything is picked up and gives them both one more protective look. “I’m gonna go find my sophomores. You two good to get home?”

“Tell Gareth and Jeff I say hello.” Cece smiles, fluttering her eyes which makes Eddie roll his eyes once more. Everyone knew both of them had huge crushes on her, the kind that left them speechless whenever she was near.

“I already told you not to bully my youth, Cecelia.”

“Blah blah blah.” She snaps, leaning to kiss his cheek before moving to walk away leaving Via behind for a moment.

“You okay?” He blurts after a moment, both of them watching Cece walk across the lawn in her heels, yelling in disgust when they keep sinking in the mud.

“Oh my god I’m fine. It was just a zoned out moment. I’ll drive her home and walk.” she sighs in aggravation, twisting the bracelet on her arm nervously. “You can even come knock on our door when you get home to make sure I made it.”

“I meant about the day.” Eddie mumbles, finally turning to her with that knowing look that normally sets her on edge. “I know how…..close you were .”

“I’m fine. It’s just a day.” She laughs, not enjoying the queasy feeling coiling in her stomach or the way her palms seem to itch with sweat. Memories lunging for her, all around that stupid boy with the stupid smile. “Are you okay to get home?”

Best way to handle Eddie is to change the subject to himself, it’s something she had learned pretty quickly. He gets as defensive about being okay as she does. Fight fire with fire.

“How about you call the trailer later and make sure I am alive?” He teases, punching her shoulder. Situation diffused.

“COME ON!” Cece calls, finally having made it to her car. “I WANT DONUTS!”

“CAN YOU YELL ANY LOUDER?!” Eddie calls back, flipping her the bird before turning back to the house. “Go get the princess her donuts. I gotta find the boys.”

“Bye Edward.” She mumbles back, using his full name to piss him off.

“Bye Ollie.” He mutters back in the same tone and the grunt of shock that passes his lips when she punches his shoulders makes her smile. “Fine. Via.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

September 17th, 1975

“I officially hate 2nd grade.” Ollie mutters, trying to pull away from her mom as the older blonde fixes the pigtails she had sent her daughter to school in.

“I just don’t understand how a crayon melted in your hair Ollie.” She grunts, frustration flashing in her eyes as she picks the comb up from the table to once again try tugging some of the wax out. “Stevie? Did you see her?” “No.” He lies, watching from his spot at the kitchen table with his legs swinging back and forth. “She was on her own for this one.”

That part was true at least.

“Why would you do this Olivia?” Charlotte groans right as Flip comes down the stairs.

“What did Olivia do?”

“Dad! Mom is pulling my hair!” Ollie snitches which makes Steve snort in amusement until she sends a glare his way, promptly shutting him up.

“Don’t pull my baby's hair.” Her father mumbles, coming up to kiss his wife’s cheek before he stops short. “Olivia Diane Fraser. What the hell did you do?”

Steve sits up straight, eyes widening as he begins to panic. His friend was in deep trouble if her dad was using her full name. There is an urge to defend her, to tell her parents that it wasn’t her fault even if he knew it was. And apart of him knew her dad would never raise a hand to her, but there was still that fear, deep in his stomach that made him want to throw up.

“I was making Stevie a gift!” She yells back, her face going red with frustration. “It’s his birthday!”

“Oh you don’t say.” Charlotte laughs, turning to give Steve a wide smile. “Have I said Happy birthday yet Stevie?”

“This morning.” Steve nods, watching Ollie stick her head in the sink to try and get the crayon out again. “You want to see what Ollie made me?”

“Sure.” Flip sighs, dragging his eyes away from his daughter to see Steve hold out a piece of construction paper with melted crayons all over them. He blinks for a moment as Steve smiles like it’s the best art he’s ever seen.

Flip however cannot figure out what it is. He just stares, hoping if he blinks enough the image will come to him.

“It’s flowers!” Steve supplies. “See the wax of the green crayon is the stem and then she was making red and pink flowers with the other crayons and-“

“How the hell were you meltin these?” Flip laughs, turning back to his daughter.

“The sun….. and by pressing them into a lightbulb from a lamp.” Ollie explains, somehow managing to escape her mothers hold and dashing to where Steve sits. “Do you really like it?”

“It’s the coolest thing ever. I’m keeping it.” He smiles, pulling it closer to him.

“Alright. We’ll worry about Ollie’s hair later. For right now the big question is upon us.” Flip laughs, sitting at the table and turning to Steve. “What does the birthday boy want for dinner?”

September 17th, 1983 Saturday

The mini mart that sat right on the edge of town was probably the worst place to be so late in the night, and this only became apparent to Via when she walked in to find it empty.

Well, not empty. The lights were on and the radio by the register was playing music but there wasn’t another human in sight. It had an unsettling feel to it and for a second she is glad she had the mind to lock the doors to Cece’s car since the other girl was passed out in the backseat with a ‘car blanket’ strewn over her. Via wouldn’t have even stopped for the donuts if she didn’t want a snack herself.

The weed and the liquor both claimed hunger in her stomach.

So, even though it gave her a bad feeling, Via smiled as she used the emptiness of the mini mart to her advantage. Unzipping her purse as she passed through the aisles and shoved some things in it quickly. A small bottle of liquor, a pack of donuts, band-aids, chocolate, matches.

She is debating if she should shove some gum in when the bell of the door sounds out and her attention drags to it, only to find the one person she never wanted to talk to again.

Steve Harrington blinks in shock, eyes wide as he looks torn between holding his ground or running away, his hand still on the door. His mouth opens and shuts a couple times before he clears his throat which snaps her back to attention.

She turns quickly, willing her spine to relax as she lamely stares at the gum choices before her, blinking and waiting.

Finally after a moment the door finally shuts completely and she lets out a breath, hoping that meant he left. She wasn’t so lucky because a moment later his footsteps can be heard as he passes her until he is an aisle away and looking at the selection of chips they had.

The only problem was the aisles barely reached their shoulders so they could still see each other. She was just fine ignoring him, but it seemed he would not let this moment pass.

“Is anyone working?”

“Do I look like I work here, Harrington?” She snarks, snatching up a pack of gum and moving to leave before she realizes that he would probably snitch which meant she would have to pay. Shit.

Turning to make it look like she wasn’t about to leave she waltzes to the counter and rings the bell, ignoring the feeling of his eyes on her back.

“Did you walk here? Or is that your car out there?” He asks again, and though she can’t see him she can hear him moving to another aisle to grab what he needed.

“It’s not my car.”

“So you walked? I can give you a ride to-”

“It’s my friends. I’m fine.” The answer is more of a disgruntled sigh, one that she wishes held more of a bite. She wishes she knew what would hurt him just as he hurt her, wanting nothing more than to make him bleed the very same way he made her bleed. “Besides. Mormon girls aren’t supposed to be with guys without an escort.”

His grunt of shock makes a small amount of pride bloom in her chest as she hits the bell again, a couple times to see if anyone would bother to hear her.

“How’s Wiley? Haven’t seen that kid in ag-”

“HELLO?!” She calls, frustration claiming her as he walks a little closer now, hands filled with items. She takes one moment to see what he’s got. Packs of pudding, a bag of chips, and a slim jim.

“Dinner.” He answers at her look, shrugging a bit. “Fancy isn’t it?”

She doesn’t answer, shaking her head as she turns back to the counter. She would not admit to remembering what day it was, she would never admit anything to him.

Reaching for the bell once more before she is cut short by the lights in the mini mart flickering before going out for a moment, then when the lights come back on Via finds herself blinking at Steve in shock.

He blinks back before a thunk is heard from the bathrooms to the left.

“Has the worker been in the bathroom this whole time?” Steve asks, setting his items down before heading to the door and knocking lightly.

“Seriously?” Via scoffs. “You’re gonna bother their bathroom break?”

“I… well- What am I supposed to do Ollie?”

“Don’t call me that-” A loud thunk from the back of the store catches their attention before a couple cans of coke fall off one of the shelves.

“Nope.” Via grunts, snatching her gum and moving to the door. “I am not dying here.”

Steve is quick to follow her lead, only stopping to grab a box of matches before dashing out the door.

She, like a fool, waits for him to escape before shutting the door behind him and moving to dash to the safety of Cece’s car before he is calling out quickly. “Hey Ollie…via!”

“It’s late. I have to go.” She snaps, rushing to unlock the driver side door. “If my parents find out I’m this close to Hawkins Lab after dark I’m dead.”

“I… I was just going to say I like the….. Hair?” He mumbles, and she risks one look at him, blinking slowly. The nervous look on his face reminded her of the way things used to be, when they dressed up as pirates and detectives. But before she knows it his laughing face is flashing through her memory.

She doesn’t bother responding, giving him a glare before getting in the car and starting it up, leaving Harrington at that stupid mini mart.

It’s not long before they reach Cece’s house, and Via helps her friend stagger inside while doing her best not to wake her little sister that shared the room. She helps get her into bed, tucking her in before leaving the pack of donuts on the nightstand and sneaking out the window.

The walk to her house was filled with memories and anger, her arms wrapped around herself in a lame attempt to keep warm as her boots crunched on the gravel beneath her. For 10 minutes she combed over that entire interaction with Steve, thinking about all the things she could have said.

She could have told him to shove it, or that she hopes he loses all his hair. There were so many options and when her home came into view she had to stop from kicking herself at all the lame responses she had given.

Wiley called this house ‘Grimoire’ since he claims it’s the kind of house you would find in an old warlock's grimoire. And looking at it now, under the little light the moon could offer with the forest behind it, there was no better description. It looked… old and depressing.

The last few years with Nana all their extra money had gone to her chemo and treatments. When she passed they had been a bit…. Panicky to find somewhere new to live. They had no money.

This house had been a lucky find. Eddie’s Uncle Wayne had helped them fix it up a bit when they began renting it and over the summer they tried to make it their new home.

It wasn’t.

Nothing was these days because they were missing someone.

But Via couldn’t think about that right now, not as she climbed onto the stack of milk cartons she set up to help her climb through her window in the one story home, doing her best to keep quiet so she didn’t wake anyone up.

It didn’t matter in the end since the second she closes her window the sound of her door creaking fills the air as Wiley comes into view.

“Hi, Wye.” She greets, smiling softly as she sits on the edge of her bed to unlace her boots. “What are you doing up?”

“C…couldn’t… couldn’t-t sleep.” He shrugs coming a bit closer and sitting at the chair of her desk where all her art supplies were currently strewn about. Her spray painting gear is hidden in Cece’s trunk of course. “W-were y-y-y-you at…”

She watches him take a deep breath in, choosing to focus his attention on one of her drawings to ease himself and not make eye contact so this was less stressful to him. “Were y-you at Stev-ve’s birthday party?”

“No. I was with Eddie and Cece. They say hi and that they love you by the way.” She smiles, throwing her bag on the bed before pulling out the two chocolate bars. “Look what I got you.”

This pulls a smile from his face as he eagerly snatches one from her hand and tears it open.

“Did you talk to that Sinclair kid?” Via asks, watching him closely, watching as his face falls a bit and his cheeks redden.

“T-they were t-talking ab-bout a new c-c-c..”

“Comic? They are reading a new comic? You don’t have it?”

“N-no.” He shakes his head. “Goodnight.”

He gets up and walks out without another word, but he does send her a small smile and she hears the sound of his own door shutting soon after before she gets up herself.

Wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed she heads down the hall and sets the box of matches in the kitchen drawer where her mom complained about being out before she left, and then she goes into the bathroom to switch out the empty box of bandaids with the ones she got tonight, smiling a bit to herself when she shuffles back to her room.

The panel in the bottom of her tiny closet lifts easily, and she reaches in to hide the bottle of liquor she stole earlier, her hand grazing something familiar as she pulls it out. The broken half of a canvas she had made herself years ago.

She remembered the day her dad helped her staple it so she could paint it for her friend, the bob ross picture staring right back at her with a painted figure. It was messy and her work was choppy at best. An ugly painting by an untalented freak.

But it still pulled all the wrong strings to her heart, drawing tears to her eyes. “Happy birthday Steve Harrington.”

With that she shoves the canvas back in the hole and covers it back up before crawling into bed.

September 17th, 1975

Steve and Ollie sat together at the table, faces covered in Nana’s famous pudding as they giggled over the wax painting she had made.

The wax was out of her hair thanks to Nana pouring half a bottle of lotion in it, now she smelled of lavender and lotion which Steve thought hilarious.

They shared the last helping of Nana’s pudding right now, Ollie letting Steve have most of it since it is his birthday.

“Thank you for the gift. I can’t wait to hang it up.” He mumbles through a mouthful of pudding.

“Happy birthday, Stevie.” Ollie giggles. “You’re my best friend ever.”

September 19th, 1983 - Monday

“That damn tagger did it again Lottie!” Flip Fraser huffs, slamming the newspaper against the table as both his kids shuffle around him to get ready for their day. If he looked up at this moment he might have seen his oldest daughter's humored smile or the way his youngest son gives a fake glare at his sister.

“They did?” Lottie Fraser asks, dashing into the room with her blonde hair flowing behind her. “Show me.”

It was safe to say her parents were both a little too invested in this tagger situation, since ‘the tagger’ first appeared in the paper for tagging the grocery store with a portrait of JFK three months ago. Not Via’s best work but that one was a dare given by Gareth. Ever since they both always waited for the news to reveal more.

“A house outside of town. Closer to Hawkins Lab.” Her dad grunts, shaking his head in annoyance. “And no one saw a damned thing.”

“Oh my…” Her mother mumbles, sitting at the empty chair of the table as she reads the article with her husband. “It is a nice mural though. I can’t tell if Marilyn is crying or smiling.”

Via snorts as she remembers her conversation with Eddie. This draws her fathers attention as he looks at her with a smile, dropping the paper on the table and moving to stand and finish brushing his wife’s hair. “How was work yesterday, Olli….via. Olivia. I said Olivia and everyone heard it.”

“Work was fine, nothing really to note.” Via had applied to the town's movie theater the second she found out they were hiring, saving up money to help her parents and maybe get herself a car. It had mostly been the former whether they knew it or not, her parents never wanted her to ‘waste her money on them’. “It was our senior citizen discount night so not much business. Barely had to sweep up popcorn.”

“Good good.” He smiles, leaning to kiss her forehead as she passes to wash her bowl from breakfast.

“Wye? You ready for today?”

“Y-yes.” Wiley smiles, cheeks red as his dad watches him.

It’s silent for a moment before Lottie leans forward to kiss his cheek. “How has it been going with making friends, baby? You talk to anyone?”

Flip begins braiding her hair, as she continues staring at Wiley with such hope in her eyes.

“Th-they w-were all talking ab-b-b-”

“Deep breaths, bud.” Flip says gently, smiling when Wiley takes a deep breath in before starting again.

“They were all talking about a n-new comic book.” He goes slow, not that anyone in the room minds.

“Do you have the book?” Flip asks, watching Wiley shake his head.

“But it’s f-fine.”

“No bud, you did all your chores this week.” Flip grunts, finishing off Lottie’s hair and grabbing his wallet. Her fathers cheeks redden as he hands Wiley a dollar. “Is this enough?”

Wiley nods, jumping to hug him before running to grab his school stuff.

The rest of the morning falls into one of a rushed panic as everyone races around to grab everything they need. Her mom kisses her cheek and does her best to smooth out her daughter's hair before dashing to the blue car Nana left behind and nodding for Wiley to get in.

Her dad hops into the truck and waits patiently for her to hop in before zooming off to drop his daughter off.

He stops down the street, telling her to have a good day before driving off to let her walk the rest of the way, just as she requested at the beginning of the year.

She passes the familiar car that Steve and all his friends usually hang out around, noting that today he was by himself before walking past him to go into the building.

September 17th, 1983 - Saturday

Steve Harrington didn’t believe in fate, his mother had spent her days pouring wine and complaining about her horoscope. She claimed fate led her to his father and if that was fate then Steve wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

But seeing Ollie tonight had to have been fate. There was no other reasoning behind it. What are the chances he would see her on the night of his birthday? It. Was. Fate.

But that hateful, despising look she gave him before leaving? That was gut-wrenching.

It clung to him on the rest of the way home from his trip. He hadn’t wanted to go to the party in the first place, he would’ve rather wallowed in self pity all night like an idiot. But he knew if he didn’t make an appearance then Tommy would have said something, but by the time Steve’s car pulled up he saw the lights of police cars and figured he would just go home.

So he stopped on the way home, where he saw her.

She looked so different, seeing her on the first day of school this year had been a shock to the system already. But that punching feeling he got in his gut every time she made eye contact? That was a mix between guilt and amazement.

Walking into the empty house, that had just finished getting redone, he throws his keys on the fresh counter before dropping his junk on it and slamming his finger in the answering machine.

He already knows there wasn’t going to be any messages, not from either of his parents, yet he still feels disappointed when it’s confirmed. So he reaches into the cabinet and pulls out a candle, throwing one of the pudding cups open aggressively and shoving the candle into the cheap pudding.

“Happy Birthday Stevie.” He whispers, blowing out the candle and eating the pudding before heading up to his room and digging in his closet. There is a box of things he keeps hidden for when his friends come over and dig through his stuff, so they won’t see all the memories he keeps stored away.

The broken half of a beautifully painted canvas is the first thing that catches his attention, the colors blending in his sight as he grabs the sweater knitted for him and tosses it on quickly.

The painting had looked so good, he wondered what Ollie’s paintings looked like now. But before he can think about it too much he slams the lid shut and shuts the light off before heading to bed.

“Happy birthday indeed.” He sighs.

x Next Chapter x

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanart #stranger things fan #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things

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happilyhertale · 1 year

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Long Last Love - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader, Part 2

Summary: You are finally engaged to Aemond Targaryen. As the daughter of Daemon and Rhaenyra, you will now live in King's Landing and no longer on Dragonstone. Your marriage to Aemond is imminent, as is your life together. The relationship between Aemond and your family has never been particularly easy, but the future will show whether your love will withstand this and subsequent tensions.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: In some parts Smut (uncle/niece) as well as violence

Author’s note: Hi you (:

This is the follow-up story to "Long Lost Love".

The story starts just before the wedding of Aemond and y/n and goes over the events of the first season hotd. However, the events are not quite similar to those in the series. English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 5k

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A few weeks have passed. Your wedding with Aemond is getting closer and closer. Actually, you were relatively relaxed. You talked a lot with Alicent and Helaena about your wedding. Even Aemond was present from time to time, but wants to let you have the upper hand in the decisions. You suspect, however, that he would rather be in the training yard than sitting with you over tea and cake planning your wedding. You can't really blame him, but in the last few weeks you've just talked too much about flowers, about Lords and Ladies who come to the capital just for you, or which musicians should play for you and you just want him to suffer with you. Even at a certain point, you only agreed with Alicent and Helaena when they came towards you excitedly in a corridor to tell you thrilling news about your wedding. You are very grateful to them for taking so much work off your hands, but you just long to be married to Aemond without all that big fuss.

A new turn in all the preparations came when your family arrived in King's Landing. They arrived at the beginning of the week and since then you have been struggling with a lot of nervousness.

You really realised it when you sat with your family as well as Alicent and Helaena. You had cake and instead of tea, there was wine and then Alicent came up with the idea of discussing the plans for the wedding. Again. Your mother nearly exploded with excitement. At first you were annoyed for a moment because you'd already talked too much about your wedding and you'd rather hear what was going on at Dragonstone. But as you watch Alicent and your mother's excitement rise together and your eyes fall on your father, who just nods at you with a grin, you suddenly become nervous. You don't know exactly why, you were just nervous. Maybe it was because Jace and Luke were teasing you with something, but suddenly you needed a lot of wine.

The nervousness didn't diminish and it even got worse when some other important families arrived.

When you happened to walk across the courtyard and paid no attention to the carriage that was just arriving, thanks to your nervousness, you were swept off your feet. Without warning, someone grabbed you from behind and spun you around in circles. You scream.

"Princess, I know you're happy to see me, but I'd rather make you scream in a different way!"

As he sets you down you turn around. Your mouth is open in disbelief and you hit him.

"Rob!"

He laughs.

"You can't say things like that, I'm about to get wed!"

He grins at you, "Almost married means not yet married"

You have to stifle a laugh, "You're really terrible, you know that?"

"That's why I'm not allowed to marry the princess," he winks at you as more northern lords appear behind him.

"I think the northern lords need to move into their chambers now and stop teasing the bride-to-be," you smile at him.

"As you wish, Princess," and he bows his head briefly.

You take a step forward and hug him, "Thank you for coming"

He hugs you back, "Of course I will come if the Princess commands it"

You release the hug and chuckle, "Oh good gods, I may live to regret this"

"Only time will tell," he smiles at you again and goes to join his Northmen. Dreamily you stand in place for a moment until you turn and walk into the keep.

Now that Rob has also arrived, you realise again how close your wedding is.

Even Aemond regularly makes fun of your nervousness, which seeps out of your every pore.

Whether it's because you can't eat properly and your food actually just moves from right to left on your plate, or that you don't give him the attention he's used to when he talks to you or gently runs his fingers over you.

However, what reassures you a little is the fact that your wedding will be on a small scale. Compared to the wedding of Aegon and Helaena.

You didn't want a wedding with one ball after another, countless dinners and everything crowned with a hunt. Aemond was all for you. Like you, he can well do without being the centre of attention at several events.

Alicent was not entirely convinced at first. She would also have liked to celebrate your wedding in a big way, as was the case with Aegon and Helaena. She felt that Aemond deserved to be celebrated in the same way.

You, on the other hand, preferred a traditional Valyrian wedding on Dragonstone, no fuss, just you and your families.

But Alicent denied you this wish on the grounds that the expense would be too great to hold an entire wedding on Dragonstone. However, she accepted that you did not want a big wedding. So you resigned yourselves to this and celebrated your wedding in King's Landing, albeit on a smaller scale than Aegon and Helaena.

It is also reassuring for you that your parents are present. Your mother notices that you are nervous about the wedding and often talks to you about it to ease your nervousness. Again and again, she assures you that she is happy for you, that you have the opportunity to marry for love, as she has always wanted for you. At least as often, she assures you that Aemond would be accepted as part of the family.

Even your father seems even more loving than usual. He is often by your side and holds you in his arms just as often. His comments are also less annoying or he even refrains from them altogether. He even tolerates Amond's regular presence, even talks to him sometimes. Not much, but a few sentences are exchanged. And all this just to be with you.

You even feel that your brothers are nicer to Aemond. They also talk to him from time to time. Aemond is reserved, but you appreciate that your brothers try.

If you manage to get away from your family, you spend your time with Aemond. But this week you don't have much time together. All the time someone wants something from you. Be it because important things have to be decided for the wedding that Alicent and your mother don't want to decide alone or because some important Lord and Lady want to talk to you. Most of the time you don't have much to say anyway, you don't even follow the conversations very closely and so Aemond does the talking, his hand always resting on your lower back.

If you do have the chance to talk to each other in the evening in your chambers, one of you always falls asleep. Most of the time it's you. Your head is on his chest and you listen to him talk, but the hum in his chest and his fingers sliding over your spine tempt you to close your eyes and just as quickly you fall asleep.

But mostly you come to your chambers on your own. And the last of you to enter the chambers, which is usually Aemond, hears only soft, steady breathing. Each time you try to stay awake to at least catch him getting into bed, but sleep has you firmly in its grip each time the bed lowers beside you and Aemond slides into bed. He murmurs a "good night" in your ear as you nestle your back against his chest in your sleep.

On the morning of the wedding, you are overcome by nausea. Bravely you resist the temptation to just hang over a bowl and let it all out. Nervousness tugs at your strength, but you do your best and you try to numb the feeling with wine.

You haven't seen Aemond since yesterday afternoon. You thought it a sweet idea not to see each other last night until you met again at the altar, and so he slept in Aegon's chambers that night. But at this moment you wish for nothing more than to be in his arms for a moment. Nor did it do your sleep any good, as by now you are used to having a warm, breathing body next to you. You were even on the verge of climbing into bed with your parents, as you used to do as a child, but that somehow seemed inappropriate.

However, in order for you to be in his arms, you have to move the day forward.

Alicent, your mother as well as Helaena are scurrying around you in your chambers. With them are a handful of ladies-in-waiting, all there to get you ready for your big day. Your hair is artfully braided back at your temples for the occasion. You have thought that small braids falling freely down your back would look beautiful. And so two ladies-in-waiting stand behind you and take care of your hair.

You're sipping your next goblet of wine and Helaena is standing in front of you, she's excited that you're going to be her sister-in-law, "Oooh y/n, it's going to be great! It's not so bad being married either! Aegon ignored me after the wedding... that was quite pleasant until he came to my chambers in the evening.... but even that was okay in the end... he was even almost gentle..." she looks dreamy for a moment but then jumps up and down, "... and Aemond is much more affectionate than Aegon anyway! You'll like it!" You smile at her. You know that she only means well, but still that doesn't really reassure you.

A large mirror stands in the middle of the room. It has been brought into your chambers so that you can see the full extent of your appearance. In the mirror, you see Alicent and Rhaenyra holding your dress in their hands and talking about it. They smile almost lovingly at each other as they slide the fabric through their fingers.

You love your dress. There have been many discussions about your dress. Mostly there has been extensive discussion about what colours should adorn it. Your family would have liked to see a black dress with red applications. Alicent, however, would have liked to see a dark green dress. Aemond didn't care because he finds every dress on you irresistible. But you didn't like all that. You made up your own mind and decided on an ivory white dress, bright gold applications adorn the length of your dress.

Your hair has just been braided when your mother steps in front of you with your dress and smiles at you. You nod to her as more ladies-in-waiting approach you and help you into your dress. It is carefully put on and tied at the back.

Your dress is tight to the waist. Your arms are covered by light sleeves of silk fabric that barely touch your elbows. And although you love it when your dress is held together at the front with buckles, you have decided against this for your wedding dress. You have a plunging neckline, but not as revealing as usual. You're conjured up a perfect cleavage and your dress ends just below the base of your breasts.

The necklace you once received from your father for your name day adorns your cleavage. It lies gently on your skin and ends with the sapphire above the base of your breasts. Lightly you let your fingers glide over it and you have to smile.

In the end, all the ladies in the room stand before you and smile at you, and both your mother and Alicent have tears in their eyes. You cannot help but laugh nervously. Your mother steps towards you and hugs you gently.

You take another deep breath as your mother takes your hand and leads you out of your chambers.

Together you walk through the corridors of the Red Keep and everyone you meet is amazed at how pretty you look. You smile shyly at them and thank them. But after countless shouts of "Aaahw!", you are just happy when you step out into the courtyard.

Your carriage is waiting in front of the Red Keep. As you enter the courtyard, you see your father already standing with your brothers and they are talking. Your father looks at you when he hears you approaching. He smiles and an "Aaahw" leaves his lips. You raise your hand, "No. Please no more ahws"

You exhale heavily as you stand in front of him. He strokes your cheek and can't suppress a grin, "Nervous?" You nod and look up at him.

He hugs you carefully, being careful not to mess up your hair and dress. When he releases you from the embrace, he looks at you again, "You don't have to be nervous. It will be over sooner than you think. Believe me, I've had my experiences.... And you look really beautiful"

He gently caresses your cheek as you smile at him, "Thank you Daddy..."

He drops his hands gently on your shoulders as he grins at you again, "And you certainly don't have to worry about your wedding night anymore"

Your eyes grow huge, "Daddy!" Your cheeks turn red as he winks at you. You hit him lightly and look to the side, biting lightly on your lower lip.

He takes your hand, your mother is in the carriage by now, Jace smiles at you again, "See you in the sept," you nod at him and smile.

Your father leads you into the carriage. As you sit down and you notice that the carriage is slowly starting to move, you reach for the wine that is waiting there. You are very happy that such a thing has been thought of.

"Have you eaten anything today?"

You look at your father and shake your head slightly.

Suddenly you see him reach under his waistcoat and pull out a piece of bread. You have to giggle and even your mother laughs.

"What? I know my little dragon. And I can't have her getting drunk before the ceremony ... or vomiting on her future husband's chest."

You smile and gratefully accept the piece of bread. As you look out of the window, you see that the road along which the carriage is travelling is surrounded by people. They are all clapping and waving and calling to you all the time. Slowly you chew on the bread and look into the faces as they pass by. You can't quite imagine why people are queuing up along the road just because you're getting married. But it probably has something to do with a princess and a prince getting married.

You are lost in thought and hardly notice that the carriage stops. From your window you see that a huge crowd has formed.

Your mother squeezes your knee lightly as the door of the carriage opens and she gets out. Your father follows her. You remain seated in the carriage for a moment and look once more into the crowd. Your gaze falls to the other side of the carriage and to the door. You see the sept, take a deep breath and look at the ground for a moment. Your father's hand appears in the carriage door, the sign that you may get out. Slowly you stand up and walk to the door of the carriage and take your father's hand. The hand that has always given you a feeling of security, ever since you can remember. He has never failed to make you feel safe and even now he does not let you down and a feeling of security spreads through you.

Carefully you get out of the carriage and stand next to him. You smile nervously and he nods encouragingly as he slowly walks off and leads you to the entrance of the sept. You notice that your brothers' carriage has already arrived, but your mother and brothers must already be in the sept because you don't see them anywhere. Behind you, you can still hear the people cheering, which gets even louder as you emerge into their view. You glance over your shoulder briefly to see the crowd being held back by guards, you smile briefly at them as your gaze falls back to the Sept.

As you enter the entrance, you see a sea of people. Only this time it is all the Lords and Ladies who have gathered to celebrate your marriage to Aemond. You hold your father's hand tighter and he strokes it gently with his thumb.

As you let your gaze wander to the altar, you finally see him. Aemond is standing there. His back is to you, his hands are clasped behind his back and he is talking to Aegon, who is standing next to him.

His upper body is dressed in an elegant dark green velvet waistcoat. The waistcoat suits him perfectly, you think to yourself. His hair falls lightly down his back. As you notice Aegon nudges him and nods in your direction.

Slowly, Aemond turns to you. Your eyes meet and you feel a wave of heat flood through your body. As he smiles at you, you bite your lip. His smile doesn't falter for a second and you feel your nervousness lift. You are almost impatient, waiting for your father to finally walk down the aisle with you.

And then your father holds out his arm to you. He smiles at you and you take his arm. He takes the first step and you follow him. You barely notice how light music begins to play. He leads you down the corridor, past all the Lords and Ladies.

They all smile at you, some nod happily.

You get closer and closer to Aemond and can't help grinning. Aemond does the same, not once does he let you out of his sight, his smile firmly on his lips. In the meantime, you hold your father's arm and squeeze it tighter, without noticing it, until you hear him whisper, "But at the front of the altar you have to let me go"

Lightly you press your elbow into his side as you hear him chuckle.

You reach the altar. The septon stands there with Aemond, still unable to wipe the smile off his face. His hands still clasped behind his back, he stands before you with his head held high.

Daemon kisses you on the cheek and strokes it gently once more. He smiles at you, whispers another "My little dragon" and then turns to your mother, who is standing in the front row, and joins her.

Now you are facing Aemond. You have to chuckle slightly and he takes your hand in his. The septon makes his speech, but you only look Aemond in the eye. Your gaze wanders alternately from his eyes to his lips. How you would like to kiss him now. You hear him chuckle softly, and then you have to grin too. Neither of you seems to be paying attention to the septon as you hear Aemond whisper, "You look wonderful," a grin on his lips. You bite your lip.

You both look up as you hear the words, "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words."

You look at each other and each of you says the words, "Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his, and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days."

Together you finish your sentence as the Septon nods to Aemond and he embraces you. He holds you for a moment and looks into your eyes. You lose yourself in his gaze and breathe heavily. He gently caresses your cheek as he suddenly kisses you passionately. You hear a slight rumble from him as you place your hand on his chest. Time seems to stand still as you both lose yourselves in the kiss. Until you hear the septon clear his throat. Aemond slowly breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, you smile at each other.

You think you are sure you hear your father chuckle.

As you address the guests, everyone claps. Your grin adorns your whole face, the nervousness that has plagued you all this time has disappeared. A sense of pride flows through you as you stand next to your husband, Prince Aemond, his arm around your waist so he can hold you tightly to him. Slowly you pull Aemond down to you and kiss his cheek, a "Mhhm", sounding from him.

"I think we should go out to the carriage," you hear him whisper. As if snapped out of a trance, you look at him in irritation. He chuckles softly, "So we can get back to the Great Hall?"

Now you have to laugh too and you nod. He leans forward and lightly kisses your lips, your hand finds his face and you caress him gently.

Aemond leads you along the guests to get to the carriage.

As you step out of the sept, the crowd seems to have grown even bigger. Everyone is cheering for you. You smile and give them a slight wave. Aemond leads you to the carriage and helps you get in.

As you sit in the carriage and it slowly starts to move, you watch all the faces pass by the window. All of a sudden you can't help but laugh. All the stress, the nervousness, everything falls away from you and you just laugh.

Aemond, sitting next to you, looks at you, "What's so funny?"

You shake your head, "Nothing.... my husband."

You lean over to him and kiss him passionately. The sound you love so much rings out in his chest, "mmmhm."

You break the kiss to catch your breath. Aemond looks at you, he smiles, "My Queen.... Is this a foretaste of tonight?" he whispers.

You blush slightly and bite your lower lip. He gently caresses your cheek, "I never want to miss these sweet red cheeks," he kisses you again. The carriage comes to a halt and Aemond interrupts the kiss.

Back in the Red Keep, he leads you into the Great Hall.

As you enter the hall, everything is already prepared. Long tables are lined up along the walls of the hall. Countless dishes and drinks are already ready on the tables. Small flower arrangements decorate the tables. Likewise, beautiful flower arrangements hang from the ceilings almost everywhere, reaching almost to the floor. Some flower arrangements also hang from the walls. Numerous banners of your house adorn the walls between the flower arrangements, so that it is impossible to miss who got married today. The countless candles that light up the room create a warm and contemplative atmosphere.

Aemond leads you through the hall to the head table. You see the decorated hall and are speechless. Aemond sees your look, "My mother really went to a lot of effort, didn't she?"

You nod, "It turned out really lovely. We have her to thank for that... I've never seen so many flowers in one place" He smiles at you and has to chuckle.

He leads you on to the centre of the table, today all pairs of eyes will be on you.

To your left will sit your family, your father right next to you, followed by your mother and brothers. Aemond sits to your right and his family consequently to his right.

After the guests have all arrived, the celebration begins.

Your grandfather is too weak to give a speech, your father has gratefully declined to give a speech. This is not a big deal for you, as it is unpleasant for you to be in the public eye anyway. Aemond feels very similarly.

After a while a large crowd forms in the middle of the room, looking up curiously at your table, and you guess what they are waiting for. You look at Aemond, "I don't think we can avoid this."

He nods at you with a smile, stands up and elegantly holds out his hand to you. You comply with his request and take his hand. He leads you to the dance floor, "Enjoy it. It's the last time we'll dance," he whispers into your ear with a grin.

You look at him, "I didn't know you liked watching your wife dance with other men so much."

He squeezes your hand a little tighter in response, you giggle.

When you arrive in the middle of the hall, Aemond turns you towards him. His hand is on your hip, holding you close to him. Your hand is on his shoulder. His other hand holds your hand up, gently sliding his fingers between yours. He looks deep into your eyes, and that is enough to make your breath catch for a moment.

You visibly swallow and Aemond has to suppress a grin, "Can I still make you this nervous?" he whispers.

"Shut up, Aemond," is all he gets. He presses the side of his face gently against yours, "Mmmhm this must be the beautiful married life everyone is always talking about."

You chuckle.

As the music begins to play, Aemond starts to lead you elegantly across the floor. His gaze doesn't even leave your face. You take in his scent and lose yourself in the moment. All the Lords and Ladies present are non-existent to you, all your attention is on Aemond and how he effortlessly floats you across the floor.

After some time, several Lords and Ladies begin to join you in the dance. Several couples twirl synchronously across the dance floor.

As the song ends, you notice that Aemond has elegantly led you to the edge of the dance floor. He smiles at you. You laugh and shake your head, "Your aversion to dancing is unique!"

He grins, "So is my love for you."

He kisses the tip of your nose.

Slowly he leads you into the crowd. You see your brothers in the crowd and you go over to them. Your brothers are trying hard to be nice to Aemond, you give them credit for that. You could almost think that you are having fun together.

Aemond's hand is constantly on your lower back, he never leaves your side. You enjoy finally being able to exchange your caresses in public, that you no longer have to hide. Aemond leans over slightly and whispers in your ear, "Tonight it's getting serious..." You look at him, ".... somehow I'm glad I don't have to be too gentle tonight"

He smirks, you blush slightly again and bite your lower lip. He kisses your cheek gently and murmurs, "My Love... My Life... My Queen..."

You lean into the kiss and smile.

When you see Rob coming towards you and smiling. Jace greets him joyfully and immediately presses a wine goblet into his hand.

He nods to you and congratulates you on your wedding. Aemond thanks Rob and kisses you gently on the cheek, "I'll be right back," you nod.

You turn your attention to Rob. You are happy to see him and hug him. "You're married," he says with exaggerated joy.

"Yes! Finally!" you reply with a laugh.

He smiles, "I guess I will be soon too".

You smile, "Oh I'm glad! Who's the lucky one?"

"A Bolton Lady. Lady Myranda Bolton"

"Mhmm Bolton... the North keeps to itself", you grin.

Rob chuckles, "Well, I wasn't wanted on Dragonstone"

You nudge him slightly, "You know that's not true"

He grins, "... Would I have had a real chance if Aemond had not existed?"

You smile, "Mhmm... perhaps."

His grin widens.

Aemond is intercepted by Aegon, "Brother, you are finally married"

Aemond nods at him, "At least that's what they say."

Aegon chuckles, "Now rejoice a little, toast with me!"

Aemond raises an eyebrow but relents. He takes the goblet of wine Aegon holds out to him. They drink together and talk. Aegon is almost bearable until he turns the subject to the wedding night, "Are you looking forward to tonight?"

Aegon grins, but Aemond just looks at him.

"You can't do that much new stuff tonight," he grins broadly.

"Brother, please stop," is all Aemond replies.

"But... maybe you do want to try something new... For I have heard that you do not want the spectators to confirm that the marriage has been consummated... Although of course I would have liked to watch...", Aegon takes a big sip.

Aemond exhales deeply, "Careful brother. I think we have talked enough for today then. I don't want to have my mood spoiled today."

Aemond leaves him and seeks your proximity again.

You are still standing with Rob and your brothers.

As always, you only notice Aemond again when he is standing next to you and his hand is on your lower back. A "My Queen" is breathed into your ear. You smile and reach out to him, kissing his lips gently.

"I could get used to this," you hear him murmur against your lips.

You chuckle.

"Shall we retire?" he looks into your eyes.

"Yes... Please...", you bite down on your lower lip and feel a tingle in your loin.

You say goodbye to your brothers and Rob. They grin at you and shout a few more funny and not so funny sayings after you. Aemond leads you out of the hall and you have to grin.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 1 year

Text

A Mouse in a Lion’s Den Pt.8

Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister, implied Rhaegar Targaryen x Lyanna Stark

Warnings: none

Words: 2010

Summary: You must break up a fight between your brother and Rhaegar.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18

Book One of Heir of Ash and Fire

Fire. Endless fields of fire was all your vision could take in.

One foot in front of the other you examine your surroundings in titillated fear. What was going on?

Then you heard it.

A deafening shriek that did not come from any human or animal. It came from something entirely different. Something ginormous.

You wanted to flee the scene but your feet seemed to have a mind of their own as they led you further into the field.

The same horrendous wail raises again, this time it struck every nerve in your body. It woke something up. Made you no longer scared to venture further.

Tall grass kiss at your exposed arms as you hurry now. Whatever was making that sound, it was calling to you. It meant you no harm. You knew for certain, without a doubt.

You quicken your pace, nearly tumbling forward.

Pulling back a thicket of long grass and finding a clearing you-

Jolting awake, heart beating furiously in your chest, you hear the knocking again. Urgent in it’s rhythm. Every part of you is a trembling mess though and you doubt you’d be able to make it to the door to answer.

“Lady (y/n), please open the door!” You recognize it as your handmaid from Dragonstone. Thalina’s voice matched her knocking. “You must come with me immediately!”

Shakingly you push off your covers and cautiously pad over to your door. You realize then that your drenched with a film of sweat making you feel uncomfortably clammy. Your hand slips on the handle before you turn it and find her panicked face. “What’s wrong Thalina?” Apprehension and adrenaline are ready for any moment to flee. Maybe Aerys was upset with you for breaking your engagement so close to the wedding? You wouldn’t put it past him to send someone to kill you.

“There’s a fight! Ooooh a terrible fight going on! I fear they might kill him!” She says fretfully, not really making much sense as she continues to jabber and grab your hands.

You groan. “I don’t understand. You woke me up for something so trivial?” A part of you was upset with her that she had disrupted your dream.

“Trivial?” She turns on you as if you had just slapped her grandmother across the face. “It is anything but trivial! For this act of treason your brother could potentially lose his station!”

Jaime.

The last person you wanted to see.

Well, one of the last people you wanted to see. You didn’t know who you were more upset with at the moment and didn’t really have the time to figure it out as Thalina continued to drag you through the dark halls; past Rhaegar’s room making your chest ache.

“What did you do.”

Not a question, so Rhaegar couldn’t really answer him. Exalting a sigh he sets his harp down beside him to look up at Jaime. The moon’s gentle glow made his hair appear the same hue as Rhaegar’s and not the rich gold that all Lannisters possessed.

“I can’t possibly fathom what you’re talking about.” Rhaegar had gone to the courtyard to be alone. No one was ever out there so late at night except for a few patrolling guards and they knew better than to bother him.

Jaime didn’t appear to like that answer as he stormed closer to Rhaegar. That’s when the prince caught sight of something gleaming. “You brought your blade to talk to me? How unwise of you.”

“You did something to upset my sister. To upset (y/n). She would never. . .” He clenches his jaw and hesitates a moment. What he had to say was a little painful for him to let out. “She would never end the engagement unless something terrible happened. Unless you did something terrible. Something so unforgiving that even someone like (y/n) would stop loving you.”

Despite being engaged to his sister, Rhaegar knew little to nothing about Jaime. One thing he was aware of was his relationship with her via (y/n). (y/n) had told him that Jaime favorited his twin sister, sometimes to a fault. He remembered a specific story that involved the Casterly Rock cellars and a lion. Even at the tourney for Viserys’ name day, Jaime didn’t seem too concerned about his sister. Like (y/n) had said, he favorited Cersei.

“Why are you so concerned about her now? Whatever has transpired between (y/n) and I is our business.” He felt bad when he had to put it so coldly. When he had to talk like he didn’t care about such a warm person.

That made Jaime’s fingers twitch at the side of his pommel. “Stand up.”

Raising an elegant, silver, eyebrow, Rhaegar presses his back against the tree that he had chosen to play under. “Do you dare threaten the Prince of Westeros? Someone you’re sworn to protect? You are a member of the King’s Guard, are you not?”

“I want to hear the pathetic excuse you have for hurting my sister.” He growls in reply, his hand finally gripping the hilt of his sword. There was no rational thinking at that moment. All he could hear were (y/n)’s sobbing. All he could see was the tired, heartbroken expression on her face that was devoid of any sun. Rhaegar had broken her. Jaime wasn’t about to let him get away with it. To hell with his vows.

He lifts his sword from his sheath. . .

“Stop right there, Lannister.”

“Connington. Should’ve known you’d be lurking around. Never too far away from your master.” Jaime scoffs and turns around. Jon Connington had snuck up on him, his blade ready and aimed at Jaime.

“Have you lost your bloody mind?” Griff snarls, his red hair bright in the dark.

Rhaegar finally gets to his feet. “Lets all just calm down, shall we?” He had to keep the peace. Or at least try to. One wrong move, one badly chosen word and there would be a fight. Jon Connington was incredibly protective of his Silver Prince. To begin with, Jon didn’t much like the Lannisters. To have one outright threaten Rhaegar? That was too much.

“He was going to harm you!” The red head tried to reason. “This vile lion threatened you!”

“I don’t take too kindly to being called vile.” Counters Jaime.

The situation was escalating quickly. “Enough. Let’s just let bygones be bygones.”

“Then you and your wretched family shouldn’t act like it. Thank the gods that a Lannister won’t be any closer to the throne. Your sister was an ill match.”

“Jon.” Rhaegar says in a warning tone. Even he felt his skin bristle at that. He had always seen the man as a very close friend. A brother even. But Jon Connington never gave (y/n) a chance just because of her last name. He didn’t know her like Rhaegar did. That she wasn’t a golden lion. That she was softer and wielded such a beautiful heart. He didn’t know her at all. He didn’t know that with each glare he sent her, (y/n) wilted. She always wanted people to like her. There weren’t many opportunities for her to make friends at Casterly Rock or Dragonstone. And because she loved Rhaegar so much, she wanted Griff to like her too. She knew that Rhaegar had no better ally than he. Connington didn’t give her a chance. He only saw her as a lion.

Jaime struck him quicker than any serpent. But Griff had anticipated the blow and absorbed it with his steel. *

Thalina led you all the way to the courtyard. Out of breath and even more sweaty now, you wheeze and beg her to slow down. You hear it though. You hear the singing of blades and the yelling of men.

You lift your head up and in the very center you see Rhaegar. You should’ve been more concentrated on the two dueling, but your eyes always managed to lock onto Rhaegar without fail. His harp lay a few feet away from him, forgotten in the chaos. There were guards already running out to his aid at the sound of the struggle. They were more concerned about protecting their prince than stopping the fight. You turn your face to finally find out who it was that was fighting.

Jaime and Jon Connington.

“Do something my lady!”

What could you do? You liked Thalina but sometimes she could be very naive. These were two grown men fighting with deadly swords. You were a young lady much smaller than they were with no fighting skills whatsoever. Connington didn’t like you and Jaime was as stubborn as a mule. These two would not stop fighting even with your presence. If Rhaegar couldn’t stop them then you curely couldn’t.

Sighing you step forward. It’s then that Rhaegar notices you. “(y/n)!”

You notice a halt in Jaime’s swordplay, just after he blocks a blow from Griff. It was just enough for the other guards to wedge themselves between the two and prevent them from attacking each other again. Griff is about to put up a fight until he catches Rhaegar’s reprimanding gaze. He wilts at the harsh lavender irises that were glaring at him. Jaime on the other hand was fighting his captors, nearly frothing at the mouth. You knew Jaime hated anyone who got between him and something that he wanted. And he wanted to fight.

“Jaime, stop this nonsense right now.” You walk toward where three guards have your brother’s arms pinned behind his back although they’re struggling to contain him.

“Lady (y/n), don’t come any closer. It’s dangerous!” One comes in front of you to prevent you from advancing.

Jaime’s wild green eyes flick toward you, his teeth bared. “This cur deserves a beating!”

“You forget yourself, brother.” You warn him. “You’re a King’s Guard. Act like it.” You couldn’t be bothered to even try and have any warmth in your voice. Not after. . .

It still burned fresh in your mind.

Jaime’s lips all over Cersei. His hands seemingly frantic as they groped blindly at her. It just made your skin crawl all over again.

Your words appear to get through to him as Jaime sobers up and straightens his back. He no longer makes any attempts to escape and the other guards ease their grip on him. Jaime looks at you, puzzled at your cold demeanor.

“What should we do, Your Grace?” The others turn to Rhaegar for confirmation.

Rhaegar glances over at Jaime and Griff for a moment before addressing them. “Bring them to my chambers. Tell nothing of this to no one. Especially my father.”

They follow his orders and you try to take that opportunity to escape but Rhaegar calls back to you. Wincing, you stop in your tracks and hesitantly look over your shoulder.

“We. . . We must speak.”

You chew on your bottom lip and curl your fingers. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing left to speak about.” Feeling your chest clench again made you want to run. You didn’t want to feel that sensation again. You had cried rivers over Rhaegar. You were tired of crying. There really was nothing left to discuss. He didn’t love you. That was simple enough. Sure you could probably still go on to marry him and there not be any love between you two, but the fact that he was in love with someone else was torturous. You knew every day with him in a marriage like that would only kill you considering that you loved him so much.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” He says woefully.

“And yet you have. You know, I always thought that you would be the last person to hurt me. I thought. . .” Damn. You were gonna cry. You felt it so strongly as if it was going to explode from inside of you. You had kept yourself together so well. The effort it was taking you to hold everything in was draining you. “I’m still such a delusional child. . .”

--------

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#A Song of Ice and Fire #asoiaf fandom #ASoIaF #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf reader insert #got fanfiction #got fanfic #got fandom #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #Game of Thrones fandom

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thirdtidemouse · 4 months

Text

my (official and real) sketchbook playlist!! descriptions underneath! i have put the songs in a specific order and tried to make sure all the songs fit their vibe too outside (or disregarding) lyrics. also the types of music i think theyd enjoy lol.

1.. don't believe - vashti bunyan

oh, don't believe that love brings happiness gone tomorrow, here today love involves so much unhappiness don't believe what they say

lets kick it off with some folksy bittersweet 🤟this is both kaisa and johanna separately, before they meet. and their mirrored loneliness

2. apple pie - the scary jokes

i'll always be too shy to say what's on my mind i'm fantasizing all the time

the scary jokes are on this playlist. kaisa music. magic shygirl type of stuff

3. walking all day - graham coxon

walking all day with my mind on fire tryin' to get talkin' to you

this one's johanna vibes. ohh the days she'd spend walking round town, visiting the library, daydreaming about running into her and pretending it was an accident. she can't sit still, always restless, a teenager again

4. beautiful brain - mabel ye

i think you're beautiful i think you've got a beautiful brain i think you're beautiful i check up on it every day and while we sit just four feet across separated by a wall that is both white and moss i feel distance from you i feel closer to you

real ones know this came up in sketchbook week.. watch the music video for this!! (its sketchbook af)

5. super crush - tiger trap

i've got a supercrush on you because i think about you night and day

i'm not explaining this

6. the too much song - lemon demon

you're too much or am i not enough? you're (too much) and i feel this way much too much the longer that i wait the more you are much to my dismay

kaisa's perspective..

7. pink smoke - the scary jokes

you walk through walls set off the smoke alarms i feel your arms wrapping around me your aura almost drowns me pink smoke gets stuck in my throat when i say your name my heart goes up in flames

aaah johanna is crushing on a being of magic!

8. trees and flowers - strawberry switchblade

and i hate the buildings and the way they tower over me can't you see? i get so frightened no-one else seems frightened

strawberry switchblade is such kaisa music! goth & sweet! this song is definitely her but i think johanna's general anxieties about the city & the wilderness really show up in this song. they connect over these anxieties

9. i wanna be the moon - the scary jokes

it's scary to see you falling for me i wish that i could be i wanna be, i wanna be the moon i can't make you cry from way up in the sky and that's the reason why i wanna be, i wanna be the moon

kaisa's perspective. she doesn't like to get too close to people

10. it must be love - madness

i never thought i'd miss you half as much as i do

cmaaan johanna would love madness. london gerl. also one of the actual best love songs ever written ever

11. i have the moon - lush

you have to fly around the world all day to keep the sun upon your face i'd like to come and comfort you but i'd be blinded by the blue you have the sun, i have the moon

another sketchbook week song OOPS... literally sun/moon couple.

12. m'lover - kishi bashi

i wanna do what lovers do with you i wanna walk the edge of the earth with you

ripped STRAIGHT off the hilda soundtrack shamelessly. lovely magical sound. this plays when they're going on a very long expedition together

13. soho square - kirsty maccoll

one day you'll be waiting there no empty bench in soho square and we'll dance around like we don't care and i'll be much too old to cry and you'll kiss me quick in case i die before my birthday one day you'll be waiting there come summertime in soho square and i'll be painting stars up in the sky before i get too old to cry before my birthday

one of kaisa's first crushes was kirsty maccoll i'll say it. this song is so emotional the strings her vooiice!! this is a city love song. this is johanna leaving trolberg within the hc that they were childhood friends.

14. let's do everything for the first time forever - of montreal

may we dance again so i can pretend we're dancing for the first time? because when we danced for the first time i was so nervous!

it's been so long for both of them they're like teenagers again.. every time they talk its like talking to a school crush. embarrassing af. we both are out of practice with romance. let's do it together!!

15. black magic - little mix

take a sip of my secret potion i'll make you fall in love for a spell that can't be broken one drop should be enough

hehehehe!!!

16. my girlfriend is a witch - october country

spells fill the air i think i hear footsteps on my stair coming near her thoughts are telling me that she's here

quintessential hilda fandom song. how could i not?

17. she's got a new spell - billy bragg

one minute she says, she's gone to get the cat in next thing i know, she's mumbling in latin she cut the stars out of the sky and baked them in a pie, that's how i know she stole the scene and the scenery the script and the machinery, that's how i know that she's got a new spell

another witch's lover's song.. all that magic in one household can't be good.

18. lovers rock - tv girl

are you sick of me? would you like to be?

this song is just so chilled and lovely like a quiet night in. but captures the nerves and uncertainty of dating as well

19. riches and wonders - the mountain goats

we write letters to each other, invent secrets to confess to i learn foreign and exotic terms of endearment by which to address you we feed fresh fruit to one another we stay up all night and i am healthy, i am whole, but i have poor impulse control and i want to go home but i am home we are strong, we are faithful we are guardians of a rare thing we are filled with riches and wonders our love keeps the things it finds

domesticity and true love at its greatest. i love tmg!!

20. settin' the woods on fire - hank williams

you're my gal and i'm your feller dress up in your frock of yeller i'll look swell, but you'll look sweller! tonight we're settin' the woods on fire

off some country records johanna would 'co-own' with woodman. so fun. this gets put on in the pearson household when they have a family evening in

21. acolyte - slaughter beach, dog

annie, i want you to marry me we'll wait a few years i don't mean to frighten you i just want to be clear. man, it cuts like a dull knife when you're young and you're told 'makes sense when you're older,' darling, let's get old

not much to say on this one. i luv this song :-)

22. all i want is you - barry louis polisar

if you were a river in the mountains tall the rumble of your water would be my call if you were the winter i know i'd be the snow just as long as you were with me when the cold winds blow

juno soundtrack to finish it off :-) the core of sketchbook to me is joy & comfort & nature & magic

i hope u guys enjoyed this! lmk what you think of these interpretations! show me some lyrics you think about!

#hilda the series #hilda netflix #sketchbook #johanna #kaisa #sketchbook ship #playlists

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barnesafterglow · 2 years

Text

the long haul

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: while trying to console steve at his own party, a liquor cabinet and blondie lead to a confession you could only imagine in your dreams

word count: 2.1k

warnings: underage drinking, best friends to lovers, a hint of nancy slander but it gets resolved dw, nancy is lowkey a matchmaker, cheesy confessions (my speciality), blink and you miss it marvel reference, set *gestures vaguely* between s2 and s3 i guess

a/n: ahh here is my first steve harrington fic!! i have been in love with this man since 2016 and will continue to love him for the rest of my days <3 this is also the first thing i have enjoyed writing in months, so i really hope y'all enjoy it too :) special thanks to @pellucid-constellations and her steve harrington playlist for making this possible

main masterlist ─ stranger things masterlist

i no longer have a taglist, but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary and turn on notifications to get fic updates!

“Steve. Steve!” You had been saying his name for the entirety of the last song and, despite the fact that he was less than 10 feet away from you, he hadn’t even glanced in your direction. You weren’t sure whether to blame it on the speakers or the booze.

“Harrington!” You finally pushed your way through the small crowd, tugging on his hair, until his attention was at last on you.

“Hey!” He wrapped you in a hug once the glassiness in his eyes gave way to recognition. “Everything okay?”

“If Nancy spilling an entire wine cooler down the front of her dress is ‘okay' to you, then yeah everything is totally rad.” You tried to keep the bitterness out of your tone, you really did, but somehow it crept in anyways.

“Nancy’s here?” It was a wonder he didn’t know the second she walked in. They had broken up months ago and it was like she was still the center of his universe - even when he was screwing everything that walked and complaining to you about his lack of a relationship afterwards. “Where?”

His head swiveled around, scanning the throng of your friends and whoever else had shown up, until he caught a glimpse of her in the kitchen.

“I don’t even know why she’s here,” you muttered, though he either didn’t hear you or opted to ignore you, instead making his way towards her. You followed, begrudgingly, and hoped he wouldn’t do anything too stupid.

You watched the floor as you walked, determined not to have another incident like last weekend - which involved cheap beer and a pair of skimpy underwear - and didn’t notice Steve had come to a halt until you smacked into the broad expanse of his back.

“What the f- oh.” You peered around him to see what had him so tripped up, and were both surprised and disgusted to see Nancy practically wrapped around Jonathan, the two of them pressed against Steve’s kitchen counter.

You scoffed at the sight because, really, who goes to a party at their ex’s house just to hook up with the guy you dumped him for? It was just another reason for your bitterness towards the girl - a list filled with disgustingly petty revelations that spoke more on yourself than her, if you thought about it too long.

“C’mon, Harrington, let’s get another drink.” You pulled on the hem of his t-shirt, finally getting him to turn towards you, though his eyes lingered in the opposite direction for just a moment longer.

“But all the -”

“A good drink, Steve.” The corner of his mouth ticked up at your suggestion, and seeing Nancy must have really struck him to the core if he wasn’t even going to pretend to argue with you about raiding his dad’s expensive liquor.

As platonically as you could manage, you linked your fingers with his and coaxed him towards the basement door. To your surprise, no one even glanced in your direction as the two of you made your way back through the crowd, and the beat of Duran Duran quieted as the door clicked shut behind Steve.

He padded across the carpeted floor towards the liquor cabinet, and the smile he gave you when he picked the old lock was the first time he truly felt like your best friend again since the night he got with Nancy.

And you really needed to stop thinking about her.

He flopped down on the couch beside you, a half full bottle of rum in his hand, and took a swig before passing it over. The burn was welcome, much better than the warm beer you had been drinking upstairs, and soon enough you were coaxing the last drops from the dregs of the bottle.

“I hope my dad won’t miss this one.” Steve said, feet hung over the back over the couch, his hair grazing the floor. You hoped he wouldn’t barf once he sat upright again, because you knew you would be the one cleaning him up.

“You took this one from the back, right?” He nodded. “I bet you a movie rental that he doesn’t notice for at least a month. Just invite Tommy over before then and you can blame it on him.”

Steve laughed, even though you were right, and shifted on the couch so his head rested in your lap. As if on instinct, you carded your fingers through the long strands, mussing it up even more than the sweat and dancing from the hours before. You looked down at his face to see a content smile there, before a pinch of disappointment appeared between his eyebrows and the look in his eyes as he opened them was no longer carefree, but forlorn.

“Why would she even come?” His voice was barely a whisper, and if you hadn’t been mere inches from his face, you were sure you wouldn’t have even heard it. “Do you think she just wants to rub it in? Her and Jonathan?”

“Steve, honey,” you sighed, bringing your thumb down to his forehead to smooth the worry lines between his eyes. “You were the one who wanted to ‘try being friends’ after she broke up with you.”

“It was mutual,” he insisted.

“Right. You were the one who insisted on trying to be friends after your mutual breakup, and I think her coming was her trying to do that. But we all make stupid decisions when we’re drunk and around someone we love. I don’t think she was trying to hurt you.”

It was surprising how much clearer your drunk mind was, that you could admit to yourself that you didn’t dislike Nancy as much as you told yourself you did, and that she really wasn’t a bad person at all. She had just hurt your best friend - the one you had been telling yourself for at least a decade that you weren’t in love with - and it wasn’t even intentional. Suddenly, every scoff and eyeroll seemed stupid, and you felt like a raging bitch.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” His eyes closed again, your fingers still gently combing through his hair.

“Don’t you know I’m always right, Stevie?” You tried to come off as joking, but your voice cracked, the alcohol in your system breaking down a dam of emotions you tried desperately to keep at bay. Hearing the waiver in your words, his peaked one eye open, and it suddenly registered how close you were to him, bent over his head, so close that if he leaned up just a few scant inches, your lips would be pressed together.

His hand searched out yours - the one that wasn’t playing with his hair - and intertwined your fingers together, squeezing gently; an unspoken are you okay?

You nodded and then suddenly the basement door cracked open. You both stilled, waiting for someone to interrupt you, but no one appeared and instead notes of Blondie drifted down the stairs.

“Is this -”

“The song we danced to at the eighth grade talent show? Yes.”

Suddenly, Steve was on his feet, pulling you with him, and the former melancholic mood was wiped away as he spun you around and around, trying to mimic the moves that didn’t win you any awards when you were 14 and certainly weren’t any better now.

The two of you danced until you were dizzy and giggling, and you had to lean on your best friend to keep from falling down. Once your head stopped swimming, you realized Steve was staring at you, a sparkle in his eye that you had never seen before, not even when he had looked at Nancy.

But that just couldn’t be right. You were the one pining for your best friend for years, not him. Right?

That sliver of hope burned bright as his fingertips traced a gentle pattern over your face; the line of your nose, the curve of your cheekbone, landing on the cushion of your bottom lip. Your mouth parted and before you could make sense of it, his lips were covering yours and it was everything you had ever wanted but never dared hope for.

You had always imagined your first kiss with Steve would come in the middle of a fight, after a confession that you just couldn’t keep in anymore. You always imagined heat and hands and losing your minds in each other, but instead it was soft and sweet and tasted of alcohol, and yet somehow it was still utterly perfect.

He pulled away, just far enough to separate your lips, but instead pressed his forehead to yours, breath a little heavy, mingling with yours.

“I’m -”

“Why -”

You spoke at the same time, both giggling at the overlap of voices, and you gently poked his side, prompting him to talk first.

“I’m not sure why I did that.” You frowned, suddenly terrified that it didn’t mean what you thought it meant. When you tried to pull away, he hooked his fingers in the loop of your jeans, pulling you tight against him. “No, no, that came out wrong. I don’t know why I did that now, when I should have done it a long time ago.

“I’ve always loved you, I think. I just never really knew what it meant. It took Nancy telling me to get a clue before I figured out that the funny feeling I got in my stomach every time you laughed or fell asleep on my shoulder wasn’t platonic. I thought it was just you and that’s why I never felt that way with anyone else.”

“Not even Nancy?” You cursed yourself for asking the question, cringing at the insecurity laced through your voice.

“Not even Nancy,” Steve confirmed.

“But you two broke up months ago. Why did you wait so long to say anything? Why did you -” You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “Why did you go on all those dates and everything?”

“You’re gonna think I’m stupid if I tell you.” You huffed at his answer, shifting your body and stepping on his toes until he yelped and shuffled away. “Fine, fine, just stay off my toes.”

He closed the small gap of space that had crept between you, his hands gentle where they settled at your hips. You let yourself melt into him, your own hands wrapping around his neck and tangling in the soft hair at his nape.

“You’ve been my best friend for longer than I can even remember. We’ve been through everything together. First, I was scared that you would never feel the same way, then when I started thinking you just might, I was terrified of ruining our friendship. I mean, I don’t exactly have a stellar track record when it comes to dating.”

You made a noise - half scoff and half laugh - and he brought a hand up to flick your nose.

“Hey! You wanted to know, and I told you that you would think I’m stupid. Which I am, because if you’ve made it this long without killing me, I think you could probably handle me for the long haul.”

“The long haul?” It was like every moment you had spent secretly pining and drawing Mrs. Harrington in the margins of your diary had led to this moment. “You saying you wanna go steady with me?”

“Go steady? You’ve been reading too many of those Captain Brooklyn comics.”

“It’s Captain America, Steve.”

“Whatever.” He smiled that ridiculous lopsided grin that turned your insides out and you got a sudden jolt of courage, tilting your head up to press your lips to his again and, yeah, it was just as amazing the second time around.

Then the basement door was flung open, and what once was barely a crack gave way to strobe lights and booming bass.

“Harrington!” Someone shouted, followed by the sound of what may have been glass breaking, and Steve pulled away with a sigh.

“Tomorrow night, after you help me clean this mess, I’m taking you for a movie and ice cream. Heard that new place in the mall is really good.”

“What makes you think I’m helping you clean up?”

“Because you're my best friend. And you love me.” He finally stepped away from you, placing a quick kiss on your forehead before turning to the stairs. When he made it to the top, he looked back down at you and gave you a small wink before disappearing into the party.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x female!reader #stranger things fic #strangers things #stranger things fanfiction #joe keery #steve harrington x you #tiff writes #the long haul

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whatsnewalycat · 2 years

Text

Just Dumb Enough to Try

Chapter 6: Amor Prohibido

Word Count: 3.4k

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: angst, swearing, smoking, alcohol use (binge drinking in this chapter), pining, existential crisis, mental health spiral, attempts at jokes, sexual tension, dancing, cheating

Series Summary: In 1993, you met Javier Peña in San Antonio. You made an emotional and physical connection with him. Now it's 1998 and you're starting a new chapter of life in Laredo with your fiancé. And who else walks back into the picture, but the man who left you high and dry five years ago.

Chapter Summary: Our heroes cut loose on a Wednesday.

Notes: Lets climb out of a depression pit then immediately toe the line of infidelity, friends. Chapter title from "Amor Prohibido" by Selena. Spotify playlist for this chapter. Cross-posted to AO3 here (UN: glitter_diety). Update weekly on Sundays.

[ First Chapter ] [ Previous Chapter ]

151 Fir St N, Laredo, TX

June 10, 1998

It takes you about a week to claw your way out of your depression cave. During this time, Dan is irritated with your lack of activity, but he’s accommodating enough. He asks if you want to go to the bar with him, go to church, go on a walk, encouraging any type of activity to get you out and about. But each time he asks, he’s met with a sorrowful, “no, I’m sorry.” You wonder what reason he gives friends and family for your absence. He probably just says you’re sick. Which, you suppose, isn’t wrong .

Claudia calls to check in on you a few times and tries to help you through it, letting you vent as much as you’re able, giving encouraging words, etc. But you’re pretty content feeling sorry for yourself. She lets you know that she’s planning to come visit you in July, so you have something to look forward to. You haven’t been able to spend time in person with her since winter.

Javi doesn’t check in on you. Which, you reason, could confirm your suspicion that he was just humoring you by hanging out. Or he could just be busy? Or maybe you two just aren’t that good of friends? Regardless, you think it might be best to keep your distance until you can figure out whether or not your presence is desired. The last thing you want to do is annoy him.

You’ve been ruminating on your identity, your relationships, your life, constantly. Unable to differentiate between your mental illness and reality: Am I a plague on these people? On myself? On society? Surely, I am. Or am I imagining that I am? You’ve spent a week paralyzed and numb from these thoughts that won’t stop.

But today… today you woke up, you took a shower, ate breakfast, put on clean clothes and some makeup. Today you’re going outside.

The second you step out the door, sun warms your skin. It feels good. Despite the fact that you still feel like a corpse in a human suit, you put one foot in front of the other and start strolling through the neighborhood. You walk past a woman walking her yellow Labrador Retriever; you force yourself to smile gently at them. She greets you and you nod in return. The dog sniffs at you and then continues to follow its owner.

Do they know I’m a zombie? Can they see that I’m rotten and dead inside?

The smile feels so foreign on your lips, you keep it there a little longer, just to practice. You come across the city park and decide to swing for a bit since there are no kids playing.

You walk up to the wooden barrier that encloses the playground sand, and slide your sandals off before stepping over it. The sand warms the soles of your feet; you dig them in a little further until your toes press into the cool damp sand underneath. Trying to ground yourself, you listen to the world around you, and hear birds chirping, a car sputtering off in the distance, trees rustling in the breeze.

You trudge over to the swing set and settle into the rubber seat, which wraps tightly around your wide hips. Gently closing your eyes, you tilt your face up towards the sun, and start taking deep breaths. With each long exhale, then inhale, life starts to return to your body. Your soul is defrosting.

Eventually your hips and ass are almost numb from the constraint of the swing seat, so you decide to go back, and (attempt to) work on cleaning your neglected house.

The phone is ringing as you’re walking through the front door, but the answering machine picks up just before you can get to it.

“Hey, it’s Javi.”

You freeze and your breath catches. Your hand hovers above the phone receiver as you hear him clear his throat. He doesn’t sound as sure-footed as he normally is.

“I’m going to go to the Pour House around 3 if you want to meet me up there. I- I haven’t seen you in a while. So I uh- I’ll maybe see you later then. Ok, bye.”

A small smile creeps across your face. A real one, this time, not a practice one.

After giving the house a half-assed cleaning, you sit barefoot on your patio couch, chain smoking cigarettes, drawing, and reading until it’s 2:45. At that point, you slide on some sandals and walk up to the bar. It’s about 95°F by now and you regret the decision not to drive almost immediately, but you’re too stubborn to change course.

While walking, you get lost in your head, racing through all of the scenarios that could possibly happen once you get to the Pour House, and before you know it, you’re yanking on the front door to enter.

You run into a wall of cold air as the door slams behind you. As is customary, the regulars sitting at the bar tilt their head up and see who the newcomer is. Javier’s face isn’t among them, so you order a beer from Gina and take a seat in one of the booths.

On the chance that Javier doesn’t actually show up, you brought a tote bag, and packed your portable CD player, a small CD case, pencils, and your drawing pad. Gina walks over and gives you the tap beer you ordered. After sitting, sipping, and twiddling your thumbs for a while, you glance up at the neon Budweiser clock hanging beside the bar; it’s 3:06. A sigh escapes your lips as you concede to your backup plan and start rifling through your bag.

As if on cue, light illuminates the bar as Javier saunters in. His hair is mussed up, starting to grow out a little bit since his arrival back in town. It looks like there are the beginnings of curls, which makes your chest tighten. Adorable . He’s wearing a white collared button-up shirt. There are just enough buttons undone for you to see the beginnings of his chest. The shirt is messily tucked into a pair of dark blue jeans. He runs one hand through his hair and uses the other to take off a pair of aviator sunglasses, then hangs them off of his shirt. His dark eyes shift around the bar until he spots you. His face lights up, and he makes his way over to you. Gina asks if he wants a whiskey, to which he nods in the affirmative.

He slides into the booth across the table from you. Now that he’s closer, you can see a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. His scent wafts over and you lean into it. You realize that your heart is racing and your cunt is throbbing.

Touch me, touch me your skin screams, breaking out in goosebumps. Heat starts radiating from your face when you realize how turned on you’re getting by his presence alone. You can barely bring yourself to meet his warm gaze.

Get your shit together.

“Hey stranger.”

“Howdy,” you grin, running your finger through the condensation on your glass.

Gina sets his drink down and walks back behind the bar.

He takes a sip, then rests his elbows on the tabletop, leaning towards you, “Where have you been?”

You contemplate whether or not to be honest in your answer, before playing dumb, “What do you mean?”

He raises his eyebrows, “Well, I haven’t seen you around or heard from you. Dad said you’re always with the Bakers at church on Sundays. I didn’t see you there, either.”

“Oh. Yeah, I- I wasn’t feeling well,” you look down at your hands and start picking at your cuticles.

“Sick?”

“I guess you could say that,” you shrug and look back up at him. His eyes are hard and searching. Anything you can think of to tell him that’s bullshit doesn’t feel right on the tip of your tongue. You sigh and start rambling nervously, “I was going through a really uhh… bad depressive episode. I couldn’t do anything for, I guess, a week? It happens sometimes, it’s not really a big deal or anything, really. Just couldn’t bring myself to leave the house or whatever. It- it’s fine, though, I’m… fine.”

Jesus Christ someone shut me up.

He doesn’t seem uncomfortable. He doesn’t flinch, or wave it off, like you’re used to people doing. Instead, he nods and keeps his eyes on yours. His eyebrows are knit together, concerned, “I see. Are you feeling better now?”

The corners of your mouth tug gently upwards, “Yeah, I think I am.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” He rubs a hand across his mouth, shifts in his seat a little, then looks down at the table, “I was a little worried about you.”

He was worried about me? He was worried about me.

You can't help but widen your smile and blush a little. He looks back up and your eyes meet again, only momentarily before you chicken out and stare at your beer, “I appreciate that. And I appreciate you inviting me out today. I didn’t know if you’d want to hang out with me again-“

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I uh- I don’t know. I can be a little bit… much for people, sometimes.” Your heart starts racing again and you feel your stomach lurch, “I guess I didn’t think you would like to… be around me? Like um… you would have figured out that I’m a loser and…” you trail off, feeling silly for exposing this part of you.

Your confession is met with silence. You wait a few beats before looking up at him, cringing at your own insecurity. Head tilted, eyes narrowed, he’s staring at you like you’re speaking in fucking riddles. He scratches his chin and leans closer, “I like being around you. I’ve never not liked being around you. I know we just started actually hanging out but… it’s nice. And you’re my friend.”

“Ok,” you nod rapidly, trying not to get too intoxicated by his intensity.

“I did reconsider after you kicked my ass in rummy, but-“ he crosses his arms, raises his eyebrows, and cracks a small smile.

“Why am I not surprised that you’re a sore loser?” you smirk.

“But really,” he reaches over and captures one of your hands in his own, squeezing gently. They’re warm and rough, and the contact makes you gasp quietly. It doesn’t go unnoticed; you see his face soften at the sound, “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a bullshitter. So if I tell you that I enjoy spending time with you, that’s exactly what I mean. Do you understand?”

The sternness with which he asks do you understand? makes your body tingle with pleasure. You try to keep your cool and remember that there’s a good man taking care of you, giving you all the material things you want, and he’s going to marry you.

But is that what you want?

“Yes, Javi,” you coo, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He throws his head back and licks his bottom lip. You can’t help but smile.

Bad bad bad-

“Good girl,” he finally purrs. He gives your hand one more firm squeeze before releasing you.

Your lips part. You feel lightheaded and your entire body is flushed. The feeling of guilt, knowing you just crossed a line, rises to the surface briefly. Then you recall how long it’s been since you’ve felt desire… since you’ve felt desired.

It’s harmless flirting. Dan won’t find out, it’s fine.

You motion to Gina more drinks please. She acknowledges this. When you turn back to Javier, you notice he looks just as flustered as you.

You shake your head and laugh nervously, “You’re an unbelievable bastard.”

He fucking giggles at this, and it seems to ease the ( sexual ) tension between you.

“So,” Javier clears his throat, lights a cigarette, and offers one to you; you accept. He continues, “No movie today? It’s Wednesday.”

“Mmm no apparently not. This seemed like a better choice. What about you? Done with work for the day?”

“Sí. I’m all yours,” he winks.

You roll your eyes playfully at him, even though his wink lights a fire inside you. You’re pretty sure he knows that.

Fucker.

The two of you talk about this and that while continuing to drink. He tells you about working on the ranch, which you find fascinating. You ask him far too many questions about cows, then tell him about your last class at school. Then you play a few games of pool. Javi kicks your ass each and every game, which is super annoying (in an endearing way) because he’s just as sore a winner as he is a sore loser. Y’all have quite a few ( too many? ) drinks before you’re both hovering over the CD jukebox, flipping through the Pour House’s collection, arguing about which song to play.

“No no no, see, this is such a good song, we have to get this one,” you plead, pointing to ‘Come As You Are’ by Nirvana.

He tips his head back, puts both hands on his hips, then groans theatrically. His shirt is untucked and he’s undone at least one more button since he arrived at the bar. He’s disheveled and drunk, and so are you. You turn around to lean against your back against the jukebox and snicker at how riled up he’s getting. He puts one hand up, palm facing you, “Fucking- Nirvana ? Seriously? No. Listen, cariño, this isn’t even a discussion.”

He digs in his pocket to get a few quarters, then reaches around you to kerplunk them into the machine. You concede and turn around so your front is facing the jukebox. His hand moves up to the selection panel, which is next to your head, and he starts flipping through and humming to himself. You feel the warmth of his body right behind yours.

“Am I in your way?” you ask.

Javier puts his free hand on your waist gently just for a moment before it retreats, “No no, not at all.” Then he gasps, finding “Amor Prohibido” by Selena. He punches the digits into the jukebox, “Here we go.”

A burst of sugary sweet pop music blasts through the speakers. Javi takes one of your hands and spins you around to face him, then lets go and starts dancing in a drunk, but shockingly fun and uninhibited, manner. You do your best to have fun and not worry about what you look like as you join him.

To your surprise, he starts singing along to the music in a falsetto.

“Amor prohibido murmuran por las calles; Porque somos de distintas sociedades”

You squeal and clap with delight. He sways closer to you to grab your hands and put them on his shoulders, then he puts his own on your waist. His touch is firm and guides your movements to be in sync with his own. You look up at him, and he sings to you, quieter and lower now, a serenade only you can hear. You’re completely and utterly enraptured.

I want to kiss him.

The song fades away, and you hear Gina start clapping from behind the bar. The sound brings you back to reality. You jump back, laughing and trying to put distance between the two of you.

“Alright, you two. It’s been entertaining but it’s time for me to lock up,” her gravelly voice calls.

“Really? What time is it?” you ask while walking to get your things from the booth.

“Only 11, but you’ve been the only people here since 9 and I have to open tomorrow, so-“ she blows a raspberry and jerks her thumb towards the door, “Hey Javi, you want a ride home?”

“No, that’s ok. I’m going to walk her home, then walk back. By the time I get back I’ll be fine to drive,” he turns to you, “if that’s ok with you, anyway.”

“Yeah, of course.”

You and Javier emerge from the bar into the dark night. Both of you light a cigarette and start strolling at a leisurely pace. It’s so quiet all the time in this town, but especially so at night. He’s humming the song that you were dancing to for a while, and the melody fills the air around you.

“What does cariño mean?” you ask.

“It’s like sweetheart or love,” he explains, “why?”

You smile from ear to ear as your heart skips a beat, “you called me that earlier.”

“I did? Oh. I- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like it,” you cast your gaze over and witness him smiling happily to himself, even though he doesn’t respond to you.

You walk about a half a block before he breaks the comfortable silence. He sounds much more serious than he was just a minute ago, “Can I ask you something?”

Your heart starts to beat faster. You turn your head towards him, “Yeah, what’s up?

“So, what’s the deal with Dan?” he asks in a low voice.

The balls on this man.

Your hands start tingling and your stomach drops to your feet. Which isn’t terribly distracting since your body is feeling very… sloshy, anyway.

“What do you mean?”

His forehead wrinkles as he watches you, “Does he make you happy?”

You bite the inside of your cheek and take a deep breath.

Does he make me happy?

“Well…” you search through your liquor-inhibited brain for the right answer to such an unbearably complicated question, “I love him. His family is practically the only family I have. He… provides for me.”

He doesn’t say anything. It says everything.

About a minute passes before you admit quietly, “The answer is… I don’t know.”

“But you still want to be with him?”

You start kicking a rock along the road in front of you. You sigh, “Yeah… yeah.”

He laughs and shakes his head, obviously unconvinced, “Whatever you say.”

You would be offended if you didn’t know that what he’s implying is true. Your relationship with Dan is not fulfilling your needs. It’s something you’ve been able to look past, because you do love Dan. He gives you a house to live in, supports you financially, and promises that you’ll make your own family together. You can trust that he won’t leave you. He’s not that kind of person. It is not in his five year plan to start over with a new person. So… the person is you. And that’s the best you’re going to get.

Are you happy?

I mean… I’m happy enough. Right?

Right?

“Ok Mr. Relationship Expert,” you scoff.

“Touché,” he admits.

“Anyone you’re seeing?” you ask, to shift the conversation away from Dan. You’re not entirely certain you want to know the answer, but, this is what friends do, right? Talk about their relationships?

“No, not really.”

He seems hesitant, so you prod further out of curiosity, “There has to be someone you’re interested in, at least?”

“Besides you?” he raises an eyebrow at you.

A sharp nervous laugh burst out of your face that echoes down the street, and you’re not sure what else to say except, “Yes, besides me.”

“Well… There was this night at the bar… Kimmy Baker was trying to get me to take her home.” He shoves his hands in his front pockets and looks over at you, “I don’t know that I’m all that interested in her, though.”

“What happened with her?” You try to keep a tinge of jealousy out of your tone. But you’re sure by the way he smirks at you that it doesn’t work.

“You really want to know?”

You shrug, “You don’t have to share, I’m just being nosy.”

“She was way too drunk, so I walked her back to her place,” he scratches the scruff on his neck, “She came on to me, and we kissed, but it didn’t feel right, with her being plastered and all. So I went home.”

“Oh, is that the move, then? Walk the girl back to her house from the bar?”

He chuckles, “I don’t know, is it working?”

You’ve reached the end of your driveway; you turn and face him, “Thanks for walking me home.”

“No problem,” he steps towards you and rubs a hand against his mouth, hesitating a beat, then steps back, “Have a good night, now.”

You bite your lip to keep from asking if he wants to come in. You know you couldn’t keep yourself from him if you did. There’s this magnetic quality to the air between you that makes the temptation unbearable, and you have to walk away right now.

“Bye, Javi,” you walk up the driveway, putting space between you and him as fast as you can.

[ Next Chapter ]

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sp00kycrumpet · 7 months

Text

Paradise. (4/10)

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

Rating: E

Tags: Javi is baby, fluff, holiday romance, Nick Cage is Nick Cage, reader is bilingual

Warnings: swearing

Summary: Working as Nicholas Cage's personal assistant was your favourite job; so when he asked you to accompany him to Mallorca for this birthday party he'd been invited to, you were more than happy to go. What you didn't anticipate was the host himself.

Will also be posted on my AO3

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

When you awoke the next morning, you felt like you were on Cloud Nine. You'd not been in such a good mood in so long and it felt so nice. You got dressed and ready for the day before heading out, you went to Nick's room first to check in on him after his surprise announcement only to find he wasn't there. You frowned a little and moved through the villa, listening out for any sounds. You found no one was here and it confused you. The garden had been cleaned up in the night and, after speaking with one of the security guys - you learnt Gabriela was out running errands while Javi had taken Nick into town to write. You felt a frown work over your face at being left alone, wondering how early everyone must have left.

You thanked the guy before moving into the kitchen to fix yourself a mug of tea. You grabbed some fruit and headed outside, sitting at the edge of the pool with your feet in the warm water while you drank and tried to pick through your thoughts of the night before. Trying to focus on Nick and his behaviour but your brain just kept replaying that kiss from Javi and how he'd been about to say something when Gabriela interrupted. You called home to let your mom know you'd be staying a little while longer, asking her to please remember to water your plants since you had no idea how long Nick wanted to stay. She lamented that she wished she could have a job that meant she was getting paid to lounge around a Billionaires home in Mallorca. You then called Richard to let him know what was unfolding, Richard admitted he'd had Javi's screenplay to hand when you'd arrived in Mallorca but had thrown it in the trash. You sighed and told him Nick wouldn't be happy about that. Richard told you to just enjoy the trip and bring Nick home in one piece before hanging up. Sometimes that man couldn't see past working endlessly. Although it was his idea for you and Nick to agree to be here to begin with.

You went back to your room to get your laptop after a few hours, deciding you should probably do some work as well. As you walked through the villa, you spotted Javi's car pulling up - Nick driving and Javi fast asleep in the passenger seat. You smiled softly, amused at the bond the two of them seemed to be building. Although you wondered if they'd done any writing or just gone drinking instead. You set up on the veranda with some fruit juice and lunch, answering emails and seeing what requests had been sent through for Nick or any updates from his business manager. You knew Nick was needing to find somewhere to live once you got home, he'd let that slip on the flight over so you'd signed up for property alerts and flicked through a few of them. Your work momentum was broken by a door opening and closing behind you, part of you hoping it was Javi. You looked over your shoulder and saw Nick coming out, looking a little tired.

"Hey, good day writing?" You asked with a smile, Nick coming to sit across from you with a non-commital hum.

"We tossed a few ideas around and got a few basics outlined. We're thinking of writing a movie about Javi and I, so it should be interesting and easy to write really." He nodded, helping himself to some fruit from your plate. You smiled brightly at him.

"That's amazing Nick! I'm so happy!" You reached over to squeeze his hand, Nick nodding with a small hum in his throat.

"Listen, I need to go into town for a bit. Think you can distract Javi for a few hours?" You perked one eyebrow at the request.

"You just got back though?" Nick nodded, leaning forward.

"I gotta go meet someone but it's a surprise so you can't tell him. I should only be there for two hours or so." You tilted your head a little, studying Nick. Only a few nights ago he was warning you to be careful and now he needed you to actively spend time with Javi.

"Sure. I can think of something." Nick drummed his fingers over the table.

"Ask him about the room with the mirrored door, he'll love that." Nick snorted softly, pushing himself up and giving you a one armed hug before heading out. You watched him go before shaking your head and finishing what you were doing. You dropped your laptop into your room then headed to find Javi. Eventually spotting him on the couch in the living room, scribbling notes in a notebook with a soft frown of concentration on his face. You smiled to yourself, watching him for a moment, he looked so handsome and you couldn't help but indulge in admiring him. To avoid being caught staring, you knocked gently on the door. Javi looked up, his eyes wide with surprise before a smile broke out over his face and he said your name. You could hear him say it over and over, it sounded so lovely in his voice.

"I hope I'm not interrupting, just wondering if you wanted some company." You smiled, Javi waving you into the room.

"No, it's fine! I'm just making some notes so I don't forget what we came up with today." He smiled, looking back at his notes before adding a couple of bits.

"I was surprised to wake up and find the whole house empty!" You chuckled, sitting down beside Javi.

"Ah sorry, I was going to see if you were wanting to come into town with us but… we took LSD and just went." You leaned back in surprise, staring at Javi.

"You're joking, right?" Javi just gave you a grin in response, shaking his head.

"It was incredible! Chaotic but funny and I think my shoulder is bruised from when we tried to climb over a wall which… ultimately I ended up just walking around." You watched Javi for a moment before you burst out laughing.

"Oh man, I'm sad I missed that!" Javi gave you a grin as he nodded then added something else to his page before putting it aside so he could give you his full attention.

"How was your day?" You shrugged a little, leaning back in the seat with a hum.

"Quiet. I did some work, lounged by the pool for a bit. I feel bad I'm supposed to be working but I've just had a vacation." Javi smiled, shaking his head.

"Sometimes you have to allow yourself time to relax and enjoy the day." He nodded, glancing at his watch before putting his notes aside. "What would you like to do?" You thought about it for a moment before a grin worked over your face.

"Well Nick did mention something about that big fancy mirrored door…"

Javi had almost been reluctant at first, muttering something under his breath about Nick trying to kill him before he agreed to show you.

"It didn't freak him out so hopefully it won't freak you out." He said as he unlocked the fancy looking door.

"I did see this on our first day, I didn't realise it was a door. I assumed it was some aesthetic thing since you didn't strike me as a vain man wanting to see himself constantly." Javi chuckled softly and held the door open for you, letting you enter first as he reached to flick the lights on. As soon as you saw the National Treasure poster at the bottom of the stairs, you knew what this was. Javi's treasure trove of Nicholas Cage memorabilia. You couldn't help the little chuckle in your throat as you entered the room and saw the collection of props, scripts and other various items. You had to laugh as you spotted the sequin pillow though.

"Oh my god I bought him one of these! He then 'accidentally' forgot it at mine and never came back for it." You chuckled, your fingers gently touching the sequins. Javi laughed, watching you.

"Yeah he doesn't like it. He tried to mess up the sequins." You looked over your shoulder at him, his nervousness was finally receding and you could see the sparkle of joy in his eyes as he finally began proudly showing off his collection. You followed him around the room as he told stories of the movies in correlation to his life or how he'd managed to attain the props. He practically bounced with excitement, you just smiled warmly. You were absolutely enamoured with this man, the collection was impressive but his passion even moreso. You kept asking questions and wanted to know more, there was something endearing about watching someone speak so passionately about something that meant so much to them. The wax figure was a little unnerving but Javi just breezed past it to show you the library of movies.

"Javi, you know you can get most of these digitally now, right?" You smiled as Javi just shrugged.

"I like to own physical things. It makes it feel more real and sort of special to add to the collection." You nodded, you understood. Even with Spotify and other streaming services, you still collected physical albums of your favourite artists. You moved to perch on the arm of the couch, watching Javi.

"So what will you add to your collection now you're actually making a Nick Cage movie? I feel like you'll need a whole shelf for all your drafts, notes and everything!" Javi tilted his head a little, eyes wandering the room as he thought it through.

"Maybe I'll do that. Get a big glass case and fill it with photos of this week, scripts and whatever props come from the movie!" He beamed, you nodded and watched him.

"Maybe I should get a photo and an autograph now before you're too busy for me." You teased, Javi shaking his head.

"That would never happen but I am happy to take photos with you." He grinned, you smiled and tugged your phone out of your pocket. You opened the camera and motioned for Javi to come closer. He stood beside you with an arm around your shoulders and his head resting against yours as he gave that beautiful smile. You almost forgot to take the photo as you admired his image on the screen. You snapped a couple of pictures before checking them.

"Perfect. I'll keep them safe so I can say I knew you before you were world famous." Javi chuckled and nudged you gently.

"You say that like I'm going to be some huge star." You watched him for a moment before shaking your head as you put your phone away.

"I've got a good feeling about this Javi." You said, patting his hand. He glanced over at you, gaze soft as he smiled. The two of you seemed to just stay like that for a moment before he cleared his throat and suddenly started talking about something he'd not had a chance to show you yet. You could feel your heart racing, trying to work out what that look he gave you meant. The two of you stayed in that room for a little while before heading back out to find something to eat.

Nick was back by the time you made it to the kitchen, Javi instantly asking Nick if he had any more ideas. You figured you'd leave them to work, Javi almost pouting as you announced your departure before Nick got his attention again and they were off again.

(Part Five)

#no use of y/n #pedro pascal #javi g x you #javi x you #javi g x reader #javi #javier gutierrez #the unbearable weight of massive talent

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all54321 · 7 months

Text

The End of Evo/The Only Survivor

[AO3]/[AO3]

I’ve been lagging behind on putting my Whumptober fics on Tumblr, so here’s two that go together but weren’t posted together… because I didn’t think of it at first.

Summaries: After spending a long time trapped with the Watchers, Grian finally demands to see what happened to his friends… he really wishes he hadn’t. / Now alone, Grian lets loose on all his feelings over Evo’s destruction.

This is canon to all of my fics where Watchers all canon. So… little prologue to those fics.

Day 9: Presumed Dead

Day 10: Alt 6: Crying to Sleep

—————

‘Fine,’ the first Watcher says, ‘we’ll let you see Evolutions.’

Part of Grian is relieved, the other part is worried at why they agreed. He doesn’t ask questions as it lets the purple magic surround its hands and waves spreads them apart in the air in front of them.

A window immediately opens, showing the world of Evo, well what’s left of it at least. Grian inhales sharply as he takes in the overgrown ruins of spawn.

With small gestures of its hands, the view changes, each one showing different parts of the server. Ruin either overgrown, charred, or just rubble.

He takes a step back, breathing picking up, No, they wouldn’t, they wouldn’t destroy the place after they promised. But they would, a quiet voice whispers into his head.

Grian takes another step back, he took the deal to keep everyone safe. He went with the Watchers in order to keep his friends safe. He endured this torture so his friends didn’t have to.

“You- you promised,” he whispers, barely breathing out the words.

The second Watcher turns to face him, its grin the only thing visible, ‘This is why you don’t have attachments to players.’

“Why did you ki-kill them!?” Grian says desperately, voice getting louder and cracking midway through. His eyes flick back and forth between them, grief and anger mixing in equal parts inside of him. A raging storm.

𝙹 リ ᒷ scoffs, ‘They’re players. They are below us, they do not matter. ’

“We came to an agreement, that you wouldn’t hurt them!” Grian continues, emotion bleeding into his voice. He knows better then to do that, but he doesn’t care. His friends are dead and they’re at fault.

ℸ ̣ ∴ 𝙹 closes the distance and slaps Grian across the face, making him wince. ‘What did we teach you? Emotions only show weakness, especially towards players.’

‘They disobeyed us,’ 𝙹リᒷ adds, ‘it was only right that they got punished.’

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt them,” he yells, despite knowing how they’d react.

ℸ ̣ ∴ 𝙹 grabs him by the throat, magic pulsing, ‘You will go back to your room this instance and stay there until we have prepared your punishment. ’

Grian gasps when it lets go, falling to his knees. He staggers back to his feet, not wanting to tempt his fate any longer, even if a part of him wants to pick a fight now.

He shoots a glare at them, even if they won’t see it because of the mask, and slowly retreats to his room, hand hovering over his throat and the forming bruises.

~~~~~

Grian curls up in his bed and cocoons himself in his wings. Now alone, the rest of the emotions he was holding back flood through him.

He takes a shuddering breath, as the grief becomes overwhelming. Grian covers his face with his hands as he feels tears gathering in his eyes. Despite the Watcher’s probably watching him, he lets the sobs escape him.

Grian curls up tighter into a ball, letting the sobs wreck through his body. All he can think about all of his friends who he had invited to Evo are all dead now, all because of him.

He should have a found a better way to help them then going with the Watchers, he should have set them free the moment he got their powers. He should have just obeyed the Watchers from the start. Then they would probably be alive now.

Grian moves his hands down to clutch at his arms, talons digging into them. He faintly feels the pricks of pain as they most likely pierce through his skin.

He pays no attention to both the pain and the wounds, only feeling the grief of what he’s learned. Grian only holds himself tighter as sobs wreck through his body.

The rest of the world falls as he can think of nothing but the ruins of Evo. Eventually the exhaustion catches up to him and drags him into very restless sleep.

#my writing #ailesswhumptober2023 #day 9 #day 10 #presumed dead #crying to sleep #evolution smp

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zepskies · 2 years

Text

And So It Goes - Part 10

Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.

Pairing: Butcher/OFC (Latina!OC)

ASIG Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,200 Warnings: Language, angst

10: Amen

Helena slowly climbed up the steps to her apartment. She carried the strap of her overnight bag on one shoulder and the handle of Gordo’s carrier in the other hand.

Once she reached the top of the stairs, even the few short feet to her front door felt like a wide canyon. Her body swayed, mostly with lack of sleep, but eventually she was able to unlock her apartment and step inside.

After closing the door behind her, she dropped her bag on the floor and let Gordo out of his carrier. The cat mewled for attention, rubbing himself along her calf, but she felt numb and unable to focus on the dark, familiar quiet of her apartment. She felt…wrong.

Trudging through the living room, she found her favorite “Spice Up Your Life” mug on the coffee table and absently picked it up, aiming to go dump it into the kitchen sink. Until she realized exactly which mug it was, and who had given it to her for her 16th birthday with a homemade batch of her famous double chocolate-chocolate chip cupcakes.

Gripping the mug tightly, until her fingers ached, Helena then hurled the mug across the room. It shattered against the far wall on impact, but she crumpled into tears even before the pieces fell.

Yesterday.

Helena took the proffered business card from Grace Mallory with numb fingers. The older woman was better dressed for the crisp fall weather in a wool coat and scarf, comfortable-looking but expensive.

From the conservative pearl earrings set in gold, Mallory was either from old money, or simply was the kind of rich that was too wealthy to care about showing it too much. Helena had spent enough time in the company of rich assholes to know instinctively that this woman was not one of them.

Even so, Helena didn’t know if she could trust her. After today, she probably would never trust anything again. Not even her God.

“Just say the word, and we’ll get it done,” Mallory said.

Helena pocketed the card, offering a hesitant nod. It was taking her longer than usual to process the words someone had said to her, but she soon got her dry mouth to form a reply. “I’ll let you know.”

Her voice sounded foreign, even to her own ears. She followed Mallory’s gaze beyond the small parking lot to the edge of the forest, where Billy Butcher and Ryan were sitting together under a large oak tree beside a river. Helena unconsciously looked past them, staring into the picturesque vastness of trees and scattered leaves.

She had been driving home when she got the call from M.M. which almost made her rear-end a family of four on the highway. She had broken no less than five traffic laws to turn back, even though she could barely see the road signs through the blur of tears. All the while, she couldn’t stop imagining this. The forest, and what Becca must have looked like at the end.

And the guilt, Helena thought, watching as Butcher and Ryan finally stood to make their way back to the parking lot. Can’t forget that.

Guilt, that she wasn’t there. When Ryan had lasered Stormfront into unrecognizable mutilation, and Becca had been accidentally caught in the crossfire, bleeding to death on the cold forest floor.

Well, Helena had never been there when Becca really needed her, it seemed, so why shouldn’t it be like this in the end?

“All right,” Butcher said, once he and Ryan were nearly to the black SUV that a woman, one of Mallory’s, was holding for him. “Remember what I told ya.”

Ryan looked up at him with a face that was pure Becca.

“Don’t be a cunt,” he replied.

Butcher gave a hint of a smile, and he shared a moment with the kid that mercifully took Helena out of the horror scene in her imagination. At least, Butcher had come to understand what Becca really wanted.

He loved her enough to honor what she asked of him with Ryan. Helena wasn’t sure if Butcher liked him, but according to M.M., Butcher had protected him from Homelander. There was a kind of father in him just now.

When the SUV eventually peeled off with Ryan, reluctant and sad in the backseat, Mallory said what Helena couldn’t.

“William, I’m so sorry,” she said.

Butcher just watched the SUV, until it turned a corner and disappeared. “Vought’s gonna want him back.”

“Let me handle Vought,” Mallory replied. Helena watched a reluctant, but necessary question form on the woman’s face. “You think he’ll turn into his father?”

Butcher turned back to join them, though his gaze fell again on the river.

“Becca didn’t think so,” he said.

Mallory shook her head. “I pray she’s right.”

Helena felt like one of Mallory’s hired hands standing by yet another SUV: an unnecessary third party in the conversation. But she wasn’t here because of Mallory. She just had the least to lose in sticking around, unlike M.M. and the rest of the crew, who had to go back into hiding.

But Mallory’s next revelation nearly brought new tears to Helena’s eyes: Butcher and everyone else had been entirely pardoned, of all crimes—both real and fabricated by Vought.

The White House had finally funded an Office of Supe Affairs, predictably headed by Victoria Neuman. She was the new funding power behind Mallory’s next project: a team that would keep track of supes from here on out. It sounded ideal for Butcher, in theory, and Helena could admit, it was exactly the kind of thing she’d been down for before…well, before.

Butcher never answered Mallory’s offer. Instead, he donned a pair of shades and started down the path to his piece of shit car down at the end of the parking lot. But Helena couldn’t help herself. Her worry overran her common sense of leaving him be.

With a parting nod to Mallory, she followed Butcher on the way to her own rental car. He probably sensed her behind him, or maybe he’d expected her to follow, because he slowed to a stop at the sidewalk separating one half of the parking lot from the other. Helena didn’t know what it was she wanted to say.

I’m sorry was fucking stupid, and would be hollow coming out of her mouth.

“Going back to work?” Butcher asked.

“I’m due back a week from Monday,” she admitted. She shifted on her feet, hands clenching unseen in her pockets. Eventually, she gained the courage to look up at him and say what she really wanted to say.

“Wherever you go, whatever you decide to do…” She paused, knowing just as well this could be the last time she spoke to him like this, truly once in for all. He was a free man. His Homelander vendetta aside, he turned down Mallory’s offer, which meant there was no telling where he was going to fuck off and disappear to. Maybe even get himself killed, like he’d planned to from the beginning of his crusade.

Taking a breath, Helena purged the rest of that from her mind. She needed to focus on right here, right now.

“You took care of Ryan, made sure he was safe,” she said. “It’s time you did that for yourself.”

She couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but she heard the dryness in his tone when he drawled, “Is that right?”

She frowned. “Your anger is going to kill you. You think Becca would’ve wanted—”

“It’s none of your fuckin’ business what I do,” Butcher cut her off, dismissively, with steely anger underneath. She wasn’t afraid of him, not anymore, but the forcefulness on her frayed nerves and exhausted emotional state still made her flinch.

Helena sighed. She didn’t have the energy to volley with him like she usually would, nor did she want to. She didn’t know what he was thinking, but she could imagine what he was going through, torn to shreds inside, as she was, and likely so much worse. Butcher had walls—concrete walls reinforced with electric barbed wire—around his heart, but Becca had lived inside them for such a long time…

“Fine. That’s fine,” Helena said. Her eyes roamed his face for any sign of his thoughts, but again, she found nothing. She rested a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently. Then, she walked away from him without looking back.

Helena flattened out Mallory’s business card, crumpled from the pocket in her jeans, and set it down on her desk. While she waited for her laptop to boot up, she couldn’t help but glance over at the picture frames propped on the left side of her desk, backlit by a small lamp.

One picture was taken at eight years old, the first of many trips to Disney World with her parents. The second was her and Becca at high school graduation, big cheesy smiles and eyes full of stupid dreams. The third was taken four years later at their college graduation. They wore different colors for their caps and gowns, but they had the same smiles on their faces.

Helena took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. With her laptop finally booted up and logged in, she started by crafting her resignation letter from Vought.

Six Months Later.

It didn’t happen often, but Mallory found herself blinking in confusion while glancing up at the security footage. She knew before her frantic assistant called her office to tell her that Billy Butcher was on his way, not bothering with the small decorum of waiting at reception.

Mallory sighed, but this in itself didn’t surprise her; nor the fact that he had found her secluded wing of the building, which was not listed on any public or government directory (for more than one reason). What did surprise her, was that Butcher was at the Office of Supe Affairs at all.

She pressed the buzzer before he even knocked on the door, allowing him to breeze his way in with his usual devil-may-care stride. He offered Mallory a grin, more restrained than usual.

“‘Ullo, boss,” he greeted.

“Not your boss anymore,” she wryly replied. That didn’t stop him from leaning his arms on the guest chair in front of her desk. She didn’t bother asking how he found her. She was more focused on the bruising around his eye, small cuts on his knuckles and cheekbone. His black overcoat looked worn and washed too many times, and had probably been through most of his scrapes over the past six months.

Mallory also didn’t waste her breath asking what he’d been doing all this time—not only because it was obvious, but because she already knew, all too well.

“I know you prefer to do things your own way,” she said, “but at this point, wouldn’t it be easier just to join my fucking team?”

“Didn’t work the first time, don’t see why it should be any different now,” Butcher said. He gestured around the office, to her new bookcases and filing cabinets, to the whole operation. “It’s gonna be a shitshow, and don’t count on me to be there when you realize it.”

Mallory fought not to roll her eyes. “I swear to God, it’s one step forward, three steps back with you,” she said. “Why are you here then?”

“Where’s Helena?” he asked.

Interesting, Mallory noted. Out of everything he could’ve asked of her, that was rather low on her list. Though she supposed she should’ve considered it, after the little scene she witnessed in the parking lot six months ago.

“She’s not at her apartment?” Mallory said. She watched Butcher push off the back of the chair and slip his hands into his coat pockets. A stance of nonchalance that didn’t distract her from the guarded look in his eyes.

“You fuckin’ know she’s not. Her phone’s disconnected too. Both of 'em.”

“Why’re you trying to find her?” Mallory asked.

He didn’t answer her right away, which piqued her interest even more. This was a man who knew how to get the information he wanted without having to reveal his own cards. His motives, which not many could predict, unless they knew him as well as Mallory thought she did. But Butcher also knew her well enough that her stubborn patience could outlast his reluctance to just tell her the truth. He eventually caved.

“Need her to do a little reconnaissance on her slimy boss. Make sure he’s not keeping tabs on me,” he said. “I appreciate bein’ able to hit the local dive bar as much as the next felon-free man, but it’s hard to get properly wasted knowing Black Noir might be lyin’ in wait when I hit the pisser.”

Hmm. Also interesting, Mallory thought, that while his reasons had to do with Vought, it wasn’t an admission that he was looking for a new angle to bring down the juggernaut company. But, she remembered that young woman’s words to Butcher on that day: “Wherever you go, whatever you decide to do…”

No; maybe reconnaissance was worth this trip to Mallory’s office, but she had a suspicion it was a clever excuse, whether Butcher realized it was one or not. Though she also didn’t want to tell him, not yet at least, that Vought was sure as hell trying to keep tabs on him. Her team was thus far successful in keeping them off Butcher’s scent.

As long as he didn’t do anything stupid, Vought shouldn’t have a reason to try and silently snuff him out. Singling out Butcher again would only distract Homelander, now that Vought had him exactly where they wanted him: focused on his public persona and rebuilding their credibility after the PR nightmare that had been Stormfront’s Nazi past revealed. With Starlight’s (undercover) help, they’d mostly been able to shift media focus to memorializing Translucent’s death.

Honestly, it was fucking annoying how easily Vought had managed that. But in a way, it had given Supe Affairs the time and cover they needed to organize, and keep digging—with, Mallory could admit, the help of Helena Flores.

So, it was easier in this case to tell Butcher the truth.

“The less she sees of you, the better her relocation works,” she said. By the look in his eyes, she had just confirmed Butcher’s suspicions.

“She gave you intel.”

“All she could spare. It was safer for her to resign in the aftermath of Becca, while Vought was too busy with damage control to care too much about her leaving. Still, she was able to blame the trauma of the congressional hearing.”

Mallory recognized the cogs in his mind turning, digesting that information, and deciding if he wanted to do anything about it. Mallory felt compelled to offer what she knew to be the best solution.

“She’s done, Butcher,” she said. “Best thing you could do for her is leave her alone.”

Butcher’s gaze flicked up to hers. “Maybe I’m done too.”

Mallory smiled wryly.

“We both know that’s a crock of shit,” she said. When Butcher only continued staring at her, like he was still trying to decide how hard he wanted to push the issue, she sighed. “Let me show you something. If you still want to find her afterwards, I’ll give you the address.”

“What is it?” he asked.

Mallory felt something in her relent, the longer she looked at him. She softened with a more patient look.

“Just sit down.”

Butcher didn’t know what to expect when he drove four hours across upstate New York. The house was too big for one person, he thought, but it was tucked neatly between some of the larger houses in the quaint little suburban community. It reminded him a lot of his Aunt Judy’s neighborhood, but a lot more uptown. He couldn’t picture Helena living in a place like this, so far from the city, so uppity, so…

Not her, he thought. This was a woman who would rather eat leftover Chinese for a week past its expiration instead of “wasting her hard-earned cash” by tossing it out.

Shaking his head, Butcher stored that thought away when he got out of his car and climbed up the few steps to the front door. He noticed, approvingly, of the small security camera in the corner above the door. With a house as nice as this, likely there were side and rear cameras as well. Smart.

She came to the door shortly after he knocked, opening it slowly, blinking at him like she’d never seen him before. Or, more accurately, like she never expected to see him again.

“‘Ullo, love,” he greeted. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

It was one of those rare moments when he really didn’t know what to say next, much less do. His last words to her hadn’t been pretty. Plus, he knew he was intruding on her life.

Well, yes, he’d been intruding on her life from the beginning, but this was the first time it had felt more wrong than right, less justifiable in his mind.

“How did you find me?” Helena said, finally.

“I can fuck off if you like,” he replied. And surprisingly, he meant it. Why the fuck am I here, anyway?

She hesitated, but eventually she said, “No. Come in.”

Helena led him inside, and to his small relief, it was the simple kind of taste he remembered from her apartment. Some things were the same, like her couch and comfy chair in the spacious living room.

Other things were new, like the wood floors and the large kitchen and breakfast bar, complete with four stools. There was a hallway leading to what he assumed was at least one guest room, while the staircase leading up to the second floor likely had the master bedroom. It was big enough though that there were probably more rooms than that.

“Nice digs. Mallory set you up with this place?” he asked.

“She helped me scope it out, but I own it,” Helena replied.

Butcher made an impressed sound, raising his eyebrows as he smirked. “All right, big spender.”

She finally cracked a slight smile at his familiar teasing and went into the kitchen.

“Tea, coffee?” she offered.

“Coffee’s good,” he replied, though with the “warm welcome” he received, he was surprised she was offering him anything. He tensed at the feeling of something brushing up against his leg, but looking down, he found another familiar face.

“Ey, Gord.” The cat mewled in greeting, arching its back as Butcher pet him from head to tail. He was as fat and fluffy as ever. “Still livin’ well I see.”

“Yeah, he acclimated pretty well when he saw how many new places there were to hide my socks,” Helena said dryly. He started the coffee maker and left it to percolate, returning to join him on the living room couch. She looked comfortable in a pair of yoga pants and an old college shirt, and bright yellow fuzzy socks.

In the far corner was a paint-stained tarp covering the floor, where an unfinished painting sat on an easel surrounded by paint tubes scattered around. In front of the large TV was a yoga mat, evidence of what he’d likely interrupted. Again, he knew he shouldn’t be here.

“Takin’ up Pilates?” he couldn’t help but remark. “Really embracing your inner suburban mum, aren’t ya?”

Her mouth twitched again, but her eyes were laced with something heavier, despite how she was trying to seem more upbeat.

“You know, trying to stay busy. It’s a lot quieter here than the city…I came here to get away, get out,” she confessed. “I didn’t really have a plan other than that, so…I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do next.”

Oh, how Butcher could relate.

“I get that,” he said. She looked at him with a measure of surprise, and maybe a hint of suspicion. The coffee maker dinged, giving him some reprieve when she got up to get the coffee. After asking how he liked it (black with sugar, no cream), she returned with two mugs and handed him the darker one. Hers was nearly white with how much cream she’d poured in there. She then sat down, putting some measured distance between them on the sofa.

“Why did you come here?” she asked. The million-dollar question.

He could do what he did best here, and lie. He could ask for names of the big shots she had to schmooze for Stan Edgar, so Butcher could take a crack at them for information. He could make a half-assed attempt at recruiting her for Supe Affairs, even though that was the last fucking thing he came here to do.

If he was going to do what Becca asked of him, from the very beginning, to try to be better (even if he was a lost cause), he would have to be a more honest man. He could start with this.

“Sold the house,” he said. “So, been on the road for a while.”

Helena’s eyes widened. Even she recognized that selling the house he’d shared with Becca was strange for someone who couldn’t let shit go.

“And…her things?” she asked.

“Gave ‘em to her sister,” Butcher said, taking a long sip of coffee. It was strong as hell, but he needed it. His fingers still felt cold from the fall weather outside, and four hours with the non-existent heater in his car.

Now that he thought about it, there was something he could give her. He fished through the inside of his coat pocket and pulled out a simple silver lighter. He offered it to Helena, who curiously took it from him.

“Believe you two got a lot of mileage out of this,” he said. “Ate your weight in Doritos, I reckon.”

A slow smirk spread across Helena’s face, and she pocketed the lighter.

“You came all the way here for that?” she asked. “You must be tired from the drive.”

“I am fuckin’ tired,” he admitted. In more ways than one, and he knew she probably sensed it.

“Need a little lie-down?” she said, imitating his accent a bit. Butcher gave her a weird look, even with a smirk curving his lips. It wasn’t the first time someone had mocked his Britishness, but it was the first time he found it amusing. His good humor faded all too quickly though. Maybe that was why he was here. He needed a rest. For once his path forward wasn’t so clear, and that was fucking with him.

“What’re you thinking?” she asked.

He met her gaze, noting how she was watching him intently. She wanted to figure him out like most people couldn’t. M.M. probably got the closest of anyone, and more recently, Hughie. The difference was, Helena didn’t just want to understand him. She wanted to help him.

“I have to kill him,” Butcher said, setting his mug aside on the coffee table. He knew he didn’t have to spell out who the fuck he was talking about. “I’ve written out every single thing anyone’s ever tried. I’ve read every one of Vogelbaum’s files I can get me hands on. And then I remember why she left.”

Helena shook her head and put down her own coffee. “Billy—”

“She chose to leave because of me. I know she did, ‘cause she didn’t trust me. Because she knew I couldn’t be trusted,” he said. “And that’s on me.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said.

“Don’t,” he warned her, fighting the well of anger that lived in his blood, always just under his skin. “Don’t bother sayin' that shit.”

“I knew her pretty damn well too, you know,” Helena snapped at him. “She was scared, and wanted to save her kid from Homelander. But more than anything, she wanted to save you.”

Butcher didn’t have a ready retort for that. Mostly because Becca had told him as much before, at least about protecting him. Ryan was a given.

Helena sighed, and she moved closer to him on the sofa. They were close enough for their knees to almost touch. Reluctantly he looked into her eyes again, an honest brown.

“I know I’m never going to change your mind,” she said. “You’re not going to change mine either.”

Butcher’s begrudging acceptance of that came out in hunched shoulders, and a curmudgeonly scoff. “You’re a moron.”

Her expression withered a little.

“And you’re an asshole.” She sighed. “Come ‘ere.”

Even knowing it was coming, he still stiffened when her slender arms slid around his, her hands resting comfortingly on his back. He didn’t deserve this, didn’t want it, but when she made no move to pull away even seconds later, he could feel the moment she tensed to pull away.

His hands unconsciously found her waist, stopping her. He relaxed a fraction as he held her against him. The familiar curve of her body felt good in his hands. Even though the pain in his chest felt like drowning in shallow water, she was warm and soft and fit right in his arms.

That feeling overruled every warning that screamed in his mind to let her go and put some distance between them, back where it belonged.

Instead, his hands moved up her back, fingers curling into her hair as he pulled her tighter against his chest. He didn’t realize his arms were shaking until he felt one of her gentle hands on the back of his neck. Her fingers carded lightly through his hair. Somehow, that small thing allowed him to let out a long, steadying breath. It felt like the first breath he’d taken in six months.

He didn’t entirely know what he was doing when he pulled away the slightest bit, enough to look down on her face—long lashes and full lips, her stubborn chin. Leaning down, their noses nearly touched by the time he felt her hand splayed firm on his chest.

“No,” she breathed. It stopped him immediately.

“It’s not me you want right now,” she added, a wry, if sad smile quirking her lips.

His disappointment was tinged with anger (at himself). He offered the same kind of empty grin with a small nod of acceptance before letting her go entirely. While she moved away, reinstating the same distance between them, Butcher got up to his feet. He wasn’t one to overstay his welcome when it didn’t suit him, and this was definitely one of those times. His hand twitched at his side, aching for a cigarette to hold.

Left the pack in the car, he realized. Well, now it was a surefire reason to head out now. He crossed the living room to the door, but Helena’s hand grabbing his sleeve stopped him short.

“Wait. I want you to stay,” she said. There was worry in her eyes. “You shouldn’t drive like this.”

He quirked a brow at her. “I’m fine, Helena.”

Her stubborn stance, crossing her arms and frowning up at him, boded no argument.

“Yeah, well, tonight you get the guest room.” Her frown turned into a smile. “Now that I have a house, I can finally say it! Mi casa es tu casa.”

At the sight of her genuine smile, Butcher relented. He really was tired.

The memory of one of her earlier mocking quips got a hedging glint in his eye.

“Right. Make your little request in Brit for me, and maybe I will,” he offered. Helena’s smile became embarrassed as she blushed, down to her ears.

“I don’t think you want that,” she said. She gestured for him to follow her down the hall, where she stopped at a closet to get some fresh linens.

“I think I do.” He nodded. The guest room was bigger than he thought, and clean. It was easily nicer than many of the motels he’d crashed at, even nicer than the apartment he was currently renting in the city.

Helena ignored him while she set up the bed with the new sheets, but he spied the smile she was trying to hide. When she finished settling the beige comforter over the bed and a spare towel for the shower, she then tried to head out the door. Butcher let his broad frame take up the doorway, leaning over her as both hands rested on the frame. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Come on with it then, or I’m outta here,” he said, smirking. “Take your best shot.”

Letting out a huff, Helena finally squared her shoulders and looked up at him.

“You sure?” she asked.

“Bonified Queen’s English.” He nodded, bending his ear towards her slightly. “Go on then, have a go. What was it you wanted me to do?”

"Jesus Christ. Fine!" Hands on her hips, she pointed back to the guest bed. “Sit your fuckin’ arse down ‘fore I do your ‘ead in. Ya fuckin’ slaaag.”

Helena met his blank stare for all of two seconds before she immediately crumbled into fits of laughter. Butcher couldn’t help his own bemused smirk. He knew it would be terrible, but he had a habit of underestimating this woman.

“All right, Dick Van Dyke.”

She tried and failed to smother another wave of giggles. “I said you didn’t want it.”

“Nah, that was special,” he said. “Just sorry I didn’t get that on me phone.”

She gave him the finger as she slid around him to flee the room. He called after her as she began stomping up the stairs.

“You gettin’ the other chimney sweeps, or are they on break back there?”

“Fuck you!” she sang. Her laugh managed to make him smile, without any sarcasm or motive.

So it wasn’t the way nights in a woman’s house usually ended, but he didn’t come here for all that. If only to himself, late at 2 a.m. when his thoughts kept him awake, he could finally admit that he came here to see her.

Just to see her. And maybe, to calm the turbulence in his mind with the certainty that Helena was safe here.

Butcher did stay the night. He also left in the morning, long before she woke up.

Keep Reading: PART 11

The Boys Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

@lauraaan182 @homielander

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mikuthedragon · 1 year

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Adult Scrooge McDuck x Fem!Reader - Fermented Passion

It's been 10 years since the last time you saw Scrooge, initially you wouldn't call your relationship with him anything more than business, a very efficient friendship.

Years later, you realized the times you were nagging him to stop working so much weren't incited by friendship alone, your old bestfriend became your crush, but that was it. All the times you got frustrated in private, felt a certain uneasiness when he was getting too close to a client.. They weren't out of concern as a friend or business partner but as jealousy..

After the business took off, the company just kept getting bigger, Scrooge going off to grow the business here while you were expanding on the other side of the world. The two different branches got so big and changed so much that, at some point it wasn't you talking to Scrooge. It was your secretary and his. Guess what ? They did end up getting engaged and yet here you are, successfully playing cupid for them but somehow still haven't confessed to Scrooge yet.

Yet, tonight was different, it was the company's 10th year anniversary. There was no excuse anyone could make that could stop them from coming. After 10 years of indirect communication, you can finally talk to him. Tonight was gonna be fun but actually still strictly business. The plan is simple : you were going to seduce Scrooge and nothing will stop you from getting the message across.. That you didn't just want to be friends and to an extent, business partners, you wanted to be partners in crime.

Before you stepped out of the door, you made sure to wear that revealing white dress that you've been for a while complete with a pair of black heels and a black fur.

Admittedly, it was a bit tedious at first, the countless other suitors who tried to use your own plan against you. You still couldn't find Scrooge anywhere. You thought there was no way, he'd cancel the 10 year anniversary of your business. Just when you were about to give up, there he was in a black suit with white furs.. Huh..?

The duck started to talk before you could, he even joked about the way your outfits matched.

"Fitting for the two CEOs to be matching each other huh ?"

"Yeah.. that was definitely planned (not)"

"Let's dance, to set an example and unite East and West of McDonalds"

His hands gripped your waist and led you along to the beats of the music. Your feet and his closely, rhythmically prancing along to the music. Your hands laying on his chest, your skirt fluttering in the wind. He had you all figured out, wrapped around his fingers. You couldn't let him lead for so long so you challenged him to a game of billiard.

Of course, you were about to win but not before he managed to wrap himself behind you while you were aiming for the final strike, startling you and missing your shot.

The stakes were high, it was a battle of dominance, of who can make the other say their feelings explicitly by the end of the night. At the final moment, you won the game of billiards and teased him about it.

It was already the end of the night and you almost wanted to cry when you realised neither you or him asked each other on a date. That was it, you stormed to Scrooge's car and told him straight up, what's worse in front of his employees.. He laughed and took you in a big hug. He placed gentle kisses on your forehead and the back of your hands. You were no longer Ms Y/N but Ms Mcduck.

What you forgot to mention was that he already planned to ask you to marry him that night, even asking your close friends what clothes you might be wearing to catch you offguard. He lifted you in his arms and carried you into the car. That night, you divulged the feelings you kept for 10 years and shared a few passionate kisses.

Who knows what else is to come, in the might and face of the McDucks.

#scrooge #fanfic #sfw #challenge #comedy #romance #suspense #yn x scrooge

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rindecision · 1 year

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Chapter 21: Barracks - The Devil of Hawkins Fanfiction

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 |

Eddie rushed out of Tommy’s front door and hid to the side of it, waiting. As soon as Steve stepped out of the doorway Eddie scooped him into his arms and dodged the baseball bat flying at his face.

In a panic, Steve punched Eddie in the chest. “What the hell, man?” he shouted.

Eddie laughed and leaned his face close to Steve's, “I just wanted to scare you.”

“You nearly gave me a goddamn heart attack.” Steve shrugged Eddie's face away, trying to get him to set him down.

“Then, goal achieved,” he teased. “And I told you, you’re safe here with me around.”

“Yeah, that’s not something I’m putting all my faith in.”

Eddie held Steve tighter, moving his face close to Steve's again. “Still don’t trust me?”

Steve glanced around the wasteland. “I don’t trust this place, even if you say you’re in control of it.”

Eddie shrugged. “That’s fair,” and gave Steve a quick kiss on the neck getting a full body tense, and making him drop his bat.

“You can let me down now,” Steve said, pushing on Eddie’s chest.

“I don’t wanna.” His grip on Steve tightened.

“I’ll just snag Tommy’s bike.” He continued to try to get out of Eddie’s arms.

“Aw,” Eddie complained. “But I like carrying you.”

“I can fucking tell,” he grunted.

Eddie pouted and released the arm that was holding his legs, letting them fall while keeping hold of his torso. Steve reflexively grabbed onto his neck. Eddie placed an arm under Steve’s ass, keeping his feet from touching the ground and slid his hands down to Steve’s thighs, lifting them above his hips. “How about this?”

“No,” Steve said firmly, uncomfortable with how comfortable he was with their bodies being so close.

“Fine,” Eddie said defeated. He grazed his hands up Steve’s thighs until he had a handful of each ass cheek and bit his lip while giving them a firm squeeze.

Steve tensed, pushing their chests together. “Let me down!” he demanded, trying to pry Eddie’s hands off of his ass.

Eddie enjoyed Steve struggling against him and wanted to enjoy it just a little longer. “No,” he said as he turned and pressed Steve’s back against the wall beside the doorway, getting a grunt from him.

Steve looked into Eddie’s black eyes, trying not to show that he liked this position. “I- I thought you had to be somewhere?”

“I do, but I can spare a little time to enjoy you.” He leaned forward and was surprised that Steve met him halfway, tongue ready. When their lips locked, he felt Steve tighten his hold around his neck. Eddie took the opportunity to get another firm squeeze of Steve’s supple ass. He felt like he was starting to lose his resolve to the passion and forced himself to stop. He leaned away from the kiss, lightly panting. “We really should get going, though.” Steve’s pink tinted cheeks and large brown eyes, made him nearly regret those words.

Steve closed his eyes and took a composing breath. “Then let me down.”

“Yeah.” Eddie stepped away from the wall and let Steve’s legs drop, so his feet were on the ground.

“Thanks,” Steve looked over Eddie’s bare chest. “Where’s your vest?”

“Oh, shit.” He looked down at his naked chest. “I left it in the room, I’ll be right back. Go grab that bike, if you really want it.”

Steve nodded and cautiously walked around the back of the house. Being alone in this creepy place made his skin crawl. He found Tommy’s old bike laying on the back porch. He took a deep breath and walked across the open yard, avoiding the vines as he went. Finally, he made it to the porch and got a look at the bike, vines were covering it. Shit. He looked around, and saw no signs of any beasts, or any movement whatsoever. With a swallow, he gently tugged at the bike tire, his hand slipped and scrapped over the rough tire, hissing as the cut on his hand reopened. He looked down at his palm, blood had began to bead on it again. The shifting of the vines moving off of the bike caught Steve's attention. The bike came free as the vines slithered away, and he was able to begin walking it off the porch, pleased there was no other signs of movement. He walked around the corner of the house and his blood ran cold as he was staring at a large demodog. Fuck. He didn’t know what do to, and he’d left his bat by the front door.

The beast crouched and made a wet purring sound. Steve tried not to move, hoping the thing wouldn’t notice him. At least it’s alone. I might be able to handle one. It took a step closer to Steve, it’s face petals shivering as it cooed. Two more walked around a neighboring house and stood behind the first one. Shit! Eddie, where are you? He needed a way out, so he carefully looked behind him, only to see two more dogs creeping up on him. When he turned his attention back to the three in front of him, they had crept closer. The closest one, opened its face and roared at him, startling the bike out of Steve's hand. Its roar was cut short, as a window on the top story of Tommy’s house exploded. The dogs ran off and Eddie landed on all fours, vest on, with glass showering around him. He looked over at Steve in a panic. Before Steve could fully process what happened, Eddie was already in front of him looking him over.

“Are you okay?” he asked frantically.

“Yeah.” He looked around and couldn’t see any more dogs, or vines for that matter. “I think so.”

“I’m so sorry.” Eddie looked at him with wild eyes, cupping his face briefly before feeling over his shoulders. “I never should have left you.” He gripped Steve tightly in a hug.

“It’s cool,” he said, tapping Eddie on the back awkwardly.

“No it’s not.” He held him tighter. “You could’ve been hurt.”

Steve sighed and leaned into the hug, it did calm him. “You showed up in time, so nothing happened.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Eddie pulled away and held Steve’s shoulders at arm’s length.

“I’m fine,” he stressed. He noticed a cut on Eddie’s cheek, unnaturally dark blood threatening to drip from it. “You’re the one that’s hurt.”

Eddie furrowed his brow and tapped where Steve was looking. He glanced at the blood on his fingers. “That’s nothing, chances are that’ll be mostly healed before we even get back to the cabin.”

Steve looked at Eddie with concern, wiping bits of glass out of his hair and off his vest. He had a few more shallow cuts on his arms and chest. “Jeez, you’re covered in cuts.” He cringed as he saw a fairly large piece of glass sticking out of Eddie's bicep. "Oh my god," Steve said quietly as he pulled the glass out of his arm, dark blood streaking the shard.

Eddie hissed at the feeling. "Thanks." He rolled the shoulder, a thin trail of blood ran down his arm from the wound. “Honestly, I can barely even feel them.” Eddie ran his thumb over Steve’s cheek, he kind of liked being worried ove. “If you want, I can bring you back to the cabin and do the rest of this by myself.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s fine,” he reassured, wiping some of the blood off of Eddie's arm. “Sure, it was scary, but it’s not the first time I was face to face with a pack of those things.”

Eddie gave him another strong hug. “And you’re sure you don’t want me to carry you? It’ll be safer.”

“I’ll bike.” Steve leaned out of the hug.

Eddie sighed with worry. “Fine,” he resigned.

“Just keep them off my back, okay?” Steve smiled.

“I will.” Eddie paused and looked like he was in deep thought. “I can tell you right now, there aren’t any beasts within a quarter mile anymore.” His eyes settled back on Steve.

Steve laughed weakly. “You really sent them running didn’t you?”

“They almost hurt my babygirl, so-”

“Eddie...” Steve interrupted. “Never call me that again,” he said sternly.

Eddie chuckled at Steve’s serious reaction. “I’m just playing, you know you’re my princess,” he said with a big grin.

Steve’s jaw dropped in offense, he tried to stop himself from laughing. “No,” he laughed.

Eddie’s smile widened. “If you don’t like it why are you smiling?”

“Because you’re ridiculous.” He punched Eddie in the chest, he barely reacted.

“How about, my big boy?” He gripped Steve’s hips.

“How about, no?” Steve raised his eyebrows.

“What about-”

“Can we just go?” Steve cut him off and took Eddie’s hands off of his hips.

“Sure, whatever you say, honey.”

“Nope,” Steve snapped.

Eddie laughed as he watched Steve get on the bike.

Steve looked back at Eddie. “I don’t know where we’re going.”

With a wide smile Eddie walked up next to Steve and pointed down the road. “I have to make a quick pit stop downtown before we head to the main target.”

“Lead the way.” Steve pressed on the pedals and began moving in the direction Eddie pointed.

“This way, baby.” he ran past Steve, trying to maintain a speed Steve could reach on the bike.

“No,” Steve called after him. “I hope wherever we’re going, there’s something for me to rinse my mouth out with. I need to get rid of the flavor of your cum.”

Eddie swooned at Steve’s crude validating words. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he exclaimed with a laugh as he ran, making sure any remaining vines parted out of the way before Steve’s wheel hit them. He guided him to a seedy part of the downtown district. Steve looked around as Eddie slowed down and stopped in front of a place called, ‘Purest Pleasure’, a sex shop.

“What are we doing here?” Steve contorted his face in confusion.

“I just need to grab a couple things, c’mon.” Eddie walked toward the front door, and waited for Steve to get off his bike and walk up. He let Steve enter first. “I’ll only be a second, grab anything you want, man.” Eddie walked up to the counter and leaped over it, rooting through the drawers and shelves. “Hey, sweetie.” he called out to Steve.

“Definitely not.”

Eddie laughed quietly at Steve’s reaction. “Catch.” He tossed a bottle of water at Steve, who watched it fly past him well out of his reach. “Something to wash me down with.” Eddie smirked as Steve picked up the clear plastic bottle.

“Is it safe?” Steve stood and looked at it.

“I’ve found that anything with a water tight seal is safe.” He paused to think. “At least so far.” He shrugged.

“Reassuring,” he said sarcastically as he cracked the seal on the bottle. He’d already inhaled so much of that weird particle crap, how could the water be any worse? The water tasted fine, and it did help clear the bitter flavor from the back of his throat. “What on earth are you getting here anyway?” He said more casually than Eddie expected.

“You’ll see later, Stevie.” Eddie grabbed a large black shopping bag and continued sifting through the stuff behind the counter.

“Ugh, no.” Steve cringed. “Tommy used to call me that.” He waved the open water bottle at Eddie before he took another drink. “And there you go with your secrets again.”

“Surprises, pumpkin,” Eddie corrected.

“What’s the difference between a secret and a surprise anyway?” Steve groaned. “And can you please stop trying to give me a pet name?”

“Well you see, sweet cakes,” Eddie started.

“Please stop.”

Eddie continued as if he wasn’t interrupted, “a secret, you have no intent on ever telling anyone, but a surprise, you just time the big reveal.” He looked up at Steve with a big smile. “For the best reaction.” He dramatically tossed something small into the bag. He turned his attention back to scrounging. “Why don’t you look around while you wait?”

Steve was suddenly aware that he was staring at Eddie’s ass. “Uh, sure.” He turned away from the counter and looked around the shop.

Eddie leaned on the counter and watched Steve walk around. He was surprised that he didn't put up more of a fuss about being in a sex shop with a guy. He smiled and returned to looking what he came for.

Steve had been in the shop once or twice, but it was mainly for the chicks he was with. He would just let them pick out whatever, he never really browsed himself. Being inside a building made him feel a little more secure as he wandered the aisles of sex supplies. He finished off the water and toss the empty bottle aimlessly over the shelving. Eddie continued to keep half an eye on Steve as he searched the drawers and shelves behind the counter.

Most of the store’s contents confused Steve. From oversized dildos and butt plugs, to strange contraptions he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out how they worked. What could that freak want from here? He walked down an aisle lined with electronic toys like vibrators and things that were meant to shock you. He winced as he looked at a chain with nipple clamps on it, his chest hurt just thinking about it. The back end of the isle was full of various leather strappings and restraints. He ran his hand through the dusty tassels of a flogger. The soft leather felt nice running over his skin.

On a shelf next to it was a series of ball-gags. Steve vaguely cringed, mainly thinking of the drool it would cause. A strange leather harness caught his eye, he lifted it up and couldn’t figure out how it was supposed to go. It had a long central adjustable leather strap and three collars. One collar was larger than the two on the other end. He spun it around as he looked at it.

“That’d look hot on you, Precious,” Eddie said as he walked down the aisle with a wide smirk.

Steve fumbled with the harness in shock and let it fall to the ground. “W- what?”

Eddie walked up to him and bit his lip as he picked up the harness. “Do you even know what this is?”

“No.” He squinted. “Do you?” Steve looked at Eddie and the harness in his hand. The black leather looked good next to him.

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded with a grin. He licked his lips and stepped closer to Steve. “What me to show you how it works?”

Steve swallowed, uncertain how to feel about the situation and was concerned that he wasn’t more concerned. He knew whatever that thing was, it had to be a restraint and the thought of that both thrilled and scared him, but mainly scared him. “Uh, I think I’ll pass,” he said slowly as he took a step back.

Eddie’s smile widened, “I think I’ma keep it.” He tucked it in a plastic shopping bag he had over his arm that was already fairly full.

Steve shot him a worried glance, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“Don’t worry, Doll” he reassured. “I won’t use it on you if you don’t want me to.” He leaned his face next to Steve’s ear and whispered, “but maybe you can use it on me?” When he leaned back, he saw Steve’s face flushed in embarrassment. He tried to fight it, but ended up snorting a laugh at his face.

Steve looked at him, offended. “Maybe I should get one of those,” he pointed at the ball-gags, “to shut you up for once. And for the love of god, stop with the pet names.”

That only made Eddie laugh harder. “You’d look so much better than me wearing a gag.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Steve warned.

Eddie squinted at Steve and smirked. "I expected you to be a lot more freaked out by being in a sex shop, especially with another man."

"If it was in public, I'd be a little more freaked out about going here with a guy, but why would being in a sex shop bother me?"

"You just come off as so vanilla."

"What?" Steve furrowed his brow at Eddie.

"Plain, no spice, no kink, basic," Eddie explained in quick succession.

Steve was offended by being called plain and basic. "I am not plain."

"Looks wise, absolutely not." Eddie took the bag off his arm and hung it on one of the empty shelf hooks. "But kink wise, definitely." He smirked and ran his hands down Steve's built arms. "I mean, have you ever been in here before?"

"Yes," Steve said firmly.

Eddie licked his lips. "And what did you get?" He stroked his fingers delicately over the back of Steve's arms.

Steve shivered at the light touch. "I usually just let whoever I was with pick out what they wanted. That's where I got that lube."

Eddie's face dropped, sliding his hands down to Steve's elbows. "So that lube we've been using was picked out by one of your flings?"

Steve found Eddie's sudden tone switch strange. "Yeah, did you really think I would pick strawberry?"

"I'm throwing it away as soon as we get back," Eddie said firmly.

"Why?" Steve shook his head in confusion.

He gripped Steve's arms and leaned closer to his ear. "I don't like the idea of using things that were intended for someone else."

Steve huffed in amusement. "You really are a jealous one aren't you?"

"That's what I'm finding out about myself anyway."

"It's kind of cute."

Eddie flinched at being called cute. "So you haven't really bought much of anything from here?"

"Personally no."

"And you still thing you aren't plain?" Eddie smirked and slid his hands around Steve's waist. "I mean, what kind of kinks are you into?"

Steve didn't enjoy being challenged like this. "I did make you cry didn't I?" He slid his hand into Eddie's hair and gripped it enough to tilt his head back slightly.

Eddie bit his lip and laughed. "That’s small fry shit."

Steve clenched his jaw and released Eddie's hair. "Okay, Mr. Kink Master, what about you?"

Eddie smirked as Steve's poor comeback. "Let's see, I enjoy..." He sucked on his lower lip as he thought, mindlessly rubbing his thumb on the inner area of Steve's elbow. "Role play, obviously. Objectification is fun. Exhibitionism and Voyeurism are enticing, but legal consequences dampen that a little."

"Says the guy stealing from a sex shop," Steve teased.

"Yeah, but there aren't any consequences for that." He quirked an eyebrow and continued, "edging can be fun, but it can also be frustrating. Most things B.D.S.M., particularly things in the bondage and sadism category."

"Okay, jeez, I get it." Steve said quickly, stopping Eddie from continuing. "I don't even know what most of that means."

Eddie smiled and slid his arms around Steve's waist pulling him close. Steve didn't bother resisting. "Being vanilla isn't necessarily a bad thing," Eddie stated calmly. "I mean vanilla is the base for some of the best flavors." He rested his chin on Steve's shoulder. "You just need someone to add a little spice to it." His hands wandered lower until he got a handful of each of Steve's ass cheeks. He closed his eyes and pulled at his lip as he squeezed the supple flesh. Steve pursed his lips and pushed on Eddie's chest. Eddie let himself be overpowered and took a step back, keeping his hands on Steve's waist. "If you want I could turn your vanilla into at least." Eddie tried to hold back a laugh but ended up snorting as he said, "S.S. Butterscotch." He released Steve's waist and grabbed his stomach, doubling over in laughter as his own joke.

Steve looked at him in shock. "How do you know about S.S. Butterscotch?"

"Dude," Eddie wheezed. "You suggested that one more than any other at that fucking ice cream parlor."

"You god damn stalker." Steve's stern resolve broke and he ended up chuckling.

Eddie caught his breath and gazed up at Steve's smiling face. He stood to his full height and ran his hands over Steve's shoulders getting him to look at Eddie's face. "So what do you say?" Eddie smirked sliding his hands down Steve's biceps. "Want me to spice you up a little?"

Steve contorted his face in playful concern. "I don't know if I want to become a freak like you."

"Not full rocky road, but maybe mint chip?"

Steve started laughing again. "Stop with the ice cream references."

"Why?" Eddie wanted to caress Steve's face but figured that might be a little too sensual. Instead he just lightly gripped above his elbows. "It makes you smile."

Steve's smile faltered. "Don't be such a fag," he said pushing Eddie away. When he looked at his face, Eddie was dramatically raising an eyebrow at him. "Okay, that's fair," he laughed. "Just don't try anything too weird, alright."

Eddie smiled and looked around, the whip display caught his eye. “Have you ever played around with shit like this?” Eddie lifted a riding crop off of its hook.

“No, I can’t say I have.” He stared wearily at Eddie gazing at the crop. “Have you?”

Eddie smiled at him, and dragged the end of the crop over Steve’s cheek getting him to stiffen nervously. “Just say I’ve done my homework.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that why you’ve been held back so many years?” he teased.

Eddie laughed. “Personally, I think knowing how to use these tools properly is much more useful than knowing who won the civil war.” Slowly, he guided the crop under Steve’s chin as he stepped closer. He lowered it over Steve’s chest. “But I could never hurt you,” he said as he stepped back, tossing the crop aside. Steve audibly sighed, but tensed back up when Eddie gripped his jaw tightly. “That is, unless you ask nicely.” Steve didn’t have a name for what he felt. Eddie moved his hand to Steve’s neck. “Ready to get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Steve said quickly, turning around to face the door. Eddie took the bag off the hook as he slid his hand down Steve’s arm and grabbed his hand. Steve rolled his eyes, but gripped Eddie’s hand back as they walked toward the door. “Seriously, what did you get?” Steve glanced down at the bag, the harness blocking his view of any other contents.

“Like I said, you’ll see, but it’s not important right now.” They left the building and Steve walked over to the bike. “There’s only one more thing I need to do, and I hope we can do it before dawn hits on the flip side.”

“Lead the way,” Steve yawned.

“You too tired?” Eddie asked sincerely.

“Nah, I’m fine.” He shook his head.

“Alright, let’s go.” Eddie began running in the direction of Hopper’s cabin with Steve riding at his side. After about ten minutes, Eddie skid to a halt, forcing Steve to drift the bike to stop anywhere near him.

“Why did you stop?” Steve asked looking back at Eddie who was staring at a demolished house.

“This is one of the places I fucked up,” he said plainly as he took a few steps closer to it.

Steve looked in awe at the destruction. “Who lives here?”

“Jason.”

“Carver?” Steve clarified.

“Yeah, he was one of the assholes that went out of his way to piss me off.” He looked up at the sky taking a deep breath. “He was one of the main reasons things ended up as bad as they did.” He balled his fists and looked back at the rubble. Steve set the bike down and walked next to him. Eddie closed his eyes, “to think that if that douchebag and his lackeys didn’t get involved there’s a good chance that Max wouldn’t be in a coma and Lucas wouldn’t have gotten his ass kicked.” He sighed heavily and pursed his lips in anger and stared back at what remained of the Carver’s house.

Steve could understand his rage. “Did you do this bare handed?”

"Not entirely." Eddie shook his head and wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulder without looking at him, just touching Steve calmed his fury. “I used the vines, and various tools, but a lot of it was by hand.”

“That’s nuts.” Steve stared at the collapsed house.

With a smile he tightened his grip on Steve’s shoulder. “And yet you don’t run from me.”

“Believe it or not,” Steve sighed, “I do trust that you won’t hurt me.”

“That’s very reckless of you,” Eddie teased.

Steve looked at Eddie’s profile. “Do you plan to prove me wrong?”

He turned to face him draping his other arm over Steve’s shoulder. “Not if I can help it.”

That wasn’t as certain of a response as Steve had hoped for, but he knew what Eddie meant. He placed his hands on Eddie’s hips. Even if he hated the Upside Down, he couldn’t deny that Eddie looked good in the warm dusky lighting. He watched Eddie bite his lip as he stared longingly at his face. He smiled gently and pulled Eddie into a kiss. Eddie tightened his grip around the back of his neck, but didn’t prevent Steve from pulling away. “Let’s go,” Steve said softly. Eddie nodded and waited for Steve to mount the bike before he continued his path to the cabin.

Eventually Eddie turned down the familiar dead end dirt road. With the Upside Down being set three years in the past, they didn’t need to worry about Hopper’s security system and Steve was able to ride freely to the front porch.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding?” Steve said as he got off the bike.

“Yup,” Eddie walked up to the front door. He waited for Steve to come up behind him. “So, just to let you know, I’ve found something new while I was here, and well,” he paused to think, “just try not to freak out.”

Steve looked at him wearily and took a couple steps back.

Eddie smiled. “As far as I’m aware they’re harmless, but it’s been a couple of days since they hatched, so who knows.”

“What the fuck have you been up to Eddie?”

Eddie pulled in his lips. “To be honest, I don’t know.” he chuckled and turned the knob. He swung the door open and the pair stood dumbfounded at the state of Hopper’s cabin.

---

Nancy pulled their car up next to Jonathan’s place and parked. “Hey,” she squeaked.

Jonathan looked over at her before he opened the door.

“Think you could come over?” she asked shyly.

He nodded, “yeah, I just need to leave a note and grab my stuff for school tomorrow.”

She nodded and held her elbows. “Be quick?” she requested.

Jonathan sighed and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Nancy watched as he climbed in the window he left open. The silence of the forest was unnerving and anything that broke that silence was terrifying. As Jonathan promised, it wasn’t long before he was crawling back out of the window. Just seeing him brought her comfort. Once he got in the car, they made their way to the Wheeler’s residence. Nancy helped Jonathan climb up to her bedroom window.

“Thanks,” she whispered as she shut the window behind them.

“Of course,” Jonathan gave her a hug and kissed the top of her head.

She stepped back and got on her toes to give him a quick kiss before double-checking that her door was locked. With a heavy sigh she turned to look at Jonathan. No matter how many times she was forced to face those beasts, she could never get used to it. She sat on her bed and Jonathan joined her. She was reminded of the first night they tried to hunt one of those monsters, that train of thought brought her mind back to Barb, she just wanted all of this to be over. Jonathan wrapped his arm around her shoulders and puller her to his chest. She didn’t fight it and leaned into him. One of the things Jonathan loved about Nancy was her strength, but he was glad he could be the one she showed her weakness to as well. He held her tight as he felt her shoulders heave.

---

“So you didn’t know they could do that?” Steve wore Eddie’s backpack as he biked frantically beside Eddie, who had a large, squirming, makeshift sheet sack slung over his back.

“No, not at all. I have no clue how that managed to do that to the cabin.”

“And they weren’t that big three days ago?”

“No, they were about the size of a fucking quarter, not a baseball.” Eddie ungracefully turned into Steve’s Upside Down driveway, Steve followed him smoothly on his bike. “Do you keep any of your doors unlocked?” Eddie tried to compensate for the weight of the sack as he caught his balance.

“If this was before Will went missing, then maybe the door by the pool.” He rode the bike down the steep driveway behind the house leading to a second garage. He tossed the bike aside when he got to the grass, Eddie not far behind him. Before walking up the hill to the pool he checked the door beside the garage, and it was unlocked. “There we go,” he said, holding the door open for Eddie.

“Sweet,” Eddie stepped through the doorway, trying not to knock the squirming sack in the process. Once inside, Steve shut the door behind them. Eddie looked around the large open basement, “this will do just fine.” He stepped on one of the vines near his foot and paid close attention to the sonar feeling. “The inside of the house is clear, there are a couple of bats on the roof though.”

“That’s freaky, man.”

“It’s handy.” Eddie sat the sack down, the sheet unfolded revealing a wiggling mass of baseball sized puddings. “Now we need to make sure all of the doors and windows are sealed. These little buggers can slip through any hole.”

“Right.” Steve nodded and joined Eddie in checking the basement for any vents, or cracks in doors and windows that lead outside. Eddie crawled along the ceiling, plugging any air ducts he could find. After the basement was done, they continued over the rest of the house. It was a well build house, so other than vents, fireplaces and doors, they didn't have too much to blockade. Once they managed to plug up the whole house, they returned to the basement to check on the creatures. Eddie leaped over one that was making its way up the stairs. They sat together on a couch with a mutual sigh of accomplishment. Steve watched one of the jiggly black orbs scoot along the floor. “They’re honestly pretty cute.”

“I know, right?” Eddie leaned on Steve’s shoulder watching the same one.

“What was it you called them?”

Eddie laughed, “I’ve been calling them puddings.”

Steve snorted, “They do jiggle like pudding don’t they?”

“Yeah, but my reason is much nerdier, it’s a D&D reference.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “God you really are a loser. Of course it’s from that dumb game, as with pretty much every other thing from the Upside Down.”

“It’s a good reference, and even more so now that I know what they can do.”

Steve watched one fall off a window and hit the ground with a wet 'plap'. "Do you really think they could be of use?"

Eddie snorted at the sight. "Maybe, after seeing what they did to Hopper's cabin, I have some theories, but I need to study them a little more to be certain."

Steve nodded. “How did you find them?” He placed an arm around the back of the couch behind Eddie.

Eddie bit his lip as he leaned into Steve’s chest, placing a hand on his stomach. “I just found a pack of dogs eating some eggs and I decided to snag an intact one.”

Steve felt an awkwardness from Eddie's affection but sighed and let himself wrap his arm around his shoulder. “And these are what hatched from it?”

“Yep,” he nuzzled Steve’s collarbone before sitting up and giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

Steve squinted at Eddie. "Why bring them here though?"

He ran his hand over Steve's chest. "I have no clue how big they can get, I needed an enclosed place with a lot of room." He rested his head back on Steve's shoulder and picked up his right hand, running his thumb over the scabbed cut, and looking at the back of the silver ring on his finger.

Steve looked between his hand and Eddie's somber face. "What happened with that anyway?"

"I don't really know." He let Steve's hand go and sat up. "I was like something came over me."

"Like Vecna?" Steve asked cautiously.

Eddie shook his head. "No, nothing like that." He sighed and leaned back. Steve situated his arm so it acted like a head rest for him. Eddie turned his head to look up at Steve. "It was something from myself, something primal." He could tell by Steve's expression that he had no clue what Eddie was talking about. "You know that kind of... animalistic high you get from sex?"

"Yeah," Steve confirmed.

"It was like that, it was an urge so strong that it made everything else around me disappear. I didn't snap out of it until you said my name." Eddie sighed and ran his cheek over Steve's arm. "I hope I didn't hurt you." A few strands of hair fell over his face.

"Nah, it was more freaky than painful." Steve brushed the fallen hair out of Eddie's face.

Eddie could feel his face warm up at the affection. He glanced at Steve and leaned forward, placing a quick kiss on his lips. “We should get going, though.”

“Uh, yeah.” Steve removed his arm from behind Eddie and stood.

“Which door wouldn’t mess up our work?” Eddie stood and smiled at Steve.

“The pool door.”

Eddie nodded and walked behind him up the basement stairs. He smirked and pinched Steve’s ass as he breached the top step.

“Hey!” Steve jumped and scowled down at Eddie’s smug grin. He stepped aside and pointed for Eddie to walk in front of him, “go,” he demanded.

Eddie skipped up the last couple steps and pecked Steve on the cheek before leading the way to the back door. Eddie leaped on top of the tall wooden fence and balanced himself as he watched Steve begrudgingly climb up behind him. He stealthily took out his wings, keeping them down flat along his back and draped over the other side of the fence. Once Steve was within reach he pulled him into his arms bridal style. With a wide smile, he leaped off the fence, gliding them to the ground and taking off as soon as both his feet hit the ground.

“What the fuck, Eddie?” Steve shouted as he clung to his neck.

Eddie laughed. “The bike was going to take too long,” Eddie explained. “Plus most of the way is through the woods.” He turned and ran off the road and through the trees.

"How can you tell if the gate you use isn't swarmed by military?"

“I can't, I just have to go deep in the woods and hope they aren’t on the other side.”

The idea of facing the military was not something Steve liked. “But even if they are, you can out run them, right?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie saw a Demogorgon returning through the gate, dragging a couple of bodies behind it. He gripped Steve tighter and said, “I guess we’ll see,” as he dove them through the same hole they made when they entered.

“Eddie!” Steve shouted as he clung to Eddie with all his might.

The demogorgon paid no mind to them as it lifted the bodies back onto its shoulders and began walking towards the library. It carried the bodies over the rubble of the library wall and down a couple of hallways before tossing them down a flight of stairs and into the basement. A few slugs crept out around the doorway. The beast slunk away as vines wrapped around the bodies and pulled them to a spot on the wall that wasn’t already occupied by another corpse. A vine slowly slithered its way into their mouths. The large basement was crowded with corpses of both humans and livestock. Slugs covered nearly every surface and more joined them one by one from the orifices of the corpses.

Announcement:

This story is going on hiatus for an undetermined length of time (Hopefully not too long) But I could use some input from you guys on the future of this story on AO3. Here I'll post them as I have been.

I've written up to Chapter 45 (all first drafts so they're error city) and I've noticed some things that could be reworked that may impact the chapters I've posted or completely change the trajectory of the story. If it only impacts the story a little I plan to just alter the chapters and make a note, but if it vastly changes the story there are three ways I can go about it and that's what I need your help. 1: (My preferred option) Drop this entry, label it "Old Version" and make a new entry to start fresh 2: Edit this entry and make it the new story, ultimately deleting this one (This is probably my least favorite option) 3: Same as 1 but post all the unedited chapters in this entry, on AO3 not on Tumblr (May contain spoilers for the new version)

One more thing, I'm open to constructive criticism so if there is anything that's bothered you about the story, the way I write, general pointers, inconsistencies, etc now is the time to voice them as it may help me make my story better in the long run. Feel free to make requests for additional content in the story as well, aspects you'd like to see elaborated on, the things you're excited to see cleared up, or anything that comes to mind. (My beta reader is very critical and nit picky so you can thank them for getting the story to where it is now, some of the best scenes wouldn't exist without them)

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minijenn · 2 years

Text

And now, because I’m insane, here’s every line of out of context Grandpa Twist foreshadowing I can find in Keys:

“How remarkable,” the master speaks, but still the boy doesn’t stir. With a smile, the master descends down to his level. He slides several gloved fingers under his chin, tilting it upward to get a better view of the child’s unconscious face. “You really do look so much like him. And even more like her …” (ch. 1)

The master fully turns to face the boy again, a dark, twisted Keyblade flashing into his grip. “Do not think I am trying to derail your destiny,” he says, closing his eyes in cool contemplation. “If anything, my aim is to put you on the proper path. You could say… it's the path that’s always meant to be …” (ch. 1)

“At long last, here you are…” Xehanort proclaims as he extends his arms out wide to welcome his vessel. As he sets the most important piece in place for the game he’s been eagerly waiting to play for 15 years straight. (ch. 1)

Tears have only barely started brimming in his mother’s eyes as she steals a glance at the family photo on the far wall, one taken before her beloved husband had been lost to the sea. Sora does everything in his power to hold those same sort of tears back as he stares at that photo, practically feeling his father’s warm, cheerful smile falling upon him. At the same time, he feels that strange pang of pain, the same one from both the tower and the beach, tugging at his heart once more. Whether it's out of grief, regret, or something else entirely, he has no idea; but the feeling is far from a welcome one all the same. Which is why he does all he can to pull himself away from that feeling altogether. (ch. 2)

(more under the cut bc there are just... so fucking many)

“How are you going to protect me from the darkness...” He stops, only for a second to open his eyes. And when he does, Riku is stunned, horrified to see that they’re no longer the shade of vibrant, welcoming blue he’s always known them to be. They’re a bright, bitter shade of glowing gold instead. “When darkness has always been a part of me all along...?” (ch. 6)

“You are ours…” they urge, an edge of hostility slipping into their otherwise calm tone. “And we are yours… Come back to where you’ve always belonged… Come home to us, Sora… Come home…” (Ch. 7)

“Let me guide you home , Sora … ” one voice rises above the others, a voice some part of his mind almost recognizes, almost knows. He finally stops just a few feet shy of the owner of that voice, his own hand starting to raise to meet theirs. (Ch. 8)

“A valiant effort, that was ultimately for nothing,” Ansem counters. “He was already ours long before you rushed to his ‘rescue’. Long before you ever met him, before he was even born.” (ch. 8)

“We have been waiting for such a long time…” Xehanort concurs as Sora feels yet another wave of searing anguish rip its way across his heart. (Ch. 10)

The young master lets out a genuine laugh at this, at the mere icy sound of it is enough to unnerve Sora far more than he already is. “Oh, Sora, you already are just like me. In far more ways than you could ever even know.”

“Y-you’re wrong,” Sora calls his bluff before he can even let such a horrifying thought fully sink in. The thought that he has anything in common with his most dangerous, darkness-driven foe.

“I’m not,” Young Xehanort counters without skipping a beat. “But you’ll come to realize why I’m not before it’s all said and done, I’m sure. And until then, that rich, untapped darkness flowing through your body, your blood, your very heart itself, will be an asset that the Organization will be certain to make good use of” (Ch. 11)

“Then, when the time has come and his heart is ready for the taking, we will strip him of that hope, along with anything and anyone he believes he is fighting for,” Xehanort assures his upper vessels with a cold, malicious smile, rallying them to a treacherous, twisted plot that will all culminate in a victory that he’s been carefully planning for decades. A victory that depends on the complete cooperation of his chosen thirteenth vessel, regardless of what cruel methods he might have to resort to in order to get that vessel to comply. “We will tear the boy away from all he knows and loves, and by the time he has nothing left to lose, then, and only then will Sora finally be ready to answer our call to guide him to become what he is truly meant to be…” (Ch. 31)

Xemnas’ cold scowl lifts into an amused smirk upon hearing this as he properly picks himself up to stand once more. “Then it's such a shame that your own heart doesn’t bear that same kind of strength, Sora,” he says, forcing more palpable pain upon Sora from afar. He shudders when it hits him, but otherwise shakes it off, resolved to resist it, to resist any further attempts Xemnas, or anyone else from the Organization, even Xehanort himself, might make at subjugating him. “Now that you’ve willingly hallowed it out from each of the hearts that had once inhabited it, more room remains for the master’s power to take root without any irksome interference interrupting it. There’s no point in delaying your inevitable destiny any longer; it’s time for you to finally take your place among your true family, Number Thirteen…” (ch. 44)

“You both still believe you can save him? Then be my guest to try,” Xemnas scoffs condescendingly. Even so, a dark corridor appears behind him, a relieving sight to Sora, Roxas, and Xion as Saïx steps through it first. “But in the end, you’ll see; there’s no changing a heart that already belonged to darkness long before the life that’s tied to it even began… Sooner or later, Sora, you’ll find your way to your true purpose. And when you do, there we’ll be, waiting in the wings to welcome you home ...” (ch. 44)

“My dad?” Sora repeats as a warm, nostalgic smile fills his features. “My dad was awesome! He always gave the best advice--and the best hugs. He also told the funniest jokes, though he always said me and my mom were way funnier than he was. He used to take me out on his boat and we’d swim in the ocean and build sandcastles together until sunset and…” he trails off with a small, wistful sigh. His smile fades slightly as he grips his crown necklace, a charm gifted to him by his father at a time when his life had been so much simpler, so much calmer than the constant storm it’s turned into now. And as he thinks back on those long-gone days off his innocent youth, Sora can’t help but briefly wonder what his father, who he still respects and admires so much even years after his untimely death, might think if he could see just how far his son has fallen now. “And… yeah… it was great...”

A beat of solemn, saddened silence passes after this, until Aladdin voices the question that the others are all largely thinking. “So… what happened to him?”

“He… he went on a fishing trip one day back when I was 8,” Sora closes his eyes, fighting back the pain that always trails along with this unpleasant memory. “There was a really bad storm and… he just never came back.” ((ch. 45)

“Sure is, kiddo,” his father chuckled, ruffling his hair lightly. “Just like you’re getting to be someday. You know, someone once told me that each and every one of those stars up there is an entirely different world. Isn’t that cool?”

“Yeah, it is!” Sora exclaimed, his eyes wide with immense fascination. “Can we go see another world someday, Daddy?”

His father’s smile finally faltered a bit at this, and it’s only as it does that Sora realizes he can’t see his face, at least not clearly, thanks to the odd shadows concealing it. (ch. 46)

He was all but asleep by the time the lullaby reached its end. Yet right before he could slip into peaceful dreams, his father’s face suddenly shifts into someone else’s entirely. A face that Sora recognizes all too well, but has no time to even be scared of as he drifts off into the dark void of slumber. Though not without his father’s voice--or someone else’s-- bidding him toward it.

“Good night… Sora..” (ch. 46)

Xehanort merely raises a knowing eyebrow at this, giving Sora his unspoken permission to continue. Yet even when he does, the rest of his question comes out quiet and broken, a testament to just how terrified he truly is of whatever answer he might receive. “Why are you doing this to me?” he asks morosely, miserably. “What made you choose me to be your vessel?” “What did I do to deserve any of this?” he almost asks, but doesn’t. Mostly because that’s the one question he already knows the answer to all too well.

The master��s grin widens as he ponders this inquiry, and the initial answer he gives is one that does little to set Sora’s worried wondering to ease. “Sora, I chose you because you were the only choice I could make.” (Ch. 46)

“Isn’t it ironic, how both you and I got our start on a world as small and insignificant as this?” Young Xehanort asks, keeping up a conversation that Sora wants no parts of. “Then again, perhaps it isn’t irony at all that our point of origin would be one and the same. Perhaps, like what this very island is named for, it’s destiny .” (Ch. 47)

Young Xehanort stands by, smiling in muted satisfaction as Sora runs past him, plunging into the portal and leaving his home behind in the process. “Until we meet again, my thirteenth,” he bids him farewell as the dark corridor closes up behind him. As soon as he’s gone, the young master turns back toward the sea, still standing on the shores of his own youth as well as his thirteenth and final vessel’s. Though even then, he knows that this shore is far from the only thing the two of them have in common. “How destined indeed, that you and I would have the same beginning, Sora.” His smile deepens as he pulls something out of his coat pocket and holds it aloft: a small, crown-shaped charm bound by a silver chain, glistening in the dying rays of the setting sun. “The same beginning… and the same end…” (Ch. 47)

At this, both Riku and Kairi step aside, revealing some sort of reflective surface behind them. At first, Sora doesn’t know it’s a mirror as he stares at Young Xehanort, caught off guard by the strangely distressed look on his usually collected face. It’s only as he spots the silver chains keeping the young master bound, notices the way he moves in perfect preciseness along with him, hears him draw in a horrified gasp that only comes out of his own mouth that Sora realizes exactly what’s going on here.

He realizes that he’s no longer Sora at all, not anymore. Because now, he’s become what he’s always feared he’d be. He’s become Xehanort himself. (ch. 48)

“Oh, I know LOTS of things, Keyblade.” Bill’s bright yellow form suddenly changes as countless images flash across it far too quickly for Sora to make aunty of them out. “For example, I know you’ve been out on your own for, oh, roughly two weeks or so, and that you’ve been having one heck of a time living the ‘hobo’ lifestyle you’ve taken up. I also know you can’t go back to any of your friends because the minute you do, they’ll be fitting you for a nice set of shiny new chains inside a cozy prison cell. AND I know that it won’t be long now before the old man finally finishes the job in forcing you into his big happy ‘family’ and-” (Ch. 49)

“No way to stop this? Who told ya that?” Bill sneered, rolling his eye. “Oh, lemme guess! Dear ol’ gramps wanted to scare you into giving up, and from the looks of it, it worked. But you shouldn’t let him get you down, kid! Even he doesn’t know everything , not like I do…” (ch. 49)]

“Sora, please ,” he begs morosely, miserably. “You have to listen to us. If you go through with this, then-”

“Then he will be exactly where he belongs,” Xemnas interjects as he places a possessive hand on Sora’s shoulder. “Finally within the fold of darkness, where he has always been meant to be, isn’t that right, Sora?” (Ch. 50)

“When the time comes, you’ll know,” Young Xehanort says cryptically. “Until then, do as you’ve been told; find the Keys and bring them back to me.” With this, the young master conjures up a dark corridor, one that starts to engulf Sora from underneath. He gasps, terrified of being taken somewhere where he’ll be vulnerable again, where he’ll be alone again. Sora extends a distressed hand out to his master as the shadows swallow him whole, wordlessly pleading with Young Xehanort to let him stay… But just as before, his master hears his unspoken prayers… and doesn’t care in the slightest about them. “And when you do, Sora,” he only barely manages to catch his master’s coldhearted smile before the shadows whisk him somewhere far away. “Then rest assured; you will finally be a part of your Organization. Then… you will finally come home .”(Ch. 52)

As these final words fade out, he carefully draws his hands away from the piano. When he opens his eyes, a tear finally slips down his cheek, one that he’s quick to wipe away as he notices Roger looking over at him in absolute awe. “What an utterly enchanting melody…” he muses, clearly intrigued. “Tell me, where did you learn such an incredible song?”

“Oh, uh… m-my dad taught it to me,” Sora explains, looking away. “He used to sing it to me every night before he…” He trails off, drawing in a shuddering breath as he forces himself to hold back even more tears. He’s never sung that song to anyone else before or after his father’s passing, not even to Riku or Kairi. For so long, it’d only been something kept within their family, a cherished secret shared only by himself and his parents. (Ch. 54)

“It appears you stand at a crossroads, my thirteenth,” Xehanort muses, standing behind the boy as he rests a heavy hand upon his shoulder. “You can either stay here with this loving, yet oblivious family that has given you so much you have lost, only end up “thanking” them for their kindness by killing them when you inevitably lose control. Or… you can leave this world behind and continue searching for the Keys that will open the door to your real family. A family that is more than equipped to handle the kind of death and devastation you are destined to bring. The choice is entirely in your hands, Sora… Let us hope for everyone’s sake that you make the right one.” (ch. 54)

Between the two of them, they soon arrange the rest of the shells Himari had gathered in a simple, yet elegant fashion around the headstone. At first, neither of them say much as they do, wanting to pay their respects in silence. But as the last shell is settled, Himari sighs wistfully as she glances over at her son. “You know… you really are starting to look so much like him…”

“L-like Dad?” Sora asks, suddenly embarrassed as he tries to pin his antennas back a bit. “No, I… I really don’t.”

“You do,” Himari assures. “Well, I-I mean… aside from…” She trails off, knowing she doesn’t have to point out the antennas or the claws or the fangs or any of the other features that make him look less than human. “He’d be proud to see how much you’ve grown since he’s been gone.” (ch. 63)

“The time has come, my thirteenth,” Young Xehanort smiles cordially, warmly, almost. “You’re finally ready to take your place among your true family.” He extends a gloved hand out to Sora as his smile widens ever so slightly. “Come with us, Sora… and you will never be alone again…” (ch. 64)

His hand drifts toward his neck, to what he’d slipped on as soon as he got out of the shower by sheer habit alone. The crown-shaped charm on his necklace shines dully in the colorless light of the room, its metal surface cold as he gently skims his claws over it. His master had told him to remove everything that stood as a symbol of his old life, and certainly, that must include something like this. Tears find their way back to Sora’s eyes as he lightly grips the chains tethering it to his neck, his heart swelling with grief as he realizes what he has to do. But just before he can remove it, he happens to recall the first time he ever saw this necklace. A memory he can’t let go of, no matter how much his master might want him to.

“Happy birthday, kiddo , ” his father had said with a wavering smile when he gave him the charm on the day he turned eight. “I know this isn’t much, but… I hope you still like it all the same.”

“...I still do, Papa…” Sora whispers as he holds the charm close. “I still do…” (ch. 65)

“Hm,” the master hums in what Sora guesses is approval. “It suits you, my thirteenth. I believe you will settle nicely into your new life here, and into the place I have planned for you. You’ve experienced such a grave loss, but something good can still come of this. You’ve spent so long lost in the light… but now, you’ve finally found your place here within the darkness. You’ve found a family that completes you every bit as much as you completes us. You’ve found your way home , Sora. And now that you’re here, you needn’t ever wander or worry again.” (ch. 65)

“That’s right… sleep soundly, my thirteenth…” he whispers as he brushes a few white locks out of the boy’s closed eyes. He reaches down to tuck the crown charm that had slipped out from underneath Sora’s coat back into place, his smile turning a touch nostalgic as he thumbs its smooth metal surface. As he decides exactly when and how to share one final secret with the boy in a castle so very full of them. “Sleep and know that your destined day is almost here…” (ch. 65)

“Almost?” Sora asks, already figuring this is bound to be some kind of trap. But even so, he can’t help but want to know. “What was still here that almost made you stay then?”

Young Xehanort falls into silence once more as his gaze settles on his coffee mug in his hands. He grips it a bit tighter, a wave of what almost looks like nostalgia washing over his features as his voice turns earnest, perhaps even a bit sad. “...Thalassa. Her name is– was Thalassa.”

“Thalassa…” Sora repeats in sudden confusion, as if a long-forgotten memory has started to stir in the furthest reaches of his mind. “That’s weird… I feel like… I’ve heard that name before, but… I don’t remember when or how…”

Young Xehanort slips on a subtle smile when he hears this, muttering something that his vessel isn’t able to hear. “...You will …” (ch. 66)

“...I have no need to,” Young Xehanort replies. “I will see her again when I return to my own time–my elder self has already told me that much. And as strange it may seem, our reunion shall be what ultimately kicks the wheels of fate into motion to this very moment right here and now.”

“Huh?” Sora frowns, absolutely lost. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll find out in due time,” Young Xehanort’s usual sly grin is back, and Sora finds himself frustrated by it. Frustrated by how quickly anything resembling genuine emotions, genuine humanity have left his master so very quickly. (ch. 66)

“But even beyond that destiny… I see so much of myself in you, Sora.”

“Huh?” Sora his eyes and mind both turning heavy and tired.

“You and I have much in common,” Young Xehanort says that very implication aloud nonetheless. “We’re both from the shores of the very same island, both of us ventured out from those shores to the vast worlds beyond, and… we each lost the friends we thought we loved… only to gain something so much better in their place: power… and the promise of a life unending.” (ch. 66)

And then after that the grandpa reveal basically happens lol

#there's plenty more than just this probably #but these were the standouts i found whenn quick skimming keys #i wasnt about to read the whole damn fic again to find them #idk if you've noticed but keys is over a million words long so nah fam #i will reread it tho eventually #before its over bc i looooove it #jen writes #keys to the kingdom

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