#I was in like a navy blue rain jacket

[jahsontodd]

Cashier: we are doing discounts for first responders today! Are you law enforcement by chance?

Me: my firm takes police brutality cases sometimes

Cashier:

Me:

Cashier:

Me:

Cashier: I don’t think we-

Me: it’s fine

[aquamarixx]

breaking the internet

chapter four a whirlwind of chaos and laughter turns into something much more when Miss Journalist and Hiori Yo can't ignore the spark between them any longer. blue lock longfic series pairing hiori yo x reader contains slow slow slow burn, post blue lock timeskip, afab!reader angst, fluff, slightly suggestive (if you squint) masterlist

"And action!"

The marketing manager’s voice slices through the steady crackle of sizzling chicken nuggets.

You’re back in Bastard Munchen’s pristine kitchen. Instead of lounging by the marble island sharing a plate of pot stickers with the players, you’re seated across from Hiori Yo—your favorite football player turned late-night gaming buddy.

For someone who admitted to staying up late last night (because he had to try that newly released game he’s been raving on about), he looks annoyingly refreshed. 

And, frankly, annoyingly fine.

A small round table separates the two of you, modestly set for a casual meal for two, like something out of a cozy café. The kitchen hasn’t changed much for this setup, save for the table serving as an odd centerpiece amidst its sleek, curated kitchen backdrop. The savory aroma of frying chicken nuggets fills the air, mingling with a faint whiff of rain you’re convinced is coming from Hiori.

Your "date" shifts in his seat, snapping you out of your thoughts. He flashes you an easy smile—the kind that promises everything’s going to be just fine. Behind him, the camera crew hovers, accompanied by the marketing manager.

“Hi,” Hiori says softly, his voice charming you like a spell, as if this really is some kind of meet-cute.

“Hello,” you reply, stifling a laugh. But your lips betray you, curling into a smile you can’t quite suppress.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The silence melts into shared giggles—like kids conspiring over a secret.

And maybe, in a way, you are.

“Ya look great today,” Hiori says, his gaze unwavering. He doesn’t give your outfit a once-over; instead, his eyes stay locked on your face, as though that’s all he needs to confirm your beauty.

“Thanks,” you reply, looking at your outfit consciously. “It’s nice to see you in normal clothes for once.”

Your confidence feels natural today, and you prop your head in one hand, soaking in the sight of him.

“Hmm... Ya make it sound like I wear a costume every time we meet,” he chuckles, tugging at the sleeve of his navy bomber jacket. His eyes flick away for a moment, and you catch the faintest hint of red at the tips of his ears.

Instead of his usual training jersey or the black-and-gold Bastard München kit, Hiori wears a simple black shirt beneath the jacket. It’s a casual choice that shifts his entire aura. You’ve seen him countless times, on and off the field, but almost always in his professional gear.

In your eyes, Hiori Yo has always been the football superstar—someone you interact with because of work, someone you talk to more than most because of work. Someone who probably sees you as just another face in the sea of media professionals.

But today feels different. This little illusion—the cozy setup, the way he leans into the role of your "date"—lets you live out a fantasy. For a moment, it feels like it could be real under different circumstances.

“And you,” you tease, leaning in slightly, “it’s nice to see how you’d dress for a date.”

“I am on a date.” His brows furrow slightly. “We’re on a date.” His voice is calm, his words spoken like an unshakable truth.

For a fleeting moment, he’s not a football superstar, not leagues out of your reach.

He’s just a guy across the table, someone you can picture sharing lazy Saturday afternoons with. Someone you could almost believe is sitting here because of you—and only you.

Before you can reply, Gagamaru steps in with impeccable timing. He sets down a plate of crispy chicken nuggets and furikake fries between you. The golden nuggets glisten under the kitchen lights as he places a bottle of ketchup and two cans of soda on the table.

Right. The shoot.

Just last week, Bastard München’s marketing manager emailed you about joining a new off-season content project. With the players finally on their mid-season break, the team plans a video series to spotlight individual players—to test their broader appeal to fans and potential sponsors.

Their words, not yours.

And the concept of the video you’re being invited for? A one-on-one interview styled like a date, featuring none other than their genius midfielder, Hiori Yo.

Apparently, your last collaboration—the behind-the-scenes “day in the life” video courtesy of JFA—had sparked unexpected chemistry.

It caught fans' attention, stirring days of chatter about you, Hiori, and Bastard München. It isn’t “worldwide trending,” but the buzz is undeniable. The fans just can’t get enough of the surprising, romcom-like moments between you and Hiori.

A lucky journalist interacting with one of the most elusive players of his generation. Shared moments as if it's straight out of a movie.

The dream for every fangirl.

This shoot was an experiment to explore Hiori’s broader appeal, pairing his quiet, understated charm with your relatable, approachable vibe. It’s also an opportunity to spotlight one of their more introverted players, someone who avoids the public eye as much as he can.

Your editor doesn’t hesitate to green-light the project. She’s all-in, shuffling your deadlines and clearing your schedule to make it happen. And her enthusiasm doesn’t even stop there. She nudged you more than once to “just go for it” with the charming midfielder. 

Because, as she so eloquently puts it, “What’s there to lose?”.

And now here you are, playing your part.

Your version of casual date attire: an oversized light-blue button-down (coincidentally matching Hiori’s eyes) left open over a white square-neck cami. It’s nothing flashy, just enough to look the part of someone on a date with someone they like.

“Hmmm, since this is a date, I guess I should start with some date questions,” you say, pursing your lips in mock contemplation. You pull out a small stack of cards the marketing manager handed you earlier and place them neatly beside the plate of food, within reach of both of you.

According to her, the cards are a mix of fun tweets and generic icebreakers designed to spark lighthearted conversation.

Across the table, Hiori munches on furikake fries, watching you with a small smile. His gaze catches yours mid-bite, and you feel a faint flush rise to your cheeks.

Clearing your throat, you decide to jump right into the questions, catching him just as he pops another fry into his mouth.

“Who’s your favorite player?” you ask.

“Easy—Mesut Özil,” he answers without a second’s hesitation.

“Favorite food?”

“Salt-grilled Pacific saury. I even like the bitter parts.”

“Favorite movie?”

“Ready Player One.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really? I didn’t peg you for the geek type.”

Hiori grins, a little sheepish. “Well... I am. Watchin’ it got my otaku heart racin’.”

He leans back, the humor in his tone shifting to something softer. “Shouldn’t ya know that already? I talked yer ear off about Warhammer last time we played together.” He scratches the back of his neck, glancing away as though embarrassed by the admission.

You blink, caught completely off guard. “I didn’t realize it was at that level. I just thought, ‘Oh, Hiori's talking about his interests, that’s cool.’ I didn’t even know what Warhammer was until you brought it up.” You tighten your lips into a sheepish grin, waving your hands in exaggerated defense.

Hiori chuckles, shaking his head.

The moment is interrupted by a sharp cough off-screen. Both of you whip your heads toward the sound, eyes landing on someone in the crew.

“You guys play games together off hours?” someone asks, voice edged with curiosity.

“Yes?” you and Hiori answer simultaneously, far too quickly. Your voices carry the same nervous uncertainty, the shared “yes” echoing awkwardly between you and Hiori.

A beat of silence stretches, and you can feel the marketing manager’s eyes darting between the two of you, brimming with a curiosity you’re sure they won’t voice—at least not now.

As the buzz of the set picks up again, Hiori leans closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Guess we’re both not so good at keepin’ secrets, huh?”

You clear your throat and push forward with the next question.

“What’s your strength?”

“As a person or as a player?”

You pause briefly. “Both, if you can.”

He leans back, thoughtful. “I guess… my ability to see things from a broader perspective.”

“And your weakness?”

“Playin’ too much.” He shrugs lightly. “Sometimes I get so caught up in it, I lose motivation for other stuff.”

You’re about to fire off another question when he raises a hand, laughing. “Whoa, slow down! This’s startin’ to feel like a job interview.”

Your cheeks heat instantly. “Oh, sorry! Force of habit—y’know, journalist mode.” You laugh nervously, taking a sip of your soda to cover your embarrassment.

Hiori gives you a honest to goodness smile, as if amused. “So, this’s ya gettin’ to know me, huh?”

You set the cards down with a huff, deciding to switch gears. Inhaling deeply, you exhale a dramatic sigh. “Soooo… what’s your type?”

“Type of what?” he asks teasingly, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Type of person, romantic partner, obviously.”

He tilts his head, giving the question some thought. “Someone who’s independent. I need space to do my own thing, especially when I’m gamin’. Ya know that already.” His gaze softens as it meets yours.

“But they should be there when it counts. Life as an athlete’s hectic—ya’ve seen how it is.”

You nod, pretending to jot down a mental note. “So… low-maintenance. Got it.”

Hiori chuckles, shaking his head. “Not low-maintenance—just someone who understands balance. And maybe someone who doesn’t mind long Monster Hunter sessions.” He smirks knowingly, and for a fleeting moment, the unspoken connection between you lingers in the air, understanding the inside joke.

Your bite your lips, trying not to smile too wide. “Well, that’s… oddly specific.”

Two months of Monster Hunter nights flash in your mind. Ever since Hiori casually suggested playing together, your evenings had been filled with wyvern hunts and co-op quests. He has an uncanny knack for strategy—always two steps ahead, always saving you when things got dicey.

And then there was that time he convinced you to try Nier: Automata. You’d never forget him backseating with a mixture of exasperation and amusement as you struggled to fend off machines as the stunning android 2B.

“No, no, dodge now! Okay, wait—parry—no, don’t roll off the edge!” His laughter still echoes in your mind.

Your expression softens as the memories linger, but you quickly rein yourself back into the present.

“Yer turn,” Hiori prompts, raising an eyebrow as if daring you. “What’s yer type?”

“Oh, uh…” You fidget with the hem of your sleeve, thinking. “I guess... someone kind, who can make me laugh. And…” You hesitate before adding, “Someone who respects my space and time, especially since I’m kind of a workaholic.”

Then, with a pointed glance, you add, “And someone who doesn’t put me on the spot during interviews.”

Hiori bursts out laughing, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Noted. I’ll behave.”

Before you can relax and skim through some of the cards, Hiori throws you a curveball. “What keeps ya goin’ when stuff gets rough?”

You blink, momentarily stunned by the weight of the question. His eyes lock on yours, searching. For a moment, you feel yourself slipping into those deep blue pools.

“Me? Oh, um…” You shift in your seat, unsure how to articulate your thoughts.

“I think it’s knowing I can tell stories that matter—stories that connect people.” You glance away, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s kind of a cliché, I know—”

“It's not,” Hiori interjects, his voice soft but firm. His hand brushes yours briefly on the table, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your fingertips. The sincerity in his gaze holds you in place.

“It shows ya care about what ya do. And that’s what counts, right?”

The warmth in his voice and the light touch of his fingers send heat creeping up your neck. You let the sensation linger for a beat before pulling your hand back, pretending to tuck a nonexistent stray hair behind your ear. The gesture does little to calm your racing thoughts.

Hiori continues, his expression contemplative. “I remember readin’ yer article.”

“Yeah?” You’re genuinely surprised he's bringing it up.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice softening. “The team was in a bad place back then. Greisner wasn’t even talkin' to anyone.” He chuckles awkwardly, and you catch a muffled, annoyed Oi! from somewhere in the background.

“We were playin’ like crap. Everyone could see it—fans, other teams… even us. Felt like it was us against the world.” His gaze flickers to the side, as if embarrassed by his own admission.

You hold your breath, sensing there’s more he wants to say.

“But then someone sent me yer article,” he continues. “At first, I thought, ‘Great, another roast piece.’ But it wasn’t. Ya didn’t tear us apart. Ya saw something in me—”

“In us,” he corrects himself, covering it with a cough.

“It reminded us someone out there was in our corner. That meant somethin’.”

The weight of his words leaves you momentarily speechless. Your hands fly to your mouth as if to contain your shock. “Wow, I had no idea... I’m just... glad I could help in some way.”

“Ya did. More than ya could possibly imagine,” he says simply, his tone carrying a quiet gratitude. “That article reminded us—even when things feel impossible, there’s always a way forward. Whether it’s in football or anything else, progress happens if ya keep trying. Little by little.” He pauses, his eyes meeting yours again.

“Ya told that story.”

Your chest tightens at the honesty in his words. You nod slowly, letting them sink in. “That’s... really... I, uh... That's means a lot, Hiori.”

He shrugs lightly, a small smile playing on his lips as if to downplay the moment. “It’s just how I try to see things.”

A playful glint returns to his eyes as he adds, “Plus, without it, I guess we wouldn’t be here. On this date. Together.”

His sincerity catches you off guard, leaving a warmth blooming in your chest.

Being a journalist has always felt like existing in a strange limbo.

You’re a faceless name, sending your thoughts out into a void, never quite knowing if your words resonate with anyone—or if they even make a difference. It was that wishful thinking, that quiet hope of connection, that drove you to pursue this career despite the doubts you faced years ago.

Hearing Hiori’s words now, realizing that your article didn’t just touch lives but changed them—his team’s and his—fills you with a sense of pride and fulfillment that you rarely allow yourself to feel. It might seem small to others, but to you, it’s everything.

Your gaze drifts to him, gratitude softening your features. His earlier touch still lingers on your fingertips, a faint reminder of the unspoken connection building between you.

I wonder if this is what it feels like... to be in the right place at the right time. To have something just... click.

You clear your throat, shaking the cards in your hand. Loosening up by rolling your shoulders and stretching your arms, a big smile betrays your nonchalance over what you’ve heard.

“Okay, moving on! These are fan questions—filtered and curated, of course.”

Hiori raises an eyebrow. “Curated, huh?”

You shuffle the cards with a sheepish grin and glance at the first one. Without thinking, you read it aloud:

“Hiori, your hands look really nice. Are they soft like how they look in camera?”

Hiori chuckles, holding up his hands as if presenting evidence. “Guess I gotta ask ya.”

“Wha—?!” Your jaw drops. “Me?”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Ya’ve shaken hands with me before, haventcha? So, what’s the verdict? Are they soft?”

You laugh nervously, feeling your face heat up. “I—I am not answering that!”

“C’mon, just settle it.” Hiori laughs, holding his hands out toward you.

Hesitant but unable to resist, you gingerly take his left hand and give it a light squeeze. Your fingers trace his palm as you try to compose your thoughts.

“They’re… huh… I’m surprised. They look soft, but they’re a little rough. Probably because of football, but—”

You stop mid-sentence as Hiori’s playful smile grows wider. Realizing he’s enjoying hearing your thoughts, you let out a dramatic sigh and turn toward the camera.

“They’re soft,” you say flatly, rolling your eyes for effect.

You quickly pick up the next card, only to have your eyes widen in shock. A nervous laugh escapes you as you read it silently, trying to decide whether to skip it.

“Oh, wow. This one’s… bold,” you mutter, clearing your throat.

Finally, you muster the courage to read it out loud: “Bet Hiori is a dom.”

Your voice drops to a whisper by the end, and you dart a glance at Hiori. His expression is a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“Do I… do we really have to answer this?” you ask, waving the card toward the marketing manager watching from the sidelines.

Hiori chuckles, the corner of his mouth lifting into a teasing smile. “Ya already said it out loud. Too late to back out now.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I regret everything.”

Leaning closer, his voice drops to a playful murmur. “Whatcha think?”

Your head snaps up, and you feel your cheeks go impossibly hotter. “I—I am not answering that!” you stammer defensively.

Hiori leans back, feigning innocence, though his grin betrays him. “Suspicious. Very suspicious.”

Despite your flustered state, you blurt out, “Okay, fine! I guess you are a dom. An ultra sadist.” You pause for a second, biting your lip, wondering if you’ve said too much.

Did I really just say that out loud?

You can feel the heat rush to your face, but there's no going back now.

Hiori, caught mid-sip of his soda, chokes in surprise, coughing violently as he grabs for a tissue. You burst into laughter, hurriedly handing him more while apologizing between giggles.

“Sorry! Isagi told me to say it!” You point accusingly off-camera.

Hiori turns to see Isagi standing next to the monitor, a whiteboard in hand with Hiori = Ultra Sadist scrawled across it in big, bold letters. Behind him, Kurona, Raichi, and Igarashi are doubled over in laughter. Isagi gives an awkward thumbs-up, his boyish grin only making Hiori groan.

“M'going to have a long talk with him later,” he mutters under his breath, earning another round of laughter from you.

Eager to change the subject, you grab the next card, a smile lingering as you read aloud. “Ohh... This one’s fun... ‘Hiori Yo could read the phonebook to me, and I’d still swoon.’”

Tilting your head thoughtfully, you glance at him. “Now I kind of want to test that. Can you actually make a phonebook sound swoon-worthy?”

Hiori pauses in thought and sets his drink aside. His voice dips into a smooth, velvety tone as he says, “Tourist Information Center: 03-3201-3331. For general tourism inquiries, open from 9 AM to 5 PM.”

A small Oooooh escapes your lips. “That was way too good. Are you sure this isn’t your secret side hustle?” .

He chuckles, gaze soft but playful. “Think I should start a hotline? Late-night calls... reading lists... ASMR…” He pauses, his eyes flicking toward you with a teasing glint. “Or maybe something... more exclusive?”

The insinuation isn’t lost on you, and you chuckle, shaking your head. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, hoping the blush isn’t obvious.

“Maybe,” he replies casually in a singsong manner, his smile lingering as he props his face on his hands looking at you.

You take another bite of a chicken nugget, clearing your throat before reading the next card. “Can Hiori teach me football like he taught Y/N? Asking for a friend.”

Raising an eyebrow, you shoot him a playful grin. “Looks like you’re in high demand, Coach Hiori.”

Leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, he grins. “M'flattered, but I might already have a favorite student.”

Caught off guard, you blink. “Wait, me?”

His smirk widens as he nods. “Who else?”

You feel heat rise to your face but brush it off quickly. Flipping to the next card, you snort as you read aloud, “Hiori Yo x Miss Journalist content is my new religion. Bless Bastard München’s marketing team.”

You groan dramatically. “Bless them? I think they’re trying to embarrass me!”

Hiori only shrugs, “Or maybe they’re just helping us make memories.”

You shoot him a mock glare. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Of course I am,”

Letting out a small laugh, you glance at the next card. “Okay, here’s another one. Do you guys realize how much chemistry you have?”

Hiori’s lips curl into a faint smile as he looks at you. “Chemistry, huh? Whatcha think?”

Flustered, you glance away, focusing on the cards as if they’re the most fascinating thing in the world. “That’s not for me to say! I’m just reading the questions.”

“But yer the expert, aintcha?” Hiori leans forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. “Observing players, analyzing dynamics…”

You hesitate, heart fluttering at his unexpected intensity.

For a moment, you can’t help but notice how earnest he looks behind his boyish smile. His eyes are warm, his posture leaning in slightly as though waiting for your answer—and it makes the air between you feel charged.

“Well,” you say carefully, your voice quieter now, “I do think we have chemistry. I mean, we wouldn’t be doing this if we didn’t vibe, right?”

Grinning, you pick up the last nugget and offer it to him. His gaze follows your hand closely, and as he leans forward to take a bite, you forget just how tall he is and how he's able to reach you immediately,

The proximity catches you off guard, and his lips brush against your fingertips lightly. The brief contact sends a shiver through you, a subtle spark that lingers long after.

His smile widens, an innocent taunt in his expression, but there’s a flicker of something deeper beneath his teasing eyes.

For a moment, everything else fades into background.

Who knew he had such game?

But you don’t falter. Without breaking eye contact, you pop the rest into your mouth, making an exaggerated show of it. His eyes widen slightly, but that satisfied grin never leaves his face, his gaze still lingering on you as if the playful moment hadn’t quite ended.

“Y’know,” he says, settling back. “I almost didn’t do this. Not really a fan of the camera.”

“What made you reconsider?” you ask curiously, your tone light but intrigued.

“It’s work. I might get fired if I don’t do this occasionally, I guess,” he laughs, scratching the back of his neck, clearly searching for a better excuse.

A loud snort from the sidelines catches your attention.

“That's bullshit! Hiori immediately said yes when they told him it’s a date with you!” Isagi’s voice cuts through the room, and he doubles over in laughter, clutching his stomach.

Behind him, Kurona and Raichi join in, while Ness and Kiyora peek from the hallway, clearly eavesdropping.

Hiori groans, muttering something about refusing to pass to Isagi in the next game unless he begs for forgiveness.

You smile, shaking your head at the chaos. 

A tap on your shoulder brings you back to the task at hand. The cameraman hands over a few more cards. With a glance at the marketing manager, who gestures for you to continue, you smile and read the next one aloud.

“I will riot if Hiori and Y/N don’t end up together. The ship has sailed whether they like it or not!”

You glance at Hiori with a mischievous smile. The urge to take your teasing to the next level is strong. You wanted to see how far this charade can go. Even if it's just for your own satisfaction.

“Wow, people are so invested. I feel responsible. How do we make sure this ship doesn’t sink?”

Hiori leans forward, his expression mock-serious, lips curling into a teasing smile. “Well, for starters, I think communication is key. Every ship needs a good captain and crew who trust each other.”

He pauses for effect, looking at you pointedly. “Think ya can handle being co-captain?”

Feigning deep thought, you tap your chin. “Hmm, I don’t know. Co-captains have to work really closely together, and I’m not sure if you’re up to my standards.”

A playful gasp escapes him. “Not up to yer standards? I’ll have ya know I’m an excellent team player. Just ask Isagi.”

You both turn to Isagi, who’s still recovering from his earlier fit of laughter. He straightens up, grinning. “Oh, absolutely. Hiori’s great—when he’s not plotting how to leave me stranded on the field.”

“Not helping, Isagi,” Hiori mutters, though his smile doesn’t falter.

The playful tension draws a chorus of cheers and mock whistles from the team. Isagi cups his hands around his mouth, yelling, “Let’s gooo, ship of the year!”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the smile spreading across your face as you glance at Hiori. “Looks like the crew is on board.”

Hiori chuckles, leaning back with a satisfied grin that hints at something deeper. “Then it’s settled. This ship is unsinkable.”

“You’re not allowed to say that!” you exclaim, laughing. “That’s a total jinx!”

The room fills with laughter again, the easy energy between the two of you now impossible to miss. The air feels lighter, but there’s an undeniable current that flows between you, unspoken but clearly present.

With every word, every glance, it feels like you’re navigating uncharted waters together—one small step closer to the edge, yet never quite willing to jump in.

“Miss Journalist, we’ve been friends for a while now, right?” Hiori's eyes narrowing with a suspicious gleam. He’s planning something.

“Yes?” you answer, bracing yourself for whatever comes next.

He leans forward, the innocent yet sly smile never leaving his face. “So, you don’t mind me asking—who’s your favorite player on Bastard Munchen?”

You roll your eyes but keep your playful tone, already ready to play along. “That’s a tough one, but I guess... I’d have to say... Gagamaru?”

“Really? Gagamaru?” Hiori laughs, a teasing edge to his voice. “No offense, Gagamaru.”

You shrug with a mischievous grin, trying to keep up the act. 

“That’s not what other people are telling me, though.” Hiori’s eyes twinkle with something unreadable as he pulls out his phone and swipes through it, then shows you the Winstagram picture of you wearing his jersey. 

Oh, dear lord.

You groan inwardly, but there’s no escaping it now. 

“Fine! You’re... up there,” you admit, laughing but feeling the blush creeping in. Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, you continue, “But I’m sure the other guys won’t be too happy to hear that.”

Hiori’s grin widens, clearly enjoying himself. “S'okay. Just wanted to make sure.”

Before you can say anything more, Isagi shuffles over with a mischievous grin and hands Hiori a card. Hiori glances at it, his brow raising slightly before that sly smile stretches across his face. 

Holding it up, he reads aloud. “Okay, last card! Due to popular demand, we dare Hiori to ask the journalist out on camera.”

Your jaw practically hits the floor. “Popular demand? Who’s making these demands?”

Hiori doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leans towards you, a playful smile on his lips, his gaze locked on you. “Should I?”

You try to laugh it off, waving your hands in mock protest. “You don’t have to entertain everything they write, you know!”

But his gaze never falters. In fact, it softens, turning a little more serious, as if he’s letting a moment of sincerity break through the playful tension. “Yeah, but... what if I want to?”

Your heart skips a beat. “W-wait,” you stammer, feeling your composure slip. “Are you serious?”

Hiori tries to close the distance a bit further, the air between you both growing warmer. “Dinner. Just us. No cameras. Whatcha think?”

You blink, entirely thrown off course, and quickly turn to the crew, desperately waving the cards in mock surrender. “C-can we cut this part out? Please?”

From off-screen, the marketing manager’s voice rings out in amusement. “Nope! This is gold—we’re keeping it.”

Groaning, you bury your face in your hands, a mix of embarrassment and disbelief filling you. “Why am I even here?” you mutter, half-laughing, half-horrified.

As the crew starts to wrap up, you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. The shoot has been a whirlwind of chaos and laughter—nothing like you expected. But in the midst of all the teasing and jokes, there have been moments.

Small, fleeting moments where the façade of “content shoot” cracks just enough to reveal something real. Something that makes your heart race.

And it scares you. Because as much as you’ve enjoyed... whatever this is, there’s that nagging thought at the back of your mind. This wasn’t part of the plan.

It wasn’t supposed to feel so... real.

For Hiori, it’s equally disarming. At first, this shoot was just another day on the job. But now, as he watches you—how you smile when you try to deflect a question, the way you talk about your work with such genuine passion, how you handle the “shipping” comments with a perfect blend of humor and grace—it hits him.

He’s drawn to you.

It’s not just the playful banter or the way you make him laugh. It’s the way you see things differently, the way you carry yourself with this unexpected blend of wit and intelligence, and how you’re not fazed by the chaos around you.

When you laugh, it’s not forced; it’s real. When you talk about your work, it’s not some canned response. It’s something you actually care about. He’s seen people like you before, but not like this. Not in a way that makes him feel this... interested.

There’s something about the way you navigate the awkward moments, how you’re not afraid to call him out or laugh at his expense, that makes him want to know more. It’s as if, for the first time in a long time, someone has seen beyond his persona—beyond Hiori Yo the athlete—and into the person he is.

And he likes what he sees.

As you gather your things, Hiori stands, his movements unhurried but deliberate, as if the moment has only just begun. The air between you both feels different now—lighter, yet somehow more significant.

For the first time in a long while, he feels like he’s in control, but also... a little unsure. And that feeling, surprisingly, excites him.

“So,” he says, his voice casual but his gaze never wavering from yours, “about that dinner...”

You look up at him, still flustered, but a faint smile creeping onto your lips. You try to deflect, make it sound casual. “You’re really not letting this go, are you?”

But his eyes are different now—softer, more sincere. “Not a chance.”

And in that moment, you see it. You see the shift in him, in the way he looks at you now—not as another journalist, but as someone he genuinely wants to know beyond the surface.

For a second, you can’t find the words. All you can do is laugh softly, a nervous chuckle escaping your lips as you shake your head.

He’s not asking because of a dare or because of a camera. It’s something real, something unspoken but undeniable. And for the first time today, you let yourself stop overthinking. You let yourself just feel the moment.

“Sure, why not?”

Maybe, just maybe, letting your guard down isn’t such a terrible idea after all.

amari's notes: i was kicking, giggling and smiling alone like crazy writing this! I really think these two have a great balance—neither too shy nor too teasing, just kind of testing the waters and seeing where things go. I’m here for it! If you’re up for it, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask. Hope you all enjoy this chapter! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[bullet-prooflove]

Ten Years: Dean Winchester x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @gatefleet @deanobssessedgirl @cosmic-psychickitty @cinderellasmissingshoes

Companion piece to:

Gatlinburg - Dean falls in love in a tiny town in Tennessee.

With You - Dean tells you he's going to stay the night.

You, Me & Tennessee - Dean always returns to Tennessee.

On The Mountain - Dean wishes he was back on the Mountain with you.

Feral (NSFW) - Dean gets feral when he sees you with another man.

Six Pack (NSFW) - You realise the man waiting for you isn't Dean Winchester.

Memories (NSFW) - Michael invades your home whilst you're away.

Sweet Dreams - Dean thinks about how this all started.

Deals With the Devil (feat: Michael)- You wake up with an angel in your bed.

The night that Michael shows up in your bed, is the night you end up at the Fire Tower indefinitely. Your supervisor is happy for the help because things on the mountain they’ve gotten a little wilder recently and you know that’s a reaction to the archangel that’s currently residing in your home.

Michael’s presence is fucking with the eco system, tipping the careful balance that you and the other forest rangers have spent years trying to maintain because the mountain doesn’t like it when others encroach on its territory. The spirit is old, dawn of time kind of old. The magic that guards the National Park it’s ancient, primordial, and it’s the only thing that’s keeping Michael away from you because even archangels know better than to fuck with Gaia.

You check your phone for the millionth time before you settle yourself into the metal single bed. Every ranger that stays in the tower tries to make it home for their rotation. You flick on the fairy lights that hang around the edge of the window as you tug the grey fleece lined blanket up to your chest. Dean brought it back to you after one of his trips because he knows it gets cold up here on the mountain.

You’ve been trying to call Sam since you found the archangel in your bed but it goes straight to voicemail. You turn it off and set it on the crate you use as a nightstand before you snuggle down into the blanket. The scent of Dean’s aftershave still clings to it from the last time the two of you were up here, making love to the sound of rain pattering against the windows.

As you lie there, your eyes fixed on the lights your mind drifts to Michael’s offer.

“All I’m asking for is one night.” He had whispered against your skin. “One night where I get to feel what he feels, that I get to experience you, enjoy you. You can have him back after that, you can be with the man you love again. Don’t you want that?”

You want that more than anything but the cost, it’s just too great because Dean will never forgive himself, it would torture him to the end of his days and you can’t do that to the man you love.

During your second night on the mountain, you ignite the firepit in the clearing at the base of the tower before setting up two camping chairs, close to the flames. You snap off the bottle caps off two IPAs from the microbrewery in town before placing one in the cupholder of the spare chair.

It doesn’t take long for your guest to join you. It never does once you’ve cracked open that first beer and this brand Mountain Brew, it’s his favourite. You hear the wind rustling through the trees before Guy steps out into the clearing, his hands tucked into the pockets of the black aviator jacket. He wears worn Levis and a threadbare navy blue Airforce cap on top of a thick head of white hair. He’s been this way ever since the day your father first brought you here at the age of eight to meet the spirit of the mountain. The rangers in this region are all legacy families, it’s in your blood to protect the people here from the things that go bump in the night.

“I’m gonna be here for a while.” You find yourself telling him as you stare into the fire. “Things out there…”

You trail off because you aren’t sure how to explain what’s happening in the outside world.

“It’s your hunter isn’t it?” He says as he drops into the empty chair beside you, picking up the IPA. “Somethings happened to him.”

The spirit of the mountain, it likes Dean. It has since that nightmare with the Wendigos. His affection for you, the fact that he cleans up after himself and deals with the shit that needs to be dealt with in, all of that has endeared him to Guy.

“The two of you make a good match.” Guy had told him one night when the three of you were roasting smores. “I couldn’t have picked a better mate for a daughter of the mountain.”

“What does he mean by that?” Dean had asked you later, his head propped up on his arm as he watches you undress from his position in the bed. “Daughter of the forest?”

You’d explained your heritage then, how the rangers in this town were descended from Gaia, how every single one of you was connected to this forest in some way which is why you protect it.

“And now you know everything.” You had told him as you lingered at the side of the bed, wearing one of his t-shirts. “Does it change anything for you?”

“Nah, I knew you were special.” He’d told you as he caught your hand, pulling you down on top him before he gathers you up in his arms. “A little bummed out that you’re not one of the X-Men though.”

“Yea it sucks.” You’d said as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. “No powers, just a shotgun and a ranger’s uniform.”

“You do look hot with a shotgun though.” He’d reminded you, his fingertips combing lightly through your hair. “And in uniform.”

Over beers in the present you tell Guy about the situation with Dean and with Michael. He listens diligently and without judgement, his expression remaining impassive throughout.

“There’s a way.” He says after a few minutes of silence. “But it’ll require some sacrifice on your part.”

“Anything.” You say resolutely and he sets his empty beer bottle down alongside the others.

“I can make a weapon.” He confides in you, his thumb peeling at label on the bottle.  “Something that can kill Michael, that will leave the hunter intact.”

“What’s the catch?” You ask and he inclines his head towards you, his lips pursed together grimly.

“Ten years.” He says and you frown because you don’t understand the meaning behind his words. “Crafting something like that, something that can kill an archangel it takes a lot of power, power I’m currently using to lock down some of the bigger grizzles that wander these parts.”

He means the monsters that he keeps caged, the ones that would tear apart the region if he didn’t keep a firm grasp on them. You deal with the small stuff, the ones that pick off campers and steal small children but anything bigger than that..

Well let’s just say you’d all be fucked.

“If I create this weapon it’ll leave me weak, things will start to slip and …”

The sentence hangs in the air and you know exactly where this is going.

“You’ll need to draw energy from me to stop that from happening and the only way you can do that is if I’m here on the mountain.” You sigh as he gives you that look, the one you’ve come to know so well.

“It takes ten years to replenish that kind of expenditure.” He explains, setting out the parameters. “That means you won’t be able to cross the boundary where the National Park ends. You’ll have to give up your freedom, your home, the life you have...”

It means that you’ll be stranded here like Rapunzel in the Fire Tower, on an indefinite watch for the next decade. The alternative doesn’t seem much better because as long as Michael’s out there, you can’t leave the shelter of the mountain anyway without putting yourself in danger. That archangel, he’s going to snap soon and it’s going to be violent and bloody when he does.

At least this way Dean will be free, he won’t be trapped in his own mind, screaming and clawing at the walls.

“Ten years.” You say quietly before you take a sip of your beer. “I can do ten years.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[snugglywugglysocialist]

Monotony

Late-night sheets of rain hurl themselves at the living room window of your apartment, degrading the view of streetlights below into nothing more than distorted swirls.

Irritation rises within as you realize the hostile weather has ruined your plans for the night, rendering you victim to a tortuously boring night-in. Monotony has been your most salient enemy since quitting your residency, though you’ve been able to dodge it until tonight.

You clutch the glass in your hand as you move towards the bookshelf seated in the hall. Your eyes rake over the busted spines and heavily annotated texts, realizing you haven’t had the time to leisurely read in months.

You grab one off the shelf and head for your spot on the couch, convincing yourself this is a riveting way to spend an evening; after all, you used to do this all the time. However, multiple futile attempts to keep focused on the work in front of you led to aimless pacing around the beige walls of your living room.

The last thing you expected to gain from your time at Princeton Plainsboro was a diminished ability to bear anything uninteresting, especially since the inherent lack of it in diagnostics often delivered such distress.

The actualization of this newfound intolerance didn’t make itself known so harshly until this moment, the weight of it hitting you like bricks. You toss the book you’d been holding onto the coffee table, and lace your hands behind your neck in disbelief.

Three sharp raps at the door interrupt your brooding, the color from your face surely draining as you realize who it probably is. You stand up, instinctively grabbing your glass of liquor, and begrudgingly walk to the door. You peer through the peep-hole to confirm what you already know.

House.

You swing open the door, already annoyed with his presence. He’s in his usual t-shirt and jeans—with a soaked blazer as an additive—and holding a navy blue case file in his left hand. He looks you up and down, his eyebrows raised, and you mentally kick yourself in the ass for not putting on pants before answering the door. You silently move inwards to let him in, and he does so, sizing up your flat. You slam the door closed harder than intended, and he turns.

“Did you miss me?” He says, his words steeped in sardonic cloy.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, refusing to engage with his attempt at banter.

He says nothing, wriggling the file in his hands as a response. You sigh and grab a towel, tossing it towards him in the same fashion as he does when throwing a case file at an intern. He catches it with one hand, and throws the folder on your couch before shucking off his jacket, and drying off his hair.

“Take your shoes off, you’re getting my floors wet.” You say, and he does so, but not without rolling his eyes and huffing like a toddler.

“Differential. Sixty year old-“ He begins to speak, but you cut him off quickly.

“You remember that I quit, correct?” You say, crossing your arms.

He smirks and sets the towel next to his jacket. It’s his turn to pivot a question.

“I thought you didn’t drink.” He states flatly.

“Ethanol pairs well with boredom.” You respond, your curiosity practically forcing you to pick up the file he brought. He watches you intently as you flip through the pages, trying to pick up on a reaction. You shut the file shortly thereafter, and hand it back to him.

“It’s Myasthenia Gravis; do an SFEMG and start him on plasmapheresis and steroids after the confirmation.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. Your attempt at concealing your interest in this case does not go unnoticed by House, and you can tell. His gaze stays fixed on you, and you fight the urge to squirm beneath it.

“You already knew that though, or you’d be calling one of your lackeys to begin treatment. So again I ask, what are you doing here.” The words spill out of your mouth, and you do little to control the contempt dripping from them.

His eyes dart around before nodding slightly, and he moves to sit down on the couch. He motions for you to join him, and you oblige apprehensively. The two of you sit in silence for a few moments before he speaks.

“Why did you quit?” He asks, almost rhetorically.

“You know why.” You quip.

“No, I know what you told me. I want the real reason.” He retorts, his eyes narrowing, looking to sieze meaning from your facial expressions, to which he finds none.

Wordlessly, you stand to fix him a drink, and he sighs loudly at your lack of a response as you head towards the cupboard. You’re almost done pouring when you hear him coming into the kitchen behind you, the thumping of his cane reverberating off the barren walls of your apartment. He keeps walking until he’s mere inches from you, effectively pinning you between him and the island bar from behind. You set down the bottle with shaking hands, and turn to face him.

The backlighting of your living room shrouds his face, reducing his figure to a towering silhouette. A pang of nervousness barrels into your stomach, a feeling he often aroused in you, and one you’d tried desperately to quell.

You turn your head to avoid his piercing eyes, though you can’t even see them. He shifts his weight, and sucks a breath in through his teeth. Your thoughts drift to imagine the grimace of pain he must be wearing.

“I asked you a question.” He says lowly, snapping your wandering mind back.

“One which you know the answer to.” You say, causing him to scoff slightly in response.

You move to escape him, but he steps even closer, forcing you to brace yourself against the countertop. Blood rushes to your ears and your heart thrums in your chest with rigor.

“House…” You scold quietly, hoping to elicit some sense into him, but he stays unmoving. Centimeters make up the gap between the both of you; one sleight of hand and you know it’s over.

“My ‘lackeys’—as you so endearingly called them—have placed bets.” He chides.

“On?” You choke out, praying your voice didn’t reveal the effect he’s having on you.

“On when you’ll admit you quit because you have a thing for me.” He says, his words are wrapped in faux endearment, and you can’t discern whether the feeling in your stomach is nausea or arousal.

He closes the gap suddenly, drawing a low whine out of you. His cane clatters as it hits the hardwood floors of your kitchen, and he brings his hands up to grab your face. He nips softly at your lower lip, causing you to gasp, allowing him full access to your mouth. His hands grovel to grasp the seam of your panties, but you grab his wrists, and turn to lead him into your room.

After shutting the door behind him, he walks towards you until you’re forced to step back, the backs of your knees hitting the bed. You sit down, and watch as he grabs the bottom hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head, discarding it on the floor, his belt and pants soon to join it. He approaches the left side of the bed and joins you.

With the last shreds of your inhibition dissipated, you move on your knees to straddle him, his hard length making contact with your center. He makes quick work of your shirt, ripping it off of you, your bra soon to follow. He palms your breasts immediately, his thumbs lathing over your nipples, making your body tremble.

As he takes your breast into his mouth, you know he plans to draw this out, and you know that you’ll let him. His tongue swirls and your hands bury themselves in his hair, pulling and grabbing erratically. You attempt to stifle a moan but fail, and you can feel him smirk against your chest in response.

You pull back on his hair until his neck is exposed, and move to lavish it. You burn a trail of kisses from the shell his ear to his collarbone, and the low-octave grunts leaving his throat only spur you on. You push him back until he’s laying, and continue your assault, making bruises along his chest with your teeth.

His hand creeps to your center, and pushes aside the soaked fabric, slipping his middle finger into you with ease. He chuckles condescendingly as you flutter around him, and you bite softly into his shoulder to avoid mewling. He slips the lace garment over your hips to remove them, the wetness from his hand leaving a trail across your thigh.

You go to remove the last remaining barrier between the both of you, but he grabs your hands. He slides his boxers down just enough to reveal himself, but keep the scars on his thigh covered. Pity flashes in your eyes, but you rid your expression of it, hoping he didn’t catch it. You sit up straight on your knees, looking down at him.

“Take ‘em off or get out of my bed.” You sigh out, swathing your feelings with this ultimatum. You know it’s not a lack of trust with you, just a generalized shame, but it still pains you in a way you can’t verbalize even if you wanted to. He looks at you blankly before putting his hands above his head, allowing you to slide them down his legs. You throw them to the floor, and allow your fingertips to ghost over the scars, and he scoffs.

“I don’t care, House. I want you.” You whisper, and he doesn’t respond.

He averts his eyes in embarrassment, and looks as if he’s about to say something, but is thwarted when your hand moves to his shaft. Your movements are tentative until you land on a pace that forces his eyes to roll back, revealing white. He lets out a low moan that shoots straight to your core, and you resume lamenting his neck with your tongue.

Soon, his abdomen muscles tighten, and his legs spasm slightly, letting you know he’s close, and you stop your movements suddenly. His eyes snap open in protest, and his chest heaves as you lower yourself onto him. He grunts and throws his head back into the pillows, harshly attaching his hands to your hips.

He pushes into you slowly until you reach his hilt. Your mouth falls open as you attempt to adjust to the fullness, and a string of unintelligible words fall from his lips. You rock slowly, his hands guiding you up and down. After a moment, you come down off your knees and allow your full weight to fall on his upper body, and he welcomes the pressure greedily.

His arms envelop the small of your back, and he ruts up into you, making your breath hitch. He fucks you from beneath until your body shakes in his arms, and you can no longer control the sounds leaving your chest. You reach the precipice pathetically fast, and he follows, spilling into you indiscriminately. His hands run up your spine as he sings your praises, and forces your face upwards to meet his lips.

You continue to kiss him lazily as you brace yourself on your knees once more to get up, and he grabs your waist and keeps you there. He’s still panting as he reverses your positions, and begins kissing down your chest to your navel. His lips move to brush against your hip bones, and he spreads your legs.

Heat flushes from your chest to your center, and you fold your arms across your face. His middle and ring fingers enter you deftly, and your hips shoot up at the intrusion, causing him to hook his lithe arms beneath your thighs to prevent any future writhing. He licks a broad stripe up the length of you before coaxing your clit into his mouth, switching between paces.

You’re incredibly sensitive already, and his demonstrations leave your head spinning ten-fold. Your legs press upwards to entrap his head, but his arms keep you spread and pinned. Half formed tears fall from your eyes as you finish, your hands buried so violently in his hair you’re sure it’s hurting him, but you couldn’t care less.

He stops and collapses next to you as you revel in the after-shocks. Your head falls upon his chest, and you crane upwards to leave chaste kisses beneath his jaw. You’re still barely coherent when he speaks.

“So, when are you coming back?” He asks sarcastically, his voice raspy and laced with satiation.

“Very soon if you keep fucking me like that.” You quip breathlessly, and he bites back an assured smirk.

[saxifrage-wreath]

Trespass Against Us

(Inklings Challenge 2024, Team Lewis, Space Travel, c.1070 words, Incomplete)

this is maybe just over half done. hope y'all enjoy what I've got so far <3

--

Alexei sat at the cafe table nursing his black tea and staring out at the rain. The view outside looked as grey and drear as he felt. If there were wetter places in habitable space than Innisfallen, he had yet to see them.

He glanced over as the door opened and a woman entered, placing her dripping umbrella with the stack of others by the entrance. She wore her brown hair ponytailed and had on an old military jacket over drab work pants and a bright blue t-shirt. The sight of her jacket made him think that perhaps rejoining the Fleet might not be the worst way out of his current predicament. Then recognition dawned upon him.

“Arcus?” he said. She turned his way.

“Hey, Alexei!” she said, breaking into a smile. “How are you doing?” she asked as she sat down across from him.

“Still alive and kicking, you?”

“Not drowned yet,” she replied. She caught the eye of the waitress and ordered coffee and something to eat. “So I heard about your ship. A bad business that. I’m sorry it happened to you.”

“Thanks, amiga. Yeah, I’ll get by but it’s set me right back. If that cussed sneak Gershow hadn’t stolen my salvage, I would have been fine and dandy.” He exhaled hard, “No good dwelling on it though.”

“Hurts,” Arcus said. Alexei nodded. They sat without speaking while her food arrived and she began eating. He’d known Arcus Briar for years, since they’d both been demobilised after the war and decided to go flying for themselves, seeing as the Commonwealth Navy had no further need of their services. She was a hard worker, a good pilot, and a good friend.

“Hey, do you need a job?” she asked, breaking the silence as she pushed back her empty plate.

“Yeah, I do. You know of any going?” “I’d give you one for sure. I’m a couple crew down on the Hawkins: Jochi’s getting married and Bob’s off to Arcadia to help out his daughter and her family for a while.

“Count me in. It’ll be good to be about something and it’ll take my mind off things.”

“Glad to hear it. You can join us whenever you like. The Hawkins is docked down in Bay 15.”

“I’ll be there tonight,” Alexei promised. He had little enough to pack and put in order.

** ** **

Alexei hoisted himself off the top of the ladder and secured the hatch to the cargo hold.

Four days since he joined her, the Jim Hawkins was well underway, bound for a port far across the void of space. Arcus had secured them a contract to ship produce off world, and the hold was packed with the tea, coffee, cocoa, and sugar that grew so well on Innisfallen. It wasn’t glamorous work, but there was real money in it, as she’d told her crew.

“And we’d starve if we held out for only the glamorous jobs,” Alexei had thought. Now he made his way along the Hawkins’ main corridor to the galley. His boots thumping dully on the metal of the deck. Strains of Arcus’ music drifted down from the cockpit. Their captain almost always had something playing off a cassette, and the sound of the moment was Cap Kennedy’s Red Planet Potato Farm, not his favourite, but okay to have on in the background.

The galley was a snug space, decorated mostly in warm orange and yellow besides the clean, polished metal. As he stepped inside, Alexei thought he might have to do décor somewhat like it when he had his own vessel again, in his own favoured colours.

“Hey Phil,” he greeted the aproned man working at the counter.

“Hey Alexei,” the other replied cheerfully. Philip Asiimwe had been flying with Arcus for very near as long as Alexei had known her, and could turn his hand to most every task aboard, from the care and feeding of the Hawkins’ powerplant to the preparation of remarkably good meals from the ship’s provisions. “Coffee’s hot if you want some.”

“So, how are you going man?” he asked as Alexei helped himself to coffee and powdered milk.

“Better for being out here with you folk, and working,” Alexei told him, leaning back against the counter out of Philip’s way. “Keeps me from stewing over things so much, y’know.”

“I hear you. A thing like that eats at a man if he lets it.”

“Yeah, doesn’t it just,” Alexei agreed. He stayed there, drinking his coffee, keeping Philip company, and lending a hand here and there until Arcus came down from the cockpit.

“All done?” she enquired of Alexei.

“Yep. Everything’s shipshape below, Captain.”

“Excellent. Hey, I’m going for a nap. I’ve given Meg the helm, but she asked if you could back her up, supervise like.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Alexei pushed off from the bench he’d been leaning on.

“Thank you,” Arcus smiled and departed for her cabin. Alexei thanked Philip for the coffee and conversation and headed for the cockpit. Meg Langdon, Arcus’ protege, was a good kid with the makings of a fine pilot, and he was quite happy to help her along that journey.

** ** **

Floorboards creaked as Alexei strode along the upstairs passage of the boarding house near Wintergreen’s main spaceport. Their business on world was going to take a while longer than originally anticipated – there was apparently some holdup with part of their contracted cargo. Arcus had decided to sleep out of ship and so had shouted everyone rooms for the few nights they would be there.

“We could all use the space and the change of scene, I’m sure,” she’d said, and Alexei was not about to argue. The berths aboard the Hawkins were more comfortable than some he’d occupied over his years in space, but were still not the roomiest of accommodations.

The room he was sharing with Philip was near the end of the hall; Alexei opened the door and was about to step inside but halted at what he saw and heard.

Philip was sitting across his bunk with his back against the wall, praying the Our Father. Alexei stood silent in the doorway, not wanting to disturb his friend.

“...and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us…” Philip said, words that Alexei had heard a thousand times, and said more than once himself, but which just this time gave him an odd feeling.

[to be continued]

[headphonegrl]

“You can have this if you want!” It’s the first words Kylian ever says to you and it's muffled by the sound of torrential rain hitting against concrete. He uses the end of his finger to point at his umbrella, a navy blue one his dad let him borrow when he was thirteen which he’s failed to ever give back. It’s the start of his favourite story, one he’ll tell enthusiastically to anyone with the patience to listen. 

“Sorry?” You shout back, he’s only a few steps from you but he might as well be a mile away with how loud it is. The mascara you applied earlier that morning is now running down your cheeks in thick black lines, but all Kylian can think about is how cute you look. Crushingly so, like he will for the rest of his life. 

“You can have my umbrella!” He strides closer and raises his voice a bit in the hope that this time you’ll hear him. When he tells this story later on, he’ll exaggerate his shouting for comedic effect and all his friends will laugh. A fuzzy feeling in his chest will ensue

“Really?” You look up at him through your eyelashes and Kylian has to make a conscious effort to breathe. In through his nose and out through his mouth in long puffs that empty his lungs. “You don’t need it?”

“I haven’t got far to go.” Which is a lie, he’s got half an hour of walking ahead of him. Though he doesn’t care, he wants you to take the umbrella. He’ll take the jacket off his back if you ask him. The first time he ever saw you was only two minutes ago and it’s already embarrassing the amount of things he’s willing to do for you, like he was yours before. Perhaps in a past life, when you and him were just atoms or two constellations sitting next to each other. “I’ll be fine.”

You furrow your eyebrows together, a neat line appearing between them. Droplets of rainwater run across your forehead without a coat-hood to catch them. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure.” Kylian can now feel the water rushing into his brand-new shoes but he can’t move, like if he does you’ll just vanish as quickly as you appeared. He’s afraid you’re just a figment of his overactive imagination and he’ll wake up in a car somewhere with his forehead leaning against the cold window. Now he’s seen you once he’s not sure he’ll be able to live without it, it would be practically torture. 

“No.” You shake your head, like it’s too much of an ask. One good deed too far that you could never possibly accept. “Just share it with me.”

“Share it?” He repeats it back like a parrot, making sure he heard you right. You’re only standing in front of him and he already feels lightheaded. If you stand shoulder to shoulder he thinks he might die, and he hasn’t even written a will yet. 

“Yeah.” You smile at him, all your teeth showing cutely. 

“Okay.” After this Kylian will ask for your number, and he’ll put a little umbrella emoji next to your name. It’ll take two weeks of hyping himself up to ask you out on a date. Your first kiss will make his heart thud so hard it feels like it’s going to fall out his chest. For your first anniversary, he’ll handpick flowers for you from his grandma's garden. For your second he’ll edit an embarrassingly cheesy video. Though for now, all you do is share this umbrella. “Let’s share it.”

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Costume Meta 7x02

We are short on the costumes to look at this week as we continue this multi episode arc, so this meta is going to be a pretty short one! I’ve had a pretty busy weekend, so things have worked out for me and its also the reason why I'm only posting this on a Tuesday evening!!!!

There are a few things to point out before I get to the main costumes - we have more bright pink in play here - on the Mom in the car that got hit by the drunk driver. I still have no idea what its trying to tell us a this point, but I have my eyes peeled for more bright pink to appear in the next couple of episodes and see if I can unravel its use.

On the non costume front, on the ship - its a yellow cable that leads to the bomb that ensures communication cannot be restored to the ship when nit explodes - the fact the communications engineer also dies, just re-emphaises the point. Communication is a key theme in this episode.

Back to costumes an in the same vein as the cable, we see Captain O’s deputy in his yellow rain coat when she gives the abandon ship order, and the yellow wire is prominent on the radio when she tells him to do so. He is now the one responsible for communicating her order to the rest of the ship and getting everyone onto the life boats. This is good and effective communication and we see the results of it as we are shown the ship being evacuated. 

Hen and Karen are the only ones we get in a new costume this week.

Lets start with Karen - its an interesting choice - we have her in this navy blue shirt and trousers combo with a brown belt. the top has blue and green Richelieu (cutwork) design on the sleeves and the trousers are also decorated with Richelieu. There are two things at play with this costume choice - the almost entirely navy outfit places her in the same category as Chim, Buck and Eddie. this is very very intentional - Karen mirroring/paralleling them places her in the same position they hold - Karen is meant to be there to show that Hens thought process is flawed and as an outsider to proceedings thats really important for the audience - we need to see that Hen isn't this flawless captain that we've been shown up to this point. The other thing it's designed to do is maintain Hen as separate from everyone else. This visual device helps the script re-enforce things so that when she is then spurred into trying to get hold of Bobby and Athena we are focused on her because of her 'otherness' visually she stands out and we obviously need her to to help drive the narrative forward.

The other thing with Karens costume is the green and blue Richelieu which creates this visual representation of storm clouds swirling and moving in - a subtle reference, not only to Hen's currently cloudy viewpoint on things, but also to the impending storm brewing out in the ocean around the cruise ship. I really love it when they can drop subtle hints like this in set and costuming!

THen we have Hen!

Putting her into her white tee, jeans, green sneakers and this printed silk jacket, and not showing her changing out of her uniform into said outfit while the rest of the firearm are still in uniform helps to separate her from the ‘three Judases’ its a really loud and obvious visual way of separating her from the not only the three boys, but also from the firehouse as a whole. The way the scene is set up helps with this as well -she is on the same side of the bench and room as Chim, Buck and Eddie, until they question her version of events (Eddie is the one to actually ask the question and he is the one dressed differently to Chim and Buck - this isn't about putting him in opposition to them, more just visually signalling that he's the one to ask the important question that we as viewers should be ready for) and then she moves away from them and becomes visually in opposition to them. Its the perfect example of costume, set and direction working in perfect harmony to tell the story visually - we don't actually need to hear whats been said, we can tell it all from the way its shown to us visually.

Hens jacket is a fascinating choice - it plays into a couple of themes we’ve seen in action over the two episodes we’ve had thus far. I did write a little bit about it when we got the first stills of it (which I now cannot find - stupid tumblr search!) but essentially it is a jacket that has various places around California - the golden gate bridge, the redwood trees in Yosemite, Lake Tahoe, etc. as well as the victorian style rose pattern running along the cuffs and edges of the jacket.

The pink roses are a really lovely touch - and one I picked up on specifically because Hen is not a flowery kind of person, so seeing them on her means they are important. Pink roses are generally considered to signify a strong friendship or family bond - something that is ultimately at the heart of matters - the fire family are just that - a family and they might have argument's etc, but they still love each other as a family and will go all out to be there for each other. Its a low key piece of

then we have all that water - do we even need to talk about its meaning?!! Its a literal visual play on the entire them of this arc - water! We all know that water is a really key theme that 911 uses a lot in its storytelling, whether thats big water based events such at the Tsunami or this cruise ship disaster, or smaller low key water theming such as the rain being present at so many of the disasters we see. I'm interested that we now have it appearing on Hen - because it hasn't really been connected to her in many of her personal story arcs (by this I mean arcs such as her deciding and training to be a doctor, Henren's journey through parenthood, the ambulance crash or even Karens lab blowing up last season) so its interesting that we're now seeing her pulled into the water theming in a visual way like this. It is also a play on the two aspects of this episode - there is the loud water theming of the Cruise ship, but there is also the fact Hen has landed in hot water/ deep water.

Hen is also wearing her 'H' necklace, not her 'K' one. This is important because her necklaces tend to be a visual indicator of what her arc is about - the 'H' is worn when it's about her specifically and not her marriage/ family, which is when we tend to see the 'K' heart pendant being worn.

Thats all from me this week! Thank you as always for reading and I hope you enjoyed the shortness of this post - I doubt many of the others will be this short 😂

Tagged peeps below!

@theladyyavilee @mistmarauder @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @mandzuking17 @spotsandsocks @loveyou2thecore @rogerzsteven @wanderingwomanwondering @oneawkwardcookie @leothil @copyninjabuckley @shammers86 @crazyfangirlallert @missmagooglie @katyobsesses @radiation-run @gayandbifiremenofmine @bi-moonlight @crazyaboutotps @princesschez75 @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @sherlocking-out-loud @evanbuckleysarms @satashiiwrites

[whoucallingalesbian]

SCENARIO AHEAD ⬇️

ok yall remember the wattpad ellie x reader story i was talkin ab the other day, so this is the vibe i was imagining while reading it

idk how to explain it but something about those small american towns near the woods is soooooo 🤌🏻

like i NEED to live there and meet the love of my life its literally a dream (and if that person is ellie williams bonus points)

idk how to explain it but this is so 2016 tumblr converse green jackets car trip wattpad typa vibe

do yall get me😩

no but imagine this scenario

you are in a small town somewhere in oregon, going back from a class to your dorm room, as soon as you arrive you lay on the bed and start listening to your playlist. after a while you decide to take a nap and all of a sudden you hear the door creaking and it wakes you up so you look up and see ellie standing at the door looking at you in the eyes. noticing that she woke you up, she apologises, puts her backpack on the floor and decides to lay on the bed. you two start talking to each other about how you spent the day and some other random stuff and she decides to ask you to come home w her for a break. couple of days pass by and you two are on your way to ellie’s house, ellie is driving and you are the passenger princess, the road is wet from the rain from the last night and you are surrounded by the pine trees, the air is crisp and its cold outside. you are wearing grey off shoulder sweater with something written on it, navy blue shorts and ugg slippers w a ponytail. ellie is wearing black tshirt w skinny jeans and converse w her usual low bun hairstyle. you notice her sparing glances occasionally at your direction, which gets you flustered. after half an hour of travelling you two take a turn to the left on a muddy road and thats when you see the big wooden house, ellie stops the car and you get out, she helps you w the luggage and you two get in the house. she shows you your room where you unpack and immediately lay on the soft bed, cold, white mattress under your skin. on the left side there’s a window with the most beautiful view. you decide to stare at it for a little bit and appreciate its beauty. then you decide to go to her room, you open the door, band posters everywhere, a guitar, bed with dark mattress and some other stuff thrown around the room. you sit on her bed and tell her how beautiful her home is, after some talking she takes her guitar and starts playing a song. you stare at her for a while admiring her talent and then go back to your room to relax. two hours pass by and ellie knocks on the door and comes in, she takes a seat on your bed and starts caressing your arm with her fingers, you get chills and blush at the sudden show of affection and your eyes meet her green ones. you get up and she does the same and you lean in for a kiss, it was a passionate one. her hands exploring your body, asking you for a permission to take off your shirt..you nod and she slowly starts stripping u naked. feeling her skin on yours made you feel like theres not one thing in the world to worry about, she pushes you on the bed where you two continue..

psa this is not supposed to be a smut or anything of that sort, cuz sis is struggling w english so i can’t really be writing any wattpad typa stories, BUT this was a scenario i imagined in my head while i would look at those pictures so i had a feeling like i have to share it w you

ik that there is plenty of grammar mistakes but oh well, girl is not a writer this was just for funsies

anyways hope you liked it

xoxo tea

[orionscelt]

Finally put together a character sheet and some details for Tristan - bunch of info under the cut.

Date of birth: 7th of January Nationality: British (English/Scottish) Blood status: Pureblood Height: 6’0 House: Ravenclaw Wand: Hawthorn , dragon heartstring core , 12 ½”,slightly springy.

Boggart: Public ridicule. Patronus: Sparrowhawk Polyjuice: Metallic blue , lake water and Iron. Amortentia: Pear , green tea, rain.

Best subject: Study of Ancient Runes Favourite subjects: Charms, Potions Favourite teacher: Professor Sharp (ex colleague of his father, he really enjoys talking to sharp out of class about his and his fathers adventures at work - what he was allowed to hear at least ). Worst subjects: Divination ( he has 300 better things to do than stare into a ball for an hour). Transfiguration ( his mind wanders constantly and more often than not the results are a tad disastrous). Least favourite subject: Divination Least favourite teacher: Professor Binns , self explanatory. Quidditch: Keeper - mostly plays casually , usually he's too busy to play official matches so acts as a reserve. 

Best friends: Sebastian Sallow,  Ominis Gaunt , Amit Thakkar , Samantha Dale

Clothing style: Muted blue , green and brown. Practical and warm - scuffed muddy boots, a navy blue pea coat with a bronze trim, his house scarf. Yule Ball: 1890s formal dinner jacket with a white waistcoat and periwinkle ascot tie.

In no particular order~ Traits: Dependable, Humble, Curious, Analytical, Too trusting, a lil Socially Awkward, will misinterpret things if people aren’t straight forward with him. Likes: Researching sites of ancient magic, swimming, keeping pet beetles on the windowsill next to his bed, cricket, quidditch (keeper) , horses, cider, Edinburgh rock (sweets), morning tea with his Ravenclaw roommates,  buying his friends gifts. Dislikes: too much noise, people staring, his friends being passive aggressive or indirect... dugbogs.

Favourite Beasts: Unicorns and Nifflers

Residence: Coombe , Oxfordshire.

Father: Gowan Sterling  Mother: Laith Sterling (maiden name Knox) Paternal grandparents: Graeme Sterling - Agnes Sterling

Both parents are aurors (as well as his ex-auror grandmother) - His mother; a particularly stubborn and headstrong witch continued her job after Tristan was old enough to be without her; his grandparents have looked after him for most of his life. Much to his parents dismay; after still not showing any evidence of any magical ability in his early teens he was assumed a squib, so was sent to an academy in Oxford in hopes of a successful career in the muggle world. He receives his letter on a trip with his classmates to London. Fig happens to be an old classmate of his grandfathers.

His grandparents run their farm where they mostly grow wheat , trees and a small range of magical plants tended to by his grandmother. He’s particularly close to his grandfather.

Future Occupation: Ministry of Magic Independent researcher/ magi-archaeologist

✨bonus dumb meme i can't get out of my drafts✨

[pinkandgoldensoul]

Already Home || Chapter 6 - First Time

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If this is your first time here on this blog, please check the Disclaimers here.

pairing: max verstappen x female!reader genre: friends to lovers, kind of slow burn, angst, fluff and comfort !tw!: swearing, online hate towards reader, insecurities, angst, a tiny suggestive moment other notes: fake instagram things? Loosely based on Japanese GP 2022 word count: 12.3k (feel free to use dividers to split the chapter into chunks! this time they might be needed lol) Sending a lot of love to everyone reblogging, liking and commenting ♥ Hope you enjoy the final chapter!

As rapid steps, cameras, mechanics and chaos surrounded you, silence had enveloped the conversation you had tried to initiate with Daniel. His eyes closely followed Max’s dark silhouette getting further and further away from where the two of you stood, he squeezed them, but in vain, as the Dutchman got out of sight. It didn’t make sense. Max had asked him to hold you back; he had insisted, and Daniel had seen fierce certainty and renewed confidence in him. Could a little discussion with the communication manager throw to the wind all the resolution he had been able to instill in him? «So… Do you need anything?» Your words awoke him from the bamboozled state he had fallen into and made his focus shift onto you. «Uhm, no, I’m good.» he rushed. «Just missed you, I feel like we haven’t seen in a while.» «We last saw each other the morning after the party in Monaco, Dan.» you laughed, embarrassed. «Right. The kinky-party thing.» he nodded at the memory. An uncomfortable silence urged you to get out of the situation as soon as possible, but some McLaren staff got between the two of you at the perfect moment; patting Daniel’s shoulders, they dragged him away from you, in delight for the team’s performance. Watching from a distance, you waved at Daniel, who flashed you with a warm smile. Although his presence had been gone by now, the discomfort didn’t disappear. The uneasiness of the situation, the mechanic interaction that had just occurred, Daniel looking behind you for no reason made you involuntarily turn as well, to check what was there to see: crowd, movement, and Red Bull staff working around Sergio’s car and inside the garage. An immediate nostalgia crawled up your chest, pervasive, spreading like a stain of paint inside a liquid, slowly covering every corner with color, thickness and weight. That deep navy blue, even darker under Singapore’s night sky, pierced through your soul, as Max appeared in your thoughts without notice. You badly needed to confront him, but didn’t know how: was there a way to tackle the topic without unraveling your feelings and putting your heart out, ready for him to stab? There wasn’t any, right? Your phone dinged. As sudden as a sparkle turning into a flame, you were pulled back to the present moment and you took the phone in your hand while mindlessly moving small and slow steps towards the podium, eyes glued to the screen. The mob was just a couple of meters ahead and you could hear the shouts, the cries of happiness and the Mexican anthem being played, all ricocheting onto your oversized Ferrari rain jacket, without touching you. Yet, despite the rain having stopped, you drowned inside the red, unable to think, to talk, to react to the flow of messages, texts, dms and comments popping on the screen, chasing each other, forcing your mouth agape so that they could reach your throat and lungs to clutch them. Small drops of champagne sprayed the air; you didn’t belong that joy, every face was foreign, the upbeat atmosphere roused an uncomfortable sense of anxiety. Humidity, alcohol and angst sticked to your hair, to your mind, hard to wash away despite the scraping. You walked away unnoticed, prey of confusion.

# Max threw himself onto the bed. He had turned down the silent offer of celebrating his teammate’s win; silent, because nobody in the team had dared get close expecting to find him in a good mood after such a race. After such a couple of days. The entire weekend had been a nightmare. Enjoying the calm of his room, he closed his eyes and breathed in, deeply. Upset? Yes. A lot. Was it helpful to be? No. Next weekend, he said to himself. Next weekend will be better. You must move forward. No time for mourning over past mistakes. No focus to spare to it. No energy to do it anyway. Kelly’s words bothered him; he could feel the hate being thrown at him by her supporters and his old, lawful bunch of haters. Nothing better to ask for in such an idyllic media spot. Acting like adults, huh? Taking advantage of the major shitstorm the entire team and him were in so that she could come clean without even trying? Really? Pointing the finger against him and portraying him as the heartless and unloving boyfriend was the only way to announce the breakup? Max didn’t believe she’d stoop so low. For those words he had given up the resolution to go speak to you, maybe even confessing – but no, of course, his assistant had to bring that happy news and the reminder of the endless interviews awaiting him.

Max propped up onto his elbows and rubbed his eyes, then sat. Quickly grabbed the phone from the nightstand.

Too impatient to wait her reply, he adventured in his direct messages and found an awful lot of relationship experts criticizing him for anything, way more than usual; but what really caught his full attention, was your name popping up in some of the texts’ previews. Somehow, Max had never expected you to be targeted as harshly as people would do with him; maybe it was a hope, a conviction born from obliviousness. Disturbed by it, he checked the text he sent. Kelly had read it. No reply, yet. To a degree, Max didn’t expect to act any different. The feelings he had been nurturing for years had been withering by then, and Max couldn’t help but wonder when he had started watering the plant of the relationship he had with you to the point he didn’t even care about Kelly as much as he used to.

# You rushed inside the hotel, in desperate need of sleep and loneliness. Speeding through the hall, though, you were promptly beckoned by the receptionist, who showed up holding an envelope in his hand. «Miss, this is for you.» he handed it to you. «Who’s sending it?» you asked, rather confused. «Uhm, is it not written onto the envelope?» «No…» you said, checking several times. You hadn’t revealed your hotel address to anyone; who would send you a letter anyway? You really had no real friends outside the F1 circus. Plus, an anonymous sender? He made absolutely no sense to you. Maybe the name was written inside the letter… But why hiding it? Could it come from some freak? Could it be… hate, from someone? Perhaps threats? As your fingers tried to sense the words inked inside the paper, a feeling of repulse caught you. Still, you couldn’t get rid of the envelope. The receptionist awkwardly smiled and left you standing alone right before the lift area.

Shutting the door behind you, you scrutinized the envelope once more, lingering onto the calligraphy: it wasn’t embellished, and it was clear whoever wrote had put effort in making it legible. It seemed shaky. Or was it your hands trembling? An unexplainable nervousness rushed through your veins: for sure, you were curious, but dread filled your mind with doubts. You were too scared to read things you weren’t ready to face, you felt too weak, and reckoned you had read enough for the day, as your eyelids longed for sleep. With hurry, you stuffed the letter inside the suitcase; you would deal with it after landing in Japan, putting current events aside and approaching it with a clearer mind. Stripping your clothes off in tiredness, you kept your oversized Ferrari shirt on and laid on the bed, in hope it would shooed all the bad omens, like a dreamcatcher.

#

It didn’t. You failed to close eye, and you weren’t even surprised. Twisting in the sheets, pulling the cover tighter to your skin, feeling every inch of it caressing your body with its coldness, you spent the night in half-sleep, vigil of unknown dangers and anxieties, thoughts piercing the ceiling with their sharpness. Your fingers tightly gripped the comforter, desperate, because you felt the usual headache coming through the layer of sleepiness. Your eyes fluctuated between an alert state and tiredness pressing the skin down. You checked the phone: 4:57. Awake; you were still awake. It seemed like time passed by painstakingly slow and fast at once. A thud distracted you: did you hear that or was it just a noise you had imagined? First some shuffling, then steady thuds following each other; and suddenly, light. You opened your eyes.

Awake; now you were awake. Had you managed to finally fall asleep for a couple of hours after an entire night? Better later than never. Sun beams cutting through your irises, hands immediately ran to cover them. «Oops, my bad.» Those whispered words stirred your heart with a gentle touch, and the figure shielding you from the unwanted brightness caused you to smile. And then to scream in fear right afterwards. «What are you doing in here!?» Waiting for his answer, you stretched a bit, tiredness marked onto your eyes. «Good morning to you too.» he said laughing. «Well, I think it’s afternoon.» Massaging the forehead, you looked up at him: as a flash, a thought lightened your mind. «The flight.» you sighed, gravity crushing your body towards the mattress. «Yep. I was scared you had left without me, but I’m glad to see I was wrong.» He stepped away, leaving you at the mercy of the sun, causing a few protesting moans. «What time is it?» you asked, rubbing sleepiness off your face. «It is… 1.14.» Max said, looking down at the wristwatch. You jumped into a sitting position. «Did we miss it?!» «It’s not a big deal, y/n. Next one is in one hour and a half, we’re good.» he paused. «But getting out of bed would be a nice start.» Max then added, jokingly. Still, you didn’t even try to move: you knew your arms and legs were against it, and you interpreted the lack of impulse reaching muscles as an unconscious invitation to enjoy the bed’s warmth a little bit more. «Hello? Y/n?» Eyes shut, Max’s voice was a weak call. But soon fingers brushing against your skin and tickling your belly caught you bursting in laughter, your body twitching and nesting into a ball. «No, no, no! Please, Max, stop!» you pleaded, unable to hold laughter. «Need you to stand on your feet, I don’t trust your sleepy ass.» «Okay, okay, I will, but get off of me!» Max silently obliged and laughed as you muttered a “Thank you”. His smile faltered as he followed your hectic movements, fingers tousling your hair, frantically trying to check once again whether your suitcase was good to go and which clothes would be the most comfortable for the six hours of flight. The bright red of your shirt immediately caught Max’s attention: he knew you had watched the race from Ferrari’s garage, and he was annoyingly aware as to why you hadn’t had any other choice. «You slept with that shirt?» Suitcase in your hands, you turned around and saw Max leaning against the wall, arms crossed. «Yes, uhm… I was tired, yesterday.» His unreadable expression awoke a sparkle of awkwardness in you: a tension you should’ve immediately sensed, as it was the first time you two were talking after… The kiss. «Hope you won’t wear it for the flight.» he said, breaking the contact from the wall and getting closer. «Need help with the luggage?» His body towering you didn’t make you at ease. No, better to rephrase it: the comfort you wanted to seek in it was pressing you so deeply you had to stop yourself from refuging in his chest; so you stumbled backwards, dragging the suitcases with you. «No, thanks, I’ve already packed.» you squealed, falling sat onto the bed. «Okay.» Finding his own presence completely unnecessary, Max slowly walked towards the door, throwing a little smile to you. «I’ll wait for you in the hall.» As the lock clicked, you sighed and fell flat onto the comforter. You felt drained already, both by the awkwardness of the conversation and the sleepless night.

You stared outside the window. A flight had never seemed you so long. You’d been having an upset stomach for around fourty minutes and the only thing you were able to do was keeping swallowing, breathing harshly with shut eyelids, praying it would magically go away. Clearly, that didn’t work out. Max had noticed you had gone quiet: he would casually glance at you, one earphone in, scrolling down your phone – maybe watching tiktoks? He had no idea, but you seemed focused, in a way – as he was exchanging a few words either with GP, Christian or his manager Raymond Vermeulen. He knew you were trying to isolate yourself because sitting with such people made you feel an outsider or an unwanted guest, especially after the latest events, but at the same time people from the team had got accustomed to your presence and, since Max liked having you on board, they had never told you off as they did in Singapore. That had been the first time, and Max had made it really clear for it to be the only one.

Getting off the plane, the ground felt like a swamp under your feet, an instable puddle to your waving head. «I’m so hungry!» Max said, getting a laugh from the entire group. «I mean, it’s almost 7 p.m., how about we drop things at the hotel and then we have dinner somewhere fancy?» someone from the team suggested. «I vote that!» Max pointed. «And who’s doing the unpacking?» Raymond asked. «C’mon, mate, you have two more days to do that!» Sergio suddenly jumped into the conversation. The voices cut off as you entered one of the black vans awaiting all of you. You sure felt nauseous, and cramps assaulted your stomach at the same time. Could it be your period? You quickly checked the tracking app on your phone since you didn’t trust your memory but, well, it just confirmed it couldn’t be it. You’d had just a tiny snack throughout the flight… How could it mess you up that much? «Let’s go!» Max said as he got in the van, upbeat, breaking your trail of thought.

#

The door was closed. Is it? You checked it. Yes, it was shut. Turning around, you bumped into the suitcase. You stretched your arms out to prevent its fall, almost losing balance. Throwing a quick glance to the windows, you noticed a huge building across the street, right opposite to the hotel, and you could almost see people filling each apartment as small bees inside a beehive. Could they see you? Was it dangerous to leave the blinds open? It was getting dark regardless, so it was only a good idea to shut them off… Keys. Where did you put them? Onto the bedside table. Okay. Okay? Not really.

WHAT A BITCH

Did you bring with you the medicine from Monaco? Maybe you had something for the-

she’s not worthy tbh

No, you forgot them at home.

Such a loser

The thermometer. The one that would know everything about you. You had forgot it too.

Ngl, she looks stupid

You gagged. Before you could realize it, you found yourself running to the bathroom and kneeling in front of the toilet.

Whore.

Poorly trying to tie your hair, you gripped the toilet seat waiting for the pit in your stomach to bring out all your anxiety.

homewrecker… remember Kelly is better than you’ll ever be

Nothing but spit came out of your mouth.

fr who the fuck is this chick

You tried to rest your head onto the back of your hand; all the comments you had read during the flight had been spiraling and twirling in your mind relentlessly, playing all over again, to the point you couldn’t even- «Y/n?» A knock.

Hope she doesn’t believe max could ever be in love with someone like her

Instead of an answer or, rather, the incoherent and frustrated scream you wanted to let out, your head was drawn back down, as you threw up. «Y/n?» Max didn’t like to abuse having the key to your hotel room as well; you knew and had never complained about it, after all. Standing before the door, not receiving a reply, he reluctantly unlocked it with his pass and slightly opened it, willing to ask for permission first. The gagging noises he heard coming from inside were enough to kill any hesitation. «Hey, are you alright?!» Max moved slow steps at first, not really sure he had heard right. Then he saw you bent over the toilet; and he sprinted over, lowered down and was about to hold your hair for you, but you smooth it out with your fingers as you sensed the wave had passed. «What’s wrong, is it something you ate?» he immediately asked, trying to figure out the problem. «No, don’t think so.» you whispered, eyes closed. A few seconds of shared silence followed. «Is it over?» Max asked with a low tone, rubbing your back a little. You carefully nodded. «Let’s get cleaned up, then.» He tried to guide your movements, opened the tap for you, kept a hand lingering on your side just to feel you near, since your expression was so distant and emotionless. He wanted to do something for you, but you were acting as he wasn’t there, as you weren’t there. «I came to ask if you wanted to join us for dinner.» he bitterly smiled, still facing the mirror. «I’m sorry, Max… It seems like I can’t get over being ill.» you said, dropping eyes to the sink. «It’s okay, it’s not your fault. It just… sucks.» Hands resting onto your arms, Max unconsciously rubbed your skin with his thumb. He wanted to spend time with you. And you could never be present. «I know.» you whispered. And he couldn’t always stay by your side because of his schedule. Max felt you slipping away from his grasp and turned his head to watch you sit down onto your bed, scooting towards the head board, crunching your legs a little. «I can save you some food for later? We can eat it together once I get back-» «Thanks, Max, but I think I’m going to rest a little.» No. «Uhm, okay then.» Max ran out of words. He got out, slowly shut the door behind him. No. The sheer distance separating you was a wrong to the moments you had shared and lived. Max couldn’t bear it: there was no way you both could go over the intimacy, over kissing each other, without addressing the elephant in the room. No words, no thoughts, no discussion, no feelings. He needed to talk it all out in order to clear his mind, understand things with you, and do it together, see you unveiling your piece of heart, guiding him through an unexpected path. Instead, nothing.

Tuesday was a lazy day. You had woken up over the sheets, like Max had left you. Still confused, you grabbed your phone, abandoned on the covers since the night before.

Max, two hours prior. You sighed, your arm falling back onto the pillow, next to your face. He’d sent you a picture of an empty seat in front of him, probably coming from the newly built hospitality. Still caught staring at the photo, you were taken aback as the screen turned darker and the phone started ringing in your hand. Charles was… facetiming you? «Hello?» you said, immediately embarrassed about your voice coming out hoarse. «Y/n! Hi!» he chirped. «Are you… are you still in bed?» «Uhm, yeah…» you cleared your throat, trying to get into a sitting position. «I think I’m still ill. Don’t feel good.» «Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.» Charles’ brows followed his words. «Do you still have a cold?» «No, I feel sick. Not much of an appetite.» you sadly smiled. «I… I see.» You saw the Monegasque briefly disappearing from the screen, as some indistinct chatter filled your room. Before you could make out a “Let me say hi to her!” in the background, Carlos bright face was already greeting you on the screen. «Hola, y/n!» «Hello, Carlos.» you chuckled. «What happened to the royal couple?» «Uh?» your eyelashes batted in confusion. «You and Max. I saw him down the paddock, all alone… Did something happen between you two?» «Carlos, she’s ill.» Charles argued, laughing at the blunt curiosity of his teammate. «Is it true?» the Spaniard surprised eyes piercing the screen. You simply nodded. «Hope it isn’t a crappy excuse to stay away from him.» «And away from us.» Charles jumped in. «I’m still waiting for the hot chocolate I won last time.» «Guys…» you passed a hand onto your face, deeply inhaling. «I’ll do everything to get better as soon as possible, ‘cause I don’t like being ill myself. It isn’t because I want to avoid people, you know.» «Of course we know, y/n, we were just messing with you.» Charles quickly said with a quieter tone, willing to reassure you. «So… the royal couple is doing good?» Carlos tried once again. «Why do you keep calling us like that?» you asked, exasperated but amused at the same time by his silliness. «Because you’re the most famous couple out there at the moment, paparazzi seem to love you together as much as you love each other.» «Carlos, I think that’s enough damage for today.» Charles gently pushed him out of the way, still laughing. «Sorry, y/n, I’ll text you later!» «Thanks for calling!» you said, your voice cracking. He simply smiled as he lowered the phone, muttered a small “Bye” and closed the call. You were left with sudden emptiness. The thought of Max still lingered around your mind, danced intertwined with a bittersweet taste.

Sluggish, you had decided to get advantage of the restaurant service offered by the hotel for lunch, since it was too late to have breakfast anyway; you had told yourself you had to put a bit of effort, trying to fight the nausea and having a meal after long hours of nothing. As you searched in advance for some handkerchiefs into the unpacked suitcase, an envelope resurfaced from the bottom: it was the letter you had been given back in Singapore. The one you were so scared to open. Carlos’ words about journalists still writing articles about you and publishing old pictures nobody had been interested in so far made you even more nervous than you already were. Maybe more stressed out about it than the necessary. However, the lack of sender stopped you from tearing the paper off and read the content. Who would do that? You checked the clock: it was way too early for lunch. Sitting down the edge of the bed, you turned around the envelope, then opened it with a sharp, determined gesture. You were quite shocked to see it was handwritten; more so, after you started making sense of the first words.

Dear Y/n, I don’t know if you’ll ever receive this letter, but in case you do, don’t answer back: this is the reason why there’s no sender - and of course, so that you wouldn’t throw the letter in the trash can. Please don’t reply, as I don’t want your mother to know I’m writing to you. She’s ill, she’s been dealing with burnout for a while and had to quit her job because of it. She had never told you, but this is why we had to sell the house, since my pay wasn’t enough for the two of us and, clearly, we couldn’t afford having a daughter. When you heard us saying you were a mistake, we meant it was a mistake having given birth to someone we couldn’t take care of. You deserved more and I think leaving you was the right choice, since you’ve found people who manage to do a better job at maintaining you than your mother and I ever could. Never thought I’d see you on the news, though… By the way, this is how I discovered your hotel address; may it be right. Just try to stay out of troubles, okay? I don’t know if you’re still working and are economically independent, but I hope so, because relying too much on wealthy people makes you vulnerable. You aren’t trying to get into this guy’s entourage just for money, are you? Since you left, your mother has been getting better. We’ve also done a small trip to Italy to help her relax and recover as well. She may be able to get back to work soon. You see, I think parting ways was the best decision for all of us. We’re all benefiting from staying away from each other and, ultimately, I believe things should stay as they are. Good luck,

Your father

Breathless, your eyes traced the last two words over and over again, almost consuming the paper with the staring. Your lungs burned in need of oxygen; gasping, tears gently made their appearance, willing to cross your cheeks and wet the letter. Your heart sunk deep into the chest, torn between contrasting emotions, unsure whether to swell in fury or shrink in sadness. The hand which held the letter lost strength and rested on your lap, uncapable of sustaining the weight of disappointment, rage, inner turmoil and desperation. A part of you was stuck wondering what could have possibly provoked your mother’s burnout, but the louder voice you heard screaming and screeching inside didn’t make sense of your father’s words. The best decision for all? Was it what they both thought? Were they really that much better off without you? To the point your mother had improved her health? To the point he was bold enough to say it was a win-win situation, something everybody was gaining benefit from? The unnecessary hint about your unclear intentions with Max had your nausea to peek through: how could he think so lowly of you, how could he even feel good suggesting you how to lead your life after he had deliberately decided to have nothing to do with it? The mere fact he had wrote a ridiculous letter got you standing up and pacing in frustration inside the room, sobbing, hands tugging your hair. It didn’t make sense. They had said they wanted to fully disappear from your life, without leaving a trace; such an unwelcomed, unfortunate and senseless act confused you and put you through a pain even bigger than the one you were already experiencing because of the entire situation. The abandonment was suddenly covered by a coat of insincere fraud you’d never be able to scratch away. Halting the hurry, your legs crumbled and you sat down the bed, once again. At the thought of having lunch as you had intended to do, your stomach clenched tight, shut, refusing to oblige. Tears would’ve only made your meal salty and bitter.

#

«And… Stop! Good job, Max, we’re done!» Thank God, he immediately thought, releasing the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. The umpteenth content of the week had been recorded and was ready to be thrown to the lions’ crowd, so that they could chew on it until next race, endlessly ruminating and always hungry for more. How hateful. To be honest, he didn’t know how he had been able to cope with it for so many years; for sure, the activities weren’t as demanding back at the time, nor he was a soon-to-be two-times World Champion. The number of activities had been piling up and increasing so sharply that not even being devoted to winning could completely eclipse it. Well, not really something he was able to fix anyway. The contract spoke clear. «I need a drink.» Max said getting up, earning a laughter from the crew. «I’m serious.» he insisted, searching for someone’s eyes to get his point across. His manager scratched the back of his own neck, aware there wasn’t a chance to get away without confronting with Max’s request. «Tomorrow we have the press conference… I don’t want you to be shit-faced, clear?» «Who’s getting shit-faced?» Pierre’s thick accent was immediately followed his amused tone, tailgated by Yuki and his laugh. «Do you guys want to have a drink?» Max caught the opportunity to have the Alpha Tauri drivers on board so that it would be harder to stop three people from loosen up a bit, after a day wholly dedicated to PR events and activities. «Oh, good idea! Yuki can drive us around, right?» Pierre accepted with enthusiasm. With a smug smirk blooming onto the lips, Max turned again toward his manager. «Checkmate.» «Remember about tomorrow’s schedule…» Raymond sighed, helpless. «Like I could ever forget!» Max sneered.

The three of them had crossed Suzuka’s evening lights under the clouded streets and had reached a karaoke building with room service as well. Before they knew it, they had ordered and ate a decent amount of sushi and filled the small room with awful singing, at least from Pierre and Yuki’s side. Of course, Max had categorically refused to join, despite the protests from the two teammates. Dim lights, fingers wrapped around the drink, legs manspreaded onto the small couch, Max felt his mind slipping away and travelling to distant memories. Closing his eyes, your features appeared before him, softly dancing in the clouds of his mind, getting closer with a vaporous grace. Your scent, the heat of your palpitating skin, the blinding sweetness of your smile intoxicated him as he took another sip of his drink, willing to keep hallucinating such a fantasized presence. As some sort of summoning, a spell, he felt skin touching his lap; looking over, a hand was resting on it, feather-like. It was you, he was convinced; he longed for that contact, he cherished that string connecting the both of you in such hectic days. The warmth of the fingers seemingly rubbing over his lap felt like cradling; Max swallowed hard and tilted his head back, taking in that piece of heaven alcohol was offering him. Feeding the forbidden, the sudden touch provoked and unraveled inappropriate and unrealistic hopes: as a tantalizing movie was beginning to play in his mind, Max almost gasped when it got interrupted by a voice. «Bro, he’s gone!» Laughter pulled Max’s head into its natural position, bringing him back to reality after getting lost in the dream of you. He quickly realized Pierre was sitting way too close to him… and that the hand moving onto his leg was the Frenchman trying to awake him from the trance. «You okay, mate?» It was no soulmate connection. «Y-yeah, just tired.» Pierre raised a knowing brow, reading into Max’s dilatated pupils and slightly reddened cheeks a reaction which spoke for itself. «I think it’s time to go back to the hotel.» Yuki said, checking the time onto his phone. «Yeah, we already had fun.» Pierre replied, keeping eye contact with Max as he got up the leather couch. Thinking he would’ve spent even a more amazing night if only you wouldn’t have been locked in your room because of sickness, Max downed at once what was left of the drink. He checked once again his phone, searching for a reply to the text he had sent you amid the photoshoot.

For a split second, the impulse of running to you and finally satiate his wants crossed his mind, but Yuki and Pierre’s silhouettes exiting the karaoke room urged him to do the same without an afterthought.

# The comforter was full of crumbs. Laid down, you had spent the day staring at the ceiling, at the walls, at the long curtain draping the room. You’d had no energy to do much else. After a while, finally feeling a bit hungry, you had eaten some crackers painstakingly slow, not totally sure whether your body would accept them. Surprisingly, it did; and you had fallen asleep with the plastic wrapper still in your hand, until you woke up as the sun was radiating the last beams. Bored and tired, you took your phone from the nightstand. Surprised to see a text from Charles, you quickly opened the chat.

You sadly smiled to yourself.

You froze. The dried tears on your skin awoke and called for new, fresh, hot ones to run again down your face. You had seen them arguing, but Charles had reassured you, saying it was part of being a couple. You had bought into his words and the dream love you had believed to be true broke like shattered crystal, in pieces.

You smiled through watery eyes. In a matter of seconds, Charles had been able to flip you open as a book, read your uneasiness with the media situation and cure it with vulnerability, trust, support. All things your father and your mother hadn’t managed to do in years. You hid your face before your wrists, weeping and sobbing like a kid, amazed by the amount of love you’ve been receiving after leaving what you had always called “family”.

You didn’t even wait for him to text back; you simply let it fall on the bed, as your body did, and got close to the pillow, crushing it with the weight of disappointment in your parents, inadequacy for friendships you didn’t feel like deserving and the desire of a simple, undercover relationship with the person you missed the most as you laid down the bed, cold and lonely.

«And keep looking out the window… Perfect!» Max gazed at the dark clouds covering the city, while considering the weather conditions he would find during the weekend. It wasn’t going to be an easy race. «Okay, Max, now we have to head back to the hotel.» Raymond said, looking down his phone, checking the planner. Max, still staring out the window, furrowed his brows with a couple of seconds of delay. «Didn’t you tell me we had another PR activity right after?» he asked, doubting his own memory. Raymond hesitated a bit. «Yes, Max, we do have a PR thing in there.» «Thing? Is it that bad you don’t even want to tell me?» Max joked, taking off the jacket he had worn for the photo shoot. «No, it shouldn’t be anything too odd.» the manager replied, eyes still down to the screen. «So? What is it?» the driver insisted. «You’ll see when we get there.» Raymond forced a smile.

Max was clueless. He kept throwing glances at his manager, who stood tensed alongside him, and wondered what on earth could make him so nervous at the mere thought. Reaching the landing, Max saw some Red Bull stuff talking and joking in front of the door of one of team’s rooms, bringing in lighting and cameras. Max was clueless, utterly clueless, as he crossed the threshold, seeing Kelly chatting with people from the communication management. He abruptly stopped, clearly expecting anything but her. At the point, Kelly noticed his presence, turned around and politely put on a practiced smile, approaching him. Beyond confused, Max searched for his manager’s eyes. «Raymond, what is this?» The man couldn’t help but stutter, prompting Alice Hedworth to give some explanation. «Kelly contacted us and told she was sorry for the problems her Instagram story involuntarily caused and kindly offered to help putting an end to the… controversy of the breakup creating some “redeeming” content, so to speak.» Alice answered. «I had already booked the tickets for Suzuka, so I thought it would’ve been a good idea to get the most out of them and mend a difficult media situation for all of you, and especially for y/n.» Kelly jumped in. «By the way, I hope she hasn’t taken the comments too bad.» she went on, addressing Max with those words and presenting them with a pained expression. The entire room going silent, everyone waited his reaction filled with tension and anticipation, hanging off his lips. «Okay. What do I have to do?» he said, indifferent. «Uhm, first let’s get you changed, Max…» Raymond exchanged a surprised look with Alice, both surprised by the lack of protests or rebuke, after witnessing his reaction only a week earlier to your “ban” from the paddock.

#

Exiting the lift back from lunch, you had been taken aback to see such a movement and noise coming from the floor plan; specifically, you noticed a door being flung open by someone from the Red Bull team, entering the room next to it in search of some equipment and immediately turning back inside. Moved by curiosity, you slowly made your way to the doorstep and peeked in. You stood still. Turned your back to the door, got closer to the stairway. You moved in slow, syncopated steps, then picking up the pace a bit, you sped down the stairs, reached the floor below and even made it to the other lower landing, but then fell crouched, gripping the handrail with all your might, twirling down. You hid the silent screams with the palm of your hand, uncapable of holding your tears back. Everything, you had withstood anything: being separated by Max, not being able to spend time with him as you laid sick onto your bed, reading any type of torturing comment about you, cursing a letter you would’ve preferred not to be sent and playing miserable reruns of how your family wrecked and ripped. You had tolerated it all. All, but seeing Kelly nestling against Max and hugging him after they had broken up.

#

«Which one do you prefer? In this one your smile shows up a bit more, right?» «Uhm, they seem all alike.» «Please, help me choose one!» «Post the one you like the most, I don’t care.» Kelly raised her head to follow Max’s movements across the room with an annoyed expression. «You should care about this post, Max.» «That’s right. I care about the things you promised you would write in that post, not about the picture.» he pointed out, as he sat onto a small armchair. Kelly sighed and for a couple of minutes the only sound they both could hear was the typing onto the phone. «Done. Are you happy now?» she said, sitting on the bed, facing him. «You should be the one who’s happy, since you nicely created this PR stunt.» «This isn’t a stunt, Max, I really feel sorry for all the damage my story did.» «Well, then cheer! You saved us, congratulations.» he spitted out with sarcasm. «Max, can you please stop being so passive-aggressive?» Kelly snapped likewise. «Sorry.» Max whispered, clearing his throat, looking away. «These… these social media activities are killing me, I can’t put up with them anymore.» «I see.» They stayed silence for while, both lost in thought. «It’s strange I haven’t seen y/n yet, she’s always around you. Where did you hide her?» Kelly laughed. «She’s been sick the last couple days and I’ve been dragged around for media content like a plastic bag. Haven’t seen her since we landed.» Max’s tone didn’t leave space for replies: at a loss of words, Kelly found herself uncapable of being ironic any further about you, noticing how serious, drained and frustrated the situation made him. «I’m sorry, I didn’t know.» she replied, put together. «And like, really, I decided to come here to better the whole thing. I didn’t mean to cause drama in the first place.» «That’s too late, Kelly.» Max said, sinking deep back onto the armchair. «Hope she didn’t dig too much into the comments and everything they wrote…» Kelly sighed, looking out of the window, a hand brushing her arm. Suddenly struck by the meaning of those words, breached for the first time by the world surrounding him, Max set his eyes down on her profile. He hadn’t worried about it, so far. He hadn’t had time to waste on reading other people’s useless and unrequested opinions; he knew the media way too well, he had no need to assess the type of bullshit people would put out. He was used to brushing it off, just get over them easily; however, the thought you could not be as strong, not used to it, not accustomed to such an insisting exposure, didn’t even cross his mind once. And so it was only natural it would storm with force and rain down on him like a cold shower, looming over him all at the same time. Your unreadable face on the plane, your thumb casually scrolling hate; your silence. Max enriched the picture with new dark tones he had just discovered, not really sure to like them. He followed Kelly’s eyes, scrutinizing the foggy sky, in search of inner peace.

#

You stumbled as you kept walking downstairs, hand raised to hide your mouth and hold your tears. You couldn’t believe it. He had chosen her. After everything that happened between the two of them, between the two of you, he still chose her. How could you blame him? How could you blame her? But it wasn’t them choosing one another, was it? Maybe it was… you being rejected again? You halted your escape once again, unable to run away as you had intended. That couldn’t be the end of it all. No, that couldn’t be. You panicked at the thought: where would you go? Whose life would you ruin next? Which new guilt would you have to bear? In a sudden and scattered motion, you sprinted towards the hall, exiting the hotel in search of air, sighing and sobbing uncontrollably. Your ears rang, they rang, you were dizzy; the sound of pain stunned you, your cries were deaf hits echoing through the empty case of an indifferent world. A new ring added on top of it: your phone, a faded notification penetrating your bubble of sadness.

You cried harder. Hand sweeping tears away from your cheeks, you try to type a reply.

You could see them. You could see all the pictures taken while you entered the paddock, walking miserably, unable to stand and get your shit together, entering Ferrari’s hospitality. Despite being upset by what you had just witnessed, you were able to tell it wasn’t a good idea.

Charles didn’t think much of it. He simply imagined you wanted him to pick you up and walk together back to the paddock; after all, it was your first time in Suzuka, so maybe you were scared to get lost. But then he saw you standing a ten of meters away from the hotel entrance, and he sensed right away something was off. He heard a loud sob, making you crunch forward, as you started walking towards him. Every step you took closer to him, Charles’ heart sank deeper and deeper into his chest. He immediately met your wandering hands, trying to soothe their frantic despair, and gripped them tight as your face pointed to the ground, unconsciously drawing your entire weight towards the same direction. He called your name, either to express his regret, encourage you or ask what was wrong, but you didn’t even pay attention to him; you seemed deaf to any call. Charles, painfully reminded of the last time he had pick you up in a similar condition, gently guided you towards the pavement, heading to the nearby hotel the entire Ferrari stuff stayed at.

As soon as the door was unlocked, you blindly dived into the room, letting the flow of tears provoke sighs, without restraints, hands covering your eyes in shame. Charles stood speechless, tracing with his eyes the outline of your back, which was facing him. «Y/n…» he murmured. Seeing how you failed to acknowledge him, he moved a step forward and got closer. «Y/n, come on.» Charles said again, softly touching your shoulder with his fingertips. You turned and he pulled you into a hug, trying not to squeeze you too much. «Is it because you still feel sick?» he asked. You whined in denial, uncapable of articulating a proper answer. «Then it’s Max.» he concluded, more speaking to himself than making a question. Charles pulled you out of the embrace, hands firm onto your shoulders; he wanted to catch some sort of reaction from you, with little result. «Is it… Did you talk about the kiss and he said something bad? You know he can be a bit awkward, you don’t need to stress over it…» «He still loves Kelly.» you said through the tears. «He still loves her.» Voice broken from crying, you covered your face with both hands. «Why do you think that?» he asked, in disbelief. «I saw them, Charles…» you swiped your cheek with the back of the hand. «I saw them hugging, they were smiling… They seemed so happy to be together.» Charles frowned in sorrow hearing your voice crack. «A-after… after all the things that happened, after all the cruelty people have thrown at me… The way Kelly treated me last time we saw and Max not even talking to me…» And the letter. «I… I’ve been in so much pain.» Not louder than a whisper, your words pushed Charles’ fingers to gently lift upwards your afflicted face. «Y/n, look at me, please.» he demanded with a soft resolution. Still sobbing, you obliged and saw him sadly smile. «I knew it wasn’t easy for you.» he whispered, drying a tear with his thumb. «And I know that in this moment is difficult to think clearly, but what if things aren’t as you imagine them to be? You don’t know what the hug was for. Maybe they have decided to stay friends, considering the situation with Kelly’s daughter…» You snorted, interrupting his talk. «Who decide to stay friends with their exes and then starts to hang out with them right after a breakup?» you asked, sarcastic. «Charlotte and I do.» You stared at him, deadpanned, pained once again by his brutal confession. «Y/n, I know it’s hard to believe, especially since you and Max haven’t talked about it, but I’m one hundred percent sure he likes you over Kelly, and I’m not the only one thinking this.» You didn’t reply, but tried to nod, skin still stained with crying. «If you feel bad about it, if you want things to be clear between the two of you, go tell him. Ask him about Kelly, tell him you liked or hated the kiss, be jealous or choose to be understanding, but please have a conversation with him. Either as friends or as a couple, you need to communicate. He should’ve heard the things you told me now and seen you cry.» You pressed your lips together trying to stop yourself from weeping loudly: his words made you feel stupid, coward. What if Charles had never sent you a text? What would you have done? You suddenly realized how deeply you needed to be open and honest with Max, to be close and vulnerable, so that he could heal you as he always did. «Talk to him.» Charles added, resolute. «Please, promise you will talk to him.» You sniffed, slowly smiling at his insistence. «Say something!» he then laughed, finally relieved to see a sparkle of light on your face. «I don’t deserve a friend like you.» you said with unstable voice, hugging him. Charles couldn’t stop a smile. «You’re a good friend as well, y/n.» he replied. «Especially when you offer me one of your divine drinks.» You broke the hug, with a confused expression. «You are really striving for that hot chocolate, aren’t you?» «Of course I am. That’s the only think I’ve been caring about since we made the bet.» Your laughter echoed inside the room.

You felt lucky and blessed by such a precious friendship; but your mind kept comparing Charles’ embrace and reassuring manners with the heavenlike, cradling and calming effect Max had on you and that you terribly missed.

«And so you were able to find a solution?» Daniel asked. «Yes, I mean, we hope it will work.» Max said, putting his phone back in his pocket. «Does y/n know?» «No, I’ve just texted her so that we can talk.» Daniel nodded, full of thoughts. «Right… I assume the mission you entrusted me with last Sunday miserably failed.» Max, who had almost completely forgotten about his unexplained request, looked at Daniel with eyes wide open. «Fuck, I forgot to warn you.» «No worries, I saw you walking away. But… Will she be at the garage this week?» «They told me to wait because they need to check whether the post is calming waters, but I wanted to talk to her as soon as possible.» «Haven’t you done it yet?» the Aussie asked. «Nope, busy with social content all the fucking week.» «Did you meet at all?» Daniel raised his brows, bewildered. «No, this is why I’m waiting for her to reply.» And your timing proved itself perfect, as a notification sound followed his words.

Before Max could react and type a reply, his screen went dark and showed the name of his manager. «What’s up? No, no plans after free practice. What do you mean? Another one?! Didn’t we meet them already? Fuck’s sake… Okay. Right. Bye.» Daniel raised his brows again, implicitly asking Max to explain the situation. «I have to attend a dinner with a sponsor out of town.» he brushed his eyes with his hands. «Fuck.» he exhaled.

«Of course!» Max murmured full of frustration, as he read your text.

#

Charles dried with a towel his sweating forehead. He was frustrated. Watching over his side, he saw the reason: Max had snatched the pole position away from him for one tenth, and he was now taking off his helmet next to him. Let down for the incredibly small gap separating him from the best result, he couldn’t take his eyes off the Red Bull driver. There was a rush, a concern in his demeanor, something that Charles read between the lines of his body language. He chose to get closer to him and congratulate him with a handshake and a wink, before trying to initiate the conversation with the words on the tip of the tongue. Taken aback, though, Charles listened to Max addressing him right as he approached him. «Had fun with y/n? this morning» the Dutch asked, collecting his gloves in a hurry. «Uh?» «She told me you two had a bet.» Max went on, removing his earphones. «Oh, yeah. Well, the bet was between me and Carlos, but y/n was involved, and she was responsible for my prize.» At those words, Max’s piercing irises fixed upon Charles, with a cold, emotionless stare. He clearly didn’t appreciate your name and a prize mentioned in the same sentence – at least, in someone else’s mouth. You were the best prize life could’ve ever offer him and wasn’t willing to share. After a few seconds of awkward silence, they both started walking down the pitlane. «Anyway, did you talk to her by any chance?» the Monegasque asked, almost chasing Max who was proceeding briskly. «Why are you asking?» Charles wetted his lips, unsure about how to put it right, before speaking up. «I… I really think you guys should talk.» Max stopped in his track and consequently forced Charles to do the same. «And what should we talk about, exactly?» the Red Bull driver asked, half amused and half shocked. «I don’t know… but I’m sure y/n does.» he confidently said, nodding to himself. «Uhm, okay…?» In visible confusion, Max was about to dig deeper into the piece of advice, but they both got called out by some journalists, willing to immortalize the moment with thousands of pictures.

#

Loitered by interviews, Max tiredly walked up in front of your hotel room, finding it already unlocked: you had agreed on meeting after qualifying and, since there wasn’t a way to predict when that would be, you had promised to leave the door open. As he pushed the it to get in, he was about to greet you calling your name, before he saw you curled up onto the mattress, eyes shut. Max closed the gap with stealthy steps and stared at you, peaceful drifted away. Almost unconsciously, he removed a strand of hair away from your forehead, with a feather-like motion, in order not to wake you up. After hectic days and lack of communication, Max smiled at the thought of silence being the cure: he only needed to have you in sight in order to feel calm, relieved, secure. He laid down next to you onto the bed and carefully engulfed you in a cuddling embrace, enjoying your undisturbed, slow and steady breaths. Max scrolled his phone for a bit, softly rubbing your skin with a thumb; then, suddenly, he felt your body turning onto his, your head now resting over his chest and trapping him down the mattress, with you. Struck by the innocent sweetness of the gesture, his heart smiled of unexpected joy and so did his lips, which left a kiss on your head. And under invitation of the descending sun and the relaxation of the moment, Max fell asleep, hugging you close.

Awakening was slow. You struggled to keep your eyes open, too tangled up into sleeps’ spirals, willing to spend some more minutes in delight. Then a thought hit you. You had to meet Max. As an involuntary reflex, you searched for your phone: Sunday, 9:46 AM. 2 unread messages from him.

Walking towards the door, you stepped onto a piece of paper, producing a shuffling noise: it was your father’s letter. You stood still, then quickly picked it up and stuffed it down inside your pocket.

Deep in thought, you strolled towards the paddock with a lump in your throat: you weren't sure what Max had in store to tell you, but you knew you would probably have to say something as well. As Charles' insisted plead repeatedly played in your head, you wondered what you needed to address first: the kiss you both, deliberately or not, decided to ignore and bury under the rug? The brutality of the comments you had received because of the rumors and how deeply it had affected you, to the point you got sick? Or was it better to denounce the re-found trust and love between him and Kelly, which you had witnessed, asking for an explanation? And what about his silence in the past couple days? You had been silent as well, but what if it was his way to subside the kiss? Did it mean nothing to him? Did you mean nothing to him? A shaken breath, you kept walking. Entering the paddock, you expected some paparazzi to follow you as they had done only a week earlier, but nobody was there to chase you: the focus seemed to be shifted upon the race, for once.

Max's face lit up as he saw you coming towards the hospitality, hands inside your jacket's pockets. Without hesitation, he came towards you and welcomed you with a hug, oblivious to any unwanted attention by journalists and team stuff passing nearby; he had missed having you around way too much to care. You snuggled up into the embrace, finding a crumb of relief from your worries within his safe arms. «Let’s go inside.»

He guided you towards his room at the hospitality, so that you could have some privacy while everybody moved feverishly. It was a small, minimalistic space, barely characterized; the humidity of Suzuka forced you to take off your jacket, as you looked around. You didn't have much to fixate your stare upon, so you quickly made eye contact with Max, who was waiting for you to acknowledge him with a vague smile. You tried to match him, but you couldn’t hide the bit of shyness you felt. «What did you want to tell me?» you went straight to the point. «You don’t even ask me to delete the pictures I took of you?» Max teased. You simply rolled your eyes, now your smile being on full display. «No, because I’m curious to listen to what you have to say. I mean, it seemed pretty important.» «Right.» he said. «It is important. But it might be something that you already know…» Your raised brows invited him to finally explain. «I met Kelly, on Thursday.» Time stopped, after these words. Your heart screamed, absolutely reluctant to hear the rest: the beginning preluded to a devastating finale, and your feelings wouldn’t tolerate it. Still, you didn’t interrupt, you didn’t move. You didn’t even blink. «She came here to mend the hate towards the both of us that she involuntarily fueled with her instagram story. So we took some pictures in which we look perfectly at ease and then she posted them, writing that she didn’t mean to shade us and that she dissociate from all the hate.» You almost gaped at him, the tables suddenly turning: as he showed you the pictures, a wave of relief erased part of the worries and pain you had felt, which had proved to be unjustified. «And how could this work?» you asked after staring at the phone for a while. «It’s working because she completely denied the narrative of me being a cheater and now people are starting to feel bad about the two of us being accused and assailed by media.» «A bit too late…» you whispered, diverting gaze. «Better late than never, though.» Max got closer to you and took you by surprise as his hands touched your upper arms. «I should’ve helped you coping with all the comments and the media attention. I didn’t realize it would be overwhelming for you. I’m sorry.» Eyes closed, you shook your head lightly. «It’s not your fault.» «And it certainly isn’t yours, y/n.» Without thinking too much, you got closer and rested your cheek against his chest. Max took the opportunity to wrap your sides, cradling with matching breaths and heartbeats, enjoying the little bubble of re-found proximity.

All the words you had planned to say disappeared in a second: despite not having answered some of the questions crossing your mind, nuzzled against him you felt no need to be told much else. No overthinking could ruin the moment. Caught up in your own world, you both didn’t pay attention to the background laughter and chatter of the hospitality, let alone of steps approaching the room. «Max, we have the- Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt!» The communication manager, Alice, entered the room and backed off right away, tittering. Red cheeks giving away your embarrassment, you looked up to Max, who boldly challenged her with his stare. «Oh, here you are! I wanted to talk to you. Y/n can watch the race from the garage, right?» «Uhm, I didn’t… I haven’t thought about it.» Alice answered. «But the post with Kelly is doing great. We’re fine now.» Max insisted. «I didn’t come here to discuss this.» she sighed. «And I would go for a more cautious approach, but I guess the real core of the rumors is centered around the cost cap, not on the two of you…» «Awesome. I’m coming to the meeting, give me two seconds.» Max said, smiling to her and then over to you. As Alice got away from the doorstep, the atmosphere became more intimate once again. «See you later, then.» you said, a bit dazed. «You can come to the garage a bit earlier, to catch up, you know.» he hesitantly murmured. «Of course!» you squeaked. Both grinning at each other like two idiots, you decided to flee away before the situation would get too awkward; and in doing so, totally lost in hustle, you forgot your jacket in Max’s room. He was too caught up in his thoughts too, and he only noticed it once he came back from the meeting Alice had reminded him of, just before having some lunch together with Daniel. As soon as his eyes fell upon the jacket, he silently laughed to himself, taking a picture of it and sending you a text.

Amused, he picked the jacket up from the bed, in order to place it on his chair instead, but while doing so a piece of paper fell to the ground. Max, naturally curious, took it in his hands, turning it around and scrutinizing it: opening the folders a couple of times, he realized it was a letter. Tempted, he swallowed hard, partly confused by the address, partly aroused by the will to know more. He tried to shrug it off, heading over the exit of the hospitality and walking with the paper hid in his pocket.

«What if… it’s from a secret admirer?» Max rolled his eyes, annoyed by Daniel’s inquiries. «What? Don’t you think she could have one?» «I don’t think this is the case, I’d expect some cheesy stuff like “to my muse” or shit like that.» Max said. «Isn’t there some “your admirer”? A name? Some clues?» Daniel prompted. «Nope, there’s only her address. Hope it’s not some creep or… threats.» At the thought, Max froze. You would tell him if it was something that serious, right? «There’s only one way to know.» «No, Dan, I’m not reading it. I don’t want to invade her privacy-» Daniel immediately took the letter and unfolded it, then put it before Max’s eyes. «You’re welcome.» Max couldn’t help but read, and was left thrown off right away by the weirdly affectionate “Dear y/n” – who would call you like that? – only to open his eyes wide rapidly going through the following lines; he then jumped to the bottom of the page, in need of confirmation, and marked the signature in his retina. Your father. «Is it a love declaration?» Max pictured you reading the letter, feeling disappointed, distraught: why did he decide to reach out to say that type of things? «… Is there anything worse than a love declaration?» His heart dropped: you had kept the pain of those words to yourself for at least a week. Why didn’t you talk to him about it? Why didn’t you confide to him? «Max… Hello?» Daniel shook his hand in front of his face. And then he remembered how unavailable he had been due to all the social media activities and events he had attended throughout the week, and of course, you being sick. «You really don’t blink.» Dan said, almost in admiration. Did you tell it to anybody? Maybe… to Charles? «Yes, 911? My friend isn’t blinking. I need help.» Was it the reason the Monegasque had been weird after qualifying and asked him to talk to you? Did he know? Did you trust Charles more than him? «Hand me the paper at least, so that I can share the PTSD with you.» Or maybe you had simply chosen to keep it silent, pretending the letter had never been sent. But if so, why didn’t you throw it away? «I have to go.» Max left without sparing a glance to Daniel, who simply followed with his eyes, in shock, the silhouette leaving him alone.

#

You walked towards the paddock as rain started to rain quite hard. Knowing the racetrack would be soaked didn’t put you at ease: Max could bring the championship home, but he needed a clean race – which didn’t seem likely, under your small umbrella. The pitlane already brimmed of life: with small and quick steps you moved through the journalists and engineers to reach the Red Bull garage. As soon as you approached the back of the box, utterly lost and disoriented, Max appeared out of nowhere and pulled you inside his preparation room in a blink. His fire suit down to the waist, he seemed to be already sweating despite the race not having begun yet. Max secured his hands onto the side of your arms, trying to keep you close, hoping you wouldn’t avoid the topic he wanted to tackle. «So… how’s the hostage doing?» you broke the ice, jokingly. Max lowered his gaze, turned his head to a little armchair and quickly grabbed the jacket which was over it. But before handing it to you, he slowly took the letter out of its pocket, staring deep into your eyes. His pained expression told you more than he could explain. You weren’t even mad at him reading it; sadness hovered over you, and it was your time to lower gaze. The mechanics working on the car only a couple of meters away was the perfect background for the two of you silently exchanging pain, closing eyes, searching for each other’s hands with unconsciously mirrored movements and merging in a hug, as you always did, putting boundaries aside and caring about nothing else but one another. After a piece of eternity, you ended up forehead against forehead, a bridge for your thoughts. Eyes still shut, Max was the first one to talk. «I don’t care about what he says, and neither should you.» he said, above a whisper. «I’ll be your family, y/n. You can lean on me, and I promise I’ll keep you safe and loved.» A lonely tear fell down your cheek. «You’ve been my only family since the beginning, Max.» His thumb immediately ran to swipe the liquid sadness away from your skin, bringing your faces closer and closer. «And I’ll still be. I’m not leaving you.» Your hearts, your eyes, your bodies, your breaths became one, as Max spoke once again. «I love you.» Your lips met, soft: it wasn’t a rushed kiss, but a chaste one, the lingering seal of his promise. Almost waking up from a deep sleep, you batted your eyelashes multiple times, trying to see clearer into the blue of his irises. In his arms, you magically realized blood couldn’t tie you tighter to anyone more than love could. Everything, anything you’d ever needed and craved stood before you. Words were missing to your racing thoughts; you desperately tried to reply, to put into a coherent sentence the mix of affection and emotion pouring in your heart, but didn’t manage. Instead, someone knocked onto the door of the room, calling for Max. The bubble plopped away, and the pressure, the expectations, the thrill for the race weighed down on you. Before Max could lower the knob, both your hands gripping his wrist and halting him, you shyly left a peck on his lips. «Good luck, Max.» you whispered. He grinned, fueled by a newly experienced happiness, and he carried you out of the room with him, holding hands, ready to face anything.

The rain falling incessant over the track echoed in your ears like a buzz. The delay in the start procedure only made you more nervous that you would already have been, bringing you almost to biting your nails. You tried not to directly look at Max, hoping he wouldn’t get affected by your stressed-out appearance; you only watched him from the monitors hung up the wall of the garage, casually showing at times things happening just a few meters away, and prayed for time to put an end to your restless waiting.

#

He crossed the line. Your eyes flicked to the second and the third positions, now showed onto the screen, monitoring the gap. You had spent the last fourty minutes mentally counting and checking what Max needed to do in order to be champion, and everything was in Charles and Checo’s hands. The cameras flied to capture the corners of truth: a move, only one single move in the entire race, would award the championship. And it came: you heard movement in the bleachers, echoing through your headphones, and saw the bright red Ferrari car going wide, letting Sergio’s Red Bull pass through. A realization setting in, the screams inside the garage, the mechanics running towards the pitlane to cheer Max, to greet their two-times champion of the world. You ran outside the box, still dazed. Little drops of rain pierced their way into your skin, hair and clothes: Japan was giving you its warmest goodbye with a clouded sky and a threatening thunderstorm. Such a lovely end to your week. You felt a joy impossible to put into words: the sun was shining beneath your skin, it made you glow and smile, it was warming your heart despite the cold air brushing your hair. Max was your sun. You saw it sparkling in his eyes, framed by the helmet, when he got out of the car. His stare a beam radiating colors, happiness, life to such a grey day.

The screams were definitely making Max deaf, but your discreet silence stood out to him way more than the cheers; your flushed cheeks, your eyes squeezed to leave space for a breath-taking smile drew him to you, they untangled him quickly from the pats and the hugs of the team. Getting closer to you, he removed the helmet and the balaclava; without thinking twice, you wrapped your arms around his neck to hug him in excitement. He didn’t react, he let you be the unleashed one. He didn’t match your uncontrolled energy, but as you backed off to stare at him, he took the chance to steal your lips with a deep, passionate, genuine kiss, while some of the mechanics whistled at the scene. Feeling yourself being lift a bit by his embrace, you curled your mouth up into a grin, drunk in bliss and love, as your hands still cupped Max’s face. Broken the kiss, your giggles were soon matched with his, the both of you indifferent to the world around you. As Max still held you close, you bit your lower lip in delight. «I love you too, Max.» You didn’t know the sun could burn brighter than it would regularly do, but he proved you otherwise: there was a light, a sparkle, a fire of undying awe inside his irises that no rain could ever extinguish. Your moment got interrupted by Charles patting Max’s shoulder, to congratulate his win – well, double win, considering both the race and the championship. In trance for what had just happened, it took a few seconds for you to realize Sebastian was moving his arm from afar trying to get noticed by you. «Seb, you did amazing! P6! And what a battle!» you said, as you got closer to him. «You both did amazing too.» Sebastian added with a smirk, quickly glancing at Max. «I’m so happy for the both of you.» Filled with gratitude, you couldn’t help but hugging him as a thanks.

After the podium celebrations, you saw Max running towards you, unexpectedly picking you up and making you twirl under the thin rain, laughing like two kids. When he finally put you down, he kissed your temple with a smile plastered onto his lips. «Ready to go home and celebrate?» he asked you. «I’m already home.» you replied, playing with the hem of his collar. After a few seconds of silence, Max sweetly looked back into your eyes. «You’re right. We’re already home.»

_____________________________________________________________

I'd like to say a lot of things, but this chapter is already lenghty, so I'll try to keep it short. Thanks, from the very bottom of my heart, to all the people who supported (also silently) this story. I truly hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing it. I know there are a lot of mistakes - due to distraction while revising, mainly - and I'll fix them eventually, so thanks again for going past those and showing appreciation regardless. As usual, thanks to whoever leaves a note of feedback ♥ ✧ ˚ · . Wish you a good day . · ˚✧

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[heroesfan101]

Love & Lore's: Autumn Sweater Event

5 + 1 (The 5 times you borrow Miyuki Kazuya’s hoodie and the 1 time he borrows yours)

A/N: Hi y'all! Super excited to post this fic for @love-and-lore and their Autumn collab event. When the theme was announced as sweaters, this idea immediately came to mind. Hoodies count as sweaters right 😅 Please note this does include a female reader and pet names (babe, sweetheart).

Word Count: 2.4k

1. Running late to work

Monday. Most people’s least favorite day of the week. Weekends came and went faster than expected. And while Kazuya tried to get you to prep for the upcoming week during the weekend, you preferred spending your time with him and indulging in your hobbies.

It is also noted that he tried to get you to break the habit of leaving your jackets on the back of your dining room chairs. Both, however, were a moot point but soon would cause your downfall.

“Shoot I’m going to be late!” You curse under your breath as you scurry around the apartment in an effort to get your belongings together. Lunch, check. Purse, check. What am I missing? My business jacket! I have a presentation today, can’t forget that.

Checking your watch, your eyes widen in shock. Crap I have to hurry or I’ll miss my train!

Without a second thought, you grab the jacket from the back of a chair before rushing out the door, not even having enough time to wake your boyfriend up with a kiss like usual. Folding it over your purse, you rush out of the house, determined to make your train on time.

Luckily, you board the train and get to work right in the knick of time, much to your delight. However, once you settle yourself, your phone buzzes twice and you look to see a message from Kazuya including a picture.

“Good morning. If you wanted to give me something to wear, we could have talked about it. Maybe I’m not the only one who needs glasses, think you got a little mixed up.” You bypass his sleepy morning smile and your heart drops as you see him holding up your blazer. Your eyes flash down to your purse and sure enough you took his navy blue hoodie. A deep sigh escapes your body as you text back.

“I’m sorry Kazuya. Seems you’ve proven your point on being prepared for the week ahead -_-" ” With a bit of embarrassment, you ask one of your peers to borrow their blazer for your presentation.

2. Grocery shopping

Milk. Eggs. Bread. Tofu. Salmon. One by one, Kazuya and you start loading up the car with your groceries. You were more focused on how to pack up the trunk of your car until Kazuya stopped to look up at the sky, light and dark gray swirls reflecting on his glasses.

“Hmmm. We better move quickly. Looks like the rain is coming sooner than expected.”

“Say less!” The couple moves double time to pack up their items and start getting on their way home. While they’re able to get home in good time, the stormy weather was faster as the sky opened up as they parked.

“Scared of a little rain are you?” He teases as he shifts the gear into park.

“You know I’m not, I just don’t like getting wet.”

“Didn’t know my girlfriend was a cat.” Kazuya continues, causing you to narrow your eyes at him.

“Just for that I should make you bring in the groceries yourself.” You sass.

“Ah ah no need to be like that, sweetheart. I thought you loved me? What happened to doing things together?” He chuckles with a snarky grin.

“We could but not if you’ll be a jerk about it.” You pout playfully, causing him to laugh.

“You know I could bring it in myself, right?”

“I know but you know I love proving you wrong. Luckily, I’m already prepared.” Reaching past him in the back seat, you pull out one of his black hoodies. Grabbing the bottom of the hoodie, you work your body through it until it swallows you whole.

He laughs yet again, “Well alright then, partner. We’ll get a nice warm shower after this.” Both of you brace yourselves before rushing out into the rain.

3. Feeling sick

“Achoo! Achoo!” Your body seizes before relaxing again. The door to the guest room opens up and in walks Kazuya with a steaming bowl of soup. You sit up, reaching for a tissue to soothe your sniffling nose.

“Babe! You could have left it outside; I would have gotten it. I don’t want you to get sick too.” Kazuya shakes his head but it’s easy to tell he’s frowning behind his mask.

“It’ll be fine. This is just to make sure you eat some of the soup while it’s hot. I’ll be fine like this.” He assures you before setting up a tray so you can eat. Throwing your tissue away, you shift to the edge of the bed to see the biggest bowl of soup.

“Kazuya, this is a lot of soup. You don’t expect me to eat this in one go right?”

His eyes narrow before softening, “It would be ideal but eat as much as you can. It’s a family recipe.”

Your ears perk up at that, “Oh? From who?”

He grins, “From me. I got sick one time and created my miraculous soup. I was five times better the next day after eating it. All in one go might I add.”

You shake your head, “It would be from you,” but then a weak grin appears on your lips, “but if you’re sharing it with me, guess that makes me family.”

For once, you catch Miyuki off guard with that as his cheeks are a touch pink. You both had talked about marriage as a real possibility but were talking things slowly as to not rush things along. Normally, he’s the tease between the two of you but he doesn’t mind your teasing every once in a while. He chalks up this boldness to your weakened immune system.

“Yeah yeah yeah. Enough talk, time to eat. I’ll leave you to it.” He starts to go when you grab at his sleeve. He turns back around to see the prettiest pout on your lips.

“I know you have to go but for the record, I hate this. Only seeing you for a few moments here and there, it's not fair. Can’t I at least have something of yours to help me out?” Kazuya starts to tease you but just sighs instead. He’d have plenty of time to tease once you’re healed.

“Since you like hoodies so much you can have this one.” He grins before taking off his gray hoodie and handing it over. You take it happily and bring it to your face, eager to convince your nose to start working so you can at least catch a whiff of his cologne.

“Thanks Kazuya.” You smile, placing it on your lap before diving into your soup. His eyes crinkle softly before he leaves you with his soup and his hoodie.

4. Borrowing Stealing his gift

The door to the apartment opens, causing you to look around the corner from your spot on the sofa. “Hey, welcome back! How was it meeting up with Sawamura and Okumura?”

He chuckles, “It was fun. I swear Sawamura hasn’t changed at all since our time in high school. Okumura seems a lot more confident than before, surely because he had the best teacher.” Kazuya laughs, causing you to shake your head before noticing something in his hands.

“Oooh, what’s that? Is that a new hoodie I see? Red too?”

He holds it to his chest protectively, “Yes, as the amazing senpai I am, they got me a hoodie as a thank you. Also probably because I told them I’m living with a hoodie thief so you’re not allowed to touch this one.” Your face blanches, no he didn’t!

“I am not a thief! A borrower maybe but no thief!” You declare passionately, refusing to accept his slander no matter how true it was.

His eyes narrow at you skeptically, “Oh yeah? Where’s my black hoodie? What about the navy blue one?” He asks rapidly, letting you know that he’s apparently been keeping track but you’re quick to defend yourself.

“They’re all in the closet!”

And then he goes in for the kill, “On who’s side of the closet?”

You blush and look away, “That’s irrelevant.”

Kazuya laughs loudly, “Yeah that’s what I thought. Gotcha this time, sweetheart.” He walks by you with a grin as you decide to turn back to your tv show, knowing you’ve lost this time.

It isn’t until later when you’re sure that Kazuya is fast asleep, that you find the hoodie folded neatly on his side of the closet. Your hands gently pick up the hoodie and bring it to your face, admiring how soft it was. Yeah, I’ll have to take this.

In your admiration, you notice a piece of paper fall out of the front pockets. Picking it up curiously, you read the note in Kazuya’s handwriting, “Hands off my hoodie.”

Your eyes widen before scoffing at his note. Feeling crafty, you decide to switch out one of your red jackets with his new hoodie, even going so far as to put his note in one of the pockets.

Laughing evilly to yourself, you stash the hoodie in one of your drawers and slide back into bed beside Kazuya, satisfied with yourself. So much so, you don’t notice the grin he has on his face even in his “sleep”.

5. Ice cream spills

“This was a great idea! It’s always nice to get a workout in the park with you. Appreciate you taking it easy on me, babe.” You smile, deciding to catch your breath on the park bench. He smiles at you gently. Of course he wasn’t breaking a sweat but doing light workouts with you on the weekend was a nice way to spend time together.

“Of course. You did well and we passed an ice cream stand. How about I reward you for your hard work hmm?” Kazuya asks, knowing ice cream was certainly a weakness of yours. Immediately, your face lights up and before you can say the words, he smiles and heads off to the stand.

A few minutes later, he returns with two ice cream cones and hands you yours with a gentle smile. You thank him sweetly before diving in. And in the enjoyment of your ice cream, you spill some on your shirt.

“Seems you enjoyed yourself a little too much huh?” He chuckles, causing you to groan.

“Shut up.” You say playfully, before handing him your ice cream so you can remove your shirt. Luck favors the prepared it would seem and you already had a tank top underneath.

Folding up your shirt, you turn to get your ice cream from him, delighted to have your cold, sweet treat back. Unbeknownst to you, there was more than just your boyfriend's eyes on you.

Now normally, Kazuya isn’t a jealous person. He loves being able to show you off but only when he wants to.

Unfortunately, he’s too perceptive for his own good. Once, twice he noticed a few of the park joggers were enjoying the view and it wasn't nature. Tch, you heard the annoyed sound escape his lips.

“Something wrong?” You ask innocently. He hands you his ice cream and takes off his dark green hoodie.

“We were just working out. It’s not good for you to expose your body to so much air. Don’t want you getting sick again.” He says gently as he places the hoodie on your lap and takes the ice cream cones. A small smile graces your lips as you put on the hoodie.

“Thanks babe.” Cold lips press quickly against his warm cheek before going back to the ice cream. The next time the joggers pass by, he grins cockily.

“Show’s over.” Kazuya mouths to them.

1. The thief becomes the victim

Oftentimes, Kazuya has training camps all over the country to train as one does when they’re a professional athlete. While usually, you could rearrange your schedule to be close by, this was one of those times where he was going too far (aka outside of the country). This time, he would be away in America for an international training camp. So while you couldn’t be with him this time around, you both made sure to at least message or call.

It was halfway through his trip when you were able to hop on a video call with him.

“How’s the camp going?” You asked curiously, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“It’s going well. It’s been interesting to meet global stars and see them play. How are you doing?” He smiled, a little weary after a long day’s camp.

“I’m doing good. Work has been keeping me busy but I wish I could be with you instead. Don’t get a big head but I do miss you.” Kazuya smiles softly at that, the one true smile only reserved for you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back home before you know it.”

“That’s good. Still not soon enough though. That said, something weird must be going on.” You say as you shake the phone as you go to prop it up on your dresser, giving him a view of you from the waist up.

Kazuya raises an eyebrow as he sees you searching the bedroom, “What’s going on?”

“I can’t find my sky blue hoodie! I just got some workout pants that match the color perfectly and now I can’t find it. Did you see it when you were doing laundry?”

The corners of his lips attempt to straighten even though they curve up a bit, “Nope I haven’t seen it.” There’s a light tone in his voice that makes you slightly suspicious. Looking back at the camera, you see something behind him sticking out.

“Kazuya, could you move to the left for a second?” You request curiously, causing the mirth to show his eyes.

“Why? What are you after?” He asks playfully, but the second he moves an inch your eyes widen in disbelief.

“Is that my hoodie? The exact one I’m looking for?”

“Can’t be.” He easily denies. You roll your eyes and exclaim, “I know what my hoodie looks like!”

But then the reality of the situation sinks in, “Awww you miss me! It’s okay to admit it, Kazuya. I just didn’t expect you to steal my hoodie.” You sweetly tease him, making him blush a little as he tries to cover it up with a scoff.

“Of course I miss you, we do spend every day together.” You giggle, “Look at you being cute. I guess I’m happily in love with a hoodie thief of my own.”

He laughs, “Consider this payment for all the times you took my hoodies.”

“Sure sure, but I will always prefer you over your hoodies.” You claim causing him to smile.

“I sure hope so. You’ll have the real thing once I’m back home.” Kazuya promises, filling both of your hearts with warmth.

[lorewriter]

Aizawa/Oboro first date prompt please!

Hope you like it!!

It was raining the day Oboro had asked him out. He’d been holding an umbrella over a box of abandoned kittens when Oboro had come up behind him with an umbrella of his own. It was sky blue, like his hair. He’d looked up at the other, the only sound around them being the small mewls of the kittens and the soft beat of the rain against their umbrellas.

“Go out with me.”

It was so sudden that Shota had needed to do a double take before simply replying; “Sure.”

He’d never seen Oboro smile so bright as he did that day. Of course Hizashi was ecstatic, hopping up and down repeatedly as he asked for details in school the next day. Oboro had told him to let him do all the planning and to just be ready this upcoming Saturday for their first date.

He’d sighed as Hizashi’s patience seemed to completely diminish causing the boy to all but tackle him for answers. He explained what happened, but his mind still drifted off to what he’d need to prepare. Just what exactly was etiquette for someone’s first date. Finishing off the school day, Aizawa headed home to his one bedroom apartment, his parents having long since abandoned him to live on his own, but they at least sent him an allowance every few months.

He began with what he wanted to wear, looking through his closet in hopes of finding something suitable for his first date. Upon finding nothing but his UA uniform and a few cat sweaters, he decided a trip to a local clothing store would be needed. Next he checked his hair, did he need to style it? How dressed up did he need to be?

Deciding he was getting nowhere with his lack of knowledge, Shota turns to the internet to solve his problem.

SEARCH ENGINE:

“What does one wear on a first date?”

“Do I need to style my hair?”

“What topics would be good to bring up on your first date?”

“Funny cat video compilation.”

*

Hizashi ended up being his savior as his previous online search led him nowhere. The excitable blonde rushed him around Musutafu mall, grabbing whatever he could force onto Shota before finally stopping at a small cafe for some coffee.

“Is all of this really necessary?” Shota spoke, fidgeting with his now styled hair.

“Of course, you need to look your absolute best to woo him. Who knows, he might even ask you out again the moment he sees you.” Hizashi replied, laughing to himself as he did.

“You’re ridiculous.”

*

Soon Saturday was upon him and his nerves had ended up keeping him awake all night. He’d been told to meet Oboro at their normal crossroad where they met to head to school together. He’d picked out a plain black t-shirt along with a long gray jacket that went down to his knees. His hair had been half way tied up, leaving only a few strands left to shadow his face.

With one final glance into his bathroom mirror, he decided he was prepared enough and set off.

Walking up to their meeting spot, Shota could already see a fidgeting Oboro messing with his fingers. His hair was the same as always with those clunky goggles pushing up his bangs. He wore a brown jacket over a navy blue shirt with black pants.

“Beautiful.”

A blush rose to Oboro’s face, matching his own as he realized he’d said that out loud. Not wanting to make the situation any more awkward, Shota coughed a little before asking where they’d be going. Seeing the Oboro’s eyes light up like starlight, Shota knew he was in for a day full of surprises. And surprised he was as Oboro dragged him around Musutafu. Their first stop had been a small hole in the wall bookstore that held his favorite author's new book, which he’d thought had already been sold out. Next was a hero exhibit on his favorite underground hero Smoke-Eater. He’d been wanting to go see it for a while now but hadn’t had the time due to all of their training at UA.

Next came a small lunch at his favorite ramen shop followed by their final stop at his favorite cat cafe.

The day had been perfect but from the beginning Shota had had a knot in his stomach, a feeling he couldn’t help but focus on as Oboro returned with their coffees in hand. Sipping his coffee, Shota finally gained the courage to ask the question he’d been replaying in his head all week. “Why do you like me? Don’t get me wrong, today was perfect. This was honestly the best day I’ve ever had in my entire life, but, why? Why me?” He asked quietly, eyes firmly fixed on his coffee in hopes of not meeting the others' eyes.

“Well that’s simple, it’s because I like you. I’ve liked you since I saw you fighting your hardest in the sports festival. You’re incredible, you face odds that most of us don’t have to and you still come out stronger. You fight for what you want, I admire you for that. But you’re also kind, you look after others in your own way and that makes me want to work harder to be a hero just like you.” Oboro responded, shattering Shota’s view of himself so completely that all he could now was gape.

“I’m glad to have met you Aizawa Shota, and if you’ll have me, I’d very much like to be your boyfriend.”

Gold eyes met red and for a moment, Shota felt like he could do anything, if only Shirakumo Oboro was by his side.

*

“So, did Nemuri get to you too?” Oboro asked, walking him back to his apartment at the blue haired boy’s insistence.

“Huh? No, but Hizashi helped me prepare for today. Told me I needed to look my best so we just spent a day at the mall picking out an outfit and getting my hair done.” He responded, feeling more relaxed as the knot in his stomach had disappeared.

“Wha? Lucky, Nemuri was like a wild animal, she spent this past week drilling me on what to wear, how to act and what to say.” Oboro replied, a small whine in his tone as he lamented on his past hell week with Nemuri.

Laughing quietly, Shota thought; there’s nowhere he’d rather be, than by Oboro’s side. And he hoped they’d stay together forever.

Lore: Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.

[bullet-prooflove]

Love <3 Starters

"i know you think you’re all alone out there, but you’re not"

Mitch Ripley

Tagging: Tagging: @kmc1989 @spaghettificationandpretzels @mini-bee-bee @mandy426 @jareaulamontagnes

Seperation!Series:

Marley 2.0 - Mitch doesn't realise your hiding a secret from him.

Not Your Problem - Mitch feels you pulling away from him.

Pill Popping - Mitch confronts LJ about what happened in St Clair.

Not Enough - Mitch realises he won't ever be enough for you after you reveal what happened in St Clair.

Therapy Sessions - Mitch talks through his issues with his counsellor.

Hollow - Mitch returns home to an empty house.

Mitch finds you in the park you used to play in as a child. You’re sitting on the swing in a navy blue quilted jacket that used to belong to him, your hands holding onto the chains as it rocks to and fro in the breeze.

It’s the place you come to when your world’s in turmoil, somewhere with happy memories where nothing can harm you. You don’t say anything when he sits down on the swing alongside of you, you simply stare straight ahead at the duck pond as the drizzle soaks your hair.

“Your mom called.” He says breaking the silence. “She told me what happened today.”

Your jaw clenches as you inhale sharply and he realises in that moment that you’re trying not to cry.

“It was a rural hospital.” You say finally, using the back of your hand to wipe the teats from under your eyes. “They weren’t equipped for the kind of complications I was having.”

If you’d been in Chicago when you miscarried, the procedure probably would have been completed with minimal scarring. Instead you’d had a junior doctor who was undertaking his first D&C alone and fucked things up so badly that you’ve just discovered that you couldn’t have children, no matter how much you may want them.

“I’m sorry.” He says softly. “I know it feels like you’re alone right now but you’re not…”

You laugh then and the sound it cuts through him like a scalpel because it’s just so fucking bitter.

“I don’t have a husband Mitch. I don’t have a baby. I can’t even have a family anymore which is the reason we split up in the first place.” You remind him, your eyes filled with anguish as you tilt your head to look at him. “There’s just me right now, screaming into the fucking void because God has found every single way he can to fuck me.”

Mitch raises from his swing and crouches down in front of you. His hands encompass your chilled features, his thumbs chasing away the frustrated tears that leak down your cheeks.

“Marley, you have me.” He tells you fiercely. “You have me right here fighting in your corner, and I will always be here whether we’re together or not. None of this changes how I feel about you, none of this stops me from loving you as much as I do.”

“That’s easy for you to say now that children have been taken off the table.” You tell him. “I’m the perfect woman for you now aren’t I? The wife that can’t bear children. It’s exactly what you what you wanted.”

“No Marley, it’s not.” He promises you, his voice so fucking earnest it wounds you. “I want to start a family with you, I was just too scared of fucking of it up. I was letting my past mess with my head and I’m working through that but you have to know that I never wanted this, I never wanted any of this to happen to you.”

It’s raining harder now, the droplets soaking the two of you as Mitch’s forehead against yours.

“Take me home Mitch.” You whisper against his lips. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Love Mitch? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[magicandmundane]

Humor me for minute here, I need to scream and cry about the ballroom scene in Enchanted.

So.

For starters, Giselle and Robert are completely matching. His shirt and her dress are basically the same shade of purple, and his jacket and the cloak she wore when she walked in are the same velvet-y navy blue. They didn’t plan it. (I’m screaming.)

Side note: you know who may have planned it? Morgan. That’s right, she went shopping with Giselle, and her dad had probably shown her his fairytale-worthy fit earlier. Morgan already adored Giselle, and she could see her dad falling head over heels for the almost-princess despite his best efforts. So I’d be willing to bet good money the little shit (affectionate) did her best to influence Giselle’s choices and squealed as soon as Robert closed the door and went to the ball.

Anyway, Giselle and Edward get there, and Robert just stops. (I’m swooning.) We already know that Giselle had had a dream about Robert in that blue jacket, but do you think that he had a dream about her? Do you think that he had a dream about this fairytale princess in purple? That he woke up one morning and shook it off like it was nothing? That when he stopped and his jaw dropped at the sight of her, he suddenly remembered that beautiful dream? Because I think yes. NYC got dropped into a fairytale for a week, of course Mr. Just-Some-Guy-in-the-Real-World Robert had a dream about the love of his life.

And then that choreography. (Ugh my heart.) So beautiful, so intimate, so happy, so loving. Like every step they took they just fell deeper and deeper in love. Holy shit, that eye contact. Everyone else moving to the edges of the dance floor to give them space to just pop off. Robert whispering the lyrics of a song that was written just for the movie. “now you’re beside me and look how far we’ve come. so far, we are so close.” He had no reason to know those lyrics, just like everyone singing “That’s How You Know” had no reason to know that song and leave him constantly making a wtf face. But now the man is leaning into the fairytale. Because he loves her. (Someone just kill me already.)

Another side note: poor Nancy and Edward omg. They are witnessing what is quite possibly the most romantic ballroom dance of all time, and they were both planning to marry one of these idiots (affectionate). The matching “respectfully what the fuck” faces they both make will never not be hilarious to me, even though I feel for them.

And then there’s the quiet misery when they walk away from each other. (Cut my heart out with a rusty old spoon, why don’t you? It’ll hurt less.) Giselle and Robert are resigned to the lives they had previously chosen but no longer want. The look on her face when Narissa is handing her the apple is just gut wrenching. She would rather forget the love of her life than live without him and know he’s out there.

Last but not least, true love’s kiss. (I’m bawling.) Robert was Losing It™️ seeing Giselle inches from death, and then this idiot has the audacity to deny being her true love. But of course it’s him. “Please don’t leave me.” and “I knew it was you.” are just so so beautiful, tender, and intimate. Like that was for them and them alone, we are intruding. That kiss was so gentle and heartfelt. Then she pulls him even closer for a hug, and he cradles the back of her head. They are so relieved, they love each other so much.

Don’t even get me started on Robert’s “over my dead body,” Giselle going after the dragon, and that rooftop kiss in the rain. My poor heart just can’t take it right now.

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 20)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 12,880

Summary: An invitation takes Horacio and Javier back to Medellín, a city that has changed as much as they have since they were last in it. Amongst the celebrations, can they find a way to reconcile the old with the new?

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Emotional smut, religious themes, discussions of canon-typical violence and past trauma, grief, healing, allusions to period-typical prejudices, smoking, drinking, swearing.

Notes: So, this chapter took on a life of its own and ended up a lot bigger than it was originally supposed to be, oops lol. The initial idea was for this and chapter 21 to be chapter 20, but, as you can see, it didn't quite work out like that 😂

The majority of chapter 21 is done, I just need to finish it off but life (and covid...again) have been getting in the way lately.

After that, I just have chapter 22 and a short epilogue to do, then fin. So, I promise we are very nearly there now! Ideally, I'd like it all done by the end of autumn, but that might not be possible...let's see how it goes.

Thank you once again to anyone still reading and waiting for updates, your patience is greatly appreciated (as always, please feel free to drop me a line if you’d like to, I love hearing from you!)❤️

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested (and there's quite a few new points for this one, as I ended up doing a lot of research lol).

Chapter 20: Something Old, Something New

Dappled light filtered through the Venetian blinds, splintering across the polished wooden furnishings and along the plush carpeted floor, bathing the hotel room in tints of gold. No traces remained of yesterday’s rain after a warm start to the morning, and the forecast miraculously looked promising for the hours ahead.

Horacio stood facing a floor-length mirror, his fingers wrestling with his jacket and a Cattleya orchid buttonhole until he tutted and gave up. It was the final addition to his outfit: a three-piece mid-grey suit, a pale olive green dress shirt, a bottle green tie and dark brown shoes.

“Come here.” Javier abandoned fastening his burgundy tie, letting it hang untied and loose around his neck. Instead, he took the buttonhole from Horacio and delicately pinned the flower on his left lapel. It matched the one already placed on his navy blue three-piece, which he had teamed with a rose-pink dress shirt and black shoes.

“Thanks. It’s been a long time since I’ve worn one of these. I’m out of practice.” The last wedding Horacio attended had been a friend of Juliana’s, and for some reason, attaching a flower to his jacket was trickier than his CNP lapel pins.

“At least the last time wasn’t your own wedding…which you never actually made it to.”

“Fair point.”

Javier smoothed down Horacio’s lapels, slow caresses on either side, chestnut lost in charcoal as he took all of him in. “Beautiful.”

“Likewise.” Horacio’s fingers slid up to Javier’s tie and worked their magic, managing a knot neater than Javier could ever make. He positioned and repositioned it at the collar until it was symmetrical.

“Satisfied?”

“Hmm, not quite.” He took hold of the length of the tie, pulling Javier down a couple of inches to his height, fresh mint and aftershave hitting their senses as they settled into it, careful not to squash the flowers at their breast.

Javier breathed hard against Horacio’s mouth. “I take it we haven’t got time for—”

“Absolutely not.” Although Horacio was panting as he re-straightened Javier’s tie, the sight of each other in formal wear a distracting novelty. “We’re meeting Steve downstairs in 5 minutes.”

“Shame. I miss Madrid already.”

“Our bed will still be there when we get back.”

“Who said anything about a bed?”

“Come on, we can’t be late,” Horacio reiterated with great reluctance, avoiding the look he knew Javier was giving him. “You ready?”

Javier took a deep breath and picked up the invitation from the nearby nightstand, his eyes scanning over the details one last time.

Juana Marisol Vargas Restrepo

Y

Felipe Gabriel Trujillo Rojas

Con la bendición de sus familias, te invitan a celebrar su boda

(With the blessing of their families, they invite you to celebrate their wedding)

El sábado, 21 de enero de 1995

(Saturday 21st January, 1995)

A las tres de la tarde

(At 3 in the afternoon)

Iglesia del Señor de las Misericordias, Manrique

(Church of the Lord of the Mercies, Manrique)

Recepción a seguir en el Jardín Botánico de Medellín

(Reception to follow at the Botanical Garden of Medellín)

“I think so. Of all the churches in Medellín, though.”

Horacio let out a wry huff to match Javier’s. “I know. The bride’s choice, apparently. Plus, it’s close by for the reception.”

Javier hummed, his eyes still glued to the invitation as if the antidote to the discomfort simmering in the pit of his stomach was hidden between the lines.

“You okay?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine. It was always gonna be like this. Wasn’t it? Being back here.”

“I don’t think there’s a way around it. But at least it’s a celebration this time.” Horacio placed a gentle kiss on Javier’s forehead. “And it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

“I know.”

------------------------------------------------------

After locating Steve, they shared a taxi to the church, where they met Connie and Olivia on account of Olivia being in a particularly fussy mood.

“I think it’s the travelling and being out of routine. She was up early this morning. So, of course, she’s tired now.” Connie gestured towards Olivia, fast asleep in her dad’s arms, before hugging Javier and Horacio.

“You look stunning, love the dress,” Javier said, noticing he owned a shirt in the same shade of turquoise.

“Aw thank you, you all look so handsome!” Connie stood back to admire them then leaned in to kiss Steve. “And not hungover?” she added with a raised brow, rubbing away the smudge of lipstick left behind on his cheek. “I take it I need to thank Horacio again for keeping you in one piece?”

It took Horacio a second to get what Connie was referring to. But then he remembered a paralytic pair of DEA agents slumped in the back of his car, alongside practically carrying Javier to his bedroom, removing his outer layers and plying him with water, then lying him on his side with a pillow behind his back.

Horacio had been heading for the door when a slurred noise over his shoulder stopped him. One that sounded suspiciously like “Stay.” He couldn’t prove it or ask for clarification. But nor could he leave. So, he stayed until he was reassured Javier was safe and sleeping soundly. Then he tiptoed home, relieved the next day to find Javier had no recollection of any of it.

“I don’t know about that,” Horacio said in the here and now. “We were all on our best behaviour for today.”

“Yeah, Murphy needs his beauty sleep these days. Isn’t that right?” Javier threw a wink in Steve’s direction and wondered if Connie’s choice of words meant what he thought they did.

“Well, some of us actually have to go to work, Peña,” Steve shot back with a self-satisfied curl of the lips.

Connie playfully slapped Steve on the shoulder. “Ignore him, he’s just jealous.”

“Can’t even deny it.”

------------------------------------------------------

Guests began to file up the stone steps into the church, the Murphys following once they had roused Olivia awake, with Javier and Horacio hanging back at the top of the stairs.

Their arms rested over the balcony wall as they surveyed the road beneath. There was no CNP vehicle parked up this time, but instead, a hive of activity with guests being dropped off and a space reserved for the bride’s imminent arrival.

“It feels like a fucking lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”

“It was.”

“I, er, never saw her again. Helena, I mean. I secured her a visa – figured it was the least I could do after everything. But she took her kid and ran before I could give it to her. Her neighbour said she was staying with her sister in Peru, but…who knows?”

Javier wasn’t sure if she even had a sister, but he always hoped it was the truth. He always hoped she and her family were safe and that she found the strength to put what happened behind her. But of course, he had no fucking clue if these were comforting lies he’d told himself over the years. It wasn’t love, whatever they had. Far from it. He knew that back then let alone now. But for a short while, they cared in their own way, and as much as their circumstances and jobs allowed them to.

“Probably for the best. It wouldn’t have been safe here.”

“No, I made sure of that.” Javier’s hand dug harshly into the jagged stone, leaving dents in his skin until the subtle and discreet touch of a finger made contact with his own, pulling him out of his spiralling self-flagellation. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t plan on bringing all this up. Especially not today.”

“It’s okay. And it’s not like we ever really talked about it at the time.”

It had been a sore point for Horacio, not that he understood why back then. Of course, he knew Helena wasn’t the first or the last, but he could see whatever they had, however short-lived, went beyond the mere transactional. He’d never seen Javier so worried for an informant, and as it turned out, he had every reason to be. Then, she stopped being a threat and became yet another victim.

“Funnily enough, no. You just took it out on Steve instead.”

A knowing look eased the tension in an instant.

“Could you blame me?”

“Absolutely not. Especially when he was encroaching on your territory.”

Javier couldn’t resist a wink, which caused a muttered “Fuck you” followed by their shoulders shaking in unison.

Once calm was restored, Horacio turned to face the church, the wall bearing the brunt of his weight. “Looking back now, though, I don’t think I should’ve been so surprised by what you did for me in Cartagena and Tolú.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I did the same for you that night here in Medellín.”

Javier joined Horacio; both now stood side by side, their gaze meeting in an acknowledgement of the rich history that existed between them that no words could ever fully convey.

And with the scattered remnants of their past now confined to distant memories they could at last put behind them, they made their way into the church. 

------------------------------------------------------

A waterfall of roses, carnations and orchids tied together with matching ribbons cascaded a rainbow of purple, yellow and white down the rows of pews. The flowers were supplied by the mother of the groom, who conveniently was a florist by profession. Every August, Medellín burst into bloom for Feria de las Flores, so if anyone was going to be in charge of the arrangements, it was her.

Candles lit a path from the aisle to the altar, reminding Horacio not only of Día de las Velitas but of his and Javier’s recreation of the festival during their first Christmas in Laredo. He was about to take a seat when he caught a flash of green dress uniform in the wings of the church and a pair of dark eyes picking him out of the congregation.

He excused himself to the sacristy at the side of the altar.

Trujillo peered out to the pews as his hands alternated between fidgeting with the knot of his tie and his cufflinks. “Is she here yet?”

“Not yet.” Horacio straightened Trujillo’s tie knot. “But it’s still early.”

“Yeah.” Trujillo nodded and took a deep breath.

“She’ll be here before you know it. So relax. I think we’ve been through worse.” Horacio’s lips stayed neutral for an impressively long spell until he caved.

“My hand was steady as a rock on that rooftop. But today?” Trujillo held out his hand to show the hint of a tremor.

“You ended something once and for all on that rooftop. Something that needed ending…for your father, Alfredo and Sebastián. For you. For Colombia. But today is the start of your future.”

“I always thought they would have been here for this one day. So, thank you. For being here instead. For coming back...after everything. For all those early morning drills and target practice. And for the free drinks.”

They laughed at the fact Horacio was a man of his word and hadn’t let Trujillo buy a single drink since arriving here.

“It’s the least I could do. And if you ever need anything, Felipe, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“Likewise…Horacio. That goes for Javier, too.”

Their silence was an acknowledgement that they had just shared an ending and a beginning of their own, no longer comrades in arms or superior and subordinate, but something different again, something equal.

“I thought my ears were burning,” came a voice from the doorway.

“Great way to kill the moment, Peñita.”

“Sorry. I wanted to wish you luck. And offer you some Dutch Courage, if you're interested?” Javier produced a hip flask from behind his back. “A present from Search Bloc,” was his answer to the quizzical looks he was met with.

“Just a taste, then. I don’t want Juana thinking I’m drunk.” Trujillo took a restrained swig. “Any last-minute advice?” he asked Javier, passing him the flask.

“You want marriage advice from me? Er, don’t do a runner before she gets here?”

“Good one, brother.”

“He did warn you,” Horacio added, shooting Javier a pointed look.

“True. Although,” Trujillo lowered his voice and glanced at the doorway, “neither of you might be married, but…you’ve been through a lot together. And I think it’s made you stronger. So, you must be doing something right.”

A wordless nod and one last swig for good measure were exchanged.

Javier and Horacio were unsure if it was the alcohol or something else causing the heat to rise in their cheeks. But either way, they were in quiet agreement with Trujillo’s assessment.

It wasn’t long before the words “She’s here!” were whispered with barely contained glee from beyond the door, and it was time to take their places.

The ceremony, even the drier elements, passed quicker than most weddings Javier and Horacio had been to. It was the first one Javier had attended since…well, not even his own now he thought about it because he never made it to the church. He never saw Lorraine’s dress either, as, unsurprisingly, she had changed out of it by the time he was forced to explain himself. Not that Javier really could explain at the time. But then, it was much easier to understand something was wrong once he knew what was right.

Between Felipe’s pristine uniform and Juana’s mantilla veil, memories of Horacio's Mamá wearing a strikingly similar black veil to his Papá’s funeral came to mind. But once upon a time, they had also stood at an altar like this with their shared life ahead of them, and even though the injustice of it being cut short would always linger, on this occasion, Horacio chose to cherish the fact it existed in the first place.

Furtive glances travelled between him and Javier as they bowed their heads to pray during the candle ceremony and for the exchange of rings and arras coins. It was a silent confirmation that whilst these rituals weren’t an option for them in the eyes of the law or church, their unofficial versions were no less significant. 

------------------------------------------------------

They moved on to the reception at Jardín Botánico de Medellín in the evening, a place Horacio hadn’t been to since his youth. The wedding meal was to be served under a spectacular orchid-shaped wooden canopy in the centre of the gardens. Tables dressed in white linen were decorated with flower arrangements to match those at the church, and favours included coffee beans and orchid seeds.

The newlyweds sat at the top table surrounded by close family and their padrinos and madrinas, the echoes of war still loud and everlasting given the notable absences. Javier, Horacio, Steve, Connie and Olivia sat on the next one, along with some familiar Search Bloc faces and Carlos Holguín staff.

At the adjacent table were Martínez Senior and Junior. Horacio and Martínez Senior had only crossed paths at occasional ceremonies and dinners, even though their fathers worked more closely in the past. As the war on drugs kicked in, it became apparent the two men had polar opposite approaches to their jobs. And whilst Horacio made Escobar his mission, Martínez took a different path, specialising in FARC operations in the jungle instead. Until their paths converged, that was.

“Do you think he knows?” Javier muttered over the rim of his champagne flute after Martínez Senior’s eyes briefly fell on them.

“About us? Why would he?” Horacio replied into the palm of his hand as he scratched his upper lip.

“I dunno. He knew about everything else. And he must have questions.”

“I’m sure he does. But do you think he’ll even want to speak to us? I already know he hates my guts.”

“He might be pleasantly surprised you’re not dead. You never know.”

Their hushed conversation was thankfully drowned out by Olivia interrogating Connie about everything from the guests’ outfits to the flower arrangements and when the food was coming, whilst Steve caught up with Jacoby.

The tables were soon full of plates and dishes bearing carne asada, lechona, patacones, arepas, tamales, milhojas, concadas, cuajada con melao, fruit salads and the centre piece Torta Negra Colombiana, decorated with flowers to match the colour scheme.

The cutting of the Torta Negra followed before the space was re-arranged, guests spilling out into the surrounding gardens, refreshing their drinks at the various pop-up bars or walking amongst the flowers and trees.

By dark, a dancefloor was unveiled in the centre of the canopy with a band playing cumbia, vallenato, merengue, bambuco, salsa and beyond.

Once the bride had thrown her bouquet, the single male guests gathered to place a shoe beneath her dress. Javier managed to escape the ritual in favour of sitting back and watching from the sidelines. But at the risk of inviting prying questions from his former colleagues if he did the same, Horacio reluctantly added his shoe to the pile. Typically, his was chosen by Juana, which, as per tradition, meant he would be next to marry.

From several feet away, Horacio could see Javier’s suggestive eyebrow and overt smirk, and they were even more brazen close up when Horacio re-joined him.

“Should we pick out rings, or…?”

An eyeroll was the only answer Javier was ever going to get to that question, and it came right on cue.

“Because, er,” Javier continued regardless, clearing his throat and casually glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot, “seeing you in your shirt stays this morning got me thinking how fucking good you’d look in a wedding garter.”

As Horacio was hit with a barrage of mental images and a dry mouth, a large cheer erupted as the next tradition got underway. This time, all male guests – not just the single ones – were rounded up to remove their belts, the idea being that the man with the longest belt was the winner. Of what exactly, Horacio was never sure when this had played out at past Colombian weddings he’d been to.

He stood opposite Javier as they fumbled with buckles, unhooking the leather straps from their belt loops and pulling them off in one swift motion. Their eyes remained fixed on each other from start to finish, an act fuelled by Javier’s last words.

The sound of cheering pulled them back with reluctance to the proceedings, and even though their belts were probably slightly longer than they used to be, they weren’t declared the winners. 

------------------------------------------------------

As the drinks flowed, so did the dancing, regardless of whether the paired-up guests knew each other or whether they could actually dance.

Javier’s next partner was a familiar face, though, who had at least taken a few dance classes to get to know some locals when first arriving in Colombia.

“Is Steve with Olivia?” he asked, grateful for a slower number so he could catch his breath and talk.

“Oh, no, she’s with the Jacobys. She’s made friends with their daughter, Chloe - they’re around the same age.” Connie twirled underneath Javier’s outstretched arm and back around again. “Steve is conveniently helping Horacio with the next round of drinks. He always did have hips as stiff as a board. I had to practically drag him up for our first dance.”

“That…doesn’t surprise me.”

“And what about Horacio?” Connie whispered into Javier’s shoulder as their feet slid across the floor in time with the music. “Does he need to loosen his hips, or is he a dark horse?”

“You should know a man never dances and tells. But…” Javier spun Connie on her heel again, pulling her close so his head was near her ear this time. “I can assure you there’s nothing wrong with his hips.”

“That doesn’t surprise me either. When did you say you were heading to Manizales?”

“In a couple of days.” Javier swallowed hard now the subject had been raised.

“How’s he holding up?”

“Okay. We’ve not really talked about it since Madrid. Figured we’d deal with it after the wedding, but -” Javier scoffed, cutting himself off mid-sentence.

“Now it’s nearly here,” Connie finished for him.

“Exactly. But I guess we couldn’t hide in Spain forever.” As tempting as it was some days.

They somehow made it to the other side of the dancefloor, narrowly avoiding multiple couples before escaping back to their table once the song was over.

“How’re you finding being back again?” Connie asked.

“Weird.”

“Yeah. Definitely weird at first.”

Their shared laughter came like a sigh of relief, a release of tension now they had spoken the truth out loud.

“But different.”

“It’s not like last time, right?” There was uncertainty in her unblinking eyes, a plea not only for reassurance but for honesty as well.

“Trujillo said anyone left from the cartel with half a brain cell skipped town or went underground before Pablo’s body was cold. They’ve been tracking down anyone dumb enough to have stuck around. So, no. It’s not like last time. I promise.”

His tone was soft but he looked Connie in the eye until she nodded, needing the conviction as much as she did.

“I know I never visited Madrid like I said I would – blame your ex-employer for that, by the way – but for what it’s worth, I don’t think Medellín’s the only one who’s different now. So, whatever happens, Javi…”

“I know.”

His hand found its way to hers on the table and gently squeezed. An acceptance that there was no denying traces of the past, as they had already discovered, but a translucent overlay had been placed on top of it now. Whether the two could co-exist in the long run, nobody yet knew, but at least it was finally the chance of a future for them and Medellín. 

------------------------------------------------------

Horacio picked one of the quieter bars, reeling off a list of drinks to the bartender and perching on a stool while he waited for his order.

“Thought you might need a hand.”

Before Horacio could respond, Steve had already sat on the adjacent stool, his back to the bar to accommodate his long legs.

“You sure you’re not just avoiding the dancefloor, Agent Murphy?” There was a hint of a mock interrogative tone to his voice as he turned sideways to face Steve.

Steve held his hands up in surrender. “You got me there. Although…” He dipped into the inside pocket of his black suit jacket and pulled out a couple of cigars. “Courtesy of the groom, if you’re interested?”

Horacio broke into a laugh. “He paid up, then.”

“Damn right.” Steve held one of the cigars closer to Horacio, tempting him despite the conflicted look Horacio was giving it. “I won’t tell Javi if you don’t tell Con.”

Horacio sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He put the cigar between his lips and took the lighter from Steve, hovering the flame near the foot until it took.

Steve did the same, a woody haze soon encircling them.

The bartender appeared with a trayful of drinks and once he was gone again, Horacio lifted a beer bottle and slid it across to Steve. “I never got a chance to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“Stechner.”

A scowl stormed across Steve’s pupils, and he took a quick hard swig from his beer bottle, placing it back on the table with a little more force than intended. “It was my fuckin’ pleasure. You should’ve seen his face. Covered in blood and tears in his eyes when my hand squeezed his throat.”

He swapped his beer for his cigar, relishing in that sweet memory as a ring of smoke hovered above his head like a misplaced halo.

Every now and then, Steve still surprised Horacio. Because occasionally, Horacio caught glimpses of the turbulence that raged beneath the surface. It was a clumsier, more unrefined version than he was accustomed to, but he recognised and understood it nonetheless.

“Not sure I’d have been able to stop squeezing,” Horacio confessed.

“It was touch and go for a minute. But rumour has it, the new Country Attaché, Alana Cortés, and Messina were roommates all the way through their Academy days. And for a few years after…before Cortés took an assignment in Mexico out of the blue. But now she’s back.” Steve toasted the air with his beer bottle. “So good luck to our old friend, Bill, trying to pull her strings.”

Horacio raised his glass to meet Steve’s bottle, although there was an ulterior motive to leaning forward a fraction. “I take it you’ve heard nothing else about the photos?” His words were delivered towards the floor in case of the minutest likelihood anyone around them was the world’s best lip reader.

“Not a thing. But I’d handle it if something did happen; you have my word. Cali’s beyond my remit, but I’d put good money on Stechner’s attention being there now he can’t use us anymore.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Oh, and you were right, too.”

“About what?”

“Javi tryin' to shut me out.”

“Well, thanks for not letting him.”

They bowed their heads and returned to their cigars, a surprisingly comfortable silence sitting between them.

“How was he in Madrid?” Steve asked in the end.

“Good, mostly. There were bad days, obviously. But he sleeps better now.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“No. I think there’s a lot of that going around.”

“It’s weird though, right?”

“What’s that?”

“Being back. Like it was all just some fuckin’ dream. Like it wasn’t really me on that rooftop. Like everyone knew it should’ve been you in that photo instead.”

Horacio might not have been there for the final showdown, but he'd seen enough newspapers and bulletins to know that photo well. The one where Escobar’s limp body was held up to the camera like a trophy, now the hunt was over.

“Yeah, well, I made sure it wasn’t me, didn’t I?” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ve had to make my peace with it. And so should you.”

“I played out that moment so many times. Thought about all the ways we’d catch him. Over and over, I let it run through my head. But I wasn’t expecting him to look so…pathetic. Like any other son of a bitch criminal runnin’ scared when his time’s up.”

“Because that’s all he was. But it was real. And he’s gone. No matter what happens, they can’t take that away from us.”

“But now what?”

“Now, we live our lives. We don’t forget, but we move on.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Just as they toasted their drinks, they were rumbled.

“Might’ve known this is where you’d be hiding. Found them!” Javier called over his shoulder.

Trujillo followed behind Javier; his police uniform now exchanged for a lightweight guayabera. “Anything to avoid a dancefloor. Blondie, are those my cigars?”

“I think you’ll find they’re mine now, Major. I might have a couple of spares lying around, though.” Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out more like he was performing a magic trick.

Trujillo rubbed his hands together. “Now you’re talking.” 

------------------------------------------------------

Once Steve had braved the canopy to pass Connie her drink, the four men retreated to a deserted part of the gardens where pine tables and chairs with canvas covering them were dotted amongst the trees. White lights hung across the branches like fireflies and lanterns lined the decked walkways, the party and dancing reduced to a murmur in the distance.

The quartet sat around one of the pine tables, the first time they had been together like this since the old days back at Carlos Holguín.

“Can you believe we’re finally here?” Trujillo asked, savouring the spicy scent of his cigar as it combined with the fresh floral notes of the forest.

“At your wedding? Barely.”

Trujillo rolled his eyes at Javier’s teasing and shook his head. “You can tick comedian off your list of career options.”

Steve sucked in air through his teeth at their war of words. “See what I had to put up with.”

“Says the white boy who needed me to be his fucking translator 24/7.”

A collective braying sound travelled around the table this time before it morphed into laughter and Steve making use of any Spanish swear word he could think of.

“But in all seriousness...no, not really,” Javier replied in earnest after they returned to their cigars.

“Sometimes when I wake up, it takes me a minute to remember he’s not still lurking out there somewhere.”

“But he’s not.” Horacio’s eyes glowed with steely determination, needing to put a line under this once and for all. “You made sure of that. You gave Medellín a future. And now it’s time to start yours.” He raised his glass to the centre of the table. “To Juana and Felipe.”

“To Juana and Felipe!” Javier and Steve echoed as their drinks clinked with Horacio’s.

“And to Colombia,” Felipe added.

“To Colombia!”

------------------------------------------------------

Once the cigars were stubbed out, Trujillo and Horacio were pulled away for a Search Bloc reunion, leaving Javier and Steve to their drinks.

“I was telling Carrillo about Cortés earlier.”

“How did you find out about her, by the way? You never said on the phone.”

“Just some good old fashioned slightly off-the-record detective work, that’s all.”

“You covered your tracks, though, right? Because they’ll know it was you who gave her my intel. Even if they can’t prove it.”

“’Course. Although it wouldn’t take a fuckin’ genius to figure that out. Same with Stechner’s busted face. Don’t think anyone bought it was your handiwork.”

“To be fair, there’s a critical shortage of geniuses in the DEA. Present company included, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Steve retaliated by raising his middle finger in response to Javier’s trademark wink. “But most people hate Stechner as much as we do, so no one came asking. Never saw him around the school again after that, although I’m sure he must’ve been prowlin' about somewhere.”

“More than likely. So, er…no one’s mentioned the photos either?”

“No. And like I told Carrillo, even if they did, I’d handle it, Javi. I promise. There’s more shit on Stechner out there, I fuckin’ know it. Messina was getting too close, remember. I don’t think I’ll have to dig deeper, but look at it as an insurance policy.”

“Makes sense. And thanks, Steve. For Stechner. For the intel. For reassuring Horacio, apparently.”

Javier laughed at the thought of them engaged in something resembling a heart-to-heart. But if truth be told, it brought warmth to his chest to realise the two men could be considered friends-of-sorts these days. Not that he dared tell them that.

Steve gave a lazy salute with one hand whilst the other took a swig of his drink. “Don’t expect that to become a habit, by the way.”

And there it was, right on cue, just as Javier anticipated. “Oh, no, of course not.”

“It was a one-time-only Wedding Special kinda deal.”

“Right. Exactly.”

Javier took a long sip of his drink to hide the smirk threatening to explode into an undiplomatic laugh if he wasn’t careful.

“Any idea when you’re moving back to the States?” Steve asked, seemingly oblivious to Javier’s impressive restraint.

“Not really. It depends on Horacio’s visa. We haven’t decided on the best route yet. I’d forgotten how much fucking paperwork’s involved.”

It was no wonder Javier held such disdain for bureaucracy when the wrong piece of paper was the difference between crossing a border and not. When someone’s life was reduced down to a list of rigid criteria without much consideration for the sacrifice and hardship it often took to get to that point in the first place. It was why he had done his best to help informants get an American visa wherever possible, even if it meant bending rules until they snapped.

He knew Horacio had more options than most – more than his grandparents’ generation did – and they had been lucky with their past visas. But he tried not to think about the fact their future would be in the hands of an officious government administrator. One most likely not prepared to bend any rules in the slightest.

“You got that right. Don’t s’pose he’s thought about law enforcement?”

Javier shot Steve a sharp look. “Hilarious.”

“I thought so. And what about you? Any ideas what’s next?”

“Me? Fuck, I dunno, man. Guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“You’ll both figure it out, y’know.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You always do. You’re like me and Con. We’ve had our rough patches, several of ‘em while we were here – and a few more since we left, come to think of it – but somehow, we get through it. Same as you and Horacio.”

“You drunk, Murphy?”

Steve contemplated that as though he hadn’t considered the possibility until now despite the array of empty glasses covering the table. “Fuck, I think I am.” He let out a loud snigger before hushing himself. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“My lips are sealed.” For all of Javier’s stoicism, he stood no chance, and it wasn’t long before they were giggling like schoolboys.

“About the rough patches, though…” Steve said once they had calmed down. “Any tips?”

“Someone once told me it’s okay to not always be in the same boat even if you’re in the same storm. Sometimes, you just need your own boat. But as long as you’re trying to sail in the same direction...and want to be in the same boat as much as possible, you can get through it.”

“Huh. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but that actually makes sense. Who do I need to thank?”

Javier smiled, almost able to smell fresh churros if he closed his eyes hard enough. “Someone a lot older and wiser than us.”

“Figures. And my point still stands, by the way.”

“What point’s that exactly?”

“You might not have worked out the finer details yet, but…” Steve gestured for Javier to move forward as though he was about to share highly classified intel. “The worst’s over now. We don’t forget, but we move on.” He nodded sagely before dropping his voice to little more than an alcohol-infused rumble. “This is your happy ending, Javi. Go live it.”

As they returned to the party, Steve alternating between leaning against Javier and patting him enthusiastically on the back whilst attempting something vaguely resembling Spanish, there was no doubt in Javier’s mind that Steve was wasted and probably had been for most of their conversation.

But when it came to the sentiment behind Steve’s garbled words, something told Javier that didn’t matter.

------------------------------------------------------

Maybe it was Horacio’s age or the quiet life he had become accustomed to, but he couldn’t keep up with Search Bloc’s drinking. The aguardiente shots were in full flow when he left them to it, doubling back towards where he had left Javier and Steve.

He made it past the bustle of the bar and round the corner towards a small rock garden with a walkway to the trees lying beyond.

“So, the rumours were true, then.”

Force of habit made Horacio momentarily reach for where his gun holster used to be as he spun around to face the voice from the shadows of a wooden bench.

“Depends which ones you’re talking about,” he replied in a measured tone now he knew the source of the voice. “You can’t believe everything you hear.”

“Well, let’s put it this way...you certainly look well for a dead man, Colonel Carrillo.”

“You almost sound disappointed.”

“Not at all. Vengeance isn’t my style.”

“Nor mine these days.”

“So I’ve heard. Congratulations on your retirement. I’d say that beats jail, wouldn’t you?”

Horacio scoffed as he sat on the opposite end of the bench, his brow flexing at such an expertly delivered blow. “I guess I deserved that.”

“I think we both know what a man deserves and what a man gets are rarely the same thing.”

“True. But you’ll always be Colonel Martínez: the man who stopped Escobar.”

“Perhaps so. But was death not the easier way out?”

“Easier than what? Vengeance?”

“Justice.” Martínez gave Horacio a long look from his end of the bench. “Gaviria was the one who wanted him dead. It’s no wonder you two got along so well.”

“I did my duty. As Gaviria did his and you did yours. We played the hands we were dealt.”

“Yes, and he dealt mine well when he signed my son up to Search Bloc before offering me your job.”

Realisation slowly spread across Horacio’s face, and without meaning to, he gave Martínez a look tinged with pity. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I kept him alive. He was transferred to a new intel unit instead…where he intercepted radio transmissions from Pablo the day we caught him.”

A curve of a smile formed on Horacio’s lips. “Funny how it works out sometimes.”

Horacio was reminded of his own double-edged sword of a path to becoming leader of Search Bloc. The journey began with Javier and a briefcase full of cash being deposited in the lap of General Jaramillo, forcing the General’s greedy hand to appoint Horacio as head of the anti-drug squad and make him a Colonel. A job that was already a poisoned chalice on account of his predecessor winding up dead at the hands of the cartel.

Javier using gringo money to buy Horacio a promotion had been a bone of contention between them back then. Too many heated discussions under the influence led to an argument where “Everybody works for somebody" and “Don’t ever mistake me for one of your whores again” were the last words to hang between them in a heavy fog of smoke, whiskey and undefinable tension for several weeks. During which time, Horacio was even more ruthless than usual. And as if to prove a point, Javier practically became a temporary resident at his favourite brothel.

The hypocrisy of the situation had sat uneasily under Horacio’s skin when he had always taken such a hard line on bribery from the narcos. Was this really any different?

But conversely, if he hadn’t been allowed to build his own force of incorruptible men, he would never have led the operation on Gacha. He would never have ended up in those quarters in Tolú with Javier. On his cot with Javier underneath him.

“Yes, it is. I did tell Gaviria I would bring Escobar into custody unless he resisted. But of course, he resisted.”

“Then maybe Escobar didn’t care about justice as much as you think he did. And there’s nothing you could have done about that.”

“Aren’t we supposed to care about justice, though? And I don’t mean the vigilante kind you and Los Pepes were so fond of administering.”

“You sound like the gringos I used to work with.” A surge of nostalgia rose in Horacio’s chest, and he’d have been surprised if it wasn’t showing on his face. Although, of course, it was one gringo in particular he had in mind.

“If you think I wanted Escobar to be extradited to an American jail, you’re mistaken. He was our problem to deal with, not theirs.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t give a fuck about a corrupt form of justice. How would that have been better than what I did? So many judges, politicians and journalists were bought or killed alongside our men. He wanted Colombia to bleed, and he’d have done whatever it took to make sure he didn’t remain in a cell. You, Trujillo, Search Bloc…you cauterised the wound that no one else could.”

“For now. I think we both know this was something of a Pyrrhic victory. And not the end.”

“Two things we can agree on.”

Reluctant smiles crossed their faces despite everything.

“I think our fathers managed a few more.”

“So I was told at Papá’s wake. How is your father doing these days?”

“He’s fine. Retired now but relieved the hunt is over. I think he hated watching from the sidelines.”

“I know the feeling.”

The distant drumbeat of the live band carried on the gentle breeze through the garden, whispering like ghosts through the plants and trees surrounding them.

“I may not have agreed with your methods, but I was very sorry about your father.”

“Me too. And for what it’s worth, I think my father would’ve been sorry about my methods as well.”

“I cannot imagine how losing a parent so young would have changed my path. And to be clear, this isn't to be taken as an excuse, but by your own ethos, you played the cards you were dealt, did you not?”

Horacio laughed. “Something like that.”

“I must admit, you were a tough act to follow.”

“Was I?”

“Yes. The level of respect you commanded from your men wasn’t easy to replicate.”

“You still got invited here, though.”

“True. And I accepted the invite despite my suspicions the groom was assisting Agent Peña before his departure.”

Horacio’s jaw ticked in anticipation of the treacherous tightrope he would need to tread here. He and Javier were out, done, without their badges or weapons. But Trujillo wasn’t.

“Suspicions or evidence?” he settled on in the end.

“Suspicions based on what I witnessed. But I think there’s irrefutable evidence his and Peña’s unfaltering loyalty rested with you rather than with me.”

“Trujillo also fired a bullet through Escobar’s skull.”

“Yes. An act I don’t judge him for in the circumstances. And rest assured, I have no intention of reporting my suspicions to anyone. Major Trujillo’s motives aren’t the ones still eluding me.”

Horacio swallowed down the dread burning the back of his throat like bile that was in danger of choking him if he didn’t get rid of it quickly. “What are you talking about?”

“You never struck me as a man afraid of death. And whilst I can understand the ambush might have made some reconsider their career choice, I wouldn’t have put you down as one of them.”

“Do you really think there was anything left for me in Search Bloc? My superiors already had your name on their lips to replace me long before I was shot.”

“In Search Bloc, perhaps not. But I’m sure the CNP would have allowed you back once the dust settled. They forgave you for far worse than being shot.”

Horacio huffed sarcastically despite how unwise it was to get sucked into the conversation. “I can assure you my decision was never about them. And it’s nothing you didn’t do for your son.”

That seemed to be the winning blow as Martínez nodded in concession. “True. We can’t afford to be afraid of death in our profession. But when it comes to the people we love, I must confess…I can’t apply the same rule.”

Horacio gripped the edge of the bench and focused intently on his feet, fearing even glancing in Martínez’s direction would fill in the few remaining blanks. He managed a minimal grunting noise in his throat that he hoped sounded like agreement.

“However, many times, I’ve asked myself why a man such as Peña would have destroyed his career so recklessly, and so close to the finish line. But I’ve been unable to settle on an answer.”

It wasn’t quite the change of subject Horacio hoped for. “Well, for starters,” he began, raising his gaze from his shoes at last, not out of a newly acquired sense of bravery but because he knew he needed to be convincing. “I wouldn’t read too much into Judy Moncada’s Get Out Of Jail Free Card.”

“Oh, I didn’t. I know Peña’s role was only a small part of something a lot bigger than he, you or I could control. But I have to wonder what leverage they had over him to make a deal with the devil impossible to refuse.”

Horacio had no intention of engaging further, but it wasn’t the first time he had wondered about the gap he left that was hastily – and bloodily – filled by Los Pepes. Would they even have been necessary if he'd never left? Or would they have tried their luck in approaching him with the offer of an allegiance? It caused his stomach to swoop if he focused too much on the people involved in that hypothetical scenario. But then he thought of Javier, and he knew with every fibre of his being if their roles had been reversed, he would have done the same.

“I’m sure every man has his reasons if the price is high enough.”

Martínez cocked his head in Horacio’s direction with a creased brow, holding eye contact for a fraction longer than Horacio was comfortable with. “Quite.”

Drunken laughter followed by a sniggered hush abruptly cut through the loud silence. The two Colonels – past and present – turned around to be met with the sight of Javier trying to control the swaying bulk of limbs belonging to his former partner.

Javier spotted them first and halted in his tracks, hoping the dim lighting hid the flash of horror on his face at the sight of two parallel universes colliding in front of him on a garden bench.

Steve apparently was oblivious to what they had stumbled across as he carried on along the path back to the party with just about enough of his faculties remaining to reunite with Connie.

“Everything alright?” Javier asked, fingers twitching on his right hand as he looked from one side of the bench to the other, then back again.

“Yeah, fine.” But Horacio’s eyes found Javier’s in the flecks of light from the lanterns hanging amongst the tree branches and told a more complicated story. “We were just comparing notes.”

“Oh yeah? Any interesting findings?” Javier’s eyes stayed fixed on Horacio’s or the floor for the most part, only risking a brief glance or two at Martínez.

“A few,” Martínez chipped in as he studied them more carefully than they were likely aware of. “Some that I will never be able to excuse or forgive, but I think I understand one thing more clearly now.”

“What’s that?” Horacio asked.

“I always believed there were two types of people in this world: those who rely on hope and those who rely on faith. But now, I see some rely on both.”

Before Javier or Horacio could formulate a response, Martínez announced it was time to locate his son as they had early shifts in the morning.

Their farewell involved little more than a handshake, a stern nod and an exchange of “Good luck.” But it was a necessary formality for all parties. A mark of mutual respect that wasn’t quite an offered or accepted olive branch but at least a truce. And that was enough. 

------------------------------------------------------

“You okay?” Javier asked once Martínez had disappeared from view.

“Yeah. Well, I guess it was inevitable at some point.”

“Didn’t expect it to go like that, though. What the fuck did he mean? Just before he left. Does he know?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t think he’s telling anyone anything either way.”

“Agreed. We don’t have to stay if you’d rather -”

“No.” Horacio was quiet for a second, craning his ear towards the sound of the band behind the large cluster of trees they had sat amongst earlier. “I’ve got a better idea.”

He looked around them in all directions, twice, to be on the safe side, then took Javier by the hand and escorted him along one of the walkways. However, they branched off in a different direction than before, Horacio surprising himself with childhood memories of the layout of this place that he assumed were lost to the sands of time.

“What are -?”

“You’ll see.”

The path spiralled in circles, leaving them surrounded by greenery until they arrived at a softly lit water fountain in the centre. They were somehow closer to the sound of the music, even though they had moved further away from the party.

As they stilled, Javier looked expectantly at Horacio, who was already removing his jacket, placing it carefully on the ground and rolling up his shirt sleeves.

Javier did the same, still not understanding what this was all about, but the look in Horacio’s eye made him want to find out.

Horacio stepped closer, moonlight casting reflections from the fountain, illuminating the spark of hunger glinting in his pupils. “I’ve spent all night watching you dance with half the wedding party.” One hand dropped to Javier’s waist and tugged him forward into his hold. “It’s my turn now.”

Javier’s breath hitched as Horacio pressed them together, his hands automatically falling to Horacio’s hips to steady himself. “You only had to ask,” he said, the smoky timbre of his voice vibrating against Horacio’s ear.

“I thought line-dancing was more your thing.”

Javier nipped at Horacio’s earlobe in revenge. “That was when I was a kid. And you weren’t complaining about my dancing skills on our anniversary.”

Horacio let out an agreeable sigh as he chased the scrape of Javier’s teeth. “No, I wasn’t. But as nice as that was, we were hardly moving.”

“True. And if you must know, the Texas Two-Step got me several phone numbers back in the day. Lorraine’s being one of them. She was more into it than me, but it was actually kinda fun…for a while anyway.”

Memories of Saturday nights spent at old Texan dance halls and barn dances suddenly filled Javier’s mind. The faded aroma of leather and iron rust lingered alongside stale Lone Star beer, cigarette smoke and overpowering perfume as he led his partner across the worn wooden floor in time to the likes of Laura Canales and Hank Locklin.

His gaze would travel around the room – which was easier during a do-si-do – sometimes to make sure they didn’t collide with other dancers, sometimes to give anyone who caught his eye a discreet once-over. If he happened to hone in on a male dancer's tight-fitted jeans and fluid hip movements, it could easily be disguised as admiration for his female partner.

Not that it ever led to any encounters. Not there anyway; it wasn’t anonymous enough. But it was still a temptation. And yet another instance of feeling caught between two worlds: to have the tangible heat and beauty of a woman in his arms whilst fantasising about a mysterious, alluring man from afar, knowing he could never do the same with him in front of an audience.

“Juliana taught me to dance too. Or tried to, at least. She competed a lot when she was younger.”

Horacio smiled at the unexpected memory of them practising in her parents' kitchen, her father watching them like a hawk, glaring every time Horacio put a foot wrong or his hands fell lower than her waist despite the fact she was a grown woman. And his hands had already done much more than that whenever they had the place to themselves. His relationship with her father was the polar opposite of his relationship with Chucho, now he thought about it.

It wasn’t Juliana’s fault, though. And when they were alone on a crowded dancefloor, before his job and life came between them, before he understood the strange, borderline resentment twisting in his chest if he clocked male dancers with a particular look or build, they were content.

One of their favourite clubs ran a cumbia contest on the first Saturday of each month. The prize was tokenistic, free drinks on their next visit, but that didn’t matter on the occasions they came first when Juliana would tell her parents the good news at church the following day. The look on her father’s face as Horacio tried and failed to stifle a smug expression at her side would always be priceless.

“You ever danced any cumbia?” he asked Javier now.

“Some. At parties, weddings, quinceañeras…but that’s going back before I came to Colombia.” There might have been a few hazy nights in clubs and bars over here as well, but dancing hadn’t been his modus operandi in those days.

“So, you’ve never done it with a Colombian?”

Javier’s brow quirked of its own accord, and his tongue swept deliberately across his top lip. “No, er, you’d be my first.”

Horacio kept an impassive expression with his mouth, but his darkening pupils gave him away. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

“You know that won’t be necessary.”

Somewhere in the middle of their flirtation, they loosened their embrace, one hand linked in the space between them as their feet stepped back and forth, then side to side, their movements mirroring one another. Quick, quick, slow, quick, quick, slow.

Without warning, Horacio pulled Javier across his body and under their arms, spinning him around with force, then bringing them face-to-face again.

“Lucho Bermúdez was one of the great musical legends here in Colombia. Still is after his death last year. Mamá and my Abuelas listened to him all the time whenever the whole family got together. Do you know the name of this song?”

Horacio waited until their noses were almost touching to ask as their feet subconsciously glided over the paving stones beneath them.

Javier merely shook his head, their legs intermittently brushing together as their hips popped to the beat before he was spun once, twice, thrice until he was dizzy and out of breath.

“Tolú,” Horacio whispered as they reconverged, his lips skimming Javier’s and his eyes flickering shut as flashes of them on his cot in their shadowed quarters flooded into view.

Javier teased his bottom lip over Horacio’s, moustache swiping back and forth until they shuddered, a different first time as fresh as if it happened yesterday.

But they never stopped dancing. Horacio looped through their arms until he had his back to Javier, one hand each gripped at Horacio’s waist. They shimmied sideways, their free hands entwined by their shoulders to guide them back and forth, switching their hold each time they travelled across the floor. Another spin, another brush of legs, or an electric look making it clear which memories of Tolú they were thinking of.

The song ended, leaving only their charged breaths and the evening breeze rustling through the maze of trees protecting them from prying eyes.

Then, the band struck up again, so they kept dancing. Their bodies and minds synchronised as they paid homage to the country that had brought them together in the unlikeliest circumstances, Horacio interjecting with memories from childhood whenever old classics were played. He was even forced to swear on the cross between their chests that he had nothing to do with the band playing Noches de Cartagena of all songs.

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By the time Javier prised his eyes open, unwelcome rays were already bursting through any gap in the blinds they could find. He craned his neck above Horacio’s still form, his watch on the nightstand reading 8:45am; ouch.

He’d survived on minimal sleep plenty of times, but he couldn’t remember getting home from a wedding past 5:00am before. If he was honest, they were tempted to call it a night once their private party for two ended. But it would have been rude to miss out on the dancers – professional this time – costumes and confetti of La Hora Loca. When in Colombia and all that.

They still had a few hours before they were to reconvene with the wedding party for the ultimate hangover cure of bandeja paisa, so Javier’s nose and moustache brushed over the nape of Horacio’s neck, arms slotting around him from behind.

A serene purr soon followed as Horacio stirred and leaned into Javier’s touch.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

Javier’s lips now worked their way to the side of Horacio’s neck, concentrating on a sweet spot below his ear.

“Liar.” Although Horacio’s whole body arched and his head tilted to give Javier what he wanted.

“Surprised I was awake before you, to be honest.”

“It took me a while to get to sleep…all of two and a bit hours ago.” Horacio winced into the pillow at how little rest he’d actually had.

“Everything okay?”

“Hmm, yeah.” He raised his head and shifted so he was lying face-to-face with Javier. “I was just thinking about my family.”

“Makes sense.”

“When we arrived, we were so focused on the wedding. I didn’t let myself think about what comes next. But now…”

“I said the same to Connie last night. But…maybe we’re ready to rip off the band-aid.”

“Maybe. Part of me just wanted to get it out of the way when I was lying awake. But you nodded off in record time.”

“I think you wore me out.”

“But you enjoyed it, though?”

“It was perfect.” Javier closed the space between them, seeking out Horacio’s lips until he was met with a hum of agreement.

Javier pushed his luck, ducking below Horacio’s ear and descending over the column of his throat. Testing the waters to see if Horacio wanted the distraction Javier was more than willing to provide. “And how’s this?”

“Pretty fucking perfect too.”

Their kisses started languorous due to their lack of sleep, building to something fervid as Horacio nipped at Javier’s pout, catching it between his teeth until it was plump and swollen.

Javier retaliated, coaxing Horacio’s tongue towards his with expert flicks, tasting faint traces of last night’s cigars, until he captured it and sucked, long and thorough.

Limbs tangled between bedsheets soon became Javier whimpering facedown into a pillow whilst Horacio dipped and devoured, creating a slick glide between Javier’s thighs, the relief visceral when lining up and pushing forwards.

Horacio experimented with bracing yet measured rotations as he mouthed along the expanse of Javier’s trapezius, lost in a sea of broad muscle. He’d always loved watching the fabric of Javier’s shirts stretch and strain at his upper back, an eye-catching contrast to the narrow hips his jeans hugged oh so tightly. And now, the shirt wasn’t required, and he was the one setting Javier’s skin alight, triggering a visible response to every touch or movement like putty in Horacio’s hands.

Javier loved being vindicated that there was nothing wrong with Horacio’s hips whatsoever. Of being denied any forewarning of what came next from biting down on a pillow with his eyes screwed shut, the only way he could avoid prematurely spilling all over the sheets beneath him. It was a close call several times, calming breaths required to refocus, a request for Horacio to stop or slow down needed before it was game over.

Knowing he reduced Javier to begging because it was too much put Horacio on thin ice, and any more pleas like that would have finished him off. But the throbbing of his cock was in sync with his pulse, loud and insistent, and keeping still wasn’t having the same effect anymore. The salty taste on his tongue as it swiped over the nape of Javier’s neck where the silver chain still remained was an aphrodisiac he couldn’t ignore.

“Fuck me,” he rasped against Javier’s ear.

Without hesitation, Javier flipped onto his back, the loss of contact causing an ache of frustration. But it was replaced by straddling, groping and grinding, propelling Horacio up the mattress until his thighs were encased around Javier’s head.

Now it was Javier’s turn to feast, spreading Horacio with vigour, darting, licking, kissing, leaving trails of saliva, moaning as his cock was engulfed and fingers danced over his balls.

The scratch of nails scored Horacio’s ass as he worked Javier over, lapping with greed, hollowing his cheeks, bobbing his head and switching up the strength of suction, putting everything they had learnt in Madrid into practice.

They pulled off before it was too late, grabbing the bottle of lube and lying supine across the mattress with Javier underneath Horacio.

Javier’s feet were planted flat on the bed, giving him enough purchase to buck upwards with force, one hand holding on at the waist whilst the other roamed freely across the plains of Horacio’s chest, kneading fistfuls of pectoral muscles and skimming over his rib cage down to his thighs.

Javier caressed each thigh in turn, circling and massaging with his thumb, marvelling at how the span of his hand only reached a fraction of the way around them. “I meant what I said last night. About how good a garter would look on you.” His glutes clenched as he propelled upwards for extra emphasis.

The seed was sewn in Javier’s head as he watched Horacio dress for the wedding. It wasn’t the first time Horacio had worn what was a standard part of his dress uniform. A trick of the trade amongst police and military to avoid sanctions for a creased shirt. But it was the first time Javier had seen the shirt stays sitting snugly around Horacio’s muscular thighs. It was the first time he wanted to slip his fingers underneath the neat straps, maybe twang them or pull them tighter with his teeth whilst on his knees. Or as Horacio rode him with his back to Javier, one side of his shirt unclipped, underwear and a single garter tantalisingly removed, the other kept secured in place.

A guttural groan rumbled through Horacio’s chest like he had read Javier’s mind. “What kind?” he breathed out, surprised by his eagerness to indulge Javier and how fast his hand shot to his cock.

Javier choked back expletives at Horacio’s question and the sight above him. “I was thinking something leather…with a buckle…to match your belt and boots.” Each punishing thrust broke up his speech with strained grunts as he spread Horacio’s thighs wider, manoeuvring him up and down at the same pace. “Maybe one on your arm too….and a harness…to go with your hat…cowboy.”

“Fuck,” Horacio panted into Javier’s mouth at an awkward angle on the pillow, stroking himself roughly. Sparks of arousal multiplied with each wrist jerk as he pictured the look Javier gave him during the belt contest. Imagined him buckling the firm yet supple material until it bound tightly against Horacio’s sensitive skin like armour only they were allowed to put on or take off.

Javier’s hand replaced Horacio’s as he let his cock be held in stasis, basking in the heat and comfort of their joined form. His fingers journeyed back to Horacio’s mouth, tracing over it until Horacio parted his lips for Javier to feed two, then three digits inside.

Horacio sucked down, tasting himself as well as Javier as he swirled and licked, swallowing past the knuckles; faster and greedier. But it wasn’t enough.

Maybe it was the false pretences kept up the previous day and night combined with what lay ahead, but Javier seemed too far away. He always did when they were in public, but even more so when wearing a three-piece suit at a romantic wedding that wasn’t and couldn’t be theirs. It was why they still relished the time they could spend alone. And why they had needed Madrid. Because all those hidden looks and blink-and-miss, ‘accidental’ unseen brushes of hands could only be suppressed for so long. Last night, it had spilt out as inadvertent foreplay. But now, they needed more.

“Turn around,” Horacio said after releasing Javier’s glistening fingers.

They lay heart-to-heart, Horacio on his back, legs wrapped around Javier. Javier’s tongue skimmed across the breadth of Horacio’s chest, taking his sweet time working over each nipple, the scrape of teeth causing Horacio to lift upwards until Javier plunged him back down again.

And Horacio didn’t resist, his mind and body in free flight as the weight of Javier anchored him, allowed him to feel each and every nerve vibrate, his arms sliding above his head in complete surrender, offering them for Javier to claim.

Javier plotted a course across any patch of bare skin he could reach, licking up and down Horacio’s underarms, inhaling the musky scent of sweat before switching to his triceps, then biceps. On the left, he mouthed his way along the muscles; any marks left intentional reassurances and promises for their present and future, their bodies mapped stories of their lives.

Along the right, he eased up when he came to the faded scar at the mid-point of Horacio’s shoulder, placing tender butterfly kisses over the blemished skin, blinking away visions of a bullet tearing it open and taking care not to let his teeth make unwanted contact with their past.

He gradually dragged his mouth away until their gaze met, the rise and fall of Horacio’s chest compelling Javier to lay his head on it, soothed by the steady beat and the massage at his scalp.

Satisfied, Javier lifted Horacio’s arms back above them, sweeping over the peaks and troughs of fortified shoulders, forearms and wrists until they slotted through fingers that clamped around his like a vice.

Javier rocked in a pounding rhythm, Horacio’s legs rising higher, pushing Javier deeper as compensation for being unable to reach out and touch. Horacio honed in on the lifeline at his fingertips, the stimulation against his prostate and the safety of Javier’s forehead, all thoughts about the upcoming days put on hold.

But Javier could sense Horacio needed more again. It was written all over the beautiful agony of his face and the silent request in his eyes.

So, hands unlocked to let fingernails brand skin, tug at damp strands of hair and graze over stubble, the metallic ice of the cross contrasting with the fire burning in the core of their chests as they danced more synchronised steps only they knew.

A change in angle caused a slow build of release to skirt the edges of Horacio’s limbs, toes curling as jolts of pleasure transformed into overflowing currents. The fuse was lit, a chain reaction of heat stoking a fire in the pit of his abdomen on the cusp of burning him from the inside out.

Another snap of hips, his own hand jerking his cock in a frenzy, a rush of white noise, shuddering, shaking breaths and a release of molten bliss across their stomachs.

The ripples kept coming as every sound, quiver or fluttering around Javier’s cock pushed him closer to the edge. With one final thrust, he finished inside Horacio, a desperate growl tearing from his throat, the brunt absorbed by Horacio’s left shoulder.

They didn’t move, preferring spent velvet kisses, the world now in slow motion.

Javier concentrated on Horacio’s nose and forehead, pouring everything into each gesture of affection until he whispered, “I love you. And it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

“I love you too. And I know.”

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They dozed a little too long after wearing each other out for the second time in 24 hours, so Horacio went ahead first, leaving Javier to shower and join him afterwards. But it made little difference to the proceedings as plenty of other guests were slow off the mark, too.

Tables were laid out around the nearby restaurant owned by Juana’s parents, leftover flower arrangements used as decorations because it would have been a shame to waste them. It was a much smaller space than the botanical gardens, but not all guests from the night before were expected to attend. A fact that brought immense relief to Horacio because he wouldn’t have to make conversation with a certain Colonel again.

Whilst waiting for Javier, he worked his way through his belated first coffee of the day and took a bite out of an arepa.

“Is there room for two more?”

Horacio raised his head to find Connie with Olivia in tow. “Of course.”

Connie did her best to encourage Olivia out of her hiding place behind her legs. “Come on, sweetie. Do you want something to eat?”

Olivia peeped out from behind Connie, eyeing Horacio with suspicion.

“Don’t mind her; she’s just a little shy and overtired this morning.”

“Some arepas are going spare if that helps?” Horacio kept his voice low and gentle, peering around Connie until he drew a curious expression out of Olivia.

Olivia looked up at her mother, who nodded for reassurance.

“Go ahead.”

Olivia left her hiding place and took the chair between Horacio and Connie, mumbling a thank you as she ate.

“Help yourself, too.”

“Oh, no, thanks. I’ll wait for Steve, whose painkillers should hopefully be kicking in about now. I don’t feel too bad, but I left him groaning into his pillow. Were you and Javi in the same state this morning?”

Horacio fought down a smirk with every strength of his being. “Something like that.”

“I knew it was a smart move to travel to Cartagena tomorrow instead.”

“Where are you staying?”

“A resort just off La Boquilla beach. Steve and I would’ve preferred something quieter, but there’s more to keep kids busy where we’re at.”

“I don’t know the area well, but it is a nice coast up there. With plenty more arepas.” Horacio directed his last sentence at Olivia, who had already made a start on her second.

She slowed her chewing before smiling at Horacio, who had remembered a trick or two from the younger days of dealing with his nieces and nephews. If all else failed, food usually won them round.

“I’ve only seen Medellín and Bogotá, so it’ll be nice to get out of the big cities for a change.”

Horacio cleared his throat and took a long sip of his drink. “Yeah, it will.”

Connie leaned across the table to retrieve a freshly replenished pot of coffee and poured into her cup. “It’s a shame we won’t get a chance to see Manizales this time. But we’ll be thinking about it anyway.”

Horacio was startled out of his own coffee and met Connie’s eye, unsure how to respond before settling on a silent nod of thanks. “Maybe next time if all goes well.”

“I think we’d like that. Breaks like this are few and far between now we’re both back working.”

“How’s Miami these days?”

“Busy now we’re juggling our schedules with Liv’s. And we still have bad days sometimes, of course.” Connie gave Horacio a pointed look when talking of bad days, choosing her words carefully with Olivia in earshot. “But things are better now we’ve got more routine again…more stability.”

“Sounds familiar. I find being in the same country helps, too,” Horacio added with a wry smile.

“Exactly. Now we’re out the other side.”

“Yeah.”

They shared a knowing look, not wanting to say too much in front of Olivia about everything they had been through. It was hard to believe how much had happened and changed in the last few years, and it was clear everyone was still processing it all.

“How’s your arm doing now?” Connie asked in a hurry, keeping the mood light for the sake of her daughter. 

“It’s as good as new. Well, almost. The ranch kept me moving. I think I built back more muscle than I had before. And I kept up strengthening exercises in Madrid.”

“Wow, you’re doing better than most of my patients. I never had to tell you off once.”

“I don’t follow many orders, but it wasn’t worth my arm – or life – to ignore yours. So, thank you.”

“Try telling that to Steve...or this one here. But seriously, I’m just glad I could help. Especially when I hear you might be making ranch life more permanent?” There was a conspiratorial tone to her question. A question she clearly knew the answer to already but was having fun asking regardless.

“That’s the plan, hopefully. Madrid was always supposed to be temporary.”

“But it helped?”

“Yeah. It was exactly what we needed. And maybe you’ll find Cartagena is what you need.”

“I think we will.”

There was that look again, one that spoke volumes about their shared understanding, even if their experiences were different.

Horacio’s gaze drifted up to Javier, who still wore his aviators until he flopped down at their table, already reaching for a cup and the coffee pot.

“Morning.”

“Afternoon, Javi,” Connie greeted with a wink.

“Very funny. But looks like I still beat your husband.”

“Don’t suppose you saw him on your way over?”

“Nope. I’m sure he’ll appear once the food does.”

Javier was right, of course. A worse-for-wear Steve arrived as the bandeja paisa was brought to the tables before they tucked into huge hot trays of beans, rice, chicharrón, chorizo, carne en polvo, plantain, avocado, fried egg and more arepas.

They ate in comfortable silence, letting the food work its magic and fill them up for the rest of the day, highlights from the reception still fresh in everyone’s minds despite their current weariness.

Before long, it was time to wave the newlyweds off on their honeymoon to Bequia. Their goodbyes were short and sweet, knowing they would be keeping in touch long after the celebrations were over, especially when Trujillo’s parting words were, “I’ll be waiting for my ranch invitation in the post.”

And even through the loud crowd of well-wishers, he managed to hear the mumbled “Cheeky fucker” echoed back at him in unison.

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Javier and Horacio stayed to finish their coffees once the beeps of the wedding car disappeared into the distance, the majority of the party now dispersed and leaving them sat alone.

“Pops rang just before I left the hotel. Think he wanted to check in before…well, y’know.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. The only bit of news he asked me to pass on was about him being offered first refusal on Ciro’s and Malena’s place.”

The fact the Ortegas were selling up wasn’t a surprise. Javier and Horacio had spent last Christmas in Laredo again, where Ciro and Malena had brought around a fresh batch of sopaipillas over the festive period. In the preceding months, they had gone back and forth on moving, but by December, they were set on putting the farm on the market in the New Year.

Horacio nodded slowly, his brow drawn tight across his forehead as he considered this new development carefully. “Makes sense.”

“Do you think he’ll seriously consider it at his age?”

“I think he has to. We buy the majority of our feed grain from them. Selling to an outsider could risk price hikes and shortages, or the new owners might want to supply to someone else. It’d be a big gamble. But if your father bought them out, then kept their staff on, used their expertise, maybe even increased the livestock with some of the extra land…I think it could be workable.”

Horacio was aware he was being watched and glanced up to face his audience. “What?”

“Nothing.” Although Javier knew his face told another story. “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak such fluent cowboy before.”

“I’m not a—”

“Not yet,” Javier finished for him. “And I never said it was a bad thing.”

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After every funeral, an additional service was held exclusively for CNP officers to attend. Whilst gravestones were located across Colombia in countless cemeteries, a modest wooden cross bearing a name was planted for each loss in the consecrated soil around the corner from Carlos Holguín.

Horacio had paid his respects here more times than he wished to remember, but he still wasn’t prepared for how vast the sea of the dead had become since his last visit. It was a silent expanse covering the grass for as far as the eye could see, the sole sign of life the weeds and wildflowers shooting up between the rows he walked through.

He recognised some names and could clearly picture their ashen-faced relatives as though it was yesterday when he stood on their doorsteps, hat in hand and solemn expression fixed in place. Others were indistinguishable from the rest. An indicator of the extent of the collateral damage and how long he had been away now.

As he stood in his civilian clothes, he felt strangely underdressed. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to wear his usual ranch attire since being back in Colombia and had returned to the beige khakis and polo shirts that felt like an unofficial uniform of their own. One that allowed him to get away with wholly unofficial business in the past, but today wasn’t about him. Today was about them. All of them. No matter who they were.

Perhaps against his better judgement, with the help of Trujillo, he had located the graves of Diana Turbay and Carolina García Velásquez. He didn't allow himself to remember Carolina’s name at the time, even though she had been plastered all over the papers alongside mysterious references to an “unidentified officer of the National Police” leading the raid on La Dispensaria. A story eerily repeated with Diana’s death.

He didn’t linger at their gravesides. But on those occasions, just like this one, Horacio bowed his head, recited a silent prayer and made the sign of the cross.

“Lo siento,” were the only words spoken before he retreated from the churchyard.

He had done all he could here for now, and it was time to…not forget but to move on. It was time to face his fears and look to the future. It was time to let old ghosts rest once and for all.

[rebelelegance]

Calloused Hearts

Hi! New story, new series in fact. It’s scary, it’s new, I’m excited. Hope you guys like it.

Summary: You’ve been a part of Kaz Brekker’s life for a long time. Some people said it was before the cripple, before the gloves. Maybe they were right, but it didn’t change the fact that you’d disappeared for 6 years of his life. You weren’t there, and that meant you couldn’t be let back in….right?

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Tidemaker!reader

Warnings: Angst, violence, kaz’s touch aversion, but a lot of fluff towards the end.

w/c: 1419

Chapter 1:

Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason. Everyone knew this. Everyone feared it. It’s why he could walk down an alleyway in confidence. Of course, he was alert, because there was always someone who felt himself to be the bigger and better man. Which is why, when he heard someone grunt behind him, someone who he knew wasn’t Inej, he stopped.

“You know better than to sneak up on me.”

He heard the softest thud, one he wouldn’t have heard, had he not noticed the grunt before.. 

“You had to choose an alley with the worst houses in the Barrel?”

Kaz’s heart dropped. He knew that voice. How could he not? It was engraved in his mind, he knew it better than he knew his crows, better than he knew his trade, perhaps better than he knew himself.

“Why are you following me?”

He hated how his voice wavered. Your mere presence had such an effect on him. ‘Pull it together Kaz. You’re Dirtyhands. The Bastard of the Barrel. Act like it’. 

He heard a huff, some shuffling, before you spoke again, “6 years, and the first thing you ask is why I’m following you?”

“You said it yourself. 6 years. So why?” He gripped his cane to ground himself. He had to remind himself that you weren’t the girl he knew. This girl wasn’t his best friend. 

“I’ve been following you for nearly over 3 years now. You’re telling me you hadn't realized? Not once?”

“No.”

That was a lie. He had. He’d seen your navy blue coat in the small light of a shop window on a few occasions. The way that the rain didn’t seem to fall much on him and his crows, while others nearby got drenched. The shadow of your figure flying past his window. He’d seen it. But he’d refused to believe it. He’d blamed it on his mind. Was convinced that it was just his imagination. “No, I haven’t,” he said. Stronger this time, more firm, as if trying to convince himself. 

He heard a sigh, more shuffling. “Ok. Alright, I guess I’m just that good then, huh?”

He knew what you were trying to do. You were trying to irk him. To get under his skin, to get him to spill the truth. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction, nor did he want to play along. Both were costly. So, he opted for silence.

More shuffling. Another sigh.

“Do I have to continue talking to your back? Or are you going to turn?”

He didn’t want to turn. Turning would mean seeing you. Seeing you would mean backtracking on all the efforts he’d put into forgetting you.

And yet, his heart yearned for it. To look at you, to see your face. One of the few good things in the Bastard’s life. He couldn’t afford it. He always trusted his mind. Not his heart. Yet somehow, he turned.

He couldn’t see your face clearly. It was hidden behind the shadows of the night, only the silhouette of your body. You kept your style; he could make out the jacket you wore, something like what Inej had, and your hood. You moved your hand and it came to a stop in front of you, where the moonlight illuminated your awkward wave. Gloves. He remembered those gloves. Fingerless, black leather. He’d given those to you. Kaz’s fingers curled around the crow on his cane. She’s not the girl you gave those too, she’s a betrayer. He stayed silent.

“Wow, no waving back? Okay.”

“Stop pretending like we’re friends. Like we know each other. Like I know you,” again, he was trying to convince himself. This wasn’t you. Part of him believed otherwise. Part of him wanted to take you back to the Slat. Catch up over whiskey, laugh it all off like you always had. He wanted to revel in your comfort. Your smile. Your lau-

‘Kaz stop it. Don’t let her in again’.

You stepped forward, and Kaz had to prevent himself from moving back. The moonlight fell on your face now, and his fingers ached from clutching his cane. Your features were more defined now, your eyes darker, without the spark he’d known. A scar, starting a bit above your eyebrow, ran down, across it, and ended just before your eyelid. He was right. This wasn’t you.  

“We were, before,” the hurt in your voice did something to him. It made him want to give in. But he couldn’t. He remembered waiting for you, hoping you would show up. He set his jaw. No. He wasn’t going to give in to a traitor. “Before,” he said, still not in complete control of the confidence in his voice. 

“Ok look, I can explain Kaz. Please let me explain. I-”

“No.” He cut you off. You froze. He took a deep breath in. “No Y/N you may not explain why you betrayed me. Why you broke your promise. I am not the slightest bit interested. I’ve learnt to live without you.” Lie. “I don’t need you.” Lie. A pause “I don’t need you,” he repeated. He was convincing himself, he just hoped you didn’t know that. 

He watched you stiffen. Your expression dropped, shoulders sagging. He wanted to reach out. He wanted to turn around and leave. He wanted you. He wanted to forget your existence. He wanted so many things. All contradicting. He hated that you could do this to him. That you could turn his world upside down. That you could make him confused, and not know what he wanted. He hated you. No, he wanted to hate you, but his heart wouldn’t let him. He huffed. Get a hold of yourself Brekker.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. Soft, hurt, confused. He couldn’t read the emotion.  Your hand moved to clutch your side, a small whimper leaving your lips. Were you going to cry? That’s when he saw the sticky substance that coated your fingers. He froze, his eyes widening slightly. “Fuck,” you muttered. You looked back at him, eyes widened, face pale. 

“I-” 

“You’re bleeding.”

“Believe so,” you chuckled dryly.

“How?” He cursed himself internally. He shouldn’t care. 

“Must’ve gotten shot escaping PR. But then I saw you outside alone and I followed. Kinda didn’t realize”

PR. The code you created for Rollins. Makes him seem too important, he’d say. Yeah, but PR’s are annoying, you’d bite back. 

Kaz’s free hand curled into a fist. Did you think he couldn’t handle himself? Why did you follow him even after being shot? Why were you shot in the first place? And by Pekka? Why were you shot by Pekka? How by Pekka? What is up with Pekka, and him constantly messing with people he cared about? Why did he include you in that group? He flexed the hand holding his cane, it had gotten too stiff from all the gripping.

“I’ll uh- I’ll go. Just forget this ok? I thought it would go well, clearly it didn’t so, just ignore me.” You rushed with your words. 

Kaz had to think fast. He didn’t want to let you back in. But he could have you healed right? Just once? Would it hurt? No it wouldn’t, right? Nina could fix you better than you’d be able to fix yourself. You’d already lost quite a bit of blood from what he could see.  C’mon Kaz. She left you to fend for yourself. But the sight of you bleeding, hurt, and the fact that Pekka Rollins had done that to you, it changed something in him.

Just as you turned around, he called you out. “Wait.”

You turned back around slowly. “Look Kaz, I should go-”

“Can you walk till the Slat?”

He couldn’t see your face, you were in the dark again but he could hear the shock in your voice as you asked “What?”

“I was clear, I believe. Can you walk till the Slat? I assume you already know where that is.”

There was a pause, and then “Yeah, but-”

“Then we better get going before you faint, because if you do, I’m not carrying you.”

He walked up to you, pausing to look, “Let’s go,” and he walked off. He didn’t wait for you, fighting the urge to look back. After a few seconds he heard your huffs and then you yelled “Wait up Brekker, I’m hurt if you remember.” And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fight the small smile that made its way to his face.

Chapter 2