#and i felt so much rage i literally went after it and then kept dying because i was beating it with my FISTS

[katierosefun]

okay guys guys guys guys so i’ve been playing a hilarious amount of minecraft these days, right? and like, i got myself a dog in minecraft but then both yesterday and earlier today i realized i hadn’t seen my dog in a while, and i was kind of sad because usually, my dog respawns wherever i am . . . so i go online and search “dog hasn’t respawned in a while” and i’m quietly wondering if maybe my dog actually was killed by a zombie or skeleton and i just didn’t notice (cry) and i killed a skeleton and got some bones and felt a genuine pang in my chest because aw man, i got my dog with some bones :( (yeah, because that’s the only way you get a dog in minecraft--), and then i got sad because as i was building my cow farm, i thought to myself, look, i can collect all this steak to give to my dog :(( yes i know that you don’t really need to feed them but i just like feeding my dog anyways okay :(( and then i’m sighing and sighing and missing my stupid virtual dog when i decide to go into my stupid nether portal and SUDDENLY. GUESS WHO FINDS THEIR DOG. THIS WHOLE GODDAMN TIME THEY WERE JUST STUCK IN THE NETHER PORTAL BUT IN THE NETHERWORLD HALF, THE POOR THING!!!!!

anyways, my dog is now safely back in my house :) i have also constructed a huge fence around my nether portal to make sure that my dog never accidentally wanders into it ever again :))))))))

[shadowofchwe]

adrenaline | vernon chwe

When you're your boyfriend's favorite post concert ritual

🎤 Pairing: rockstarboyfriend!vernon x reader

🎤 Word Count: 1.5k

🎤 Rating: 18+

🎤 Genre: Smut, mainly pwp, some fluff, established relationship, rockstar au

🎤 Warnings: Vernon's a hot rockstar (wbk), explicit language, explicit sexual content (we love post concert dressing room sex 🤩), unprotected sex (be safe pls), rough sex, banter/teasing, choking, mention of oral (m receiving), Vern has some dom tendencies, dirty talk, mention of masturbation, marking/biting/scratching, groping, some degradation, praise, making out, hair pulling, there's some soft™️ moments

A/N: So I promise I am working on finishing up domino, but this idea took over my brain the last few days and I HAD to write it 🥹 2 Minus 1 Vernon at the concert this weekend absolutely ruined me and then my writer brain just went off the rails lmao but I hope you still enjoy if you decide to read it 🥰 Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read anything from me, your love and support means so much 🥺💕

Masterlist

Your boyfriend was never more in his element than when he was on stage. Performing like his life depended on it to a crowd of screaming and adoring fans.

He was a true rockstar. Decked out in all black. Chains and buckles. Tight leather hugging his gorgeous body in all the right ways. Wild hair soaked. Skin glistening with sweat. He always looked like pure sex.

Sex. Vernon's dressing room absolutely reeked of it. Not to mention that the mirror he currently had you propped up against was sufficiently clouded over, the vanity rocking against the wall from your movements.

"You know, fuck. One day we might actually break one of these things." your boyfriend huffed out as his fingers dug even harder into your hips.

You giggled mischievously before nipping at his ear, "Is that a challenge I hear?"

After show fucks were truly a different breed, with Vernon always being fueled by untamed raging adrenaline. His final encore stage. Until you screamed for him just like the crowd had.

"Not unless you wanna explain to the venue how it broke."

He punctuated his response with a harsh snap of his hips, and you let out a choked gasp. How he always still had the energy to fuck you like this after performing for over two hours was really a mystery to you. He was just so rough. So wild. And you absolutely fucking loved it.

"Joke's on you babe. I would happily brag about getting my back blown out by the Vernon Chwe." you quipped, eyes dancing with amusement.

Vernon, however, was definitely not amused. Not if his dark piercing gaze was anything to go by.

"God, you've got a smart fucking mouth." he snarled, and you felt his hand curve around your neck a moment later.

"Yeah. A mouth that you fucking love."

His grip tightened slightly, reminding you of how he would hold his mic stand as he worked the stage and crowd.

"I should've had you choke on my cock instead. Avoided all this bratty back talk. I know that's what you were thinking about all night, wasn't it sweetheart?"

The cocky smirk he gave you paired with his words had you instantly clenching around him. Vernon chuckled as he slightly slowed his pace, "I do see you, you know. You always look so fucked out just from watching me perform."

His cock dragged inside of you, making you squirm on the vanity.

"Fuck, Vernon."

He repositioned his head so that his warm breath was hitting your ear with each exhale, and you whimpered as he kept up the longer, deeper strokes. You could literally feel every single inch of him, splitting you open and lifting you into the clouds. Especially with the way his hand around your throat was just slightly restricting your air flow.

"I always look for you. And it's always the same when I find you." Vernon started, and you nearly jumped when his free hand ghosted over your clit, "Dying for me to touch you."

You moaned shamelessly, and immediately felt the faintest of touches once more.

"To have my hands on you." he went on, hand trailing higher up your body to grope your breast.

Your clothes were in complete disarray with your chest fully exposed, but Vernon still had his entire ensemble on. Only stripping enough to free his cock from the confines of his tight leather pants. And something about the contrast always drove you absolutely mad.

Because the man couldn't even wait long enough to change before fucking you. He was on you the moment he stepped off the stage. And you let him have you any way he wanted.

On the vanity like tonight. The couch. Up against the door. The wall. Even the floor. Really any surface was fair game.

You were definitely enjoying the vanity tonight though. The coolness of the mirror against your bare back at least served as an anchor if nothing else.

"My mouth."

His head ducked down, and your nails scratched at his biceps through his shirt when you felt his lips wrap around your nipple.

"Shit." you hissed as his tongue flicked over your bud.

The same tongue that had been teasing and torturing you while he'd been on stage all night. Darting out to lick his lips in between songs. Swiping across the length of his mouth when he was singing.

And a personal kryptonite for you. When it would be poking through his cheek, and that signature cocky expression was plastered across his features. In those moments, it would take every bit of restraint you had not to rush the stage.

His hand had loosened around your neck, but the weight of it there was still enough to maintain the light headed, fuzzy feeling. His teeth tugged at your nipple, and your head fell back against the foggy glass as a breathy moan slipped out.

"I bet you're even tempted to touch yourself, aren't you? Even in a crowd full of people. Filthy girl." Vernon murmured against your skin, and you immediately felt goosebumps spring up.

Well he definitely didn't make it easy. Not with the sexy way he confidently owned the stage every single time. Or the fact that those damn leather pants gave you a very visible and very distracting outline of his cock.

The rasp and growl in his voice mirrored the way he growled into your ear when he was pounding into you. The veins in his neck prominent and bulging whenever he would be passionately belting out lyrics. A familiar sight when you would look up at him while his cock was down your throat. Everything was just such a fucking turn on and it made you hate him just the tiniest bit.

"So impatient for cock. Even though you know you'll get what you want as soon as the show is over. You always do, don't you sweetheart? My spoiled little brat."

He switched back to his prior brutal pace without a warning, and your hands frantically clawed at his arms as your body rocked back against the mirror. Sounds of pleasure flowed freely from your mouth. Let the whole damn venue hear, you really didn't give a fuck.

"Are you gonna scream for me, sweetheart?" Vernon inquired, and the husky edge to his voice had your walls tightening around him once again.

One of his fingers strummed across your clit, and you cried out.

"You know yours are my favorite."

"Vernon…please…so close." you managed to say in between heaving breaths.

His lips roughly crashed against yours, and it was like music, loud and bright and beautiful, bursting inside you. His hand on your neck reached up to twist into your hair at the same time that you felt more of his fingers attending to your clit.

The kiss devolved into a heated collision of tongue and teeth as you practically sobbed into Vernon's mouth. There was only one thing your boyfriend knew better than music, and that was your body. And right now he was playing you in all the right ways.

He stroked your bundle of nerves faster while his cock reached the deepest part of you. A scream was ripped from your throat as you came suddenly, your hands wrapping around his back and clumsily clutching at his shoulders. Vernon groaned as his thrusts grew more erratic.

"Fuck, sweetheart. You feel so fucking perfect. I'm right there with you." he rasped out, still lazily trying to chase your lips.

"I love you…so much. And I'm so…proud of…you."

You did your best to convey the heartfelt words in the midst of also coming down from your high. Vernon gave you the softest, sappiest smile, and the symphony inside you erupted.

He kissed you gently, both of you beaming against each other's mouths. You felt him twitch inside you, and then he was coming undone and joining you up in the clouds.

His forehead rested against your shoulder after several moments as he tried to catch his breath. You peppered loving kisses all over his neck and the side of his face, Vernon letting out a series of tired giggles.

"I love you, sweetheart."

You hummed against his skin, "I love you. My rockstar."

"God, you're an even bigger adrenaline rush than going on stage."

You laughed at that, the movement jostling both of your bodies slightly.

"You know I have to say, I think you just gave one of the best performances of your life." you added playfully.

"Yeah, well, I do live to serve and please my audience. Especially my favorite one." he said back, lightly pinching your hip.

A mischievous grin slowly spread across your face.

"I wouldn't say I'm completely satisfied though."

Your boyfriend's head shot up immediately, a mixture of panic and confusion adorning his features.

"Wait, you-"

"I haven't gotten my souvenir T-shirt yet." you cut him off, pouting for dramatic effect.

The worst happened. Vernon tongued the inside of his cheek, "Oh, I'll give you a souvenir."

By the time the two of you stumbled out of the dressing room at the end of the night, you were going home with the whole damn gift shop. That was okay though, cause Vernon had definitely done some "shopping" of his own. Yeah, good luck to his make-up artist for the next few shows. That woman was definitely going to have her work cut out for her.

[julemmaes]

I'm Where You Left Me

Rowaelin Month 2021, Day 29

A/N: I really hope that anon who's been sending me anons for the past literal year is somewhat happier in their life now that they have this. I cannot stress this enough, this is for you, whoever you are.

This is the fourth part to the hockey au, part one, part two, part three are here for you if you can't remember what this was about (my fault, oopsie)

A huge ass thank you goes to @starksravings for beta reading for me and making me hyped for this and to @thewayshedreamed for helping magnify the angst-level in this baby, love you both to the moon and back

Word count: 2,574

��Rowan?”

He assumed he was ready. He'd thought he could do it, hear her say his name. See those lips, which he knew every square millimeter of, move without feeling the overwhelming urge to brush against them, touch them, kiss them.

He thought he would find her and say what he had to the second he saw her. Scream about how much she had hurt him, how she had destroyed, killed him. But he couldn't speak. It was as if his body was rebelling against itself, fighting against every instinct that screamed at him to step forward, take her in his arms and run.

He felt like he was dying all over again.

Because Aelin stood before him after years, and he still remembered the exact shade of her eyes. The way her hair fell over her shoulders. The sharp line of her jaw, the kisses he left under her ear, where kisses never failed to make her smile.

Aelin looked exactly the same as the day she had ripped his heart out.

“How did you… how do you know where we live?"

The second the words left her mouth, she flinched, as if she realized she had just done something irreparable.

We.

She diverted her gaze, looking over her shoulder inside the house she now shared with her soon-to-be husband. Rowan felt his chest cave in at the thought while she stepped forward and closed the door behind her. Aelin was to be married to someone else.

He wondered if Chaol Westfall was there, only a few meters away. Rowan had seen the rookie play a couple of times in the past year. He’d played against his team just a few weeks into the championship.

He’d gone head-to-head with the man, and Westfall had to have known what Aelin had meant to him when they had almost hit it out on the ice.

Now, Rowan couldn’t get a word out. Not a single sound.

He kept staring at her like he had never seen something so beautiful in his entire life.

“Rowan, I-” she whispered. Her chin trembled and he recognized that look. He saw the words in her eyes. I’m sorry. She stepped back, her shoulders hitting the wood, and she looked down as if she couldn’t bear the sight of the broken man in front of her. Then, with a voice he’d never heard her use, she said, “I have to go back inside now, we’re,” she trailed off, her brows furrowing, “I have something to do. It was nice seeing you though.”

And just like that, the rope that was turning taut around him snapped, unleashing years of pent-up rage and misery.

“The fuck you are.” Rowan burst, his eyes reddening. His face scrunched up, and he let out a rasped laugh, “You’re not going back inside to him. You’re staying here.” 

His ribs constricted as a tear slid down her cheek. She turned her head right and swept her face on her sweater.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, the words just a mere murmur. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, “I shouldn’t have done what I did. I should-”

He couldn’t bear to listen to another single word coming from her. He had gone there, finding their location thanks to Westfall’s lax social media, willing to let her explain. But the way she was talking, from even just those few sentences… She thought he was here to talk about the two of them. But he didn’t want that. No, he needed to know what Chaol had that Rowan couldn’t give her.

“You shouldn’t?” he whispered in disbelief, “Aelin, you’re living our life with him!”

It only lasted a moment until the pain on her face morphed into something else.

She went down a couple of steps, closing the space between them. Pointing a finger at him.

“You have no right coming here and starting screaming at me like this. You have no idea what it did to me! Leaving you.” Her tears fell shamelessly, Aelin didn’t try to hide them. “It broke me.”

He felt breathless.

“And I know I did that to myself. I know what I did to you.”

She was sobbing now, her face red as she kept descending the final steps separating them.

“You think I don’t know what happened to you all this time? You think I didn’t call Elide every single day for a whole year, asking where you were, what you were doing, hoping, praying that I didn’t break the last of your goodness?” Her voice broke as her eyes closed, tears dripping down her chin like rain.

“She stopped telling me anything exactly a year after I left. After that, Aedion moved in with me for a month because everyone was scared I was going to do something reckless.”

Rowan slowly closed his eyes, keeping them like that for a long, infinite moment. He remembered that period. Everyone had told him Aedion had to leave the city for work, but he had suspected the move had a deeper meaning.

And this… this wasn’t how Rowan had imagined their first meeting would go after so many years. This was the furthest thing he could have hoped for, but reality had always had the upper hand with them.

He was about to reply, but words failed him again when he heard her whisper the one thing he had forbidden himself from dreaming about. 

“I wanted to come back.”

His eyes snapped to her, and her shoulders sagged as she let out a breath, as if she had waited centuries to admit it.

Aelin pulled her lips together and shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest, like she was in pain. No, like she was pain, and was trying to hold herself together, not letting him see what the distance had caused her.

“I’m sorry, Rowan, I’m so sorry.” She whimpered. “The moment I realised I’d made the greatest mistake of my life I wanted to come to you. I tried.”

He felt like he was going to throw up. She looked him straight in the eyes, and what she said next almost brought him to his knees.

“I tried to get to you that night. And I did.”

He started shaking his head, bringing a hand to his hair. “Stop.”

“You were in Washington, at the Capital One Arena. I told Aedion I was going for a walk, and I went to the station, caught the first train to the arena and got there right after the end of the game.” She smiled sadly, remembering that day, “You won your second Stanley cup. Those last shots had your team win. I saw you come out of the lockers. I saw you take pictures with your fans, I saw you happy and fulfilled and living the life you had always dreamed of, and I couldn’t take that from you.”

Aelin grimaced like she was tasting something sour, “I had made my decision years prior and I couldn’t risk hurting you again the way I’d already done.” She paused for a moment, clenching her fists. “So I left and I came back here. Two weeks later I met Chaol.”

The sound of his name on her lips made his nose flare.

“And I’m not living our life with him.” She murmured.

Rowan looked at her, nodding once, saying with the same placid tone, “You may not realise it yet, but you are.”

Sure, Westfall was a rookie and he did not have the college background Rowan had had when they had gotten engaged, but it was only a matter of time before fame caught up with him.

She snorted, shaking her head. “He could never live up to you. Not even if he tried.”

He felt a pang of love at that, his chest warming somehow. But concern started growing alongside it.

Did she intend to marry a man she did not love?

He went to move closer to her, but stopped, not trusting himself in such proximity.

“Do you love him?”

Aelin kept silent at that, staring at him, and Rowan suddenly felt worn out. .

She visibly swallowed and then bent her head back, looking up at the darkening sky and Rowan knew whatever she was about to ask would hurt them both.

“Whose heart are you breaking by standing in front of me?”

Rowan frowned, his voice hoarser than intended. “I’m not following you.”

“You came here tonight, and you came at me for living our life with someone else. I wanna know who’s standing where I stood. I wanna know whose heart you broke by getting on a plane with this late as fuck grand gesture.”

He couldn't believe his ears and his lips parted slightly, his eyes turning glassy at the torment in her posture, in her features. He'd seen that exact same reaction in the mirror the times he thought of her with someone else. He'd cried himself to sleep picturing another man holding her at night.

He could feel his anger bubble up, wanting out. He wished he could yell at her, remind Aelin that this was on her. That she was the one who cut him off. But when he spoke, nothing but a tender whisper came out.

“No one, Aelin. No one since you.”

She closed her eyes again, releasing a shuddering breath as her lips curled in a silent cry.

“We’ve been apart for years. I don’t believe it for a second.”

At this point, it was starting to get hard to push words out for both of them, exhaustion wearing them down.

“I tried.” He said.

Her face crumpled and she sobbed, stepping back as if he physically hit her.

Rowan started crying, “I tried to forget you. I tried fucking other women. There was no tender feelings, no love for them. Nothing even scratched the surface of of what we had. And whenever we got to the actual thing…” he took a deep breath, remembering all those nights, trying to feel something. “When I was fucking them, I could only think of you. I stopped after I called one of them with your name. I felt sick right after. Never touched anyone else following that episode.

“Only the thought of doing something like that made me ill. It disgusted me.”

And since Aelin wasn’t speaking yet, trying to recover from what she’d just learned, he kept on going.

“I slept at Lorcan’s for weeks after you left, and your perfume still hit me when I went into our room. I had to move out.” He wasn’t going to unload the drinking stuff on her right now. He didn’t think he was able to unpack that yet. “I almost quit hockey right after I found a place to stay on my own, but I couldn't go through with it, because that was the only thing you’d left me with.” He cleared his throat, cracking his fingers, preparing for a fight that wouldn’t come. “But you were wrong. Hockey is nothing to me without you.”

Aelin looked at him, her chin quivering with restrain, “I’m sorry.”

The resignation in her voice felt like a punch to his stomach. Real. Lasting.

And then it hit him. Ten times stronger. Her fiancé was waiting for her in the house at her back.

She was someone else’s future wife.

She didn’t belong with him anymore.

He started inching back, putting his hands in front of him.

“I- what the fuck am I doing?” he whispered more to himself than to her. Rowan felt like air wasn’t reaching his lungs, “I shouldn’t have come all the way here. You’re getting married, and this is out of line. I’m sorry, I’ll never bother you ever again.”

He didn’t dare look at her one last time, he just turned and started walking down her pathway, picking up speed every step he took. He was just about to exit her courtyard when he felt a hand grip his wrist.

Rowan spun to her, feeling how cold her fingers were. How soft her skin still was.

Her eyes were watery, wide open, mirroring his.

“Don’t leave me here.” She rasped out.

His stomach went tight, “Aelin.”

“Please, let me come with you.”

He looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. She was asking for his permission to go with him. It came as a shock to Rowan, as a slap across the face. Aelin wanted him to get her back. That’s what she was asking of him. 

It sounded too good to be true, but he saw it on her face. The utter fear she was feeling, just at the idea of him leaving again. 

He had waited years for this moment, had came here with no expectations. Not even in his wildest dreams had he let himself hope for something so beautiful. And yet here they were.

It was as if he could hear her heart cracking at his hesitance. So he moved.

It was an instant and then he wrapped his arms around her. Her chest collapsed against his as she started crying, sobbing for his forgiveness. Her hands went around his torso and his hand behind her neck, holding her head closer to him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She kept saying. Rowan was crying along with her, holding her tight, feeling like her body would crumble beneath his fingers.

“I’m right where you left me, Fireheart.” He whispered right into her hair, leaning down. “I never stopped waiting for you.”

The cry seemed to tear through her. Her fingers clutched his shirt tighter, “I need you, please don’t leave me.”

Rowan could only pull her closer as her words shredded his heart, “I’m here.”

And as they held onto each other for what seemed hours, he finally felt at home.

When she pushed back from him and looked up at his face, his cheeks were wet like hers and his lips were turned up, in a weak smile.

“I missed you.” She breathed out.

He laughed faintly, “God, I never thought I’d hold you again.”

She pushed up on her tiptoes and pressed her forehead to his, breathing in his smell, closing her eyes, “I’m sorry.”

Rowan wondered how many times she would need to say it before she would begin to make peace with what she had done to them almost four years before. It would take a long time, but by the same token he knew they would be together, and even if it took them another four years to heal from the wounds they had inflicted on themselves in the days apart, they would face it together.

He brushed their noses, his lips grazed hers and then he said something he’d waited eons to say again, “I love you. I quit hockey.”

“I know,” Aelin shuddered and kissed him.

Whatever had been broken inside of him started to adjust, every bit of his shattered soul was coming together once again, every piece falling in place.

They didn’t care that her fiancé might come out at any given moment, or that her neighbours could see her kiss a stranger just inside her yard. They couldn’t care less about anything else that wasn’t the other.

So without having a worry in the whole wide world, Rowan kissed Aelin deeper and brought them home at last.

tog tag list (if you wanna be added or removed, just dm me or send me an ask, no hard feelings at this point)

@maastrash @ireallyshouldsleeprn @sleeping-and-bookss @gwynethhberdara @thegoddessofyou @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @letstakethedawn @tangledinmysoul @post-it-notes33 @booksstorm @nalgenewhore @queen-of-demons-and-hell @imagine-me @vasudharaghavan @cupcakey00 @bri-loves-sunflowers @queen-of-glass @thewayshedreamed @the-regal-warrior @fangirlprincess09 @januarystears @rowaelinismyotp @starbornsinger @bookstantrash @thegreyj @feysand-loml @autumnbabylon @a-court-of-milkandhoney @highqueenofelfhame @story-scribbler @mariamuses @rhysandswingspan @whoever-you-choose-to-love @endlessdaydream

[nevereverlandboys]

Different Pulses 

Pairing: Felix x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: After Pan gets defeated, Y/N and Felix live together in Storybrooke with the "heroes". They both don't get along and seem to avoid each other, until the "heroes" need to leave them alone to save Henry from another threat. Will Y/N get along with the cold, distant boy?

Part: (1/?)

@madd-devil

This story is heavily inspired by "When it's cold" by:

@the-original-weirdo-83

@peter-pan-on-neverland

Y/N's eyes wandered through the small room, from the small bed to the huge window, stopping at the small drawer underneath it, before finally stepping further in. The walls were dyed light blue and besides a big clock and a flat screen they were empty. There was nothing unusual with this room, nothing really striking and yet it still felt a little strange. She walked forwards and ripped the dark curtains away, opening the window to welcome the golden sunlight into the room, warming her skin. The air smelled different and even the birds chirped in another tune. It seemed as if this world was quieter than the other, less dangerous and more welcoming. For a moment Y/N was soaked into the moment and drifted off into her thoughts, as suddenly some cursing in the next room ripped the girl out of her thoughts. With an annoyed snarl, she rolled her eyes and let herself drop onto the small bed, trying to ignore the sounds that probably came from the grumpy former second in command. After all, he still did not like being taken from Neverland, as he found himself with Y/N in a new home in Storybrooke. He still did not fit in and fought with everything he had to integrate. The second in command was stubborn and feisty, hot-tempered and constantly in a bad mood. Felix had barely granted Y/N a smile since they came off the Island and after he was brought into Mary Margaret's and David Charmings flat, everything went worse. The lost boy usually locked himself up inside his room, stayed there until after dinner to grab himself the leftovers, before vanishing back behind the wooden door. He never seemed to understand the technology around him, not even trying to understand it, but getting angry instead if it did not work out like he had imagined it to.  Y/N on the other hand, found herself in a healthy relationship with her hosts real quick. They took it as their own responsibility to take both of them in, after Pan was defeated. Felix, because he was the most stubborn boy that would never find his peace in an orphanage and Y/N, because she was the only girl next to Wendy that lived with the lost boys. After all this time on the island, she found herself being close to Henry as well. The small, young boy was like a little brother to her, making the girl laugh and joining her whenever Mary Margaret would allow them to go out. She was a careful woman and even though she trusted Y/N, there was no reason for her not to be cautious. Also Y/N suspected Mary  not to act like granting the girl a privilege while Felix was still being guarded. 

Another loud yell from behind those walls disturbed the girls' peaceful daydreams once more, so she grabbed the pillow and pressed it over her head to muffle all the sound, trying her best to ignore everything around. It was a day too pretty for this and Y/N only wanted to relax, but not a few minutes of delightful silence later, she heard a knock on the wooden door. Moving her body properly under the sheets, she faced the door and mumbled just loud enough,"Come in."

The door swung open and revealed the former second in command's worried face, his sweaty hair hung down his face and he breathed so loud that the girl could literally feel anger flooding in the room. The atmosphere turned immediately tense and the room seemed to shrink around her with each second passing. Y/N held her breath and raised one eyebrow in confusion, trying her best to hide her insecurities behind a questioning look, as the lanky, blonde boy's eyes pierced her urgently. 

"Where is the little rat?" Felix spoke in a hoarse tone. 

"The ra-" She started confused. "Oh."

Henry.

"He took my cloak." Felix raged. "Where is the bastard, so I can smite him!"

"It's in the laundry." Y/N interrupted him before Felix would even try to hurt Henry and give him the fault for her doings. She found it in the bathroom and washed it along with the other laundry. The girl's voice was almost inaudible, well knowing the boy's temper from all the countless encounters with the other lost boys. Felix's eyes twitched and he gritted his teeth as he slowly came closer, one step after another, to close the distance that kept her away from him, the only distance that gave the girl at least a little bit of comfort. Henry could be glad to have to spend the time with the grumpy lost boy on weekends only. How much she envied him.

"What?" He snarled with his face just a few centimeters away from hers and for a moment her mind went blank, the only impulse she felt was to storm out of the room. As she crashed to the door, Y/N did not even bother to look back and swiftly grabbed her shoes and keys before leaving the apartment.  The door swung shut with a loud crash that echoed through every room as Felix swayed back in his own room, every cell inside him questioning why his heart felt so heavy. Y/N was not even sure if the lanky boy bothered to chase after her and if her actions seemed a little exaggerated, but when Felix built himself up in front of her, the girl's heart sank into the bottom of her body and fear overtook her mind. The former lost boy had been cruel to other boys for less than that.

She did not stay out for long, simply walked around the block to get some fresh air and to get some space from the tall boy. Also, because she knew that Mary would be mad if she was not home when the woman returned. The first week did not start well and Y/N let out a frustrated sight as she thought of the future. Mary and David left her alone with him half of the day, having the boy locked up in his room was not consoling though, the fact alone that he was present was enough to make her feel nervous. When she returned to the apartment, Felix was nowhere in sight, so she quickly snuck back into her room, hoping that he would leave her alone for the rest of the day. On the other hand, she had to make sure that he would not hurt Henry, the poor boy did nothing wrong. For a moment Y/N hesitated until she decided to get Felix's cloak from the washing line on the balcony. Not a surprise that the asshole did not know it was there, when he never left his room. Still, the girl felt a little curious when she thought of what he might do all day by himself- especially with no understanding of technology. Was he not bored? There was no convincing answer that she could think of and Y/N wondered if she would find out as she strutted with the big cloak in her hands towards Felix's room. She  knocked at the door and immediately regretted it after the previous events. Nevertheless she tried to be brave and push her fear aside, telling herself that the former second in command was not threatening at all.

She knocked again when nothing happened and suddenly some angry footsteps stomped into her direction-, firm and loud, before the tall boy ripped the door wide open, revealing his furious face.

"What the fuck do you want?" Felix growled, the veins of his neck throbbing and his hands pressed so tightly into fists that his knuckles turned white. 

"I-...eh." Y/N stammered nervously and tightened her grip onto the cloak. Her eyes widened as she thought, He would not hurt me, would he? "I have your-"

"Keep that!" Felix interrupted her, his words were like poison.

Felix slammed the door shut before  the girl could say another  word, leaving her in the dark hallway with an unsettling feeling inside her guts that something was wrong. But how could she even tell what? Felix never spoke to her that much and it was pretty obvious that he would not do more in the future. All Y/N knew was that the grumpy boy missed the island and that he missed Pan, even though the girl never understood his obedience to the green devil. Peter Pan was manipulative and evil and she was glad he never left Neverland alive. Felix couldn't give her the fault for his loss, she had never helped the heroes and even refused as the only one next to him to say a word. Well, Y/N opened up quicker and befriended the "heroes" after everything they did. It was a saint if she could speak freely about it. The cloak must mean a lot to Felix, or else he would never be this angry, even for a boy who had a tendency to violence-, he never hurt Y/N before. She really hoped he would take it back and overcome his rage. The idea that Felix might only looked for a reason to hate Henry more occured her a few minutes later, but it was an unspoken thought that seemed to be way too assumptious.

"I am sorry about Peter." She moved her forehead onto the wooden door, resting it there for a bit and after a while she watched a single tear drop down onto the ground. Peter was not completely evil, not to Y/N at least and deep inside he was a loss to her as well. There was a short time where Felix seemed to be nice too, back on Neverland just weeks before Peter got defeated. He had shown the girl a flower field and tickled her until some boy's would crossy their way and disturb that lovely moment. It was the first and only time he had ever been close in a comforting way. Since then, Y/N had always hoped to see the boy underneath this rusty shell, but it was all gone since the second he stepped off the boat.

The door stayed closed and she stared at Felix's cloak, wondering what to do with it. When Y/N returned to her own room and snuck underneath the covers, the cloak was still under her arm. It did not smell like Felix anymore. The ticking of the clock was the only sound filling the room, capturing the girl's eyes to check the time- six pm. It was late, almost time for Mary Margaret to come back from work and cook some dinner, and when it was time for Y/N to sleep, David would come home too and Emma would come tomorrow, to bring Henry over for the weekend. Y/N barely saw David. He was always busy with his work in the police station and would get home late in the night. He left Felix and her up to Mary and Emma, which was definitely a hard task thinking of the rebellious boy next to Y/N's room. The man could not stand the former lost boy, the girl had seen it in his eyes when Emma brought her onto the ship, back then,  from escaping Neverland. Felix's emotions seemed mutual and everyone around could sense it. That both of them were separated most of the time, was not so bad after all. Mary Margarett even tried to take it as an opportunity to get to know more about the former lost boy, but all her attempts failed. The boy kept shut, would not reveal his past and barely replied to any of the woman’s actions. It was tiring to watch, quite a show though. It seemed like a boring game of charade, in which Mary kept asking him countless questions and then tried to interpret his annoyed growls as he ate some cereal. Breakfast was a strict rule for him to join and dinner to avoid. 

Y/N rolled over and grabbed her phone, turning some music on to change her thoughts and kill the silence. Even though it was so early, she felt how her eyelids were getting heavy, how she slowly drifted off into sleep, using the cloak as a pillow. Throwing it away was not an option for her, there could always come a time where the former lost boy would demand it back. 

It felt like a whole night when the girl woke up from a strange feeling of someone pulling on something underneath her. Out of reflex, she tightened the grip on the cloak in her arms. The pulling got stronger and when she realised that this was not a dream, she slowly opened her tired eyes.

"I changed my mind." Felix scoffed. "I want it back."

With a mind still dizzy and drunk from sleep, Y/N's sight was still so blurry, that it was hard to catch up and she needed a moment to follow the lost boy's words. He obviously meant the cloak, but why did he make such a fuss about it when he did not want it in the first place? 

"Y/N?" He pronounced her name so carefully when he realised her eyes were closing again. She did not respond. 

The sound of Felix's knees hitting the floor startled the girl out of sleep, finding herself sitting bolt upright in bed, pressing the cloak with widened eyes tightly against her chest. He let out an amused chuckle, grinning from ear to ear. Being fully awake now, Y/N realised why the tall boy was here and she slowly reached her hand forward, handing the boy his cloak over. What the hell did he do in the middle of the night inside her room? Why could this not wait? Her eyes wandered to her phone on the small nightstand-, it was eight pm and winter. It caused the girl to genuinely laugh to herself.

"Sorry for washing it." She whispered meek, avoiding Felix's gaze and dropped her head back onto the pillow before turning  away from him to close her eyes. 

"It's all right." With that Felix quickly made his way back to his own room, the door closing so quick as if he had run.

The next day he kept quiet, did not say a word at breakfast, not even a snarky comment towards Henry who was constantly talking about one of his favourite movies and its heroes. The word 'hero' usually was enough to make the former lost boy explode. Not this time. His steel like eyes were glued onto his bowl as he ate in silence. Later he would sit in the living room, watching some TV that Henry forgot to turn off and would not even complain when Y/N joined and switched the channel. For a moment she felt his eyes burning on her skin. When she met his gaze, the former lost boy rose to his feet and walked away, slamming his door to confirm he was in his room now. Felix was strange and not the friendliest boy for sure. Still, Y/N had the feeling that there was more behind his behaviour that he would let her on and that he exaggerated an act. Mary would give her some tasks over the time like getting the groceries, which she would really appreciate doing, since it was a great way to get out. Y/N and Felix were no prisoners of course and the cold of the thick snow creeping in from the outside would keep her under her covers anyway. There never has been snow on Neverland. It was entirely strange and yet so familiar, waking a nostalgic feeling inside the girl. When Y/N found her way to the grocery store, there was no one to harm her and she had all the time she needed to wander through the different Isles and shove anything she liked into the shopping cart. There were no lost boys with spears and torches, that would hunt the girl down until her feet would bleed. No Pan that played his dangerous, manipulative games, that only entertained him in a twisted, sadistic way,  satisfying him, that it could already be a kink. 

It was freedom. 

The good snacks from the store disappeared immediately inside the drawer, keeping it safe from Henry or Felix. Both had the tendency to steal Y/N's food. She would often cook for herself, learning new skills since there was nothing else to do anyways. As soon as Mary returned, the girl hoped she would bring some more groceries, but she got disappointed. The snow held her off too long, the mood to go into the supermarket was simply gone and Y/N could understand that.

"You can go with Henry." She smiled and grabbed herself something to drink from the fridge. 

"When will he be here?" Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow as she waited for an answer. The short haired woman slowly turned around, her face seemed to be frozen in an unbelieving, perplexed and slightly fearing frown.

"Isn't he here alr-" She stopped and both of their heads shot into the same direction when a key was put inside the front lock, turning and unlocking the door. The girl expected the young boy to get home, instead, Emma stormed into the apartment, shortly followed by David and the girl already saw on their faces that something was wrong. Mary let go of what she was doing and closed the distance between them with quite some concern on her face.

"They took Henry!" Emma bursted out, her eyes searching the room as if her son could just hide somewhere and would just magically appear any moment. She looked full of hope. David gently rubbed her back and told Mary to get her things. They always seemed to find trouble and now Y/N finally understood what Felix meant, when he once claimed that their hero being was only a facade and they were the true danger. Were they? Henry was gone and that was because he was so important to these women.

"Who took him?" Y/N asked worriedly.

"Stay out of this, you are not a part of this." Emma ignored the question and  gently shoved the former lost girl out of her way to get her keys. She ripped the door wide open and jumped down the hallway without bothering to close it, expecting the others to follow quickly. 

"We will get Henry back." Mary turned to Y/N, trying to comfort her by holding her hands. "You don't have to worry."

It was not the young boy she worried about and the short haired woman knew that. With a quick glance back to Felix's closed door, Y/N gulped and immediately shook her head.

"I can come with you!" She protested at the thought of being all alone with the former second in command.

"No," Mary said and sighted. "I need you here."

Her gaze wandered off to Felix's door again and her look grew frustrated. Y/N followed with her eyes and nodded before facing the short haired woman again. She turned to the counter and grabbed her purse to pull out her wallet.  Then she collected all the money she had and put it in a sugar box inside the shelf. 

"I trust you enough." Her words meant a lot. "Besides, once in a while Regina will check up on you two."

With that, Mary Margaret turned around and gave David a final nod, before both of them left the apartment to join their daughter in the car. As soon as Y/N closed the door behind them, everything went into an uncomfortable silence. There was no single sound instead of the unbearable striking of the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. 

"Great." Y/N moaned quietly. At least they could have told her who took Henry and for what possible reason. The adults would always seem to know better and in this case they decided it would be better to keep Felix and her out of this. Did they really want to leave her out of it, or was Y/N just not to be trusted? Felix would easily try to convince her about that. The former lost boy probably would not  care  at all. It was smart of Mary Margaret to hide some money for Y/N. The fridge was almost empty and she wondered how long they would be away and when she would need food. There was nothing good inside it, nothing appealing, so  Y/N closed the door and strutted back to her room. Dropping into the sheets, she grabbed the remote next to her pillow and turned on the TV. Henry had shown her how to use it real quick as he often joined the girl to play video games. All those years living here and using all these things caused him to always be smarter and it was the first thing Y/N noticed that Felix disliked about him. At the end, there were countless things the scarred up boy hated, but Henry was always the center of his anger. 

With the time passing by, the rumbling in the girl's stomach got louder until her tummy literally screamed for something to eat. Back in the kitchen, there was still nothing  appealing and with a quick glance to Felix's wooden door, she wondered if the former lost boy would like to eat something too. Each step further towards his room felt more heavy and Y/N's stomach turned inside out. The moment her knuckles knocked against the cool wood, she questioned why she even tried to be nice and get along with him. The floor was cold, maybe she should have put on some socks or turned on the heater. There was no sound on the other side of the wood and Y/N started to wonder if Felix was even home, when suddenly some heavy footsteps slowly strutted closer. Felix swayed the door wide open and rubbed his tired eyes, then rested his heavy head on the doorframe. He only wore some grey sweatpants, revealing his scars on his pale chest. The air around the girl thickened and her body heated up at the sight of his messy, sweaty morning hair. 

"Sorry." She mumbled and avoided looking at him. His presence alone caused shivers to run down her spine. "Did I wake you?"

"M-hm." Felix grumbled tiredly, fighting to keep his eyes open. Y/N's eyes wandered back to the open kitchen and its clock. It was four o'clock.

"Are you hungry?"

The tall boy remained silent for a moment, his dull eyes staring at the girl as if he did not understand the question, turned to look at his bed, then slightly nodded with his head as if it was the hardest thing to do.

"I could eat." He spoke with a deep, raspy voice, laying his focus back onto Y/N. Fuck, he sounded so hot, it caught her off guard and left her unable to speak for a glimpse moment. 

"I am ordering food." She said after a small moment. "What would you like?"

Felix pressed his brows together, then lifted one in confusion. "How does that work?" He asked and Y/N chuckled in amusement, feeling how her stiffened limbs relaxed. 

"You choose a restaurant and then decide what you want to eat." She explained and showed the blonde boy her phone. "They deliver it and you pay."' 

"Ah."

Y/N were not sure if Felix was not understanding it, or simply did not like it. He brought his hands up to his arms and rubbed the scarred skin, feeling how cold it was and finally bothered to put on a T-shirt. If Y/N were honest with herself, she liked Felix's exposed back. Muscles danced under tender flesh, as arms stretched upon the ceiling, forward and crooked together, pulling the cotton over his chest. Back on Neverland, Felix always seemed to be violent and rough, harsh to others and never in a good mood. There has not changed much, yet the dangerous, threatening touch was missing since he came to Storybrooke with Y/N. He was bent to new rules now. 

"Pizza." Felix said and stepped closer, closing the distance and bent down to take a glimpse of the menu. "Do they have some?"

Y/N's skin started to prickle when she felt his breath against her cheek and immediately froze in place. Why was he so close? 

"You know Pizza?" She asked unsure, still a little curious. Felix smirked and let out a husky chuckle. "Sure I do."

He walked past her into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, gulped it down, filled another one, gulped it down, but when he repeated that for a third time, the second in command could not finish it and disposed of the remains in the sink.  He turned around to check the time and widened his eyes as he realised how late it already was.

"The days are dark during winter." The boy mentioned with a side-along gaze, as if he knew that she might have criticised him for sleeping that long. Y/N did not know how to respond, but was confident enough to join the tall boy in the kitchen, pulling the chair back and taking a seat at the table. Both of them did not say a word and with each second passing in silence, she regretted sitting there with him even more. 

"Why did you run from me earlier?" The question caught her off guard, she needed a moment to think for the right answer. The girl tilted her head in Felix's direction, his eyebrows were lifted up in a questioning look and he leaned at the counter, waiting for the girl to open her mouth and speak.  He was just curious, not too gruff nor angry. 

"You scare me sometimes." Y/N admitted. "It's like being back in Neverland."

The former lost boy nodded disappointed and shifted his gaze out of the window to hide half of his features as if she would ever be able to read them.

"You really did not like the Island." The boy stated, receiving a light nod as an answer. "Was it so bad?"

"There were no toilets."

Felix could not help but chuckle, a warm genuine smile spread over his face and he nodded his head in agreement when he faced her again. 

"Toilets sure are great." He laughed. "Or warm running water."

Felix pushed himself away from the counter and slendered over to the girl, taking a seat on the chair in front of her. "It took me three days to find out how that works, by the way." He added after a small pause. Y/N could only shake her head in response and give him a brief smile. "Must have been cold."

The tall boy agreed in silence and crossed his arms in front of his chest, waiting for the food to arrive. He would disappear for a while to go to the bathroom, giving her some space to clear her mind. All she could think about was how beautiful the former second in command looked when he smiled, making her nervous the longer he stayed with her. For a moment, it seemed like he was another person when she was all alone with him. 

"Where are the others?" Felix asked when he returned from the bathroom, pulling the chair around to straddle it. 

"Someone took Henry." Y/N admitted low, not even wanting him to know that, well aware that he would only mock this situation, probably having expected such a thing sooner or later. 

"Hm.’' Felix let out an amused chuckle and gave her a winning smirk, one that said,"Told you so!"

"We're on our own for a while." The girl said, checking her phone for a message from the delivery guy. Not long. Almost here. How the time had passed by.

"I am  fucking happy they are gone." Felix snorted and rolled his eyes."They were such a pain in the ass."

At least they gave him a home and clothes, food and no worries about his current life. That was something and even though Y/N knew how beautiful the Island could be, the former lost boy had not been safe there. None of them were. How could he still be so blinded after all? Y/N wanted to respond but decided to keep her mouth shut. Right at that moment the doorbell rang. Shifting from her seat, Y/N strutted over to the door and opened it, waiting a few moments for the delivery guy to get up the stairs and hand her the Pizza. She pulled a twenty dollar bill out of her pocket and handed it over to the man before closing the door. The boxes felt hot on her cool hands and the smell of fat, cheese and pepperoni filled the room, making the girl realise how hungry she actually was. Felix's stomach started to rumble when she started to cut her Pizza, so she assumed he did not have any breakfast either. For a moment the girl really enjoyed the boy's company and hoped he would stay longer, but she was also sure that he would take his food and vanish as quickly as he used to do. Yet, Felix never ceased to amaze her. He waited in silence until she was done cutting, then he took the knife and in that moment her fingers touched his, she felt  a quick, electric sensation followed by butterflies rumbling in her stomach. Taking the Pizza, she quickly strutted into the direction of your room to hide her sudden joy, just to be stopped by Felix calling her name.

"Where are you going?"

"Into my room?" Y/N gave confused back ,wondering why he would want her to accompany him all of the sudden.

"Oh- I thought…" Felix sounded disappointed.

"Oh…" Her eyes widened and maybe she sounded a bit too harsh. "I thought you wouldn't want-"

"Nevermind." Felix barked harshly and swiftly vanished behind his own door, not even giving the girl a chance to say another word. Damn, this boy was so sensitive, his mood was constantly switching and Y/N wished to find out why he was always  so pessimistic about everything. Not now, she thought, not now. First she would eat, then she would take care of that matter. 

The boy let out an annoyed sight when he opened his door after Y/N knocked not long after she finished eating. Felix was eating the last slice of his pizza and held the empty box in his other hand.

"Why are you always coming to me?" He snarled.

"I just care about you! For god’s sake! You act so fucking mean since we came here and I wonder why." She raised her voice and knitted her eyebrows together in a serious manner

"Please don't do this." Felix moaned theoretically. "Please don't act as if you cared!"

Felix swiftly turned around and threw the empty box of Pizza aside. His fast movements caused her to flinch a little, but still she managed to remain calm.

"You don't care!" He snarled. "Nobody cares. Just leave me alone."

The tall boy did not need to turn around and give her a final glare, he made it clear that she was not wanted and no matter how much he needed her help, she respected his wishes. Y/N had really no thought to waste about him when she went straight into the bathroom to take a bath that might cool her nerves. That fucking audacity and this childish behaviour, as if Felix really meant what he was saying. They both knew he was not serious and that he was simply lying to himself about his emotions. There was no place for love in his heart after being manipulated by Pan for so long, nor  for friendship. Y/N did not care what the former second in command told himself about their friendship, it all has been a lie and a game for Pan, something to entertain him. It was worthless. His loss meant nothing, still Y/N cared how Felix felt about the betrayal of every former boy.

While she stripped off her clothes, the girl waited for the bathtub to be filled with hot water and bubbles, a metaphorical way to clean her thoughts when diving in. She should rather think about helping someone out and earn some money, so she could afford buying her own things. She splashed the water with her fingers and slowly sank deeper into the bathtub to enjoy the silence. The hot steam filled the room and when her thoughts drove off to something pleasantly, she almost forgot the time. Back in Neverland there was nothing to worry about time, the days were almost all the same and no one was there to rush someone. Things have barely changed in Storybrooke, since there was nothing to do for Y/N and the lanky lost boy, so they needed to find something to kill the time. 

It had been an eternity since the girl had taken a proper bath and maybe it was time to get out, but the hot water remained too tempting for her to step out. With a deep breath she closed her eyes and leaned back, as suddenly a door slammed shut, immediately telling her that Felix was leaving his room again. His slow footsteps definitely made their way towards the bathroom and Y/N realised that she did not lock the door. She did not really forget to lock the door, right? The girl could not recall it and to get out of the water, to check was too late, as she watched agonised how the door handle went down and the door swung wide open, causing her heart to skip a beat. The tall lost boy did not seem to notice her at first, but as soon as he entered the steamy room, Felix froze in place. His eyes widened and his face turned blank. For a long moment, they both stared at each other and Y/N felt relieved that she was at least covered by a thick foam of bubbles. 

"Fuck, sorry...I-" Felix stuttered through half open lips, as if the little sight of a girl's skin was enough to steal his voice. It gave Y/N her confidence back.

"I didn't mean to-" the boy still couldn't open his mouth while his gaze burned holes through her. It took him a moment, but suddenly Felix shook his head to ban whatever he was thinking about and shifted his eyes away, then turned on his heels to swiftly leave the bathroom. 

At least he could have closed the door, Y/N thought as she sunk deeper into the water in embarrassment. Fuck, how in the hell could she forget to close the door? At least he did not see anything, or did he? The whole situation left her frozen in place, unable to think clearly. Y/N did not even dare to step out of the water to close the door, so she just sat there, trying her best to calm down. After a while, the skin of her fingertips were already wrinkled up, leaving a rough touch on her softened skin and she finally thought about getting out of the bathtub. A long time  had passed, since Felix stepped into the bath and now the water was starting to get cold. The girl's eyes searched the room for a towel until she realised that she had washed them and now they hung in the living room. Fuck this shit.

"Felix!" She called him as loud as she could, but there was no answer. The boy did not respond until she called him again.

"What do you want?" His voice echoed through the hallway. She sounded unsure and intrigued. 

"I have a problem."

"Well now you have two." Felix yelled back.

Y/N frowned in confusion and lifted her head.

"How's that?"

"I ain't interested in your first problem."

She let out an annoyed sight and rolled with her eyes and brought her fingers to her forehead, running over her skin in a steady, relaxing movement. Why was he like that? Was it really necessary to always find a way for drama? 

"I don’t have a towel." She whined, hoping for him to bring her one. The grumpy boy did not respond again, an unbearable silence filling the apartment. Felix was there, the girl knew that he was. He had not shut his door yet, so he must be in the living room or kitchen where he would perfectly understand you.

"Felix…" She called him, already giving up that he would come and breaking her mind by finding a way to get past him. "Please."

A few seconds later she heard his footsteps come back again, the wood creaking under his weight and announcing the boy’s arrival. He did not even enter the room, instead Felix threw the towel through the open crack.

"I need to take a piss, so please hurry up!" He said rather cowardly before the footsteps led him away, then shutting the door shut. Y/N did not hesitate and got out of the water as quickly as she could, barely drying her skin before she sprinted into her own room before the former lost boy would cross her way again. 

Why did such things always happen to her? Could it not have been someone else to walk in like Emma or Mary? Of course not, destiny always found a way to punish the girl,- first Pan, now Felix. Nevertheless, the cold boy stayed inside her mind all the time. She dressed herself and got ready to snuck under the blankets. For a while she allowed herself to dream of him cuddling against her back, how his big body would feel like pressed against hers, or maybe even… on top  of her?

NO.

Fuck no, she was not having dirty daydreams of mister cold facade. There was nothing special about Felix, right? Eventually that long scar that ran over his jagged jawline and those blue, stabbing eyes fascinated her. Those  piercing eyes, that were sharp as daggers and intimidating as the gaze of a shark. There was definitely something mysterious about the former second in command, still, Y/N had told herself that she was done with adventures and risky decisions- Felix was definitely one of those,- that she could tell. He was hot, but also the biggest asshole she ever met. The former lost boy kept wandering through the apartment and distracting the girl's dreaming thoughts with each passing second. He would not leave her mind until she fell asleep.

(Next Chapter ->)

[rae-gar-targaryen]

loved you once, part two [angel reyes x fem!reader]

A/N: Muahahahaha. IT’S HERE!I know, it’s been over a month. And I’m really sorry for that. But HOLY SHIT, the traction “loved you once’ got was way more than anything I could ever have imagined or expected. I am just so grateful to everyone for reading. For the people I’ve met and gotten to know since engaging in the Mayans fandom and posting fic. Honestly, this wouldn’t exist without you.

For this part, as before I invented a tattoo and an ex-girlfriend for Angel, and I fudged the timeline a bit and added some elements from season three in here. You’ll know them when you see them. Also, if you can tell me where Frida’s date comes from, you win a cookie, and maybe a hug from me.

Part one was based on "Loved You Once" by Clara Mae, this part was definitely moreso based on "You Broke Me First" by Tate McRae. And "After Hours" by the Weeknd. Honestly, the playlist for this fic is a sad, horny mess. You wanna cry, but feel confusedly turned on by it? I may drop the link.

As always, if you want a tag in anything I write for Angel, EZ, the Mayans fandom (or anything else), please feel free to send me a message or an ask, or add yourself to the taglist (link in profile).

Pairing: Angel Reyes x fem!tattoo artist!reader (aka Frida -- as always, the appearance is ambiguous, but the reader is described as having female pronouns/parts. I do imagine a latinx reader, but I hope I’ve written this so you can imagine yourself with no restriction.); also slight Frida x other, and slight Coco x Frida.

Word Count: 23.4K (I KNOW, OKAY?) of ANGST! Half-baked simile and overbaked metaphor. Heartbreak swathed in honey-sweetness, and biting frustration. But maybe, ultimately, the balm of peace?

Warnings: ANGST, non-explicit references to infidelity, sexual references and sexual content, descriptions of sex, fingering, oral (female receiving) so 18+ ONLY, please! Canon-typical douchebaggery, references to a past relationship, song references and poetry. (It is me, so yeah, poetry). This honestly feels just like a compendium of heartbreak.

Summary: You and Angel have been broken up for a while. After the ill-fated run-in at the patch party, will you continue on as you have? Or is it the push you both needed to reconnect? Angel loved you once; will you love him again?

Read part one here.

---

It doesn't snow in Santo Padre.

It's not that you enjoyed being cold, or particularly wanted snow. But a part of you had always romanticized the concept of a “classic” winter -- the feeling of crystalline fluff tumbling from the heavens to dust your cheeks and lashes, bathing your surroundings in an ocean of chilly silver-white. Of retreating from the exterior world's glacial crispness and  into the warmth of your home, bathed in an orange-golden glow, the cinnamon-y scent of something baking. 

Of falling into the arms of your beloved, someone who would seep the chill from your bones with his warm embrace, kissing the tip of your cold nose. Who would admire the snowflakes caught in your lashes before they melted away as he presses his lips to yours. Cherishing you and cradling your cheeks as he does so, like you're the snowflake he's afraid will melt away.

But it doesn't snow in Santo Padre. Your idyllic winter fantasy is not to be. No snowflakes, no cinnamon; even the man of your reality is, in truth, much harsher than that of any winter chill you could’ve dreamt up on your own. 

In the real world, your romance with Angel bloomed, despite the dying light of mid-January. And nearly a year later, it felt like the true harshness of winter had come to your doorstep when you were, quite literally, left out in the cold. Not exactly the stuff of dreams. You know what they say, be careful what you wish for. This frigid winter was inhospitable, and worse than you could have ever imagined. 

The stinging numbness of Angel’s harsh treatment of you and subsequent departure left you with frostbitten limbs and an icy heart. 

The chill had subsided, had melted away from your bones some in the passing months... 

Until a few weeks ago. At that damned patch party that you were foolish enough to attend, despite knowing full well who would be in attendance. 

That had gone famously. 

Aneesa had come by the next day to drop off your gear, your books, and a wad of cash you’d tried to push off, but that she’d insisted was from Bishop for the night’s work. 

“So you are alive,” she’d snipped, her annoyed expression melting into one of sympathy when she’d taken in the shadowed look in your eyes, the sunken nature of your shoulders. How you’d shed your party clothes for one of Angel’s old t-shirts he’d left at your place and never come by to reclaim, something you hadn’t done in a while. And if you were honest with yourself (something you were a little afraid to be in this moment of weakness), you knew it was wildly unhealthy to still have it-- let alone to take comfort in wearing it. To want to take comfort in anything to do with Angel.

Though Aneesa hadn’t been in the room when it had all gone down, otherwise occupied with Gilly, she’d heard more than enough from Coco and EZ, Gaby standing to the side with an empathetic expression as EZ recounted how Angel had basically run you off the property in his insistence to speak to you. How you’d looked ready to burst.

You’d apologized, of course, for not responding to her texts and calls. For worrying her. She’d waved the apologies away, opting to scoop you into her signature warm embrace. But it wasn’t just Aneesa. 

The texts from that night went unanswered, despite the near-constant buzzing of your phone. 

It had nothing on the buzzing of the thoughts in your own head, replaying just what-the-fuck had happened at that party. 

“I care, Frida.”

“... and if I wanted you back?”

“Please, querida.”

Frida, this. Querida, that. Honestly, it was too much. 

You were smart to get out of there. You were right to get out of there. You’d said what you’d needed to say in that moment, even if it didn’t scratch the surface of everything you’d wanted to say to Angel since he tossed your shit in a box all those months ago.

You’d almost thought you were back in mid-winter, with the chill that had resided in your bones after you’d gone home, hands shaking and clammy with the nerves from confronting Angel. Your skin felt like it was vibrating on a different frequency. Nauseous. And as you’d slid into bed that night, all you could feel was the cavernously empty side of your bed, threatening to swallow you whole. And not for the first time did you wish it would snow. It would be warmer than the perpetual bleak chill you felt everywhere since Angel had left you.

Now, in the sweltering heat of late summer, the season’s defiant final push before it shunts away into cooler autumn, you find yourself back in your shop. Ever-grateful for central air as you watch the waxy sunshine and passersby through the glass door. 

You were  leaned over the counter, idly sketching, when the telltale ding signalled the shop’s door opening.

As you looked up and saw just who was making his way in, ever-present gentle thunk and squeak of his boots meeting the linoleum, you were struck with visions of your life a year and a half ago, when this very sight had been what started it all. 

A sight that should have been a welcome one -- your man walking into your workplace to greet you on a break with a kiss on the cheek; or, at the very least, what should have been a cherished memory -- the ineluctable meeting with the person you’d thought you’d spend the rest of your life with … all of it was tainted now by the actual sight of him walking to the counter for the first time in a long time (but not nearly long enough, given everything), hands stuffed in his pockets. His eyes were fixed on his feet as he put them one in front of the other on his way to where you stood. 

There was no easy lean on the counter. No self-confident rapping of his ringed knuckles against the hardwood. No smirking grin. 

The Angel before you was a sulking shell of the man who had blown into your life a year and a half ago with his practiced flirtation and his warm, ochre eyes. Maybe 'Clara Forever' should have been more of a red flag than you'd originally lent it. But you weren't reading between the lines then, content with perusing the beauty of the surface poetry that was the man you'd met. 

The man now? Between the lines was all you were reading. How could you trust the surface? After everything. This man was mussed hair and tired eyes, overgrown scruff and rumpled jeans you were sure he’d rolled out of bed in. Despite his disheveled appearance, your guard was still up. You knew how easily Angel slipped beneath your skin, like pin-pricking bolts of easy silk gliding seamlessly into your bloodstream, taking you over before you even knew he was wrapping you up, away, and into himself.  

To say you were grateful for the buffer the counter provided between the two of you would be a massive understatement. It may as well be Everest, because there was no damned way you were going to let him scale it and press his way even further into your day, let alone back into your life.

You were silent as you watched Angel unstuff his large hands from the pockets of his kutte and shift a little from foot to foot. You crossed your arms over your chest, flexing in your impatience, and waited for him to speak.

He looked up at you, sullen eyes meeting your shrewd ones for the first time since that night on the clubhouse porch. 

Oh. And Angel’s eyes had always held so much emotion. You knew you’d said it before, thought it before -- Angel’s feelings were his worst-kept secret, ever bubbling beneath the surface but inevitably bursting through like greenery through the cracks of stone. Spilling molten lava.

Bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve.

Today, they were glistening; but not with rage or definitive humor. You saw shame. You saw remorse. You had half a mind to tell Angel just where he could shove those feelings, and then he spoke, cracking the brittle, tense silence between the two of you with the gravelly timbre of his voice 

“You, uhhhh, got any space for me today?” You had to hand it to him, Angel’s question was unexpected; his eyes left yours to take in the  empty chairs at the back of the shop. 

You shuddered a little with your exhaling sigh, internally bemoaning the fact that you were alone to face this as you chewed over just how you could answer. Olí had gone to the bakery a few blocks down to procure some late-morning cafecito. You immediately thought of texting him, begging him to come back and save you from the inherent awkwardness of this situation. But you knew he was likely caught in the line of the belated rush. And eager to flirt with the barista.

On your own again, then. Left to battle with your own emotions, and to face the minefield that were Angel’s. To face the consequences your admittedly-childish and flippant exit the night of the party had wrought. And if you were honest with yourself, you were not ready for this. Not quite ready to face the music (music that, to you, sounded like every clichéd, sad song you’d played ad nauseum since Angel had pushed you aside, causing you to unintentionally meet the quotient of every breakup truism). 

What was it they said? Clichés are clichés for a reason? 

You pulled yourself from the mire of your own thoughts with the sluggish carefulness of a child unsticking their boots from thick mud, hating the way Angel’s eyes shone now with hopefulness as he awaited your answer. 

Was he fucking serious? 

You uncrossed your arms, sighing loudly now before you answered him.

"My books are full," you said simply, shrugging. “Sorry.” Though you clearly weren’t, your clipped words plinking through the tense air like chips of ice.

Angel looked around the empty shop, eyebrows lifting as he took in the underlying meaning to your statement. 

“You got no one in here,” he responded, trying to keep his instant and rushing frustration at the situation at bay. He’d come here to try to talk to you. To hopefully appease your mood by coming to your turf to do so. Make something easy for you. Couldn’t you see that?

You stood unmoving, studying him keenly, almost like you were wagering with yourself on just how long it would take his frustrations to boil over. 

You weren’t about to cave so easily.

“Dunno what to tell you, Angel,” he’d quirked up at the way you said his name, almost like a little puppy, and you tried not to let yet another icy shard wedge its way into your heart at his behest, slightly disgusted with yourself for how you defaulted to the desire to smooth the wrinkle from his brow, to cup his cheeks and kiss away the worry you saw behind his eyes. Even after everything, your first instinct -- your first desire -- was to nurture him. But you told yourself since the patch party that you would be resolute. 

Even if on the inside your heart was frozen, but your resolve was melting.

“My books are full,” you repeated, holding up the datebook where you kept your schedule and making a show of flipping through the obviously-sparsely scheduled pages. “No room for you here.”

The line across Angel’s quizzical brow deepend, ochre eyes hardening into a slate frown. His upper lip curled slightly in annoyance, and as he caught his breath on the inhale, you could see him physically resist the urge to snap at you. 

“A lotta white on those pages, querida,” he bit out, starting to lean forward in the direction of the counter, weight on the balls of his feet. 

You closed the pages to your datebook primly, placing it on the counter and folding your hands over where the book rested. 

“No sé a qué te refieres.” I don’t know what you mean. You gestured at the empty chair behind you. “Business is booming. Now, if you want something done, Olí has openings next week. Or I can have him call you if he has a cancellation. Other than that, I surely can’t help you,” you shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. 

You may have sounded tough -- cold and distant to your own ears, even. Angel may have been convinced. But you knew that if you looked him in the eye now, he would see the cracks in the already thin veneer that was your display of disinterest. Better to keep your head down, so to speak. Lest he see just how false your sense of bravado truly was.  

“Frida …” Angel slowly reached across the counter, holding out an arm to touch yours. 

You took a deliberate step back, just out of his arm’s reach, your eyes blazing now as he curled his fingers back and dropped his hand once more to his side. You shook your head. 

“Am I speaking something you don’t? I already said I can’t help you." You pointed to the door, “That’s your cue to go. I have a client waiting.” 

You'd had to hand it to yourself. Despite the depression-gymnastics your insides were doing, you were putting up a good front.

With that, you jabbed the finger pointing at the door, now over your shoulder at your empty chair. 

You were nothing if not adamant. Angel supposed he’d deserved that. At the very least, he’d deserved that.

Angel exhaled, rolling his eyes a little at your unwillingness to engage with him, before holding his hands up in surrender, retreating. 

Your heart was pounding in time with his steps to the exit. Were you really going to let him walk away -- keep walking away -- from you? Was he really going to say nothing else?

Angel gave you one last look before turning on his heel and making his way toward the exit of the shop. 

You don’t know what possessed you to say it. Maybe your inner masochist wasn’t done playing “Operation” with your feelings -- perhaps it was the gnarling, twisting fear you felt at seeing him walk away again, and maybe this time for good. But, as Angel reached the door, you called out,

“If you want an appointment, you’d better call first. You know what they say about walk-ins. Always risky.” 

Fuck. And you were doing so well. 

Angel glanced over his shoulder at you, full brows raised in mild surprise at your flimsy olive branch, wrapped in reference to your first meeting. He nodded mildly to acknowledge he’d heard what you’d said, his shoulders shifting beneath his kutte as he pushed the door open and walked back out into the hazy heat. 

Huh. Guess you had more to say to him, after all.  

----

"¿Flores, Angelito? ¿Para mi?" You asked in mild surprise, a little giggle bubbling from your lips as you took in the man before you with his short-sleeved flannel beneath the kutte, his thick, ringed fingers clutched around the bunched stems of an impressive-looking bouquet. 

The few dates you had been on with Angel at this point were all sweet. You’d never had much of a sweet tooth, but … there was a first time for everything. And Angel Reyes made you want to indulge. 

He had texted you the night before, asking if you'd like to meet him at the park the next day for some coffee, and maybe a walk. 

 "A walk?" You'd teased. "So old-fashioned, Angelito. Will we be supervised on this walk?" You drummed your nails against your thigh while you awaited his response, the bubbles in the corner of your screen popping up to indicate Angel was answering.

"Not the first time I've been told I needed adult supervision. But I think you're up to the task," he'd answered. Followed by a "winking" emoji.

Before you could type a similarly-cheeky response, he was typing again. A double-text.

"No need to involve anyone else in our business."

You chuckled at that. You'd give Angel Reyes that one. He certainly was charming. 

He'd met you as planned the next morning, proffering you the cluster of blooms. An unexpected gift. 

"¡Que bonita!" You accepted the bouquet, admiring the starshine sprigs of queen Anne's lace that were nestled between the soft pink pastel peonies and crisp swaths of greenery. You stood, rocking up to your tiptoes to press a kiss to Angel's cheek. "Gracias, guapo."

As you dropped back onto your feet, you took in the mildly flustered expression on Angel's face, rewarding him with another light giggle.

"Yeah, well…" Angel scrubbed his hand along the back of his neck. He had a habit of that, you noted. Was he nervous? "Seemed right, right? Since I've got flowers from you, and all.." he trailed. 

"I love them, Angel," you assured. "You didn't have to get me anything. I was just happy to have coffee with you."

On that note, you turned to the bench you had been waiting on, two cups of still-piping coffee in the little corrugated to-go carrier. You plucked one from its nest and handed it to Angel, popping the little plastic flip-top on the lip of the cup, blowing on it a tad to cool it, before handing it to Angel. 

You’d done it so seamlessly, he wondered if you truly realized what you had done, a cute little gesture of caring that -- the more he thought about in hindsight, the more he realized -- were the kind of gestures that exemplified and embodied you. He couldn’t help but stare down from his height in admiration of you.

“I assume you take it black?” you chirped. “If not, I grabbed packets,” you gestured at the little four-cup carrier, packets of cream and sweetener stuffed into one of the empty holders. 

He chuckled a bit at that, taking a small moment to admire you the moment you turned back toward the bench, your beauty in the late-morning sun as it streaked solar beams making your hair shine like a resplendent halo, the aura of it soft and reflective against the apples of your cheeks, ethereal. 

He appreciatively noted your own tattoos, streaks of ink awash against your skin and flashing beneath the ridden-up sleeves of your hoodie as you reached forward to grab your own cup from the carrier. 

You deposited the empty holder and packets into the trash, bringing your own cup to your lips and turning back toward Angel,

“Shall we?” You tilted your head toward the path encircling the park.

Angel took deep sips of his coffee, seemingly immune to the heat, and savoring the rich flavor as you walked by his side. 

Asbestos mouth, you thought, amused with yourself and your thought at Angel’s ability to slug the piping hot liquid without even flinching. 

For his part, Angel appreciated that you didn’t feel the need to compulsively fill the silence-- content to sip your respective “wake-up” cups, walking side-by-side and enjoying the sun’s tender, teasing warmth while basking in the other’s company. 

Angel didn’t know what made him say it, but in this moment, with you looking so perfect as you did, it felt like the moment to share a little piece of himself, 

“My mom used to bring me here when I was a kid, ya know?” 

You looked up at him from beneath your lashes, not breaking your stride, “That’s sweet,” you acknowledged. “I can just imagine you and Ezekiel running her ragged while you play. Do you and she ever come back here together?" 

Angel balked at your question. It struck him in moments like these, just how truly new you were to the self-contained corner of the universe that was Santo Padre, a vacuous and arid black hole that the rest of space and time forgot. It didn’t occur to him that there was anyone in town who didn’t know what had happened to Marisol Reyes. 

He stopped walking, unsure how to answer your question. You caught on to the change in pace, turning to meet him where he stood. 

“She, uh… she’s dead,” he said, softly and simply. He couldn’t deny the truth, and certainly didn’t see the point in being dishonest about it. 

“Oh,” you breathed. “Shit, Angel, I-- I’m so sorry,” you quickly wrapped your arms around him, mindful not to spill your coffee on him as you brought your hands around his waist. “I didn’t -- I didn’t mean to ask … I didn’t know.”

At first, Angel’s body had stiffened when you made contact with his torso. But he quickly relaxed into the hug, tilting his chin down to rest atop your head, bringing one arm around to gently pat your back, to reassure you that your innocent question hadn’t done any harm.

“S'okay, querida, it happened a while ago. Like you said, you didn’t know.” 

The two of you gently parted from your embrace, you leaning forward to run a reassuring hand over his bicep, genuine empathy emanating in the gesture.

“Well, this isn’t heavy at all,” as you withdrew from Angel, you hunched your shoulders at the mild discomfort you felt having brought up something painful for him. “Nothing like some light conversation on a casual coffee date,” you chuckled nervously. 

Angel had the good grace to smile at that, his easy expression a gesture of mercy on your flip-flopping conscience. 

“I mean,” you carried on, “I know you don’t know me all that well, but… if you ever want to talk, ever need anything, I’m here. I didn’t mean to dig at any old wounds,” you murmured, sincerely, but sheepishly.

“Really, querida, it’s OK,” he reassured. “I didn’t bring it up to be … depressing, or nothing... I have nothing but good memories with her here,” Angel took a long sip of his coffee, nodding at you slightly and resuming his previous pace. 

He pointed over to the swings on the other side of the large lawn, “She used to push me and EZ. Would cheer for us when we got higher. And ... if Pop was working late, and we wanted to play, she’d grab his glove and bring it to play catch with us, even if the damn thing was too big for her hands,” Angel smiled as he looked over at the lawn. “She woulda liked you, you know?” 

He nodded to himself in assurance at his own words, confident in his assessment of your character through the lens of his mother’s memory. 

Your breath caught at that, taken with the compliment. You smiled gently when Angel turned to face you again.

“It would have been an honor to know her,” you said, sincerely. “Sounds like she was a wonderful woman.”  

“She was,” Angel agreed, easily slipping his hand into yours as the two of you continued to walk, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. “I just hope I never lose that. Never forget her.”

Angel’s words gave you pause, struck with your default instinct to nurture. You were no stranger to loss. Who was, really? Not wishing that pain upon anybody, you imparted wisdom that had, in turn, been impressed upon you in your own similarly-sad moments: 

“You won’t,” you assured, taking your hand from his, trailing your fingers up his wrist and to his forearm, tracing your thumb over the sprig of rosemary you had etched into his skin a few weeks prior. “¿Por recuerdo, sí? For remembrance? You remember her in moments like these, where you share her with others. That’s not something you’ll lose, Angelito. Because she lives on in you. And your brother.” 

Angel was silent for a moment. 

Worried you had somehow overstepped -- when weren’t you feeling that way with Angel? Could you ever just mind your own business without spilling clichés like some kind of poetic dimestore vending machine, or a stale-ass fortune cookie? He hadn’t asked for you to  --

But Angel hadn’t said anything to put you down. As a matter of fact, he was just standing there… looking at you with that face again. What did that face mean?

Angel regarded you with a peachy-hued gaze of adoration, your words stirring something in him. But when weren’t they? Would everything you said always make him feel this way?  He had learned from the day you’d met, and your first date, that you were thoughtful. Generous with your thoughts and your empathy. Willing to give to others, but reserved with your own heart. 

And as he held your gaze, he was lightning-struck with the desire to make you feel safe enough to share your everything with him; wanted to kiss your pretty mouth and share every story from his life with you. Wanted to leech any pain from your pretty bones and replace it with the security of his affection. 

The thought might have scared him, if he had given them a second longer in that moment. Never before had he truly desired to share these things with another. 

You were dangerous that way, Angel decided. A real sleeper hit.

He tilted his head down, bringing his free hand to gently graze the high part of your waist with his fingertips, pressing his lips softly to yours. 

Every kiss with Angel was a novel experience, a lesson buried in a newly-cracked book you couldn't wait to turn every page of. He kissed fully, sweetly. At times, he kissed like the languid, steady pour of warm, thick syrup over waffles, overwhelming your every pore. Other times, he kissed like a bonfire -- passionate, smoky, hazy and stuttering in its fervor to reach the height of its burn. 

Now, he kissed you like honey, spliced with a crisp zing of orange zest, all sweetness and light. His hand on your waist a grounding reminder of your place on this earth beside him. But the longer you tasted it -- the heavier it became, filling you with a rush of sugary affectations, awash with your desire. 

You break the kiss to cut the cloying taste, just as much as you'd needed air.

Angel’s gaze upon you as you broke apart was heavy-lidded and weighted with some emotion you couldn’t (or wouldn’t dare, just yet) to name… his full lips dragged into a low, lazy smirk, watching as you giggled lightly, nervously. 

“So …” you trailed, making a vague gesture toward your stomach. “The butterflies. Not just a first date thing with you. Good to know,” you nodded, more to yourself than to him. 

A genuine little barking laugh escaped Angel’s lips at that, his amusement and rush of adoration for you compelling him to bend down once more and press a soft kiss to the side of your head. 

“You are something, Frida.” 

The two of you resumed your walk, you teasingly bumped your hips into Angel’s as you spoke again, 

“Since we’re sharing about when we were kids -- I always wanted to be a dancer, you know? My dad used to take me to classes. But I was… fucking awful,” you giggled. “I was better with my hands than on my feet.”

"I'm sure you are," Angel snickered, quicker than you were...

Your eyes widened when you realized what you’d said,

“I -- not like that. You know damn well what I mean,” you made a vague gesture in the air like you were holding a pen and sketching.  "You know I'm good with my hands. I freehanded that, didn't I?"

You nodded toward Angel’s arm once more.  

“Sí, sí, you’re Frida, after all,” Angel decided not to make a joke at your accidental double-entendre. “It's your hand, but it's also your eye. Your spirit.” 

And if Angel was more honest with himself -- and with you -- in that moment, he could have gone on -- “And in your heart, something inscrutable.” Not that he was one for too much, too soon with any woman.

"--But I'm sure you can dance Frida," Angel continued, gently knocking your shoulder with his own as the two of you continued to walk. 

"And how would you know that?" You teased. "I'm only left feet." As if to demonstrate your own self-deprecating point, you swung one foot behind yourself in a reverse-kick as you walked, an attempt to softly, jokingly kick Angel’s behind. But you’d woefully miscalculated the height differential between the two of you, your leg not extending high enough to reach its target, causing you to stumble and pitch off-balance. 

Angel scooped you in one arm before you could even begin to fall.

“Already tryna kick my ass? Damn, mama, I try to compliment you and this is what I get?”

Angel’s arm was warm around your waist, the result of his successful rescue to keep you from falling. Maybe you were glad with the stunt you’d pulled, if it resulted in him scooping you into his arms like something out of an old movie. 

“Yeah, well I may not be able to kick your ass now. But give me time,” your voice had taken on a breathy quality, overwhelmed by Angel’s proximity to you. “But I did tell you I couldn't dance.”

“Whatever that was aside,” Angel shrugged before replying, as simply and matter-of-factly as though he was telling you the sky was blue, “I know you’d be a hell of a dancer.” He gazed down at where you were held against him before continuing, 

"How could something about you not be beautiful?"

---

Now, you were squirming in your seat as you sat in one of your favorite restaurants in town, the familiar ambience not enough to assuage your nerves. Not only were you unused to the feeling  of the summer dress and heeled wedges you had donned for the first time in your post-Angel months, you were similarly unused to the company. 

Even if the man across from you had been the perfect gentleman thus far.

Christopher was suave, sleek in his black button-up and expensive-looking dress pants, tattoo peeking from the buttoned collar of his shirt, adorning his throat in a way you found regal. He was far too overdressed for this mid-level, casual dining. But you figured that on the first few dates, you should keep it light. A cup of coffee here, a quick lunch at a food truck there. 

The two of you had met when you were perusing your options, mulling over your selection of the perfect avocado at the supermarket. You didn’t see the man on the other side of the display, reaching for the same fruit as you, and you brushed hands. The two of you chuckled and made light conversation, and then went on your merry errand-running ways. Perhaps it would have ended there if you didn’t see him two days later at the bookstore. 

At that point, you had to say something. You took note of the novel in his hands, and by the end of the encounter, he had smoothly asked you to coffee on your next day off. You had liked his firm handshake when he had introduced himself, and the warmth behind his eyes. His smooth voice that sounded like a crime, too suave and beautiful to be legal. 

Had the whole thing been a little rom-com for your taste? Sure. 

Were you a little afraid to get out there again after the absolute shitshow the last few months had been? No shit, Sherlock. 

Were you keenly aware of the way Christopher’s dark eyes danced with mischief the same way Angel’s did? That he had the same keeled, low-pitch to his voice?

Fuck that. You weren’t going to shoot yourself (and someone else) in the foot because you were too busy lugging around heavy, distinctly Angel-shaped baggage. You resolved to give Chistopher an actual chance. 

And this was the first time you had sat down indoors together for a prolonged period. The first date-date. 

To say Aneesa was ecstatic when you told her about your plans with Christopher would be an understatement. 

“Girl, you know he’s gonna treat you. That man is smooth as hell, darling,” she called from the depths of your closet, mocking Christopher’s deep voice that you had relayed to her in your recap of the encounter, while she tossed out dress after dress in her mission to dress you in what she dubbed “the date ‘fit to end all date ‘fits.” 

She had outdone herself. You felt gorgeous.

And while there were no homemade sandwiches, and your favorite worn jeans were tucked away at home, you had to admit that Christopher was doing one hell of a job at making you feel wooed. And maybe Aneesa was right when she said that maybe “new” was a good thing.

You and Christopher had laughed your way through dinner. He didn’t talk much about his work, but was very interested in hearing about your job, and seeing photos of finished pieces from your ‘gram.

“Damn, mama, you drew that?” He asked appreciatively. “You got an eye for the beautiful things.” 

You felt heat rush through your cheeks and down across your collarbones at his words, preening beneath his smoky praises. 

"Well, I'm out with you, aren't I?" You flirted back gently, smiling into your glass of wine.

The easy smirk Christopher rewarded you with was swoon-worthy to say the least.

Who was she? You were impressed with yourself. Gone was the fumbling girl rife with awkward, unintentional double entendre that you were with Angel. This Frida was a smooth motherfucker, making a man like Chris smile.

He, in turn, showed you photos of his son, beaming with pride while he talked about his son’s winning science fair project. 

He had confided in you that, normally, talk of a kid on the first date could be a deal-breaker. 

“But you seem like the kinda woman who ain’t afraid of an up-front man,” he had said. 

If he only knew. 

As the date was winding down, Christopher gave you a kiss on the cheek as he departed the table to use the restroom while awaiting the check. 

You smiled to yourself, using the moment alone to glance down at your phone, basking in the champagne-warm, fizzy feeling of a date gone well. Of mutual attraction and reciprocal attention. When you looked up and out of the glass doors of the restaurant you saw him. The champagne feeling gone, dousing you like ice-water; as quickly and sharply as it had come, it was gone. 

And he saw you, too.

Oh fuck. 

Through the glass, Angel appraised your sundress, your makeup, your styled hair. You saw the decision on his face the moment it was made.

He fucking wouldn’t. 

Oh, but he fucking would. Ever one to place his heart before his own head, Angel reached for the handle, entering the restaurant and making a beeline for you, past the hostess stand. Until his biker boots carried him to your table, where he noted the napkin tossed on Christopher’s side of the table, the companion chair slightly pulled back.

He glanced at the empty plates on the table before raking his eyes up your crossed legs beneath the table, and up to yours, taking in the blaze resonant in your gaze. 

Fuck, you were hot when you were mad.  

Not giving him a chance to speak, you piped up first, voice hard and laced with boxcutter edges and vinegar,

“You need to leave, Angel,” you seethed. 

It was apparent to Angel, even in his slightly-tipsy haze (you hadn’t caught onto his mild impairment, thank God) just what you were trying to get him away from. You were on a date. And it wasn’t beneath Angel, he would admit, to make you sweat a little. Especially after you had brushed him off a few days ago in the tattoo parlour. Petty as fuck, and he knew it. Coco would certainly have told him so.

He pulled Christopher’s chair back even further from the table, lowering himself and spreading his legs out comfortably, leaning back in his chair, head tilted back obnoxiously to appraise you further. 

“You look good, dulce. What’s got you so dressed up and out and about on a Friday night?” He lilted his voice in a crudely teasing way, like he was mocking you for making yourself feel pretty. 

You would not let him have this one, too. Not after the shitshow of a patch party. Isn’t it funny how you could barely bring yourselves to look the other in the eyes then? Too afraid to broach feelings, content to instead skate around them with all the grace of Bambi on ice. But  this town was too small for you to hide from him for the rest of your life. And you were well-past sheepish aches and pains and trying to spare Angel's feelings; no, you were on the road to well and truly pissed.

The pulse and magnetism between you and Angel was always strong, a source of perpetual warmth for you. But it was you he had left behind, in the whispering grip of a ghost. And you? You refused to be that girl on the clubhouse porch forever. 

Now, your blazing eyes met his slightly-glazed, blasé ones.

Was he … drunk? 

Fuck this. 

“I’m not gonna tell you again, Angel,” you warned. “That isn’t your chair. You can go.”

“‘You can go,'" Angel mimicked your words, echoing what you had said to him just now, and of when he dropped by your shop. He giggled. “Bit of a broken record, Frida. Maybe I’m just here to get dinner?” 

You crossed your arms over your chest, tired of Angel’s games, and thinking that Christopher was likely due to return at any moment. 

“Then get your food. If that’s what you're here for, it has nothing to do with me. No reason for you to sit here.” 

Your usually patient nature was fading fast, the ice Angel had bestowed you with in his departure hardening your demeanor into someone he barely recognized. If he had been more himself, maybe that would have been cause for distress. But he was in petty, childish, drunk-Angel mode. The Angel his brother had often chastised him for being. The Angel his brother had laid into him for being after his behavior at the patch party, leaving you to the proverbial wolves while Andres had insulted you. The Angel who was hurt. Who tended to lash out.

That Angel ever-so-delicately chose to ignore your just-left-of-polite plea for him to leave. 

“So, you dressin’ up for dinner with Aneesa? Or … wait… is this a date, amor? You dating? Maybe I’m just tryna to talk to you?” 

A cool hand met your shoulder, a protective arm sweeping over you from behind where you sat. Christopher had reappeared, standing protectively over the back of your chair. 

“And if it is?” Christopher’s voice was smooth, even and deadly-cool in a way that made you shudder a little. 

This was all getting a little “West Side Story” for you. And you had to break it up before something worse could happen. You would not let Angel ruin the first date you had been on since him. Let alone the first decent date. 

“It’s OK, Christopher. Angel was just leaving,” you nodded at him in what you’d hoped was a reassuring manner. For his part, Christopher didn’t flinch at Angel’s antics, and didn’t remove his arm from the back of your chair. 

“C’mon, Frida. I told you, I just wanted to talk. You can’t give me a few minutes?” Angel’s voice had lost its teasing demeanor, bald and glaring. 

You glanced between Angel and Christopher, now thoroughly uncomfortable with the trajectory this night had taken. If Aneesa ever asked, this would be one of the top reasons you’d choose not to date in a small town. Who's dick didn't you step on when you left your house?

You opened your mouth to answer, to politely brush Angel off and resume your date with Christopher, when Christopher surprised you by speaking first. 

“Do you want to talk to him, mama?” Christopher’s arm was still resting reassuringly on your shoulder. You glanced between the two again, unsure of what to say. 

Your pause seemed to be enough for Christopher, taking in the raw emotion behind your eyes as you looked at the slick, kutte-wearing man that was in his seat. Your hesitation and apparent emotion filling in the gaps about just who this person must be to you. 

“Tell you what, darling,” Christopher said, sharp eyes never leaving Angel’s as he spoke to you, “I gotta take a quick call,” Christopher gestured to the sidewalk beyond the glass doors. “I’ll be right out there, give you a few minutes. But if he doesn't leave when you want him to,” he looked directly in Angel’s eyes now, “I’ll be back. I owe you dessert, anyway.” 

You swallowed heavily at Christopher’s words, a kind of sick relief washing over you as you nodded. Was he just that understanding? The demeanour around him had an air of what you would describe as … deadly. While his words were a balm to you, they were clearly a threat to Angel. But maybe that was just you being too dramatic. He was a smooth-talker, is all. 

Christopher took your nod as acquiescence to his compromise, pecking a quick, light kiss to your cheek and striding casually toward the door. The absence of his warm arm now rendering you unpleasantly naked beneath Angel’s gaze. 

“Weeeeeell,” Angel drawled, turning to look over his shoulder, eyes following Christopher as he strode just to the other side of the glass. “That’s who you’re going out with? He. Seems. Nice. Cheerful, too. You sure know how to pick ‘em, querida.”

“Is that really a joke you wanna be making, Angelito?” You sneered. “What the fuck do you want?” 

“I told you,” Angel said lightly. “To talk.” 

You sighed, rubbing your temples, carelessly dropping the napkin that had been resting on your lap on the table, a not-so-subtle white flag. You looked pointedly at Angel, urging him to continue. 

“I meant what I said at the party,” Angel started.

Strike one, Angelito. Mentioning the party was not the way to go. 

“Which part did you mean?” You asked, voice taking on a tinge of faux-sweetness. “The part where your hand practically up some girl’s ass the entire night? Or the part where you let that guy shit-talk my work? Or maybe it was the part where after all that, you cornered me with nobody around to tell me you loved me?”

Angel flinched. 

“I deserve that,” he said. 

Strike two. Too little, too late. 

“You deserve more than that, Angel,” you chastised. “And now you’re still trying to take from me. Date-crashing? You tryna fuck this up for me, too? Haven’t you done enough fucking? So, what is it about me that says you can walk all over me? Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone?” 

Shit. You’d said it at the party, and you were telling yourself again now -- you would not cry in front of Angel. So, why were there hot little slivers poking the corners of your eyes? Your heart felt heavy, sick. It was getting to be a familiar sensation -- like a friend who showed up to crash at the worst possible time. 

The appearance of your tears was sobering to Angel. He reached toward your side of the table in an attempt to brush your hand, to offer you some kind of comfort, even though he was the one you wanted to be comforted from. 

“No, Angel,” you wiped your cheeks and placed your hands in your lap, out of his reach.  “Why aren’t you listening to me? You tell me. How much more could you possibly take from me? There's nothing left,” you shuddered, sucking uneven air between your teeth before gesturing at his state. “I don’t care if you’re drunk, I don’t care if you’re broken. You can’t just walk in here like nothing, trying to tell me the same shit that didn’t land the first time. To what?  To give you my heart back when y-you broke it -- broke me -- first? Is that what you wanted to talk about?” 

Angel was stunned. But, as is the default, Angel deflected. His genuine remorse at your words buried beneath his childish need to lash out, like a child buries toys in a sandbox to spite the friend he won’t share with. 

“That's why you're out with that … What was his name? Chad? Tim? Awfully shiny duds that dude had on,” Angel continued, “He's so… not me."

Strike. Fucking. Three. 

"Possibly one of his best qualities," you snipped, venomously. “But this isn’t about him, and don’t act like it is. You keep trying this thing where you just want me to hear your broken record bullshit about how you want me back, how you wanna talk. But then you don’t say any shit of substance  And you certainly don’t hear a goddamn word I say back to you. That tells me you aren’t really ready to talk. And you don’t give a shit if I’m ready, either,” you bit. “I tried, Angel. To tell you a little bit of what I’m feeling? You don’t wanna hear it. You just want me to hear you -- even if you say nothing.”  

A little flurry of movement caught the corner of your eye, turning your head to see the waiter hovering awkwardly, clearly confused that the man sitting across from you was not the man he had seen you with all evening. 

You pushed back from your seat, standing and beckoning for the waiter to come over. 

"He's got the check," you gestured at Angel. 

You patted Angel’s leather-clad shoulder as you walked past him, toward the door. “Thanks, amor. Real classy of you, paying for a girl’s date, and all.”

Ice cold. 

You walked out of the restaurant as Christopher hung up his phone, turning to see the door swinging shut behind you, and you walking toward him. His sharp brow arched questioningly at your sudden appearance, opening his mouth to ask about the bill. 

“It’s taken care of,” you breezed before he could ask, “Let’s go. You said something about ice cream?” You looped your arm through his as the two of you made your way down the block. 

Inside the restaurant, Angel’s phone buzzed with a text from Coco asking him where the fuck he was, and what the fuck he was doing. 

But his mind was swimming. The verbal truths you’d laid into him wriggling beneath his skin to take residence in the part of his brain that kept him up at night. 

He looked down at his texts again. He honestly didn’t know how to answer. 

---

Then, after a bad night, there was nothing more you wanted than to see Angel, his presence always a balm to your frazzled nerves. His easy, (at times) childlike demeanor was refreshing, and brought a light into your day that you now realized had been long missing before you had moved down here. 

You were sitting on the couch in your living room, feet up on your coffee table, wearing your favorite joggers and oversized tee, the epitome of comfort. 

You had a crappy reality TV show on in the background while you tilted your head back, sheetmask on, the cooling gel seeping into your pores. Cleansing your face and your soul.  

You had texted Angel to come over. After this shit-show of a day, you could use the company. You understood it was late. You understood he may not be able to come over right away -- club shit. And wasn’t there always?

“Hasta pronto, Frida,” his last text had read. See you soon. 

That was over 45 minutes ago. You were antsy. You’d had a long day. Some dude at a consultation had rubbed you the wrong way -- the two of you not communicating your respective ideas together well. The idea that your artist’s brain couldn’t match his vision to deliver something itched at you, wrinkled your brain. You’d had no choice but to refer him to Oli. On top of that, he’d been leery with you. 

Your hands were tired, the fine bones in your fingers aching. And you sure as shit didn’t want to answer any more emails or DMs. You just wanted to lie here, sheetmask on. Unbothered. Your boyfriend’s presence would be a bonus, but he was late.  

Somewhere between your next episode of “90 Day Fiancee” and your umpteenth sigh, you heard it -- the telltale rumble of Angel’s bike making its way down your otherwise quiet street. 

At the gentle rap on your door, you solidified your puddle of comfortable bones long enough to slip off of your couch and make your way down the hall, unlatching it and opening the door, only to be greeted with the rapidly-horrified face of your boyfriend.

“Jesus fuck!” Angel yelped. 

Your body jolted at the shock of his shout, hand coming to your chest. 

“Sorry, Frida, didn’t mean to scare you, but…” he gestured at your face. “What the fuck is that?”

Oh. 

You brought your hand up to where the silvery-grey sheetmask was still resting atop your skin. You sighed, peeling the mask from your face slowly, revealing your dewy skin beneath. 

“Sorry about that,” you chuckled, your heartbeat returning to normal.

You turned and made your way back down the hall, beckoning for Angel to follow, which he did, shutting the door of your place behind him. 

“Sorry about that,” you called over your shoulder as you tossed the mask in the trash beneath your sink. “I kinda forgot it was there.”

“Not for nothing, Frida, but that’s a hell of a home defense system.”

At the question in your eyes, Angel continued, kicking his boots off and shuffling his way into your living room. 

“If any serial killer ever shows up to fuck with you? All you gotta do is answer the door like that. He’ll think another murderer is already here,” at that he sucked air thorugh his teeth like Hannibal Lecter. “Hellooooo, Clarice,” he mimicked, laughing at his own joke and popping the button on his jeans to make himself comfortable as he slouched on the couch. 

“Bien,” you agreed, between a flurry of giggles. “Too many cooks in the kitchen, and all that. Brilliant, Angelito.” 

You popped open your freezer to grab your jade roller, subsequently grabbing Angel a beer from the fridge. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Angel called from the other room. “Club shit ran long. Plus, you sounded kinda down when you messaged me. So I had to make a stop.” 

You peeked into the living room in time to see Angel pull a crinkling plastic bag of mini peanut butter cups from the deep pocket of his kutte, plopping the bag onto the coffee table. “I come bearing gifts.” 

You smiled to yourself in the kitchen, pleased as punch with Angel’s thoughtful gesture. You popped the cap on Angel’s beer, turning to bring the drink to him, simultaneously rolling the jade over your face in your other hand. 

“Gracias, amor,” he accepted the beer from you. “What’s this now?” He beckoned at the roller in your hands.

“It’s to help rub the product from the mask into my skin, plus it’s nice and cold -- keeps my face from getting puffy,” you explained. 

“I don’t understand why you females think you need alla that shit,” he said, taking a sip of your beer, turning his attention to your TV. Not that he would ever admit it, but he was following along the trainwreck of season six of “90 Day Fiancee” with you. Had his own couples he loved to hate. 

“We females,” you emphasized, “just aren’t afraid to prioritize self care, unlike you big, bad bikers. Seriously, Angelito, when was the last time you washed your face with something other than hand soap, or --” you gave an exaggerated shudder to drive home your point, “that shitty 16-in-one body wash/engine oil I know you keep in your shower.” 

Angel gave your shoulder a teasing little shove, ”Man, shut up. I bring you chocolate, and this is how you treat me?” 

Flirtation and sexual chemistry come easy to Angel. He was always blessed with an easy social grace, and women seemed to eat up the flirtatious attention. But anything more serious, and he becomes a blushing little boy, all shuffling feet, nervous smiles and awkward stuttering. There was some of that with you, he wouldn’t lie. But with you? Everything had a way of feeling so natural. 

“Oh, gracias, beautiful, generous, benevolent Angelito, god among men,” your voice was dramatic, teasing, you mocked bowing to him. 

“Okay, that’s enough outta you,” you grabbed your wrist, tugging you into his lap, tracing tickling fingers up your sides, causing you to writhe, shrieking through chiming laughter.  

Angel’s beer long-abandoned on the coffee table, your jade roller now dropped somewhere on the floor, you gazed into Angel’s face from your place reclining across his lap, chest heaving with the exertion of being tickled and laughing too much. 

For his part, Angel was looking down at you, brow softened in fondness for the woman before him, lightly trailing his hand along your cheeks. 

No one was laughing now, and the noise of the TV became an unimportant, staticky hum somewhere in the background to the moment you and Angel found yourselves in. 

You don’t know how you ended up beneath Angel on your couch. You were even less certain just when the two of you had absconded with your clothes. 

All you knew was that the heavy drag of him inside of you was resplendent, beyond words. Was it always like this with him?

And you? You were a brazen little thing, all gasping moans and dragging fingernails, urging Angel on with pleas and fluttering lashes. Your dedication to marking Angel’s back was admirable, and it’s not like he could honestly say he minded. He’d bear the battlescars of a night with you for eternity, if he could. 

As Angel thrust into you, all you could think about -- beyond the heated urgency of the way he was making you feel, was that he was perfect. 

The two of you basked in the after, awash in the blue-white glow of the TV screen still playing before you, skin now slightly sweaty and glistening in its own right, catching your breath together. The synchronicity of it all … music to you. 

You were both unfocused in your respective gaze’s on the television, just content to lie next to one another. Angel was stretched out on the couch behind you, unwrapping peanut butter cups, handing them to you piece by piece. This last one, he had pressed directly to your lips, which you had wrapped around the tips of his fingers, tongue following, as you accepted the candy. 

“Don’t start, Frida. I don’t know that I have the strength,” Angel said, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“Just once more, Angelito? You know I’ve had a hard day,” you hmm’d. 

“Evil woman,” he chuckled, reaching for you again. 

“You love it,” you gasped at the feeling of his fingers making their way once more to your center. 

“Yeah,” he rasped, eyes trained on your face as he played your body. “I fuckin’ do.”

Somewhere between rounds two and three, you had managed to talk Angel into wearing a face mask of his own, promising that he would “feel so much better for it.” 

He had acquiesced, of course, never able to tell you no. But made you promise under pain of death that you would never reveal that he had done something so girly to any one of his brothers.

You had agreed, but taken out your phone to snap a quick pic. Angel shirtless, tattoos illuminated against his skin in the ambient lighting of your living room, with a sheet mask on his face was too good not to capture.

“I swear, Frida,” he began, mock-threateningly, “If that ends up on the ‘gram…”

You shook your head. 

“Don’t worry, Angelito. This one’s just for me. And… maybe for Coco, if I’ve had enough tequila.” 

So, the butterflies… Always gonna be there with you, huh?

---

A few days after your date, Coco had texted you. 

“Leti needs a ride to work on Tuesday, and I have a yard shift. I hate to ask, but can you take her?”

“Sure,” you’d agreed. Following up with another message, “Do I pick her up from your place?” 

“She’s coming with me to the yard. She likes to hang in the office with Chucky,” he’d responded. 

Well, shit. 

If you’d known that this favor had come with the condition that you return to the yard -- to anywhere within the vicinity of that god-forsaken clubhouse, you probably would have refused. But you knew Coco was struggling to balance his club life with his relationship with his daughter. And you liked Leti. 

“You got it,” you responded. Cringing to yourself at just how you were going to pull this off and get out of there without anyone else talking to you. But texting Coco back to ask who else was on the yard shift with him would be too obvious. And kinda rude. He knew who you were hoping to avoid. 

Not much got past Johnny “Coco” Cruz.

So, Tuesday afternoon found you rolling over to the yard, hoping to swoop Leti and make a quick getaway. 

Luck, like time, was a bitch of a woman. And never seemed to be on your side in the keen moments you’d hoped she would be. Because as you pulled your car into the dusty lot abutting the scrapyard, who do you see?

Coco, in his snapback and yard uniform, was laboring with a large piece of metal. Ezekiel appeared to be fluttering in and out of the clubhouse, the clinking of glasses from inside reaching your ears when the door opened. 

Angel and … of fucking course … Andres were across the yard from Coco, standing over a junker and exchanging words. 

You sighed, rolling your shoulders and steeling yourself for whatever this was about to be as you got out of your car. 

The sound of your door opening and shutting was enough to draw nearly every eye in the yard to you, Angel freezing in his spot from the other side of the lot

As you began to stride over to where Coco was standing, EZ bound down from the clubhouse steps, intercepting you and greeting you with a warm hug. You smiled easily at the younger Reyes brother, holding your hand up to your eyes to shade your face as you looked up at his smiling face, him already talking to you a mile-a-minute.

From across the yard, Angel observed the interaction. After you’d met the club initially, and met EZ, Angel was content to say that he could appreciate how well you got along with everyone. How well-liked you were by each of the men, especially his brother. 

You two discussed literature, art, and liked to talk shit to each other, friendship in its purest form. Somewhere between Faust and the floodgates, Angel had watched on as you spilled over in your excitement speaking to EZ. Faust and Proust. Did Angel know what -- or was it who?? -- the fuck a "Faust" was? No. But he'd drown himself in literary references that already made him feel over his head if it meant he got to sit back and just take in how well you'd gelled with his family, with Ezekiel. In another life he supposed he'd be jealous that you had so much in common with his brother. But you didn't look at Ezekiel the way you looked at him. 

Even Angel could see it. And if he couldn’t, Coco was quick to remind him. 

“She only got eyes for you, mano,” Coco had told him, quietly, resolutely. 

EZ had left you now, gone back to the clubhouse for something. As you made your way to Coco, hugging him in spite of his obvious hesitance. 

Angel heard him protest against your attentions -- “I’m covered in grease, ma.” 

You’d hugged him anyway. He’d melted into your embrace, smiling softly. Angel had confided to Coco that he had seen you a few days ago on a date. Coco’s eyes had clouded over with something as Angel spoke, but passed through his features quickly, like a summer storm, before clearing. Resuming listening to Angel. The conversation… hadn’t gone well. 

“Back again, huh?” Andres had said from Angel’s side, gesturing lightly to where you stood with Coco. He nudged Angel’s side. “You taking another crack at that?” 

Angel ignored his question. 

“I think she’s here to pick up Coco’s kid,” he said simply, turning his attention back to the junker. Choosing to stay out of the situation, as Andres had left the car and was now striding across the lot to you.

“No hug for me, jaina?” 

You’d frozen in place at the voice behind you, Coco’s quicksilver eyes darting to over your shoulder, where Andres now stood, narrowing at the man’s question. 

You recovered quickly.

“Sorry,” you breezed, turning to face Andres. Noting the way his panther tattoo peeked out from the tank the man was wearing. You would never say you hated any piece you did, per se. But you weren’t about to post this one, wanting no association with it, or the man who bore it. Even if it was perfectly fine work. “Coco really was covered in grease. It’s pretty gross. I think I’m good,” you diverted, nudging Coco’s ribs and smiling to ease the tension. 

Andres shrugged, the blow to his pride obvious in the way his face twisted and his eyes narrowed at how closely you stood to the lithe ex-military man next to you. 

Coco eased through the conversation, patting your arm comfortingly, his eyes finding yours as he spoke, “I’mma go get Leti, OK? I’ll be right back.” 

You were a little distraught at the idea that Coco would leave you with this man, knowing how he had spoken to you before. But you supposed if he could hurry this interaction along and go get his daughter, it might not be so bad. 

“So,” you turned, schooling your facial features into a mask of cool indifference as you faced Andres, who was now addressing you. “We didn’t get to finish what we started the other night,” was all he said.

“Didn’t we?” You asked, tilting your head, nodding toward Andres’s tattoo. “I think we finished. It healed nicely.”

Andres rolled his eyes a little at you, as though you were slow. 

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” He took a step toward you. 

Was this guy for real? Was he not getting it, or did he just not care?

You took a step in kind back from Andres, your anger flaring. “So what did you mean?” you asked. “You mean the bit before I gave you free ink, where you insulted my work? Or the bit after I gave you free ink, where you just insulted me?”

You could see the faint twitch in Andres’s face as you called him out. His patience clearly wearing thin. A man not used to hearing no when it was told to him. 

“That’s what I always liked about you,” he gritted out, smiling fakely, “you got that reaaaal fiery attitude. Not just any guy would put up with it,” he said, as though he was trying to give you advice.

“I dunno what you mean by ‘always,’” you said, politely, your own fake smile screwed into place. “If you excuse me, I’m gonna go find Leti.” 

As you made to leave, Andres lunged forward, gripping your wrist. 

"You really don't remember me?" Andres pressed, "C'mon, chiquita, don't be like that."

"I really don't," you snipped, whipping your wrist out of his grip. You were a little shorter with him than you usually were with people, even in your more frustrated moments. But he really was pissing you off. "Sorry if that's a blow to the ego, or whatever, but I didn't really make it a habit of looking at other guys when I was with someone else."

Andres snorted, tone no longer teasing, eyes dark and flat. You turned to face him again at the undignified sound he had made, noting his cool, angry features. 

"If only that 'someone else' had shown you the same courtesy," he snarled, swatting at your wrist now instead of reaching for it. 

"Hey, man, leave her the fuck alone." You turned to see EZ and Coco striding across the yard with Leti in tow, making their way toward you. Out of the corner of your eye, Angel was also making his way over, shoulders tense. 

EZ turned to you, taking in your crestfallen expression and the way you were suddenly very interested in your shoes. 

"You okay, hermanita?" EZ asked, large hand gentle on your shoulder. 

You nodded, sheepishly. Hating the way you seemed so small in that moment. This man was nothing, to you, or otherwise. And he’d managed to make you feel like you were nothing, too. 

You tried to find your voice again as you spoke, quiet at first, “Andres was just apologizing to me for the way he was rude at the patch party,” you turned to look at him, your eyes blazing now, “weren’t you?” 

Coco snorted. 

Andres narrowed his eyes, glaring at Coco, who held up his hands as if to say, “what can ya do?” 

“Best apologize,” Coco rasped, now pulling on a cigarette that seemed to have materialized from nowhere. “One does not fuck with Frida,” Coco exhaled. “Unwise, mano.” He gestured to you, “She’s got that scary tia energy.” 

EZ’s hand was still resting protectively on your shoulder as you crossed your arms over your chest, waiting for Andres’s apology, now that you’d put him on the spot in front of his brother. Angel watched the entire exchange like a snake coiled to strike.

He knew he had fucked up by not saying shit as Andres dug at you at the patch party. It had been roiling beneath his skin, his blood bubbling and waiting to burst forth. Waiting for a chance to put the fucker in his place.  

“Yeah,” Andres gritted through his teeth, fake smile ready to crack at any moment. “Sorry about that. Too much to drink, and all.” His voice was flat. Devoid of any real remorse, as you knew it would be. 

“It’s alright,” you shrugged. “I hope you enjoy the ink. It’s the last you’ll be getting from me.”

Andres’s eye twitched before the dam broke on his childish rage, “Why you gotta be such a fuckin’ bitch? No wonder Angel fucked around on you -- that smart-ass mouth is gonna get you slapped.” 

He made to step toward you again, EZ and Coco stood before you, protectively, blocking you from Andres’s approach.

But Andres could reach you, Angel had gripped his shoulder, turning him around and landing a punch square to his jaw.

“Man, what the fuck,” Andres swore, spitting a wad of blood at the toe of Angel’s boot. “What the fuck did you hit me for?” 

Angel cracked his knuckles, shaking his wrist and his hand out from the impact of his hit to Andres’s face, readying himself to strike again if he needed to.

“You don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that,” he squared up, shoving Andres in the shoulder. “Listen to me, new patch. I’ll explain the rules -- you don’t look at her. You don’t talk about her. You don’t even think about her.” 

Angel’s shoulders were heaving as he worked himself up more, stalking toward Andres, like a jungle cat, coiled muscle beneath his skin ready to unleash. 

“Nod so I know you understand,” he bellowed in Andres’s direction, pointing a thick finger accusingly into his face, rewarded with Andres's curt nod.

EZ gently removed himself from your side, coming to grab Angel and whisper into his ear, calming him.

“Hey, man,” EZ reasoned, “Now’s not the time. You guys can settle this later. Cage.” 

Angel nodded, breathing heavily through his nostrils and willing himself to calm down as he turned to you, locking eyes with you again, only to be met with an imperceptible look on your face. Had he fucked this up even further now? You had never looked at him like that.

You shook your head, breaking the moment and stepping from behind Coco to go meet Leti where she was standing a comfortable distance away from the whole scene. 

“We gotta go,” you said, hurriedly grabbing Leti’s hand and marching off toward your car with the girl in tow. 

You buckled yourselves in and drove away from the lot in a cloud of dust. Hoping you could just leave it all behind. The further you got from the gates, the easier you could breathe. You drove in silence, as Leti watched you, assessing. Before she broke the silence. 

"We all miss you, you know," Leti said, softly, from her place in the passenger seat. "Just because Angel let you go doesn't mean we wanted to lose you, too. And fuck Andres. He’s a fuckin’ clown."

Leti's words were a wave of molten-hot guilt washing over you, burning your synapses and hardening over any residual anger and sadness you'd felt over the confrontation that had just happened. You knew some of what Leti had been through. How she, so like yourself, was reticent to form bonds with new people. How she'd routinely felt abandoned by those she let herself care about -- and you felt you'd now done the same.

"I'm so sorry, Leti," you implored, looking into the girl’s doe eyes, flecked with amber-gold and layered with wisdom and emotion. Her gaze heavy and so like her father’s. Nothing slipped past them. "I never meant to hurt you, to leave you."

"I-it's just … I miss you, is all," she murmured, twisting her long hair around her finger. "I know EZ misses you. He talks about you all the time. And … and my dad, too. Coco doesn't talk about it alot, but I think that says more than if he tried to put it in words. I know for a fact he misses you. Was pretty pissy with Angel for a while after everything went down." 

You smiled gently, leaning forward across the console to give Leti a soft hug.

“I really am sorry, Leti. I promise I’ll be around more,” you broke the hug, rubbing her arm as you pulled away. “You and Coco are welcome to come over for dinner anytime. I’ll cook for you. Just tell Coco no smoking in the house, cierto? And don’t tell Coco I said so, but you can come hang with me in the shop, if you want. Been slow lately. You can come do homework someplace quiet..” 

She chuckled lightly, nodding and promising to text you about coffee plans as she got out of the car.

You mulled over Leti’s words as you drove away. Maybe cutting everyone other than Aneesa out flatly wasn't the way to go. It's possible you had made a mistake there, though it's not like Leti hadn't confirmed that she understood why you did what you did. And it's not like other people wouldn't have done the same in your shoes. Even still, perhaps re-cracking open the "Angel" chapter of your life had its benefits, if only to once more let in the friends you had made along the way. 

Your departing words to Leti ringing in your ears long after you’d parked at home,

"I'll reach out to the guys more, too," you confirmed. "I didn't mean to leave everyone hanging."

I know you, you're like this. When shit don't go your way, you needed me to fix it.

And like me, I did, but I ran out of every reason.

---

The cracks of the next morning’s light streaming through the slats on his window were barely perceptible to Angel in his haze. The kind of stupor that comes when you’ve effectively straddled the line between two worlds -- Angel reluctantly bids farewell to the gentle caress of sleep, even if it was imperfect and restless; and begrudgingly greets the world of the waking, frowning beneath a heavily-furrowed brow at the grey-orange sun. 

Through the warming beams of light that streamed in isolated splashes across his skin and the bedspread, he could still imagine, half in dreams, that the warmth was you curled beside him, all soft curves, your thigh slotted between his, your sleep-mussed hair, his shirt riding up your form just so as you snoozed, and oh, your sweet, half-awake smiles. But the alternating cool spots of shade from the slats were the chilly reminder of your absence, of the ghost of your touch long gone cold. And as Angel shook himself more evermore awake and into the latter world, he wished he could return to the amorphous and hazy, staticky embrace of his dreams. 

Where life was a little more kind. Where there was a little more you. You were haunting him. Did memories, both experienced in your past together and the hypothetical potential “memories” of an unmet future, plague you, as well? Never to be? Did you dream of him? Or was he your nightmare? He supposed he’d never know, and knew had given up the right to ask. 

Put myself to sleep, just so I can get closer to you inside my dreams ...

It was a truth that was bitter, acrid, and hard to swallow. Or was that just his morning breath? Angel licked his lips, tasting the post-sleep stale dryness on his tongue, pushing himself out his side of the bed and toward the door -- for coffee or his toothbrush, he hadn’t decided. But the need to make a decision was cut short with an unexpected event-- 

A pounding at his door. Three raps from a heavy fist on the other side of his shitty apartment’s excuse for a door.

“Angel!” The shout through the wooden barrier that followed the persistent banging was unmistakably his obnoxious younger brother, come to pester him about what had gone down yesterday. Likely with a peace offering of some sort, as was EZ’s way. 

Angel sighed, rolling his neck to both sides until he was satisfied with the resulting crack, not bothering to tug on a shirt or socks as he padded his way through the cool, empty apartment. 

He fixed his signature scowling look of annoyance that EZ was so accustomed to to his face before swinging open the door. 

One of EZ’s bearpaw-like fists was still raised, fixed to rap against the door again if necessary. The other clutched a carrier with two to-go cups of coffee from EZ’s favorite shop. The one down the street from yours. The one with the cute barista. 

EZ, for his part, looked a little sheepish at the exaggeratedly grumpy look on his older brother’s face, his gilded, mossy eyes widening in a show of good-natured surprise. He recovered quickly, shouldering his way into Angel’s apartment, placing the to-go carrier with Angel’s coffee on his coffee table and flopping on one end of Angel’s couch, the leather giving a groan beneath his weight.

“By all means, bro, make yourself at fuckin’ home,” Angel groused, smacking his lips and turning to swipe the cup of coffee off of the table. 

“You’re welcome,” EZ smarted, eyebrows raised at Angel guzzling the fresh coffee like the heat was nothing. What was it you had called it?

Ah, asbestos mouth. EZ had heard the moniker pass through your lips on more than one occasion and found it to be apt as applied to his taciturn older brother. 

“So,” Angel said between sips of nuclear caffeine. “What? Any particular reason you’re banging on my door at ...” Angel trailed off, clearly unsure what time it actually was. 

“At 11:00 a.m.?” EZ supplied, sarcastically, “You’re right, Angel. It’s practically dawn.” 

“Man, shut up,” Angel groused, “What do you want?” 

“Who says I want anything,” EZ asked?

“This coffee’s got a string attached to it,” Angel shrugged, shuffling over to the couch and sitting a respectable distance from his annoying younger brother.

“We gotta talk about yesterday,” EZ supplied, finishing his sentence over Angel’s exaggerated groan and eye-rolling. 

“Wasn’t the point of yesterday that it’s done, little brother?” 

“Between you and Andres, maybe,” EZ said. “But not between you and me. After that shit you pulled at brunch with Gaby a few days ago, and now this, with Frida...” 

Angel took another sip of his coffee, his annoyance doubling at the increasingly lighter weight of the cup in his hands and at his brother’s pestering. 

“So, what? You wanna try and beat the shit outta me, too?” Angel asked. “Didn’t work out so well for Andres, did it?” 

“Look, Angel, I’m not trying to say I understand why you did what you did, fucking with Frida and Adelita. Because I don’t. And I gotta be honest -- after how yesterday went down, I understand it even less. And Coco agrees with me --”

“Oh, great,” Angel rolled his eyes, cutting his brother off. “You gotta stop going to the Church of Coco, man. What’d he tell you this time?” 

“That you’re fucking your way through your pain,” EZ parroted, mimicking Coco’s signature throaty breeze, “and you won’t stop until you feel something,” he shrugged, resuming his normal voice as he continued. “I don’t know about alla that, but --”

"It was too … domestic," Angel cut EZ off, shaking his head, more at himself than his brother. "Can you really see me with all that shit? Drinking coffee in bed together on a Sunday morning until we're old? Nah, bro … that ain't me. Adelita, the chaos. That's me." 

"It could be you, Angel," EZ protested. "The only person saying you can't have the Sunday coffee life is you."

“I'd just… I'd just fuck it up,” Angel sighed, dropping his forehead into his palm, his elbow on his knee. 

EZ continued drinking his coffee, pausing before delivering the blow. 

“I got news for you, bro,” he said between his prim little sips. “You did fuck it up.” 

Angel tch’d in annoyance at his brother, carding his hands through his hair and smoothing the thick strand that seemed to always threaten to fall over his eyes. For good measure, he tossed EZ that wicked side-eye only that only Angel and his mother had ever been able to truly perfect. 

“You think I don’t know that? You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

Angel takes another pull of his coffee, now just the overly-concentrated dregs at the bottom of the cup, lightly grimacing at the beverage’s bitterness. EZ knew Angel took his coffee black, of course it would be the kind of thing his little brother would remember. But, in truth, given the way this conversation was turning, the literal sensation of bitterness on his tongue was almost too much for Angel to bear. He’d almost preferred it if EZ had forgotten his order -- watered the drink down with cream and (dare he say it?) sugar, and called it a day. Because at least it would be easier to swallow than the harsh truths and bile that were currently stewing inside of Angel, waiting to be given a voice. And it didn’t seem that EZ was in any kind of charitable mood when it came to pulling punches, either. 

Angel took in his brother’s profile from his perched place at the end of the couch: EZ’s legs were spread in a show of comfort, but shoulders tensed, like he was waiting to fight Angel every step of the way, no matter where this conversation was headed. Angel supposed he’d deserved that. 

For as fiercely protective as little Ezekiel was of his big brother, he was -- annoyingly so -- protective of the woman he’d dubbed his hermanita. A soft spot for you, the artsy girl with ink-stained fingers who would press lent books into his baby brother’s hands insistently, all the books you could bear to part with. Always there for Ezekiel with a patient ear and arms that would do their best to wrap around his broad shoulders. 

 Angel was struck again with the heavy weight-- the sinking stone in his gut that -- in theory-- should pull him to the bottom of the river he found himself awash in. Drowning is a sort of grounding, yes? But no… he just drifted further and further down the bank, carried in the foaming rapids by the pressing weight of his choices. In addition to that weight, his guilt prickled. Once again with the realization that his decisions had affected not only his love with you, but your relationship with Ezekiel, as well. How incredibly short-sighted he'd been with it all, playing fast and loose with the lives of everyone he'd loved.

Angel sighed before he spoke again, 

“No one ever tells you, do they?” EZ perked up at that, looking at his brother with his brows furrowed in puppylike-confusion. 

“No one ever tells you just how insecure it all makes you feel,” Angel supplied. “Love. They write a million songs about how perfect it all is -- how it’s supposed to be some kind of divine answer. Birds singing, an’ shit. Or they talk about how it rips your fuckin’ heart out, but they…” Angel pauses to chuckle, “They never tell you how when you’ve got it, you feel both so… happy it’s yours. But terrified at the same time that it never. Really. Belongs to you.” 

He shook his head, meeting his brother’s eyes again, his own swimming with the glimmer of emotion long-kept down. EZ leaned across the couch, placing a warm hand on his brother’s shoulder, nodding at him in acquiescence, encouragement to keep going. 

“I-I know what I did, and I know everyone wants an answer… Why did I do it? Why-why did I let it all go down like that? But what answer would ever be good enough? I hurt her, and that’s the end of it. I was fuckin’ stupid, all because I was scared. I had her, and I knew I shouldn’t have had her at all. And I’m just so fuckin’ … sorry.” 

He sighed, breath shuddering. Opting to fill the now-still air in his apartment with another bitter slug of shitty coffee while EZ pondered what to say in response. 

EZ shifted on the couch, leather creaking beneath him as he weighed what to tell his brother. 

“I- I don’t know what the answer here is, Angel,” EZ finally admitted. “I get that it’s scary. Fuck yeah, it is. But that’s no excuse --”

“I know that,” Angel snapped. 

EZ held his hands up in surrender, placating the red dragon-heat that was his brother’s quick temper before it could rise. 

“I know you do,” EZ spoke softly, “I know, man. But it’s not that simple. You should probably tell her, ya know? What you just told me. But even if you did, she’d be within her right not to hear it. Or not to want to fix shit with you, or take your apology. And you? Gotta accept it.” 

EZ brushed imaginary dirt from the thigh of his jeans before speaking again, 

“Sucks,” he sighed through his nose. “I dunno if I’d be madder at her for taking you back or for not taking you back. But, uh, even if she doesn’t, that doesn’t mean you won’t find it again, Angel. You just gotta decide whether you wanna try here -- and accept the outcome no matter what she decides. You owe her that. But one thing’s for sure … you should actually try talkin’ to her.”

Angel had the faraway look in his eye of a man either deep in thought, or someone not listening entirely, staring through the far wall as EZ had spoken to him. Maybe he didn’t look it, but he’d heard every word, turning them over again in his mind before swallowing them somewhere deep in his gut, internalizing wisdom from someone who was younger than him, but who’d undoubtedly lived through more than most people. EZ was good for that kind of bereft wisdom -- disconnected in its logic coming from someone like EZ, but completely sensical when you understood the depth of the boy’s character and empathy. Not for the first time in his life, Angel was grateful for Ezekiel. 

He smiled weakly at his little brother, acceptance cracking through the little cracked crescent grin, “Mom would’ve liked her, huh?” 

EZ smiled at his brother in return, facile and genuine, as only Ezekiel’s grins could be.

---

I swear, for a while I would stare at my phone just to see your name, but now that it's there, I don't really know what to say…

Across town, EZ had left Angel’s, and the latter, now alone in his apartment and buzzing with EZ's words, was typing a text to you. And here you are … looking down at your phone between gathering your laundry and stacking clean dishes. You saw Angel’s name pop up next to the little text bubble on your homescreen, causing you to pause in your chores.

Huh. Unexpected  Should you open it? 

After everything that had gone down yesterday at the scrapyard, and the shitty attempt a few days prior to fuck up your date-- were you ready now to have the conversation you knew you and Angel were dancing around for the better part of several months? Ready to breach the seemingly impenetrable wall of silence? Feelings like the ones you held for Angel had a way of not being able to stay buried for too long. And you knew you could never truly move on, never would be able to give the icy shards wedged between your ribs and into your heart a chance to heal. Not unless you and Angel got it all out into the open.

And with the circumstances the way they were, with everything that had gone down -- how many women in your position could say they'd had the same opportunity?

How did the old saying go? What three things cannot long be hidden? The sun. The moon. And the truth.��

The truth was, to you, the sun and moon rose and set on Angel. 

The truth was, you had bitten off a few barbs and spat them at Angel in the few moments you’d shared with him since he tossed you from his apartment all those months ago. You weren't a perfect person. But it’s damn well what he deserved, after what he did. You weren’t wrong about that. The fact that everyone, and Angel’s father, were angry at him for the way things had gone down told you that you were not the one in the wrong.

The truth was, Angel had fucked up. Not only with his infidelity and the way he had tipped you from his life, with blunt hands tearing haphazardly at the roots… but he had insulted you, your work, and stood idly by and allowed others to do the same. 

He knew it, and you knew it. And you had both been petty.

But now that the wound was open, and the skin around it raw and heated, pulsing with its own heartbeat -- how could you ever give it a chance to heal if you didn't try to close it?

There was nothing saying that if you read Angel’s message, if you heard him out, and you got the chance to say your own piece, that you had to forgive him. And if it meant moving on? Maybe it was the step you needed to take. 

Like burning a candle to the end. Or, yes, wrapping a wound. Or perhaps like covering an old tattoo. Clara Forever? 

You unlocked your phone, sliding open your texts, taking a deep breath as you did so.

“I just wanted you to know I heard what you said,” Angel’s text read. “I do wanna talk to you, Frida. But only when you’re ready to talk to me. If you ever are. I just want to hear you out. Even if I know you never have to accept my apology.” 

Well. 

You looked down at your phone. You read Angel's text. Re-read it.

You'd be lying to yourself if you didn't acknowledge that everything that had gone down hadn't been building to this. 

 You brought your thumbs to the glass, beginning to type,

"I'm off tomorrow at six. You can come by after."

There. Short, sweet, and to the point.

Your phone pinged in your hand. Glancing down at it, you saw two words in response,

"Gracias, Frida."

"Don't thank me yet."

You put your phone down flat on the counter. 

The truth was, you still loved Angel Reyes. And you weren't sure whether your rage outweighed your ardor. And this scared the shit out of you.

When Angel rolled up the next day at ten after six, you were slightly annoyed. In the beginning of your relationship, he had been incredibly punctual, likely borne out of eagerness to see you. As time wore on, Angel's timeliness waned. At the time, you had assumed it had everything to do with his commitments to the club, and had remained understanding. With the benefit of hindsight, however, you now knew that it likely wasn't always the club. 

You didn't know anything about Adelita, save for her relationship to Angel. And you intended to keep it that way. But a nastier part of your brain was intensely curious. 

Did she make Angel laugh? Was she smarter than you? Prettier than you? She had to be beautiful, just like Angel was beautiful. The thought made your heart ache. 

When she kissed Angel, did she taste your lips on his? Did she know about you now? Did she hold more of Angel's heart than you had? 

If you were more like her, would Angel have chosen you?

You knew you wouldn't ask Angel any of these questions -- what did they always say? Don't ask something you don't really want the answers to? 

You slept easier at night keeping the idea of Adelita just that -- an amorphous, question mark-shaped idea. Knowing Angel's part in it all was more than enough.

Easier. You said you slept easier. Not well. You dreamt of Angel far too often to say you slept well. You dreamt of the feel of his hair between your fingers, both in a gentle and comforting pass, and in the harsh tugging borne of passion. You dreamt of the feel of his warm skin against yours. You dreamt of days spent swimming in the ocean, him lifting you up to twirl you through the water, like a sea sprite, a deity meant to be worshipped. Perhaps most cruelly, you sometimes dreamt of a future. Your memories blended with your dreams at the cruel, twisting hands of hazy sleep. Never to be.

And when Angel arrived at your place shortly after you had returned home from closing the shop, your gut, your brain, and your heart were all writhing in their own respective dances, never in sync with one another, and rendering your nerves completely fried. 

You opened the door, beckoning Angel in. You stopped yourself from moving to help remove the kutte from his shoulders and hanging it by the door, freezing your hands in the middle of raising to do just that, dropping them awkwardly by your sides again.

If Angel noticed, he hadn't said anything.

He shuffled into your place, likely surveying what had changed since he had last been there. To his surprise? Not much. You still had candles everywhere, casting everything in a warm glow. Your overstuffed chairs were still draped in cozy blankets and piled with brightly-patterned throw pillows. The bookcase in the corner of your living room was still packed to the edges, stacks of additional books on the floor at the foot. Your potted green plants made the room look simultaneously larger and smaller. Your dedication to maximalism was admirable. 

You loved what you loved, even if you didn't have the space. In your heart, or otherwise.

Angel breathed in the familiar cinnamon-orange scent that was your place, its permanent residence in his mind sending a zip through his heart. 

You shuffled past Angel, into your living room and making your way toward the kitchen, offering Angel a drink, which he declined.

You shrugged. "Suit yourself."

You made your way into the kitchen, opening a cabinet that Angel knew contained a precarious tower of stacked coffee mugs. Like a personal game of Jenga only you could win, you plucked your desired mug, and closed the cabinet before the dangerous clinking of the remaining mugs could turn disastrous. 

You prepared a cup of tea while Angel stood at the carpeted edge of your living room, unsure of just how comfortable he was allowed to make himself in this space that -- while just as chaotically orderly and distinctly you as he remembered it -- seemed to be purged of any remembrance of him.

Stirring honey into your mug of tea and blowing on it, you watched Angel over the rim of your mug. Watched him observe your space, and waited for him to speak. 

You tilted your head toward the open door of your bedroom, breaking the silence first,

“I, uhhh, I’ve been working all day. I’m just gonna change real fast.” You shuffled your feet into the carpet, padding softly into your room and pushing the door softly shut. 

You slipped out of your jeans and into soft sweats and an oversized tee. Maybe if you felt more comfortable, you could stave off some of the awkwardness. Maybe letting Angel back into your space wasn’t the best idea. 

After changing, you took a moment -- sat on your bed, elbows balanced on your knees and head in your hands … you took a few deep breaths, lit a candle. Your palms felt clammier by the second, knowing that Angel was out there waiting for your re-emergence.

You don’t know how long you were sitting on the edge of your bed, just breathing. Preparing yourself. 

A soft knock on your bedroom door broke your dazed thoughts. You looked up, seeing Angel through the widening crack in the door, fist raised, his knuckle rapping softly on your bedroom door. 

You locked eyes for moment before Angel chuckled sheepishly to himself, shuffling his feet in your doorway,

“I, uh, thought you might’ve jumped out the window,” he chuckled lightly. 

Leave it to Angel to find a way to lighten the heavy mood that had descended upon your space. You managed to crack a small smile, corner of your mouth tilting up just-so in that way he had always found endearing. 

“The thought had crossed my mind,” you shrugged, patting the space next to you, acquiescing to allow Angel to sit. 

He crossed your room, exhaling heavily as he took a seat next to you on the bed. 

Now that you were seated so closely to Angel in the low light of your bedroom, you looked at his face, taking him in. Really looking at him for the first time in months. Trying to ignore the pricking feelings of trauma that were doing their best to bubble beneath the surface and consume you --- had Angel not broken your heart in a manner so like this? Seated next to one another on the end of his bed while he told you, in no uncertain terms, that he was done with you? The thought made a sick wave of nausea wash through you. You wiped your perpetually-sweaty hands along the thighs of your sweats. 

You had survived the last encounter like this, hadn't you? Honestly, what more could he do to you? 

For his part, Angel was silent next to you, surveying the space of your room as he had in your living room. The familiar clutter greeted him -- a stack of books and a coffee mug on your bedside. A sketchbook never too far from reach. The comforter beneath him as pillowy as he remembered. He shuddered a sigh. 

You decided to take conversational mercy on him, 

"Go ahead,” you beckoned. “Say what you have to. But just know I meant what I said at the party. I don't need shit from you. You telling me what you want to say is for you. And when it's done, you're going to give me what I deserve and listen to me. We need to put this behind us. I’m not going to be looking over my shoulder for you for the rest of my life, Angel.” What had started as a murmur grew fiercer with each word.

"That's fair, querida," was all he offered. Your words to him each time you had spoken since the party were evermore forceful. He was used to gentle Frida. It wasn't often that the turn of your tide was leveled against him. Not often he was forced to bear the brunt of your storm when you were upset.

He could see what Coco meant. It was unwise to make you angry 

He turned his body slightly to face yours, looking down at your hands as though he was contemplating attempting to hold one. His fingers twitched where his hands rested along his thighs. Better just to crack the ice, become submerged in frozen water. Take the shock out of it now, even if he wasn't sure where to begin, now that he faced you.

“I”m not really sure what I can tell you that’ll make it better,” he admitted.

You sighed. 

“I’m not looking for you to make it better, Angel. There is no more better. Whatever you want to say, you say it,” you pressed. “We’re past better. We’re not together. you were clear about that. You don’t have to spare my feelings, I’m not your girl.”

Angel flinched, almost imperceptibly, at your last statement.  He knew you weren’t together, knew you weren’t his. Hell, he’d been busy in the months since you’d been broken up. Busy chasing Adelita. Busy with other women when it didn’t work out with Adelita. Busy acting like a jackass with Andres. Busy with club nonsense. But hearing you say that you weren’t his girl? 

It made Angel’s heart ache in a way he wasn’t expecting. 

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said. At your scoff, he shook his head. “Really. After Adelita told me she was pregnant … I thought it was easier just to let you go. I needed to be there for her, for the kid. Even if it meant -- even if it meant losing you.” 

“Easier for who? For you?” Your voice was soft. You hated that, once again, you felt like the crystalline girl Angel’s heartbreak had rendered you. Worried that the slightest thing would shatter you once more. 

Angel chucked again, but there was no humor behind it. His eyes looked flat, as though he wasn’t really focusing on anything. 

“For both of us, I guess. It’s stupid. I thought if I just -- cut you out … we would both be better. But … that ain’t what happened. I just made us both miserable. I made you hate me. And now ...  She's gone. And so are you,” Angel’s voice was low, cracked. 

The weight of his words, coupled with the gravelly pitch of his voice was making you feel restless, itchy. Grit like pebbly grains of sand you would roll between your fingers on days at the beach, palpable and pronounced.

“A-and,” you interjected, “how did you meet her? When did you meet her?” 

Angel’s eyes darted to meet yours again, finding a swimming emotion he was getting better at putting his finger on. You only looked like that when you were getting lost in negative thoughts, awash in a sad song. Or when he was breaking your heart. He hated that look on your face. Hate that it marred your beautiful features into baleful melancholy. 

“Club shit,” was all he’d said. “We were mixed up in some shit with the rebels. We were helping each other. W-we connected. It just … happened.” 

You whipped your head at that last bit, eyes hardening. Angel’s hands came up, defensively.

“I know. Everyone says that, don’t they? It’s true… and I -- I really didn’t mean to hurt you. When I found out she was pregnant, I thought I was doing the right thing. By her. And by you,” he sucked air in through his teeth before releasing the breath in a huff of air. “I was wrong, Frida. I made every wrong choice, and I’m sorry.”

Angel carded his hands through his hair, tugging the ends lightly in his frustration. “I-- I just been going through some shit lately. And then ... Ezekiel tried to serve us brunch, and I was an asshole.” 

He looked at you, only to meet your puzzled gaze.

“Brunch?” You queried, wrinkling your nose lightly. “Since when are you a brunch kinda guy, Angelito?” 

“I really ain’t,” he said. “And you?”

“I like brunch just fine,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes.

“That’s not what I mean, Frida, and you know it,” he said. “But we can get back to that later.” He took in your loose sweats, the way you had been picking your nails, the bags beneath your eyes. You had looked so beautiful, so perfect and untouchable,  at the patch party the other night. And now -- in your room, all pretense stripped away, Angel could see the real you … behind the professional and put-together front. The tired girl with a broken heart. And he felt the residual ache in his chest that had taken residence left of his heart ever since the day he had put your stuff in a box and left it outside of his door. 

“I know you have something you want to say to me, too, Frida. Your turn. How are you feeling?”

You laughed hollowly, your eyes fixed on the doorway to your room, half expecting Angel to get up and go.

“I’ve been better, Angel,” you deadpanned, swiveling to look at him, and finding him still seated next to you. “Ya know? It’s been a tough couple of days? Between that disaster of a party and whatever the hell went down the other day… but this town is too small for us to just try to ignore each other, and I do like it here.” You rubbed your eyes, the air between the two of you filling with silence that never used to be so awkward.  

“That can’t be all you gotta say,” Angel pressed. “C’mon, Frida. Tell me how you’re feeling. I was… I was awful to you.”

The candle in the corner of the room sputtered, causing momentary, flickering shadows to dance along the walls of your room. Your safe, homey space felt full of shadows and ghosts, words unspoken between the two of you threatening to burst forth, your closet brimming with proverbial skeletons. 

And you were just so tired. And now Angel was pressing you? You weren’t sure if the heat was from your sweats, the proximity of the man next to you, that you had turned up the thermostat too high. Or the fact that you were still so fucking angry. 

“You want to know how I’m feeling, Angel?” You tugged on the ends of your hair, running your hands down the thighs of your sweats once more. Were you always so sweaty? “I appreciate you telling me the truth. Finally. And for apologizing, I guess.”

Tears were pricking at your eyes, the heat blazing in your cheeks matching the heat in the room.  

"But you made me look stupid. Like someone in need of pity," you sucked air in through your teeth. "I fucking hate pity, Angel. It's just misplaced empathy. A useless emotion. And you’d think I’d just wear that mess? For everyone to see? At the party. At the yard. Everyone just feeling sorry for me. For months. Because of you.”

The ache in Angel’s chest intensified. Awash in a wave of hot shame. Was it always so hot in this room? You were right. And weren’t you always? You never were that girl, and he had sent you down the river like you meant nothing, your artist’s hands crushed beneath the washed stones of his choices. He opened his mouth to respond, but you weren’t done, apparently --

“And after everything? The way it went down? You made me feel like … I don’t know … Like you were punishing me,” your voice cracked, sobs and tears imminent through the dam you had erected. “Like I loved you more than you loved me, and you knew it… like you wanted to make me pay for that.” 

“Frida …” Angel turned his body toward yours fully now, closing the space between the two fo you and cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the silvery hot tears that were slipping down your face, sick that he had caused them. Sick that he had even made you think that what you were saying was true. “It wasn’t like that,” he assured. 

“And the shittiest part is,” you hiccuped around your words, “you can’t even tell me give me the comfort of a cliche -- you can’t honestly tell me ‘it meant nothing,’ or that it was a ‘one-time thing,’ because none of that is true, is it? You care about her -- you had a child with her. You love her. And here I thought I could take what you did, take you, fold you up and tuck you away, like a note you pass in school. And I can’t. I just can’t.”

You tilted your face downward now as your tears fell, allowing your face to be fully cupped by Angel’s warm, calloused hands. Even now, you were still amazed at how tender his touch was, despite his rough exterior. All he wanted now was to comfort you, to touch you and bring your eyes to his again. To remind you of his love for you. Once. Now. Always?

“Frida, it wasn’t like that. They were my selfish, stupid choices. Mine. And I was scared. Scared of how much I wanted … everything with you. And it wasn’t right. I told you -- I … been going through some shit.” 

“Scared,” you murmured. Turning your face in Angel’s hands, causing your lips to brush over his fingers. You leaned back, effectively releasing your face from the trace of his touch. 

“Isn’t it remarkable how secure and insecure you can simultaneously feel when you’ve found someone worth loving? I felt it, too. With you  it's now I knew you were the one,” You said. Angel straightened in shock, at how, though you weren’t present for his conversation yesterday with Ezekiel, you parroted his feelings he had confided in his brother back to him. Always on the same page. His full lips pursed as you continued. 

“We can’t keep using what happened to hurt each other. I’m done with that,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m sorry you felt the way you did. I’m sorry you felt like you needed to look elsewhere. And I hope you find what you're looking for,” you hated how soft your voice sounded to your own ears. Hadn't you meant to be forceful, angry? You sniffled. “Because, despite everything that’s happened...  You are someone worth loving, Angelito.” 

"No, Frida," he shook his head softly before looking at you again, eyes glittering. "You are. Someone deserving of more.”

Your breath caught in your chest at his words, taking this moment to look into his ochre eyes once more. You wanted to commit to your memory just how they swirl like melting chocolate and promises in low candlelight.

And, oh. Angel was made to be seen like this, you’d thought. The dim candlelight giving everything in your room a pleasant glow and slightly-blurry edges. He looked like his namesake. And how ironic was that, really? Considering the context of your conversation. 

It's easy these days, you thought, for you to get carried away by your own feelings... While you searched desperately in the emotional rubble for your muse, Angel, the truth of it tore you to shreds with blunt fingernails -- knowing he was  out in the world -- running freely and carelessly. Running away with your imagination. With your hope. With the pieces of your heart that had survived the blitzing storm he had put you through. With the pieces of your heart that had belonged to him. That you feared may always belong to him.  

Looking at Angel now, in the low-lit steadfast luminescence of your room, shadows flickering agreeably across his angular cheekbones. He was sculpted. Made to be admired in perpetuity. Artist that you were, it ached. It stung. The knowledge that your hands were not the ones that had molded him into the man sat beside you. A man molded, instead, by his own choices. 

All you could do was watch as those wrong decisions drifted lazily down the river, only to become a torrent, Angel caught in the current. The waves lapped loudly, sloppily against riverbanks of better judgment, but Angel is never quite washed ashore. No, as you watched, he slipped down the river, out of your fingertips and toward something you're too fearful to quantify. Away from you. 

You want the river to carry him back to you. To home. But you know it never will. 

Angel has two choices now: To drown under the weight of his path this river has wrought; or to swim. 

As you sit beside him in the growing heat of your room, you hope he chooses to swim. Even if it’s not to where you stand. 

"So, is that what’s next?” You asked, wiping your eyes. 

At Angel’s puzzled look, you carried on,

"You're asking for it back," you whispered. “Or you’re going to. My heart? You may not have said it like that, exactly, but it's what you want. Like you don't know how bad it all hurt me, even if you say you know, I don't think you ever will. And even if I wanted to give it to you, I don't know if there's enough of it left."

You wrung your hands together, awaiting Angel’s response. You looked up at him through your lashes, clumped together with the tears that had escaped during your confessional. 

His molten eyes were soft on your form, swallowing before he spoke again. 

“I was such an asshole… to you. And at that stupid brunch … to Gaby. But it was all just … too much. I mean, she was wearing mom’s apron…” Angel shook his head. “And all I could think of … Even with Adelita out there, with her and my boy gone, outta my life… all I could think of was how it should be you wearing the stupid apron. It should be me giving you my mother’s ring. And I was so angry at Ezekiel for having all of that. For having what I wanted … wanted with you.” 

If there was any air left in the room, it was certainly all gone now. All that was left was heat, no air or space between the two of you. Just stagnant air and the weight of words, both said and unsaid. And if Angel had said these words to you more than a year ago? Maybe they would sound different to your ears. Melodious, even. 

Now, all you could think to do was comfort. Ever the nurturer. What else could you do, really, after he'd said that? You shook your head gently, lacing your fingers through Angel’s and squeezing. 

“It’s not that he has something you don’t, or that you can’t have, Angel… What EZ and Gabriela have is what they have. It’s theirs. You’ll have yours. Someday.”

Silence descended upon the room once more. The warm scent of orange-cinnamon from your candle permeated the room, the ever-present heat between you and Angel banishing all thoughts of romantic winter from your mind. 

“I just wanna say, again, Frida… how sorry I am for what happened at the party. For what happened with Andres. It was fucked up of me,” Angel’s tongue passed over his lips. “Did I answer all of your burning questions?” 

You reached over, trailing your fingers over the tattoo you had given Angel what felt like a lifetime ago.  His eyes followed the trajectory of your fingers, his nerves alight at the feeling of your starlit, feathery touch on his skin once more.

"Just one left.” Your eyes locked with his, unwavering. “Who am I to you, really?" You ask, the edge your silken voice had taken on slides beneath Angel's skin clumsily, like crumbling shards of glass. "What did I mean?"

Angel tries not to look at you now. Tries, but fails. His dark eyes meet your downcast ones once more, hates that they are once more glimmering with unshed tears waiting to fall. Hating that once again, he's the cause of the dreary blue tinge shading what should have been your sunny, hopeful worldview. Awash with the sunsets he would take you to see. 

And if there was any time for blossoming truth, for a sprig of rosemary remembrance of sacred feeling, it was now. 

"You're the love of my life," he finally admits, exhaling heavily. "That's just it, ain't it? Always you. And not that I have any right to ask you now -- But I need to know, Frida. Am I yours?"

Any air left was sucked from the room in one fell swoop, leaving you with the stuffy and sticky discomfort of Angel's question and the weight of his heated gaze on you, waiting for something, anything to fall from your pretty lips.

And what a question it was. 

You knew the answer, of course. You reach up to brush your thumb tenderly across Angel’s sculpted cheek, as though you could be the one molding it, nodding before verbalizing your answer,

"You've always been the love of my life. Had my heart. I'm yours, But, I think I know now… that  you were never truly mine. Even if you say it now. You have a heart that's not so easily won, Angelito. That's something I wish I'd learned sooner, wish I could've taken from you… from all of this." 

All Angel could do was shake his head, the crease in his brow deepening at your words. 

"Ever the poet, Frida."

"I thought I was a 'shit' poet?" You teased gently, recalling his words to you when he’d texted you to ask you out for the first time. 

Angel chuckled, the grit and honey in his voice washing over you, a wave of silken heat, his eyes are fixed upon yours intently, leaning forward and bringing his hands to trace along your neck, your jaw, dragging his thumb over the full, pillowy part of your bottom lip. 

“You did win it, Frida,” was all he said. 

The rush of warm, fluttery feeling swam through your body, prickling you like sparkling, popping champagne. Angel’s eyes tracked yours, down to where his thumb was dragging across your lip. Your eyes slipped shut, lashes fluttering. 

You could feel it rushing back. Everything Angel had ever made you feel -- the ardor, the frustration, the crushing weight of the river wild. Heat bloomed across your cheeks and down your chest, between your thighs and through the fingertips that you had brought to grip Angel’s biceps. 

His declaration of love, of melted marshmallow and warm cocoa -- made you crave him in a way you had long thought gone. 

You pressed your lips to kiss the tip of Angel’s thumb. You were rewarded with a reciprocal, sucking in of air on Angel’s part. 

He held his breath momentarily before surging forward and capturing your lips with his full ones. 

You were awash in the memory of every kiss shared with Angel. Of how he’d made you feel in your full-hearted moments together. Rich and full, like morning coffee. Hazy and sweet, like cherry smoke.

Angel’s kiss makes you feel dizzy, fizzing and dissolving simultaneously, like a Mento in a glass of Coke. Volatile and thrumming, both erupting and disappearing so fast, you were afraid you’d never have the chance to process exactly what it made you feel. 

It might be okay, you reasoned to yourself -- if you could hold Angel just for one more night, feel his body pressed against yours. It felt like a good idea in this moment, just to hold him for one  night only. 

Your lips pressed against one another, his hand cupping your jaw trailing back to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging it -- causing your kiss to break. Angel trailed his lips from yours, down and along your jaw. 

Angel’s grip firmed, turning your head further as he continued his attention down your neck, giving you a view of the chair next to your closet where you had haphazardly thrown Angel’s t-shirt when you had worn it last, a symbol of comfort now worn-out. 

You laid back, Angel following, surging over you and pressing you into your cloudlike comforter. His hips rolled into yours, his teeth now scraping gently along the slope of your neck. 

At the gasp you emitted, Angel felt himself harden in his jeans. He'd thought he'd never hear that sound from you again. And replaying the memory of it in his head? Not enough. He rolled his hips into yours again, again, as you dragged your thighs up Angel’s sides, locking your legs around his hips. He trailed warm hand down to caress your breast through your soft t-shirt, leaving a heated trail in its wake. 

“Oh, Angel,” you gasped, rolling your hips to meet his. 

“Can I kiss you like this, amor?” Angel rasped, “I’ll make you feel good.” 

He took in the heat behind your eyes, the kiss-swollen state of your lips when he broke from them. The creeping heat he felt from beneath your collar in his position atop you, and the way your breasts heaved beneath your shirt. 

The thread of resolve you were hanging by seemed to dissolve, leaving you unraveled and threadbare, naked before the man you swore would be your forever. The ache you felt between your legs burned crimson, cloudy and acrid. You tasted Angel’s kiss, tasted him, on your tongue.

You were never more aware of the dimensions of your body than when Angel had his hands on you, tracing and gripping every curve, the touch of places you don't think to touch yourself, strange but pleasurable as you relished in the trace of his rough fingertips against your smooth skin. He slid his hands down your waist, hips and into the loose waistband of your sweats, sliding them down your legs as he went. 

Angel played your body with temerity, a confidence, and before you knew it, your lower half was bare before him. He pushed the soft, loose fabric of your t-shirt up and over your chest, trailing his lips over your now-exposed skin, bringing his other hand to cup your breast, circling the pad of his thumb over your nipple. 

You gasped and groaned beneath Angel’s attention. Gripping at the hem of his shirt, you tugged it up and over his head, trailing your hands down his firm, thick torso. 

Angel was reticent to deprive himself of your touch after not having had it for so long. The touch of your nimble, artist’s fingers trailing over the lines of his body made Angel feel like an instrument being plucked to a tune that made both his and your body sing. He thought he would never feel it again.

 But this moment? This was about you. 

 Angel gripped your wrists, firmly planting your hands next to your head, following the trajectory and leaning over you with his full body. Releasing your wrists, Angel firmly pressed his lips to yours again, his tongue swiping past your lips and invading your mouth. Hot, needy, dirty. 

Ange tore his mouth from yours, his lips trailing lower and lower down your body, kissing your hips, nipping at your hipbone, causing you to yelp and buck your hips.

The action drew Angel’s attention, lifting his lips from your body, his eyes meeting yours. 

“I missed you, baby. Did you miss me? Sweet girl...” His voice was lower than you think you’d ever heard it, dangerously so. 

Bringing his hand down to cup your mound, he traced his fingers through your slick folds.

“Ah-Angel,” you gasped, tilting your head back at the blissful feel of Angel’s touch. As quickly as his touch had come, he withdrew it, causing your eyes to snap open, fixed on him and full of fire. 

“You know how this works, querida. I won’t touch you unless you answer me,” he taunted, the tips of his fingers trailing lightly over where you’d wanted him most, staunch in his refusal to commit to the touch. 

“God, Angel, yes,” You gasped. “P-please.”

Angel rewarded you, prising apart your legs and sliding down your body, tracing a teasing lick of his tongue through your folds, increasing in pace and intensity at the noises passing through your lips.

"I d-do miss you,” you sighed, starting to roll your hips against Angel’s tongue. “I miss the way you touch me… the way you fuck me.”

God. It was hot, the way you talked, the way you gave yourself over to him. 

Stars and firecrackers popped behind your eyes at Angel’s attention, cinnamon heat seeping through your bones, writhing and twisting at the way Angel strung his way through your body. Unable to justify the concept of being left alone, you tugged up at Angel’s jaw, forcing him to look up at you. Met with your wanton gaze, Angel licks his lips at the sight of you and slides back up your body with a grace that defies his size. 

Now level with you once more, he gripped your jaw, turning your head to the side and attacked your neck, your breasts with renewed vigor, grinding his denim-clad hardness against your naked core, the painful drag of the fabric turning pleasurable. 

With your gaze turned toward the wall, you were once again greeted with the sight of Angel’s rumpled t-shirt on the chair by your closet. An object of comfort, threads and strings tying you to a past life.   

What were you doing? Taking comfort in something that you couldn’t, in good conscience, call your own?

The rumpled shirt seemed to be mocking you, taunting you. Reminding you that, once again, you were seeking clinging to something you shouldn't. Seeking solace in things -- people -- that you shouldn't. 

Apart from Christopher's warm, sly, sensational goodnight kiss the other day, Angel's was the first touch you'd experienced like this since, well, Angel… How easy it was to slip back into your feelings for him, get caught up in him.

I'd give it all just to hold you close, sorry that I broke your heart... You shouldn’t be doing this. 

“Angel,” you prised his lips from your body. “St-stop.” 

Angel’s eyes were wild, hair mussed and lips swollen.

“What, querida?” 

“Angel,” you sighed again, sliding your shirt down and coming to sit up. “We can’t be doing this.”

Angel slouched next to you with a huff, trailing his fingers down your arm.

“Why not?”

You sighed. After all this time, the feeling of Angel so close to you was everything you thought you wanted. But everything that had been said? The water beneath your respective bridges? Angel was still awash, had not come to rest on any bank. And you were still waiting on the shore -- now certain that all you would mold from the riverbank clay were memories and half-baked dreams. 

“We’re not together,” you breathed, leaning over the bed to pick up your sweats and tug them back on. “And that’s not what this is. We're too old for platitudes, and happy endings are for children's stories. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, you know this is wrong.”

“Querida -- I want…" Angel started, before turning away, leaning over his thighs and tugging his hands through his hair… his distress with how he had let himself get so out of control with you was mounting. He sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“What? Angel,” you touched your hand to his still-bare shoulder. “What do you want?”

"A second chance…?" Angel's normally smooth voice trailed at the end, transforming his desire into a question, fading into the silence of the room. He shifted his shoulders, turning his body to once more face yours, but not quite meeting your eyes. 

You let his words hang in silence for a moment, weighing how you wanted to respond.

“Say something, Frida.” 

"I knew you'd say that," you chuckled drily. "I know you, you're like this. But second chances become third, fourth, fifth. I can't trust you. What did you expect me to say?"

Angel opened his mouth to answer before catching sight of the expression on your face, twisted into proverbial knots. Even now, you were being far more gracious than he had any right to expect. He closed his mouth again, sighing.

"I don't know, dulce."

"I do,” you shook your head. “You expected me to say 'yes,' " you reached across the bed to one more lace your fingers through his. "I know you. But what does it say about me that I want to? It would be so like me, wouldn't it?"

You squeezed Angel's fingers tenderly in your grip, awarding him a flickering, wan smile. 

Angel's voice cracked when he spoke again, "Then say yes, Frida. Let me prove it to you. Prove that we’re meant to be together."

"And would you? Would you take me back if I did that to you? If I had someone else's child? While we were together?" 

Angel was silent at that, not having considered the reversal of roles. In truth, though you knew him, he knew you, too. It would be so wildly out of character, how would he have been expected to consider it?

"You think you might, because you love me. But, see, Angelito, I don't think you would. So how can you sit there and say we're two people who are meant to be when we don't even love each other the same? Love doesn't come in pieces, amor. You held my heart in your hands. And you crushed it. Let it crumble into nothing, like sand. Like I meant nothing."

“But this--” Angel gestured between the two of you, eyes lingering on the skin of your neck where his mouth had been, tracing his fingers over your kiss-swollen lips. 

“--Can’t happen.” Tears were rising to your eyes again. 

Goddamnit. Couldn’t you get through one conversation with him without crying?

“Maybe we are meant to be. And maybe we'll find our way back to one another. But right now? I -- I don't think I can. But more importantly, I don't think we should. And please hear me when I tell you how much it breaks my heart to say that."

Your heart was burning, but your skin was ice. Dream, they call desire. And he could hear the heartbreak in your voice. Always stupidly genuine.

Angel was stock-still, and as you took in his prone form, eyes tracing to his face -- you saw a lone tear slip down his cheek, shaking his head. 

"I miss you, you know?" He chuckled, no humor in his soft, velvet voice. 

"I know."

You were in a fugue state, the rumble of Angel’s bike retreating down the street barely registering as you were processing as you retreated to your bed, the room and your sheets noticeably cooler in Angel’s absence. The room feeling too large without him in it.

As you settled into bed, you noticed it -- Angel’s old shirt, still on your chair. 

You hadn’t thought to return it.

---

The following week found you back in the shop, preparing for your mid-afternoon appointment. You had wiped down the table, changed the wrapping, and were now idly jotting as you waited. Thoughts on one person in particular. 

The bell above the shop door dinged, causing you to look up from the poem you were penning on the lime-green sticky you kept a stack of near your work station. 

Your one o'clock was right on time.

And you were greeted with the sight of Angel striding in with two cups of caffeine, offering one two you as he rested his ringed hand on the counter.

“If you want an appointment, you’d better call first. You know what they say about walk-ins. Always risky.” 

Since Angel had departed your place in the middle of the night a week ago, the words between the two of you having had time to simmer and settle, allowing you to process the weight of it all. 

For his part, Angel had given you space. Hadn’t said anything past texting you to tell you he had made it home safely. 

 In the days that had followed, you had cautiously cracked the ice between the two of you, hoping to assuage any awkwardness and rebuild some kind of friendly connection removed from the physical. It was probably better that way. Messaging him idly to ask about his day. Not that you had shared with Angel, but you were also texting Christopher. 

Angel had called the shop, asking if you were available to help him with something he’d wanted to do. Something special, he’d said.

“Something for Ezekiel,” Angel told you. “He’s been through alot lately, with Gaby and the club and everything … been through alot with me lately. Now feels like the right time”

You had, of course, readily agreed. Eager and honored to help Angel with a tribute to his brother. The texts between the two of you changed to exchanges of ideas, you sending him screenshots of your sketches before the two of you had decided on a design that fit. 

You accepted the cup of coffee from Angel gratefully and with a gentle smile, beckoning him behind the counter. Coffee truly was a love language. 

“You can sit in the chair and lean forward, or you can lie on the table. Both are clean. Dealer’s choice,” you said between sips. 

Angel nodded, slugging the last of his coffee and placing the cup down before slipping his shirt over his torso, baring his back to you as he sat in the chair, leaning forward and twisting his abdomen to bare his shoulder blade to you. 

The tawny patch of skin on his shoulder, above the large Mayans tribute that covered the expanse of his back, seemed like the perfect place for something for EZ, the angel (ha ha) on his shoulder and guiding influence in one another’s lives. 

You cleaned and bic’d the area, stenciling your design into the space and getting your kit ready to begin.

Angel watched what he could of you from the corner of his eye, a resonant ache blooming through his chest at the familiarity of this scene. Of you, all business, touching his skin, preparing to impart a piece of yourself that he would wear on his body for the rest of his days. 

You queued up your playlist, the sounds of motown flowing through the shop as you hummed along idly. 

In this moment, Angel knew … he was still in love with you. Likely always would be. You had been far too gracious with him, as you always were -- in the way you had treated him the other night. No mention of your “almost” encounter, for which he was grateful. And he knew he was correct in his assessment of you when you had first started dating -- it was in your nature.

“You mind?” Angel broke the comfortable silence between the two of you, gesturing at the journal-like sketchbook you had left near your station. 

You shook your head in acquiescence, “No. But it’s kind of a mess in there lately,” you acknowledged. “Shit poet, and all.” 

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” Angel barked a laugh. “I didn’t insult your poetry, Frida, you did.” 

“Ever the self-deprecating, starving artist,” you sighed dramatically. 

Angel took that as his cue, flipping through the pages of your book. One page felt particularly heavy beneath his fingers. He flipped to it, to be met with dried, pressed flowers that had been delicately glued to the pages, the page covered in a plastic slipsheet -- the dried, dusky pink of peony petals were affixed to the page next to a swath of a white, lacy-looking bloom. 

Around the flowers were sketches of hands that looked suspiciously like Angel’s own, down to the tattoos, and idle lines of poetry. 

Angel furrowed his brows as he glanced at the flowers again.

“You got those flowers for me,” you acknowledged, looking over his shoulder to see the page of your book he had settled on. “One of our first dates, when we went to the park. I’m not sure if you remember.”

Angel’s throat caught in a way that both annoyed and unsettled him. How were you always doing this to him?

“Recuerdo, Frida,” he breathed. “Lo recuerdo todo.” 

You patted his arm gently, resuming your work. 

“I like pressing flowers. It takes a while, but the end result is worth it.” 

You pinched your brows in concentration as you drew along the stenciled lines you’d previously etched into Angel’s shoulder blade, gun buzzing. You began to fill in the minimalist rising sun that was now filling the shoulder blade, stippling the interior as you went, the effect giving the sun an almost stucco-like finish that looked breathtaking against Angel’s golden skin. 

Angel allowed you to continue you work in silence, the weight of the past few days with you settling into his bones. He had pleaded with you, endeared himself to you so much that he had lost his voice. His bones filling with the words he wished he could verbalize. 

He was slowly arriving at that place of acceptance -- Santo Padre was a small town. He would see you. And it appeared that you could now stomach his presence, but he wouldn’t push his luck. Seeing you alone. Hell, even seeing you with someone else, was better than not seeing you at all. 

But once thing was clear -- you were someone who would always be in his life, his memories, his heart.

Angel was lost in his thoughts; you were focused on your work. The only thing that gave any indication as to the passage of time in the room where you two found yourselves was the evolution of your playlist passing through tracks.

Isn’t that how it always was with Angel? Time stood still. 

As you finished his tattoo, you snapped a quick pic for your work Insta -- and maybe, selfishly, for yourself, to admire, too. It’s true, what you had felt all those months ago, and again a week ago -- Angel Reyes was your muse. 

Made to be admired in perpetuity. 

You cleaned and wrapped it, pushing back wordlessly from your seat and making your way to the front as Angel gingerly tugged his shirt back over his head. Quoting the rate over your shoulder, you put Angel's aftercare bag together. But not before slipping the lime sticky in.

“Is that it?” Angel asked, arriving at the front counter, kutte once again in place..

“C’mon, Angelito, you know you get the friends-and-family rate,” you shrugged.

"And is that what we are, querida? Friends?” Angel's voice had none of the bravado it held when he had first spoken these words to you the day you'd met. Now it was cotton soft and carefully tinged with hope. He leaned over the counter.

You shrugged again.

"I guess we'll see, won't we?" You tilted the corner of your lips in a gentle, wan half-smile. 

"One day with you, and already friends again?” Angel breezed. You shrugged lightly in response, as he continued, “Or maybe the day after that? A man can hope, Frida."

“You know what they say, Angelito,” your voice was soft, but he’d recognize the teasing lilt anywhere. He’d heard it so often at the breaking dawn of your relationship. Kindness, with a hint of subtle flirtation. It was just how you were. “Hope springs eternal.”

Angel nodded, tossing a few bills on the counter and gently rapping his ringed-knuckles against the counter, a he was wont to do. He smiled gently at you, all glimmering white teeth and high cheeks. 

As Angel walked away, head down and focused on his phone now as he headed out the door and toward his bike, you watched him leave. Your elbow on the counter and head propped in your hand. 

You wondered when Angel would discover the sticky, recalling the words you had written on it. 

my stark moments of clarity between hazy and woebegone memory (thanks to spilled red wine) -- are still marked by the firm hand of your bruising ardor.

Your phone buzzed, breaking you from your reverie as you looked down at the name flashing on the screen, an easy grin blooming across your features.

“Well, hey,” you greeted. Unable to keep the happy chirp from your voice at hearing from him again so soon.

“Hey, mama,” he greeted in that smooth, throaty rasp of his you adored. “You busy later?”   

---

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[burnedbyshoto]

a nurses job

— Bakugou breaks his arms and as a nurse, you have the responsibility to make sure that he is comfortable, even when he needs to use the bathroom.

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pairing: pro hero!bakugou katsuki x nurse fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, prohero!bakugou, golden showers/water sports/piss kink, degradation (giving), dirty talk, lusting/pining, handjobs

word count: 5,050

a/n: so, I was going to make this a piss in ur mouth and pussy type of fic, but I kept seeing all those beautiful bakugou piss arts where he’s with a nurse.... so this is inspired and brought upon by all the water sports bakugou x nurse art ive seen for three months.

kinktober day 21 main kink: piss | kinktober masterlist

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You’re not quite sure what persuaded you into wanting to become a nurse as a child.

Maybe it was because your quirk (when you hum at an A flat, everyone within 5 meters experiences accelerated healing properties) was useless for Pro Hero work, so you realized early on that being a Pro Hero was a distant dream. Maybe it was because medical staff were still hailed as everyday heroes despite being in a world with people who could perform extraordinary achievements. It started as a small obsession to prove to the soon to be jobless, dream broken, and graduated failures of the hero course high schools that you had done more than them. That you, unlike them, were recognized as a hero. 

You were decent with math and science, so you strove for medical school. But with the horrendous costs of schooling, your then living situation, and your dislike of unneeded and unwanted competitive stress, you deterred toward the nursing pathway. It was a pathway where you really found yourself, or at least, you thought so.

Empathy, emotion, and the need to see people come out of a hospital better than when they entered was something that grew on you quickly and obviously. Your earliest clinical rounds often left you with swollen, tired feet from walking around for restless hours, but with a smile on your face that was irreplicable. With every semester in school, you got better, connected better with your patients. Your feet still ache after long shifts, and sometimes your smile is hollow and broken, and if you look closely, you could see dried tears and puffy eyelids, but you wouldn’t ever regret this decision to become a nurse.

At twenty-five, newly graduated from nursing school, already working full time at the best hospital in Japan, while studying for your degree to eventually become a nurse practitioner. You loved your job quite a lot. They had placed you immediately within their Post-OP, ICU, and recovery wings, and even though you were somewhat new, you were celebrating a year of working in a few weeks, you already had some… more than familiar faces.

“Well, Ground Zero-san, I guess you owe me a drink because unless my eyes are deceiving me, it looks like both your arms are broken, no?” you hum, your grin bright and wide, not even attempting to hide it’s glee as your high profile patient sat seething on the hospital bed. “It’s been, what? Two weeks since you last showed up here? You getting old?”

“Oh, would you shut the fuck up, you shitty ass nurse?!” Bakugou snarled, his arms obviously trying to tense and move against the large casts that envelope him. “The fuck would you expect to happen when facing off with a quirk that’s specifically meant to break people’s arms?!”

“Deku didn’t break any arms,” you point out with a soft laugh, eyes still scanning and reading through his charts to check his medical needs and medicine prescribed by the attending and when he should be taking them. “A bit weird that only half of the Wonder Duo was indescribably injured, no?”

A loud snarl ripped from Bakugou’s throat, and you stifled your own laughter as you raised your eyesight to look him straight in his raging eyes.

“I took that damn nerds hits because he’s broken his arms so many fucking times he’ll be forced to amputate them if he breaks them again!” Bakugou’s eyes were near white in his anger, but the intensity of his emotions was heavily diminished by the fact that his arms were strapped to his chest in thick, round bandages.

“You can admit you care for him,” you chide, ignoring his ‘like hell I do!’ Placing the chart down and walking to his IV drip, you checked to see if anything he was hooked to required any changes or whatnot. “Besides, this is not the first time I’ve seen you in here! It was quite surprising to see Ground Zero on bedrest on my first ever shift here.”

That much was true.

You had been working at Tokyo Hospital for nearly nine months now. Within the nine months, you saw a lot of heroes; that much was true. Your quirk was versatile as a nurse, and you were bright, young, very good at your job, and definitely a beautiful individual. So, when you were assigned to be working most of your days healing heroes because they were the backbone of the country, it didn’t quite catch you by surprise. It was a common assignment you had as a nursing student too.

You just didn’t expect the head nurse of the floor to assign one of your five rooms to be holding none other than Ground Zero, a.k.a Bakugou Katsuki.

Of course, you weren’t an idiot. You had known about the explosion hero since high school! You had sat in front of your TV in high school, attempting to do your homework while watching the rather intensive first-year battles. He had done well in every stage, placing within the top three each time and even winning the game! You had cringed at the awards ceremony but had been horrified at the news of his kidnapping. 

But after that, with the rising tensions of the villain world upon the dying world left behind by All Might, you had forgotten him for a moment. As time went on, and finally, a new support system was brought forth, Ground Zero, much like his quirk entailed, exploded onto the scene alongside Deku and a few other young heroes.

So, sure, you expected to maybe one day run into the ash-blond hero, but you didn’t expect it to happen on day one.

All things considered, the two of you got along rather well.

His... strong personality did make you wary of him at first, taking his near verbal barrage until you, very flusteredly he will argue, told him to ‘shut up, you butthole!’

You were horrified at your lack of professionalism, and Bakugou had gone silent as he stared at you in silence.

“Did you just call me a butthole?” he echoed, his face full of emotions you could not read. You felt on the verge of panicking, unsure if he was going to potentially tell on you! The sounds of a barking laughter rang in your ear, and you looked up to see his grinning, much more relaxed form. “Are you some shitty preschooler?!”

Thus began a working relationship of sorts between you and Bakugou.

He was an asshole, and you tried your best to not let him talk you off a cliff. It didn’t take very long for you to find out what made him tick surprisingly enough, and you used that to your advantage. The best way to tease him right now was by reminding him that he had been hospitalized more times than Deku, who apparently had held the record for the number of hospitalizations between him and his friends.

“Are you going to mention that shit first meeting every time we talk?!” Bakugou barked, his eyes narrowed as he turned his head away from you.

“After you admit you care deeply for all your friends!” you chirp back, stepping away from his IV drip, satisfied by what you saw. “Well, you look good for now. I’ll be checking up on you every ten to fifteen minutes since you can’t press the button until we can get those casts off! Did ya need anything before I go check on my other patients?”

“Open the damn window; it’s stuffy in here,” Bakugou grumbled, his face finally facing you again. 

“Of course,” you smile cheekily, your eyes squinting with your broad grin. “It’s a nurse's job to make their patients comfortable and happy!”

Standing at the side of the bed, you stretched over Bakugou to grab the edge of the window and slide it open. Through your stance, you were entirely aware of how this looked, how this felt. Your breasts centimeters from Bakugou’s face, your eyes never once breaking from the window to feign your innocence as you finally pull away. Even with scrubs on, you could feel his hot, sharp breathes expelling through your clothes, his ears tinging just the smallest bit red as you smile.

“Anything else?” you asked sweetly, failing to hide your impish grin.

“Put the water cup close by,” he grunted, eyes staring at the liter of water at his side table. Well, he wouldn’t be able to use his arms until just before he was set to be discharged, so moving the water closer was a good idea.

Nodding, you grabbed a nearby cup, filling it three-quarters of a way full before placing it onto the feeding table and dragging it near his mouth, a bendy straw already secured into the cup. You watched as he shot forward, putting the plastic straw into his mouth and beginning to drink the cold water. His eyes were back on yours, deceivingly cold had you already not been an expert on his personality.

With one final soft chuckle, you waved at Bakugou as you headed out, a cheerful smile on your face as he continued to drink his water.

“See ya in a few!”

Well, you guess there was one more important detail about your relationship with Bakugou Katsuki. For the past five months, you have been doing everything in your power to seduce him — to get him to admit that he wanted you too.

You knew the ethics and the morals behind falling for a patient of yours, much less a high profile patient at that. You knew that if your little crush was ever found out, you would most definitely be moved from his room. You were also damningly aware that you should have brought up your initial feelings for the explosion hero to your admin the moment it arose. But the thought and the way you were always so happy to be around him eventually overruled your logic. Five months ago, you had stayed at the hospital until nearly three am, talking with a severely concussed Bakugou. You were stationed for an overnight round with the task of making sure that he didn’t fall asleep. And for the first time in your time knowing Bakugou, the two of you somehow clicked into place, and when he was discharged the next morning — the nurse who had a quirk to rid of concussions finally arriving — he had thanked you.

It was so benign, so incredibly simple, yet the way the golden sunshine illuminated his blond hair and made his red eyes shine like a ruby, you found your own tired body feeling heated and warm. He wasn’t such a lousy conversationalist, and you had already enjoyed all your interactions together, yet it still caught you off guard to feel your heart pounding in your throat as he pulled on his jacket and left.

So after coming to terms with your sudden infatuation for the stubborn hero, you began to express your desires and feelings for him without having to say it. For all that he was worth and all that he expressed himself to be extremely observant, Bakugou Katsuki still had no idea that you liked him.

Unfortunately, your scrub nurse uniform wasn’t precisely seductive. The light blue of the breathable, sterile uniform was about as unsexy as uniforms got. But that never stopped you from leaning in too close when doing what Bakugou demanded of you. It didn’t prevent you from accidentally dropping papers in front of him and bending over to show off the curves of your ass.

There had never been a time such as this one where you hated that the old, ‘sexy’ nurse outfits were no longer up to standard and banned from use. How you would have loved to be wearing gartered held stockings just to accidentally flash to Bakugou. But, you suppose that it’s alright. Even though your feelings and ambitions to get the Pro Hero to like you as much as you did him, you never tried to push it.

For now, you were just an asshole tease.

You carried out the rest of your rounds in peace, your pager sitting comfortably in your pocket, unused, unneeded for now. The rest of your four patients were doing well for now.

One was asleep, most likely due to the medicine coursing through his veins, but his vitals remained unchanged.

Another was in the process of getting ready to be discharged, her family there to help her in leaving.

The third was eating his dinner, eyes concentrated on a poker game on the TV as he asked you to help fluff his pillow.

The last was busy with a physical therapist, her forehead slick with sweat as she attempted to sit up from her chair.

All in all, they were all doing fine, and you were back to the beginning, back to Bakugou’s room.

You entered his closed room door to be greeted by an empty bed. Your eyes widened immediately, the initial wave of pure horror flashing through you that by some freak accident, some murderous villain had kidnapped the injured hero straight from the hospital bed. 

“Ground Zero-san?!” you called out, a pitched voice of concern frilling your voice as you stumbled through the room. Your eyes were frantically searching the room, fingers feeling the lingering warmth of his body on the bed and your eyes noticing the empty water cup on his table still. The sheets of his bed haphazardly thrown off as if in a struggle.

Your fingers wound around the panic button, your ears straining to hear any sort of sign of Bakugou still being here.

A gritted teeth snarl was muffled from the attached bathroom, and you froze, unable to move as you felt the untouched button in your hands turn as light as a feather. You approached the bathroom door with soft footsteps, the smile on your face, unable to be stopped as you pulled the door open.

The sight you happened upon was something that made your lips curl into a wider smirk as the hospital clothed-clad hero absolutely struggled with his lack of functioning hands and arms to pull down his pants. Something he couldn’t do himself because the socks and slippers on his feet kept him from even attempting to tug his pants off with his toes.

In his struggle, undoubtedly miserable attempt to get his pants and underwear off his waist, Bakugou seemed ignorant to your arrival. His back still towards you, his head tilted down in his struggle as he twisted and pulled at practically nothing.

And as you watched him struggle, you couldn’t help but let your eyes drink in his form that stood tall before you. Most occurrences where you found yourself face to face with Bakugou, he was always tucked in a bed (except that time you realized your feeling for him), whether it was because he needed to be or because he was forced to be. So seeing him in his full height, seeing how despite your size, you were still only at his shoulder, made your eyelashes flutter.

He was tall, so deliciously tall, you wanted to climb onto a chair to see if he would be taller even with that added height. And oh how the flimsy material of his hospital outfit was stretched then against the taut muscles of his back. They flexed and shifted with his aggravation, and the only thought on your mind was to rake your fingers against the tempting muscle and skin.

“Shitty. fucking. villain!” he hissed angrily, sweat trickling down the back of his neck as he still struggled to do what nature called him for. 

But you couldn’t help it; the flexing muscles of his back, the lower tenor of his voice, and the way he seemed ridiculously larger than life at the moment tipped your restraint over. Your ability to hold back crashing through you like a tsunami wave, drowning you until you found your hand tethered to the tight spot at the center of his spine, your hushed words drifting to his ear like sweet, warm honey.

“You need any help here, Ground Zero-san?” you asked, your voice just loud enough to have your hot breath fanning against his sweaty exposed neck. You could feel him twitch in your hold, his body stiffening as he whipped his head around to look at you, red eyes wild, wide, and dark.

“Don’t ya know how to fucking knock?!” he snapped, his body flushed at being caught in the bathroom, unable to shed his clothes. He doesn’t move from your touch, and that small detail makes you warm, knowing that he wasn’t entirely repulsed by your touch. 

“You were missing from your bed, and I called your name,” you smile despite his angry glare. “I know you are susceptible to hear loss, but I thought you were still in the clear.”

“I ain’t fucking deaf,” Bakugou growled, his face twisted with a frown. “And that still doesn’t explain why the hell you’re here!”

“Oh, were you not just completely struggling earlier?” you feign shock, the grin on your face unstoppable at the embarrassed scowl that sets on his face. You step even closer to him so that your torso is perpendicular to his side. Your hand still gently touching his muscled back, and your free hand gently pressing to his own abdomen, the feeling of his flexed muscles, making you dizzy as you peer down at the white toilet. “Is there a villain in the toilet? I didn’t think that was possible!”

“Of fucking course not, there’s not a shitty villain in the toilet.” Bakugou flushed, his body entirely trapped by you, but he made no play to escape.

“Oh, so did you need help?”

Bakugou stares at you, his mind whirling a kilometer a second as he contemplates his next course of action. The both of you know he needs help, and still, the both of you are aware that his ability to ask of that from you is slim to none given he couldn’t even wait for you to return to his room.

“Tch,” he clicks his tongue angrily, annoyed, completely fed up. His eyes rolling to the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge you as his head nods once. “Help me, shitass nurse.”

“Of course!” you chirp, your eyes finding his hooded ones.

You give him one last warm, sweet smile before the hand on his torso lightly drags down his stomach, soft in its unashamed way of feeling him up. Your head tilted as your fingers hooked into the tight waistband of his pants and pulled it down, the heat of your palm accidentally dragging itself over the imprint of his cock behind his boxers.

The slight, flustered choking noise at the back of his throat didn’t go ignored by you, but rather but aside for later. Your eyes flashing up to see his red eyes wide, his cheeks so lightly dusted with pink as you managed to pull down his boxers too. 

“There!” you exclaim, your eyes closing in your grin before you turn your attention back down to his exposed dick. 

Immediately, you had to hold back a noise of pure want and lust at the sight of him. He was long, undoubtedly eight inches, definitely more. Although you couldn’t tell how thick, you knew his dick would fill your palm without a struggle. The trimmed, dark blond pubes and the protruding veins are what did it for you, your tongue poking out for a millisecond to wet your lips as you stared at his dark pink head.

“Stop staring at it!” Bakugou hissed, clearly embarrassed if the slight voice crack said anything about it. 

You looked back up at him, fake confusion swimming in your eyes as you tilted your head. “It’s only a penis. I see millions of these all the time.”

“Yeah, but it’s fucking weird!”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, your eyes rolling softly as you sighed in retreat, “Fine, fine, let's pee big boy and get you in bed.”

With your dominant hand, you grabbed his dick with a soft grip, pleasure simmering through you at the confirmation of the thick dick in your palm. But it seemed you weren’t the only one who thought that for the moment you tried to steer his dick toward the toilet to assist in aim, Bakugou hissed loudly. His flesh twitching to life in your warm, soft hand as it began to grow upward.

You didn’t say anything; your jaw remained as tight and closed as your vocal box despite the egging need to tease him and celebrate his apparent approval of your touch. So, eventually, in a voice that defied the nervous energy coursing through your veins, you asked: “Didn’t you need to pee?”

Bakugou let out a throaty, guttural groan, his anger hissing between his teeth as his dick twitched again in your hold, growing longer and harder still.

“I can’t take a damn piss with a hard-on, you idiot!” he roared despite the strawberry red blush on his cheeks. You admired the way he was still fighting for control of an upper hand here despite — clearly — not having any.

“Oh, haha! Silly me!” you laugh, your hand shifting against his length, your warm palm getting closer to the base of his cock.

“W-What are you doing?!” Bakugou spluttered, your soft butterfly touches sending him through a loop he clearly wasn’t expecting. “You could just wait for it to die!” 

“It’s a nurse's job to make their patients comfortable and happy,” you repeat your words, your hold on his dick growing firmer and harder just as his cock continued to do. “You clearly need to pee, and there’s no telling when your cock will go down.”

“I’LL MAKE IT GO DOWN!” Bakugou yells, but the usual sharpness to his tone has deflated, diminished to nothing but whining embarrassed yell. You look up at his clenched jaw and how a pretty pink glows on his cheeks, and you’re mesmerized.

Looking back down at his growing cock that warms your hand immensely, you hum, slightly twisting your hand around his length. Bakugou shudders, a whine hidden in his throat as you open your own mouth.

“Do you want me to stop?” you question, your eyes fluttering up to look at his clouded red ones. “Do you not need or want me?”

That was a double-headed question if Bakugou ever heard one. He looked at your glossy lips, the way they were pouted, so ready to be kissed, to be claimed, and that delirious look of want and need in your eyes. And he knows better; he knows that this is not the place, not the time to act on emotions like this. The need to pee sits heavily on his lower belly, just like the need to cum makes him twitch and pace uncomfortably. God fucking damn his broken to smithereens arms.

But you already know this, of course, you do. But you also know how stubborn he can be, how anal he can be about the littlest thing. So with no answer, you weaken your grip, making him think that you’re ready to leave, and he falls right into the trap.

“Make it fucking q-quick,” his voice cracks, the embarrassment nearly tangible as you nod your head firmly, your fist tightening around his cock.

Your warm fingers pressed onto his length, beginning at a slow leisurely pace, your eyes glued onto his face, detailing how he reacts to every small flick of your wrist, every little difference of grip in his hands. Your strokes began to grow larger, your fingertips tracing the bulging veins on his cock, your eyes hypnotized by the way his face pinches in his pleasure, the blush on his cheeks, the way the hot pants expelling from his mouth curl warmly in your lower belly.

“Y-You do this with all your shitty patients?” Bakugou growls, but it sounds weak, too blurred and slurred with his increasing pleasure.

Your fingernails drag against the underneath of his cock, tracing the incredibly sensitive skin until he’s slowly thrusting his hips into your fist. “Only the hot ones,” you tease, your thumb pressing against the tip of his beading tip, the warm pre-cum slick and spreading quickly against his flushed tip.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” Bakugou continues, his head tipping backward, exposing the slenderness of his neck that begs for your teeth to sink into. “Just needed to take a fucking piss.”

“Nervous, you’ll pee all over me, and I won’t want to suck your dick?” you ask, your fingers brushing near his scrotum, eyes blazing dangerously at the sight of his gasping, jaw-dropping face. His hips rut forward, leaking cock dripping with his pre-cum, and you giggle softly, fisting him faster, spreading the pre-cum against his heated sex.

Your fingers run against his throbbing length, your palm tight and hot against his cock, the veins you drag across searing against your flesh, ingraining itself onto your skin and memory forever. Despite it all, the obvious near tangible horror Bakugou has on the thought of pissing on you, he continues to fuck into your fist. 

“Damn bitch like you would probably l-like it if I pissed on you,” Bakugou pants, his casted arms twitching at his chest. His head tilted away from you, but his eyes burning into you, the red eyes hot as fire against your skin. “You want me to piss on you? Make you my bitch.”

The words burn against your skin, your teeth biting onto your lower lip as you meet his gaze. You’ve never considered it before, never thought you’d be into it. As a nurse, you’ve been around piss, shit, and vomit, and while you had grown unfazed by it, you never considered the prospect of a man pissing on you. But you thought of it, of Bakugou standing above you, free from his casts, hands on his cock as he smirks down at you with golden liquid spraying from his cock, soaking you where you lay. 

You shudder, pleasant chills running down your spine as you stare into his eyes yet again. 

“And if I do?” you ask, fingers rolling the head of his cock between your forefinger and thumb, relishing in the way that he snarls low in his throat. “What’re you gonna do about that, Ground Zero-san? You gonna piss all over your bitch after you get out of here.”

“You want me to piss on you here?” he asks, his voice snappish, strained, his hips drilling harder into your hand that was quickly speeding up. A battle of power and speed between the both of you as he looms over you, face flushed, pink, and lips demanding to be kissed. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you do.”

“Why’s that?” you breathe, his lips tantalizingly close to yours, a breath away as your hand grips and tightens even more around the base of his cock, causing a pained-pleasured hiss to rip from behind his teeth as he looks at you.

“Don’t act like your shitty ass hasn’t been trying to seduce me every time I show up,” Bakugou gruffs, his hips continuing a drilling rhythm into your fist, his body no longer shy or embarrassed.

“So you noticed but never said anything?” you counter, your fingers shifting over to his swollen, hot balls. You fondle them, tugging at their weight gently, taking in the way his eyes roll to the back of his head and the way his teeth tear into his lip. “Coward.”

“Hah?! Who the fuck—”

You can’t help yourself anymore, your mouth coming to slam against his in a piercing, searing kiss. He moans into the kiss, and you gasp back, tongues clashing together, teeth knocking into each other as awkward, nearing uncomfortable kisses are exchanged. His sweet scent of caramel wafts into your nose, and his grunts and groans are addicting, entirely enthusiastic noises that send your own thighs clenching shut to quiet the heated need in between your thighs.

Your hand increases in its speed, his whines and groans so pretty and piercing into you. 

“How fucking gross,” you laugh into his mouth, the slicked heat of his precum lathering your palm until soft noises of your fisting hand begin to fill the sterile bathroom. “You’re a child, wanting to piss on things that you shouldn’t. You came to the bathroom and got a hard-on instead of pissing, Bakugou, aren’t you embarrassed.”

“Y-Y/l/n,” he hissed, his jaw falling slack against your mouth. His hips are drilling into you faster and faster, the throbbing of his cock, the growing, thick scent of his caramel sweat filling the room and your senses. “F-Fuck!”

“Such a dirty, childish pro hero,” you smile your tongue curling into his mouth and dragging against the roof of his mouth as he shudders helplessly against you. “Cum already, Bakugou, cum and piss over yourself like some small brat.”

He shudders, and you find your mouth leaving his own as you stare down, spurting white ropes of cum pour from his tip, completely covering the toilet seat with his sticky white cum. And you watch as soon as his body collapses onto you, entirely spent from the orgasm, yellow piss streaming from his tip.

The toilet fills with his cum and piss, and you grin once his balls and bladder are completely drained. His cock limp and weak in your hand as you hum, your quirk activating and causing the exhausted Pro Hero to recompose himself so that he wasn’t entirely weak against you. 

“Such a good patient,” you coo, pulling up Bakugou’s boxers and hospital pants without a second's thought. Patting his butt gently, you watched as his still exhausted red eyes stared at you. You walked over to the sink, washing your hands so that you could continue to finish the rest of your shift.

“Don’t think this is over, shitty nurse.”

You look at him over your shoulder, your fingers curling under the warm water as you grin.

“I expect to be fucked and pissed on next time,” you counter, your smirk devastating and sending a fire right back to Bakugou’s groin. “No freebies anymore.”

[karlnapity]

I Hope You Die in a Raging Inferno of Pain

AO3 link

TWs: panic attacks, depicted death

Jack Manifold is ambushed on a Tuesday. He’s at the hotel, the front desk where he always is, and he barely has time to register what’s happening before Tubbo is dragging him outside. He sputters, tries to wrench his arm from where Tubbo’s holding it, but he wasn’t strong even before he died, and he’s got no chance.

“Tubbo- what-” He’s quieted by the other’s shushing.

“This is an intervention. You’re going to therapy.” Tubbo’s voice is gleeful, but Jack can parse the underlying serious tones.

He scowls even as he trips over his feet as he’s pulled along. “I don’t need therapy.”

Tubbo laughs at that one. “Bossman, I think we could all use a little, and Puffy’s offering it, so you’re going.”

“Puffy hates me.” He scoffs.

Tubbo huffs. “Give it a shot, at least?”

And Jack can’t refuse him.

.

Jack hates everything about this.

He rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans. He didn’t even know he could still sweat.

Puffy sits across from him, tapping her foot in a rhythm that makes him want to pull his hair out. She hasn’t said anything yet, seemingly waiting for him to start the conversation, and he’d rather die again than actually talk to her.

He doesn’t want therapy. He doesn’t need someone else to tell him he’s a horrible person. He can do that himself.

Eventually, after what seems like years, Puffy clears her throat, and his attention snaps to her. She leans forward, slightly, on her chair.

“So Tubbo brought you in?” She asks. He nods, once. He doesn’t look her in the eye. He really wants to leave.

“Well,” she starts with a rueful smile. “I wouldn’t usually say it’s good to drag people to therapy against their will, but this is the fucking Dream SMP. Sometimes I think it’d be good if we just had one big group session.”

He grunts something that would be a laugh in more comfortable circumstances. “Someone would die.”

She chuckles at that. “You’re probably right. Maybe it’s for the best.”

After a few moments of awkward silence she leans forward again. “So, tell me about you. Do you think you need therapy?”

He feels very small all of a sudden. He shuffles his feet. His legs ache. Everything aches.

“Dunno,” he mutters.

“I need a little more than that, Jack,” she coaxes.

“I… guess?” He wants to melt into the floor, maybe fall back into hell again if it means escaping this conversa

(Fuck)

(No)

(No no no no no no no no)

(He can’t think that he doesn’t want to think about that why did he think that joke was)

“Jack?”

There’s a bit of pain in his arms and he realizes he’s clutching them, fingernails digging in painfully. He doesn’t want to loosen his grasp.

He starts as he notices Puffy next to him. He’s not sure when she moved. She tugs his hands away gently, and he relaxes reluctantly.

She catches his eye. “What were you thinking about?”

The question is asked so gently, and he bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, eyes darting to the floor to avoid the way they water just slightly.

“You know I died?” He asks, and his voice feels raspy like his lungs are still full of fire

(Don’t think that)

He tries to draw his arms back in but she holds tight on his wrists.

“What life are you on?”

He barks a laugh at that, something pitiful and angry and he tries not to yell.

“Four,” he croaks, and her expression twists.

“That’s not funny, Jack,” she reprimands, and he pulls himself away, stands to face away from her even as his vision swims.

“Well I’m not fucking joking, am I?”

(Wilbur told him once when it was still L’Manburg that Jack was like a small animal, or some fucking metaphor like that, all puffed up and angry to cover up that he was scared, and Jack told him they were in a fucking war, and he was allowed to be scared, and Wilbur laughed and told him ‘There he goes,’ and Jack thought it was funny.)

(This was, of course, before Wilbur killed him.)

Puffy seems to have realized he was serious, and he hears her stand behind him. She doesn’t ask the normal question, which is good, because he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“How did you lose them?”

He turns to her. She looks so out of her depth he almost wants to laugh.

“Wilbur, Tommy, Techno.”

She sucks in a breath. After a moment she chokes out, “Tommy?”

He does laugh, then, and then there’s nothing but fire in his veins, on his skin, and it burns so much. “Yeah, your fucking precious kid? The one who can do no wrong?”

Puffy hasn’t even said anything, but he’s started, now.

(Tommy once compared him to a firecracker.)

“He fucking killed me. And no one knows I died to Techno, and no one cares about Wilbur, and no one has even acknowledged or even knows that I fucking went to hell, and no one cares and no one’s apologized and the only person who even cares about me is apparently fucking Wilbur and I think he was manipulating me anyways and-”

He chokes off in a scream, crumpling to a crouch, and after a second he feels Puffy’s arms around him. His skin still feels like it’s burning and he pushes her away desperately, fighting her the whole way down, but she holds tight.

He gets tired of both trying to push her away and choke in sobs and breathes he doesn’t need, eventually, and goes limp, letting her hug him. His breaths still as he calms and he feels her tense before she realizes it’s okay he’s not breathing.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and that almost starts him up again. “I’m sorry I didn’t know, and I’m sorry you’ve felt alone, and I’m sorry that no one’s been here to help you. But we’ll get there.”

He clings to her, then. Some part of him tells him to stop embarrassing himself, to keep the facade, but it’s washed out by the utter relief.

Someone is listening to him. Someone knows what happened to him. Someone is paying attention to him and it’s not to laugh at him or to tell him he’s an asshole or to look down on him.

(Something feels a little bit wrong, in his chest. It feels cold.)

(His fire is flickering.)

.

Therapy isn’t fun, he learns quickly. It’s actually kind of hard.

After the initial ‘guess what, I died’ he finds he likes talking about his other issues much less. Puffy encourages him to spill, and she always listens, but after every word he fears she’ll laugh or look at him with disgust or fear.

But she takes everything with stride.

He needs to tell her about his death. His mouth feels dry. He can tell she’s waiting for him to start.

“So, um, dying,” he stammers. She nods.

“You don’t need to tell me about it if you don’t want to.”

“I do, though,” he snaps before he talks a breath like she taught him to.

(I don’t need to breathe, he says, and she balks for a minute before stammering an indignant You should try it anyways.)

“The final one- The one that killed me for real- Techno took an axe to my head on Doomsday. But I didn’t go to hell immediately, I guess? I just came back to life like normal, though things were weird, and it took a day for me to just. Fall through the ground?” He can feel it now, but he pushes it away. He just needs to get the words out.

“And I was just falling and falling and I saw Her and all I could think about was how I couldn’t die until I got revenge and I was so angry and then I just kept falling and then I was on the Prime Path again.” He twists his fingers in his lap. “And then I realized I was dead and I think I might be slowly falling apart like a fucking zombie and everything’s fucked up and the only thing keeping me alive- literally, I’m pretty sure- is how angry I am.”

He looks up to Puffy then. She gets this look on her face, sometimes, like she’s shocked and appalled and sad, which is kinda starting to become a recurrence in their sessions.

“What do you mean falling apart? Run me by your symptoms again?” She scribbles a few notes.

“Um.” He suddenly feels very aware of just how unnatural he is. He feels disgusting. “Can’t sleep, can’t eat. My senses are worse? It’s harder to hear and to feel and to see and stuff. And my body hurts a lot. Like, a lot.”

She nods. “Have you noticed anything that helps?”

He looks at the floor. He doesn’t want to say it.

“Jack?”

“Um.” He twists his fingers and they hurt. “When I’m angry?”

He takes a peek at her and she gestures for him to continue.

He had no idea so much therapy is just being encouraged to speak.

It does feel nice to be listened to.

“When I’m angry, it feels like this fire in my chest. It feels like I’m alive.” He sighs. “I think it’s what’s keeping me around.”

“Your anger?”

He nods. “When I was falling, all I could think about was how much I wanted to get them back. Techno and Tommy and everyone. I just wanted apologies.”

.

Puffy asks him if he wants to talk to Tommy. He really doesn’t, but she fixes him with a look and he can’t really say no.

That’s how he finds himself sitting across from Tommy in her office. Tommy is staring at the ground and Jack pretends to find something interesting in the wall.

“So, Jack, do you want to start?” Puffy asks. He sighs.

“No.”

“You tried to kill me,” Tommy starts, and the fire flares.

“You did kill me!” Tommy shrinks back, just a bit, but he doesn’t stop.

“I came to visit, because I was your fucking friend, and you just kept going on about how no one cared about you when I was right there and you shoved me into lava! Why the fuck do you think I wanted to kill you?”

He’s seething, but Tommy just looks confused.

“I killed you?” His voice is small. Jack doesn’t care.

“Do I actually fucking matter so little to you that you don’t even remember killing me?” His voice chokes and he shoots to his feet. He can hear Puffy call his name, but he’s already storming out.

He swipes furiously at his eyes as he crouches outside. He can’t cry anymore, which is more cruel than anything, but the sensation is still there.

“Jack?”

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” he’s saying before he even has the time to realize that he’s fucking crying in front of him. He bristles, but Tommy has crouched beside him.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy says, quieter than he should. Jack can barely hear him, and he’s not sure if it’s just his shitty hearing or what.

“I’m so fucking sorry I killed you, and I’m even more sorry I don’t remember. I- I wasn’t doing well then. At all. I’m still not. I did a lot of things I regret.” He sighs. “You don’t have to forgive me. You really don’t. But, um. If you ever want to talk to someone about being dead.”

Jack sighs, runs a hand over his head. “Yeah, but you came back to life the easy way.”

“Puffy told me you’re, like, actually dead?”

Jack holds out his hand and Tommy presses his fingers to his wrist, murmuring something in awe when he can’t find the pulse.

Jack feels something like affection and tries to push it down, but it’s too late.

Tommy’s fingers feel like ice. He gasps when something breaks in his chest, jerking his arm back. Tommy blinks.

He puts a hand to his chest. Something is wrong. He’s pretty sure Tommy is calling his name but he feels far away.

Everything is so cold. His teeth are chattering, he’s pretty sure. He shivers.

Something is happening, he’s being moved, but he can’t tell what’s happening. He jerks when he feels hands on his arms, on his back, but they hold tight.

He’s laid on his back. Someone touches his forehead, but he can hear murmuring after a minute. Their hands are like ice.

It takes a long time for him to start to come to. He’s rolled onto his side at some point. He feels drifty, like when he first came back from hell, and that fear is enough to startle him awake.

He’s on the couch in Puffy’s office. She’s sitting in her usual chair, but she stands when she sees him blinking at her.

“Are you okay?” She asks worriedly, crouching beside him and taking his hands. He jerks back at how cold she is.

“What happened?” He croaks.

She shakes her head. “I don’t know, Tommy said you just collapsed. We were so worried.”

Tommy was worried for him. He gasps again, clutching his chest. She helps him sit up, rubs his back as he recovers.

He knows what this is. He doesn’t want to admit it.

“Can you imagine,” he starts, chuckling bitterly. “Can you imagine therapy fucking killing you?”

His anger is fading, and in some cruel, sick sense of it all, it’s not a good thing, healing isn’t a good thing, and it’s so. Fucking. Unfair.

.

He tries to keep on with his life, tries to keep up with therapy, spends time with Tubbo, and Tommy sometimes, and Niki when he’s lucky, but in the back of his mind all he can think is how it will end, and it happens all too soon.

He wakes up one day and he can’t get up.

He’s so tired. He registers, dimly, that it’s not normal, but the fog in his brain leaves him unwilling to explore the idea.

It takes three days and a missed appointment for Puffy to come find him.

She stands over him, arms crossed, and chastises him.

She starts to worry when he doesn’t even shift.

There’s no pulse, no temperature to check, so all she can do is shake him, and after a few long moments he opens his eyes.

She exhales shakingly, pulls him close to her chest. “Oh my god, don’t scare me like that.”

He doesn’t quite have the energy to refute her, so he lets her hold him. His eyes slip closed again, and she shakes him.

“Tell me what’s going on?” She asks. She sounds so worried.

He’s not good at talking at the best of times, but he’s got to try. His mouth feels dry. He can’t even remember the last time anything passed his lips. He misses eating. He’s losing consciousness again.

“Tired,” is all he manages to murmur. She shifts him in her arms.

“I need a little more than that, Jack.” There’s something in her voice. “This isn’t normal for you. You told me you don’t sleep.”

“I don’t,” he tells her as indignantly as he can muster. He knows it’s not right, how he’s feeling, but he’s so tired that he can’t be arsed, and he whines when Puffy shakes him again.

“You need to stay awake, okay?”

He’s so cold. It feels like his limbs are frozen.

Puffy keeps murmuring, talking his ear off to try to distract him, try to keep his attention, and he tries to hold onto her words. They just slip through his grasp.

.

He’s falling.

No. This isn’t fair. None of this is fucking fair.

He doesn’t want revenge. He doesn’t want to hurt anymore. He doesn’t want to maim.

He wants to live. All he’s ever wanted is to live. All he’s ever wanted is safety and security and love.

And he’s fucking got it so this isn’t fair.

And the fire is lit.

.

Jack Manifold crawls out of hell on a Tuesday. He crawls out of hell because he’s a stubborn motherfucker. He crawls out of hell because he has friends, a therapist, and a way to move forward. He crawls out of hell because he has apologies to make and people to forgive and he can’t die before he finishes his argument with Tommy.

He crawls out of hell because life is unfair and terrible and awful, but he will be worse.

And there’s a hand extended. He grins and takes it. It’s warm.

[awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands]

Laid out cold, now we're both alone (part 2)

A/N: Hello, this fic is very important to me because I tried my best to give justice to such a cool idea and I hope I did a good job. Plus I don't do multichapter ofter, so this was a challenge. 

I wanna thank the lovely @livdonna for proofreading my work, you're literally the best <3. 

P.S. If you want to get tagged in the next chapters, let me know.

Summary: Nikki visits Mick to give him a very important task.

Warnings: Major Character Death,Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Drug Use, Angst, Overdose.

Pairing: Nikki Sixx x Tommy Lee

Chapter 1

Taglist: @slashscowboyboots @witchytombstonesmile @arnold-layne @emometalhead​ @i-dont-like-rice​ @nikki-sexx​ @smokeandmirrorz​

Mick was supposed to not give a shit about Nikki. He and the stupid drummer had tormented him and his wife for months on ends, making the whole tour a living hell and he didn’t need to have even more things to worry about. So what if his bassist decided to get addicted to heroin? He was a fucking dumbass but it wasn’t his problem.  He would end up killing himself and it wasn’t like Mick could have done something, not when his whole body was torturing him.

The only problem was that he cared, deep down. He cared about the fucker and hearing the news that he was gone forever hit him.  He lost one of his friends and the band all together in a day, what would have happened? He hated to admit he was scared about the future, it was hard to imagine Motley Crue without Nikki.

He sighed, turning off yet another discussion about his death. They didn’t call him yet but something was telling him that they had to release a statement soon.  Doc was probably freaking out somewhere crying for all his millions of dollars lost.

“Fucking Nikki, you had to die at the worst moment, didn’t you?”

“Yeah… sorry about that, man” A voice incredibly similar to Nikki said, making Mick jump up.

Nikki didn’t feel anything, one moment they were in the ambulance and the other they were on the beach.  He was confused for a moment before he remembered that Mick had a beach house, and stared at it for a bit. He didn’t know much about the guitarist, maybe almost nothing but he respected him so much.  He was one of the strongest dudes he had ever met.

The weirdest thing about all of this was probably how he was only able to feel certain things, no cravings or sand under his feet as he was walking, yet he would still feel guilt, fear, love, worry… it didn’t make sense but he wasn’t in the mood to question the universe’s rules.

People can’t see you until you decide to show yourself. You have to remember or otherwise they can’t hear or see you.

The voice still freaked him out, but at the same time he was grateful for it to be there… it made him feel less alone, which was great considering how he felt lonely for his entire life.

“You’re not alone Nikki, I’ll always be there with you, through highs and lows”

“God it sounds like a marriage vow, T-Bone”

“Well if I could I’d marry now…”

He shook his head, trying to get the memory out.  It wasn’t the time to be sentimental and risk fucking everything up, so he walked ( more like flew) through the front door and found Mick sitting on the couch.

“Fucking Nikki, you had to die at the worst moment, didn’t you?”

“Yeah… sorry about that, man”. The bassist hoped that he was heard, otherwise it would have been pretty embarrassing.

Mick visibly jumped at hearing Nikki’s voice and quickly turned around to look at him.  From his widened eyes and confused expression, he knew he probably looked fucking transparent.

“Okay first of all why the hell are you here talking to me if you’re dead? Then why the fuck can I see myself through you ?”

The black haired man just realized that he had no idea how to explain everything and be believed, he just went along with whatever the voice in his head was saying, but now it was different. He fumbled with his hand and realized he couldn’t feel them, while he tried to come up with the best way to explain to his friend how he was a ghost and why he was there.

“I died… I have no idea how I came back but I have unfinished business and I need to talk to you!”

The guitarist looked at him up and down, clearly skeptical.  However, there wasn’t much arguing… Nikki’s ghost was literally standing in front of him.

“Okay I have no idea if this is a dream, I’m dead or in a coma, or simply I drank too much but now I’ll grab some vodka and you’ll spill your little secrets as you like”.

Nikki smiled a bit… He honestly felt normal for the first time since he was brought back.  Having Mick joking was so familiar, usually Tommy was the aim of his jokes and they all laughed because they were all so unexpected…

Tommy. Thinking about him still hurt, again he wondered if he was okay and how much he missed him… but it wasn’t his time now.  He had other things to talk about as Mick came back into the living room with his glass.

“Mick… you gotta promise me that you won’t let Motley Crue die, that you will fight to keep the band’s legacy.”

The older man looked at him surprised, rolling his eyes.

“Well that’s a bit hard when our bassist and songwriter died!”

Rage and resentment were heavy in his voice but there was more : fear and sadness. Nikki felt guilty and he fucking hated it, it was so unlike him but he couldn’t help it… Mick cared about the band as much as he did.  He always said the band was his life, before heroin came into the picture, but it was also Mick’s and he probably destroyed everything.

“You will find another one, another bassist who is also a songwriter…” The words felt so foreign coming from his mouth.  They even hurt a bit but they were necessary.

“I know you care about this band as much as I do, Mick. I know how much you’ve worked your ass off in shitty bands, trying to find the one that was going to break… I might be dead but Crue can’t have the same fate”.

Mick scoffed, taking a long sip of his vodka.

“It’s not easy, it’s not like we can find the perfect match like we did. Plus, everyone will probably hate him for replacing you!”

The frustration was almost tangible, but there was something else… Mick was scared, he knew everything was about to fade away because of Nikki’s actions, he was already looking at the boat sinking. Nikki started to panic because his band had to live, even in his death! It was pointless and selfish but that was the only thing people could remind him of.

“If you give up, then Vince and Tommy will do the same! I know that you think no one will take you, but the truth is they will. Crue is what it is because of our vision, you are part of it and I’m asking you to keep it going. Think of this as my dying man’s wish… even if I’m already dead”

The older man’s grip on his glass got tighter, his eyes lost in thought as he was pondering Nikki’s words. It was hard to take in, hell that was an understatement, it was fucking insane and probably wouldn’t work but the bassist needed to have this false hope.

“It’s so fucking weird, you know? To realize you’re fucking dead yet here talking to me.”

He was deflecting, Nikki knew it, but didn’t want to push it too far. He learned to know Mick, he kept his promises and he was a hard worker and with a good dose of luck and jokes, you got him to your side.

“Yeah, do you remember how I said you weren’t going to make it in that interview? Well, karma hits like a bitch!”

“Mick might not make it , he drinks a little too much and it looks rough” Mick quoted, trying to imitate Nikki’s voice.

“Yeah and then you said something like I heard what you said and you’re dead, fuck I guess you were right” He laughed but Mick didn’t.

Oh c’mon so what if he was joking about his death? It’s not like anyone really cared about him.  They just saw him as a burden, which he was. Not his mom, nor his band or his Tommy would have really missed him… they would eventually move on.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” He said annoyed but his lips formed a small smile.

“I know, I know. Mick… please promise me that. If Crue is going to end, then my whole life didn’t mean anything! Ple…” He stopped himself, he was so fucking close to begging but he couldn’t. Nikki Sixx didn’t fucking beg, not in life or death.

“I’m thinking about it!”

He really meant the first part. He spent all his teenage and adult years creating the band of his dreams and making sure they conquered the world.  This band was his escape; his attempt at redemption after his shitty childhood. Nobody loved Frank Feranna but he didn’t care, he would become Nikki Sixx and be super fucking famous!

He didn’t need anyone’s love, except that he did.

“ I love you, Nikki.”

“ No you don’t, nobody does, T-Bone”

“Well I fucking do. You gotta pass on my dead body before you’ll hear me not saying it over and over”

His heart might have stopped, but he still felt the big wave of nostalgia hitting him. He couldn’t do it, he would have never been ready to see him again.

“Okay, I will. But listen to me, it won’t be easy and I’m an old man with a fucked up back, so don’t send demons against me if I fail!” The little spark of determination in his eyes relaxed Nikki, he was on board.

“I fucking knew you were the best, Mars! If I wasn’t dead I’d probably tattoo your face on me as a thank you!”

“Oh gross, never say that again!” He pretended to be disgusted but his eyes betrayed him, the small softness in them told Nikki he felt touched.

“Who knows, maybe in hell they have tattoos for the ghosts. God we used to hate each other and now we are two peas in a pod.”

“I still hate you.”

“Ugh, you crushed my heart Mick”

The guitarist flipped him off, rolling his eyes. Nikki desperately wanted to keep talking, if he did then he could have pretended nothing changed, right? He didn’t have to face Vince and Tommy and go through the light… everything would have stayed the same or he could fool himself that it would.

I think it’s time to go to the next person.

The voice was demanding yet still calm. Nikki knew that he couldn’t stay forever, they had to prevent spirits from just lingering into the real world like that, it made him a bit angry but he understood it. It wasn’t like he could have done much anyway…He was just a shell of what he used to be.

“I gotta go Mick…” He wanted to punch himself because he sounded so fucking pathetic, but the other man gave him a compassionate smile.

What he fuck are you, a little small puppy? Oh look Frankie is scared to leave his illusion of a family.

Mick walked him to the other without saying anything, but before turning the handle, which was pointless because Nikki could have just passed through the door, he broke the silence.

“Try to give us some signs, okay? Show us that you’re there… but don’t you fucking dare spill my vodka or I’ll make you two times dead!”

“Oh that’s exactly what I’ll do, thanks for the suggestion!”

He stepped outside and looked at Mick one last time.

“You promised, alien. You gotta do it!”

“Yeah yeah, you better repay me when I come to join you there…” And with one last look, Mick closed the door.

Nikki felt all of the weight crushing down on his body, even if it was made of air. He simply stood still, his mind racing like a freight train, trying to take everything in but also getting ready for his next move… being overwhelmed was an understatement, he felt peeled down like an orange and this was only the beginning. He felt like a fucking coward but he just wanted to get over it, was it that bad to accept his fate and disappear without facing anyone?

You are going to abandon him again? You know why you need to talk to Vince, and you know this will be your last chance to see him, asshole!

He went to kick the sand, but he couldn’t touch it. God, how frustrating was that!

So where are we going next?

Nikki would have wanted to scream at him, give him the middle finger and just run away but it wouldn’t have been helpful, would it? So he forced himself to be as neutral as possible.

“Vince Neil. Take me to his house.”

[uno-writing]

🥨 I keep almost forgetting to be anon, still too shy to not be anon even though I literally have nothing on my blog, smh. (I swear, I’m not shy irl I’m actually really outgoing but for some reason I’m shy on the internet. That’s so backwards wth)

ok so, main cast and their middle school stories? Not necessarily crazy stories, just noteworthy in some way.

example: In like, 7th grade I was in chorus drawing on my folder. My teacher told me to stop drawing and I pretended to but kept being sneaky and drawing. I was in the front row so she noticed, and took away my pencil. Bad choice. I took out another pencil when she wasn’t looking and kept drawing. She took that pencil away. I took out another pencil. The teacher noticed again and at that point my classmates were all saying “How many pencils do you have!?”, to wich I responded by opening my lunchbox to reveal literally hundreds of pencils. Actually I think it was a little under 200 but I had a lot.

I also had an incident play-fighting with my friend and at some point they went unga-bunga hulk mode/unbridled rage and slammed my head into the pavement. (I was mad for awhile but they apologized a lot lol) Don’t worry I only got a minor concussion :)

also if u have any fun middle school stories I’d be interested to hear them

-Pretzel Anon 🥨

OMFG THE PENCIL STORY HAD ME DYING FOR LIKE 5 MINUTES! That’s like comedy gold, my dude. And the phrase ‘unga-bunga hulk mode’ killed me as well

My memory’s complete garbage so this middle school story is the only one that popped up in my brain. It isn’t as funny as yours but here we go😅 To give context I was a very shy kid in middle school. Very reserved, very socially anxious (i mean i still am but I’ve gotten better since middle school). I had like 2 friends, they weren’t good friends to me but I completely idolized them since they were the only people I could talk to.

So basically we were in the gym for some multigrade hang out type thing where the whole school just went to hang in the gym and there was this one chick that came over and was kind of being bitchy to one of my friends and she kept like trying to kick one of their shins. The entire time I’m like sitting there, being anxious and trying to build up my confidence to stand up for my friend but I can’t bc I hate confrontation. So the chick finally leaves and as she gets to the bottom of the bleachers I notice a volleyball next to my foot. Without thinking, I use all of that built up confidence to stand up, grab the ball and just completely chuck it at her. Also for context, I’m usually really bad at aiming. Not this time. That sucker hit her square on the back of her head. I feel immediate shock, panic and regret (bc if I had actually thought about it for literally half a second I wouldn’t have done it) so I yell out a very genuine sounding ‘I’m sorry!’ which was really funny to me bc I just completely yeeted the thing with all of my force, her head flew so far forwards that her chin kinda hit the top of her chest and I just sounded so genuine with my apology.🍿🥤🍭🍬🍫🧋🥨🥬🍦🍧🧊🐇🍩🥖📦🌻

Seraphina: There was a kid that had a major crush on her and he kept leaving her love notes in her locker as a secret admirer and she didn’t really care. His final one asked her to meet him after school and when she goes to meet them just bc she’s curious but as soon as she saw him she just left bc she didn’t like him. He was so broken hearted and she kinda felt a lil bad bc she didn’t mean to be that heartless but still.

John: He went to the grocery store with his dad and they’re walking around and John sees this really delicious looking chocolate bar and he really wants it but he doesn’t want to ask bc then there’s a possibility of his dad saying no. So John goes and stuffs the chocolate bar into the waistband of his shorts. At first he thought to do the pockets but he has loose pockets so he doesn’t want to risk the chocolate bar falling out. However…he didn’t think about how much longer his dad would be in the store. So they’re in the store for about an hour longer. By the time they get home and John rushes to his room bc he really wants his chocolate bar, it’s melted bc it’s been pressed against his body for an hour and all of the nuts inside of it just sank to the bottom.

Arlo: He made up his mind that he wanted earrings and even though his parents had told him no, he was determined. So he went to the store, bought a pair of earrings and just shoved them through his ear lobes. Obviously it gets super infected and he has to go to the doctor. But afterwards his parents get his ears pierced so he doesn’t do dumb crap like that again. They were more shocked than they were upset just bc he’s usually such a people pleaser so it shocked them that he went against their orders this badly. Remi: Remi and Rei got into a play fight and Remi was convinced she could kick his ass. She was proven wrong so quickly bc this was before she was able to ground other people’s lightning. So she got really badly shocked, like so badly that she flew back several feet. Her hair put Albert Einstein's to shame.

Blyke: He was practicing with his energy beams so he had his sibling toss rocks straight up in the air for him to shoot at. He’s pretty good at hitting them, but he does miss a few times. The last time he missed, he heard the signature little-kid-in-pain squeak before the kid starts screaming. The kid was mostly fine, it was just a grazed hit but Blyke felt so bad .

Isen: Isen’s middle school friends convinced him to try and steal the teacher’s stapler for a prank. He thought it’d be easy enough to do, it was one of the little tiny staplers after all. So he goes in the classroom while the teacher’s out on lunch and he goes and grabs the stapler. But before he can move out from behind their desk, they come back bc they forgot their drink and Isen panics and shoves the stapler in his mouth. The teacher comes in and asks what he’s doing in there and he starts to answer but remembers he’s got a stapler in his mouth. And then he accidentally swallows and the stapler gets stuck in the top of his throat. So he starts choking and the teacher runs over to help him and he coughs the stapler onto the floor. The teacher just stares at the stapler on the floor in silence and then asks “...isen…why did you have my stapler in your mouth?”

[oopsxcor]

What JJK 1st Years Would Do If They Walked In On You Crying:

WC: 1,740

Pairing: Yuji Itadori/Megumi Fushiguro/Kugisaki Nobara x GN!Reader

Genre: Bittersweet, fluff

Yuji Itadori :

“(Nameeee)!!”

He would most definitely knock on your dorm room door impatiently and swing open the door because he’d be excited to finally spend the night with you after his long mission.

His grin would be huge, and like the big dummy he is, not realizing you’re sitting there with tears rolling down your cheeks and snot running out of your nose. (gross, get a tissue tf).

“I got snacks and sweets for tonight!! Are you rea..dy…” (ah, finally.. he realized)

Like the cutie he is, he would drop EVERYTHING and rush towards you to quickly hold you in his arms as he would frantically search your face, caressing your cheek.

“Hey, heyyy��! What’s wrong? What happened? Who do I have to Black Flash??” because he has to sneak in that one lil joke in there to make him earn a smile from you.

You tried your best to explain what made you upset without balling again and sniffling every time you spoke. (We’ve all been there before dw).

Yuji hated seeing you upset. Most of the time he would think it was because of him, or if he did something wrong. He was scared of losing someone else again and the thought of it made his hold on you tighter, making you feel safe in his arms.

Once you got all your words out, he would wipe your tears and nose, giving you a reassuring smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

He’d give you a big hug and hold your face again, giving you peppered kisses all over your face, but mainly over your sore, puffed eyes.

“It’s okay… I’m here now, I’ve got you. I’m sorry I didn't get here sooner, (name)... here, hold on!”

He brought the sack back over to you and emptied it, spilling everything he got on to the floor. But the thing he was mainly searching for was a DVD case.

“This! This is the movie you’re always geeking about, right? I saw it in the store and immediately thought of you so I got it! Let me go fix the popcorn mix and we’ll watch it right now- wait right there baby- stay there!” (mf I’ve been sitting here crying do you expect me to move?).

After he rushed off, you could feel a smile appear on your face.

It only took him about five minutes to come back with a giant bowl of popcorn with m&ms and other sweets mixed into it as he gave it to you so he could put your movie in.

Honestly you found it funny how determined he was to make you feel better when he didn't even know that him holding you made you feel better already but you kept quiet. You enjoyed the attention he was giving you.

He sat next to you, not even hesitating to get all cuddly with you and wrapping his arm around your waist. He felt like you deserved everything possible after what he saw coming into your dorm.

You turned your head to look up at him as you were about to thank him but he quickly shushed you with his finger right after you said his name.

“No, no. This whole night is all about you, you deserve it. Not even just tonight- this whole MONTH is about you!”

His face would brighten up and his heart would skip a beat when he finally saw/hear you break out a laugh. That really made him happy. He was doing something right for once he thought.

And by the end of the movie, you both would be fast asleep in each other's arms.

Megumi Fushiguro :

First of all, because he’s a respectful softy, he would quietly knock on your door then wait till you said he could come in. Normally, you’d invite him in while dancing and listening to your favorite playlists with a smile on your face. He already suspected something was off because of the sound of your voice.

He’d peer his head in first with his hand still on the door handle, seeing if you were okay.

When he saw you sitting on your bed with red cheeks and teary eyes, after you quickly tried to wipe it away, he stepped back out into the hallway and closed your door. You didn’t know whether to feel hurt or confused. (Both tbh).

He silently came back, closing the door behind him but this time he had a box of tissues in his hand. Somehow he knew you were nearly out.

He walked up to you and gave you the box as he sat on the end of your bed.

He wasn’t really good with this sort of thing but when it was with you, he felt like he had to do something otherwise he would never forgive himself if he didn't speak up. You had no idea how important you were to him. You were his.

He would exhale and turn himself to face you, looking like he was going to cry with you. He truly was worried about you.

“Do you… do you want to talk about it? You know you can talk to me, right..?”

He hesitated before finally wiping away a tear rolling down your cheek, then pushing a few strands of hair behind your ear.

He earned a weak chuckle from you. His face expression was truly hilarious at that moment but when you realized he wasn’t kidding, your smile faded.

You brushed it off saying it’s nothing to worry about but you already knew he wasn’t going to believe that.

Finally, you asked him if he could hold you for a while to help you calm down. Then you would vent/rant to him.

At first, he was surprised by what you said that he had to take a minute to gather himself. But he did as you asked. Anything to help comfort you was his top priority.

He shifted himself behind you, taking both of your legs over one of his, then holding you tightly with his hand resting on your shoulder and the other hugging your waist while he rested his head on the top of yours.

By the way you were sitting, you could hear his heartbeat, his breathing, the core of his voice when he spoke, everything. You found it treasurable and calming.

Megumi only spoke when you wanted him to. Sometimes he would start humming a song that the both of you loved, or start to slowly rock side to side.

When you asked him how he was so good at this, he let out a quiet chuckle.

“My sister used to do this for me all the time. Eventually when I stopped punching and kicking her to get off of me, I just accepted it. Turned out I really liked it when she would comfort me… speaking of, are you feeling better?”

He leaned back to examine your face, brushing away the strands that made it to your face again. He still had that worried look on his face when you looked back up at him.

You really didn't want this special moment to end so you asked him to stay like this just a little longer, and he did.

He was still curious as to what got you so upset but he respected your privacy and didn’t invade.

He knew you would tell him when the time was right. That's what you secretly loved about him.

Kugisaki Nobara :

She would definitely slam open the door with no hesitation, fueled by rage ready to rant to you because of Megumi, Yuji, and Gojo.

When she would realize that even you weren’t okay, it made her rage stronger. Not at you, but at the cause as to why you were crying.

She would stand in your doorway, stuck on to what to say because as she oh so much hates to admit it, she really does care about you. You’re probably the only one who she deeply cares for in the school, actually. Well, besides Maki.

She let out a huge sigh and crossed her arms, cheeks red.

“You wanna go shopping?”

At first you would sit there thinking about going, which made Kugisaki so impatient that she let out an “ArGhhHh!”

She would literally drag you out of bed, telling you to stop moping around, get up. And maybe a few insults here and there that were obviously not sincere.

But as she would drag you out of your bed, she’d stumble and trip over herself causing her to topple over you.

At first, both of you stared at each other in surprise then would burst out laughing at how stupid you both looked, but what you didnt know is that Kugisaki’s heart felt like it was gonna beat out of her chest at that moment.

She also wasn’t moving off of you.

Her cheeks would redden again and she would look at you with a sweet smile and before you knew it, she was resting on top of you, hugging you.

You would only see this side of Kugisaki rarely. It was only when you two were alone together when she would act like this. It didn't bother you though, you thought it was cute that she only showed this side of herself to you.

You knew that both of you were having a rough day, so you embraced her as well while also playing with her hair.

That moment would only last a few minutes, maybe five before she got up and brushed off her clothes, helping you up as well. Her smile was still visible.

“Come on… this month's check came in, let's go waste it all on clothes and cute shoes and show off how attractive we are to our bozo classmates. It’ll be fun~!!”

Her hands were still in yours as she was humming to herself and trying to rush out the door while you were still struggling to put your sneakers on. You found it adorable and funny how determined she was to spoil you. Trying to say no to her was as hard as saying no to a puppy, so you gave in and didn't bother with jokingly arguing with her.

The both of you went on a shopping date, though it was mainly Kugisaki buying clothes, you still enjoyed it. (:

[babylooneytoonz]

I Didn't Love Your Father - Tommy Shelby X reader

I have been putting off writing for Peaky Blinders for a long time now, just silently reading and enjoying the works by all you precious writers. But somehow I decided that I should go ahead and try to come up with a solution the Writer's block in my mind.

It might not be that good but I've tried writing something and ugh, do let me know if it's shitty as fuck. I might even consider doing a part two to this one maybe later.

Tommy is kind of an arse in this one. He leaves the girl who he had a history with and who loved him through thick and thin for Grace and when she is finally happy again, engaged to another man, Tommy realizes he loves her and wants her back.

Warning : Angst with a not so happy ending?

Gif - Not mine.

You felt like you had devoted your life to him – sticking with him in thick and thin, you had watched him grow from a young boy to a dark, vicious man, a man that could throw you under a running bus if it meant he got what he wanted. That is what Thomas Shelby had become now, and no matter how much you wanted to believe otherwise, he wasn't the man you had fallen in love with, before the war happened.

You still remembered the day Tommy and his brothers were supposed to board the train, the train that was to take them to their fate. You still remembered how you had waved him off, a boy, a boy you loved with all your heart – but he had returned, not as the boy you always knew him to be , but a man. He still looked the same, his blue oceanic irises looking down at you, but they lacked the warmth you saw in them before he had left. You often wondered about the horrors that he might have witnessed at the Somme but you never had the heart, or the courage to ask him about it. Not that he would have answered.

At first, you had thought that time would heal all the wounds – that one day, Tommy would wake up and maybe have a change of a heart, that he would just look at you and realize how you still were in love with him, even after all these years. You hoped he would realize how you had been waiting for him to come back to you, but he didn't.

Instead, he found her.

It was a low blow to you, when you found out about the barmaid that had Tommy's heart. Polly, even Ada, tried to comfort you, telling you that Grace had put a spell on Tommy, that he was not in his right senses, but you knew, Tommy wasn't in love with you anymore. Why blame a woman when a man couldn't control his desires for her?

So you had done what best you could do – try to move on. It had not been easy at first, but somehow you had managed to keep at bay the storm that wreaked havoc in your heart. You found yourself a man, twice as man as Tommy would ever be, who loved you for you and cherished you, so much so that he went down on one knee and asked you to be his wife.

You accepted. You deserved a man like him, not Tommy Shelby, who your heart still pinned for.

It wasn't until that nail-biting winter morning when Tommy suddenly had a change of a heart. You had decided to head home early that afternoon. Locking up the bakery early, you stuffed the keys into your purse and walked down the five minute path that led to your rented apartment in Small Heath, Birmingham.

As soon as you stepped into the familiar confines of the place you called home, your eyes fell on the not so good looking interior. The paint was chipped off at the edges and the mirror on your vanity had a massive crack. Taking your coat off and hanging it on the coat hanger, you locked the door and put the tea kettle on the stove on a light flame for the water to get boiled. Your fingers toyed aimlessly with the ring that adorned your ring finger, a tiny smile breaking out against your lips.

Suddenly, there was a knock on your door – more like pounding against your door in an urgent way. Your frown widened when you waited for a few seconds but the knocking, instead of dying down, started sounding even more frantic than before. Without wasting any more time, and a fear inside of you that your flimsy wooden door will splinter into two if the merciless pounding against it continued for two more minutes, your feet literally ran towards the door, pulling it open.

"Tommy?" A gush of air flew out of your lips, when the sight of the gaunt, blue eyed man caught your eye, his hair disheveled and messy, almost falling over his eyes. His eyes looked glossy, hazy and he reeked of whiskey. That's when you knew he was intoxicated. He lazily brought up his fingers to his lips, a lit cigarette plucked between his fingers as he look a long, lingering drag of it, the smoke bellowing out of his plump lips.

He waited a few seconds, wondering if you would invite him inside but it was as though someone had turned off the wiring to your brain. You kept standing there, looking at him blankly, unable to move or utter any word. That's when he took the cue, shoving past you and went into your apartment, leaving you still standing at the door, reeling from a sudden shock of seeing him at your door when you least expected it.

You swirled around, when the sudden realisation hit you. There he was, the man you loved, sat on your bed with a cigarette in his hand, pretending as though nothing had ever happened.

"Tommy, what's the bloody meaning of this?" Your arms flew around your frame, as though you were suddenly cold but the man in front of you didn't react. He just sat there, his body stiff, his shoulders almost drooping as he plucked the cigarette and shoved the butt into your ashtray, finally getting up from the edge of your bed.

You could only watch in a harrowed way as he speed walked towards you, his pocket watch dangling from the crook of his coat until he was standing inches from you, his eyes fixed on the ring on your index finger.

"Call it off."

"Excuse me?" You realized you were glaring at him now, your eyes reaching his lips as he looked down at you.

"You heard me. Call off the fucking engagement, to whoever it is. You think I don't see what you're doing ? You are fuckin' trying to get back at me aren't you?" You knew it was the alcohol talking. Because Tommy, the man he had now become, never spoke more than three or four words to you now.

Maybe in a parallel world, you would have been happy – happy that maybe he finally felt the same way about you and your engagement to another man had caused him to have a change of heart – but you had known Tommy Shelby all your life now and you knew what Tommy was feeling right now wasn't love. And even if it was, it was too late. You see the thing with Tommy was, he often wanted things that didn't belong to him. You were the best example of this – when he had you, he didn't want you. But now you were someone else's, Tommy couldn't bear it.

"Why? Did Grace leave? Is that why you are back?" You snapped at him, not failing to notice the sudden look of anger cross his eyes, only to take form of a distilled, simmering rage. You didn't know what you had just said as a come back was actually true, Grace had indeed left him and gone to London.

"It was you all along, it never was Grace. I thought I did but –" Tommy's voice cracked, only slightly, causing you to falter, wanting to reach out and hold him because he did look like a defeated man. It was funny how Tommy was saying it now, how he truly felt about you, but you knew how it was too late.

You still loved Tommy, with all your heart. But you two weren't meant to be. Not in this lifetime. You were never selfish, had never been selfish, and you couldn't abandon the man who took your hand in his when Tommy had thrown you out like discarded clothes.

"It doesn't matter anymore, Thomas." You flinched at the harshness of your own words and it didn't fail to come into your notice the sudden stiffness that came over Tommy when you called him by his first name, something you never really did. "You don't get to just bloody walk in and out of my life whenever you want, just because you are Thomas Fuckin' Shelby. I waited for you, for fucking years. You think that was a joke? Ey?" You pointed your index finger, stabbing Tommy's chest with your pointed nail when he didn't reply, his head almost lowered when he realized he didn't have the answers you wanted him to give you. "I cried myself to sleep every fucking night, Thomas. I wanted you, I needed you but you chose her. I waited for you patiently when you were fighting the fuckin' war, hoping you would come back to me but you didn't even look at me."

You pushed Tommy backwards, his weight surprisingly light as he almost stumbled backwards but regained his form. You moved away from him, pulling out a box of cigarettes from underneath your pillow as your fingers fumbled against the box to pull out a stick.

"You chose her, Tommy. Now who gives you the bloody right to just barge your way in here and try to claim me for yourself?" You hadn't realized when your lips had started trembling and hot tears had started skimming down your cheeks. Tommy let out a barely audible sigh as he brought his palms closer to your face, his reluctance to hold you pretty evident.

"I fucked up, I know that. You think I didn't fucking think about this? How you deserved to be happy after the fucking mess I put you through?" His voice was broken, his palms holding your face in his hefty fingers, cupping your cheeks.

"Well you didn't think well enough, Tommy." You whispered, almost choking on your sob.

"Love, I need you to give me a chance, to show you that I am a changed man, for you."

His statement caused you to flinch, your arms moving up to fix your hands on his palms that you shoved away, causing him to look at you with pain stricken eyes.

"You're mistaken, Tommy. Some people don't change. For anyone. And you haven't changed for me. You just realized I moved on and that is bloody bothering you." You croak.

You brought up the cigarette to your lips, inching the smoke and brought your hand down, moving two steps away from where he stood, his eyes burning a hole into yours.

"Tommy, we can't. We were never meant to be. You know it. Had Grace not left you, you wouldn't even think about me. I'm nothing but a second choice for you. And I refuse to be that." You forced yourself to look away, anywhere but his haunting blue eyes, the eyes that you knew could make you weak and destroy the wall you had built up around you. Bits of that wall had already started to crumble.

"So is this it, (Y/N)? Is this how we end?"

You looked up at him and realized that his eyes were moist. He brought up his hand to his face, pinching his nose and then ran his fingers through his obsidian hair.

You gave him a faint smile, lowering yourself against the edge of your bed as you brought up the cigarette to your lips once again, "We ended a long time ago, Tom. We ended the day you chose Grace."

Your words were like an arrow shot right through Tommy's heart, and at the same time, through your heart as well. It hurt you to see him, the man who never broke down in front of anyone, looking so lost, so forlorn, sitting by the edge of your bed next to you, his elbows resting against his knees, his face buried in his hands. You couldn't see his face, or his hidden eyes. Or he intentionally wanted to hide his weakness from you. You. You were his weakness.

Suddenly, he lifted his head up, craning it towards you so that he could get a better look of you and you saw his red, swollen eyes. He reached forward, slowly taking your hand in his, his fingers entwining with yours, reluctant at first, as he had expected you to pull your hand away. You didn't.

"You won't change your mind? Not even if I love you?" His voice was so raw, it made him the boy he had been to you, before the war had changed him.

You shook your head, slowly, squeezing his hand as he held on to it.

"It's too late for that, Tom. I have always loved you and you love me now –" Your words stopped at your throat, leaving you with your mouth agape, struggling to speak, " – but Chris is a good man, Tommy. He is a good man. I don't love him the way I have loved you but he was with me when I had no one to turn to, when I cried myself to bed at nights, while Grace kept your bed warm and mine was cold."

"Fuck." Tommy cursed, barely audible, looking down at the floor, his hand still holding yours, the grip tight, as though he was afraid of letting you go.

Finally, after what felt like ages of silence, which must have been a minute, he let go off your hand, your hand suddenly feeling numb and cold, due to the lack of his warmth. He stood up and cleared his throat, his eyes looking everywhere but into yours.

"Well then." He turned to look at you, which you felt was the last time. "Let me walk you down the aisle then, no matter how much it hurts me, I want to be the one to give you away."

"Jesus, Tommy –" You pressed your palm to your lips that were trembling uncontrollably now, not wanting to break down in front of him. Your tears caused him to clench his hands into fists, hanging loosely by his sides. When he could see those tears no more, he grabbed you by your arms, pushing you to the wall behind, your back hitting the wall with a thud, his hands placed on either side of you. You were taken by a surprise, your heart beating frantically inside your chest, so fast, it could have won over a fucking racehorse. Your gaze fell, unable to keep it fixed on his raging blue eyes.

"Look at me one last time then, before we go back to being strangers." His thumb came to rest on your cheek, stroking your skin in gentle strokes. Teary eyed, you rose your eyes, making them meet his once icy eyes, that had all the warmth reflecting in them.

"Let me kiss you one last time, love. For old times sake. The kiss we never got to experience, the one that should have fucking happened years ago." With that said, he took a step closer towards you, removing what little distance you both had left in front of each other, his arm snaking around your waist, pulling you closer, a weak yelp escaping your lips. You let your eyes close for a split second before craning your neck slightly upwards, your lips hovering directly over his plump ones as you brought them to his lips, giving him a bittersweet peck. Within seconds, what was meant as a peck turned into a raw and passionate kiss, mixed with the taste of your own salty tears, and probably his too. Finally, with much reluctance, you broke the kiss, placing a hand on Tommy's chest to keep him away from you and looked away as it was time for him to go.

"Goodbye Tommy, and try to stay out of danger." You gave him a weak smile, your deep longing for him and the pain it caused you hidden behind that fake smile of yours. Tommy took a step away from you and then another, reaching for his Blinders cap that was laying abandoned on the bed, lifting it up and flinging it to his head, all this while his eyes fixed on you.

With one last look, he walked up to your front door, his shoulders stiff, his hands clenched into fists by his side. When he reached the door, he paused for a bit, his hand grabbing your doorframe for support but he didn't turn to look at you.

"Don't let the fire fizzle out in you, love. It's this fire that I love about you, that makes you different. From anyone I ever met. It's this bloody fire that brings warmth to me. Don't let it fizzle out."

With that, he was gone. With that, you crashed to the floor, your knees scraping against the wooden floorboards as you let out the sobs that you had been holding in, like a tsunami.

Tommy meant what he said. It was Thomas Shelby that walked you down the aisle on the day of your wedding to Chris. He was there the entire time, seething, burning but had a smile etched to his face, watching the woman he loved get married to someone else. For the first time, he had voluntarily chosen to lose for you and maybe this was why you believed him when he said that he loved you.

It was on the day of your wedding that you realized Thomas Shelby really loved you, enough to watch you marry another man, just because you wanted to.

You blinked. The memory, although hazy, was still fresh in your mind. You turned to your left, your eyes falling on your one year old daughter sleeping soundly, her chest rising up and down as she slept. Chris died six months after your daughter, Rosemary was born. Influenza. Grace died, giving him a son, causing Thomas Shelby to marry Lizzie Starke, and you were happy for him. Neither of you met again.

You ran your fingers lightly over her tiny black hair, pushing them off her face.

"One day, when you are old enough, my love. I might tell you the truth of how I never loved your father. He was my friend and I loved him, but I was always in love with someone else. You are too young to understand, but I hope you find the man you truly love."

[teamfreewill2pointo]

Sam’s Emotional Arc 1/3

I hated the finale immediately, but I’ve spent some time with it and talked to friends who loved it. I can see now what it was about, and I’ve come to appreciate the story they were trying to tell, even if I think it didn’t land right.

I’ve been told that my meta on this has helped other people come to terms with the finale, so I thought I’d compile it in one place from across various discord channels and twitter posts. If you are struggling with the finale, I hope it helps you.

Part of this actually started with a shit post. I was making a joke about Sam being psychic since he was scared of clowns when Dean died by one. I realized that may have been deliberate. I dug into the story more and now I’m convinced it was. Then I came across some excellent meta that fit with the themes I was finding and opened up the series even more for me.

Happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being. It’s in just saying it.

Cas said it. Dean accepted it. Sam lived it. First, Sam’s journey. 

Clowns pop up in s15 before the barn scene. In 15.01, which was written by Dabb, Sam is injured by a clown. Castiel is able to save Sam and heal his injury. The clown keeps coming after Sam, with Sam having fight scenes with the clown, while others attack the other ghosts. The clown is kicking the shit out of Sam again, and Castiel saves him once more. Sam is unable to fight off the clown on his own both times.

They run until they are able to escape outside a magical barrier. Sam turns to the clown and says, “shut up”. 

This is literally Sam running from his fears. On top of that, this isn’t just any clown, but the ghost of John Wayne Gacy, from an episode also written by Dabb.

Dean: A serial killer clown. I mean, this is, like, the best/worst thing that’s ever happened to you, you know, ‘cause you love serial killers, but – but you hate clowns.

Sam gets nervous and struggles with the lighter before he’s able to get rid of the clown, for now.

I believe this is a metaphor for hunting in general: it’s both the best of Sam’s life and also the worst. The clowns symbolize his relationship with Dean.

Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie was co-written by Dabb (see the pattern?). Sam’s fear of clowns was known since season 2. In season 7, Dabb explored where this fear came from.

On the surface, Sam’s fear is just because he found them creepy, but the episode explains that they actually come from Sam’s fear of being left behind by Dean.

This episode comes directly after an episode where Sam worried that Dean would get himself killed

Sam: Look... Dean, the thing is, tonight... It almost got you killed. Now, I don't care how you deal. I really, really don't. But just don't – don't get killed. Dean: I'll do what I can. Sam: Well, what's that supposed to mean? Dean: It means I'll do what I can. All right? You can shut up about it.

Sam is dealing with Hallucifer at this moment, but Hallucifer doesn’t really scare him. Losing Dean does.

Sam has a conversation with an employee about greatest fears.

Recognize the actress? She came back for s15 in 15.06. I don’t believe this was a coincidence. 15.06 featured Castiel helping a parent find their lost child in a season that features Castiel worried about losing Jack. Through his experience with her, Castiel confronts his fears and doubts and then returns to join in the fight against God. [I’ll touch on Castiel’s journey more in his chapter]

Sam’s greatest fear is losing Dean. There’s a lot in the series about how Sam felt lonely and abandoned for much of his childhood. A whole episode, Just My Imagination, centers around this. Sam hated when Dean went off on hunts without him.

source In The Chitters, Sam tells Dean how his fear of losing his family paralyzed him as child. It’s a story where an older brother dies and the younger brother never recovers from it until he’s able to lay him to rest (sound familiar???)

Sam: You know, whenever you and Dad used to leave me to go hunting, and I-and I wouldn’t hear from y’all for a while, I, um, I was always sure that some vamp or rugaru, or take your pick, I always figured one of them finally got ya. I tried to think what to do, you know, the next step to take. I was just lost. Dean: We came back, though, every time.

You might naturally think, “Wait a minute! Sam left Dean multiple times!” Honestly, this was something I had a huge issue with when watching through the show the first time. I didn’t understand Sam and hated him leaving Dean in s8. I was completely on Dean’s side at first. But, on multiple rewatches and talking to others, I’ve realized that when Sam left Dean, he was running from his fear. In this TV Guide interview, Jared perfectly sums up why Sam left in season 1; he couldn’t stand to see his family die. Dabb wrote Dark Side of the Moon along with a comic that explains why Sam left in detail. While the comic isn’t official canon, it shows Dabb’s thought process. In it, Sam sees his family as running towards a horrible end and can’t handle dealing with that.

Dean: So what are you gonna do? You're just gonna live some normal, apple pie life? Is that it? Sam: No. Not normal. Safe.

There are many more points in the series where we learn about Sam’s fear of Dean dying. This would be 3948573945 pages long if I wrote them all out, so I’m going to focus on the key moments that loop back to this ending, but there’s so much more there.

If you are struggling with this and need more, please let me know and I can do a deeper dive into that subject. We first see Sam’s inability to let Dean go in season 1 when Sam refuses to let Dean die in Faith.

Dean: You're not gonna let me die in peace, are you? Sam: I'm not gonna let you die, period. We're going.

Sam’s whole arc in s3 is him being unable to handle Dean dying. He wants to save Dean, but Dean won’t let himself be saved. This was what Gabriel was trying to teach him in Mystery Spot.

Trickster: This obsession to save Dean? The way you two keep sacrificing yourselves for each other? Nothing good comes out of it. Just blood and pain. Dean's your weakness. And the bad guys know it, too. It's gonna be the death of you, Sam. Sometimes you just gotta let people go.

This is how Ruby gets under Sam’s skin and what gets him to start working with her. Everything Sam did was to save Dean. In s4, Sam’s arc is about him sacrificing himself in order to save Dean. He’s gutted from being unable to save Dean. In 4.12, Sam decides to drink demon blood in order to save Dean

Dean: [says that they will die early] Sam: Maybe we'll be different, Dean. Dean: What kind of Kool-Aid you drinking, man? Sammy, it ends bloody or sad. That's just the life. Sam: What if we could win?Dean: "Win"?Sam: If there was a way we could just...put an end to all of it.

When Sam breaks out of the panic room, he’s suicidal. He’s determined to save Dean with his life as the cost he’s willing to pay. He didn’t think he would survive killing Lilith. He was committing suicide in that moment. The reason why Sam is so willing to sacrifice himself in s5 is because he has low self esteem. He blames himself for everything that goes wrong. In Sam, Interrupted 5.11, also by Dabb, Sam has a breakdown under the weight of his guilt. He hates himself and he feels his rage is out of control. In season 6, we see soulless Sam and, unlike souled Sam, he has no rage. Yes, he’ll kill when necessary, but he’s not angry. It was Sam’s fear driving his rage. He felt out of control of his life and let it lead him down a dark path. In season 7, he sees Dean heading down a dark path and he feels helpless to stop it. He worries about dragging Dean down and tells Dean to let him go. But, at the same time, he’s developing coping techniques. He’s starting to face his fears. 

And then Dean disappears and Sam completely falls apart. Sam didn’t have a healthy relationship with Amelia. They were two broken people clinging to each other. Sam and Dean struggle to reconnect after their time apart. There’s a lot of text addressing the horror of a partner dying and people trying to escape from it.

Mrs Holmes: He could see the end of my days were at hand, and... He had lived centuries all alone, but I don't think he could bear the thought of life without me. That's why he drove off that bridge. You must think I'm a monster.

In Hunteri Heroica written by GUESS WHO!?!? Sam finally acknowledges that he was living in a dream world with Amelia. He was running from his past. We see a flash back with Sam pressing on his scar, which he did to help himself distinguish fantasy from reality.

The episode is about a man refusing to engage in reality and harming those around him. Sam has a big confrontation with him

Sam: Look, it can be nice living in a dream world. It can be great. I know that. And you can hide, and you can pretend... all the crap out there doesn't exist, but you can't do it forever because... eventually, whatever it is you're running from – it'll find you. [CASTIEL appears to be taking Sam’s words to heart.] It'll come along, and it'll punch you in the gut. And then... then you got to wake up, because if you don't, then trying to keep that dream alive will destroy you! It'll destroy everything!

Likewise, when Sam was with Jessica, he wasn’t honest about himself. He was hiding from his family and his past. Running to avoid pain. Sam is avoidant in general. Not just in his relationship with Dean. When he talks with Rowena in 13.12 Various & Sundry Villains about his fears of Lucifer, he admits that he could talk about it with Dean, but he can’t bring himself to.

Sam: I’ve seen it too. What he really looks like behind – behind whatever vessel. It… Yeah, still keeps me up at night. Rowena: How do you deal with it? Sam: I guess I don’t deal with it. Not really. I mean, I pushed it down and, um, the world kept almost ending, so I keep pushing it down, and I don’t know. [stammering] I really don’t talk about it, not even with Dean. I mean, I could. You know, he’d listen, but… That’s not something I really know how to share.

In 15.20, Sam’s past is front and center. Literally. I know a lot of people found the Winchester family portrait odd and upsetting, but it symbolizes something I’ll get to in a bit. Instead of trying to avoid his grief, Sam has moments where he lets it wash over him. He goes and sits in the car. He’s no longer avoidant. He’s no longer running away. He’s letting his grief move through him. He’s literally sitting with it.

Soulless Puppy pointed out that the characters emotional arcs is similar to DBT. Please look through their awesome meta here.

Personally, I see them as similar to the therapy I do called ACT. Both are forms of therapy where instead of fighting against them, you accept painful emotions and allow yourself to feel them. If you don’t do that work, then you can’t stop feeling them and your fears/ghosts will always haunt you.  In Swan Song, Chuck tells us that “Dean didn't want Cas to save him. Every part of him, every fiber he's got, wants to die, or find a way to bring Sam back. But he isn't gonna do either. Because he made a promise.”  In 15.20, Sam initially didn’t want to let Dean go. He’s been refusing to do this since season 1. When he’s separated from Dean he lives a fake life or destroys himself/the world trying to get Dean back. There’s a moment in 15.20 where Sam looks at Dean’s guns. He wants to commit suicide, but he makes the choice to live. For the time in Sam’s life, he let Dean go and lived with his pain. He no longer ran from it. After Swan Song, Dean was unable to let Sam go. He wanted him back. After Carry On, Sam is able to do what Dean couldn’t do. He lives a life outside of Dean. What’s more, Sam has reconciled himself with his past and his family. It’s clumsy and I wish it were better shown, but having the family portrait and their parents in heaven isn’t meant to excuse the way Sam and Dean were raised. In order to move past the trauma of his relationship with his parents, Sam fully integrates them into his life. In Lebanon, Sam was able to confront and forgive his father. In doing so, he can also forgive himself. Mary asks for forgiveness too, and he grants it to her. He doesn’t forget what happened, but he’s able to move forward and leave the intergenerational cycle of violence. He’s able to raise his son, Dean, the way his brother should have been raised.

Happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being. It’s in just saying it.

Cas said it. Dean accepted it. Sam lived it.

I can see why people see Sam’s life after Dean as unhappy. I hated it so much because I saw it as horrible and sad the first time through. I had to sit with myself and my emotions first. I think it’s because we’ve been told by society that we have to get rid of our grief in order to be happy. The finale was showing us that it’s possible to do the opposite. [Personally I think it would’ve been better had they showed more overtly happy memories, but many of my friends saw this straight away] When I began therapy, one of the first things I learned was that there aren’t “negative” emotions. When working with our kids, we call them Big emotions. In DBT/ACT, all emotions are treated as normal and natural. Grief, anger, sadness, etc, these are all normal parts of the human existence. We don’t need to run from them in order to have happiness. We can live with them. As interstitial said in our chats, “you can't change the past, you can only change your relationship to it. To accept that your past contained both love and heartache, to miss it, but also know you can do better; that's actual recovery, as good as it gets.” As Soulless-Puppy explained to me, Sam lived in duality. Dean was dead, but Sam lived. Sam was happy, but he grieved. Dean was with him in the watch and the car and his son, but Dean also waited for him in heaven. I hated the finale the first time I saw it, then next watched it with my boyfriend who loved it. As we were watching together and discussing it, I realized that Dean’s death scene wasn’t just about him, but about the show itself. 

Dean promising Sam that he will be with Sam in Sam’s heart is also the show promising us that they will never leave it. That’s why Alex kept posting “The end has no end.” Just as Sam carried Dean with him in his heart, we will carry the show with us. I hope this helps. It’s a terrible thing to feel upset about an ending and thinking of the show this way, recognizing these patterns, is bringing me peace. I still have issues with how it was written, but now that I see what they were doing, I wish all the more that they had the chance to do it right. Please share your thoughts and experiences. I love hearing different opinions. Next up, Dean. Then Castiel.

[runningdownthatroad]

I just have to get this off my chest after seeing some very disturbing posts about 9/11 floating around on my dash as well as some truly crude commentary. A lot probably won't agree with my sentiments but I feel like this needs to be said.

I've seen a lot of things on Tumblr in the past that maybe I consider to be in poor taste or don't agree with but I usually just scroll past, sometimes block for curating sake, but today is the first time I truly was shell-shocked. To see the memes and blasé jokes people are making about this day are just absolutely horrific and appalling.

I get that a lot of people on this site now may not remember what happened that day and only learned second hand through school or media or other people telling them. I get that a lot occurred after this that wasn't right which we definitely should be learning from. I also get that there is a lot of anti-American and anti-white sentiments going around currently, especially on this site.

But here's the thing:

Not only Americans died that day. Not only white people died that day. That's the thing about terrorists and what these hijackers did: they don't care about your skin color, your culture, your religious preference, your sexual orientation, your gender orientation, your age, your economic status, your personality, whether you support them or not, your political persuasion, your job, or any of it. Everyone is fair game to them. For crying out loud, look at what the Afghani people are currently going through and how the Taliban are treating their own country's people, women especially. If you think this is bad (which it truly is), have you seen how things went under their rule before 9/11 even happened? Do you know their terrifyingly violent and brutal history? Women had acid thrown in their faces if they didn't wear a full hijab. People were mutilated or executed if they didn't fall in line with the law of the Taliban. And this doesn't even begin to go into Al-Qaeda or Isis. But I'm not here to talk about that or delve into that topic too much.

My point in mentioning all of this is that white Americans weren't the only ones that were killed that day. People of all faiths, of all colors, of different countries, died that day, too. And the unity that is consistently discussed every 9/11 anniversary is in regards to us being aware of that fact, us mourning all of their losses together, and the collective desire to come together and help once the planes hit and after the towers collapsed.

So when people say "why am I supposed to cry over white Americans getting killed that day" think about that. Not only white Americans died that day. And regardless of their color, their nationality, their culture, their religion, etc. anyone dying is always sad. Whether it be a jetliner being used as a weapon that crashed into their floor or someone dying of cancer or someone being killed in a mudslide or someone dying in a car accident -- it is always sad. And empathy should always be shown in response, even if it doesn't impact you personally. Let's not forget these people have loved ones that got left behind, that are still here.

So when people say "if something knocks into a cow and knocks it over, I'm not expected to care, but if something knocks into a building and knocks it over, suddenly I'm supposed to care?" think about that. People aren't grieving two large pieces of steel architecture. People aren't saying "always remember those two towers". The WTC Towers were a symbol (yes, for American wealth, I get it) but became so much more of a multi-faceted powerful symbol after 9/11. The towers represent a way of life before 9/11 happened, but more importantly they represent the people lost that day, who were in the towers when they collapsed. For all of the first responders who were stuck on those floors still trying to help evacuate people to safety when the buildings finally gave. The two footprints and two blue lights aren't a symbol of American wealth or a naivete and simpler way of life pre-9/11 - they are a symbol of memorialization for that day. The Freedom Tower was erected to show that despite the loss of that day, we stood united (even if there seems to be more and more division these days). It's a message to the world that yes, destruction and death happened that day in NYC, but so did rebuilding and life carrying on. It's a symbol of strength, resilience, and unity - something that was everywhere you looked days after this event occurred. The two towers (aka NYC) may have gotten knocked down but the city got back up. They weren't kept down - that's the point of the Freedom Tower.

When people say "I don't understand, what is it that I shouldn't be forgetting since I can't remember it anyway" here is what we all should be remembering despite our age or our connection (or lack thereof) with this event:

2,997 innocent civilians died that day. Among them were 343 firefighters, 37 police officers, 23 Port Authority police officers, 8 EMS workers, and 4 other first responders. Also among them were 246 people on the four planes that crashed.

The passengers of United Flight 93 made a choice to fight back against the hijackers and saved lives that day by sacrificing their own.

Many children lost parents. Many parents lost children. Many brothers lost sisters, and many sisters lost brothers. Many spouses lost their significant others. Many lost friends, family, and loved ones.

For those who want a better connection to this day who didn't experience it and/or don't remember it, and for those others who are seriously lacking in empathy: yes, it was a highly publicized event due to the hundreds of cameras (including media outlets) watching that day, but if the horrific images aren't enough to garner some of your empathy, then there are plenty of other resources at your disposal. Documentaries like 9/11 by James Hanlon and the Naudet brothers, 102 Minutes That Changed America (which shows you not only all of the first-hand eyewitness accounts that day but also lets you hear 911 calls, radio transmissions between firefighters, and people's reactions to the event and each other who were there), 9/11 Firefighters (on Discovery Plus) and even more recently, 9/11: The Turning Point (on Netflix) which provides a 360 degree view of the events that led up to 9/11, 9/11 itself, and what came after, displaying all different viewpoints. You can read the 9/11 Commission Report or there are several books and memoirs out there like Wake-Up Call by Kristen Breitweiser, or even historical accounts in books, newspaper articles, and online. But most importantly, listen to people's stories. The ones who were there, the ones who saw it happen, the ones who ran in to help, the ones who lost loved ones. That is the most important part and the most powerful. On Hulu, ABC News ran segments of 9/11 Twenty Years Later, "Women Of Resilience" being especially powerful. It's hard not to feel a human connection to these stories or any kind of empathy.

For those who are making these jokes and memes, if you like shows like 9-1-1 and Chicago Fire, etc, imagine those first responder characters rushing into those buildings to save lives and losing theirs in the process. If you don't remember 9/11 or feel any connection or empathy, imagine hundreds of Bucks or Eddies or Bobbys or Hens or Chimneys dying that day as they worked to save so many. Sorry to be so blunt because I love those characters too, but do you get a little bit of the connection now? Do you feel any empathy? I'm not trying to equate real life heroes and sheroes with fictional characters of course, but if it helps you to understand a little better in some way, well...I'm throwing it out there.

I myself lived in the Tri-State area at the time of the attacks. I remember seeing the second plane seconds before it crashed into the second building. I remember the devastation I felt watching the first tower collapse knowing that a loved one was most likely inside and how hard I cried thinking he was dead. (thankfully, he had been late to work that day and he got out of the area before the towers came down) I remember the relief and gratefulness we all felt hearing from him to assure us that he was alive when he finally was able to get to a phone, stating he was covered in dust and ash from the buildings. I remember the panic and fear we all felt, thinking the world was ending and we were all going to die, that this was it, this was World War III, after it was confirmed that the Pentagon had also been hit and there was also a downed plane in Pennsylvania. I remember the grief another loved one suffered because she lost her entire floor (she had been out sick that day) and every single one of her co-workers. I remember the race to pick up children from school and get them home as soon as possible. I remember the rage that coursed through us seeing the footage of some people in certain countries celebrating the attacks in the streets, enjoying the deaths of so many Americans, a couple of these countries who lost citizens themselves in these attacks. I remember the camping out in front of the televisions night after night for a week straight afterwards, watching the news 24/7, worrying that there might be more attacks. I remember the feeling of sheer terror anytime a plane was heard overhead or seen appearing low enough in the sky that you could practically make out which airline it was for months afterwards. I remember seeing the lights the first time they were lit from our home. I remember feeling pure fear not only for what happened that day but also what came afterwards (not yet understanding that these weren't practitioners of Islam that did this but radical extremists who had literally hijacked the religion). I remember seeing the devastation at Ground Zero through a tear in the fabric over a fence as we walked through the city months afterwards. I remember not wanting to fly for years. I remember the anger I felt that our government had failed us due to political bs between agencies and countless others (which we found out especially when the 9/11 Commission Report came out) and that because of this horrific and absurd failure, thousands of innocent people had died. I remember seeing the crushed ladder truck, and the toy of the little girl who was on one of the planes at the 9/11 Memorial Museum and all of the pictures in that room that just floored me. (I also remember being pissed off that many were treating it as a selfie op where they were allowed to take pictures, completely missing the point of the museum's existence) But most of all, I remember feeling that life would never be the same for any of us ever again, and that the feeling of safety we had naively enjoyed on September 10, 2001 would never return.

But I also remember the compassion and unity we saw rising in the country after those attacks. I remember the gratitude for all of our first responders, those we lost that day and those who were still with us, actively working to recover those lost and to clear Ground Zero. I remember the feeling of collectiveness, that we all shared grief and showed support to one another in those days afterwards. I remember the fallen heroes and sheroes who ran into those buildings, who were off duty but raced from wherever they were that day to come and help. I remember The Man In the Red Bandana aka Welles Crowther (and many like him who worked to save others) who has become another important symbol of that day. I remember hearing all of the stories of people helping one another before and after the towers collapsed. I remember the good that this day represents. That while we may have seen some of the worst of humanity that day in the form of violence, death, weaponized airplanes, and devastation, we also saw the very best of humanity in the form of our first responders and people helping one another.

Look, did Islamophobia happen? Yes. Was it right? No, absolutely not. As I stated above, I myself feared the idea of the religion until I was educated by a friend of mine about the difference between the religion and extremism. This form of hijacking ideology can be seen in examples like the Westboro Baptist Church or even Hitler. Terrorists do not represent the true spirit of Islam no matter what the former tries to force people to believe. Just as the WBC is not the true spirit of Christianity, and so on and so forth. But even during the time I had feared the religion before gaining understanding and clarity, I never confronted or mistreated any practicing Muslim or Arab-American. Ever. I never posted hate or spewed vitriol against them. Just like with the current pandemic, I still cannot believe there are people out there attack Asian-Americans as if this whole thing is their fault. That's still mind boggling to me and it is absolutely 100% WRONG. It should not be happening. Same with Islamophobia. And it breaks my heart to read that many Arab-Americans and practicing Muslims still worry when this anniversary comes around that they may be attacked. It might not mean much, but I just want to say I am truly sorry for that and you have my full support. Always.

Did we go to war and was it just? Yes we did go to war. Was it just? Afghanistan? I need more information in order to have a fully-formed opinion but there are plenty who say yes and plenty who say no. Plenty who say we made things better over there (before we exited and the Taliban advanced) and plenty who say we didn't and only made it worse. I truly cannot say which assertion is correct and I think it would be narrow-minded and completely moronic (and possibly arrogant and presumptuous?) of me to speak on a subject I know so little about, one way or the other. Iraq? No, I don't think it was just and I honestly wish we could go back and do things differently.

But coming back to 9/11 and what this day means for so many, the people who died, the people who rushed headfirst into danger, the people who lost their loved ones. We saw incredible bravery, selflessness, and compassion for your fellow human that day despite what happened. We saw the strength within ourselves despite the fear and anger. We saw resilience. That is what the anniversary is meant to be a reminder of. The sacrifices, the loss, the courage, and the strength. Black, White, Gay, Straight, Christian, Muslim, Man, Woman, Young, Old -- it didn't matter. We all came together.

So regardless of whether it's the cool thing to do right now on this site (or elsewhere) to hate on America or 9/11 or white Americans or the anniversary itself on the very anniversary of these attacks, I ask that you please consider when posting these hurtful (and frankly harmful) words of hatred and vitriol such as referenced above that there are people out there who lost their loved ones on 9/11, that yes some of them may be on this very site and going through the 9/11 tag, and that some of them may have even lost a loved one in either war and are again on this site reading your words. Regardless of what you think or feel, please consider them and tag appropriately if you're going to post. Please consider that some of these people are currently losing their loved ones due to 9/11-related illnesses because of the cleanup at Ground Zero. Please consider that there are children who lost a parent or loved one, or who were orphaned that day (yes, they exist, we had some in our school district) who are also on this site reading your words. Basically, please just consider and be considerate. Please stop spreading hatred on a day that happened due to hatred; please stop perpetuating that cycle.

Like Martin Luther King Jr. said, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that."

TLDR: Love and light, my friends. Love and light. ✌️❤️

[cairparavei]

when love comes | ivar (vikings)

requested by @kingleshe

pairing: ivar x f!reader

wc: 2.7k

warnings: language, the lothbroks being assholes (kinda, all of them except for ubbe)

You had known them since middle school.

The four brothers had always been a mystery to you, until you dumped into Ubbe, the oldest, accidentally.

You used to have a normal friendship; nothing too remarkable, until their parents passed, and you found yourself in the middle of the four brothers, letting them take their rage and sadness on you, making yourself worth of their trust.

Which was a good thing, because everyone knew that messing with a Lothbrok could only mean trouble.

It all went better ever since. They used to be the popular kids in high school, and almost every guy was scared of them.

In fact, they made your prom date leave you hanging just because they didn’t like his necktie, or so the guy said, and you had no choice but to go with Hvitserk.

Not that you were complaining; Hvitserk had grown into a very nice looking man, but you really liked this date you managed to get for yourself, so you were disappointed when you heard your parents’ house bell ring and saw the brothers waiting for you outside, instead of him.

Time passed and you were still as close as ever, and not a day comes by that you’re not thankful to Ubbe for being clumsy as hell that day, and the next one, and then the next until he introduced you to the rest of his brothers.

To sum up, you claimed Ubbe as your big brother, since he was always overprotective because you apparently are the little sister he always wished to have, and not a bunch of horny teenagers to take care of every time they went to a party and drank more than what their bodies could handle.

On the other side, you were like the chamber of secrets for the two middle brothers, Hvitserk and Sigurd. They told you everything from the first time they failed an exam to the most detailed description on how they lost their virginities, and they knew very well you wouldn’t say a word about it, for they also knew your biggest secret; you’ve been in love with Ivar since the day you met him.

They constantly teased you about it, claiming he felt the same towards you and that you were going to have to tell him sooner or later, but you kept knocking this issue off until it was completely necessary.

In fact, Hvitserk and Sigurd had told Ivar for you, but both of them were so drunk none of them remember, and, how did you know about this?

Ubbe heard them.

It happened when he picked them up from a party a couple of weeks ago actually. Both were sitting in the back of Ubbe’s car, and he noticed that they were whisper-arguing, until Sigurd raised his voice and told Ivar he was being blind for not noticing how you had eyes for nobody but him.

Of course, Ivar was oblivious.

As soon as Ubbe arrived home with them, he left Ivar in the car, half asleep, and accompanied Sigurd to your shared flat. First thing he did was glare at you for not telling him before, for he could have helped you.

 “Someone had better be dying if you’re calling me this late.”; Ivar threatened over the phone.

“Ivar, I’m bored, and I can’t sleep”, you pouted over the phone. “Come over, please?”

“Listen, Y/N, it’s almost 4 a.m., and you share a flat with Sigurd, why can’t you just wake him up instead of me? I have classes tomorrow if you didn’t know”

“Okay, first of all, he’s not here. Second, I have classes as well, and lastly” you remarked. “I want to see you. You’ve been avoiding me for days, what the hell is wrong with you? Am I not your best friend? We don’t ignore best friends in this household, Ivar Lothbrok”

You heard Ivar sigh on the other side of the call, and after a while he finally agreed to visit you.

You hung up happily and started to make yourself look presentable.

You really had missed Ivar lately. One day the Lothbroks throw a party, then the next it seems like you barely exist to one of them.

It’s not like you had done anything bad, or that you thought, so you found no reason for Ivar to behave like this.

A few minutes later you heard the door open. All of Sigurd’s brothers had a spare key, just in case something happened; which usually meant they were too wasted to go to their own homes so they crashed at your place.

You peeked outside from the kitchen to see Ivar taking of his shoes and coat.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, so you took the opportunity to observe him – he had his hair in a small bun, his glasses on, and was wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. Straight out of bed, you thought.

He made his way to the kitchen and took one of the cups you were holding.

“What’s going on, Y/N?”, he asked out of nowhere.

“What, can I not invite my best friend over without a reason?”

“Not if you call at 4 a.m. and make hot chocolate. It’s more than clear you want to talk about something”

You shivered and looked over him, making his way to the living room and taking a seat in the sofa.

You knew each other like the back of your hands, but were you really that obvious?

“I told you, I couldn’t sleep”, you said sitting on the other side of the couch.

“Why, are you afraid of the dark, sweetheart?”, he smiled.

“Shut up, asshole”, you said, laughing.

The Lothbroks used to tease you often, but especially when you moved in with Sigurd and had to spend your first night in your new place all alone and pretty scared, because he had decided it was a good idea to attend some random girl’s party because “he was in desperate need of human warmth”. So when it became way too terrifying for you to tolerate it, you called over Ivar to spend the night with you.

“Now, tell me what’s wrong. You don’t call someone at this hour for nothing. I don’t believe it’s just because you ‘can’t sleep’”.

You sighed. You really couldn’t let a small lie go past him.

“You’re being weird with me these days. For no reason. I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong to you or anyone for you to be distant as fuck”, you told him, putting your cup on the small table in front of you. You sat back, facing him and crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’m not being weird, you’re overreacting”, he said, and you furrowed your brows.

What in the actual fuck?

“I am not.”, you remarked, “Just like it’s obvious of me to make hot chocolate when something doesn’t feel right, it is for you too when you haven’t been the same towards me these days.”

He licked his lips and looked down at his cup of chocolate. He smiled to himself, noticing you had given him your Toothless cup, just as you used your Light Fury one.

It was kind of funny to him, because you always screamed that you would only share you ‘How to train your dragon’ stuff with who you would consider to be the love of your life.

 “You just don’t want to believe it, Ivar. But you know very well that she’s always looked at you with the brightest eyes.” Sigurd said drunkenly; “Or are you really that much of an idiot? I mean, you’re not the brightest of guys, but I thought of you as an intelligent person, baby brother”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Sig, you don’t know what you’re saying.”, Ivar answered.

“I won’t shut up until you notice”, Sigurd hiccupped, “Or at least until you admit you feel the same for her”.

Ivar frowned. They knew. But how? He knew his brothers, and they would only mess this all up if he had told them.

Being the youngest, he had seen his brothers have their hearts broken, especially Ubbe’s.

Breaking up with his long-time girlfriend, and childhood friend as well, meant for them to lose contact with her completely, and that scared Ivar.

Like, really. He was scared to the point that, if confessing meant losing you, he would rather dig his own grave and let some wild dogs rip his arms and legs out until he no longer breathed.

Yes, that much you meant to him. Not only Ivar, but to his brothers as well.

You were like the glue that stick them together, for he knows they wouldn’t be talking to each other anymore if it wasn’t because you were there to help them solve their problems.

Like that one time he and Sigurd had the biggest argument and you literally took him by his ear, forced him to eat his own ego, and apologise to Sigurd for ruining his possible ‘potential long-termed relationship’ by telling the girl he had a fart kink.

“Ivar!”, you snapped him out of his daydreaming, sighing “I’m fucking talking to a brick”

“I’m sorry”, he said, “I was thinking. There’s a lot on my mind right now, I’m really sorry, Y/N”.

“Then let it all out, Ivar, you know that’s what I’m here for”, you smiled softly, taking his hands in yours.

You really had no idea what you did to him.

You cleared his mind whenever you talked to him, and gave him goosebumps whenever you held his hands or snuggled up to him every time you slept over at their place and they chose to watch a horror film

What both of you weren’t aware of is that both Ubbe and Hvitserk did it on purpose, since they were able to see how much you liked to be close to him, feeling his warmth when he put his arms around you and told you repeatedly how he would protect you if anything happened to you, as well as how much he enjoyed being able to be the one to calm you on stressing situations.

Suddenly your phone, which was on the table as well, lit up. You both looked over as a knee-jerk action, and he noticed you had a picture of him as your wallpaper.

“You have some explaining to do as well, miss”, he said, smiling, “I don’t remember giving you permission to use me as your wallpaper”

“Ah, shut up, you know very well I don’t need it”, you laughed, “You’ll have your explanation, but you go first”

“I really have no choice, right?”, he smiled softly while you shook your head no.

He shifted in his seat, facing you as well, and took your other hand in his. You heard him take the biggest breath of air while looking down at your intertwined hands, and you were able to see fear in his eyes when he looked back at you.

“I’m scared, Y/N”, he started, “I’m scared of doing something that could make you run away from me”

You stared at him, your breath stuck in your throat.

“I could never leave you, Ivar, none of you. Tell me what’s wrong, please”, you said, tightening your hold in his hands, trying to reassure him you weren’t leaving.

He took both of your hands and lead them towards his mouth, kissing them softly before supporting his forehead on them.

“Just tell me, Ivar, don’t overthink it. I’m sure whatever it is, we can make it work, nothing bad will happen if you and I stick together, remember?

You felt him smile in your hands. He straightened his back and snuggled you close to him until you were sitting in his lap facing him. He then hugged you tightly, pulling you as close as he could. You felt him shaking a bit.

“It’s okay, Ivar, we don’t have to talk about it now, I’m sorry if you feel pressured”, you told him.

“I just can’t find the right words”, he sighed. “I didn’t think I would ever have to tell you all this shit I’m feeling, I’m so sorry”.

“Don’t be, and don’t say those things about yourself”, you hugged him tightly, “You’re the most amazing person I know, Ivar. You have your tantrums, yes, but who doesn’t?”

You took his face into your hands, and looked him in the eyes.

“I love you, Ivar. You know damn well I love the four of you with all my heart, but out of all of them, you’re the most intelligent, talented, and handsome. You hear me?”, you asked, and he nodded, “And it doesn’t matter how bad whatever that’s going on inside that stubborn head of yours, I’m not going anywhere, okay? It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me yet, I understand, and it’s completely fine”

You were about to keep talking, but, as you were about to do so, he put one of his hands over your mouth while his other one kept you still and close to him by circling around your waist.

“I don’t deserve you. None of us do, actually, but I couldn’t care less about them now”, he started, “I... Remember that time when we went on a picnic that turned into a photo session and then in a cinema date, months ago? That day made me realize I was starting to catch feelings for you. I thought it was just the heat of the moment, but once they came, those feelings never left. I found myself thinking even more about you, and all I knew was that I didn’t see you as a friend anymore”

You frowned, scared of what he could say.

He took off his glassed and put them on the table and rubbed his eyes before looking back at you with the most sparkly eyes you had ever seen.

“Don’t think of this as a bad situation. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me, and I know how awkward you get whenever a guy tells you he likes you, or how you don’t even speak to boys after you go out on a date with them. That’s why I didn’t tell you all this before. I don’t want you to feel strange around me. God, I should have kissed you when I dropped you off at your parents’ house that night. You looked so pretty back then”

He was caressing your face now. You were trying to get all those words he had said into your head. You were trying to believe this was really happening and was not some made-up scenario happening in your head while you were trying to sleep.

“You mean so much to me, Y/N”, he continued, “I don’t even know what I would do if you weren’t around anymore. I don’t want you to leave my side, I feel like I need to know what is like to kiss you whenever I want, to make love to you until we can no longer breath. It may sound childish, or stupid, but I need to know what is like to be loved by you”

You felt like your heart was going to get out of your chest from how hard it was beating.

Ivar, your Ivar, the one you’ve loved for so many years, was here confessing to you.

You couldn’t find the words to tell him you felt the same, and that you were never in your life going to leave him, so you did what your mind, body and heart told you to.

You kissed him. And he kissed you back with such passion you thought you were going to run out of air. You were holding his face firmly while he snaked his arms around your waist again, pulling you as close as possible without breaking apart from the kiss.

You both knew what this kiss meant. You both knew that, after this night, nothing would ever be the same between you; at last, it was going to get the best it could. You both were telling the other one that you loved them deeply. You both were giving your hearts and souls to each other.

You leaned back until your forehead touched his, and whispered a soft “I’m in love with you”.

“I’m so in love with you too, Y/N, you have no idea”, he whispered back.

[blake-belladonna-defence-force]

It's the ✨annoying little shit✨ again

The Gremlin anon😺

Here is the ✨update✨ with what happend ✨yesterday night✨ and also ✨today morning✨

So, after I wrote my roommates conversation with Miss oh honey, I started reading it and

MY GOD!!! GIVE ME A BREAK FROM THE GAY!!!

I'M NOT USED TO THIS KIND OF CONSERN FROM SOMEONE!!! IT'S SO FUCKING ADORABLE!!!

I'M GONNA PASS OUT OF GAY OVERDOSE!!!

I wanna kiss my roommate so bad ;-;

BUT I'M TOO SHY FOR THAT!!!

But before I could panic even more, Miss oh honey gets in (I was in my roommates room because it's bigger than mine since we agreed to sleep together) and asks with big grin on her face "How ya doin?"

"Gay- Gay panic"

"Oh honey you need to make a move soon or roommates name won't handel it"

"What do you mean?"

"Honey you know that they are conserned about you and already doing that ugly sad kitten face"

"I don't think it's ugly"

"Of course you don't, you love roommates name! But now, take my advice and make a bloody move! I WANT PROGRESS IN MY SHIP"

Before I could say anything she got away and shortly after my roommate got back and didn't notice I was there

I was coverd in their blankets like a cotton ball with only my head slightly out, and for the face my roommate was doing they were in auto pilot mode

They literally started changing in front of me

And did I say anything? No cause PANIC

I COULDN'T STOP LOOKING!!!!

I TRIED TO OPEN MY MOUTH TO SPEAK BUT THERE WAS NO SOUND!!!! I COULDN'T AND I FELT LIKE A PERVERT FOR NOT BEING ABLE TO LOOK AWAY!!! I FELT SO BAD ABOUT MYSELF!!!

BUT THANKS TO JESUS AND HOLY MOTHER I GOT CONTROL OVER MY HANDS AND COVERD THE REST OF MY HEAD WITH BLANKETS BEFORE MY ROOMMATE TOOK OUT THEIR PANTS!!!

(I could only see their back since they were turned around BUT if they took their pants off... I don't want more panic and gay thoughts so I wont think about it)

As I evolved into a full white ball of blankets I felt a tap on the blankets. I got my head out and I saw my roommate only with a fucking top on, but with a really sofh expression that made me melt

IT WAS SO CUTE!!! I CAN'T HANDLE THIS!!!

But while I panicked they started laughing and saying that I looked like a cute tiny fluff ball

I never blushed so must for a laugh and a compliment, that laugh was music, I want more ;-;/

FUCKING KISS ME ALREADY!!!

But as I keep staring without being able to say anything they grafmdualy stoped laughing and started looking conserned/sad (sad kitty face here we go again) and then they look down and finally notice they are only with a top on and then they say "oh- sorry" and put a shirt on

BUT I'M NOT GONNA BE QUIET THIS TIME AND I WILL SAY SOMETHING

And what I said was "Nice"

Just that... WHY ON HELL DIDN'T I SAY SOMETHING ELSE!?!? WHY GOD??? WHYYYYY!!!!??

But before I died of embaressment they asked "Nice what?"

"You are nice- I mean- I just- You are nice to me! You always have been since the beggining and uuhh... I just- I don't want you to be sad or- or think you are a jerk just because I got embaressed in the kitchen and uuhh-"

"Wait, how do you know about me thinking that?"

"I- I could hear you two talking"

"shit"

And this when I finally notice how hard blushing!!! Were they that embaressed? But before I could jump into conclusions I rembered Miss oh honeys advice abd asked "Uh- glup Why are you so worried about me?"

Looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read and said "It's cause- sigh You've already been through so much... You deserve to at least be confortable in your own house, to have a safe place to yourself... Don't you think?"

I just- Give me second I need to CRY MY EYES OUT!!! WHY ARE TOU SO CUTE!?!? WHY!!!?? WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME!!!!???

*incoherent gay gremlin noises*

I didn't notice I was crying until my roommate, with a very conserned voice, asks "Are you ok!? Why are you crying!?"

I kept sobbing until the picked me up, with blankets and all, and hugged me tight

I NEVER FELT SO GAY WITH JUST A HUG!!! IT WAS SO SAFE AND WARM!!!

I MELTED!!! I'M NOW A GAY GREMLIN JELLY!!!

At a certant point they layed down with me and cuddled me. I felt so tiny but yet so loved, it was so good and safe ;w;

Is this what real actually good relationships feel like? Cause I love it ;w;

I'M GAYING SO MUCH OVER THIS!!!

And before we went to sleep, my roommate wiped my tears and said "Well, if it makes you feel better, I think you're hella strong"

"snif What do you mean?"

"I mean- I still about that time I saw you knocking out a guy, that was built like a greek god, twice your sise, in front of our door step!"

"Oh that- that was just-"

"Was just hella impressive!!! I ALMOST DROPED MY FOOD!!!"

THIS IDIOT MAKES ME CRY AND THEN LAUGH AND FEEL HELLA GAY ALL THE FUCKING TIME!!! don't GIVE ME A BREAK!!! I NEED TO REST!!! And that's actually what I said to them, but more like this

"Jesus Crist- Look, let's sleep already before I pass out" AND MANAGE TO SOUND FUCKING CASUAL ABOUT IT!!!

It was because I was really tired

BUT STILL COUNTS AS A VICTORY!!!

So, after I said that, my roommate nods in aproval and fucking kisses me in the forehead

WHAT'S WITH YOU AND MY FOREHEAD!!!??

Anyway, we fell asleep and this morning when I woke up, first thing I do is check tumbler, and when I get there I see shitlords ask about gremlin-fever and the gremlin in back of my head is like pspspsps do iittt

After I send that ask about giving permition for you to use my story as a fanfic I put my phone back in the table, roll over, and PROCEED TO HAVE A FUCKING HEAR ATTACK!!!

THAT DORK ON HAS SHORT AND A TOP COVERING THEM!!! IT'S FUCKING FREEZING OUTSIDE THE BED BUT THEY ARE BOILING!!! LITERAL VOLCANO TEMPERATURE!!!

I'm starting to think that shitlord anon was right about the fevor in a literal way...

BUT THIS IS NOT WHAT BOTHERS ME THE MOST!!!! THE FACT THAT I CAN FEEL EVERY INCH OF SKIN IN THEIR BODY!!!

But them I look down and see their arms around me AND FUCKING HELL HOW STRONG IS THIS BITCH!?!?!

I probably panicked for and hour or so before I realize... I CAN TOUCH IT

I now I'm the volcano!!! But when I start touching their belly OUT OF GAY CURIOSITY

THEY OPENED THEIR EYES AND ASK "What are you doing?"

WHAT DO I ANWSER TO THAT!!!??? I CANNOT JUST SAY I WAS TOUTCHING YOU OUT OF GAY PANIC

BUT IT'S NOT LIKE I HAVE A BETTER EXCUSE THAN THAT!!!

So, as an intellectual, I said "I- I was j-just c-curious to know how it f-feels to touch it"

"You were curious to know how it feels to touch other persons abs?"

"Well... Yeah b-but not- Not, like- I'm inocent I swear!!!"

They started laughing at me and got closer, and with their fucking casualty say "You can it I don't mind, you're inocent after all"

I WANNA DIG A HOLE AND HIDE!!! YE GODS ABOVE HELP ME!!!

But I remberem shitlords anon little tip, and actually got the courage to kiss their forehead. The moment I kiss tgeir forehead they stop laughing and blankly stare at me for a solid minute, BUT THIS TIME I'M GONNA BE THE ONE TEASING BITCH, so I said what shitlord anon said "I was just checking your temperature, you look like you might have a fever"

I MANAGED TO HAVE COURAGE TO SAY THAT WITHOUT SOUNDING LIKE A DYING SQUIRREL!!!!

IT'S REVENGE FOR MY ENDLESS PANICS!!!

They didn't even say anything anymore, they just nooded, IT WAS PRICELESS!!!

But then, Miss oh honey opens the door saying "GOOD MORNING LOVE BIR- Oh- Am I interupting something?"

We both just stare and since she cant se if we have clothes or not due to the blankets she does a shit-eating-grin and says "Oh- Sorry to interrupt your bonding time~ I will let you continue~ giggles"

I DIED RIGHT THERE!!!

But my roommate was FUCKING PISSED

They got out of bed and started chasing her, screaming her name in pure rage!!

And I stayed in the room... Looking at the ceiling... Thinking about my life choices...

BUT PLEASE CAN SOMEONE SEND HELP

I need it ;-;

IT'S TOO MUCH GAY PANICS!!!! HELP!!!

And also, Miss oh honey is gonna sleep here today, cause aparently one of her neighbors has covid, and his wife texted everyone that he is coming back from the hospital so he can rest home (cause the hospitals are all full and he is not having trouble with the desease), like, he got positive a month ago, and Miss oh honey went for test and got negative, she stayed at home for a while to make sure she was okay, and since her covid neighbor wasn't at home with is family cause ge stayed in the hospital (and none of is family has covid, fortunatly)

So, baisically shes gonna stay for while...

Hope ya'll have a nice day/afternoon/evening/night

- gay panic Gremlin anon

Holy shit— you go, Gremlin anon! I don’t think I’ve ever been this proud of a stranger before in my life 😂

Y’all are too cute and I’m dying. Good luck with your roommate and your wingwoman Miss “oh honey”, Gremlin anon xD

[synoxshots]

The Master KOTFE Adventure

My latest project has been playing through KotFE on master mode.

Why ever would you want to do that? you may ask, and I have asked myself the same thing. In short, it was a mix of having a light sided empire toon that I didn't want the autocompletes on, and the fact that he is also the best geared character I've ever had and the discipline I've had most experience playing. And I've run through KotFE quite a few times so, freshening it up I guess? 

So this is how it went. This isn't a guide - more, a record of my experiences as I went through. As ever, some things I found easy others might find hard, and (more likely, lbr) vice versa. 

The gamer:

I play a Rage Jugg, wear Descent of the Fearless set, gear level 306 with a full set of 286 augments. So - very well geared, but not fully optimised stats wise. Experience wise for this - I'd done a few chapters on vet mode before with a Guardian (Focus) and Powertech (Pyrotech) though not always at max gear (probably in the 290s when I first gave it a go), and I like trying to solo group content like vet fps (master for Red Reaper only) because I don't love myself, I guess. A smidge of ops experience. I'm reasonably competent as a player but also prone to stupid, I don't claim to be great by any means.

Chapter I

All went smoothly, died on the last fight against the BD-148 elite skytrooper - but that was just because I forgot about heroic moments existing, given that half the chapter is spent without a companion. Used my enraged defence a few times but never really felt at risk of dying. Apart from the one time when I did, obviously. Marr goes up to 28 influence automatically. Lots of mobs can be skipped as they're already engaged in fights.

Chapter II

Quite a few mobs you can skip around. Valkorion heals you though he's not a companion so no heroic moment. Last monolith did get me close to death sometimes, so there was a bit of running away so I could heal up a bit more, and making good use of defensive abilities. But no deaths on this one!

Chapter III

I died twice on this one, both were easily preventable. The first was against the Ground Assault Walker (massive droid before the bridge) and pretty much because I hadn't raised Lana's influence yet, so I upped it to 20 before starting the fight again and cleared it very quickly. Sidenote: a while back I bought a bunch of Spiced Aric Tongue from the Jawa scrap peddlers as I didn't know what else to do with all that, Lana accepts it so it's a nice quick way to up her level (Koth likes it too, a lot, which is handy). Second death was against like, a handful of skytroopers when I was shutting down the reactor and really it was mostly because I wasn't paying attention properly, though Lana died both times at this point. There's another fight where these prototype skytroopers keep swarming and I was a bit nervous because there were kolto stations there and I couldn't entirely remember how intense it got. The answer was...not intense at all and I definitely didn't need them. The final fight on this one is the two Zakuul knights but they didn't cause me any problems. All in all I'd say the deaths I've had so far have all been my own fault.

Chapter IV

This...did not go as well. And I'm not entirely sure why, just bad play on my part I think mostly, sometimes there are days when I just play like trash *shrug*. Not timing things like enraged defence, heroic moments and so on very well which meant I died a few times to wildlife - twice the larger bosses, twice mobs of normal/strong ones. Yeah... Kept upping my companion influence so all three (Lana, Koth and HK by this point) got up to 27 but I think even higher than that may be needed as they just didn't seem to be healing well. 

Chap V

I was a bit wary heading into this one, as it was one I'd run before on vet mode and remembered having trouble with the skytrooper waves. I was less geared then though, and had less companion influence doing that, having now taken everyone up to about 32. I didn't record any deaths on this though had a near miss - but I had saved my enraged defence/heroic moment and so on and hit them at the right time. Hey, I'm playing smarter! 

Chapter VI

I found this chapter easy when I'd run it on veteran not long before, but that was not the case on master. Died the first time against Oggo, that was my own fault though, although he does have one particular ability that hits very hard. Then came the Scions. Ohhh boy. The first two you face killed me, fair enough I hadn't had a chance to raise Senya's influence yet. The second two, Venat and Berusal, caused me pain. The good thing is that when fighting the pairs and you take one down, if you die the other doesn't respawn. The other good thing is that Venat and Berusal can be pulled separately, the bad news is I found this out after a few attempts. And Berusal still killed me on his own the first time. I was not having a fun time. And then you face Heskal without a companion. It takes a bit of tactics. I tried to damage him whilst he was doing Debris Storm, though still had to avoid the red circles. Turbulence gives a lot of damage, so had to hastily get out the way/interrupt it. He also stuns you which isn't fun. Valky pops up and offers you an out after the first phase, unfortunately I decided to stay true to character and not take it. Bad times were had. I went to lunch. I asked a friend to help. My internet got switched off before that could happen. I found out I was able to summon a companion...I know I'm not supposed to story wise, and I'm not sure if you can normally (there's a lot of times when companion summon buttons are greyed out due to story restrictions) or if this was only because I'd previously logged out...but suddenly the fight became a lot easier. Funny that. Sigh. Moving on...

Chapter VII

Honestly not much to say about this one, nothing that caused me trouble. A lot of it is in the open world so regular difficulty rather than scaled to master. 

Chapter VIII

This one wasn't much trouble either, did die once when stuff was on cooldown, once in the final Arcann fight. Kiting him over and hitting the conduits there is a big help as they stun him, that is probably very obvious but I've literally never bothered with them on story or vet mode. We're halfway there!

Chapter X

This one also gave me a Time. The problem I had was when you come up against Faedral and Zaamsk. My first thought was the difficulty was because I hadn't raised Kaliyo's influence (oops, but you get her on the spot and I didn't have gifts handy...or at least the ones I thought she liked she didn't actually) (this is how I found out that agent!Kaliyo and alliance!Kaliyo have different preferences, apparently this will also apply to other - but not all - returning companions). But I raised her to 28 and still kept dying. It's a bit of a nasty fight honestly, and the guide I looked at said that juggs...aren’t ideal for it. Crowd control and interrupts are very handy. I kept getting really close to getting one of them down and dying just before I could, super annoying because it's another of those where if you take one down and die, you only have to face the other one. I took a break and read the guide more closely, watched some videos, and ultimately just decided to bring someone along to avoid the pain, or maybe share in it. I still died but we got through them. The fight against Tayvor Slen, the boss fight of the chapter, took a couple of tries with two of us - the first time I got stuck in a red circle and pretty much insta-killed. There was a bit of a close call on the second attempt but it was under control really. The achievement then comes through for chapter completion, all you have to do then is get out of the Overwatch, all things rosy right? Oh how wrong they were. A bunch of Zakuul Knights came along and literally just slaughtered us, full on, one-shotting us both - it was hilarious and extremely confusing because why?? how?? Did the bonus mission to get the prisoners to escape (look out for the glowing terminal, it says 'Overwatch Prison Logs' when you hover over it) - they one-shot a few Knights but then disappeared on us too. Who knows. But we got through it.

Chapter XI

A much nicer one though still had a handful of deaths. Where you meet up with Havoc Squad there's ambush of Skytroopers, followed by a couple of walkers - and the walkers beat me. They cast circles that I just couldn't get out of in time to save my health, even with my defensives. I'm not sure if they were the type to follow you or a sort of stamp move (I should have looked at the cast bar, come to think of it) - I suspect though it was the latter and so it wouldn't be an issue on a ranged character. The fight though does continue around you if you die so you don't lose the progress you make, just use the med probe, revive and rejoin. I only took Jorgan to level 7 because that was all the gifts I had, but most of the mobs were just regular trash, typically 3 at a time, which was no worry. When you attack the base the Knights are a bit harder - there's one round the back that does stealth strikes and that's a difficult one to face. I died - the respawn to medbay actually puts you inside the part with the forcefield you're supposed to take down, and then you can't get out of it...I maintain that I did find a way past the forcefield but it doesn't work as a cheesing method. Use your med probe, otherwise it's quick travel out and re-enter your phase. The final battle is a big droid (I forgot the name of it). It spawns a bunch of smaller droids, just ignore those and go for the boss - I didn't the first time and that's why I died - I lost Jorgan, I had two Knights chasing me whilst the droid put up shields, it didn't go well - second time I did it in less than a minute whilst using a heroic moment.

Chapter XII

This one you don't have a companion for, though it's not a big deal - for the most part my main enemy, as tends to be the case on this chapter, was the map. I think the regular mobs are scaled down a bit for playing without a companion. You can pick up an animal to help you as well, which you may as well do as things just die quicker. It runs off in caves. Valkorion does take your health down a fair chunk before he gives you his beat down but it wasn't so bad. Vaylin though took quite a few attempts. You can't interrupt her so you have to be on the ball with your defensives and timing them all, which includes the shield and medpac given in your temporary bar for the chapter. Really the medpac isn't that effective so don't count on it. There's a lot of running around as she casts red circles. Probably easier with a character with more self heals. I got through it after a few efforts, after getting close a few times, though even then I was still low on health by the end.

Chapter XIII

Yeah, this one was no trouble really, and that was with Gault at only level 4 influence. If things get hairy whack a bit more on him, there's no real mechanics to pose problems. As ever, good practice to stay out of circles on the boss fight, you have Vette there as well so a bit of extra damage going and yeah. Nothing to worry about.

Chapter XIV

Another that was nice and simple, I didn't even have any gifts to give Torian so was wandering around with him on level 1. Just a matter of timing defensives and heroic moments in that case. Lots is open world, too. Final boss fight was no problem at all.

Chapter XV

Reading guides for this put the fear of god into me, so I was pleasantly surprised to find it better than expected. The bosses were the toughest parts. The first is the Skytrooper Constructor, that one does spawn adds after a while as well. It killed me a couple of times but really I'm not sure what the best strategy was so I just went for the classic, burn it as fast as I possibly can and making use of heroic moment/defensives as well. The GEMINI droid at the end had me worried. That took 3 attempts (maybe 4, I think it was just 3 though), one of those my heroic moment was still on cooldown and Senya died quickly on it too. It was really just about managing defensives effectively as well, running away when she has the red cone in front of you, using the heroic moment for extra speedy damage. It was a close call in the end but my enraged defence came off cooldown at the perfect moment, thank you Grit Teeth. I wouldn't say this was an easy chapter by any means so quite proud of myself for getting through it on my own! The other thing I would say is watch out for the lasers - they don't do lots of damage on story mode, but on master they one-shot you if you get caught in them! The other various traps I probably got through easier than I have on the lower difficulties which may just be a testament to this being like, my fifth complete kotfe run at this stage haha.

Chapter XVI

The final chapter...and the one I was the most scared of. Took Lana up to lvl 50 in preparation...she duly died early on in the first boss anyway. KJ-931 is the first boss - I say first boss, there's still a high rank enemy immediately before that I died to a few times anyway and needed a heroic moment to beat. First attempt against KJ I actually came really close. Stay out of the aoes - there's a white circle and a yellow cone, as well as a big red laser thing where you have to rush to the corner and if you can - micromanage Lana well enough that she doesn't get caught up in them too. So I learnt that I am not good at micromanaging companions like that. Take the turrets rather than the shields, definitely - apparently the shields also have limited use, the turrets pull aggro as well as giving you damage so they're very handy. Sometimes on this fight I got one-shotted very quickly, others I managed to hold on a bit - but it was the first attempt that was my best run until I actually did it. Honestly I can't say what the trick was to finally getting it right...just a lot of blind panic and luck. Second boss is Dara Nadal - I found it easier to just go for the intense burn on her - put down the turrets, use a heroic moment, set Lana to damage as well and burn. Still took a few attempts on her but each time I was getting very close so I knew I would get there.

And then came Arcann. Ooooh boy. I'd been reading guides and watching videos in preparation but there's still a lot to keep on top of. I decided to use the Marr & Satele Special Saber rather than my usual one - having the benefit of being able to run around quickly was handy, and the other ability reflects damage from his saber attack. This took many attempts - some that went very quickly, some that got him to his final phase. Rather than going into specifics I'm going to link to this video as it probably explains what to do best (it’s handy for all the bosses). You really have to watch for the moment he gets to ~25% and stands in one spot - if you aren't able to do the shield whacky he will kill you straight up. My first time running towards him with the shield in that very last phase I died on the way up. It took me a long time and a lot on repair bills but this is another one I was very proud of for getting through on my own as there were times I didn't think I would.

General stuff:

I would say doing this is not for the light-hearted but it’s certainly possible! Apart from one chapter where I grabbed a friend I got through them all on my own

Some classes fair better in certain chapters than others. I went with my Jugg all the way through, but if you have the characters geared and you know them well enough - and you're doing this for the cheevos rather than going through the storyline - you're likely better off mixing and matching as you go. There were many occasions I wished I had range.

You will die to trash mobs. It is a fact of life. It feels embarrassing in the early chapters, you come to accept this and move on.

Companion influence helps a lot. Koth, Lana, and Senya all like delicacies (especially Koth, that man can eat) - you can grab these from the Jawa vendors in the cartel bazaar on fleet.

Med droids are also a booming industry thanks to the amount I've spent on repairs in the course of this.

There are more mechanics compared to story mode, and some that exist in story mode that you just notice more on master. But apparently the difference between vet and master is just artificial - more health and hitting harder. 

Going Commando is another good resource for their experiences playing through.