#love is stored in the olive jar

[elvenbeard]

Vulnerabilities

Cyberpunk 2077 Fanfic

Summary: V and Kerry blow off some steam before they have to return to the Med Center, where Dr. Fuentes will hopefully introduce them to her plan on how to safe V's life. (Post-Sun-Ending, mostly canon-compliant, Chapter 16/?, 9582 words, Kerry Eurodyne/V, in this chapter: NSFW, pegging, kinky sex - notes at the end) >> Previous Chapter >> Read from the Beginning

“I’ve been a very bad boy,” Kerry breathed against his ear. V hesitated briefly, but then pushed him away and onto the bed. Kerry laughed shakily when he landed on his back with a thud. V looked down on him, as he had his arms spread out, hair still perfectly styled, but cheeks slightly flushed as he bit his lip. He climbed onto the bed as well, settling between Kerry’s legs. Kerry pressed his thighs against V’s sides with a cocky grin.

V hummed, supporting himself with his right hand on the mattress, his left thumb brushing across Kerry’s lips. He lingered momentarily, then pulled back to slap his cheek. Not too harshly, leaving just a hint of tingling, and Kerry shivered under him.

“You were,” V teased back, voice low, while Kerry still smiled, “But you’ve been worse.”

Kerry huffed.

“Kidnapped my manager… Right now planning to screw the label over… Kissed ya in public at a big party…” he recounted the last few days, fingers busy unbuttoning V’s shirt.

“Nothing was set on fire yet,” V said and leaned forward, letting his tongue and teeth wander along the edge of Kerry’s voicebox implant, black and golden chrome framing warm skin. A raspy, frustrated groan came in response.

“Sent ya nudes while y’were in an important meeting,” Kerry sighed, “That’s gotta count for somethin’…”

V chuckled, taking in the sharp yet pleasant scent of Kerry’s aftershave as he sucked a hickey into his flesh, right below his jawline. Kerry squeezed his legs around him tighter, pulled V against his groin to make sure he knew how aroused he was.

Both were still more-or-less fully dressed, had only just gotten back home. Kerry had come directly from the video shoot for Shivers all day, while meetings and planning sessions for the Sutter gig had occupied V’s agenda. They were tense and weary, it was late, but sometimes that was just the right time to blow off some steam before falling asleep.

“Beg for it,” V whispered against Kerry’s neck, then he slowly sat up again and leaned back, hands on Kerry’s chest holding him down. Kerry gently trailed his fingers along V’s arms. He tried to reach his sides, but V leaned away and let one hand wander to Kerry’s throat. Kerry quivered, eyes hooded and his breathing quickened, and he lifted his head to bare his neck to V’s grasp even more. He swallowed, chrome and flesh moving beneath V’s own cyberware-covered palm.

“Fuck me, please” his voice was hoarse, longing, and his dick twitched noticeably between them.

V smiled and inched closer, not evading Kerry’s fingers this time as they pulled on his shirt, tried to undo his belt.

“How?” he breathed more than he asked, grip around Kerry’s throat tightening.

“Mhhh… hard and fast,” Kerry gasped, “’til all I can do is scream your name.”

“How ‘bout ‘til all you can do is whimper, incoherently?” V suggested, and Kerry’s hips buckled, but V continued to hold him down.

“Fuck… Yes, please,” he grunted, his pulse fast against V’s fingertips, their eyes interlocked.

V slowly let go again and Kerry let out a shaky breath. Then he caressed Kerry’s thighs.

“’Cause you asked so nicely,” he said, and Kerry scoffed at first, but his smile returned when V continued, “I’ll let ya pick tonight…”

“The purple one,” he said without a pause, and V reached back to slap his thigh – with a little more fervor than his cheek, making Kerry wince first but then chuckle lowly.

“Eager… let’s see for how long.”

Kerry grinned, challenging now, but he then slowly unwrapped his legs from V’s hips and quickly undid his own belt.

Kerry was already naked, had simply tossed his clothes wherever, when V joined him on the bed again. He had fetched the ribbed, purple strap-on Kerry had asked for and undressed himself as well.

“Help me out?” V half asked, half ordered and held out the harness, kneeling tall in front of Kerry on their silk bedsheets. Kerry sat up instantly. Skilled and swiftly he wrapped the purple leather straps around V’s hips and thighs, pulling taut and closing the clasps with care. All the while he barely broke eye contact with V who watched from above, goosebumps rising wherever Kerry touched or as much as breathed against him.

“Like this?” Kerry asked, pulling V against himself on the harness, the material pleasantly pressing into his flesh at the swift tug.

V didn’t respond, instead closed the remaining distance between them and hungrily kissed Kerry. Hands wrapped around the base of his head and neck he did not let go until they were both thoroughly out of breath. Kerry licked his swollen lips, bright blue Kiroshis still latched onto V.

Holding eye contact Kerry leaned down and took the strap-on in his mouth. V was caught off guard by his own moan, dripping from his tongue at the mere sight of Kerry going down on him like this, even if there was basically no physical sensation tied to it. Kerry still held on to the harness, pulling V closer as his head bobbed back and forth in a steady rhythm. V put his left hand on Kerry’s, with his other he grabbed his hair, guided his head and his pace. Now Kerry’s eyes were closed, gorgeous with his long dark lashes, brow slightly furrowed and so focused as he took in more and more of the length, heat rising in V’s abdomen as he was mesmerized by the wet sucking noises, their motion, their breathing.

Kerry slowed his pace, taking deeper strokes, his breath shakier, but he inched closer and closer until he had swallowed the whole length, and his nose touched V’s belly. He stayed like this for a few seconds, cheeks and shoulders flushed dark. V let go of his hair, let his fingers trail along his jaw, his throat, gently caressing the bulge the strap-on formed there, and Kerry shivered. A wave of dizziness hit V.

“Good boy,” he shuddered, voice hoarse with desire, and that was Kerry’s cue. He jolted back, gasping and coughing, a thin strand of glistening saliva briefly hanging between his lips and the tip of the dildo.

“Fuck,” was all V could utter, his clit throbbing as Kerry let himself fall back on the bed again, legs spread wide.

“V… please… I need you so bad…” he sighed and swallowed, still out of breath.

V didn’t need to be asked twice. He grabbed the already open bottle of lube from beside Kerry, generously slathered the strap-on while simultaneously getting them both in position. Kerry had his hands against V’s chest, his waist, his legs, everywhere he could reach, touching and scratching and trying to pull him closer, against him, into him. V knew Kerry meant it when he said “hard and fast”. But still, at least for getting started, he wanted to be gentle. With fingers still slippery with lube he gave Kerry’s semi-hard dick a few good strokes, making his back arch and voice crack as he gasped with pleasure. He lingered a little longer, thumb circling the wet tip, the sensitive spot just beneath, Kerry winding and his toes curling.

“Fuck, you’re a horrible tease today,” he gasped, looking up at V with cheeks and chest glistening.

V gave him another firm slap on his now bare thigh, not letting go of Kerry’s dick. Kerry didn’t hold back his moans, and V began to push the strap against his hole. Kerry’s eyes rolled back as V slipped in with ease, and Kerry groaned long and deeply at the stretch, fingernails digging into V’s sides.

“Fuuuuuck…”

V slid in further, slowly first, gently hooking Kerry’s legs around his waist again, caressing, kissing his neck, his chest, keeping an eye on him for any sign of discomfort. Kerry smiled and nodded clinging onto V tightly. So he sped up the pace.

Skin slapped against skin, fast and steady, accompanied by both their labored breathing. V ran his thumbs along the two symmetrical silver lines decorating Kerry’s stomach, trailing from his dick bouncing back and forth from his thrusts, all the way to his pecs. V’s eyes wandered across the golden plate on Kerry’s sternum, the beautiful, bold tattoo on his chest, to his gorgeous face gleaming with sweat. Kerry clung to the pillow with one hand, eyes darting back and forth, catching V’s gaze, then wandering back to his body, to the space between them, then he closed them again to focus on all the other sensations lingering in the air.

“Just like that, aaahhh,” he gasped, his hand reaching for V’s chest, squeezing his pec, grazing his nipple, and V grinned and shuddered, clutched Kerry’s hips, nails digging into soft skin. Kerry’s voice and unsteady breathing announced that he was getting close. Whenever he fucked Kerry like this, V noticed a little lilt in his moans, barely noticeable but always there. Maybe it was the vulnerability, the difference in sensation and pleasure received, giving himself to V like this… or all or neither. But V was obsessed, spurred on even more every time he managed to lure these sweet, quiet, higher notes out of Kerry’s throat. Only there for him to hear, only his doing, sending his own pleasure into overdrive.

“Fuck, V, I’ll… I’m so close,” he could barely speak between gasps and thrusts.

“Still so wordy,” V panted, his own hair sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck, the friction of the harness and the view of Kerry beneath him like this doing their part in giving him his own satisfaction. Kerry’s hand wandered across his own stomach now, reaching for his dick, but V quickly grabbed his wrist and pinned it down above Kerry’s head. Any words of protest he may have had were scrambled in his mouth when V grabbed Kerry cock firmly, not once slowing down his thrusting.

Kerry threw his head back and cursed, but then his voice cracked as he came, spilling all over his stomach and chest, breath stuttering. His cock throbbed between V’s fingers, hole clenched around the strap-on, and his voice and expression completely undone undid V as well. He gasped and cold and hot sweat dripped down his spine as he came to completion against Kerry. He could barely hold himself upright anymore, slowly loosening his grip from Kerry’s dick and wrist. Kerry’s thighs were shaking against V’s sides, he squirmed, back arched against V’s body, a hot sticky mess between them – but his hands immediately grabbed onto V’s waist, giving him support he needed. V’s head was spinning and his heart racing, painfully almost he now noticed. Kerry had his eyes closed, was breathing heavily, then sighed happily when V leaned down to kiss his cheek, caress his sides, his legs, his neck, wherever he had previously slapped or bitten or otherwise been rough with him. Kerry lazily reached up to stroke V’s hair, opening his eyes to examine his face, then pulled him down into a proper kiss. V let it happen, let his tired aching body sink into the soft and warm embrace, and they both just lingered like this for a while.

“That was really fuckin’ good,” Kerry eventually whispered.

“Or really good fuckin’?” V instantly retorted and they both laughed.

“You’re a gonk,” Kerry sighed, and his eyes fell shut again. V kissed his cheek, then slowly got up and carefully slipped out of Kerry, eliciting another shiver and happy little groan from him. He sat up and undid the harness with still shaky fingers, watching Kerry. His breathing slowly steadied again.

“Be right back,” V gave Kerry’s thigh a quick squeeze and Kerry, face glowing from exertion and satisfaction, just hummed blissfully.

As V got up from the bed he was once more surprised by a short onset of dizziness. He tried to attribute it to the exhaustion and rush of hormones and walked into the bathroom slowly, very aware of each of his steps. But when he plunged the strap-on into the sink and grabbed a towel to dampen with warm water, the mirror turned on, startling V with his own reflection. A thin line of blood had just begun running from his nose. It dripped onto his chest and the black marble floor.

“Fuck…”

He quickly wiped it away, washed it off, down the drain with any thoughts or fears. It wasn’t a strong or intense nosebleed thankfully, not as bad as it had been before…

“Sure, try sugarcoating dying, see how that goes for ya.”

The mirror turned off again, out of sight out of mind. V took a deep breath, hoping that it would not get worse... But also, he didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to lie down and cuddle and talk about normal things for once, not the impending doom looming on the other side of the night.

He returned to the bedroom with a smile, Kerry none the wiser still on the bed, melted into the mattress. V gently placed the warm towel on his chest, startling him into opening his eyes. Then V joined him again, cozied up to his side as Kerry cursory wiped himself down before tossing the towel to the floor. He sighed and rolled to his side to face V, scooting closer and wrapping him into a loose hug.

“Did I ever tell ya I love it when you’re all dominant like that?” he asked.

“Yeah, you did,” V chuckled.

“Good. ‘Cause it’s hot as fuck.”

“Wasn’t too rough?”

Kerry smiled, eyes glistening in the golden glow of the indirect lighting surrounding their bed. He brushed his thumb across V’s mouth, lingering at the piercing in his bottom lip for a moment. Then he gave him another quick kiss, but didn’t withdraw, stayed and held him close.

“I don’t break so easily,” he said quietly, his beard and lips brushing against V’s skin as he spoke.

“Promise?” V asked quietly, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, ignoring the budding headache and tightness in his chest that had accompanied him all day already. Instead, he kept his tone playful and light-hearted.

“Promise,” Kerry nodded.

He fell asleep soon after, still clinging to V and quietly snoring. V barely slept all night, and the morning rolled around mercilessly fast. Right when V had finally drifted off, couldn’t have been more than an hour, their alarm jolted him straight awake again. Kerry groaned into the pillow, mumbling something like “just 10 more minutes”. V slowly sat up, pressed a kiss against the cherry blossoms tattooed onto Kerry’s shoulder blade, fingers trailing down his spine.

“Could a hot shower coerce you?”

Kerry sighed, shifted to look up at V, squinting, hair all messy and voice rough with sleep.

“Only ‘cause you asked so nicely. No ulterior motives.”

V chuckled and they both sleepily trudged into the bathroom.

“V, you in there somewhere?” Kerry asked when he sat a steaming hot mug of coffee down in front of him. A slightly crooked chocolate syrup smiley face was drizzled onto the milk foam. V had to blink a couple of times, hadn’t even noticed how long he’d been staring into the void while Kerry made breakfast for them.

“Yeah, no. Sorry, I was…” V mumbled, cold fingers clinging to the warm mug. He wasn’t sure what to say next, Kerry looking at him expectantly from across the kitchen counter. He tried to smile, but a little twitch at the corner of his mouth told V that he struggled. When V continued to stay silent, Kerry frowned, more worried than annoyed, walked over, and sat down next to him with his own coffee.

“Sorry, what did you say?” V asked, trying to keep his thoughts in the present.

“Nothin’ important,” Kerry shook his head, “Just wondering. Worrying, y’know, the usual.”

V looked down onto his mug, but there were no words in his vocabulary to describe what he was thinking or feeling.

“Think it’s gonna be that bad? What she’s gotta say, after a week of pokin’ and proddin’ ya?” Kerry then pointed out the elephant in the room. V shrugged.

“Dunno,” he just said, “Tryin’ not to expect anything anymore. Or hope, or wish, I guess.”

Kerry looked at him for a long time. Then he slowly shifted, took a sip of his own, black coffee, and put his hand on V’s thigh.

“Well, guess I’ll have to hold out hope for both of us then. Try ‘n stop me.”

His voice was quiet and calm, not as if he was trying to make a joke.

“I know I couldn’t stop you from anything you set out to do. Even if I wanted to,” he said and tried his best to smile. Kerry still frowned, but his tense posture softened. Then he leaned over to give V a quick, coffee-flavored kiss before returning to finish cooking breakfast. V watched him stir around in the pan for a couple more minutes, neither of them said anything. The tension was tangible, and V hated it.

When he was done, Kerry plated an omelet for each of them and returned to V’s side.

“Thanks. Looks preem.”

“Lemme come with ya,” Kerry then just blurted out and V slowly turned his head.

“I know you said you don’t want me to,” Kerry added, poking around in his eggs as if the answer to all their problems was hiding somewhere in them, “Case it’s bad ‘n whatnot.”

“That’s not why,” V shook his head, “Last time, Dr. Williams. You had so much hope. And during the final appointment she shattered it all.”

Kerry put down his fork and turned to face V, almost annoyedly placing his hand on his thigh, a little physical protest without actually having to get up. He held his head low, looked up at V, the rising sun making his bright eyes particularly piercing.

“Yeah, fine, it sucked,” he said shrugging, “But even if Fuentes also only has bad news… No, I refuse. I’d rather just have my hopes shattered again ‘stead of not hopin’ for anythin’ anymore, alright?”

V looked down on his hands still holding the mug. The chocolate smiley-face had meanwhile melted into the foam, slowly disintegrating.

“It’s not that,” he said quietly, insisting, but also struggling to find the right words still. His head was throbbing, thoughts circling and drifting away before he could seize them. As if his brain was leaking. He quickly cast away the horrible mental images cropping up.

“Look at me, dammit,” Kerry said quietly, and gently turned his head with two fingers against his chin, “Listen… Whatever she’s gotta say, I don’t want you to be going through that alone. Yeah, okay, maybe it’s gonna suck and maybe it’ll ruin the little trust I have left in doctors forever, but – …”

“Kerry, it’s not that I think you can’t handle it,” V said, voice shaky, and Kerry slightly withdrew.

“I’m scared that I can’t handle it. Both the news and you having to deal with this all again, that it’s gonna break me for good,” he said and looked away.

Heavy silence again, but a different kind this time. One that was almost worse than the unarticulated, lingering tension, all-encompassing, drowning, no escaping its darkness. But then Kerry managed what he’d said only V had been able to do for him so far: he reached out and drove the shadows away.

“You fuckin’ gonk,” he said firmly, cupping V’s face and making him look back at him. His eyes were still sad and shoulders tense, but there had been a shift in his aura that soothed V’s own anxiety.

“I’ve picked ya up out of puddles of blood more often than I’d like to. I held ya when we were both fuckin’ sobbing about how unfair this whole shitshow is. Yeah, maybe the news is gonna be bad. But fuck, even if it shatters you into a thousand pieces… I’ll be there and pick you up again and hold you, and put you back together. Cause I love ya, and I’ll be there for you. ‘til the end if need be. That clear?”

V couldn’t bring himself to say something, but he reached up to touch Kerry’s hand, took it into his own, held it tightly in his lap. Then he nodded.

“Okay.”

“’n if the news is fucked…” Kerry then added, very quietly, carefully almost, “So soul-crushing and bleak and hopeless… then fuck the whole Crystal Palace crap, fuck Night City really… and I’ll book us a flight to the Philippines the minute you say so, alright?”

V shuddered, lowered his head. And then he nodded once more. He didn’t dare look Kerry in the eyes, not after his reaction the other day when he had first brought up wanting to die on the Philippines if all else failed. Forever tainting that place for him, that he loved so dearly, but a place V had hoped so much to at least still be able to see with him, even if only once, and even if only for a brief time.

After a few moments Kerry scooched closer with his chair, close enough so he could put his arms around V, who let himself be guided into the embrace. Slumping against Kerry’s chest he closed his tired eyes, and they just sat in silent understanding, V wishing the moment could last forever.

About an hour later V had no recollection of how they’d even gotten to the Med Center, only that Kerry had insisted on driving them. V had been so out of it the whole morning, he didn’t belong behind a steering wheel yet. The path to Fuentes’ office was ingrained into his muscle memory though, even when all the hallways still felt like an endless, sterile white maze. Kerry followed him closely, sunglasses on and a little more casually dressed than usual in a hoodie, dark jeans, and a jacket borrowed from V. He did not want another artificial drama or speculation video online so soon after the most recent one had finally subsided in popularity.

“Got an appointment,” V said to the receptionist in the neurology wing that already knew him by now, and then they arrived at Fuentes’ office so much faster than what V was ready for. He knocked politely, and Kerry decided to keep his sunglasses on.

“I gotcha,” he whispered, briefly tugging at V’s pinky finger with his own, then Fuentes called from within to come inside.

As usual, Fuentes sat behind her desk, seemingly in the middle of writing a protocol, but looked up as they entered.

“Mr. Eurodyne!” she said with surprise before even greeting V.

“Hope I’m welcome,” he said, and despite trying to act laid back, Kerry’s voice was tense.

Fuentes got up as they approached and reached across her desk to shake their hands, first V’s, then Kerry’s.

“Of course,” Fuentes said, “I had suggested that V should involve you in this meeting. I’m glad you were able to make it after all.”

Kerry turned to look at V, just the hint of a frown visible behind his glasses, while V very adamantly avoided his gaze.

“Anythin’ for him,” Kerry said, while his undertone said, “I’m mad, but at the same time, not surprised”.

“Please, sit down,” Fuentes gestured at the two visitor chairs and sat back down in her own, pulling up all sorts of data on the screen in front of her. V recognized his scans and data, but there was a lot more there today.

Fuentes adjusted her slightly unruly ponytail and brushed a grey-brown lock of hair out of her face, then flipped her screen so that both V and Kerry could see it. She folded her hands and placed them on the table in front of her, posture a little too upright and confident. V tried his best not to read too much into her body language.

“How are you feeling today?” she then asked, facing V.

“Headache, since yesterday,” he said, “Maybe a… four out of ten. Annoying but bearable. Been a bit dizzy, too. Spacing out.”

Fuentes nodded, turned on the datapad resting beside her, and made a quick note. From the corner of his eyes V noticed that Kerry was taking in the office still, as it was his first time here. Looking at the shelves, the books, the little touristy trinkets and children’s artworks displayed between books and files.

“Anything else since we last spoke? Usual or unusual?” Fuentes continued.

“Um…” V shifted in his seat.

“Trouble forming sentences?” Fuentes asked with a knowing smile.

“Somewhat. This morning,” V nodded. He hesitated.

“And… a small nosebleed last night.”

Kerry turned to look at him promptly but remained quiet. V only briefly glanced at him, then back at Fuentes. She made another note.

“Any other symptoms this was accompanied by? Potential triggers, a lot of stress, physical exertion?”

“Just the headache,” V said, “And, I guess… physical exertion probably.”

Fuentes looked up from her datapad, as if she was about to scold V for not resting enough – but then she saw the way Kerry looked at him and closed her mouth again. 

“That why you disappeared into the bathroom so long?” he quietly asked, and V sighed.

“It was no big deal,” V insisted, “If it had been, I would’ve said something.”

“Keeping secrets is never good,” Fuentes interjected before Kerry could respond, even though V was sure he had a lot to say.

“Thank you,” he then just settled with, directed at Fuentes, and leaned back in his chair. Yet, V couldn’t take her as seriously as he would’ve liked to, given how secretive she had been as well. For her own good reasons, the same way he had his.

“Even more so I’m glad to have you both here today,” she then said, “I’d like to discuss my findings, as well as a potential plan of action to help you. A little more concrete this time.”

V still didn’t want to get his hopes up, even if at this point in the conversation the doctors so far had already told him that there was no hope beyond a symptomatic treatment for as long as was still possible before the inevitable.

Fuentes pulled up several scans, some of them older, from Vik and from other doctors, detailing the development of the deterioration of V’s brain. She also opened a 3D-model of his skull featuring a cyberware contraption that V didn’t instantly recognize. Finally, a document resembling a timeline appeared on the screen, likely the individual steps of her treatment plan.

“Not gonna lie, doc,” Kerry said, “So far that bodes better than anything else we’ve been told so far.”

Fuentes smiled but kept up her calm and collected demeanor. V could sense that not all her news was good. Sometimes small doses of truth were better than spilling it all at once, though he did not prefer it that way.

She quickly recounted last week’s testing to bring Kerry up to speed, and V also didn’t mind the refresher.

“During our first appointment I’d shown you several issues we need to tackle,” Funtes began, turned to V again, “A main concern was stabilizing the Relic in a suitable environment, for protection against external influences. Additionally, the tests of your system performance have me thinking by now that the Relic is not as stable in its current slot as I had first assumed, either.”

“Doesn’t sound good,” V said, but he wasn’t surprised. Fuentes made a swaying left-and-right motion with her head.

“I wouldn’t say it is bad news, either,” she explained, “The biochip being somewhat unstable could be a possible explanation for your feeling of disconnect. Just a bit more literally. It is not communicating as effectively with the organic and inorganic components of your body as it should to work at full capacity.”

V let that sink in for a moment.

“Are you saying that… his mind has a loose contact?” Kerry then wondered out loud.

Fuentes chuckled.

“It is much more complex,” she said calmly, “But something like that, yes.”

“Always had issues with that damn slot…” V muttered, although he admittedly hadn’t expected this turn of events. He knew that the Relic was faulty, falling down the side of Konpeki Plaza hadn’t helped much either – plus everything else he had been through since then. But that something so mundane as performance issues hadn’t been discovered by a whole array of doctors so far seemed unlikely. He continued to listen, but with an added layer of caution.

“Now that we are aware of it, we can try to fix it,” Fuentes said, “It could improve your quality of life a little bit already – or a lot.”

She zoomed in on the 3D model of V’s skull, and he remembered how this all had started out as a sketch on a scan. Now the proposed contraption to hold the Relic had a lot more substance to it, looked like something concrete and tangible that could become a reality – his reality.

“The design is not final yet, but getting there,” Fuentes prefaced her explanation of how she planned to transfer the Relic to its new home. She detailed the process with a brief simulation, and V watched with skepticism.

“So, you’re… gonna put that thing in his skull, and, without ever disconnecting anything, fix the slot and pull the chip over there?” Kerry summarized what they were shown. Fuentes nodded.

“Seems pretty… invasive.”

“I know,” she said, “The normal approach here wouldn’t be a big open surgery, rather relying on nanites doing the installation. Not even the shadiest street-ripper is drilling holes in skulls anymore to install a new RAM Upgrade. But V’s case is far from normal. Since a lot of logistics are involved, a more invasive approach is going to be more effective.”

“Two birds with one surgery,” V nodded, understanding where Fuentes was coming from, but still not liking the implications.

“Time remains of the essence,” Fuentes said, “I suggest tackling this as soon as…”

She paused, looked at V, then Kerry, on whom she lingered.

“He knows,” V realized why she hesitated, “He knows about Sutter and the blueprints.”

He couldn’t quite place her reaction, a mix of disdain of V involving other “civilians” in her secrets… and curiosity maybe, as to how deeply Kerry could be involved in any plans. He certainly had a bad boy image, though more in an artistic sense, not necessarily a criminal one. That had to be intriguing to some degree.

V had not yet had a chance to tell Fuentes about how he would go about tracking down Sutter either. Maybe he would as soon as he had a better grasp of whether or not the whole ordeal was going to be worth it, or if Plan Philippines would become their new priority after today.

Fuentes cleared her throat.

“I would tackle the surgery as soon as you have been able to get your hands on the blueprints,” she said, “It is most likely going to put you out of commission for a while.”

“How long are we talking here?” V asked promptly.

“At least a week of bedrest, and at least two months of minimal physical strain. We’ll see from there.”

V let out a long, deep breath.

“That’s… longer than I might have, according to your prognosis last week,” he said.

“I know,” Fuentes said, “which brings me to my next finding.”

On the screen, she returned to the animated brain scans, showing the deterioration and changes of the last months.

“Your body and your operating system have been in a permanent state of emergency for months now. Your brain is not being stimulated as much as it needs to be to function properly – an explanation for your more physical symptoms, like apathy and lack of energy, which in return can also contribute to depression.”

She paused for a moment, to collect her thoughts, but her intense look, the way she seemed to scan him for even the smallest reaction, gave V the chills. He braced himself for whatever there was to come, tried to loosen his shoulders and not let his tenseness show.

“One way I would like to tackle this understimulation, and fixing of all the damages the Relic and gunshot wound caused, is with the nanites. But I think we need to go one step further,” she said, “I would like to – temporarily – try and disable as much of your cyberware as possible.”

V swallowed, blinked a couple of times. A Trauma Team AV breezed past the office window, the sun steadily climbed higher and once again bathed Fuentes in this strange glow that made her seem unreal.

“I don’t have that much cyberware to begin with,” he then relativized, “Is that really gonna be necessary?”

“It may not be much,” Fuentes said, “But the majority of what you have installed impacts brain function. Cyberdeck, frontal cortex implants like Self-ICE that draw a lot of resources even while running only passively...”

She looked at a list of V’s cyberware on her datapad, going through all the implants and enhancements.

“Kiroshis with a lot of additional functionalities and scanners – …”

“You want me to disable my Kiroshis?” V lost his composure for a moment, and Kerry quickly put his hand on V’s thigh to soothe him. V took a shaky breath.

“Obviously I don’t want to blind you,” Fuentes said calmly, “I’m also not saying to uninstall anything, with optics that’s not advised in general anyway. But we need to take strain from your system to allow you to recover. And if that means shutting down anything that isn’t necessary for survival, we have to do it.”

“So, I really gotta go and lock myself in at home then,” V spat out, “Dunno if you ever hang out at shady bars or use the metro, but in general it’s not really advised to spend a lot of time on the streets – or work as a merc – without any chrome whatsoever.”

“Vince,” Kerry said quietly, “It’s temporary. ‘til you’re better, not forever. A small price tag I’d say.”

“Easy to say for ya, hanging out at home 95% of the time,” V responded before really thinking through what he said. He bit his tongue and shook his head instantly, “Sorry that… Not sure where that came from.”

There was a tense pause.

“Yeah,” Kerry then said flatly, and without even looking V knew he’d gone too far. Still though, Kerry didn’t move away. V closed his eyes and took another few deep breaths, trying to make sense, relativize, convince himself that this was necessary and a good idea.

The moment Dex shot him popped into his head all of a sudden. How even then, bruised and beaten and horrified, he had been ready to jump back to his feet. Lunge at his throat and kill the bastard, not even something he would usually resort to. Dex rendering him so helpless, wanting him to die small and vulnerable and be forgotten, had instilled V with the worst rage he had felt until that moment in his life. He refused to end on a gross motel floor, with so many things left unresolved, left unspoken, undone – and yet, he had been so utterly fucking helpless about changing any of these things. He never wanted to be as helpless again, out of control of his own life, yet he feared this was what this would boil down to.

V slowly reached out to take Kerry’s hand. He squeezed it tightly once. After a short pause, Kerry did the same and they interlocked their fingers. The tension in his chest faded at least somewhat.

“I know this is difficult to hear,” Fuentes then said, “But I can only reiterate what I’ve told you a couple of times already. You need to take a step back. Delegate what is possible. Ideally, I would have nothing against it if you can get your hands on the blueprints and… all that without lifting a finger yourself. None of this is going to be easy, and I can’t promise that any of it will work. But it is a chance, and we should take it and take all necessary steps to at least try and tip the scales in our favor.”

V only half listened to what Fuentes said. He knew she was right, but every fiber of his being rebelled against the thought of just fading away from the face of the earth like that, even if it was only temporarily. Night City was merciless when it came to showing any signs of weakness. It would simply swallow you whole, your life, all you’d worked and fought and bled for, without hesitation, if you didn’t continue working and fighting and bleeding every day. He had lost so much before, but also never before had he as much to lose as right now. He was deeply involved in many of Rogue’s running operations, in managing the Afterlife. He fucking loved it. The planning, the scheming, it felt like he was back at his Counterintel job, only that he was the one in charge now, not a tool carrying out orders. He enjoyed the high-profile gigs he was getting, the ones that involved scouting, logistics… Even the work for Blue-Eyes he had loved.

A shiver ran down his spine. Was he so angry, so reluctant, because he didn’t want a quiet life, or was he angry because him leading a quiet life wasn’t beneficial to Blue-Eyes’ plans? Would he want him to resist this treatment plan? If he said no to Fuentes today, Mr. B’s “blank canvas” body was still on the table for V to take. A new, strong, healthy body without months-long impairment, bedrest, long-term damages and other potential side-effects. All at the small cost of potentially losing himself forever and becoming a tool again, but this time in the hands of a corporation V had even less a grasp and understanding of than Arasaka.

He shuddered.

“Fuck… Alright, fine. We can give it a try,” he said, gritting his teeth, “You say temporarily… how long?”

Fuentes shrugged and shook her head.

“I suggest tackling it in the same timeframe as the surgery,” she said, “But it could be necessary to leave everything shut down for longer than the projected healing time. Maybe we can slowly reintroduce some parts of your system if the recovery goes well. But ideally, I would like to keep everything shut off until the nanobots prove to be effective in undoing some of the damage the Relic did to your nervous system.”

V sighed heavily, slumping back in his chair, and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his left hand.

“We can take a break if you want to,” Fuentes suggested, “I know it’s a lot.”

“No, it’s alright,” V shook his head, “Just trying to mentally prepare myself for the bad news.”

He opened his eyes just a crack, peeking past his fingers.

“Cause so far all that still sounds mostly positive, despite the sacrifices and setbacks.”

Kerry nodded.

“Yeah, so far all sounds doable. And promising.”

Fuentes shifted in her seat slightly.

“I’m glad you think so,” she said, “But yes. I have bad news, too. Not to a degree where this is all doomed to fail, but… complications where I didn’t expect them.”

V sat up straight again, steeling himself.

“I already had the suspicion last week,” Fuentes began explaining, “That whatever is happening to your body currently – the violent seizure-like episodes – is not necessarily tied to the brain damage caused by the gunshot wound or the Relic. I tried to examine the nanobots and the medication you received lately, from your other sources. The medication as such is similar to what I prescribed you with now, and from what you told me, it is helping suppress the worst of the physical symptoms.”

“Yeah, pretty much feelin’ the same as with the other meds,” V confirmed, “Not sure if the disconnected feeling is much better…”

Fuentes turned to Kerry.

“What has your impression of him been this last week?” she asked, catching him slightly off guard.

“Oh, um…” Kerry bounced his leg briefly, looked to the shelves on the side and really thought about it for a few moments, “As like… compared to before he started taking your meds?”

Fuentes nodded, and he looked at V, at their intertwined fingers.

“Today he’s been a bit off,” he then decided to say, “But the weekend especially was good. Felt like we could talk more openly, even about the difficult stuff. He was more present, in the moment, than in a long time.”

V looked to his feet, then slowly back up at Kerry, this time able to hold his gaze.

“Okay,” Fuentes noted, “That sounds good, and I hope it can be attributed to the new medication, even if it is still a bit early to say. I will prescribe you more, and you keep an eye on how you feel and inform me if anything changes – for the better or worse.”

V nodded.

“That being said,” Fuentes continued, and her expression suddenly turned somewhat darker, “I tried to examine the nanobots… but before I could discern anything concrete, they dissolved.”

“They… what now?” Kerry was quicker than V.

“Just like that?” V asked.

The doctor leaned back in her chair slightly, clutching her armrests.

“I kept them in an environment where this shouldn’t have happened,” she explained, gesturing, “As I told you, since they were introduced into your body in an atypical way, potential dissolving was something I feared could happen, so I took all usual countermeasures. The fact that it still happened seemed… targeted.”

“Not sure I’m following,” V said, but he was, more than that. He only needed to hear it from Fuentes as well to make sure his paranoia wasn’t completely off the rails.

“My guess is, these are not intended to be examined by outsiders,” Fuentes said, “We had mechanisms like that in place at BioDyne, too. Remotely triggered or inbuilt self-destruction switches, should prototypes and the like breach containment or get into the wrong hands.”

“So, them not being contained in the pills, or being outside of my body…” V wondered out loud.

“There could be all sorts of triggers,” Fuentes nodded, “Depends on the resources of whoever constructed them.”

V glanced at Kerry, whose face was just as grim.

“That would fit the MO of the person they came from,” V said, still not keen on telling Fuentes too much about Blue Eyes.

“I figured,” she said, “But I will ask no further. Though I am disappointed I didn’t get the chance to have a closer look at them, and that I can’t tell you exactly what their purpose was.”

“They did something to my brain to make me dependent on the pills, so they can continue doing whatever they were doing,” V recounted, and Fuentes nodded slowly.

“The brain scans support this in the sense that your nervous system’s structure was slowly being altered, but it is hard to say what the end goal was… Only that most changes took place in areas tied to sense of self, self-preservation and impulse-control, memory, emotion…”

Mind control, V thought, but did not say it. The same thing Vik had already suspected and that he and Kerry were suspecting ever since V had returned from the Crystal Palace gig.

“Keeping me alive and making me obedient,” V said quietly, and Kerry squeezed his hand a little tighter. Fuentes just looked at him intensely for a moment, then back to her datapad.

“Thankfully though,” she continued, “the BioDyne bots may be able to reverse even these changes. Along with repairing the remaining damage from the gunshot wound, as well as any structural changes the engram caused. And with that, in the long term, there is a chance your body can recover, too. With… strings attached.”

Of course. V said nothing, only listened this time.

“I compared the state of your body to that of a person struggling with an autoimmune disorder before,” Fuentes explained, “Only that it is not your immune system acting up, but your nervous system, very, very simply put.”

“Right…”

“The point of the nanobots is rewiring your nervous system back to a previous state in which your body did not attack itself, where it was compatible with your engram… where it could be possible to think about, in the very long term, years maybe, trying to find a way to transfer your engram back into your body, making the Relic obsolete.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to sell me shit in a golden wrapper,” V did not like Fuentes painting a bright and happy future this far away. She shifted in her seat.

“Fine. If everything works as intended… it is likely that, with basically resetting your brain and nervous system to an older state, you could experience memory loss. To a significant extent.”

V had to let that sink in for a moment.

“How significant? Like… just, all of it gone, or what? Gotta learn how to talk and eat and walk again?”

“Not quite as drastic, I hope,” Fuentes said, “But I cannot fully exclude it either. This has never been done before.”

“Hang on though like… You can’t say, ‘drastic memory loss, but maybe not so drastic’,” Kerry interjected. Even through his dark sunglasses V could tell how tense his stare was.

Fuentes hesitated and folded her hands in her lap.

“Let me try and rephrase it,” she then said, “It is possible that you forget anything that happened between the Relic being activated and Mikoshi. Or potentially even until the present moment. Or maybe only what happened between Mikoshi and now, while keeping the memories of before your psyche was digitized intact. I really cannot tell for sure.”

She pulled up V’s most recent brain scans on her screen again.

“I had assumed last week, since your personality is stored on the biochip, so would be your memories – meaning, anything that happened after your consciousness was digitalized, should be stored on the chip, too, which would work in our favor. Everything secure in one external place while your body recovers.”

“But that’s… not the case?”

“The brain scans show activity in areas of your organic memory, which you would likely lose during the restructuring. In an even worse case scenario, you could lose parts of your organic memories but not all of them. I also cannot say how substantial these memories are, nor from what timeframe, and if they could influence your personality and decision-making in the future.”

V didn’t even want her to explain this further. In fact, he had to do his hardest not to start laughing about the absurdity of this situation. He huffed and shook his head. Worst case scenario of all of this would literally be like Johnny was back again, only that a different version of himself would pop up arguing with him, bickering, telling him what a fucking gonk he had been to take Fuentes up on her offer in the first place.

“If this happens,” Fuentes continued, “It could lead to symptoms similar to those the engram triggered: psychosis, mood swings, unpredictable behavior...”

“I figured…” V said sternly. Fuentes kept talking, but her voice drifted further and further away, drowned out by a ringing in V’s ears that steadily increased in volume.

“The rewiring process itself will likely also be painful, comparable to what you went through when the engram took root. Your personality could shift and change, you might end up being a very different person from who you are now.”

Kerry rubbed V’s knuckles gently, but V kept his eyes closed. The room had begun spinning around him.

“Need some fresh air?” Kerry asked.

V said nothing, just nodded. Kerry didn’t hesitate, got up, and gently pulled V with him.

He said something to Fuentes, but V didn’t understand either of their words anymore. Blindly he followed Kerry through the hallways, half-dragged, half-guided along. Time seemed to be standing still and they just floated by. Then suddenly warmth and dust and noise above and all around them, and before V had really grasped it fully, Kerry sat him down on a bench within the courtyard of the MedCenter. They were surrounded by tall walls and hundreds of windows, a few other people sat and walked here, smoking, eating, talking, some of them visitors, others patients. There were a handful of thick trees in concrete beds, surrounded by winding coarse gravel paths, a brutalist Japanese zen garden. Even so though, the bright greens and crunch of the uneven ground beneath their soles was a welcome change of scenery.

Kerry sat down on the bench next to V, still holding his hand.

“Came here a couple times while you were knocked out still after your accident,” he said quietly, “Not as far as all the way back down for a smoke break.”

“It’s nice,” V said, but his words sounded as hollow as his chest and head were, echoing through his body and leaving him even more empty. Kerry looked at him intensely, V knew it without having to turn his head, but he remained silent. They just sat side by side for a couple of minutes, and V stared into nothingness, tried to focus on his breathing, the heaviness of his own body, the wind and the sunshine. In the end it was Kerry who managed to find words first.

“Overall… I expected it to be worse, gotta admit,” he said, “She’s got a plan at least. And she’s transparent about the risks.”

“Mh-hmm.”

“Vince,” Kerry’s voice grew quieter again, and he shuffled slightly when he took off his sunglasses, “You’re worried that…”

V swallowed.

“What I’ve been most scared of the whole time…” he started slowly, referring to the night he walked out of Arasaka Tower, since Vik had confirmed to him that his health would continue to deteriorate, like Alt had told him, “Was that I’d grow so emotionally numb that I’d no longer be able to feel anything for you. That my feelings would just fade away together with me.”

“You think that’ll happen?” Kerry wondered. His voice was calm, but V could still hear a hint of worry, felt it in the tenseness of his body so close by his side. Finally, he found the strength to turn his head and look him in the eyes, big and bright and so damn worried.

“I dunno,” he said, truthfully, because none of them could know anything for sure, if not even Fuentes did as an expert in her field, “But just the thought of… forgetting even a fraction of what we’ve been through. Our late-night conversations down by the Pacifica pier, the impromptu Badlands trips. Our heart-to-heart at Dark Matter, you playin’ your new song to me on Kovachek’s yacht. Hell, our first meeting and everything in-between then and now. The possibility of losing even just a single moment of that kills me.”

Kerry hesitated briefly, looked away, down to their hands, then back at V.

“Fuentes said she’s not sure it’s even gonna happen like that,” he said, but V shook his head.

“No, maybe not. Maybe I’ll just lose my fuckin’ mind for good before I forget anything.”

“Vince…”

V turned away and tried to force his heart to beat slower by sheer willpower, but he failed. What surprised him more than anything was less that he worried about forgetting all the memories he’d made with Kerry… but the possibility that he’d forget about his experiences with Johnny, too. As much as they’d hated each other some days, V would lie if the whole experience hadn’t significantly shaped him into who he was now, that it made him stronger, even more stubborn and resilient and hungry for life, despite all the odds constantly against him. Would all of that be undone again, all the change, all the growth? Would he return to being the blue-eyed, over-confident beginner-merc strutting through Konpeki Plaza like he owned the place without the cred to prove it? Who was so convinced that the corporate world isn’t half bad, with delusions about returning some day and missing being a little cog in the wheel that just worked and did its thing, blaming responsibility on others always? Who didn’t feel worthy of friendships, not even Jackie, who had treated him more like family than his own parents ever did?

Surely things had happened in the last six months he wouldn’t mind forgetting about for good. But knowing his luck he would remain stuck with these specifically while forgetting the shivers of his first kiss with Kerry or diving down to Laguna Bend with Judy. That he could forget meeting River’s family and finding common ground and even friendship with someone like Panam who was from a whole different world than him, was almost too much to bear.

“Even if you forget about it all,” Kerry then said, slowly and gently pulling at V’s sleeve to make him come closer, “I’ll fuckin’ try my hardest to make you remember and keep our memories alive… and even more important than that: you’ll still be around so we can make new memories together, right?”

“Ah fuck,” V sighed and rubbed his eyes. The numbness and cold that had accompanied him all morning was still weighing heavily on him, but it finally started to become more bearable.

“Try and stop me,” Kerry whispered against V’s hair as he pulled him into a proper hug again. He knew that Kerry was just as scared as him, of the challenges to come if he – they – went through with Fuentes’ plan. But yes… should it all work out, and V hoped so much it would for Kerry’s sake alone, they’d at least get the chance to walk into the future together.

Slowly he raised his arms to loosely hug Kerry back.

“What if I don’t forget,” he mumbled against Kerry’s chest, “… but change in a way so you don’t love me anymore?”

Kerry chuckled lowly.

“Don’t think a timeline like that even exists, ya gonk.”

V couldn’t see his face, but he could hear that he smiled. He wasn’t sure what to respond to a reply so confident.

“Ya know,” Kerry then said after a short pause, “In a way, what this is, ‘s just a change. Nothin’ more natural than things changin’. Admittedly not as fast and drastically but… Not sure where I’m even goin’ with this... But sometimes change can be good, too. You’ve definitely changed me for the better, ‘n that at a time when I was so trapped in my own fuckin’ life the only way out I saw was the barrel of my gun.”

He shuddered barely noticeably, the slightest tremor in his voice. V shivered too, reminded once again how damn lucky and unlikely of a coincidence it had even been that they met at all. Just in time, maybe for both of them.

“So, like…” Kerry cleared his throat, “Even if for some insane reason this whole thing turns you into the biggest asshole since Johnny Silverhand… I’ll remember who you are now, who you were when you stumbled into my life, and every moment in-between. Everythin’ you did for me. I sure as hell will fight like crazy to help you change for the better, too, and see a light at the end of the tunnel again. Don’t worry about where the next step’ll lead ya to, focus on just getting’ there in the first place. Everythin’ else we’ll figure out as we go, we’re good that that. You’re good at that. Have always been, from what you’ve told and shown me and how I’ve gotten to known ya at your core.”

V had to let all of that sink in as they just sat and held each other. The people walking by surely stared and wondered what was going on. Not that V cared in particular right now, but as usual he lowkey worried someone might recognize Kerry here after all, even though he was semi-undercover.

“Did I ever tell ya how much I love it when you’re down-to-earth like this?” V then decided to say, and Kerry chuckled gently.

“Think so, yeah,” he said.

“Good,” V nodded, still holding on tightly, ��You make it so easy for me to just… be vulnerable. Dunno how you do it. I can’t really be like this with most other people. But with you it’s different. It’s easy, and it feels good.”

Kerry smiled and hugged him a bit more tightly. V paused for a moment.

“You really think we’ll manage?”

“For sure,” Kerry nodded without hesitation, and V sighed.

He wanted to believe it so badly, wanted a fraction of Kerry’s confidence when so often it had been the other way around, he had been the confident one that Kerry leaned against. It felt like they had arrived at a crossroads this very moment, where their roles would be reversed for good for the foreseeable future. V had to hand over the reins and hope things would fall into place somehow, just like Kerry said.

V slowly let go of him, sat back up, but then pressed his forehead against Kerry’s.

“Alright,” he whispered, “For a future together. Whatever it may be like.”

*****************

>> Next Chapter (tba)

*****************

Notes:

This chapter was a struggle for many reasons, hence no update in such a long time - temporarily it was at almost 11,000 words because there was so much I wanted to include, but I decided there will be room for that at a later point still xD

Anyway! There is a plan now to safe V 👀 and I'm also just a sucker for being able to be vulnerable in all shapes and forms with your partner, no matter if it's fully letting go and dropping all inhbitions in the bedroom or crying in public about how fucking unfair life is, but at least you don't have to face the horrors alone xD

Fingers crossed the next chapter will come sooner, as it's also one I've played through in my head so much 👀 Judy finally returns to NC for a visit!

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If you’d also like to get tagged when I post a new chapter for this fic, leave a reply on [this post] or send me a DM!

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[plomegranate]

i love palestinian and arab culture so much.

my grandma wearing thobes around the house and making us tamriyeh. my cousins wedding when we all wore thobes and keffiyehs and took photos downtown and we danced with someone playing the guitar on the street and this lady stopping us to tell us we all looked so beautiful. walking the graduation stage in a thobe. the girl who liked to guess arab peoples ethnicities telling me "you're wearing tatreez... do you want me to write 'palestinian' on your forehead?" the keffiyeh my brother keeps on the drivers seat of his car.

my dad sending me off to my last semester of college with 2 pomegranates and a jar of palestinian olive oil. my cousins wife coming up with new ways to make zaatar and cheese pastries. me and my grandma sitting on the floor and making waraq 3neb- my job was to separate the leaves so she could roll them easier. my mom sending me and my brother to school with eid cookies for my teachers and tasking us with delivering some to the neighbors. my aunt glaring at me and piling more food on my plate and then asking if i was still hungry (i wasnt). my mom always telling me to invite my friends and cousins over for dinner and asking me what they like to eat. my family getting my dad knafeh instead of cake for his birthday. the man who told me i made the "best fetteh in the western hemisphere".

the man in the shawarma shop who gave me my fries for free and baklava i didnt order because we spoke about being palestinian while he took my order. the person on tumblr who i bonded with because we are from the same palestinian city. the girl i met on campus who exclaimed "youre palestinian? me too!" because i was wearing my keffiyeh. the girl in my class that showed me the artwork about palestine her dad made and donated for fundraising. the couple in the grocery store who noticed my palestinian shirt and talked with me for 20 minutes and ended up being a family friend. the silly palestinian kids i tutored sighing in disappointment when i told them i was born in america because they were hoping that id have been born "somewhere cooler". my friends family who bought me dinner despite me being there by chance and having met me for the first time the day before.

the boys starting uncoordinated dabke lines in my high school's hallways. the songs about the longing and love for our land. the festivals and parties and gatherings where everything smells like shisha and oud. memories of waiting in the car for an hour as my parents talked at the doorway of their friends homes. my cousins and i showing up at each others homes with cake or fruit or games as if it was the first time we ever visited even though we always say "you dont have to".

kids stubbornly helping to clean and make tea after a meal while being told to go sit down because they are guests. the necklaces in the shape of our home countries. people hugging and laughing and acting as if theyve known each other for years because they come from the same city or know people with the same last name. the day i finally got to bully my friends into letting me pay the bill because i had a job and they were still students. my moms friend who calls us every time she's at the grocery store to see if we need something

palestinian people are so resilient and hardworking and charitable. they love their culture and their community and are so quick to share and welcome anyone in. everyday i am so thankful and proud to be part of such a warm and lovely culture

[st4rbwrry]

LUV THIS SHIT | eren yeager.

‍ ‍ ☆. warnings — 3.1k. fem!reader, eren’s pent up from working out, asmr sexting, submissive reader, impact play [ face smack, spanking ] public arousal, indecent behavior, mating press, f!oral, fingering, profanity, established relationship, lots of making out, unprotected sex, eren’s aggressive, floor sex, riding, creampie, artist!reader, pet names, reader has black features, minors aren't allowed! 

‍ merry christmas! ♡

eren starts his day the same every morning. the alarm goes off at six o'clock which is never your favorite thing to hear considering you're not an early bird. usually groaning in your state of sleep and tugging the blankets away from him after he kisses you on your forehead and steps out of bed. you always snuggle on his side before the warmth he created grows cold. proceeds to take a steaming hot shower, tilting his neck back to let the heavy beats of water dampen his long hair. lathers his body with african black soap you picked up from a shop while SONDER plays from his speaker, careful not to blast it too loud to wake you up. it's your off day so he's respecting your wishes to hibernate all day.

he honestly hates leaving you alone in bed. sue him but being your little spoon is the best thing he's ever known. he's never slept so good in his life until he met you. never knew it felt so comfortable being in another persons arms. eren’s next step is to dress for the gym, the only reason he's up this early three times out of the week. a dark gray towel is wrapped low around his slim waist, tatted chest and arms running with water droplets as he wipes the foggy mirror clear to see his reflection. washing his face with a kale, spinach, and green tea cleanser along with brushing his teeth, cleaning his tongue with a scraper and gargling mouthwash. he forgets to do this backwards sometimes considering he has to eat first. the taste lingers and makes his food nasty.

afterwards, he’s moisturizing his face with cerave healing ointment and his pouty cotton candy lips with one of your babylips sticks. lathering his body in vaseline coca butter lotion and slipping on a olive green colored sweatpants with a black cropped metallica muscle tank, wrapping a matching black bandanna over the top of his towel-dried chestnut hair. he spritz this cologne you picked up at the mall when thinking of him called art deco amberwood by clive christian. makes you fall to your knees to suck him off every time now that he thinks about it.

by then it's near seven and he's down in the kitchen with his black airpod max’s over his ears listening to jazz while he blends his smoothie with spinach, kale, strawberries, blueberries, and pineapples. he gulps that down after filling a mason jar completely. and for further consumption, he makes avocado toast topped with chia seeds, himalayan salt and pepper and two strips of bacon each.

before he leaves he makes sure to run back up the stairs to double check on you to see if you needed anything before he left such as picking up a coffee from dunkin or anything from the art supply store. he peaks his head through the door to see you sprawled out, mouth open and snoring peacefully, cuddling his pillow. he smiles to himself, mumbling ‘my pretty girl’ before quietly tiptoeing close to the king-sized bed with satin sheets to give you a kiss or two before heading out, moving your bonnet aside to whisper that he loves you.

he's got his gym bag and his car keys when he leaves, taking the elevator down the parking lot of the loft you two live in, three years now. he finds his car parked directly next to yours. cute. the pretty wolf gray kia k5 besides his onyx lexus rc 300. there's a gym located in the building but he prefers the one your brother owns a few minutes out of the area.

it's around ten o'clock when you fully wake up, missing his presence already and pouting about it before heading to the shower yourself. sitting in a towel for a full hour stuck on tiktok and getting a craving for samyang carbonara noodles and rice cakes. it's really the only thing that made you leave the house today, throwing on a pair of eren’s gray nike shorts you had to roll up to properly sit on your hips, and a black tank, jewelry remaining on your skin everyday from layered necklaces to multiple bracelets. 

you're sitting in the starbucks drive thru which has an incredibly long line but you're not minding the wait, craving a pink drink suddenly. the sun was hitting nicely into your car so you decide to take photos to pass a little time, thumb slipping and accidentally opening the voice memos app with only four recordings, one of them fairly new. created about two weeks ago and you vaguely remember that night. it's about an hour and fifteen minutes long

'luv this shit <3’ is what it's titled. not remembering exactly how it went. you and eren only used this app whenever you're having sex, meaning those four audios were strictly nsfw. you bite your lip in curiosity, deciding to press play to hear it, flinching when you hear how loud you were screaming on top of forgetting that your phone is connected to your cars bluetooth. you swallow in panic, turning it off and sitting back in silence, twiddling your fingers, becoming impatient with the line now because you wanted to hear it. it had to be something the two of you made when you were intoxicated. or else you would've remembered it.

you've retrieved your pink drink, and now it was time to park, too impatient to wait and hear this. sipping your drink, you get comfortable, holding your phones speaker to your ear and pressing play yet again. there's music playing in the background, luv this shit by august alsina in specific, now you knew where the title came from. probably eren’s doing. a rush of heat swarms your cheeks and gut as you hear your boyfriend’s voice, deep and stern as he talks to you while skin connects and your moans overshadow the music. the sound of you kissing wetly makes you shift in your seat, feeling his soft lips on yours at the moment. you loved kissing him.

it lasts for about two minutes before eren’s voice becomes louder than yours when he's fucking you hard, your voice muffled by your hand you assume, doing that a lot since you think you're too loud. “let me fuckin’ hear it,” there's his voice again, unconsciously whimpering along with yourself in the audio. eren’s whining with you, the two of you gasping and listening to how wet you were. a loud smack erupts and you're crying his name, the memory slowly coming back. he smacked your face. the jewelry on his wrist prominent when he does it again, this time it's the outside of your thigh.

“rennnnnn! fuh-uuck.”

“i hear you, baby. come on, come on, come on, cum, cum, cum.” with every thrust he gets louder, hissing as your pussy constricts around his dick. “that's it, pretty. yeah.”

you nearly spill your drink over your lap, the cup slowly slipping from your grip after you zoned out, catching it quick and collecting yourself, setting it in the cup holder. you need to leave. actually, you need to send this to him. he has to be done at the gym by now. then again, you're never sure with him. the man could work out all day if he wanted.

being risky, you grin, pulling up his contact and sending him the audio, following with a text that said . . .

NEW MESSAGE

kuromi princess hello kitty baby star ♡

don't we sound pretty? <3

follicles of eren's hair stick to his sweaty forehead, putting it up before he started his workout, going on for about three hours now. RICH FLEX blasts in his headphones. the neckline of his top is doused with sweat, removing the boxing gloves off his hands to sit down and gulp a full bottle of water. checking his phone, he sees your message. lifting his brow at the audio you had sent, reading your response, and clicking it without hesitating. immediately when he hears your desperate pleading and skin smacking, his pupils dilate, clenching his jaw and checking his surroundings. not many people were in this area of the gym.

“fuck me, baby. fuck me, baby. fuck me, babyyy,” eren listens with wide eyes as he hears your pretty moans, skipping through the audio to hear bits and pieces.

“yeah, speak to me like that.”

eren grows shamelessly aroused from what he's hearing, swallowing hard and shifting his dick back in place, breathing heavier. he's mad at you. mad because you know he's in public and he gets easily turned on by anything regarding you. whether it be your scent, your smile, your eyes, or your fucking voice. when you talk, or scream his name. it's all the same. he's triggered by it all. and you know this, so why test him? not to mention the two of you haven't been sexually active because you've been caught up with work and painting and he's been working doubles. the only time you spend together is brief mornings in bed or one day weekends, usually sleeping all day or being lazy.

all he can think of this moment is fucking you rough and raw. gathering his belongings without another thought and sending you a brief text.

pretty boy ren <3

yea, okay.

it's so stressful walking with a hard dick, and eren really can't wait until he gets home to fuck you up. such a dirty girl needing to be put in place. he forgets his headphones have noise cancellation, so when he's speeding home like a dummy, music continues to thrum in his ears, acting like a complete madman. exactly five minutes before he enters the apartment, you're sitting in your usual corner of the loft where you've made your art station. sitting on the ground while incense flows and sza’s new album plays soundly. a canvas laying on the ground where you sat on a cushion, finger painting a collage of the weeknd’s discography since it's the 11th anniversary for echoes of silence. unaware of the message you received.

that is until you hear the familiar sound of keys jangling and in a matter of seconds, the front door flies open, there standing a big, tall, visibly irritated man. your eyes go wide from seeing him, eren kicking off his shoes, heavy feet stomping towards you and you sit up with curiosity, trying your hardest to hide your devious smile. you knew it'd have that effect on him. eren’s hot hand grabs your jaw fervently, clenching his before yanking your face close to his to connect your lips in a heated kiss. smacking his lips roughly over yours, moaning into his mouth, his eyes focused on your face as you close your eyes too comfortably for his liking. as if you're not in trouble for the shit you pulled.

your hands kept to yourself on either side of his wide shoulders, eren dragging you down to lay on your back onto the cushion you previously sat on, slipping off the black panties covering your neglected pussy, weeping, and waiting for him to get home to do exactly this. staring up at him with glee in your eyes, it's the opposite in his. he can't hear a thing you say because of his headphones, not bothering to toss them off because the only thing on his mind is sliding his dick inside of you and getting his nut off.

raising your knees without his help, he's pushing them further up to your chest, folding you still before arching his neck to release globs of spit onto your cunt three times max, each one emitting a ‘puh’ sound. you clench from his dirty act. his big body hovers over yours, heavy dick practically drenched in precum resting on your mound before eren angles his hips to slip into you. he doesn't give you time to brace yourself, gasping as he groans and thrusts his hips fast, your skin clapping and body jerking under him. beautiful green irises switching darker as he stares into your soul, your moans faintly being heard.

“think you fuckin slick, baby?” eren rasps, your mouth agape, his grip on your thighs harsh. “did that shit on purpose just so i can fuck that pretty pussy stupid on my cock, right?”

“y-yess,” he watches you nod drunkenly, your hands digging on your sides into the rug beneath you. every pound into your slick pussy vibrates into your throat, following his rhythm. happy tears brim your eyes.

“s’okay. ‘cause i got something for you.”

his pace hastens, heavy balls slapping against your ass as he drills deep, jackhammering almost, like a needy, inexperienced boy. your cunts squelching loud, hand pressing at his abdomen in attempt to slow him down but he only fucks you harder, air knocking from your lungs. it's so fucking hot the way he's handling you right now, like he's been so deprived of you for so long he couldn't stand it. couldn't even take his clothes fully off, keeping every piece on because he needed you that badly.

“ooh, i'm fucking cumming. ssss, fuck,” eren moans. you squeal as eren takes both your arms and crosses them over your tummy, holding them there while he puts his weight on you and grunts in your face. sweat dampening his bandanna, breath mixing with yours as he cums inside you. coating your walls with thick spurts of white. your knees buckle from the feeling, his lower halve twitching from the rush.

eren licks his lips, stilling his movements to take a breather, knocking back one of the ears to his airpods to hear how desperate you sound, slowly pulling his dick out, still hard.

“eren, i didn't cum,” you whine, squirming with an attitude.

“i think i knew that.”

you put your middle finger up to him for his smart ass tone, eren arching a brow and scooping you up without another word. smiling, you cling to him as he moves towards the couch, deciding to stay seated on the floor, lifting you so you sit on his lap. his cock resting on his stomach where you're able to see toned abs and a dark, neatly trimmed happy trail to match your cute brazilian strip all cause of that slutty, grunge crop top he has on. his back rests against the furniture. you take the initiative to remove these stupid headphones so you could put your hands and mouth around his neck.

“i don’t think you understand how much i thought about fuckin’ you today. you really fuckin’ don’t.” eren lands a heavy hand on your ass causing you to jump and scoot forward from leaning back on his knees. “could barely fucking focus. all because you sent me that shit.”

“and because you miss me,” you whisper, delicately skimming your lips over his, arching into him as he spreads your ass cheeks apart after smoothing over them. spanking you hard on either side until you gasp into his mouth and he could kiss you again.

“sink on it real slow,” eren taps your clit with the tip to say he wants it done now. sucking on your lip, you raise yourself till he's kissing the entrance and gently easing down, indenting crescent moons into his broad shoulders momentarily. dragging your hands to your waist, you rub over your body, hissing and throwing your head back, feeling a storm of euphoria fuel you. eren hums in fascination as you lose yourself in the bond.

“g’na say sorry with your pussy, baby?” eren taunts in a baby-like tone.

“mhmm,” what eren wants, eren gets. and if he wanted you to ride his dick you were going to. getting up on the tips of your toes and rode only on the tip first, eren choking on his spit with brows furrowed and praising you. soon, inching lower to bounce yourself up and down to his liking, being sure to clench your walls a little tighter just to hear him whine. when eren gets really feral he gets really loud. unable to control what his vocal cords let out. he used to think it was embarrassing, but the two of you have shared enough time together to dismiss judgment. he sounds so pretty when he's getting fucked good.

“shit, you keep fuckin’ me like that m’ not gonna last,” ignoring him, you continue to clap your ass down, skin interaction picking back up, eren’s hands on your hips just for leverage. he never needs to guide you. a few squeezes occasionally since he's so sensitive. painfully aroused it makes no sense.

“i can't last long,” you warn, pawing at his chest as you raise your ass and fuck him faster, eren moaning and helping you out by pounding up into you. you fall forward into his arms, yanking you down each time you'd rise back up. smacking your ass just to hear your voice pick up. “eren, fuck baby!”

“unh huh, keep goin’,” eren’s face scrunches up, whining in your ear while keeping one of his tatted arms wrapped around your backside. your thighs begin to burn but you know stopping isn't an option when he sounds that good in your ear. eren gets aggressive and hits into you harder, same time ass you drop down with more force, tugging at his hair and he whimpers your name.  “keep that shit up, baby. yeahh.”

it feels so good you start crying, missing this so much. holding onto him for dear life as he somehow moves quicker, slouching in his spot so his neck settles back onto the couch, slipping his right hand under your right thigh and raising his hips to fuck up into you, lifting you like you're one of his weights at the gym. you watch as he mumbles ‘fuck’ with his eyes scrolled back and mouth wide open, jawline sharp, and adam’s apple in his throat prominent. he looked so fucking good right now you just had to kiss his neck. eren hitting that spot so good you can't control yourself from screaming, mouthing at his neck and leaving hickeys. he smells good, hints of musk and that damn cologne you love, feels good, looks even better. then wonders why you act the way you did. he’s made a monster.

“you fuck me so good, ‘ren. love you so much, missed you so much,” at this point you're babbling, saying anything that comes from your brain mindlessly. it's enough to make eren bellow streams of curses before hiking your ass off and nutting over your back, eren releasing a high-pitched gasp as he stares up at the ceiling in a daze. vision blurry. 

before you complain, eren’s lifting you higher and scoots further down to sit you on his face, hot mouth munching on your soaked cunt with puffy lips. your eyes cross and you scream into the air, gripping the couch as he slides two fingers, middle and pointer, deep into your hole, thrusting while his fat tongue laps at your clit, silver cuban link on his wrist cold on your stomach. he's swallowing your arousal like he's drinking a glass of water, moaning into your pussy and spanking your ass with his unoccupied hand.

“oh my . . .  god,” you're breathless as you cum, legs twitching and squealing from the intensity of your orgasm, losing balance and falling forward. eren smirks and smacks your ass one last time before moving from below you, sitting on his knees behind you and pushing your back down to fix your arch, turning your head to face him, fucked out face staring at him like he was crazy for putting his dick back inside you. you already feel so sore. 

eren arches his brow. “oh, you thought i was done?” 

[mountainsandmayhem]

Aisle Amore

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female Reader Summary: You truly never know who you might meet in the grocery store. CW: no smut, all fluff. Flirting, mention of divorce, talks of food, more adorable flirting. Word Count: 3.4k AN: I've gone soft!! I couldn't stop thinking about how the couple in Wonderful Tonight and Netflix & Chill met and even though no one asked, this is exactly how they met. I worked in a grocery store for almost 15 years and I can tell you right now that I would to SPRINTING to the pasta aisle. Special thank you to @mermaidgirl30 for beta reading and both her and @littlevenicebitch69 for helping me come up with a title. Dividers by @saradika-graphics

To you, there’s nothing worse than asking for help. You’ve been fiercely independent your entire life, and these snapped ligaments have been testing you. Your friends say they don’t mind helping, but YOU mind them helping. The pain in your ankle has finally subsided enough that you can put a little weight on it and only use one crutch.

Freedom! 

You shut your laptop at 6 pm, change into something that isn’t pyjama pants and begrudgingly put on a bra. The first stop on your newly found freedom tour is the grocery store. Thirteen year old you would be appalled at how excited you are over this. You jot down all the ingredients you’ll need to make homemade pasta, marinara sauce and meatballs. 

Living in downtown DC has lots of perks, one of them being you can walk to the grocery store that’s just around the block. After gingerly testing your ankles a few times you decide you can walk there. Your dad’s voice echoes through your head, “This family doesn’t cry, take care of yourself, don’t depend on anyone but you”. 

The walk there is easy, it feels good to be out in the summer evening sun, soaking in the vitamin D that you’ve been missing out on the last few weeks. You grab one of those small baskets with wheels and head into the store. It might be dramatic, but it’s been almost three weeks since you’ve been out on your own and you feel that same hyped elation you had at 16 when you got your license and your parents allowed you to go out on your own the first time. Except at 16 you picked up your friends and went to the record store, you were much cooler in your youth. 

“Stick to the list,” you say to yourself, realizing you’re slowly becoming just like your mother. That’s fucking depressing. 

The first items are olive oil and flour, you crutch along, the sounds of metal clicking and the rubber bottom squeaking following you as you move along the shiny white tile floor. A song you vaguely remember hearing during your childhood plays overhead, Eric Clapton singing about a woman looking lovely. The bakery must have fresh bread, and the delicious scent of it makes your mouth water. 

Focus! 

As you turn down the pasta aisle, you brush past a man in a suit who’s looking at the canned pasta sauces, poor sap, and stop about ten feet away from him. The small bag of flour you need is on an easily accessible shelf but of course, there’s only one left and it’s all the way at the back. 

Marcus holds up a jar of canned marinara, silently humming along to Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton. He swears he hears his grandmother on his mother’s side rolling in her grave. She wasn’t Italian, but owned a restaurant and was definitely looking down at him ashamed that he was BUYING something she taught him to make.

Sorry grams, he thinks, just as someone hobbles past him, vanilla wafting behind her, temporarily replacing the scent of the fresh bread he’s also going to pick up. His grandmother might come back just to slap him for this dinner tonight. Granted, he did just return from seeing his ex and her new boyfriend so maybe she’d take pity on him. Bake him those gooey chocolate chip cookies he loved so much. 

As he turns to head toward the pasta he sees a woman who quite frankly takes his breath away. She’s so beautiful that he almost can’t take her all in at once. Her bare legs are toned and tanned, wrapped in long black biker shorts, paired with a plain grey t-shirt and unzipped black hoodie. One high top converse laced up on one foot, the other in an uncomfortable looking boot. Her hair is in a low messy bun with almost too perfectly placed pieces along her neck and face. She seems to invade every ounce of him, until all he can see is her and all he can smell is warm vanilla. His mouth goes dry, and his heartbeat fills his ears. 

This next bit happens so quickly that he doesn’t have time to even think about it. But you would later describe it as not one of your finest moments, and he would describe it as the moment that changed his life. 

He watches as you reach above your head, raising up on the tippy toe of your good foot. As you lean forward, your hollow aluminum crutch slips out from underneath you and falls to the ground. An echoing tinny bang startles you and you stumble, putting too much pressure on your broken foot. The sweetest sounding “Ouch! Motherfucker,” leaves your pouty pink lips as Marcus rushes to catch you. 

“Whoa,” he says as he reaches out to steady you, one hand wrapping around your hip, the other cupping your elbow, helping you off your injured leg. “Are you ok?” 

Your cheeks flush as you look up at him. “Sorry, thank you.” 

Your bright blue eyes wash over him, and something tugs behind his heart. Eric Clapton singing "Oh my darling, you are wonderful tonight" as he stands there temporarily stunned, unsure of where he is or what is name is. It's just you.

It doesn’t make any sense, you could be married for all he knows, but something about you draws him in. He didn’t think he’d feel this way again for a very long time, but he needs to find a way to keep talking to you. 

“Let me get that for you,” he says, his hand moving from your elbow, reaching up and easily plucking the flour off the shelf. 

“Thanks, I could have gotten it.” You say and he fights to stop from laughing. He can tell that you’re not someone who asks for help. No, you’re independent and strong willed. And fuck if that doesn’t just make that tug behind his heart pull that much harder. 

“I know you can, you just scared me.” He looks down at you softly as you stare up at him. 

He’s suddenly very aware that he still has one hand on your hip. Your shirt had ridden up as you wobbled, and the skin of your hip is soft and warm against his palm. He finds himself wondering if the rest of you is just as comforting. Just as an inviting. The light scent of your vanilla perfume fills the small space between the two of you. 

“Look,” he says, finding it inside himself to peel his hand off you now that you’re steady, placing your flour in your basket and bending to grab your crutch. “My grandma is already cursing me from heaven for buying canned sauce and boxed pasta. Can you please let me help you?” 

You open your mouth and then close it, almost like you’re trying to come up with a reason to not let him, so he quickly adds, “For my sake.” 

You laugh through your nose, shaking your head and taking your crutch from this incredibly handsome stranger. 

Please don’t be married. Or a total creep. 

“Smooth,” you say teasingly. 

He tugs at his white button up shirt collar. “Is it hot in here?" He fakes a dramatic cough, "I swear - she’s watching me.” 

You look up at the white painted ceiling of the grocery store. “OK, grandma. Chill. I’ll let him help me.” 

When you look back at him he’s smiling from ear to ear, and if you thought he was handsome before; well, fuck, there’s not even a word to describe how unbelievably charming he looks right now. 

He looks down at your basket before saying, “Do you have a big list?” 

“Umm,” you say holding out the special lined paper you have to make grocery lists. “I have a few things, ya.” 

His thick fingers brush lightly against yours as he takes the list. You can’t help but notice that he’s not wearing a wedding ring, score, his nails are trimmed short and his cuticles are nicely manicured. You assume he must have some sort of fancy office job, like a lawyer or an accountant. He seems to radiate stability and you didn't realize you could be so aroused by fingers.

“Are you making pasta? And sauce?” He asks as his brown doe eyes scan your list. 

“I am,” you say proudly. You might not be a world famous chef, but you take pride in your cooking abilities. 

He smiles back at you again. “Stay here,” he says softly, “I’m gonna grab a cart.” 

As he turns to walk away, taking your basket and his sauce with him, you notice the way his grey suit jacket clings to his broad shoulders. Accountant by day, muscle model by night? Muscle model? Great, he’s broken your brain. 

It doesn’t take long before you hear the distinct rumbling of the plastic wheels of a shopping cart heading your way. Just as your handsome stranger comes back into the aisle “At Last” by Etta James starts to play. 

“I’m Marcus, by the way,” he says, grabbing a box of pasta on the shelf and sitting it next to his sauce in the top part of the cart. 

You say your name and notice the tiniest glint in his eye as the sound of it wraps around him. “Well then, we’d better get going on this list.” 

He moves slowly, allowing you to set the walking pace. He’s taken your list and the entire thing feels almost too domestic, like you can envision yourself doing this every weekend with him for the rest of your lives. Maybe there would even be a kid in that little part where he puts his boxed pasta and canned sauce. 

“Alright, so we covered names and who grew up where. So, what do you do for a living?” You ask, snatching a bottle of olive oil off the shelf. 

“I - uh - I work in law enforcement,” he says. 

You look at him, then his tie, then back at him. With a hint of amusement in your voice you say, “Pretty fancy dress code. What are you? Like FBI or something.” 

“Yes, actually. And now that you know that, I miiiight have to kill you.” 

You laugh, “Sure know how to put a girl at ease, Agent Pike.” 

The way you say agent, all teasing and flirty, goes straight to his cock. He’s been called Agent Pike thousands of times over his career but it’s never sent a shiver down his body like that before. 

He runs a hand over his patchy scruff. “I’m kidding. About the killing part, not the FBI part.” 

“Thanks for clarifying,” you laugh.

Whitney Houston’s voice floats across the store, singing about dancing with someone who loves her. 

Neither of you is particularly paying attention to your list or what aisle you’re in. You snake up and down each aisle, both of you occasionally grabbing something you need. 

“What about you?” He asks. Something about the way he asks a question seems different. It’s like when Marcus asks something he’s genuinely asking, not just trying to force conversation. With every answer you give his eyes focus on yours, he nods and seems curious and excited to hear what you have to say. 

The bar is truly in hell if I’m turned on by a man who’s just treating me like a human. 

“I run a small online store for my, umm, for my designs.” This part is always awkward, men change how they treat you once they find out what you do for a living. You avoid his eyes, he’s so goddamn handsome and you’re already disappointed that he’ll soon give you an ick with how he’ll respond to your career, how all men respond. 

“Your designs? Are you an artist?” His eyes light up and he stands a little taller when he asks, he must love art. He’s going to be thrilled to find out your best friend owns a gallery, and probably even more thrilled when he learns you hurt your ankle falling off a step ladder she had you posing on as she painted you, and yes, you were completely nude. 

“No,” you laugh. “I design clothing. Sort of.” You continue avoiding his eyes and chew on the inside of your cheek as you grab some dried oregano and place it in the basket. 

“Hey,” he says softly, stopping by the spices, “You don’t have to tell me something you don’t want me to know.” 

“It’s not that. It’s just,” you stop, glancing up at his warm chocolate brown eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows, and you have the sudden urge to sink your teeth into his neck. “Men just usually treat me differently once they know.” 

He narrows his eyes at you and his lips curl into a tight lipped and curious smile. “That’s clickbait. Now you have to tell me.” 

“Or you’ll kill me?” You laugh. 

“Yes, FBI remember,” he says sarcastically. 

You take a deep breath through your nose before you begin. “Ok, I design and sell lingerie.” You try to sound as casual as possible, smiling sweetly at him before you start walking again. 

Marcus doesn’t follow along so you look over your shoulder at him. Is he blushing? 

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat and avoiding your eyes. “I don’t see how that would make someone treat you differently.” 

“Then why are you blushing, Pike?” You flutter your lashes at him as he catches up to you in the aisle. 

The pink of his cheeks deepened, “I’m not blushing. Pretty sure I got a sunburn when I grabbed the cart.” 

“Ah, yes. I’ve heard that being indoors during sunset is a very dangerous UV time.” You joke. 

He laughs, “You’d be shocked how many people don’t believe it.” 

You both laugh as you head towards the produce department for your tomatoes and onions. Elvis’s ‘Can’t Help Falling In Love’ comes over the speakers, and even though other people are shopping, it feels like it’s being targeted at just the two of you. You pluck a few tomatoes from the shelf and he opens the little plastic bag for you to place them in. 

He takes a breath to start speaking and you brace yourself for the inevitable. All men do it. They all either ask what your company is called so they can look up your Instagram later or they’re bold and flat out ask you to model some of your designs for them. 

“Where’d you learn to make pasta?” He asks, his voice quivering at the closeness of your body to his. 

“Umm, I sort of did an Eat, Pray, Love thing recently.” You say quietly, smiling up at him. It’s the tiniest movement, but you swear his eyes flick to your lips as your hand brushes against his while you reach into the bag. Your heart is pounding behind your ribs, it’s almost unfair how handsome he looks under these fluorescent lights. 

“Oh? Like you went to Italy?” His voice is low and nervous as he watches you picking up tomatoes, squeezing them gently and smelling them. Carefully choosing the best ones. 

“Yes. Without spilling my whole life story, I got married young and then divorced a few years ago. I just kind of needed a hard reset on myself.” You drop two more tomatoes in the bag and then side step, or more more like side hobble, to the onions. 

“Huh,” he says, “I can honestly say that I know exactly what you mean by that.” 

You both smile at each other, you swear you can see his pulse flutter in his neck before he says, “Unfortunately, I think we have everything on your list,” he finishes off his sentence by saying your name and it sends an explosion of butterflies in your lower belly. You don’t know if you’ve ever met someone who makes you feel like you have somehow known them for your whole life but is also brand new. 

“Sorry. You probably have places to be and I’m -“ Your voice trails off when he slowly steps even further into your space. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he says softly, his fingertips brushing against yours causing a buzzing up your arm. Just then ‘I knew I loved you’ by Savage Garden rains down from the speakers. Marcus laughs gently and continues, “Is it just me or has the music been interesting in here tonight?” 

You move your pointer finger just a hair so it brushes against his, “ya, sounds like the crab from The Little Mermaid is in charge.”

A laugh from his stomach passes his lips, it’s joyous and melodic and even though you’ve just met him, you want to make him laugh like that for the rest of your life. He’s smiling so big that you can see all his straight white teeth. His head tips forward slightly and the skin around his eyes crinkles. You’re both so close, he smells like mint and a new book and everything around you seems to fall away, blurring around the edges. It’s overwhelming. Dizzying even. He’s the one. You can’t explain it, but you were meant to be in this grocery, with this annoying boot and crutch. 

“That’s not quite the comparison I would have used, but yes.” His eyes dance around yours, still laced with amusement and happiness. “Is he a crab or lobster?” 

“I think he’s a crab,” you say, pulling your hand back from his to stop yourself from leaping off that cliff and into his arms.

“I think he’s a lobster,” he counters, stepping back but never breaking the connection of his eyes with yours. 

As you head towards the checkout you glance towards the shopping cart nervously, remembering that you walked here. 

Both of you pay for your groceries in a comfortable silence and he scolds you teasingly for trying to grab your bags. “Grandma is still watching.” 

The two of you head for the exit. “Did you park somewhere?” 

“No. I can take them from here,” you’re not going to let this man drive you somewhere or walk you home. That’s ridiculous. You are strong and you’ve already impeded his life enough. 

He lifts his eyebrow suspiciously and turns just a touch so you can’t reach your bags. “You walked here, didn’t you?” 

“It’s really fine, Marcus. It’s not far. Thank you for your help. You didn’t need to do that.” 

“I have an apartment that way,” he says, nodding his head in the same direction you need to go.

“Oh that’s very forward of you, but I know better than to go to a secondary location with a stranger.” And he does it again, that beautiful, happy laugh. “I’m in the same direction.” 

You walk down the quiet street. People always say they wouldn’t want to live downtown because it’s too noisy, but truthfully, after the work crowd disperses for the evening and the dinner rush parts, it’s quite peaceful. 

“How sure are you that he’s a lobster? Willing to make a bet?” 

He looks over at you cautiously. “Alright. I’ll play along. I’m 100% sure he’s a lobster. What’s the bet?” 

“Wow. Marcus Pike, does the FBI know you’re such a risk taker?” 

He says your last name and follows it with, “Quit stalling, what’s the bet.” 

“Ok ok. Once I’m off all the painkillers. If he’s a crab, I make you REAL pasta. If he’s a lobster, you take me out for real pasta.” 

You both stop at the same time in front of the same building, “This is me. So is it a bet?”

Marcus pulls a key fob out of his pocket, “This is also me. And yes, we have a bet.” 

You cross the lobby together, you select your floors and exchange phone numbers on the way up and then he finally gives you your bags. 

“Thank you,” you say, smiling at him sweetly as the elevator approaches your floor. “I appreciate you using your grandma to help me.” 

He covers his heart with his hand. “I would never!” 

As the elevator comes to a halt he glances up at you sheepishly and your heart almost breaks open right then and there at how devastatingly handsome and heart meltingly adorable he is all at the same time. 

You smile like a damn fool the moment you’re out of that elevator. Of all the ways you thought your night was going to go, it did not involve a very charming stranger making you all nervous and delusional. 

The second you get inside your apartment you fight the urge to prove yourself right and cash in on our dinner, but you already miss him, so you text him. 

Tag list:

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut  @sullyrocky44 

@keylimebeag @pimosworld @casa-boiardi @pedritoferg @paleidiot

@lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes @jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog

@pedroswife69 @strawberri-blonde  @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @iloveenya

@javierpena-inatacvest @blazeflays @akah565 @pinkiec6-rubi @pedroshotwifey

@iluvurfather @ashleyfilm @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81 @littlevenicebitch69

[violet-hearth]

Basic Spell Oils

I should have posted this a lot earlier, but I forgot ..

Oils are a great way to create herbal blends for spell work - oil preserves the scent, taste and herbal matter if stored away from sunlight (you can store in coloured glass) and can be adapted to make infused olive oil or cooking oils for your kitchen witchery, the dress candles, to add to glamour spells, or to make perfume bases.

Basic Recipe Formula:

Essential oils

Carrier oil such as sweet almond oil, jojoba oil, sunflower oil, apricot oil etc.

A small jar with a dropper or dropper top to store the oil in

Optional:

Vitamin E oil

herbs to create an infusion

Determine the intention of the oil (love, protection, confidence etc.) and gather the herbs and essential oils that have association (personal or common) with aspects of that intention

Add a few pinches of dried herbs to your bottle

Add a few drops of your essential oil (up to 10% of the bottle)

If using, add a drop of vitamin E oil - this can make it better for skin application and also stops the oil from going rancid from the herbal matters

Add the carrier oil and fill to the top, cap and shake to blend - as you shake you can say a prayer, chant, or focus your energy to charge the oil

Allow to sit for at least a week before use, as it ages it will start to macerate and smell more harmonious.

Date Night Dinner Oil

This is an olive cooking oil to be used in salads, sauces, to spread on breads, or to marinate meats and vegetables in. It is packed full of aphrodisiac herbs and summer spices

Olive oil

Garlic, rosemary, ginger, star anise, and chili

Strainer

For a quick infusion, add in your oil and herbs into a pan and simmer on a low heat for 30 minutes.

Allow to cool, strain and use within 1-2 weeks

Attraction Oil

The attraction oil combines aphrodisiacs and anti-anxiety herbs into an oil or perfume. The intention is to attract and command attention, to boost your confidence, and as a base for seduction work.

Add your carrier oil to your oil dropper or perfume bottle/roller - for this I’d recommend a rosehip oil, apricot oil or a neutral grapeseed oil.

Turn your herbs into oils either via essential oils or add them dried straight to your carrier oil to infuse: rose, clove, vervain, cinnamon, licorice, nutmeg, frankincense, apple blossom, jasmine, ylang ylang, lavender, cocoa, and/or gingseng - cater to personal preferences and match scents together, I recommend using between 3-8 oils or herbs.

Example scent profile: rose, lavender, apple blossom, vervain, cinnamon, licorice, gingeseng (spicy floral - I’d also add a little patchouli if turning into a perfume)

These types of recipes are where having a grimoire, notebook, or journal comes in very handy! Keep record of what you've tried, what scents match well, what is repellent, what works for you, plan out recipes before hand.

As always, adapt, change, and disregard as you like to suit your personal practice <3

[vyorei]

I found a post about Palestine and olive trees about a week ago, this reminded me of it so I'm gonna post the text below.

This was posted on Facebook by Dima Seelawi on the 29th of October 2018, it just happened to find its way to my newsfeed:

"When I was young, I never really understood my parents insistence to only use olive oil imported from Palestine. It took a long time and a great distance in a process that was neither cheap nor convenient. The oil came in old beat-up containers that did not look appealing to me at all. In my head, if they wanted to support distant family back home, they could just send them money and save us and them a big hassle. We could just use the nice looking olive oil containers from the nearby store. Yet, this was never an option in our household. The only olive oil we used at home was from Palestine.

As I grew up and started a student part-time job, I worked with olive oil a little. I knew all about olive oil imported from Spain, Italy, and other countries. I knew which ones were better and more expensive. I also learned to tell, based on the pungent taste, which ones were extra virgin. I was tempted to use my employee discount to bring home one of the fancy bottles and use at our kitchen. I could not get myself to do it, and I did not exactly know why. I felt like it would be disrespectful to my parents even if it didn’t make sense to me. It did not feel right. It was not an option.

After living in Palestine for a year during the olive picking season, something changed. The olive picking season in Palestine is holy.

Palestinians relate to the weather based on how it would benefit or harm the olives. There is well-known unspoken rule about treating olive trees with respect. There is a day off from work just to pick olives. On public transportation, it is not unusual to hear someone on the phone telling their friend to stop by for their share of this year’s olive oil stored in what used to be a Coca-Cola or a liquor bottle. A driver will stop in the middle of the way to give his brother- in- law a jar of olives that are so close to one another that they start to crush showing their insides.

In Nablus, the owner of the Nabulsi soap factory takes pride in how picky he is about getting his olive oil. He insists on filling a cup to let me smell how authentic it is and smirks as he sees my diasporic facial expressions transform in appreciation of its strong smell running through all of my brain cells.

I started noticing how olive oil is an essential part of so many dishes. “Palestinians drink more olive oil than water” I would jokingly say and they would laugh in agreement. Olive oil is truly an everyday ritual.

They fantasize about its color when it’s fresh and remind me that it starts to change as it reacts with oxygen over time. They dip their bread into olive oil, just like that and without any additions, and enjoy it more than the sweetest of all foods. I can guarantee that every lunch invitation (عزومة) I received during the olive-picking season was a chance for my hosts to share their olive oil using Msakhan (a traditional Palestinian dish).

I now have a deeper understanding of the psychology behind the burning of olive trees by Israeli settlers and why farmers moan at the scene as if they lost a loved one.

Wherever you are, if it’s accessible to you, make sure your olive oil is Palestinian. Your ancestors would want that."

And this picture was attached:

Link to the article in the header image:

[lilmissnatcat24]

friends i have a confession to make. i hope i don't get canceled for this.

i fucking love vinegar. i love vinegar so much. i love vinegar far more than the average person should like vinegar. i have at least ten bottles of different vinegars in my apartment right now. red wine, apple cider, balsamic, rice wine. you name it. there is a specialty vinegar store like 45 minutes away and i make that drive every other week to buy a new fancy bottle of vinegar.

my love for vinegar goes far beyond just the liquid gold itself. i love ANYTHING pickled. dill pickles, banana peppers, capers, olives, sauerkraut, kimchi. pickled jalapenos and ginger and eggs and beets and garlic. i have never once eaten something and thought damn waaaay too much of this pickled veg. no. on the contrary. i think more restaurants need to stop being pussies and load me up with more pickled veg than meat.

i don't care for vodka, but i will pretty much exclusively order dirty martinis or pickleback shots just so i can socially acceptably drink brine. when i played volleyball i used to take shots of pickle juice with my teammates under the guise of electrolytes, but in actuality it was so i can drink pickle juice. just now, i finished the last pickle in the jar. after spending far too much time wondering if i need to save the brine, i literally just drank half of it. my boyfriend started taking apple cider vinegar shots in the morning, and has been complaining how disgusting it is. i started doing it in solidarity, and i must report back that it's actually quite pleasant, and i look forward to my shot of vinegar i get to inhale every day.

i hope this doesn't change people's perceptions of me. i feel thankful to finally get this weight off my chest.

im also not stinky.

[pumpkingas]

Eprocto thoughts abt spooky creatures (⁠｡⁠・⁠/⁠/⁠ε⁠/⁠/⁠・⁠｡⁠)

Tw: Dub/con, Necrophilia ?(Cuz... Zombies)

Zombie 🧟

Literally unable to control their bowels, being dead you don't have the most control over your body...

That sloppy loose spinchter would absolutely collect air, causing constant windy farts, and even though they function as on-command farts the smell would still be HORRID from simply passing through zombie cheeks.

Skin is probably rotting which is gross HOWEVER... It'd be extra soft and elastic, you could knead it like dough, maybe help work some of that trapped air out??

Maybe they're sentient but still hungry?? Maybe you're a zombie lover and collect piles of rotting meat from the dumpsters behind grocery stores to take to your zombie pal?? Maybe they over indulge and lie down with a huge bulging gut that stretches way beyond living limits??? Maybe bubbly farts slip out of their ass as they groan and pant??? Maybe all the blood from that red meat sends them into a burping fit???

Werewolf 🌕

I think we can all agree werewolf diets are GNARLY, if not for being their soulmate/Luna/omega (and so on and so forth), they'd probably eat YOU if given the chance. Expect your freezer to be emptied out obviously, but also your refrigerator and cabinets. Raw meat, deli meat and nut bars will start to go missing, but soon it will be sauce bottles, leftovers with freezer burn, jars of olives and all kinds of pickled foods. Their breath will quickly smell like vomit if you don't own a werewolf proof kiddie gate.

Although they have stomachs of steel and likely wouldn't experience stomach troubles or bloating, you'll quickly become witness to the nastiest farts ever released into the atmosphere. They'd range from loud and quick duck quacks to long rumbling motor engine farts. The smell might not compare to rotting meat levels but werewolf stench will NEVER leave you, it will singe your nose hairs, coat your walls, sink into your fabrics, even soak into leather, like a skunk gone wrong.

Even if they're in their human form that ass is still going to be COVERED in hair, no matter the age, gender, sex, whatever, what's a wereWOLF without its fur? And how willing are you to spend hours helping a gassy werewolf wash the jungle in-between their fat cheeks?

If you're in its pack or are at least a candidate to join you HAVE to be scented, can't walk around like you're just anyone's human! Maybe it's a thrilling loving process where your werewolf lover sits on your naked form and carefully pushes fart after fart onto each and every body part of yours. Or maybe it's a secretive process from a werewolf that hasn't revealed itself yet, helping with the laundry just to rub your clothing against their crack, working up a sweat so they can drain the sweat drops into your body spray, shampoo and lotion. Taking a nap with your toothbrush between their ass so each bristle will be stained with their scent...

Vampires 🦇

Farts are quiet and SBDs are frequent but not mandatory, usually their gas releases in sort of a hum that vibrates whatever they're sitting on or laying against. Perhaps they have a form of fart echolocation, maybe you've planned a surprise party for a vampire as they got bored of birthdays after their 121st, and instead of reaching for the light switch they just begin to let out bubbly farts as they move around their home.

If you offer your neck to a vampire you better be aware of your diet, if the vampires lactose intolerant you better watch your dairy, if they're sensitive to raw vegetables you'd better cook yours thoroughly, and for the love of anything don't give a vegan vampire your meat eater blood, unless of course you'd like to see them grasp at their stomach and groan, releasing uncharacteristically loud farts and moaning shamelessly...

Suppose this is a vampire that's taken a liking to you, naturally you'll begin to bond with them and it'd intensify after each bite, but the thing is, there isn't exactly a limit to human devotion. One day a vampire could be nothing but someone you cross on the street who makes your heart flutter with no memory of what occurred the night before, and a year later that vampire could be your beloved owner that only speaks to you in commands, whenever they need a chair you're bending over before they can finish their sentence, and when the smell of their own gas begins to bother them how could you not dive between their cheeks and smell it?

[apollos-olives]

What are some of your favorite things about Palestine & Palestinian culture?

ayyy so i made another post about how much i love the mountains, but i also love our olives. i am NOT fighting the stereotypical palestinian olive lover allegations. i know a lot of people don't like olives but that's just bc they don't do it right i think. my grandmother ages the olives, adding lemon and salt and other sorts of "spices" and whatnot into an olive jar to mix with the olive oil and then keeps the olives sitting there in the juices and oil for many months. after aging them for a very long time, she takes them out and they end up becoming all soft and the olives would have soaked up a ton of the oil and juices and so when you bite into it it's soft and the oil floods your mouth and it's DELICIOUS 😩😩😩😩 that one saying that's like "palestinians drink more olive oil than water" is TRUE !!! olives are very special to us and we love them so very much.

i think palestinians really like our food sour. i don't know if this applies to all palis but in my family specifically, we LOVEEE sour foods. not the gross type of sour, but the sour that's like really enjoyable and fun and flavorable. we love making our waraq diwali (grape leaves) extra sour when we eat them, we like our laban (sort of like plain yogurt in a way) on the sour side, we have many different types of sour pickled foods and vegetables that you can buy from anywhere downtown from a store on the street, and my grandma and i eat straight up lemons whenever we have a meal. a lot of palestinian dishes have summaq in them, and that's a slightly sour sort of spice we always use.

another thing i love about palestine are our castles! castles, palaces, mansions, whatever you wanna call them. i've seen many around the city of ramallah, and they are GORGEOUS. i don't know if people actually live in them long term but they're a very pretty sight to see on the road. they're kept very clean and good looking so i bet people regularly attend to them. i think most people who own castles only come to live there when they're on vacation to palestine, but many of the castle owners don't permanently reside in the country. still a cool sight to see though!

i hope this was somewhat interesting to you lol

[fbfh]

Leo Valdez x pregnant!reader 3rd trimester headcanons

wc: 1.3k

genre: fluff, domestic bliss, slice of life

pairing: Leo x afab/pregnant reader

warnings: discussions of pregnancy and pregnancy symptoms, Leo is an amazing hubby/baby daddy, Esperanza is alive and well and excited to be an abuela, your friends are all super supportive and excited, Leo is amazing and this will give you baby fever, Leo cannot get enough of how cute your baby bump is

song rec: father of the bride 2 soundtrack

a/n: ngl normally pregnancy icks me the hell out but like... it's leo. I would. hm. I would give him a million babies with no hesitation. I want to bite him. blushing giggling kicking my feet.

tags @yesv01 @magcon7280 @perseajohnson @afidiofobia @almostjollypizza @fictionalcomforts  @lizziebitch33  @girlfriendwhoseawitch @dustyinkpages @cowboylikekelsey @legramilis @youkissedareaderinthedark @mrscarolscaramoucheplease @inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800 @cosmiq-cloud @anything-forourmoony @chasingpj @mystic-writings  @dreamerball @if-only-i-was-fictional @2manyobsessions

You’re in your third trimester by now, and you and Leo couldn’t be more excited 

He and Annabeth have been working on the nursery nonstop

And Hazel has been spearheading your baby shower

She’s so excited about it, constantly bringing you color swatches and different spools of ribbon and little hors d'oeuvres to see which ones you like best

Esperanza’s over at your place a lot too

She loves going on walks with you, talking about baby stuff, helping you guys around the house

She loves all the baby gossip, telling you all the stories from when she was pregnant with Leo

She knows all the home remedies, too

She helps you out through all the aches and pains and assures you all the random symptoms are normal

You called her in tears once about a sharp pain you felt

Turns out it was just lighting crotch

You’re able to laugh about it now, but at the time it was so scary

And you’re really glad you have Esperanza there to help you through it

Leo adores how big your belly is getting 

He’s always kissing you and your tummy

Talking to baby, putting headphones on your belly to play music for them

You have a collaborative playlist of your favorite songs

Leo makes sure to include lots of Selena and Luis Miguel and all the other 90s music his mom raised him on

Baby has started kicking way more now too

You and Leo have a “wow, they’re gonna be a soccer player” jar

Every time someone sees that your baby is kicking and makes the soccer player joke, a dollar goes in the jar

“At this rate, we’re going to have a college fund ready before they’re even born.” Leo says it so matter of factly that you burst out laughing

Leo has a way of doing that

Making you laugh and smile through all the difficult parts of pregnancy

He’s right there for you through all the swelling and leaking and aches and pains and mood swings

And he’s also there for every kick and laugh and smile and kiss

He’s there for all of it

Every single part

You literally could not have a more enthusiastic, supportive partner

He’s the epitome of “if he wanted to he would”

Leo wants to do EVERYTHING

And he does

Esperanza raised him right

And she couldn’t be more proud and happy for both of you

Your cravings are finally subsiding

They’re still there, but they’re not nearly as bad as they were in your second trimester

You’ve had the worst cravings for cake recently

And fried chicken with a whole bunch of different sides ranging from olives and pickles to cabbage leaves rolled up with cottage cheese

Leo has become a familiar face at your local grocery store and bakery 

He showed up twice in one day to get you a lemon cake, and a marble cake with strawberry frosting a few hours later

You’re already some of the bakery’s most loyal customers, and Leo told Hazel to make sure she gets the baby shower cake from there

It’s also a perfect opportunity to do some subtle cake taste tests

But now your bump is so big it’s really getting in the way of daily activities

You insist on at least trying to tie your shoes and pick things up off the floor by yourself

You usually give up after a couple tries, and Leo is happy to help you out with everything

He can’t get over how adorable you look waddling around with your big old bump

He takes so many pictures and gets so many videos 

You basically can’t sleep without your maternity pillow, so Leo’s taken to spooning you when you guys are going to sleep

He rubs your belly and kisses your cheek and holds your hand

And you fall asleep with him murmuring about how much he loves you and your baby and how he wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else

And god, when your baby shower actually arrives??

Leo has been distracting you all week so you don’t accidentally figure out what’s being planned

One of his favorite ways to do this has been taking you out to get food and shop for more clothes for you and baby

Some of your favorites so far have been the sesame street one, the duck pajamas, and the fuzzy bear onesie with little ears and paws and a little tail

Leo has a talent for picking out the cutest dresses and other maternity clothes

Everything he finds for you makes you feel so pretty and feels so comfortable to wear

He even picks out some non maternity clothes for you too

“As much as I’d love for you to stay like this forever, you do need something to wear after the baby is born…” 

He rubs his hands over your belly affectionately before pressing a kiss to your lips

You ask Leo if you can slip away to get another cake

It’s a caramel hazelnut swirl with oreo filling that you’ve been talking about for two days

He lets you down gently, telling you the bakery is still out of oreo filling and hazelnuts

He makes sure you guys hit up the baby aisle and the snack aisle before you leave

Finally it’s time for your actual baby shower

And it’s absolutely amazing

It’s like Hazel looked into your brain and pulled out everything you could have dreamed of

And when you arrive to all your friends and family surrounded by the beautiful decorations

They bring out a caramel hazelnut swirl cake with oreo filling

That’s what finally brings you to tears

It’s the most wonderful time you could have hoped for

You spend tons of time with friends and family, eat delicious food, and talk about baby stuff the whole time

It’s not long after your baby shower that you start getting braxton hicks more regularly 

Leo insists on taking you to the hospital even when you insist it’s a false alarm

He is not going to take any risks when it comes to you or your baby

After the first false alarm, he made sure your hospital bags were packed and ready to go

He’s gone over the plan and the backup plan and the backup backup plan so many times he could recite them in his sleep

After a few more, you wake up one night, and Leo wakes up right behind you

You tell him you’re having contractions and he gets up immediately, launching into his usual speech about how the doctor said for you to go to the hospital even if it’s a false alarm and how much he loves you both

Before he can finish you turn to him with a look of seriousness he’s never seen before

“I don’t think it’s a false alarm.” 

That wakes him up even more

He gets you to the hospital in record time, and calls his mom on the way

He’s right by your side the whole time and holding your hand while the doctors and nurses get you set up

You share a look and know it’s hitting both of you at the same time

You’re about to have a baby

You’re finally, finally going to meet your baby

You’re about to be parents

Through all of the highs and lows of his life

Every crazy thing you’ve gotten through together

This night is by far the most exciting

[olieamr]

what do you think the Mercs would get at the supermarket?

IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I HAD A DRAFT AND TUMBLR THREW IT TO THE WOLVES 😢🙏 Spy: God, I don't know how to describe it but he would try his best to get normal things. Like, he lives a life of bloodshed constantly, so I think he would just buy regular groceries to try and stay sane. The other half of my says he would buy enough alcohol to satisfy Demo's wet dreams. Sniper: Jars. you can do a lot with jars. MEDICCCk!! In my head, Medic cannot cook. He's tried for Heavy's sake, but he cannot (for heavy's sake.) So, I think he'd just buy various things to preform his random lil experiments with and what not. I also think he's a nicknack collector so if he finds something funny he'd buy it. As for snacks, in my head he likes to snack. Once he moved to America, I think he started to like their chips n shit, so that's probably what he gets.

ENGIE I LOVE ENGIEEE: I think he's a grill dad. He would buy shit to grill with. Coal, those firestarter things, smoking wood, the works. I also think he would buy enough to feed the team if need be. Can you tell I think of him in a fatherly way. I think he and Heavy are the best cooks on the team, god knows what would happen to the kitchen if Solly or Pyro got in there. HEAVY !!! : Honestly, I think he enjoys cooking. More of a baker though, I envision him in that frilly apron with polka dots n' stuff LMFAO. I think he researches Medic's hometown meals and makes them for him, so he would buy ingredients for that. Of course he would also buy food for himself, such as bread, lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, deli meat, a tooth pick and green olives. :3 DEMO !!!! RAAHH: Beer. Like, he only buys alcohol and maybe some snacks. I love him so much.

PYRO <3 :

the guy ever. the silly. I think they would buy so much fire things its crazy. Like, the store clerks would look them up and down and ask "So.. looks like you're havin' a bonfire, right?" and they'd just nod. They also buy lucky charms. so much lucky charms.

Soldier !:

His whole cart would be red white n' blue. Anything with his pride flag on it he's buying it. By pride flag I hope you know I mean American flag. He also probably buys things he would want Engie to cook for him, he'd sheepishly hand the burgers to him and be like. "I want these cooked." and Engie would just smile and nod.

scunt:

sooooo much caffeine. that man probably has enough kidney stones for five people. he also buys enough junk food to make a teenage boy go feral

[elvenbeard]

Makes me Feel Better

Cyberpunk 2077 Fanfic

Summary: After a truly horrendous week and tying off some loose ends, V and Kerry finally get some well-deserved downtime, including a heart-to-heart, good (and better) music, and some unexpected familiar faces showing up. (Post-Sun-Ending, mostly canon-compliant, Chapter 15/?, 8923 words, Kerry Eurodyne/V - notes at the end) >> Previous Chapter >> Read from the Beginning

The next two days were a blur. Tests and preparation, complicated diagnostics and elaborate research and planning blended the Med Center’s sterile brightness and the Afterlife’s noise and shady corners into an indistinguishable mess. Every second waiting for scans to complete V spent reading through dossiers and texting back and forth with Rogue. Between talks with clients and crews he slipped away into the bathroom for a minute to down the whole new array of meds Fuentes had prescribed him – right between all those wanna-be-mercs taking a piss and bragging about how they’d be the next Afterlife legend. V just stared his tired reflection in the eyes, harrow like a skull in the pale green light and listened to them, trying not to burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all.

The rapid whirr of the tiny electric saw chewing into his cast clashed with the bright white examination room this Friday afternoon. With a soft “click” it clipped through the last remaining connection that had kept his wrist restrained.

“There you go,” Jayda smiled, the medtech that had been taking care of him immediately after his accident as well. She pulled the cast away and V sighed with relief at being able to have his full range of motion back in his left hand. He wiggled his fingers and carefully tested if everything still moved as it should after being locked into place for a week, popped his personal link out and back in to make sure it was intact.

“Feels good, right?” Jayda said with amusement as she tossed the remains of the cast into a trashcan.

“That’s an understatement,” V said dryly.

“Just take it slow for a bit still,” she urged, “The nanites and meds did their job, but even so, it’s still a relatively fresh injury.”

V nodded.

“What about driving?” he then asked, “Riding my motorbike?”

Jayda raised her eyebrows.

“Only if you promise to not end up here again anytime soon,” she said with a wink and picked up her datapad, “Now all you gotta do is sign here and you’re good to go.”

“Thanks,” V said on the way out, glad that at least today’s stay at the Med Center had been a short one. He had worked his way through all his scheduled meetings at the Afterlife already, too. Simultaneously stoked yet also terrified of his further plans for the day, or rather, the night, he went on his way home.

Meanwhile, Kerry paid Lee a visit at his office. Locking the door behind him while saying “Payday’s here, Lee,” turned out to be immensely effective in reminding Lee who had the upper hand in this game now.

“K-Kerry! Listen! I told no-one anything!” Lee instantly started bumbling and sprung up from his office chair. He almost knocked over a showcase displaying awards won by talented artists that Lee hadn’t even met in person before, Kerry was pretty sure. Then he stumbled backwards against the window, a thin panel of smartglass separating him from a 30-story-fall into one of Charter Hills’s busiest shopping areas. He raised his hands in defense and whimpered, all the while Kerry still had only just set a foot into the room.

This was Kovachek’s old office, and admittedly, that was one of the main reasons Kerry still avoided it like the plague. Too many bad memories of that motherfucker going on and on and on until Kerry didn’t have any coherent thoughts left in his head anymore. Even worse that Lee hadn’t changed the place up much, either – to Kerry’s disappointment but also none of his surprise.

The wall to the right was covered in platinum records, most of them Kerry’s, as well as the aforementioned display cases, three in a row. In front of them, facing into the room, stood the pretentious black marble desk with two armchairs for visitors. The left half of the office consisted mainly of a seating area with sleek but uncomfortable-as-a-pile-of-bricks sofas, as well as a small bar including a mini fridge. And, of course, more shelves displaying awards, framed posters, or special records that Lee had no personal connection to.

Kerry slowly walked over to the desk and shoved the two chairs out of the way. He leaned against the desk and crossed his arms, never breaking eye contact with Lee, who was sweating blood.

“Told ya you owe me for the shit with V’s pills, motherfucker,” he said, calm but stern, “And you’re gonna do exactly what I tell ya. Got it?”

Lee just nodded but didn’t move away from his spot by the window, nor did he lower his hands. Kerry scrunched his nose in annoyance.

“C’mon, sit your ass down and take notes, I’m not gonna explain this shit twice!”

Lee just nodded and stumbled back behind his desk while Kerry flopped into one of the two armchairs, fingers interlocked across his chest, one leg dangling over the armrest. Then he began to recount what he and V had discussed the previous night, making sure Lee took note of every detail, every step of the plan.

Kerry had no doubt that it would all work out. What tied his stomach into a knot though was handing so much responsibility to Lee.

“All clear?” Kerry asked at the end of his instructions. Lee was as white as a sheet, hunched over his computer as he read through his notes.

“Y-yeah… Yeah, understood.”

“Nova… then get your ass to work. V’s gonna send you all the deets you still need in a few,” he said and got up to go back to the door, “Goes without saying that you’re not gonna talk to anyone but him or me about this?”

Lee nodded hesitantly.

“What if…” he whimpered, looking back and forth between Kerry and his screen, “What if some of these things like… the contracts… what if I run into trouble with that?”

“Well, first of all… ya better don’t,” Kerry threatened, pointing a finger at Lee, “But if there is anything goin’ not as planned, you fuckin’ call me immediately. Time to show MSM that they’re just as useless without me as I’d be without ‘em.”

The last sentence he only muttered, more to himself than at Lee. But with that he unlocked the door, walked out the office, out the building as fast as he could, couldn’t wait to be back home where V likely already waited for him.

“Babe, I’m home!” Kerry called with a singsong voice as he exited the elevator and stepped into their kitchen a short while later. No response. He shivered and the good mood he had hyped himself up to all the way here dwindled.

“Vince?”

Then Nibbles perked up on the sofa and caught Kerry’s attention, big greyish pink ears pointed in his direction. She yawned and stretched, jumped down and jogged towards him with a purry meow. But Kerry’s eyes remained glued to the sofa, where V laid curled up on his side, the cat cuddled up against him until now it seemed. Kerry managed to resist the urge to sprint towards him to check on him just long enough for V to sleepily lift his head, muttering a weak “Hey! Sorry, dozed off”.

Kerry took a shaky but relieved breath.

“You good?” he called over, still worried, and placed the two cups of coffee he’d gotten on the road on the kitchen counter. Nibbles meanwhile briefly rubbed against his legs before trailing off to her bowl. Kerry took the chance to walk over to V who stretched and groaned but didn’t get up yet.

“Yeah… relatively speakin’ at least,” he said. He had turned on his back now, rubbed his eyes, and Kerry squeezed onto the sofa next to his legs.

“Headache again?” he asked carefully, reaching out to take V’s hand, delighted briefly when he noticed that the cast was gone.

“Oh, fuckin’ finally,” he laughed, entangling their fingers. V also chuckled, blinking at Kerry as if he was blinded. He didn’t look like he just woke up from a nap, more like he hadn’t slept in three days.

“You sure you’re good?” Kerry asked once more.

“Yeah, just the meds I think,” V said and slowly sat up now, almost as if trying to prove his point, “The anti-seizure ones have ‘tiredness’, ‘exhaustion’ and so on listed as common side effects. Just wanted to close my eyes for five minutes, and that turned into… almost two hours, fuck…”

He shifted around, let go of Kerry’s hand, but was too wobbly on his feet still to get up immediately.

“Woah there, easy, we still got time,” Kerry said, “Literally just got home, too. Lee’s dumb as fuck and I had to explain everythin’ twice, told ya.”

V let out one brief, hoarse laugh, but at least he let Kerry coerce him into staying on the sofa a little while longer.

“You think he’ll manage?”

“He’s literally a fuckin’ manager, so he better,” Kerry couldn’t resist and V snorted.

“New level of dad joke reached.”

Kerry gently nudged him with his elbow, eliciting a cute little grin and teasing side-eye out of V.

“Nah, but in all seriousness,” he then said, “Your plan’s pretty fuckin’ amazing, for how quickly you came up with it. Not even Lee could mess it up.”

“We came up with it,” V corrected him, “Was your idea in the first place. And you got all the inside knowledge and connections.”

“That’s why we make such a good team,” Kerry grinned, trying to catch V’s gaze, but he still seemed a little absent, looking out the window at the slowly setting sun.

“Mh-hm, yeah we do,” he said, then closed his eyes again, almost as if he was ready to fall asleep once more.

“Alright,” Kerry said, and gave V a quick kiss on the cheek to keep him alert, “Go team! Ya ready for tonight?”

“Hell yeah,” V said still tired but opened his eyes again, and Kerry helped him up from the sofa to head upstairs. Time they got ready to party.

V wore his hair differently than what Kerry was used to that evening. Slicked back and neat. His smudged eyeliner was dialed back a notch as well. Now more than ever he looked like in the photos from a few years ago that Kerry had seen, of Arasaka functions and parties. Only that V’s hair was more colorful now and his choice of clothing reflected his personality so much more than just a sleek black and red suit. In the AV that took them to the release party for Kerry’s first single in a much longer time than what he’d like to admit, V quickly sent the last messages and instructions for the day, including the intel for Lee. While he was occupied with that, instead of looking out the window across the sprawling cityscape, Kerry only had eyes for V. He wore a golden yellow shirt with an intricate, dark-blue pattern resembling suns. He had it buttoned up only halfway, so his chest tattoo of stylized wings peeked out, almost appeared like a bird flying against the sunset. Or an angel. Or Icarus. On the seat beside him rested a sleek dark purple blazer, and he wore the matching pants, dark blue shoes with gold details rounding off the look. Kerry had never noticed the shirt nor the suit before and wondered if V bought both at some point in the last few days specifically for the party. Then again, he never missed a chance to dress up nicely like this, as chances to do so were rare. Their sense of style clearly distinguished them, but Kerry endeared it so much. His own outfit was almost casual in comparison to V. He hadn’t put a lot of thought into styling his hair or accessories any differently than usual. He wore a button-down shirt, yes, but fully unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. It was plain black, like his pants, which were fancy for his standards but nothing too formal. He wanted to continue to feel like himself still, not like he was wearing a costume for an over-the-top video shoot or stadium show.

“Alright, all done,” V announced, his Kiroshis returned to their amber brown color with the transmission complete, and he turned towards Kerry and smiled.

“What?” he asked after a moment of Kerry just staring at him.

“Nothin’,” Kerry replied, “Just… really happy right now. That you’re comin’ and all.”

V continued to smile, but the longer and closer Kerry looked, the more he felt like something was off.

“You still wanna come, right?”

“I do!” V said without hesitation, cupping Kerry’s cheek briefly before slumping back into his seat again, “I guess I’m… really just a bit nervous. Excited, but nervous.”

“Aww,” Kerry put his arm around V’s shoulder to pull him closer, “Rare to see ya nervous. But don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“Hah, ‘n here I thought plan B was me playing your bodyguard, not the other way around,” V sneered and Kerry shut him up with a kiss.

“Not today.”

Their gaze drifted out the window, Charter Hill wasn’t far anymore. They zoomed past neon high-rises as if they had the sky to themselves tonight.

“Y’know,” Kerry said quietly, “I always really hated goin’ to these kinds of parties.”

“The king of NC’s nightlife? Not a fan of fancy all-inclusive parties?” V teased, resting his head on Kerry’s shoulder. Kerry held him even closer.

“Listen, goin’ to a club to get high and go hog wild is somethin’ different…”

“Don’t need to tell me about that,” V smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in his voice. Reminded of a time probably in which “going hog wild” every night was the only way he still felt alive. Could feel something at all still. And if Kerry didn’t relate to that.

“What I’m sayin’ is,” he continued, “Going to industry parties was always different, ‘cause there’s no choice. Everyone’s expecting you to mingle, be nice and a good advertisement for the label. A reminder that all the glamor and crap is gonna be over with the snap of some executive asshole’s fingers if you don’t do exactly as you’re told, grin and bear it.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” V said, “Felt a lot like that when I went out with my coworkers at Arasaka. You played nice and all, had a good time with them, celebrated how you’d all collectively ruined some poor assholes’ lives again somewhere on the other side of the planet. And at the same time, it always felt like there were knives behind their teeth, ready to stab you in the back to elevate their own position. Not even excluding myself from that. It’s just how it works in that world.”

“Wow,” Kerry said after a short pause, “That sounds even more depressing actually.”

V snickered and nudged his side.

“Ass.”

“Corp-ass.”

“Wow, night only just started and you’re going below the belt already,” V finally laughed and that was all that Kerry had needed to be sure he was truly on board and not too tense to still be able to enjoy himself at the party. He more than deserved some proper downtime, they both did.

The AV slowed down, circling the rooftop of the MSM studio building, waiting for clearance to land. It had been sent and paid for by MSM, so security was no issue at least.

“The plus-side of these parties though…” Kerry said as they descended, and V was finally able to get a good first glimpse and impression of the already bustling event. This was also the first time he actually saw the bar area in use, a crowd forming around the bartenders flinging drinks and bottles. There was a round DJ booth with virtual dancers at the center of the rooftop, the dancefloor surrounding it. The door to the stairwell that led down to the recording booths was hidden behind decorative black and golden tarps showcasing the MSM logo, and on one side of the venue a huge screen had been set up, currently showing a loop of footage from Kerry’s past tours and old music videos. That at least made it very clear who the party was for.

“… the food is actually quite good, the booze is free, and you can be sure at least half of the people don’t wanna be there either and are ready to fuck shit up if given the chance.”

The AV landed softly, and the door slid open, V and Kerry greeted by blue and golden party lights and booming music. Kerry, who sat on the left and was closer to the door, got up first while V quickly slipped on his blazer.

“Wanna be my partner in crime tonight?” Kerry asked with a big smile, put on his sunglasses, and held out his hand.

“Always,” V grinned and took it, his heart close to bursting. They’d never been anywhere together like this, never this publicly, never so many strangers that might or might not draw conclusions, see connections, tell wrong things to the wrong people. Or maybe it would not matter or affect anything at all. That’s what he tried to continue to tell himself when he sat a shaky foot onto the black and gold carpet rolled out for them. The rooftop lounge wasn’t small, but not sprawling either, and so the landing pad was already framed by other guests curiously turning their heads. Kerry had explained that they’d likely be some of the last to arrive, so there would already be a crowd waiting to cheer and welcome them – or rather, Kerry – as the main act of the night. It was never a good sign, he'd said, to be among the first at an industry party. Then you’d be considered only part of the décor, replaceable.

V was torn between clutching Kerry’s hand even tighter or just letting go and hiding in his shadow as he led the way down the carpet towards the now cheering and applauding crowd. But Kerry made the choice for him as he held on tight, making sure he was right there by his side for everyone to see.

“Kerry, so glad to have you here,” and older, dark-skinned man – definitely not older than Kerry, but by his voice and mannerisms alone V guessed him to be in his 60s – approached them with an outstretched hand. He wore a crème and baby-blue colored suit and excessive gold jewelry – but so did almost everyone else here, too. Kerry put on his best, fakest charming smile and shook the man’s hand, and V could’ve sworn to hear their rings clink against each other over the droning music.

“Well, ‘course I’m comin’ to my own party,” Kerry said, “Really outdid yourself from the looks of it.”

A quick scan of the man’s system revealed him to be one of the infamous studio bosses V had heard so much about. “Rich” was his ironically fitting name, or Richard. Like he had guessed it he was 62 years old, twice divorced, newly engaged, in very good shape for his job and age. Most of his cyberware was only for fashion, including the golden plates framing his cheek bones and fingertips, but like almost everyone at MSM he sported custom Kiroshis with decent scanners. Probably some self-ICE and security measures, but V decided not to linger too long and dig too deep to not get caught.

“You’re one of the top five, no, top three most important artists of our label. Of course we’re gonna throw you an according party,” Rich said, “And if anything’s not to your liking, say the word.”

“Shouldn’t have said that,” Kerry grinned, “I’d like the chocolate fountains replaced with vodka and pure gold, as a start. The rest I gotta check out first.”

Both Rich and Kerry laughed, but V didn’t miss the challenging glimmer in Kerry’s eyes, as if to say “try me”. Rich smiled a bit too brightly, a bit too politely, hiding his disdain while still playing along because without artists like Kerry he surely wouldn’t be leading the life he did. V just smiled and watched the conversation with great intrigue. But then the attention shifted to him, which he would have preferred not to happen.

“Now, where’s my manners,” Rich said and held out his hand to V, “Richard Kelley, COO MSM Records.”

V smiled, took note of his own system’s warning of unauthorized scanning that his ICE caught and prevented, and shook Rich’s hand without hesitation.

“V. Thanks for the invitation,” he said.

“V…” Rich said, as he undoubtedly read through the fake dossier V had set up to be shown to anyone trying to scan him tonight, “Feel like that should ring a bell but it doesn’t, my apologies.”

“Just a nickname. Kerry thinks ‘Vincent’ is too long,” V said nonchalantly.

“It is,” Kerry chimed in, V not even sure if he played along consciously or not, “V suits ya better.”

Rich folded his hands behind his back, as if to hide his cards.

“I think I do remember you now,” he said smiling, after a short pause, “Kerry’s right hand in the Us Cracks project.”

“Could say it like that, yeah,” V lied through his teeth, “Been trying to set foot in the music industry for years. Worked my way up from being a roadie back in ’69. Lately I’ve been organizing smaller gigs here and there. Met Kerry through one of my many connections and we hit it off quite well I’d dare to say.”

“I see,” Rich smiled, surely smelling the bullshit, even though it was very close to the truth. But there was nothing he could truly say or do against it here and now without causing a scene, and V felt like he would want to avoid that while Kerry was right next to them both.

“Well then, don’t wanna keep you away from your party any longer. Enjoy.”

He stepped aside, Kerry nodded, put his arm around V and led him further into the crowd.

“The fuck just happened? Vincent?” he asked through his smile as they passed by studio workers and celebrities and their entourage. V snickered.

“Can’t tell you how much I’ve missed playing games with people like him,” he said, and really, for the first 20 minutes they spent at the party he continued to ride this wave of adrenaline. A type of rush he hadn’t had in a too long time, and which was only really achievable by moving in circles like this.

“Also,” he added, “I think it’s actually gonna help our plan that he already knows me now. Is gonna make it a bit easier for Lee to set everything up how we want to.”

“Ooohhh,” Kerry nodded, “Fuck... You’re so hot when you’re all scheming… and reading people like an open book and all that crap.”

V chuckled when Kerry pulled him closer, but simultaneously his anxiety spiked. They’d gone around to shake some more studio people’s hands, met some of Kerry’s friends, producers, and had now trailed off to the bar where Kerry ordered them drinks. Something strong and boozy for himself, just a NiCola for V. V had been trying to keep track of everyone they spoke to for a potential familiar face that would recognize him and his connections to the Afterlife. Nothing so far, and paparazzi were strictly banned from the event. By accepting the invite you signed an NDA, it was that exclusive of a night. But the nagging thoughts didn’t want to leave him alone, especially when Kerry’s hand trailed down his back towards his ass, when he leaned in to kiss V’s neck, beard brushing against exposed skin.

“Wait, not… here,” he said and inched away just slightly. Kerry paused, then moved his sunglasses down just enough to be able to peer over the frame, look at V without that security barrier between them.

“At the bar, or in general on this rooftop?”

“I… dunno.”

“Just tell me and I’ll stop,” Kerry promised, “I know you’re not big on PDA. But we’re safe here, really. Thought this would be okay…”

“I know. I…” V struggled to find the right words again, “Maybe I just need some time to warm up to it all still.”

Right on cue the bartender delivered their drinks. Kerry reached over to grab both their glasses, also to give V some space. He handed him the ice-cold coke decorated with a slice of what had to be a real lemon.

“They’re really going all out, huh,” V noted as he briefly inspected the fruit and Kerry laughed.

“If you wanna we can hit the buffet. I think even the sushi is ‘ganic by the looks of it.”

“Maybe later,” V said, taking a sip, and Kerry copied him with his martini.

“My usual suggestion would be ‘have a drink’ but that sadly doesn’t work with you,” he said, with an added, “No offense.”

“None taken,” V shook his head, “Besides, I’m pumped full of meds that shouldn’t be combined with alcohol anyway.”

“A shit, right…”

“Just… gimme a little more time, alright? I’m happy to be here, havin’ a good time. Sure it’ll get better from here.”

“Okay,” Kerry smiled, reached out and hooked his pinky finger around V’s, a tiny gesture that meant so much between them at this point. A way to connect when they were out in public, discreetly, a small reassurance of “I respect your boundaries” while also saying “glad you’re here with me”. The smallest “I love you”. It did indeed help calm V’s nerves a little bit.

Drinks in hand they continued to mingle with the crowd. Most of the time V just listened to the conversations, not minding at all to be merely embellishment to Kerry’s big night. In fact, his pride grew with every encounter. If only half of the praise Kerry received was true, Rich hadn’t been so off with calling him one of the top three of MSM’s most important artists. No way to compete against Us Cracks at the moment, obviously, but there was no need to. Though Kerry seemed glad that they were on their world tour still and somewhere in Japan at the moment. Or so he thought, at least.

At one point during the night the studio bosses gave a short speech in front of the large screen. As they indulged in the worst self-adulation V had ever heard outside of a Counterintel meeting room, Kerry whispered to him about how he’d known most of the label bosses since they were teenage brats throwing around their family’s money.

“Insane how little some things and people change,” Kerry muttered between his teeth, face so close to V’s that his breath brushed across his neck and made him shiver pleasantly. V smiled at him, and discreetly, as everyone’s eyes were glued at the screen and the bosses, took and squeezed his hand and leaned against him.

Then “Shivers” was played to the audience officially for the first time, and even though V had been there for most of its creation process, hearing the final, polished version in full length was still a special moment he was glad to be able to share with Kerry. The presentation was followed by more praise and the crowd eventually slowly dissolved again to continue partying.

Kerry led a few more conversations with other musicians and producers about the creation process of his song. He enjoyed the attention very obviously, glowing and eagerly answering any and all questions he was asked, even if often not overly detailed. V loved listening to his thought process of writing and recording the song to a young and new producer particularly though. Praise was nice and all, but talking to someone on a technical level was what Kerry was best at. All of a sudden though, in the middle of explaining something in regard to the BPM, he froze up. His eyes had darted to the AV landing pad and his words trailed off like a spilled drink when three colorfully dressed young women exited their cab.

“For fuck’s sake…” Kerry muttered, then he turned to V, “Let’s delta.”

“What?” V snickered, but Kerry took his hand, excused himself out of the conversation, and led him to the edge of the rooftop lounge. They were between a row of golden glowing fake bamboo lamps and the tarps hiding any unsightly parts of the building from the prestigious party guests. The Us Cracks girls had reached the center of the party area already and were swarmed by admirers in no time.

“Kerry, they left their tour just to be here for your big night,” V teased, but Kerry just sighed deeply, squirming and restless.

“I knooow,” he said, voice whiny, “And like… I’m cool with them ‘n all. I don’t mind them bein’ here, and it’s a big gesture and whatnot. It’s cool, they’re cool, we’re cool!”

“But?” V tilted his head.

Kerry sighed and made a face, looked away as if he was embarrassed.

“They’re fucking exhausting! There, I said it!” it then burst out of him, and he shrugged dramatically, “I don’t get half the references they’re making! Kerry-san this, Kerry-san that… All that fuckin’ kawaii-talk makes my dick shrivel up!”

V snorted.

“They make you feel old, huh?”

Kerry raised a finger in warning.

“Thin ice, Vince,” he said, not entirely serious. Then his shoulders slumped, and he sighed.

“But… yeah.”

“Awww,” V cupped Kerry’s face, stepped closer, quickly made sure no one was immediately nearby… then gave him a quick kiss.

“That make it better?”

Kerry pouted.

“Not yet.”

“Hmm,” V hummed, his heart beating faster now. He learned in again, lips lingering longer now, the slightest tease of tongue, and he noticed how Kerry melted into his touch a bit more this time.

“And now?” he whispered, looking Kerry in the eyes, their faces still close.

“Alright fine,” Kerry muttered, but V noted the slight curl at the corners of his mouth. For a moment he almost wondered if Kerry was the one playing him now, but he brushed the thought aside. Kerry sighed deeply, grabbed V’s hand for support once more, and V joined him to face the new arrivals to the party.

“Kerry-san!!” Blue Moon already squealed from afar, frantically waving in their direction, and Kerry groaned only loud enough for V to hear it.

The crowd cleared a path for the three pop idols as they scurried over, screeching and seemingly prepared to jump onto Kerry all at once, but just in time they slowed down and the tackle turned into a regular group hug.

“Wow, that’s a… real surprise!” Kerry exclaimed with badly feigned excitement, “You really didn’t need to come just for this one night.”

“But of course we had to!” Purple Force nodded excitedly.

“MSM organized a direct priority flight from and to Tokyo just so we could be here!” Red Menace added.

All three of them were dressed in the same style of latex-and-sequin cocktail dresses that seemed inspired by kimonos. They were decorated with enormous sparkling bows and virtual petals fell wherever the girls walked. Of course all color-coordinated in their usual red, purple, and blue, as if it was hard to tell them apart otherwise. V realized just how much pressure there had to be on them to always stay on brand like that, but at the same time, if they minded it, they were good at hiding it.

“V, OMG, you’re here too!” Blue Moon exclaimed as if she’d only just realized he was here with them, and a cold shiver ran down his spine. All night he’d been worried about someone attending the party that knew he did merc work. And here they were, squeezing him into a group hug.

“Hey, it’s great to see you again,” V said in Japanese, downplaying his newly onset bout of nervousness.

He elicited an excited squeal from the girls, and a lot of chattering and a very quick summary of all they’d been up to since their last in-person meeting.

“Oooohh, are you Kerry-san’s new bodyguard now?” Red Menace then asked as if realization struck her only now that this wasn’t V’s typical surroundings, too.

“Oooooohhh, no, wait!” Blue Moon interrupted her, mouth and eyes wide.

Before V or Kerry could even say anything, glancing back and forth between the two of them, she squealed.

“I’m so excited! Are you dating?”

The other two joined in with their cooing and noises of excitement and various onomatopoeia underlining just how excited they truly were, and even V started to feel old now.

“Alright, c’mon, dial it back,” Kerry urged them, but at the same time he smiled, a hint of pride in his voice.

“You are though! That makes me so happy!” Purple Force exclaimed, hands clutched, and Blue Moon leaned in closer to V.

“Back then, before ‘Off the Leash’, we saw how you two looked at each other. We’ve been rooting for you from the start!”

V wasn’t sure how to react to an out-of-the-blue statement like that.

“Oh, c’mon now…” Kerry groaned.

“We suggested Kerry pick his favorite venue for our concert, and we made sure that he’d invite you!” Red Menace said.

“And made sure the paparazzi would be occupied talking to us, so you’d have some time for yourselves,” Purple Force added, flicking her head as if to wink… just not being able to physically wink with her huge, bug-like Kiroshis.

“Is that so…” V said, side-eyeing Kerry, “He never mentioned that.”

“Awww, Kerry-san,” the girls said almost in unison as they went in for another group hug, this time targeting them both at once, “We’re so happy things turned out like this for you!”

Kerry though was more than happy when they finally, finally were called away by their manager to meet some other studio people, giving him and V some room to breathe again.

“I need another drink or ten,” he said, and V laughed, looking at his phone briefly. Before the girls left, he’d asked them for another selfie, all five of them together this time, and they obviously agreed. He sent it to Panam, not sure when she’d see it as contact was still somewhat sporadic. He attached a little “believe me now that I know them? :P”

Then he accompanied Kerry back to the bar.

“Did I get that right, what they said earlier?” he decided to ask, leaving no room for misunderstandings, “They wanted to set us up?”

Kerry scoffed and played with his glass, but then he took off his sunglasses and put them down on the counter. They stood facing each other, but both still had a good view of the crowd. The music was getting louder and heavier on the dance tunes as the night went on. More and more people gathered on the dancefloor surrounding the DJ.

“Maybe… Just maybe,” Kerry then said, “I had a little crush on you then. But apparently, they had to point it out to me first. Made me grow a pair to invite you and plan that whole date like that.”

“Aww,” V smiled, “You didn’t realize you had a crush? I was pretty sure I did, I just didn’t think I had a chance with you.”

Kerry finally looked up from his drink and grinned.

“I thought…” he started slowly, quietly, “You’d think I’m too old. And, y’know, all that emotional baggage and chaos my life was… and still is.”

He paused to look around at the crowd. So many people, most of them probably from similar and higher circles that V grew up in, and far far away from the small standing Kerry worked his way up from over decades. Surely, they all had their rich inner lives and demons to face as well, but V could see the disdain in Kerry’s eyes, still, even after being a part of this world for longer than he hadn’t been. He closed his eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath and looked back at V.

“You were the realest, most genuine person I’d met in years, decades maybe,” he said, voice soft, “So yeah. Once I realized that, I fell hard, and fast. And fuck yeah, maybe I asked the girls for some advice here and there, ‘cause at least you’re all born in the same fuckin’ century.”

Then he downed his drink in one go and ordered the next right away.

V let this little confession sit for a couple of moments before taking Kerry’s hands and stepping closer.

“Thanks for sharing that with me,” he said quietly, “That’s actually pretty sweet.”

Kerry scoffed but smiled.

“Didn’t know you were concerned about me potentially thinking you’re too old,” he added, “If anything, I thought ‘what would he want with a dying 20-somethin-year-old’. Let alone with one possessed by the digital ghost of his dead ex-bandmate.”

Kerry chuckled.

“Would lie if I said that the Johnny-thing didn’t matter at first. In the sense that… Man, how do I say it without soundin’ like a complete gonkhead.”

He looked down to their interlaced fingers, gently rubbing V’s knuckles with his thumb.

“Try me. Nothin’ that can really shock me anymore,” V assured him. Kerry hummed.

“At first I thought, hell yeah, another chance with Johnny,” he began slowly, “Not even in the sense of like… y’know? Really just one last gig, for old time’s sake. Maybe finally get to tell him to go fuck himself for trying to keep me in his shadow like that. For all the shit he said, stealin my songs, my ideas, playin’ with me, shittin’ on me over and over again.”

Then he looked back up at V, pensive still.

“But then I realized… fuck Johnny, he doesn’t matter. ‘Cause there was you, shinin’ through the shadows of our past… and I wanted you so badly, but you only came as a package deal. And that sucked so hard.”

“Made you hesitate to make a move?” V asked, listening intently, not moving from where he stood. None of this was news to V, it had always been there in the subtext of their love story that Johnny was a deciding factor in how it would all work out or not.

“’Cause sure as hell made me hesitate as well. That he was there ‘n all,” he decided to add, and Kerry tilted his head slightly. Not sad, but nodding, understanding.

“’Outta all the guys in NC, you gotta pick my best friend’, day in day out,” V recounted, mocking Johnny’s voice and accent, “’At least he finally gets to fuck me now by fuckin’ you’ and crap like that.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Kerry sighed, “I can assure you, not fuckin’ once did I even waste a thought on him when we, like…”

“It’s okay,” V laughed, “Even if so, doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah… it really didn’t matter anymore,” Kerry reminisced again, smiling. He let go of V’s hand, fingers trailing up his arm, now cupping his cheek, caressing his jawline. V’s heart was racing, head spinning, but then he leaned into the soft touch.

“Not since you walked down the stairs by the stage at Dark Matter. Pushed your way through the crowd like none of them mattered either…” Kerry said, “And you stole me away. Made my old, half-dead heart, feel somethin’ again.”

V smiled, couldn’t really say anything at the sight of Kerry’s glistening eyes, the fine lines curling at their corners as he smiled, colorful lights dancing on, refracted from the gold on his cheeks and neck and chest.

“Love ya,” he just said quietly. It was all that he managed.

“Love ya, too, so much, V, I can’t tell you,” Kerry said, “Permission to fuckin’ kiss you now, in front of the whole damn label?”

V hesitated, but then nodded, and Kerry didn’t waste a millisecond to pull him into a heartfelt, passionate kiss. With every lick of his tongue, every nibble on his lips, a bit of V’s tension melted away, and he let himself fall into Kerry’s embrace, tasting the harshness of vodka mixed with smoke while his hands and caresses were so gentle against V’s skin.

Just slowly they pulled away from each other, and only far enough to catch their breath. V rested his hand on Kerry’s chest, fingers trailing along the golden, engraved plate decorating his sternum.

“So,” he slowly started, “Would you say I made your heart go ‘dokidoki’ when I walked down the stairs after your show back then?”

“Wow,” Kerry exclaimed with genuine disappointment, and V laughed, “Way to ruin a moment, V.”

He wasn’t truly upset though, just shook his head, and a whispered “fuckin’ gonk” was followed by another kiss.

The next song on the DJ’s tracklist let V toss the rest of his caution into the wind.

/My reflection/

/In this broken mirror/

/Is a program/

/In my head/

“Oh fuck yeah, they’re digging out the good stuff finally… no offense!” V laughed when Kerry frowned deeply.

“Yeah, just keep beating the old man down, go on! See what happens!”

“I’m sorry, babe, didn’t mean it like that,” V was still laughing, but Kerry also smiled when V took his hand and began pulling him towards the music, “Dance with me to make up for it?”

He didn’t have to ask Kerry twice and right when the first “Makes me feel better” echoed across the rooftops of Charter Hill they had become one with the glittering, glamorous crowd on the dance floor.

Not too close, but close enough so it was clear to everyone that they were here together, Kerry and V spent the rest of the DJ set dancing, letting go of anxiety and tension, until they were both thoroughly disheveled, sweaty, and out of breath. As the night progressed V was served reminder after reminder that his car accident wasn’t that far in the past, nor was the Crystal Palace gig for Blue Eyes. His ribs were hurting, and his elevated heartrate and exhaustion flushed his painkillers and other meds through his system much quicker than he would have liked. A short break was more than welcome. Kerry led him to a different corner of the lounge now, the familiar comfortable armchairs forming a cozy nook not too far off from the action of the night. They had a good view to the large video screen, this moment showing Kerry in his early 40s, still at the start of his solo career, running and jumping around on a large stadium stage.

“C’mere,” Kerry said laughing and out of breath as he pulled V down into one of the larger chairs, right onto his lap. They weren’t exactly alone, but everyone else in the lounge area was busy with their own conversations or amorous endeavors and paid them no mind.

“You good?” Kerry made sure when V slumped against his chest and closed his eyes for a moment.

“Yeah, really good,” V said, “But also really tired.”

Kerry kissed V’s forehead.

“If you wanna go home I’ll let them know and the AV’s ready in 5 minutes.”

V bit his lip.

“You gonna carry my over to the landing pad bridal style?”

Kerry snickered.

“I’ll do anything you wanna,” he purred.

“I’m listening…”

“Startin’ to think you’ve been sneakin’ some whiskey in that NiCola the whole evening,” Kerry teased but V laughed and shook his head. A distant throbbing at the base of his skull was another reminder to better take it slow for the rest of the night.

“No, I’m just… really glad I came. Didn’t realize how much I missed this. Haven’t really been out partying since…”

He had to really consider it for a moment.

“Probably since before Jackie died,” he realized and his stomach dropped, “Since then it was always just surviving, not living. Still is, most days, right now even, if you really think about it.”

Kerry hummed.

“Did I kill the mood?” V asked somewhat concerned and opened his eyes again.

“No, no, not at all,” Kerry assured him, watched him closely, “But I agree. Didn’t realize how much I missed this, too like… bein’ out partying with someone I care about, not just one of many people trying to numb themselves. It’s been a real good night. And I hope there’s many more to come.”

“For sure,” V smiled, trying to convince himself, heeding Fuentes’ words that even though it sounded unlikely, positive thinking had a measurable impact on the effectiveness of any healing process, blah, blah, blah… He decided to banish any thoughts of the Med Center or the Afterlife from his head for the rest of the night.

They just lingered in the lounge chair a bit longer, listening to the crowd and the music as the night around them grew colder, and occasionally Kerry reminisced, recalled an interesting anecdote about one of the scenes they had picked for the throwback reel still playing. V enjoyed resting in his arms now, so closely, their fingers interlocked, and barely flinched when someone looked in their direction or walked by. Kerry had grown quieter as the videos began to repeat, and instead they now watched the colorful crowd. Just moments before he almost suggested to leave, V spotted a familiar silvery head of hair among all the people and was instantly wide-awake again.

“Oh fuck,” he perked up, alerting an already half-dozed-off Kerry, “Is that Slavoj McAllister?”

Kerry followed his gaze.

“Yeah, looks like it!” he confirmed calmly, “Been wondering if he’s even here, the Duelists are on tour as well.”

V didn’t respond, just stared at McAllister, dressed in an ensemble of dark blue leather and white faux-fur, and also sporting his iconic, extra-large silver sunglasses of course.

“Want me to call him over?” Kerry asked, and V turned to look at him, not missing the teasing tone in his voice.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, playing it a little too cool after his first excitement, “I’m just. It’s neat that he’s here, is all.”

“You’re fucking star-struck, ain’t ya,” Kerry shook his head, “You weren’t nearly half as flustered when I stood in front of you in just my bathrobe, patting your cheek.”

“Oh, shut up,” V muttered but didn’t exactly make it any better this way. Kerry knew exactly that V had had a huge crush on McAllister when he was a teen, room plastered with posters of the Cartesian Duelists. And he was also more than happy to express his disdain about how his “rival’s” (they were friends, actually) music was played in their home more often than his own whenever he had the chance.

“C’mon, I’ll introduce ya. Never gonna get a chance like this again anytime soon,” Kerry said and wiggled free from under V, who continued to protest.

“No, Kerry, wait! I don’t wanna fuckin’… he’s here to party, not to entertain fans.”

“Technically he’s here to stroke my ego, so I stroke his next time he releases a new song,” Kerry brushed him off and finally managed to get up from the chair, already began to walk into McAllister’s direction, “He won’t mind.”

“Oh fuck…” V panicked but in the end Kerry was right. No time like the present.

He got up and followed with some distance.

“Heeeey, Mr. Makes-Me-Feel-Better!” Kerry called loudly to get the other musician’s attention, and V cringed just slightly.

“Aaahh, Mr. Shivers, been wondering where you’ve been hidin’ all evening,” McAllister said with his simultaneously raspy yet ethereal voice. V’s head started spinning aagin when he watched them shake hands and give each other a brief hug and pat on the back.

“Great work with that song, Kerry, gotta give ya that,” McAllister said, “The bassline leading up to the chorus? Preem detail, your idea?”

“Fuckin’ course,” Kerry nodded.

“Thought so, thought so. Vikki was probably all like ‘hm, not sure that’s gonna work darlin’, how ‘bout we keep it a bit simpler for the brainless masses payin’ our bills?’”

V was impressed how well he imitated the producer’s voice and demeanor; he was actually quite mesmerized by seeing his idol talk so casually in general. He’d been to many concerts, obviously knew all the music videos, interviews and whatnot. But a celebrity in a casual conversation with a friend was rare and uncanny, this up close and in real life, not with the barrier of a screen or braindance wreath between them.

“All that aside, I’d like to introduce ya to someone,” Kerry said and turned to V, who only just managed to not freeze up completely. He took a deep breath and swallowed down his anxiety.

“This is V,” Kerry said and with gentle force pulled V closer, “V, Slavoj McAllister.”

In person he seemed even taller than V knew he was. Briefly he only admired his outfit, some sort of one-piece body suit with a matching coat. For sure a Jinguji custom design going by the intricate seams and many sleek little details and interesting textures that accentuated the singer’s body, a half-opened zipper exposing his large chest tattoo and neck cyberware.

“Nice to meet ya, V,” McAllister said and held out his hand. This was the exact moment 16-year-old V would’ve had tragically passed away. 28-year-old V though actually managed to keep it together and took McAllister’s hand.

“Likewise! An honor, really, I’m a big fan,” he said, trying to downplay his excitement just somewhat.

“Aahh, preem,” McAllister said, “Haven’t got anything to sign with me, but just say the word, Kerry and I gotta spend a lil’ more time together anyway.”

“Do we now? What did I miss?”

“Dunno, just a feelin,” McAllister shrugged, “Feel like we could create somethin’ preem together – ain’t it weirder that we haven’t done somethin’ together yet?”

V’s thoughts trailed off in all sorts of directions at “doing something together”, but none of them had anything to do with making music anymore.

“Maybe that’s how I get him to play more of my music at home,” Kerry said, pulling V’s thoughts out of his fantasies, “Slap a ‘feat. Slavoj McAllister’ onto them.”

“I mean…” V said slowly, “I think it could work.”

There was a brief pause in which McAllister looked at them both intensely – at least V guessed he did, as he couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses. Then he put two and two together.

“Aaahhh… You’re dating? Nova, happy for ya,” he just nodded, as if the whole conversation wasn’t surreal enough already, “Y’know, I’m still enjoyin’ my freedom, unbound and just vibin’, makin’ music. It’s the best damn thing.”

“Yeah, really can be,” Kerry nodded, “Happy for ya, too choom. Keep rockin’.”

“You, too. Excited already to hear the rest of the album,” McAllister said and shook Kerry’s hand again. Then he turned to V.

“V, got a favorite Duelists song?”

V was this close to asking Kerry to pinch him.

“Hard to choose just one, but with a gun to my head… gotta say ‘Kill the Messenger’.”

McAllister motioned a finger gun with his right hand at V and fired it, before shifting and just holding it out normally for a handshake. V was utterly mesmerized and hoped he wasn’t staring with his mouth open. He wouldn’t notice it anymore at this point.

“Preem, noted. One of my personal faves, too. Your boy’s got taste Kerry, just sayin’,” and with that he shook V’s hand.

“Oh, I know. That’s why he’s mine.”

McAllister laughed, nodded at them, then slowly trailed off, floated away almost, and let his gaze wander across the crowd as if he truly cared for none of them and his job here was done.

“I think I just had a fuckin’ stroke,” V said, still holding out his hand that McAllister shook, and Kerry laughed.

“C’mon, think it’s time to get you home and to bed.”

“Good plan,” V sighed and rubbed his tired eyes.

About an hour later they were finally home. They’d said goodbye to the Us Cracks girls, then Lee ran into them to almost ruin an otherwise perfect evening, but thankfully the encounter was brief.

V downed his nightly dose of meds, then plopped down onto their bed, face-first, and let out the longest, happiest sigh he was still capable of.

Kerry laughed and joined him, and V shuffled to look at him, even though he could barely keep his eyes open anymore. He reached over, ran his fingers through Kerry’s beard, the moonlight reflecting from the many little grey hairs particularly beautifully this moment.

“My pretty old man,” he said quietly and Kerry chuckled and put his hand on V’s, not to stop him, just touching, connecting with him. Then they just laid like this for a while, gently caressing and touching, but for more they were both too exhausted. But just this was just as nice.

“Thanks for convincing me to come,” V eventually whispered, when he felt like he was just about to drift to sleep.

“Thanks for letting me convince you,” Kerry smiled, “Should do that more often.”

“Yeah, I know… Will do.”

Then his eyes fell shut, and he could still feel the beat of the music, the rush and the joy. He dozed off to visions and memories of dancing and laughing with Kerry that he’d hold dear and cherish for the rest of his life.

*****************

>> Next Chapter

*****************

Notes:

This was a long one but such a fun one I had also really been looking forward to writing \o/ I hope you had fun at the fancy MSM party, too. Originally the plan was to include a spicy scene as well, but that may have to wait for the next chapter 👀 otherwise I'd have probably cracked the 10,000 words mark xD

Also, thanks so much you all for reading this story and sticking around for over a year now as I keep writing and updating it at my own little pace! I hope this time next year it's gonna be finished or close to it :D Vince and Kerry mean so much to me by now, and I never stuck with a longfic, well, this long. Excited to continue and finish this!

Requested Fic Update Tags:

@humberg @r3d-f0xs-blog @thatinternetwanderer @localtranspigeon @taiyo-yokai @kharonion @genocidalfetus @seeker-of-truth @readalotbook @losttr3asur3 @chromeaholic 💜

If you’d also like to get tagged when I post a new chapter for this fic, leave a reply on [this post] or send me a DM!

If you do not want to receive further tags, shoot me a quick DM and I’ll take you off the list again!

[arvensimp]

I had an idea for a request so basically reader is hurting them self while helping Arven to cook and he would do anything to make them feel better !

Sure thing! So, I did a thing in a previous fic where Arven taught them about knife safety, so if it’s okay, I’m going to keep away from cuts. I hope that’s alright. Also, this isn’t strictly helping him cook? I hope you like this idea too though?

-

Burning Love

Arven x Reader, no gendered pronouns used, established relationship. CW, minor burns, kitchen accident.

--

Since the two of you moved in together, Arven has cooked nearly every single meal the two of you ate. Anything he didn’t make himself was either takeaway or was eaten at a restaurant. 

You realized this when you’d gone into the kitchen to make yourself a drink and found that you didn’t know where one of your favorite cups was.

You sat there embarrassed for a moment before scouring the cabinets to find it, too embarrassed to ask Arven how he’d organized your shared kitchen.

You returned to your shared living space, drink in hand and a plot in your heart to be enacted the next morning.

Without disturbing Arven (or Mabosstiff who is still fast asleep at his feet), you tiptoe downstairs with skeledirge and head to the kitchen. Truth be told, skeledirge is no help though. He curls up in a corner and just goes back to sleep.

Now. For the plot. If Arven has made you every single meal in your home until now, you can at least make him one measly breakfast in bed. Right? Right.

Here’s the menu:

Orange juice

Churros

Eggs

Potatoes

Bacon

Heavy? Yes. Delicious? Also yes. Maybe a bit much? Also, also yes. But you’re also the champion who saved the region. You’re basically the definition of “a bit much.” You’ve got this.

The orange juice and churros are easy enough. That’s basically just pouring a glass and opening a package and warming a thing. You’ll save that for last.

Potatoes are time consuming but also not terribly hard. Arven taught you basic kitchen knife skills awhile ago, so you easily dice a few potatoes and set them to boil in some water. Once they’re boiled, you’ll pop them into the oven with some olive oil and seasoning to get the outside nice and crispy. Again, easy enough.

The tricky part is the eggs and bacon bit. Or, really deciding when you want to start the eggs. You don’t want them to get cool because no one likes a cold egg…

And bacon. Well…Bacon’s kinda easy? But you also don’t want it going cold. You also want to be sure it’s the perfect amount of crispy for Arven. 

You deliberate while the potatoes boil and eventually decide that you’ll do the bacon before the eggs; after you’ve set them in the oven.

Once you’ve got the potatoes set to get all nice “home-fries”y, you take a moment to delight in the smell of the kitchen with its warm cooking spices and everything. 

Gosh, cooking is fun. You get why Arven loves it so much!

Okay, time to get to the bacon.

You set the skillet down on the stovetop and get the heat going before you lay down the thick cut strips of maple bacon that Arven bought from a specialty market recently and delight in that initial sizzle. Skeledirge even lifts his head from his little bagel shape in the corner to monitor you with eager eyes.

“We’ll see if we’ve got leftovers, okay, buddy?”

He lowers his head, but keeps a predatory gaze on the bacon.

Things seem to be going well enough, so you decide to prep the eggs by cracking them into a cup, rather than risk cracking them into the pan and having some eggshell accidentally mix in while the heat is on.

You turn your back on the stovetop and oven to get three eggs all set to go. You consider cooking them in some leftover bacon grease too. Would that be good? You know Arven stores some in a jar, but you don’t know if it’s meant for cooking or not after it’s been stored like that…

By the time you’ve looked back to the oven, you can see smoke seeping from the door.

You’re no stranger to fire. Your starter pokemon was fuecoco. You’ve absolutely dealt with stupid fires before. To this day, you’re not entirely sure that skeledirge has anything more than a peanut between his precious eyes.

All that to say, you’re not afraid to open the door to the smoking oven. You’ve prepped with oven mitts, and you’re ready to deal with burnt potatoes.

What you’re not quite ready to deal with however, is the wave of heat that hits you. You know you set the oven to the correct temperature that was listed on the recipe you grabbed online, so something must have gone awry.

You’re also not quite ready to deal with potato smoke getting in your eyes.

After plopping the burning (but luckily not on fire) tray onto the stovetop, you blindly reach for the fan button on the stove hood. You especially want the smoke to start getting out of the way before any–

BEEP BEEP BEEP

….Detectors go off….

Fuck. Well now Arven’s awake.

You keep searching for the fan button to get the smoke out while your other hand goes to turn off the oven. 

Unfortunately for you, your hand finds the bacon grease. Popping, sizzling bacon grease.

You curse loudly and jump back from the stovetop entirely, clutching your now burned hand as you fall to the kitchen floor.

“What’s going on?!” Arven yells as he gets downstairs. Mabosstiff is at his side, and he’s got the pokeballs for garganacl and cloyster in each hand. “What kind of fire is it?”

“No fire,” You call to him blindly from eyes, teary now not only from the smoke. “At least not that I can see? Couldn’t find the fan.”

Arven quickly gets the fan on, opens a window and gets the smoke detector turned off. He also gets the oven and stovetop burners turned off as well, all within a matter of seconds before he’s kneeling at your side.

“Show me your hand and tell me what happened.” He genuinely doesn’t sound angry, just overly concerned.

“I…Fuck!” You yelp as he gingerly moves your hand to get a look at the burn. “It’s bacon grease.” You tell him.

“Got it. Can you stand?” He asks, already moving to your side to help you to your feet. “We wanna get that under some water.”

“Yeah…”

Arven helps you over to the sink and tests the temperature of the water before he lets you run your hand under the stream. It hurts like an absolute bitch, but you’re both aware that this is standard protocol. Still, you can’t help the occasional whimper.

Arven sets to cleaning while you keep the water going.

“So…What was going on down here?” He eventually asks when he finally gets to the charred remains of the potatoes that caused this mess.

How horrible, to be spurned this way by potatoes.

You sniffle pathetically. “I wanted to make you a nice breakfast. I realized you’re always making such nice things for us, and… I hadn’t made you anything good yet. I found the recipe online for potatoes baked in the oven to get all crispy, and I think something went wrong.”

Arven gives you a soft, sweet look. “You know I’m not mad, right? I’m just worried that you could have been hurt worse. How’s the hand?” 

You remove it from the stream and show him. “It’s gonna blister up hideously, but it’ll be fine, I’m sure. I’ve had worse.” You give a pointed look to skeledirge who still hasn’t moved from his corner. “Thanks for the help, by the way.” He yawns. He probably couldn’t have done much as a fire type anyway.

Arven goes on. “Keep it under the water a bit longer. …For what it’s worth, what temperature did the recipe say the potatoes should cook at?”

“I think it said like 400? 450? I can check my phone in a minute. Why?”

“...Was this a Unovan website?”

“I don’t know. Does that make a difference?”

Arven pinches the bridge of his nose, and you can’t tell if he’s trying not to laugh or yell. “Unovans use fahrenheit, not celsius.”

“Fuck me, that would absolutely do it.”

“...How are you the same person who saved the region from destruction?” He asks with a laugh.

“I don’t know!” You whine in reply. “C’mon! Be nice to me! I’m hurt!”

“Aw, I know… I’m sorry. I appreciate the effort though. I really do. Maybe you should stick to pastries or simple grains for breakfast for the next little while though?” He’s still smiling at you with a twinkling eye.

“I was also gonna make you some churros… and orange juice.”

“Together?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Well… They don’t really compliment one another, flavor wise, but…. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with having them together I guess.”

“Well then there you go. Keep being grateful to me.”

Thing is, Arven absolutely does continue being grateful to you. He also spends the next several weeks watching your every move in the kitchen, as well as keeping a watchful eye on your healing burns. He knows you know how to take care of yourself, but it’s nice to let someone in to help from time to time.

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 23)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 12,675

Summary: It’s been more than a year since Madrid and even longer since the chaos of Colombia. As they settle into a new life in Laredo, their past no longer holding them back, Javier’s career change helps him reconnect with his roots whilst Horacio’s plans for the future of the farm and ranch start to take shape.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Smut (including leather/cowboy kink and power dynamics), grief, parental loss, religious themes and symbolism, discussions of period-typical prejudices/violence/politics/legislation, smoking, drinking, swearing.

Notes: Well, here we are at the final full chapter 👀 No one is more shocked than me that I've made it here tbh 😂 For so long, it felt like finishing this fic was an abstract concept, but somehow, I persevered!

I don't really know what else to say right now, other than, an epilogue will (all being well) be posted on Friday 1st March...exactly 3 years after I posted chapter 1. Don't ask me how 3 years have passed, because my brain cannot compute lol.

The epilogue will be much, much shorter than this chapter, but I think it rounds their story off nicely and I can't wait to share ❤️

Thank you once again to anyone still reading, or anyone who may read this at some point in the future. As always, comments/flailings/key smashes etc. are greatly appreciated 😊

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested (and there's plenty to choose from for this one…in fact, I had to split my trivia post into two as I ran out of space, oops lol).

Chapter 23: Desde La Frontera

As the faded blue truck pulled up in the front yard, the moon sat full and high, casting a pale glow over everything beneath it. A key turned in the lock of the sleeping cottage, the silver hue from above illuminating a convenient pathway, negating the need to switch on a light.

Javier shrugged off his boots and jacket in the kitchen with a weary sigh and deposited his keys in a dish on the table. The hand-painted ceramic bowl had been sent with love from Madrid as a housewarming gift, along with framed artwork of the city they left behind that hung above their bed, a bottle of olive oil, a small jar of saffron, and some homemade turrón.

It wasn’t easy saying goodbye to Señora Romero, the café or their apartment. For all of the unanswered questions they arrived in Spain with, it became their safe haven. Although they were under strict instructions not to leave it too long before visiting again, and who were they to turn down good company and an endless supply of hot, fresh churros?

The rustic limestone cottage had less square footage than the farmhouse next door but was over two stories rather than one. A decked porch ran along the perimeter with wooden chairs and plants at the front, facing a complex of outbuildings and stables. A swing seat big enough for two resided at the back, looking out onto a medium-sized garden with a chicken coop and the rolling farm fields and river bank lying beyond.

The front door opened into a hallway where boots, coats and hats were tidily stored – at Horacio’s insistence – which led to a spacious kitchen/dining area and an adjoining utility room with a door to the garden on the other side. A second hallway branched off the kitchen towards a lounge with a centrepiece stone fireplace and a staircase up to two bedrooms – a master and a smaller spare – and a bathroom.

Whilst the interior still needed some work, fresh coats of paint – off-white for most of the rooms with splashes of eggshell green in the kitchen – and the exposed ceiling beams restored with an oak oil stain gave the place a new lease of life.

The wall clock opposite the kitchen window ticked past 3:00am. Fuck, no wonder Javier felt so beat. He manoeuvred his way upstairs, slow and careful, to avoid the creakiest boards. They may have stripped and waxed the floors, but that apparently didn’t cure the squeaking of the well-worn wood underfoot.

He must have succeeded on this occasion, as it wasn’t until he got to the top that he was met with Luna’s wagging tail. He whispered a greeting to her and rubbed behind her ears until she returned to her sleeping spot beside Sol and Leo, who hadn’t even stirred. Sometimes, the trio would bed down for the night here. Other times, it was just Luna. Rarely, it was none of them now that they had two new rivals for Chucho’s affections next door.

Kira was a six-month-old Great Pyrenees, her thick coat a solid white with pale tan patches. Fuego, a male copper red and white Border Collie, was a couple of months older and already chomping at the bit to get amongst the cattle. Although they both still had to undergo a lot of training before they would be put to use on the ranch, Javier and Horacio got the distinct impression Chucho enjoyed being kept on his toes again.

Javier finally reached his destination but gave himself an extra few seconds to take in the view.

Horacio was nestled beneath their sheets on his stomach, his torso rising and falling in a calming rhythm that Javier was convinced could have lulled him to sleep if he wasn’t standing up.

He undressed, throwing every item of clothing straight into a rattan hamper in the corner of the room, keenly aware he needed to shower but too tired to do anything about it now.

Instead, he perched on the edge of the bed, basking in Horacio’s long eyelashes, rough stubble and unrulier-than-usual hair that was tantalisingly close to becoming a head of curls if he didn’t get it cut soon. Not that Javier was complaining.

He tried to be restrained and let Horacio sleep, but he was only human.

A faint groggy sound came from Horacio’s throat as delicate lips met his forehead, his lashes flickering until they couldn’t resist any longer.

Javier hushed as he gently crawled on the bed, draping himself over Horacio and kissing the nape of his neck. “Sorry it’s so fucking late. Just go back to sleep.”

“You’re making that difficult right now.” Horacio arched his back in response to the warm breath tickling his bare skin as Javier’s mouth worked between muscular shoulder blades.

“Shouldn’t be so irresistible.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No. I’m not.” Horacio twisted around far enough for Javier to slide off his back and onto the mattress, allowing them to properly embrace. And so Horacio could put his own mouth to use.

That was as far as it was going for the night, though. Horacio had an early start in the morning, and Javier didn’t want to fall asleep before they could finish.

“Did it all go okay?” Horacio asked once they had got comfortable.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, there was a delay with the paperwork, as usual. But once we were on the road, it was fine. Heavy traffic around San Antonio, but I almost had the I-35 to myself on the way home.”

“And the family?”

“Exhausted and drained, obviously. Fuck knows when their hearing will be. But at least they’re together again and safe for now.”

Javier wasn't only clueless about the date of the hearing, he couldn’t predict the outcome of it either. That wasn’t his remit. By the time the Suárez Fuentes family were in front of an immigration judge, he would have helped countless more families and individuals like them. Their circumstances weren’t always the same, but their options were just as limited.

Not all days – or nights – were like this one. Sometimes, Javier would be on translation duties on the frontline of the border, triaging and directing people towards help, whether it be medical attention, food, water, toiletries, a change of clothes, a shower, or a bed for the night. Or, more than likely, access to a lawyer. His and the fleet of other aid workers for charities, not-for-profits and NGOs would be some of the first non-threatening faces new arrivals would see once the INS was finished with them, and that wasn’t a responsibility he took lightly.

Other times, he would deliver bond money to detention centres in exchange for someone's freedom, help people fill in forms and paperwork, or run community outreach sessions, reminding people of their rights. He had even hosted several families at the guesthouses for a night or two until safe transportation could be arranged for travel onward to relatives or sponsors elsewhere in the States. Flights were usually not an option for most due to a lack of papers, so the preferred method was long car journeys split between drivers like Javier. No two days were ever quite the same because no two stories were ever the same. There were commonalities, but subtle nuances and complications came with the territory of human lives.

“You did everything you could to help them.”

“I know. Just makes you realise how fucking…fragile it all is. And how fucking lucky we are.”

There was no denying luck – and money, of course – played a role in Horacio securing a visa and the Holy Grail of a green card for being an investor in the States. But Javier had also utilised an old contact at the US Embassy in Bogotá to expedite Horacio’s application. Her name was Colleen, and she had, with great reluctance, helped him secure visas for several informants in the past.

The silence over the line when Javier had uttered Horacio’s name was long, loud and awkward. But just like with his informants, she didn’t ask any questions and did him one last favour on the proviso she never heard from him again.

“We are. And I’ll never forget that.” Horacio’s palm connected with Javier’s cheek, flecks of moonlight highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. “You look exhausted, too.”

A soft chuckle filtered through the shadows. “Thanks. Sorry for waking you, though. I know you’ve gotta be up early.”

“Yeah, which is why I’m glad you did wake me. Once I’ve done the usual rounds, I’ll probably be in meetings most of the day. So, I won’t see you until late.”

“Better make the most of you now, then.”

Lingering kisses followed, but they knew it was fruitless to fight the fatigue.

“How’s everything going with the business plan?” Javier asked once he had accepted defeat.

“So far, so good. I want to go through everything with your father again before everyone arrives. Just to make sure he’s happy with it all.”

“I’ve, er, got it on pretty good authority he is.”

Horacio rolled his eyes. “I know. But it’s his money invested in this place as much as ours. And it’s not like I’m the expert.”

“Not yet. And he trusts you. They all do. You’re no longer a new face around here, remember.”

“I know. But I’m still learning the ropes, and I’m not the one in charge anymore.”

“You sure about that?”

There was a suggestive edge beneath the drowsiness in Javier’s voice. If Horacio looked hard enough through the darkness, he would have seen a quirked brow thrown his way.

“Well, I still have my moments.”

Javier mumbled a lazy hum of agreement. “I’ll say. But don’t worry about tomorrow, okay? You’ll be fine. Trust me.” He managed one last kiss for good measure, even though his eyelids were getting heavier by the second.

A muffled “I do” was pressed into the shell of Javier’s ear as he flipped his body around, his back cushioned against Horacio’s chest. Calloused fingertips weathered by hard labour nowadays rather than a trigger found their home resting on the curve of Javier’s stomach, eliciting a meditative sigh from both as they huddled down.

It didn’t matter that one of them would be up soon with the dawn chorus while the other might be called away past the midnight hour. Because they knew how lucky they were, not only after all they had been through but compared to so many who crossed the border to start a new life. And it was impossible to take that for granted.

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For all that had changed, wall-to-wall meetings and stacks of paperwork were two guaranteed constants to remain. No matter the career path Horacio chose, he was apparently destined never to escape their clutches.

The morning and most of the afternoon – with a short break for lunch – had been spent poring over business plans, maps and spreadsheets with Chucho, his accountant, Miguel, and the ranch and farm managers, Marco and Félix.

Horacio was still adjusting to being the least qualified person in the room again. But the fact that he was even privy to such meetings in the first place was a privilege not customarily afforded to ranch hands without much experience under their belts. It was hard to gauge what others thought about his…unique position here. But he was also an investor whose name, along with Javier’s, was on the title deeds of the farm. Even if people didn’t know about them, it stood to reason that he would be consulted about any development proposals.

Between his money and the safety net of his connections – whatever some may have speculated the precise nature of those were – to a well-respected ranching family, Horacio, so far, hadn’t had too many problems. Not even when shadowing or attending training courses off-site, and he was surrounded by heavy Texan drawls and the type of man who had the propensity to make his feelings clear with his fists – or a gun – if he found out a fellow rancher shared a house and bed with another man.

But the odd off-hand comment had made Horacio wonder if they knew more about his past employment than he realised. In which case, perhaps in their eyes, getting on the wrong side of the former head of Search Bloc wasn’t a wise move.

Regardless, this was what he had signed up for. And for all his investments and networking, there were no cutting corners in ranch and business management, beef production, animal science and equine studies. The Peñas were far from the only family business in the industry, and most had grown up a lot more hands-on than Javier. Horacio could never have leapfrogged over them even if he had wanted to.

By late afternoon, the meetings were done for the day – although there would be plenty more to come – leaving Horacio and Chucho to check on the pregnant heifers. The calves weren’t due until early April, another month away and just in time for Horacio’s birthday. But it was all hands on deck between now and then to ensure it went as smoothly as possible. Their main job today had been to weigh the expectant mothers, who, thankfully, all turned out to be healthy and on the right track.

Broken shards of light bounced off the ranch’s steel fences and gates as Horacio and Chucho sat on the farmhouse porch enjoying a well-earned break, the sun’s heat beginning to show glimpses of what it was capable of during the summer months. Bluebonnets blanketed the fallow fields, and the saccharine scent of yucca blossom travelled on the early spring breeze.

Chucho stirred a freshly made pot of tea and filled two cups to the brim, sliding one across a wooden table towards Horacio, who accepted with a nod of thanks.

“So, do you think it went okay today?” Horacio asked after a quenching sip of tea.

“Better than I expected, to be honest. Félix worked for Ciro and Malena for many years. I wasn’t sure he’d take to new ownership. Or if he’d even want to stay. But he seems to be on board with the idea of expansion.”

“What about the rest of the workers Ciro and Malena employed?”

“A few moved on or retired. But most don’t care who’s in charge as long as they're getting paid.”

“And what about here? Have many left or cut ties since…” Horacio trailed off, hoping he had done enough for Chucho to follow his train of thought without saying it out loud.

“Not many, no, Mijo. And only the ones I’m glad to see the back of.”

“Not many?” Horacio scoffed into his cup, sending ripples across the surface of his drink. “So, still some, then.”

“As I said…only those I don’t want the ranch to be associated with anyway. It's no loss if they can’t keep their noses out of my family’s business.”

The thing was, Horacio and Javier had everything to lose if the wrong person found out. One phone call was all it would take for the police to be banging down their cottage door. After all, that had happened to plenty of others like them in Texas. It had happened to plenty of bars and restaurants that ended up either raided or burned to the ground, the owners and patrons harassed, arrested, beaten to a bloody pulp, or worse. But Horacio couldn’t bring himself to say any of this to Chucho, so he took extra time swallowing his tea instead.

“From what I’ve heard, the majority see you’re a hard worker. You’re willing to learn the ropes. But you’re not afraid to get stuck in or take the lead if needed. You’re professional with the contractors. And you’re trusted to do a good job. That’s worth a lot around here – a lot more than gossipers. I may not know what it’s like for you both...but I do know not everyone’s like them.”

A smile reflexively spread across Horacio’s lips. “My Mamá said similar back in Manizales.”

Chucho mirrored Horacio’s expression. “She sounds like a wise woman.”

“She is.”

“And proud of you. As I’m sure your father would be. Starting over again is never easy, but what you and Javi have done here…I'm proud, too.”

“Thank you. Me too, to be honest.” Horacio let out a brief huff. “When Javier told me what he wanted to do, it was like the final piece slotted in place. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.” He shook his head this time at how blindingly obvious it was once Javier said it out loud. “But I think he needed to leave to be able to come back again.”

Chucho hummed into his tea. “That’s the thing about the past: you can’t outrun it. And once you let it walk alongside you, I think your path becomes clearer.”

For the second time that afternoon, Horacio could scarcely believe his Mamá and Chucho hadn’t met yet. But he was looking forward to the day that would change.

“A few years ago, I never thought this could be my life. Or that I wanted it to be. But now, even though it’s not easy work, and the hours are long, and I’m starting from the bottom of the ladder again, everything just feels…” He broke off, searching for the right word.

“Simple?” Chucho supplied.

“Yes. Simple.”

After Horacio finished his tea and saddled up Coco ready to help move the herds into the barns before nightfall, he didn’t mind that his legs were stiff from all the sitting in chairs he had done today. Or that the last thing he felt like doing was wrangling contrary cattle.

He didn’t mind that it would be more of the same at the break of dawn tomorrow and a long road ahead of grafting and proving himself. He didn’t mind that he wouldn’t catch up with Javier until they shared a late dinner once Javier had driven back from Austin. He didn’t mind if complete strangers couldn’t stomach what they got up to behind closed doors as long as they were left alone to live in peace.

He didn’t mind any of it because they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

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No matter what profession he worked in, it was rare for Javier to take a weekend off. He’d accepted a long time ago he wasn’t the 9-5 type, and leaving it all at the door once he clocked off had never been an option. But a new batch of aid workers and volunteers had arrived in the last few weeks. And once Luz, his boss, got wind of an upcoming birthday in the team, she insisted Javier finally use up some vacation time.

Luz Díaz was someone Javier could call a friend as well as his boss these days, especially in light of their parallel circumstances. While Luz was an aid worker on the border, she lived with Carla Moreno, the daughter of a dairy farmer several miles to the south. However, unlike Chucho and Elena, their parents, whilst not hostile, preferred to brush their daughters' relationship under the carpet wherever possible.

When Luz accompanied Javier to the guesthouses with a new family one afternoon, she had first crossed paths with Horacio. Until then, Javier had played his cards close to his chest, never knowing whether it was safe to trust anyone. But it hadn’t taken Luz long to put two and two together – or for her to realise she could share her secret in return.

Birthdays had held no real significance for Javier since childhood. But his Pops was determined to invite him and Horacio to the farmhouse for dinner that evening. In the meantime, once Javier had escaped work by mid-afternoon, he headed home to freshen up and grab a drink. It may have been late October, but the Texan heat was a stubborn son of a bitch, and was still hitting the mid-90s several times a week.

A neatly written note was pinned to the fridge that read In corn barn, so Javier took a UTV and headed across the farm. It was quieter now the harvest was over, and the cattle from the ranch had grazed on any leftovers. The herds were back next door, allowing bales of corn stalks to be gathered up and stored ready for use as bedding for the livestock on chillier winter nights.

The latest calves had thrived since April and only had two months left before they would be weaned off their mothers. Usually, several were sold at auction, but they had kept hold of them this time due to the extra space. Now the harvest was out of the way, the next step was to clear the lower fields and build a new gate linking the ranch with the farm.

When Javier arrived at the barn, Horacio was unloading the last batch of bales off the trailer.

Horacio paused for a second when Javier came into view, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Where did you get that?”

“It was on the passenger seat.” Javier gestured to the parked UTV. “Does it suit me?” He tipped the brim of a Stetson to match the one Horacio was already wearing.

Given the similarities between their outfits, anyone would have been forgiven for thinking Javier was an employee. They both wore belted dark blue jeans – Horacio’s more mud-splattered – brown boots and plaid shirts with rolled-up sleeves – Horacio’s brown and white and Javier’s green and red. The most noticeable difference was Horacio wore a white bandana around his neck whilst Javier’s shirt collar was wide open, his neck on full display.

Horacio silently lifted the side of the trailer back up and locked it now that it was empty. He shrugged the protective gloves off his hands one by one and flung them into the cab of his truck.

He followed Javier into the barn and closed the door, but his attention was on the wall opposite. A long row of hooks was hung across it, where various pieces of equipment were kept, including overalls, brushes, and a wide range of horse tack.

On the last hook was a coiled lariat, which Horacio picked up and stood facing Javier several feet away. He threaded the rope through the Honda knot until he held a loose loop in his right hand, his hungry gaze fixed on Javier as his wrist built momentum over his head in measured circles.

Before Javier could react, the tip of the rope found its target, tightening around his waist, his feet involuntarily taking him forward as Horacio reeled him in. Even when they were chest to chest and breathing hard, Horacio didn’t let up his grip on the rope.

“You know it does,” Horacio eventually rasped at the shell of Javier's ear.

Javier shivered at the timbre of Horacio’s voice, the earthy scent of the land combining with the heady musk of sweat, remnants of mud and dust still visible on his face and arms. “Someone’s been practising.”

“Well, it is a special occasion.” Horacio tugged on the rope, pressing their bodies together until his lips found Javier’s neck, stubble scratching along his jawline, finally brushing over his mouth.

Javier took the bait, responding with a full kiss, distracting Horacio enough to drop the rope. Then it was all bets off as his hands journeyed over Horacio’s back, first dipping southwards, palming his ass through his back pockets, then northwards to remove the bandana and roam under his shirt. But something made Javier pause mid-way.

He looked at Horacio for an explanation but was met only with a coy smile.

“Happy Birthday.”

Javier’s brow quirked suggestively of its own accord. “I thought we weren’t doing presents.”

“I can take it back if you’d prefer.”

“Don’t you fucking dare. Now, shut up and drive us home.”

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No sooner were they back at their cottage than Horacio straddled Javier’s lap on the couch, teeth nipping as they grabbed handfuls of fabric or skin.

When Javier made to unbutton Horacio’s shirt, Horacio stilled his attempts. “Not yet.”

Instead, his mouth ghosted over Javier’s as his fingers slid down to his belt, unbuckling it unhurriedly and deliberately.

Their laboured breaths filled the silence, the rich scent of earth and woodsmoke heavy on their senses.

“Touch yourself,” Horacio finally said, his order clear, voice steady.

It was all Javier could do not to come on the spot. But he managed to exhale through his nose, his lips pursed as he wrestled back a semblance of control.

He let his right hand slide down to his zipper, which he knew Horacio had left closed on purpose. He gradually unfastened it, his palm disappearing out of sight.

A hitched breath and tensed thighs let Horacio know Javier had made contact even before Javier’s wrist began to twitch.

For several strokes, Horacio merely observed, drinking in every detail of Javier’s face, each jaw movement and shuddered breath, their eyes locked together as Javier took himself in hand.

Horacio couldn't hide that he was more than a little affected by the show beneath him, so he upped the ante, his fingers seeking out the buttons of his shirt, popping the top one first, then the second, third and fourth.

He stopped there, giving Javier another sneak peek of the surprise he had planned for more months than he cared to admit. He could see Javier had noticed the tantalising glimpses of brown leather drawn tightly against bare skin and could feel Javier’s motions speed up.

The remaining buttons followed, allowing the shirt to fall over the broad expanse of Horacio’s shoulders until it hit the floor.

“Fuck.” Javier’s hips spasmed, slamming against Horacio’s crotch in the process and triggering a chain reaction of panting. “Shit, Horacio. Where did you – how –”

Javier was cut off by a finger at his mouth and a soft hushing sound.

Horacio pressed a digit to Javier’s lips until it was engulfed by wet warmth. “Keep going.”

As Javier’s tongue swirled and his cheeks hollowed, he set back to work, building up friction along the shaft and over the head. It was like a switch flicked in Horacio during moments like this when he was all smoky rasps and concise commands. It was the closest Javier had ever got to experiencing Colonel Carrillo first-hand, and nothing was as intoxicating.

When Javier was being regarded and instructed so intensely, he had no choice but to submit. Anything to please the force of nature who made him come harder than he ever had done in his life. And so, he kept going, fist clenched around his cock, edging himself with each edict echoing in his ears.

Running across Horacio’s chest below his pectoral muscles was a leather strap linked to another one on either shoulder that crisscrossed over his back, his biceps restrained by matching cuffs. The leather was a worn cognac brown with intricate stitching, decorative studs and buckles like the vintage cowboy belts the harness appeared to be made from.

“You like it?”

Javier’s free hand hypnotically reached up to Horacio’s torso, fingers tracing each detail of the leather in between cupping Horacio’s pecs and tweaking his nipples.

“Beautiful,” was the only word he could muster. It was by far the best birthday present Javier had ever had. Although, if he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed Horacio was trying to make this his last one.

Horacio was conflicted between watching and needing more, so he compromised by subtly rocking against Javier’s inner thigh whilst continuing his role as a voyeur. Knowing his voice alone could get Javier off was a power trip Horacio never grew tired of, even after all these years. In fact, since his career change, it had become more arousing because being in charge was a novelty now.

He brought two fingers to Javier’s lips again, which were taken greedily without the need to be told.

“Good, that’s it, and another.”

All three digits rested on Javier’s tongue as Horacio probed back and forth with increasing vigour, leaving no doubt what he had in mind as a string of saliva connected from mouth to fingers when he finally withdrew.

Horacio transferred his glossy hand straight to his chest and across his nipples, flicking the pad of his thumb over each bud just the way Javier liked to lick them.

When Horacio looked back up, Javier was tugging in a frenzy, his breathing ragged and fraying at the seams, dangerously close to it all being over.

Horacio reached out to stop Javier’s wrist, leaning closer until his lips brushed against his ear. “Not before I’ve ridden you.”

Javier immediately extracted his hand from his jeans with a huff of frustration, resenting Horacio almost as much as wanting to be fucked. Every man had his limits, and his were rapidly being reached.

With both hands free, he alternated between hot, smooth skin, the textured leather and cool metal. He slid his fingers beneath the harness, imagining all the positions he could manoeuvre Horacio around.

His hands travelled down to Horacio’s ass, pulling him further into his lap as their mouths crashed together at long last. From glutes to thighs, Javier embraced each one until he met resistance under the denim of Horacio’s jeans.

Javier ran his fingers over it a few times. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Javier growled as he lunged for Horacio’s belt and zipper, both men making light work of removing his jeans.

Whilst Horacio stood up, he took the opportunity to undress Javier and reach over to the drawer beneath the nearby coffee table. He rummaged around until he retrieved what he was looking for and stashed it on the sofa.

There was no holding back now as nails raked over hot skin and tongues connected, rough and harsh, their cocks jutting between their stomachs. Javier’s hands glided over and under the leather straps, descending beyond until his palms massaged Horacio’s cheeks apart, wider with each circular motion, his knuckles teasing up and down the cleft.

The tremor that ran through Horacio was enough to cause Javier’s arm to stretch across the sofa until he located the bottle of lube, expertly flipping the cap open and pouring liberally.

He alternated between his middle finger and thumb in a corkscrew motion, letting Horacio stretch around him, Horacio’s forehead dropping to Javier’s shoulder, teeth grazing flesh as he held their cocks in his fist.

It wasn’t long before Horacio lowered himself, steadily taking inch by inch. He initially held still, experimenting with nudges up and down as he braced his arms on the back of the couch.

A winded noise escaped Javier’s throat as Horacio sunk deeper with more force this time, gyrating his hips until he found a rhythm.

Javier was torn between the mass of muscle and leather at his fingertips but settled for clinging to the front of the harness, pulling Horacio further onto his cock.

A strained grunt left Horacio’s throat, prompting him to re-adjust so his feet were planted flat on the sofa cushions, the change in angle plunging him to new depths. He paused, giving them a chance to catch their breaths. And then, without further warning, Horacio squatted down.

The echo of his ass hitting Javier’s thighs was enough to make Horacio do it again. And again, over and over, the slap of skin on skin louder each time.

One of Javier’s hands scrambled aimlessly around for an anchor, eventually finding the couch’s arm where Horacio’s Stetson had landed earlier in the proceedings.

Javier snatched hold of the brim and brought it towards them, depositing it on Horacio’s head. “Keep it on.”

Horacio was powerless to refuse when it made Javier’s cock twitch and pulsate, massaging Horacio’s prostate as he bounced at just the right angle, his own length sliding up and down the plains of Javier’s chest and abdomen.

Now the hat was in place, Javier's hands sailed over Horacio’s thighs, pausing as he made contact with the leather band around his right thigh. He couldn’t believe Horacio had not only remembered their dirty talk the morning after Trujillo’s wedding but that he had brought Javier’s fantasy to life. And it was better than even his wildest dreams could have imagined.

A part of him wanted to remove the garter just so he could re-attach it. But he was mesmerised by the way the leather stretched around Horacio’s thigh as his pelvis pulsed back and forth, up and down, and round and round.

His fingers gravitated south, landing where the two men joined together. “Fuck,” Javier choked out, rubbing in circles around the wet rim, feeling the thrumming heat of his own cock, and wishing he had a better visual of them moving as one.

“Lie on the floor.” In complete contrast, Horacio’s cadence was calm and in control, like he was directing his horse.

Javier did as he was told, his body cushioned by a thick grey, black, and ivory Zapotec rug.

Without hesitation, Horacio sat atop Javier’s thighs with his back to him, presenting the perfect view as though he had read Javier’s mind. As he re-seated himself, he reached behind, spreading his cheeks wider as he sunk lower.

A strangled whimper was drawn from Javier’s chest as he raised his head for a closer look once Horacio started to move. He ignored the strain in his neck and replaced Horacio’s hands with his own, each palm cupping and squeezing, pushing forward, fingernails clawing, urging his rider to go faster.

In response, Horacio deepened the roll of his hips and balanced his hands on the rug beneath them.

They had picked it out on a trip to San Antonio the previous year, one of their first joint purchases for the cottage. And now they were finally christening it, surrounded by an array of décor and furnishings they had chosen together since. For their own home, an unthinkable notion in the not-so-distant past. Yet here they were against all odds.

Javier grasped the latest addition to their household, pulling Horacio by the harness in all directions as though he was the jinete (horseman) steering the reins rather than the steed being mounted bareback. But Horacio was the one wearing a Stetson. The one in the saddle daily, strengthening and toning his muscles even more than they already were, and Javier could already feel the difference.

He let go of the harness, his fingertips skimming Horacio’s voluptuous upper arms, rump and thighs, caressing the tight leather cuffs, pressing the sharp chill of the buckles against fiery skin until a shockwave rippled through Horacio and straight to Javier’s cock.

As Javier’s hips involuntarily bucked, their rhythm faltering in a chorus of moans, Horacio was beginning to regret not utilising a belt or one of the lariats from the barn as restraints on Javier’s wrists. But he changed his mind when he felt a crisp slap across the ass like a quirt used with overzealous force. But unlike the horses – with whom he was always gentle  – Horacio had no objection to the sting left behind.

In fact, it only spurred Horacio on, his ass lifting higher with each strike, building momentum, one hand stimulating his own cock in tandem.

Javier could feel rather than see Horacio jerking off, and his pelvis began to automatically plough upwards again, trying and failing to keep in time when he was this far gone.

“Horacio,” Javier breathed out, his tone pleading, desperate and wrecked.

“Tell me what you need.” Horacio wasn’t going to make it as easy this time. If Javier wanted something, he would have to use his words.

“I need you on all fours.”

And so Horacio dismounted, willing and waiting to give Javier everything he asked for, a complete 180 in a matter of minutes.

Javier wasted no time and fell in place behind Horacio, lining himself up and propelling forwards with a rough thud, nails digging into hipbones hard enough to leave marks.

As Horacio took himself in hand once more, Javier slowed to bask in a bird's eye view of his cock disappearing and reappearing, his thumbs spreading Horacio wider to get a better look at where they became one. It would have been easy to take it for granted by this stage, but he never did, not when they had been forced apart by circumstance and geography so many times before.

Whilst Javier was distracted, Horacio threw back his hips, causing a hiss of pleasure that inspired him to do it again and again, his ass pounding against Javier’s groin.

Javier drove forward in retaliation, pulling Horacio towards him with a firm jerk on the harness, a dual wave of groans unleashing each time Javier manhandled him, the thick leather straps taut against Horacio’s clammy skin, hopefully leaving imprints from the force.

Javier yanked hard enough to raise Horacio up on his knees, cementing them back to chest, teeth, mouth and moustache going to town as Horacio craned his neck to meet the onslaught.

“Do you know how fucking good you look like this? How…fucking…beautiful?” Javier’s declaration was broken up with each thrust as he resumed movement.

“It’s all for you,” Horacio purred between lip bites. “Your own cowboy to play with.”

With a muttered “Fuck,” Javier pushed Horacio back down on all fours, toppling his Stetson to the floor, one hand gripping at the harness, the other at the nape of Horacio’s neck, his fingers fondling the gold chain that complemented the silver one at his own breast.

His hips hammered forward, no holds barred, as an all too familiar pressure built and threatened to consume him any second now. He glanced down, transfixed by his own fluid motions, entranced by how well Horacio held his cock, how Javier had tamed a once wild bronco who would have thrown off any other rider a long time ago. But not him, never him, so maybe he was more of a vaquero than he thought.

A combination of the visuals, the leather against his skin, and the tight heat squeezing and releasing around him took its toll. Javier let out a wounded gasp as though all the air had been knocked out of his lungs, his muscles tensing from head to toe as he watched his cock spasm and fill Horacio up.

As liquid warmth painted Horacio's walls, his wrist jolted and shook, sending him over the edge. He felt an extra weight on his back, the harsh scrape of teeth and words of encouragement at his ear as a hand took over from his own. Just the right pace and force, just how he liked it, just enough to make him coat Javier’s fingers, vision blurred, back arched.

They didn’t move as the room came back into focus, letting their lungs and heart rates return to baseline. Before Horacio could collapse to the floor, Javier slowly pulled out, smearing glistening fingers around Horacio’s fluttering hole, mixing it in with his own release. His tongue swirled and lapped from behind, making Horacio tremble on his knees until they buckled, and he could take no more. 

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The spark of a lighter and deep exhales of smoke were the only sounds to be heard for several minutes as they lay recovering in bed, the hard floor downstairs proving too much for their aching limbs, even with the rug for protection.

“So, are you gonna tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Oh, come on. You know fucking well what.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Does it matter?”

“Well…no. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“Surprised you haven’t guessed. In fact, I kinda thought it was you dropping a hint.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It was one of your old magazines that gave me the instructions on how to make it. And it’s not hard to get access to leather around here. The saddlers the ranch uses are well-stocked in almost everything. They don’t need to know what it’s being used for.”

Whatever Javier had been expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. When moving into the cottage, he had cleared out his old bedroom. Hidden in the depths of his wardrobe, beneath several layers of clothes, was a pile of magazines he never had the heart to throw away or burn, one of which was a Cowboy and Rodeo Special of Drummer.

Javier blew out a low chuckle as he passed their cigarette across the bed. “I wish I had been dropping a hint. Although…looks like you did fine without my influence. Always the dark horse.”

"Hey, they're your magazines, not mine."

"You read them. Cover to cover by the sounds of it."

"Just making up for lost time when I was younger."

"At least someone's getting use out of them. So, you ready for your first rodeo, now? Based on this afternoon, I'd put in a good word."

"Very funny."

Although, whilst Javier was, of course, joking, there were plenty of men like Horacio who did compete across Texas – without hiding who they were as well. He imagined Horacio would rather die in a stampede of raging bulls than partake in such a competition. But nonetheless, it was an appealing fantasy for Javier to indulge in from time to time.

His fingers traced patterns over Horacio’s thigh where the leather garter remained even after the harness and cuffs had come off, the leftover scent of sweat and semen on their skin fusing with the tobacco in the air. He had taken great pleasure and care in removing those; however, when it came to the garter, Javier placed a ring of kisses where the leather sat but left it in position.

“You liked it, then?”

Javier gave Horacio an incredulous look as though the answer spoke for itself. But there was a hint of uncertainty behind the question, and it was only fair to provide reassurance. “I loved it. A lot. I don’t really do birthdays, but you’ve certainly made this one memorable. So, thank you.”

"My pleasure," Horacio murmured mid-kiss. "And it definitely beats my birthday."

"That wouldn't be hard."

The first few hours of Horacio's birthday were spent helping deliver calves and bedding down close by the expectant mothers every night for the following two weeks. He barely saw Javier other than at meal times, and it took multiple showers to wash the pungent barn aroma out of his hair.

“Hadn’t we better shower soon?” Horacio said with reluctance once they pulled apart. “Don’t wanna keep your father waiting.”

Javier leaned over to look at the clock on the bedside table. “Yeah, we should. I’m starving now we’ve worked up an appetite.”

“Do you want to do the honours?” Horacio gestured towards his thigh.

“Keep it on.”

Horacio could tell from the wicked glint in Javier's eye he wasn’t joking. “You do know I have to work with your father? And look him in the eye.”

“Oh, come on, he won’t even notice. Not everyone checks you out as much as me, y’know. Especially not my Pops. And…” Javier sat up and swung his leg across Horacio’s thigh until he was straddling him. “It is still my birthday, remember.”

Despite such brazen tactics, Horacio met Javier’s mouth again, groaning gently as Javier’s teeth pulled on his bottom lip. “Fine. As long as you can keep your hands to yourself through dinner.”

“I’ll try my best.”

He could make no such guarantees after dinner, though.

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It took another week for the temperature to cool by several degrees, just in time for the residents of Laredo to visit neighbouring pumpkin patches, carve out Jack-o’-lanterns and go Trick-or-Treating.

By the time Javier had finished work and picked up some groceries, Chucho was busy in the lounge blanketing a table with a white lace cloth before arranging two extra tiers on top decorated with papel picado. Nearby trays were full of items ready and waiting to be placed on the ofrenda, including a Talavera pitcher of water, pan de muerto, a plate of salt, fresh marigolds, Calaveras, and a familiar wooden box.

Chucho looked up at Javier, who stood in the doorway with a cardboard box. “Ah, Javi, good timing. Pass those here.”

Javier held out a batch of fresh buñuelos delivered straight from Desde La Frontera. “Need a hand?”

Chucho looked at Javier with pleasant surprise. “Please, Mijo.”

Between them, they transferred everything from the trays to the table, Chucho directing where each item needed to be placed.

When it came to the wooden box, Chucho sat on the sofa to open it.

Javier watched silently from a few feet away, an ache forming in his chest when he saw the photos spread out on the furniture. But he pushed past it and sat in the adjacent armchair.

He looked closer at the pictures and reached into the pocket of his leather jacket. “This needs to go on it too,” he said.

Chucho glanced up to see Javier clutching Mariana’s poetry book.

“Of course. She can tell us how much she liked Madrid. Which reminds me…”

Chucho stood up and disappeared into his bedroom before reappearing with a card in his hand. “I always keep it by my bed, but it belongs on here.”

Chucho was holding an old prayer card of La Virgen de Guadalupe. “Abuela Rosa gave it to your Mamá for her quinceañera, along with these.” Chucho lifted a string of rosary beads from the wooden box. “I think she cherished the card as a reminder of our ancestors. Even though your Abuela disapproved, your Mamá had her own ideas about Guadalupe.” He couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head with fondness.

“How do you mean?”

“Back in the '60s, Guadalupe became the mascot for the farmers’ union protests – the ones your Mamá marched on. She liked to think of her as someone who helped those in need. Do you remember her reading stories about the Aztecs? And Guadalupe, La Malinche and La Llorona?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

Javier blinked, keeping his eyes closed for a fraction longer than was customary. The memory was fuzzy around the edges, but he could feel the warmth of his mother lying beside him on his bed, a book between them as she read aloud tales of their ancestors. Once he started getting drowsy, she would sing to him or stroke his hair and kiss him goodnight, the comforting sound of her favourite telenovelas drifting through his bedroom door as he fell into a deep sleep.

When he was even smaller and couldn’t sleep after his older cousins convinced him La Llorona had been spotted in Laredo the previous night, his Mamá soothed him with the advice she had been given by her mother to always pray a Hail Mary and an Our Father whenever near water before making a sign of the cross for protection.

However, Javier also remembered during the first few months after she was gone, he would have nightmares about La Llorona. Except in those dreams, his Mamá had taken on the appearance of the wailing spirit, and her ghost roamed along the banks of the Rio Grande, screaming for him. But no matter how hard he tried to get closer to her, she would move out of reach until he woke up screaming.

“There have been so many versions of those stories since the days of the Aztecs, who knew Guadalupe as Coatlalopeuh, Tonantzin, or Coatlicue. La Llorona as Cihuacoatl. And La Malinche as Malinalli or Malintzin, or La Chingada. Some of those stories say they are all one and the same. And that the conquistadors made Guadalupe the Madonna above the others. Your Mamá saw Guadalupe as a symbol of hope, a mediator between the Aztec and Catholic religions, uniting all the different parts of us and our roots. The light and the dark, the old world and the new, the conquered and the conqueror, the obedient and the rebellious, the eagle and the snake, the Mexican and the American.”

“Never thought of it like that when I was younger. But it’s beautiful.”

“It is.” Chucho stood up and placed the prayer card on the altar.

“D’you think it’s possible, though? To unite it all, I mean.”

“I think we have to try as much as we can. And learn to make peace with it when we can’t. But I know it’s not easy.”

“Mexico didn’t seem far enough to run when I took the DEA job, even though it was never home. So, Colombia it was.” Javier couldn’t help but laugh at his own confused logic in hindsight. “But when we were in Manizales, I kept thinking about all the stories you told me about our family history – in the US and Mexico. And it just…hit me I was needed right here on the border. So, thank you, Pops.”

“For what?”

“For reminding me of my roots.”

“Your Mamá helped out a lot here, but she always wanted to do more. And she would have done a whole lot more if she’d had the chance. She’d have fought for yours and Horacio’s rights too, I’m sure of it. I had a feeling you’d take after her one day.”

“Better late than never, right?”

“Right. She’d be so proud of you and your work, Mijo. And so am I.”

A customary exchange of nods filled the silence that had become a trademark between father and son over the years when words seemed inadequate.

Chucho cleared his throat and turned to make one final check everything was in its rightful place on the ofrenda. “I think we’re about ready if you want to get Horacio.”

Javier headed next door with his Pops’ words – and his Mamá’s – echoing in his head. He thought about all the tangled threads that had run through him his whole life like the river he grew up on the bank of. It was ironic he could walk across bridges from Laredo into Mexico and back again, a confluence of his heritage. Yet there was always a gap that wouldn’t close. A gap those who insisted on his name meaning shame with a n rather than rock with a ñ wouldn’t let him close. All of the contradictions and dualities he had tried to reconcile, assuming in the past that he was expected to pick one or the other but never feeling qualified enough, resigning himself to an eternal conflict he could never win.

He thought about the people who crossed the invisible line in the earth every day, the one that instantly changed their identity and status whether they liked it or not, dividing and flattening their humanity into stereotypes and insults. The one that caused mothers separated from their children to cry like La Llorona and be condemned for finding themselves in desperate circumstances through no fault of their own. The one that led to Operations Hold the Line and Gatekeeper building walls and deploying an army of la migra, as Border Patrol were often called, to keep people out.

Maybe it was Javier’s recalcitrance, but the more the US government tried to put up borders – despite not thinking twice about violating those belonging to other countries – the more at ease he felt without them. After all, Texas had been part of Mexico in the past, as well as its own republic, and he had spent more than enough of his life trapped by self-imposed borders and walls already.

To be in a place like Laredo was to live on the margin of two countries and cultures, not one or the other. He was Mexican American, a Tejano. He had shared his heart and bed with women and men. Horacio was a closely guarded secret and a naked truth; they lived in the shadows and in the light. He was making a difference, yet it was a drop in the ocean of an ever-expanding problem. He regretted so much of what went down in Colombia, but not that he went in the first place, not only because of Horacio but because it brought him full circle. It brought him peace. It brought him home.

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As the clock struck midnight and welcomed in Día de los Difuntos, the ofrenda was aglow with candlelight, and the fresh scent of copal filled the farmhouse.

Horacio stood over the altar, his gaze fixed on the image of him in his Papá’s jacket, his father’s usually stern expression relaxed and…proud. He had never really allowed himself to think of that word before. But as the veladoras flickered and swayed across the photograph his Mamá had insisted he kept, he could no longer ignore it.

Beneath the photo lay the golden pendants, temporarily removed from Horacio's neck for the festivities, a glass of his Papá’s favourite rum to match the one in his hand, and a plate of tamales.

“Not bad for a Colombian.”

“I guess I had a good teacher.”

“After dealing with a son determined not to follow in my footsteps, it makes a change to find someone more willing.”

Horacio’s eyes landed back on the photograph of him and his Pops before shifting to one of Mariana in her element at a Chicano civil rights march with a toddling Javier by her side, a bittersweet smile taking hold of his lips. “Funny how it works out.”

“True. But as long as it does, that's the main thing. Even if it’s not what you expected.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“What are we toasting?” Javier asked as he came in from the kitchen with two glasses of his Mamá’s mezcal of choice, passing one over to Chucho.

Chucho gave a nod of thanks and raised his glass. “To endings and beginnings. And reunions.”

The next couple of hours were spent telling stories, reminiscing, remembering. Welcoming the past into the present, letting it know there was still a future.

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

Chucho retreated to bed first, leaving Javier and Horacio to finish their drinks by the fire, which had burned down to its last mesquite log.

After placing their empty glasses in the kitchen, Javier stopped by the ofrenda on his way back to the sofa. His eye caught the selection of sugar skulls on display, each delicate design bearing the name of a departed loved one. Although, there were, in fact, two each for Mariana and Eduardo.

Javier traced his finger across the one which read Mariana Rosa Reyes Estrada, a pair of arms gathering tightly around his waist simultaneously.

“I never knew her with this name. She left Estrada behind in Mexico. Before she married, she was Mariana Reyes. Then she took Pops’ name ‘cos that’s the gringo way. And to make all the paperwork easier, I was just a Peña, too. But Pops likes to welcome her home with her Mexican and American names. In case she gets lost, he always says.” Javier released an affectionate chuckle at the expense of his Pops’ superstitions.

“He told me when he asked for my father’s full name.” Horacio smiled into Javier’s shoulder as he reached towards the skull that read Eduardo Horacio Carrillo Acosta.

He repeated the same motion across the shared part of his and his Papá's name. “The CNP prefer you choose one name when you enlist. So, of course, we all followed suit – Mamá included. And she left Sierra behind when she changed her papers.”

“Seems like we all have to leave parts of ourselves behind one way or another.”

“True. But if we’re lucky, we find them again somewhere down the line.”

Javier hummed in agreement as a trail of kisses soothed at his neck.

“When was the last time you did this, by the way?” Horacio asked as he traced idle patterns over Javier’s stomach.

“Día de Muertos? Fuck…I can’t even remember. When I was in Colombia, I always came home for Christmas – but not before. Pops never made a big deal out of it, but I could tell he was disappointed.”

“I’m sure he understood. And at least you’re here now.”

“I know. I think I just needed to do it in my own time.”

“Same here. So, thank you. To you and your father.”

“For what?”

“Letting me be a part of it. I think it’s something I’ve needed to do for years.”

“Horacio, of course you’re a part of it. You’re a part of the family.” Javier’s fingers found Horacio’s, lacing them together with ease above the belt of his jeans. “Tú eres mi familia.” (You’re my family)

“Y tú eres mía.” (And you’re mine)

“I was thinking about tomorrow…well, technically, later today. I, er, wondered if you wanted to watch the parade downtown. Then maybe head over to the cemetery with Pops. It's fine if it’s too much. I get it. I just thought maybe –”

“It’s okay.” Horacio cut him off, turning him around until they were face-to-face then forehead-to-forehead. “I’d love to.”

As the last embers of mesquite turned to ash, they knelt in front of the soft glow of the ofrenda, fingers connecting with their silver cross encased between their palms. A final attempt to welcome home those who had shaped so much of their children's lives, even in their absence, and sometimes in the most unexpected ways.

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Echoes of drumbeats filled downtown Laredo by late afternoon, accompanied by a rainbow of papel picado along every street and a sea of Catrinas and Catrins. Children and adults alike wore masks or calavera face paint and marigolds in their hair, the intricate details of their costumes no doubt requiring months of preparation.

Food and drink stalls had seemingly popped up overnight, selling everything from pan de muerto, pozole and tamales to alegría, gorditas, marranitos and champurrado. It was impossible not to get swept from stand to stand, and fears of Javier and Horacio being scrutinised by anyone they happened to bump into were soon allayed. The hustle and bustle of the festivities made them anonymous yet at one with the city, as they were all here for the same reason.

Floats, dancers and puppets passed through the main roads, a spectacle Javier hadn’t witnessed in years. As a teen, the last thing he felt like doing was celebrating when it came to his Mamá’s passing. She wasn’t supposed to have gone so soon. But nowadays, he could appreciate the care and respect involved in honouring the dead. He could look back on the precious memories and not feel the need to push them away. He could accept the duality of grief and love, not as contradictions but as two sides of the same coin.

As they followed the procession at the end of the parade, making their way towards the cemetery to meet Chucho, Javier caught Horacio’s eye with a silent question. One that Horacio answered with a firm nod, reassurance that they were still on the same page.

So much had changed since Horacio was last here for Día de Muertos, not least of all the fact Javier was with him this time and had since met his family. And Escobar was dead, of course. His Papá was no longer a choking force around his neck but a warm presence that sat more comfortably on his chest. Not weightless, but manageable now.

Although darkness had fallen by the time they arrived at the cemetery, a sea of candles and lanterns lit the gravesides like an endless night sky, each one guiding the way home, even if just for one day. The celebrations from earlier continued, some families singing, drinking and eating. Others prayed or sat with blankets and hot drinks, telling stories and keeping memories alive.

Chucho had been busy when it was still light, clearing out dried flower stems and polishing Mariana’s headstone. Now, fresh marigolds were arranged around the candles, their strong fragrance carrying across the cemetery.

They were greeted with pats on the back and a glass of mezcal. A lowkey toast and short prayers were all they had planned, preferring to save the rest for the privacy of home.

“I just wanted to say thank you. To both of you for coming.”

“Any time, Pops. I’d forgotten how beautiful this place looks all lit up.”

“It reminds me of Día de las Velitas back in Colombia. People light candles and lanterns at cemeteries like this. Not that I could bring myself to join them after Papá.”

“There’s still time.” Javier held Horacio’s gaze through the flickering half-light, making the most of the only gesture he could give in public.

“I know.”

“It’s quieter here usually. A nice place to think. And she’s always been a good listener. So, if you ever need some breathing space, I’m sure she’d be all ears.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Horacio mirrored Chucho’s soft smile before laying down a tasteful wreath of marigolds he’d bought from one of the street vendors on their way here.

Javier watched with a growing warmth in his chest as his past, present and future collided once again. A first meeting of sorts, even if it wasn’t how it should have been. Even if it was built on memories and traditions, on prayers and stories, it was still real.

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Slivers of silver reflected off the dark waters beyond the farm’s boundaries, the stars above shimmering like distant fireflies. Southern Texan Decembers were mild, but there was a chill to the air after sundown, especially by the river bank. However, it was nothing a blanket or two couldn’t fix.

Horacio was propped against a mesquite tree with Javier sitting between his legs, one blanket beneath them and the other draped over them. Coco stood watch nearby, her reins looped around a branch as she chomped on her favourite treat of apple slices – a reward for tonight’s extra work.

They shared a flask of Manizales’ finest coffee between Horacio lightly massaging Javier’s scalp and temples. It had been a hectic few days, from Chucho roping them into Las Posadas preparations to the farm being short-staffed in the past week due to seasonal colds and flu and the border seeing a higher influx of crossings in the build-up to the holidays.

Apart from a Christmas dinner or two, they weren’t expecting to take much time off over the festive period, but tonight was all about them. They had miraculously managed to escape work on time before driving to Desde La Frontera for a meal that was starting to become an anniversary tradition.

Javier played with Horacio’s hands, pressing kisses into his knuckles and pausing over his left wrist. “You like it, then?”

“Very much.”

“I know it’s not quite a garter or harness, but…” Javier trailed off, his shoulders and abdomen shaking in tandem.

“The strap’s the same colour, though.” One of Horacio’s hands snaked along Javier’s form, tickling at the waistband of his jeans enough to make him squirm.

“Oh really? Hadn’t noticed.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe. But it does suit you.”

Of course, Javier was banged to rights. He had spent considerable time picking out the watch, knowing Horacio preferred something digital – for pinpoint accuracy – and practical. Horacio had never got around to replacing his old one that was stopped by the ambush, so it was a long overdue replacement.

But if it also happened to be a gentle reminder of certain escapades every time he looked down at it, well...that was an added bonus. As was the thought of Horacio wearing Javier’s gift buckled around his wrist every day, the strap tight enough to leave a mark on his sun-kissed skin.

“Likewise with your present.”

“I dunno about that. I think you wear it better.”

“You’re the homegrown Texan boy, not me.”

“You’re the fucking cowboy, not me.”

Horacio’s fingers on his right hand took a firmer hold of Javier’s hair, coaxing him to turn around and abandon the flask he had just brought to his lips. “Technically…you own part of the ranch and farm. So, it’s about time you had a Stetson.”

Their lips met over Javier’s shoulder, still warm and tingling from the coffee.

“Fair point.” Javier picked up the flask again and downed whatever was left before it went cold. “We got any more of this, by the way?”

“Not ‘til next week. I told Alejandra to bring as much as she can fit in her luggage.”

“Well, there’ll be plenty of suitcases to choose from.”

“I know. I’m not sure your father knows what he’s let himself in for.”

“Oh, don’t worry, he knows from when my cousins and I were kids. And he gets to play host, so he’ll be in his element.”

“He’s already given me a list of groceries to pick up on the way back from the livestock auction in Hondo.”

“When’s that again?”

“The day before my family arrives. Not ideal timing, but couldn’t really say no to more experience.”

“You still shadowing Gus Montoya?”

“Yeah, he’s been in the trade since he was 16, and he’s one of the best in the business now. I thought I should be involved before we start buying the new Santa Gertrudis and Longhorns for this place next year.”

“The paddocks are gonna be in these lower fields here, right?” Javier gestured towards a recently cleared stretch of land with the newly installed gate separating it from the ranch next door.

“Yes. It’ll be easier to move everything back and forth without disturbing the other fields. Then, once the new herd’s settled in, we can expand the stables, get in some more Morgans and Quarter Horses. Maybe diversify the cover crops for next winter.”

“Sounds good.” An unseen smile had spread across Javier’s face, the novelty of listening to Horacio talk ranch business not having worn off yet. All those years he tuned out whenever his Pops did the same, yet he never tired of hearing Horacio’s plans.

“It keeps me out of trouble.”

“Shame.”

“That’s not until next year, though…” Horacio trailed off, his lips devouring Javier’s neck, nibbling until Javier wriggled in his hold.

“Well, we better make the most of this before your family arrives.”

Horacio hummed in agreement, his mouth still buried in Javier’s shoulder. “Especially as there’s a quick turnaround before New Year’s.”

“True. I take it Felipe and Juana are still okay to come?”

“I forgot to tell you – I spoke to him earlier. Juana’s feeling much better now the morning sickness has passed. And with Cali gone and FARC taking up more and more CNP resources in the jungle, it’s mostly turf wars between the smaller gangs in Medellín. So, Martínez authorised his leave, and they’re flying out on the 30th.”

“Glad to hear it. It’s all good on the Miami front as well. They arrive the same day, late afternoon, once Connie’s finished her shift and Steve’s picked Olivia up from his parents’ house.”

“Okay, good. So, everything’s sorted then.”

“Not quite…I still need to clean out the guesthouses. Don’t think our old one’s been done since the Navarro Vega family left.”

“At least it’s still getting used since we moved out.”

“Yeah, well, I guess someone always needs it. Especially with IIRIRA coming into force. So many more fucking deportations. So many people taking bigger risks ‘cos they've got no choice.” Javier exhaled harshly through his nose.

He ran his fingers over his moustache and chin, pressing his thumb into his jaw and resting his face in his hand. “It’s starting to feel like the old days again.”

“But it’s not, Javier. You’re on the other side of it all this time.”

“It’s not just the border, though, is it?”

“What isn’t?”

“Legislation that could have us arrested for fucking in the privacy of our own home.”

“We’ve always been careful.”

“We thought we were careful back in Colombia, Horacio. And look where that got us.”

Javier didn’t think about those days much anymore if he could help it. Neither man did, except on specific dates or bad days if they were unlucky. But it was hard to shake the sense of paranoia in light of what the laws of his own state had to say about his sex life. It wasn’t far-fetched to imagine someone like Mia Domínguez spying on them through a long lens, waiting to catch them out.

“True. There’ll always be a risk. But people like us have always existed under the radar. And we’ve been here over a year now, remember. Anyone who’s got a problem with us has already made their feelings perfectly clear. The rest either don’t know or don't give a fuck. Our story doesn’t have to end like the one you showed me in The New Yorker.”

“I know.”

Javier had been in two minds about whether to share it. But Horacio insisted he was the one to be read to for a change, preferring to hear the evocative imagery of the wild American landscape from the mouth of a Texan. The parallels were undoubtedly there between the glossy magazine pages and elements of their lives – but luckily, not all of it rang true for them.

“For a start, they were sheepherders from Wyoming,” Javier added with a tone of defiance.

“Exactly. Completely different.”

“Yep.” Javier exhaled loudly, his mind already returning to his previous stubborn thought. "But it’s the same government smoke and mirrors shit all over again. The same fucking hypocrisy. If it's not chasing people down the river or letting them die in the desert, it’s drug shipments they made easier to transport here in the first place. Or you’ve got couples like us crossing over looking for safety, only to run into fucking sodomy laws. It’s never gonna stop.”

It was the same sleight of hand tactics Javier had seen before. Legislation made thousands of miles away would claim to solve a problem whilst exacerbating it on the frontline. Whether it was drugs or human beings, they proved time and time again that they couldn’t be contained by a border or a statute book. Whether it was Border Patrol or the DEA, choppers would fly over the river at night, fruitlessly chasing traffickers despite the extra budget. If the usual border crossings were out of bounds, people would risk more remote or treacherous spots to try their luck.

It wasn’t unheard of for them to emerge from clusters of trees like the one they were sitting in now, drenched and shaking from the cold and dehydration. Or for Javier to be ready and waiting with towels, a change of clothes, a hot shower, or food and drink. Some would present themselves willingly to the authorities, others would disappear, never to be seen or heard from again. If anyone ever asked, Javier had seen and knew nothing.

“And neither are you. Look at all the people you’ve helped already. You might not be able to save everyone, but you’re making the difference you always wanted to make.”

Horacio coaxed Javier to face him again, cupping his jaw and rubbing a thumb over his stubbled cheek. “Estoy orgulloso de ti.” (I’m proud of you)

Javier closed his eyes, basking in Horacio’s touch and closing the gap between them. “Y yo de ti.” (And I of you)

Easy kisses followed – the kind that were grounding and familiar, safe and timeless.

They rode back to the cottage with only the moon and stars guiding the way. Horacio clasped Coco’s reins whilst Javier held onto his waist from behind, making the most of the idyllic evening spent alone. Because even here, they knew it couldn’t always be like this. But despite all that life would throw at them in the years to come, they would be there for each other, to grow and change, to sail in the same direction, even if not always in the same boat. To make peace with the past, to live in the present, and to look to the future on their own terms.

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Burnt oranges and yellows filled the stone fireplace, the crackling of charred mesquite wood accompanying the dulcet tones of Elvis on the turntable. A fresh pine tree stood in the corner opposite a set of bookshelves, its white lights and a row of candles on the mantlepiece casting a soft glow across the lounge.

By next year, they would have to re-think the room's layout as the shelves were almost out of space. They had transferred all of their old books, records and tapes when they moved in – two poetry books in particular taking pride of place – which now sat alongside newly purchased or gifted titles from the likes of Fernando Vallejo, E.M. Forster, John Rechy, Gloria E. Anzaldúa, Alejo Durán, Linda Ronstadt, K.D. Lang, Vicente Fernández, Walt Whitman, Pedro Almodóvar and Gregg Araki. And no doubt there would be further additions to their collection on Christmas Day.

Luna was the sole canine guest tonight, her bond with Horacio somehow stronger again since Kira’s and Fuego’s arrival. Sol and Leo had grown increasingly fond of their new playmates in the last few months, so it was often the three of them in the cottage nowadays. Horacio hadn’t discussed it with Chucho, but he hoped she would stay with them permanently – and see out her retirement years – once the new cattle were in place.

She lay in her favourite chair, fast asleep with her head on the armrest and oblivious to their return home beyond a drowsy wag of the tail, before resuming her dreams.

“You had a good day, then?” Javier asked from the comfort of Horacio’s shoulder, their arms wrapped around each other as they gently swayed to the music.

Horacio let out a contented hum of approval, burying himself against Javier’s shirt, breathing all of him in. “It was perfect.”

“It was.”

“Although…I think there’s one thing missing.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Your present.”

Javier’s chest shook, and something that sounded remarkably like “You fucker” was sworn against the crook of Horacio’s neck, followed by a sharp nip of the teeth.

“It’s only fair.” Horacio tried to keep an authoritative edge to his tone. But it was far from convincing when he ended up laughing as much as Javier.

“Actually…it’s only fair if you wear your hat too.” Another neck bite, accompanied this time by a trail of kisses along the open collar of Horacio’s red plaid shirt, shoving the bandana aside for easier access. “Deal?”

Horacio’s back arched involuntarily, the rumble threatening to escape from his throat tempered into an elongated sigh instead. Not much of a win, but he’d take it. “Deal.”

And so Javier fetched the Stetsons from the coat hook in the hallway whilst Horacio switched records once Elvis had finished.

Javier lowered Horacio’s hat into place, encouraging Horacio to do the same with his.

“Satisfied?” Javier asked once they resumed their embrace, the cumbia beats of Lucho Bermúdez now replacing Elvis.

Horacio’s fingers slid from Javier’s waist to the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him forward until their lips met and the brims of their hats jutted together. “I am now…cowboy.”

They let another vinyl play before undressing, every movement sensual and considered as they removed boots and unbuckled belts between slow, thorough kisses. With hats relegated to the couch for now, Javier untied the silk bandana from Horacio’s neck, teasing smooth fabric along the nape and tossing it to the floor, revealing faded tan lines from the unforgiving summer months. Buttons from their plaid shirts were next, followed by jeans and underwear, chestnut lost in charcoal as they stood bare in each other’s arms but for the silver and gold pendants.

Neither felt the need to give into temptation, not yet, at least. Instead, they put on another record and danced, hand in hand, skin against skin, soul against soul. Because they were never in a rush anymore; now they had all the time in the world. Now they were home.

[resident-mercie]

Carlos Oliveira Fic - Halcyon Days (NSFW). (Chapter 1).

notes: fem!reader, NSFW mentions, slow-burn, canon violence depictions.

➵ A slow-burning love story with Carlos Oliveira that transcends the apocalypse.

1998. The Raccoon City incident. Yet also, the day I met him.

I remember it quite vividly, as you can imagine. One day you’re living your monotonous life in the suburbs, next, your life is in tatters, to say the least. I was young and dumb then, in my twenties. No amount of preparation beforehand could’ve prepared me for Raccoon City. It started off mysteriously enough, remembering how myself and my coworkers would chat about the news reports we heard on the radio during our daily commutes. Bizarre murders in the outskirts of the town, yet the corpses had part of their remains almost bitten off. We just chalked it down to some wild dogs or coyotes taking an opportunity to get a little free food. Yet the reality was so much darker. There I was one evening, preparing for bed, and that’s when the apocalyptic uproar began. Screams, then sirens, then the sound of them. In my rush to see the ever growing commotion, my world turned upside down. The cinema, that I’d visit every weekend as a kid, was alight, the posters of new premieres reduced to nothing but ash. The donut store, that was usually full of workers making a slight detour from their commute home, was eerily silent amidst the cacophony of apocalypse.

It was entrancing, like my own little world. A world so vastly different from the monotony of my own, that it was painfully jarring. So jarring, that I didn’t notice the creature lumbering towards me—

A sharp whistle shook me out of the trance I was trapped in, as I stared at the beast that fell at my side, its crimson liquid splattering across the debris-ridden sidewalk. The reality dawned on me, as the creature squelched beside me, a slight wail emanating from its jaws.

It’s an apocalypse. A fucking apocalypse.

It was like watching a horror flick cliche in front of me. This creature is a zombie. A zombie, in my hometown.

“D’you wanna get eaten? Don’t just stand there!”

A hand grabbed mine, and I was back to reality, grounded at last. It was adorned in a fingerless glove, yet the fingers were quite coarse. Unlike the creature at my feet, the hand of my rescuer was warm, one of the few glimpses of humanity I would experience for a long while.

The hand pulled me away from the scene, as the monster by my feet began to reanimate itself slowly. Half aware of the situation I was in, I let myself be pulled away, witnessing the danger unfold in front of my eyes. Panic. Running. Screaming.

Everyone was going the opposite way to us, a realisation I made as my trance began to end, and the real world dawned on me.

"Why are they going—"

It was if he read my mind.

"I'm taking you somewhere safe. We've been converting the subway station into a safe spot. You're safe now, but you have to trust me."

You have to trust me.

For the first time since my rescuer grabbed ahold of my hand, I finally looked at him. He was adorned in military gear, underneath being a tight-fitting black t-shirt, a slight hole made in its sleeve. His forearms were muscular, one being used to guard myself from any incoming threat, while the other had an assault rifle of sorts hoisted upon his shoulder for easy access. His skin was a tanned olive shade, his forehead beading with sweat. There was a caring, yet determined, look that was plastered across his face.

I could trust him. I will trust him.

We kept running – it was the only thing we could do. Glass kept shattering. The screams were growing quieter now, a feeling that made me sick to the very core of my stomach. It could only mean one thing, really – that many of the people that we had ran past just moments before were about to meet a fate worse than death.

"Through here. Quickly." His voice was one that was firm, yet also one with concern.

“What the hell is this place?”

“It’s the subway. Me and uh, my gang, have been converting the train carriages into a safe place of sorts. You’re okay now.”

I nodded, the whole situation being a bitter pill to have to swallow. I could hardly get my words out of my mouth, unable to fully comprehend the extent of the horrors I bore witness to today.

“Why did you save me?”

“Because—“ He began, but his speech faltered, as if he struggled to put his thoughts into words. “Ah, I mean, it’s my duty. Do you mind if you come on down to the first aid carriage? Need to check you over for cuts and the like. Can’t be bringing an infected into the safe place, y’know?’

I nodded, before the words fell out of my mouth, unable to control my racing thoughts any longer.

“I need to know your name. You risked your life for me, and I don’t even know who you are.”

His gaze softened a little, turning to face me with a smile of reassurance.

“Oliveira. Carlos Oliveira. Now, shall we get going? I can’t have you turning on me.”

There was even something reassuring in his laughter, in his humour, and in his smile. I gave a smile back, albeit an exhausted one, before following him into the sanctum of the subway.

“Okay, I just need you to stay put here for a while. Any unusual symptoms? Wanting to eat me because I look delicious? Anything like that?” Carlos smiled, producing a half full first aid kit from an area of the carriage.

I shook my head. “No, nothing like that.”

“Boo. All the ladies usually want a piece of Carlos, zombie or not.” He rolled his eyes jokingly, taking an ear thermometer from the kit. “Do you mind if I take your temperature at all? Standard procedure, of course.”

“Of course.” I leant forward, cringing slightly as the thermometer entered my ear.

Carlos leant forward, his sweet breath hitting my cheeks. “I’m sorry if this hurts.” His voice was lowered, raspy. Being so close to the man who just saved my life was a little infatuating, to say the least.

“No, no. It’s okay.” My breathing grew unsteady, unable to cope with the closeness of his presence.

Surely I wasn’t in love with a guy I met fifteen minutes prior?

“Your temperature is fine.” Carlos frowned, removing the disposable cap from the thermometer and placing it back in the dishevelled first aid kit. "Are you sure you’re alright, though? You seem a little on edge. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Anything.

Every cell in my body screamed, pleading with me to ask for something. Anything. I was completely and utterly infatuated with Carlos Oliveira. I wanted to kiss him, feel my body melt into his, have him rail the ever living shit out of me in this godforsaken carriage—

“Could, you, uh, give me a hug?”

“I mean, so long as you don’t turn. But being eaten by a cutie would be a good way to go, I suppose.”

[radiowallet]

Eyes Open - Chapter 3

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Amy Oliver (ofc) Summary: Marcus and Amy share lunch. JUST lunch. WC: 2.6K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, talk of police work, slow burn, yearning, idiots friends to lovers, financial stressors, second chance romance, workplace romance (sort of), older love interest, single parents, alluding to male masturbation, DID I MENTION THE YEARNING?

Series Masterlist II Main Masterlist II Marcus Moreno Masterlist

Cross-Posted to AO3

Part 2 >>> Part 4

For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

----

Amy Oliver prefers a turkey sandwich, light on the mayo but extra mustard. The spicy kind, if she can get it. She likes provolone cheese but won’t turn her nose up at a good sharp cheddar. No tomato but lettuce is a must. And never, ever forget the pickle. Marcus knows it’s pointless to show his face without the pickle. 

He orders her two; another pitiful attempt to say thank you. 

Or maybe I’m sorry.

He grabs one of the cellophane-wrapped brownies sitting at the register to split the difference.

Lunch in hand, Marcus heads in the direction of the police station, his pace faltering as he speeds up and slows down, anxious to be back in Amy’s presence but less than thrilled at the circumstance. Running into her and Harris at the grocery store had been a happy accident; a coincidence of serendipity he never would have dreamed of recreating. He had planned on calling her on Monday, feigning the same story about forgotten glasses and needing to stop by for them, hoping the inflection of his voice through the phone would be enough to convey his request. 

But then her shopping cart slammed into his hip, knocking all sense free from his head. He had been hopelessly distracted by her from the get go, her smile easy, her laughter bright. Her hair was free, falling down around her shoulders in soft waves, a rare sight from the swept back ponytail she wore at work. When she dipped her head he had practically mangled the tortillas he had been holding to keep from brushing the tips of his finger through the soft fall of hair around her cheeks. 

For a moment it had been so domestic; a cart full of groceries, Harris waving shyly behind her mom while Missy rolled her eyes at the jarred salsa. In the blink of an eye, the two girls were quickly bonding over sugary cereals and granola bars. Marcus and Amy watched from the sidelines, the warmth of her shoulder a breath away, and so easily stealing the air from his lungs. 

Alone in his bed that night he let his imagination run away from him, picturing afternoons spent just like that one, running errands together as a family of four, coming home to a house they shared, cooking dinner together while the girls finished their homework. It only snowballed from there. Tucking Harris into bed in a room she helped him paint. Bidding Missy goodnight as she heads out to see her friends. Falling into a bed he and Amy called theirs. 

He woke up the next morning hard and leaking, a groan burned into the roof of his mouth. Before he could stop himself he was giving in, wrapping his fingers around his length, stroking himself hard and fast until he was spilling into his hand, Amy’s face dancing at the blackened corners of his vision. 

Afterward, he stood in the shower until the water ran cold and his skin turned to ice, a pitiful attempt to wash away this newest layer of guilt.

Now he was standing outside the precinct, clutching at the brown paper bag that was more ruse than offering, trying to remind himself that friends like Amy didn’t come along very often. It certainly wouldn’t do either of them any good to jeopardize what they have. It was already on fragile enough ground, Marcus’s own selfish needs (unspoken or not) taking the front seat yet again. 

But he couldn’t stop his mind from circling back to Miracle Guy's words. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t such a bad thing that he wanted more than friendship. And maybe it was possible that she wanted more too. He goes around and around and around again, and it’s only when the clock finally ticks over to 12, that he works up the courage to walk into the station, his eyes glued to Amy Oliver and no one else. 

——

“Hey, stranger.” 

Marcus greets her with the same smile he always does, sweet sincerity, and only the smallest hint of worry. He’s always masked his fears well, and Amy thinks maybe if she didn’t have the pleasure of knowing him so well she would probably miss it. 

“Hey! Do you have a meeting with Baldwin today?” 

She fumbles with her mouse for a second, clicking over to the calendar attached to her email, shooting Marcus a sheepish look that’s probably a hair over the top. “I could have sworn I double-checked his schedule for the day.” 

“No, no! This is just a pop-in!” Marcus promises, his reassuring hand wave matching her frantic acting skills. “I actually can’t find my glasses. These are my spares,” he repeats the lie from the grocery store. “I think I left them here, maybe?” 

She nods as if it’s the first time she’s hearing the farce, before pulling open the bottom drawer of her desk where the lost and found box waits. She hears the paper bag Marcus had been clutching hit her desk as she rummages through the box of junk, counting backward from 50 as she does. When she hits 1 she sits back up, with a shake of her head. 

“They’re not in the lost and found. But we can take a look around the precinct after lunch if you like?” 

“Sounds good,” he agrees, but his attention has already moved on, eyes cheating between where he carefully empties the brown paper bag – the familiar logo of their favorite deli on the front – and the large box sitting by her feet. Neither mentions it for the time being, instead digging into the spread Marcus brought with him.

“Harris has not stopped asking about Missy since last week,” she shares through a mouthful of chips, remembering how just this morning her daughter had gone into a 10-minute monologue about the older girl as Amy prepared her breakfast.

“Missy will be over the moon to hear it. I remember when she was Harris’s age. Her only request for two years running was for a baby sister.”

“Did you ever wish you guys had more? A whole gaggle of Morenos?” Amy asks, folding her legs up under herself before reaching for her sandwich.

“Sometimes,” Marcus shrugs, taking a bite of his own sandwich and chewing thoughtfully. “It never panned out.”

He doesn’t parrot the question back to her; something he knows would be pointless, at least partially acquainted with the story of Harris’s father being very much out of the picture. Still, she’s grateful for his perception, and the subject easily shifts to other things, the two of them trading stories back and forth about the girls, Marcus’s newest tv show binge, and Amy’s current bedtime reading.

“I can’t believe you’re reading a movie novel.” 

“No! It’s a Star Wars novel set in the high republic. Totally different.”

“Yes, I see that,” Marcus teases but Amy is undeterred. 

She nudges his knee with the press of her fingertips. “Please tell me that extra pickle is for me?”

He laughs, loud and deep, pushing the second of three pickles toward her.

“I grabbed you a brownie too.”

It's such a small thing. Silly, really. A cheap brownie wrapped in plastic sitting innocently between the sandwiches and pickles and cans of off-brand soda. But still, it sends a flutter through her stomach that Marcus really did think of everything. She’s about to say thank you when the sound of Derek’s office door opening pulls her attention away, his eyes landing on the picnic spread across her desk. 

“Jeez, Moreno,” he smirks, his light tone belying the sharp cut of his gaze. “Can’t treat a girl to a real restaurant?”

“Ignore him,” Amy fires back, her own smirk forming around her last bite of turkey and cheese. “The chief is just mad that he has to hand over a few cases to the special crimes unit today.”

Baldwin doesn’t rise to the jab except to grumble out ‘classified,’ instead turning towards the coffee pot to refill the mug he brought out of his office with him. He takes a long, loud swallow before turning back around to look at Amy.

“I have a few things I want to go over before the meeting today. When your date is over, come find me.”

That one word lands like a grenade between them and despite having been teased endlessly about this very subject, Amy still feels her face heat up like a furnace. Marcus continues to eat, seemingly impervious to her boss’s not-so-subtle joke, but she can see the soft dusting of pink along his cheeks. The very same blush she had admired between the aisles of a grocery store when his hands made contact with her own. 

She’d be a goddamn liar if she didn’t admit how good it sounded to hear that word tied so easily to the man sitting across from her. It was only getting harder to resist the desires that made a home inside her heart regarding Marcus Moreno. 

His eyes find her own and he gives her the briefest of winks before he hides behind a sip of soda. Before she can let her mind linger on the meaning behind any of it, Derek’s door closes with a snap, breaking the moment apart.   

“Hey,” Amy starts, refusing to let anything awkward settle between them, “before we look around for your glasses can you do me a favor?”

“As if I’d say no to the woman who makes my coffee on a regular basis.”

She hums softly, but when she looks up, it’s to Marcus’s gaze still fixed on her, his smile soft, his eyes warm. She feels herself slipping beneath his stare, the carefully placed border around her heart cracking in time with each breath she pulls in. But all too quickly she remembers why he’s here and her part to play.

“The box…,” she falters, gesturing pathetically at her feet, “this box. It’s heavy. Think you could carry it down to the file room with me?”

Marcus swallows, the length of his throat bobbing up and down with the effort, and then he’s nodding and standing, the large box lifted as if it weighs nothing at all. Amy makes quick work of the mess on her desk, paper wrappers, and empty chip bags swept into her small garbage can before standing herself and leading Marcus down the familiar set of stairs. 

——

A date.

Baldwin had called it a date.

It was an obvious jab, probably intended to tease Amy and irritate Marcus all in one go. But the only thought in Marcus’s head the minute he heard it was how good it sounded. How the very idea of a date with Amy Oliver filled his chest with that familiar thrill of butterflies that had him grinning like an idiot. The feeling only increased tenfold when she didn’t dispute her boss’s words, her own cheeks stained pink, her bottom lip snared between her teeth. 

It would have been so easy to take a chance then and there. Test the waters and ask for the more he had been craving for what felt like years now. But before he could summon something more than a silly wink born out of nerves, Amy was clearing her throat and picking up the little game they had been playing, casually asking him to help with a heavy box. 

They’ve done this one before. Multiple times in fact. Amy was a pro at phrasing the question perfectly; always able to strike the perfect balance between wanting the superhero to help with a big heavy box without once coming across as weak. Sometimes Marcus wondered if she asked one of the officers to help her with these things when he wasn’t around. That particular train of thought usually brought about a flare of jealousy that bordered on possessive, and he did his best to ignore those feelings altogether.

They moved down the stairs as a unit, Marcus always two steps behind Amy, pretending like always, that he didn’t know the way to the file room by heart. Once they were inside she was quick to close the door behind them, kicking a few empty boxes in front of it. Just in case. 

“So which cases are you guys handing over to special crimes?”

“Funnily enough, the same ones you were asking about last week.”

“No wonder he’s so annoyed.” 

Amy laughs at that, muffling the sound behind the press of her hand. “I swear he almost looked like he wanted to ask for your help up there as a hail mary.”

“Pffff, sure. And afterward, we can all ice skate home because hell would have certainly frozen over,” Marcus grins, all too amused at his own joke. 

“Fair point,” she agrees, surveying the shelves, the tip of her finger jumping from box to box. “Of course, he still can’t seem to keep his mouth shut. I…um,” she falters, her head ducking low, the tips of her ears burning red. “...calling it a date. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

Amy whips around at his words, eyes wide and lips parted, something like disbelief coloring her features. Marcus thinks maybe she says his name, a whispered plea though what she’s asking for he isn’t sure. Not yet anyway. He waits patiently, tracing her features in the low light hanging up above, and in his patience, he is rewarded with her own confession.

“Me either.”

It happens slowly, then all at once. The box slips from his hands, the sound of it hitting the ground lost in the rapid beat of his heart, the heavy breath in his lungs. He moves in closer, each step taken slowly, allowing Amy time to move away. In what feels like hours and yet still only seconds, his chest is pressed to her, the tips of her fingers reaching out to brush his own. Marcus can’t help himself, indulging in the ability to admire her up close, tendrils of brown falling down to frame her cheek, dark eyelashes curving up in a flutter, and the tiniest slip of her tongue as she licks at her lips. 

He lingers there, unable to look away from the plush pink of her lips, wondering, even now, what it would be like to take this final step. Amy moves in, just a breath closer, her nose nudging gently into his own, her gaze cheating down to his lips. It’s almost inevitable now, their fingers just starting to tangle, her breath warm where it meets his, the space between them slowly starting to disappear with the passing of each and every second. He could lean in now, and she could meet him, finally giving into something that has been ignored so steadily.

But just as he does, his forehead falling forward and her chin tilting up, there is the familiar sound of steps on stairs. Before Marcus can register reality, Amy’s warmth is gone, the space in front of him heartbreakingly empty, and the door behind him is banging open, the sound of Derek Baldwin stealing their moment away.

“Hey, Oliver, you got time to notarize something for me?”

She keeps her eyes on Marcus as she nods, the tips of her fingers pressed squarely to her mouth, longing and regret stretching out between them. 

“Um…yeah. Yes, sir.” 

“Thanks! I’ll meet you upstairs.”

When the last of Baldwin’s steps fade back up the stairs and they’re alone again Marcus moves, but only half a step before he stops himself. The moment is suddenly lost and he doesn’t know how to recapture it, and he hates it even more, how far away she’s standing. After a few minutes, she shakes her head and takes another step back, half a smile pulling her lips.

“I can probably buy you 10 minutes. What you’re looking for should be in the box you carried down.”

And because he doesn’t know what else to say, he says, “Thank you.”

And just like always, Amy shrugs and answers back, “For what?”

------

Part 2 >>> Part 4

Thank you to everyone reading this silly little story. I know I’ve said this before but I have had the best time writing it. It’s brought me genuine joy and I’m so enjoying sharing it with everyone. 🖤

As always, the biggest thanks to my love @jazzelsaur who has been patient and supportive as I screech about these two idiots.