#and said and thought shit that would send present day me into a fucking rage

[waluigisgaybf]

Theres at least like 2 separate people I follow on here I used to be mutuals with but I think since then they've both unfollowed me-

one was a fb friend who I loved talking to a BUNCH even if I didnt do it often- but after I hadnt heard from them in awhile I check their fb and theyd unfriended me :( (and maybe blocked because now I cant see him on there???? but idk)

and then the other I met on here and we were in a small discord server together and I adored everyone in there and really liked being friends with the person that had added me from here to the server- and I dont have them in my discord anymore at all and Ive just been so heart broken about both of them off and on for over at least a year now :(

[aphroditesmoon]

kerosene (part iii)

jacaerys velaryon x targ!reader

summary: after you find out your family has been orchestrating a plan to use you as a scapegoat to assure your brother's reign. You pledge your allegiance to the black queen and switch alliances as pleaded by your secret lover himself, prince jacaerys velaryon.

A/N; this is kind of a filler chapter since I've been busy w exams to write anything, but I promise the next chapter won't be as boring💀🫶 also do you guys want smut in this series orr

taglist:

@simrah1012

@remuslupinwifee @whenmypartysover

@green-lxght @blakebearsblog

°°°

You had spent the whole day after your arrival, sleeping.

Jacaerys had insisted you stayed in his room first and refused to hear any complaints from anyone. Though you now share a chamber, you had not seen him since he's led you to his room to rest.

The moment your eyes had met, his composure broke and he all but rushed towards you, pulling you into his embrace, you face buried in his chest while he holds you tight. It did not matter to either of you on who's watching, you were finally reunited, nothing else mattered.

You were led inside to explain what was going on, and so you faced the true queen and told her of the wedding date being cut short in order to secure lord Borros' alliance for the war.

Though the queen held a worried expression, the prince consort seemed pleased by this statement.

"Borros' only wants what can benefit him, if he can't marry [name], then he would gain nothing with the greens, we can try and persuaded him to send his troops in our defense instead." He suggests.

This made the queen snap at him. "And what do we have to offer him? We have no daughters to wed to him, do you wish me to sell back this girl off like her mother did?"

Daemon shook his head, still remaining calm.

"No. We marry Jacaerys to one of his daughters."

°°°

You had thought that the early conversation would've kept your mind from sleeping, but with the tiredness of your journey, sleep found you fast as you indulge yourself in the warmth and comfort of your lover's bed.

Jace had only entered hours later, you had not noticed him at first, only when you feel the dip at the opposite side of the he'd you lay on, you realize he was there.

Even in the midst of your sleepiness, you reach a hand out to him, he immediately holds it in his own, intertwining your fingers together, you open your eyes a little and see him leaning over you, a concerned expressions washes over his face.

"Is it about what Daemon said?" You guessed.

He shakes his head softly before planting a kiss on your forehead. "Not tonight my love, go back to sleep hm?" His voice was gentle yet it sends shivers through your spine everytime he speaks.

You're often reminded of how much you've missed to hear it.

Too tired to argue with him, your body obeys and your eyes shut closed again as you let the peaceful slumber overtake you.

°°°

Jacaerys wanted to make his stepfather chew his own foot.

Your unexpected appearance had granted him a few moments of joy before that arseling had opened his mouth and completely ruined it.

He couldn't believe you were there, and that exactly what he said to your over and over z as he held you in his arms, afraid you'd disappear if he doesn't hold on tight.

You had simply assured him that you were real and present, slipping your hand in his and squeezing it hard, before his parents had interrupted.

The suggestion was absolutely horse shit if he'd say so himself. Lord Borros' alliance was as easily replaceable as a fucking shoe.

He had shown where his loyalties lies when he agreed to the marriage arrangement with the greens, who's to say he wouldn't betray them if Alicent had came up with a new arrangement herself? after all, she had sons as well.

He had made sure you were safely tucked in his bed before going to confront his parents.

Daemon was unbothered by his display of anger, calling it a child's tantrum, fueling his rage even more.

"You are only againts this because you wish to wed that girl." He points out.

"[name], has nothing to do with this.

-I admit I have strong feelings for her, but I would do my duty, if it was a good strategy. This however, would be a fragile bridge between our family and the Baratheon's, Lord Borros' is a serpent under the covers, trusting his allegiance after he's openly stated his loyalties to Aegon would be a mistake even a fool could see a mile a way." He force himself to speak calmly, refusing to let his stepfather rile him up and paint him as immature.

Before Daemon could interject, his mother steps in cutting both men down.

"I agree, with Jacaerys, The Baratheon's alliance would be a fragile one, that is if he'd even agree to one.

-I understand, husband, what you are trying to do, but it's far too late for our houses to meet an understanding, He has disrespected our house and spoke againts his father's oath for me as the true heir of the iron throne, to almost beg for his help is unseemly and humiliating."

Daemon seem to have soften at his wife's words, he sighs heavily before nodding at her.

"Before we make the wrong decisions, we'll try to solve the one in front of us. [name]. It won't be long until Alicent finds out where her daughter has went, and she doesn't even have her dragon here for our use, she'll only be seen as a hostage." It was Rhaenyra's turn to sigh, her eyes seemed tired as she rubs her face.

"We'll come up with something in the morning, it's been a full day for us all, let us rest" the prince consort spoke. They all agreed and bid eachother goodnight before leaving.

Relief and warmth spread through his whole body when the view of your sleeping came into view.

He changed himself into his nightclothes quietly, not wanting to wake you.

Though your eyes flutter open anyways when he goes to lay next to you, propping himself up with his elbow to study your face.

His hand grasp yours that was reaching out to him and he feels his heart relaxes as your skin touches his. He had missed the feeling of it.

"Is it about what Daemon said?" You asked groggily. He shook his head shushing you back to sleep. He would not have you worry over his mess, not when you've already been through so much to be here, to be with him.

°°°

You have never been in a situation this uncomfortable and awkward.

Sitting next to your lover,. opposite his parents, as you try to enjoy breakfast without feeling nausea.

You can't tell if the urge to throw up came from nerves or the tiredness of your journey. It didn't matter at the moment you supposed.

"So, I think it's a good time to, discuss certain issues at hand, now that we're all here." The Queen stated.

She gave you a reassuring smile, contrasting Daemon's analysing stare at you. You muster the courage to reciprocate with a small smile back.

"[name], I hope you know that your presence is very welcomed here, I know it must have been hard to make the decision you did, to leave you own family, to risk ser Harrold's life. And if it's anything I know about you at least is how much you hate causing anyone harm, I applaud you of your bravery, sister"

You were taken aback by her speech, not really by the speech itself, but by her calling you sister.

It truly warmed you that she saw you as her own family.

"Thank you ...sister. You are right, it has not been easy." Was all you could speak out. You had refused to think of your mother's panic or ser Harrold being questioned or tortured, you could not bare to think it.

Your eyes stare back down at your food as you let thoughts of the consequences of your actions run through your mind. Gods protect ser Harrold, and Gods protect me from my mother's wrath.

Jacaerys senses your body tensing and slips his hand in yours, reassuringly squeezing it. You were grateful he was there.

"Though, I am grateful for your presence my dear, war is near. You should know I do not intend to let them get away with taking my throne, and my son." Her tone becomes more stern as her smile slowly disappears.

"Your dragon, Ciervo, I hear, is being put in chains?" You nodded. Daemon hummed thoughtful.

"I'm guessing we can't trust any guards to try and free him, do you have any other allies at court besides ser Harrold, [name]?"

You nod your head again before stating: "Ser Erryk." This has Daemon pleased.

"Of course, his brother has sworn his loyalty to us, It's only logical the other feels guilt for being apart from him." He thinks out loud.

"This is good. It's good that they are twins too. We can switch their places, Erryk can tell us of their plans while Arryk takes his place, and then again." Jacaerys starts.

"This way, we can continually get information without raising suspicion." Daemon immediately agrees with the prince, a rare sight indeed. They all looked to the Queen for her approval.

"Very well. Tell ser Arryk to write to his brother discreetly to discuss ser Erryk's alliance, we must first be sure where his loyalties lies. It could be that his kindness to [name] was done out of pity or affection to her and not for us." She reasons.

You could feel Jace's hand tighten around yours suddenly. Though when you turned to him, his face remained composed and guarded as he nods at his mom's explanation.

Daemon signals at Jace to go and he nods at him before rising from his seat, squeezing your hand before letting it ago and sending you a small smile. He leaves immediately to find ser Erryk to deliver his mother's order, leaving you with the two dragons.

Rhaenyra eyes you carefully before smiling softly at you. "Now, let us discuss your place in my court, and what we do with your situation."

[squirrelno2]

Jesse Lives AU, pt 6

Back at it with whatever this is!

Jesse and Jale make it to the ship and contemplate next steps.

First - Previous - Next

The captain didn't look happy to see that half of Jale's haul was a person, but at least the storm clouds cleared when he presented the navigational unit and the fuel.

"There's another piece I pulled from the engine room, if your medic takes a look at my stray," Jale said.

"Your stray?" Jesse snapped. He swayed getting off the speeder. Jale let him stumble and turned back to the captain.

"So?" he asked.

"Last time you brought one of your pretty boys on board he stole half our goods."

Jale sputtered.

"I didn't know -"

"That's the problem." The captain frowned as Jesse approached. "Is that a clone?"

"I am," Jesse said tightly. He glared at Jale. "I'm not fucking you."

"Please, my taste in men isn't that bad," Jale lied through his teeth. Jesse was exactly his type, unfortunately, but Jale was trying to ignore that.

"I won't be any trouble," Jesse told the captain. "Not unless you make trouble for me."

The captain looked him up and down warily, then glanced at Jale. Jale tried to look completely innocent of previous sexual escapades.

"Fine," he said. "We'll take the clone to Corellia and drop him off when we leave you behind."

"It's Jesse," Jesse said tightly. The captain didn't answer.

"So all the shit you were saying about how you didn't trust this crew, that's because you're an idiot who sleeps with thieves?" Jesse asked as they boarded the ship.

"No, they hated me before that," Jale said. "I'm not an idiot!"

Jesse scoffed.

"Haven't seen any evidence yet."

"You're going to be stuck with me for a while, Jesse," Jale said. "Maybe consider holding back on the judgment until you know a little bit more about the real world."

"The real world?" Jesse snapped. He stopped walking. Jale, for some reason, stopped too. "You ever seen what war looks like? You ever lost your family to ambush, and betrayal, and bad luck? That wreck out there is the last in a long line of real things, and you don't know a damn thing about any of it."

Jale swallowed. He wasn't about to give an inch to a man who'd spent the whole day insulting and belittling him, no matter what points he made.

"War isn't the only bad thing that ever happened," he said. "And it's not what life is like for most people."

"You think that makes it any less real?"

Jale was intensely aware of the fact that the captain had turned to look at them, and a few other crewmembers had surfaced to find out what was happening.

"You need to get your head checked," he said. Rage flashed across Jesse's face - he probably thought it was a dig at him - but Jale ignored him and turned to the ship's doctor.

"You want to take a look at a shipwreck survivor?" he said, like he was offering her a gift. She looked as though she couldn't decide whether to focus her attention on hating him or worrying over Jesse.

"Come here," she said to Jesse. "He picked you up off that ship out there?"

Jale ignored the murderous glare Jesse was still sending his way in favour of waving as the doctor steered Jesse away.

"She'll take good care of you," he said cheerfully, just before the doors closed behind them.

The doctor was surprisingly gentle and friendly, for someone who worked for a captain that so obviously didn't respect clones. Jesse was still on edge. He'd won the argument with Jale - the man would never have passed him off to the doctor if he hadn't - but he wanted to go back and make sure Jale knew just how wrong he was. He didn't know why. Jesse was usually better at letting things go, at least from natborns.

The doctor was at least quick about her checks and scans. She was no Kix, but Jesse knew a capable medic when he saw one. He tried to relax.

Finally she gave him a mostly clean bill of health.

"You're lucky, the worst you're hurt is your head," she said. "And you're healing up well from that, miraculously. I don't know what more I can do for you."

"So I'm fine?" Jesse said.

She frowned. "I can't do much for you, but there's definitely trauma. You may experience headaches, mood swings, loss of function - noticed anything?"

Jesse shrugged.

"Headaches," he said. "But we were engineered against that kind of thing."

Her face took on a pinched look which Jesse couldn't interpret.

"Doesn't really matter what your genetics look like when your head gets cracked like an egg," she said. "Look, just… if you notice anything, issues with motor control or speech or eyesight, let me know. You got off easy."

Easy. Jesse didn't think easy was landing on a near-empty moon. He didn't think easy was depending on a too-cocky stranger and the crew that hated him. He didn't think easy was outliving everyone you knew, and being left behind for dead by the one person you had left.

"Sure," he said.

"Look," the doctor said. "If you don't want to be stranded on Corellia at Jale's mercy, I'm sure I can talk to the captain. Maybe you could work for us -"

It was a smart idea. He wouldn't be stuck with Jale. He'd be able to travel where he needed to go, as soon as he figured out where that was.

But some part of him hated the idea of working for anybody that wasn't the Republic. Jale, at least, hadn't framed it like that - like Jesse would be betraying himself by assisting. Jesse may have hated picking over the Venator's bones, but it hadn't been a job.

It was stupid. It was impractical. He'd never be able to survive, thinking like that.

But he could put off the moment when he needed to change.

"It's fine," he said. "I'll make Corellia work."

[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?”   

---

Tagging: @cinewhore @superhoeva @blessedboo @rebeccasficrecs @themarcusmoreno @joannasteez @justanotherblonde23 @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @huliabitch @ifimayhaveaword @flightlessangelwings @phoenixhalliwell @aerolanya @djvrins @jenrebloggingfics @steeeeeeeviebb @ciriswife @witching-hour @lo-la-bu-ro @doloreschanal @rosieposie0624 @diaryofkali @skyesthebomb @artsymaddie @helli4nthus @xonickibaby @melancholyy-hill @jeonsblackgf-writes @dyke--grayson @pettyprocrastination @moonlight-prose @velvetmel0n @luckyharley1903 @miss-nori85 @ticosas @withmyteeth @chibsytelford @whatupitshuff @themusingofagothicsoul @the-purity-pen @belowva @mayansxlover @emmaveale123 @maddie-georges @kijahslove @supertiffybee @jettia @spnaquakindgdom @abysshaven @starrynite7114 @thesandbeneathmytoes @cyarikashakira @calif0rnia-lovers​

[jjkpls]

the wishlist (m) - 6 (final)

“Was it worth it?”

> genre : smut, angst, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> words : 15k (ugh sorry)

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, LOTS of pining; sextoys talk and use; explicit language; explicit description of sex; phonesex; masturbation (f); dirtytalk; alcohol drinking; dubcon exhibitionism; ambiguous infidelity

previous - masterlist

There's a lot of forgetting to get done. It wasn't the plan to get drunk. Maybe you should have known better than to confide the slightest about your heart and its aching to your two girlfriends. Because they don't have much of a solution to present you with. You meant to ask of them to divert your mind, make you laugh, feed you so much you'd fall into a food coma and wouldn't be able to think about anything else but sleep. Eventually, share their own dramas of the moment (they always have some) to get you so invested in their shits you wouldn't be thinking about your own.

You made the mistake of sharing, with probably too much preponderance in your tone, that Jungkook was back with his girlfriend.

Without any context clues -they didn't even know that he was single for approximately four days-, they knew. You're not that complicated to read when it comes to him. Only he seems to not get it.

You still remember the first time they found you out. They had a sense that something was up with this kid, that there couldn't just be a platonic, decade-old friendship based on nothing spicier than the tteokbokki you'd cook for him every now and then.

They only started believing, with utter incredulity, that it was true when they saw you, and him, and his girlfriend. All at the same time, sitting around the same table, there was no doubt left. No reason to believe that there's something unsaid existing. They saw your eyes though. The shine they gain whenever you'd be looking at him, laughing hard with all his teeth out, and the glassy look they took on whenever they'd catch a gesture, a touch that was meant only for Jiyeun.

You've never really gone into details. You've never ranted over the feelings, over him, everything that made him the one person for you. They saw you cry over him though, one drunken night, and it was enough to make them understand how deep you were in.

And perhaps it's your fault, that you wouldn't sort of train them to be the better friends they wish to be to you. They don't know what to say, what to do to console you. You don't even know what you need. Really, all you know, it's that you didn't feel able enough to take care of your tormented heart and mind alone tonight.

You are to blame if they dragged you to this bar, with the music too loud and the people too numerous, bumping their hips to yours attempting to coarse you into dancing. You hate every second of it. Every element that was supposed to distract you, help you forget, feel better, served as annoying distractions. You could picture yourself, dipped in a scorching hot bath, with a bowl of ice cream, weeping your eyes out like in the most cliche, most dramatic breaking down of your life. And it felt right, in your mind anyway, a thousand times better than this.

"Here!" Like the good girl that you are, you accept the shots. Min sets one in each of your hand and stares over the rim of her own glass, expecting. You roll your eyes. Swallow them down in one go and she yells, arms in the air, jumping like the night has just been made.

At least, she's entertained. Dancing her life away, kind of wilding out with too much energy, having to apologize every few seconds for knocking someone with an elbow or slapping another with her ponytail.

"Look, who's here!"

Your heart skips a beat then. Until you follow Mary's finger who's pointing rudely at Park Jimin. Park Jimin as in Jeon Jungkook's Park Jimin, one of his closest friends. He's dressed in all black, tight leather pants clawing to his legs, silk shirt half unbuttoned, perched on heeled Chelsea boots, dark black hair gelled back.

For a second, you worry, stupidly, if your friend is not going to appear, emerging from the thick crowd, carrying a drink, catching your eyes in the room. That's another thing you wouldn't need right now: seeing him. When you're in this weird state of sadness, guiltiness, of hopelessness and confusion. You'd probably be a mean bitch again. He doesn't deserve that.

For some time, you're just watching Jimin, being Jimin, dancing languorously, flashing smiles and winks so naturally; making everyone uncomfortable just because he's so attractive and so talented at catching people's attention and making them want him. It's just Jimin, hoeing out, as always. No Jungkook ever appears next to him. And while you sort of spy on him, there are the two dumb bitches next to you, drooling over him. Commenting about his ass, the way he moves his hips and how tight he seems to be in his pants.

"You should have fallen for him, dude!" It's the pinch to your arm that drags you back to the conversation, lets you know that you're the one Min is addressing. "What?" Your brain is already a bit slow. You haven't eaten much before leaving, drunk not much but too fast and forming intelligible sentences, translating your thoughts in their entirety is not a task easily doable at the moment. You meant to say something about how ridiculous they sound. About how it doesn't make any sense. About Jungkook and the things you feel for him, and the way you fell and how even when you suffer, like in this instance, you wouldn't change your heart because it's him, and only him, has been and might as well always be.

Why would you fall for Park Jimin?

"Jimin, you'd just ask him to fuck you and he'll do it."

"You can see he's a very generous slut."

It makes you wince. They're being fucking weird. Obnoxious, in their way of ogling him and quite disgusting talking about him. There's a smirk on the corner of Jimin's mouth and you wonder if maybe he's noticed them and is enjoying it. They don't mean to be offensive, you suppose, but they're still rude as hell.

"Useless Jungkook could never!"

Either you knock your friend out with your newly filled up glass or you drink it and attempt to swallow along your rage and that strange feeling that the open shirt Jimin is wearing has raised in you.

"Don't you wanna try him?" The question is absurd. You don't try people in general. But you'd never, ever, even think about trying someone as close as he is to Jungkook.

What the actual fuck?

"Fine! Don't give me those eyes!" Your brain and face connection is not that great at the moment that you'd know precisely what Mary is referring to. Soon after frowning and pouting through a sip of her drink, she's leaving, straight for the less crowded part of the bar, where people are dancing, where Jimin is showing off.

She needs less than thirty seconds to have him wrapped around her. Min is howling at your side like it's such an exploit. You don't want to bad mouth on your friend but it is, indeed, Jimin. Manwhore Jimin. And just like that, just because she walked in his vicinity, whispered something quickly to him, maybe just a simple greeting and a reminder of who she is, your friend, in case he couldn't make her out, and he's holding her tight, dancing, more like grinding against her, to her greatest pleasure, face buried in her hair, he seems to be uttering things directly in her ear. You catch her fingers reaching for the wide opening of his shirt, brushing against that tattoo you know to be there under his breast but have never gotten to really decipher, and he's leaving kisses on her shoulders. The next thing you see is his wide, wolf-like grin, now aiming straight at you.

You startle, almost let your glass shatter to the ground from the surprise. That seems to make him laugh. He waves a hand quickly your way and for some reasons, it sends a sudden flaming flush to your cheeks. That guy is such a cunt-tease, he's awful. No wonder people talk so crudely about him.

"I need to get plastered." You mumble, probably not loud enough for Min, whose arm you're dragging along on your way to the bar, to hear.

You may have thought, for a split second, of a fantasy. You may have reshaped the scene taking place in front of you to make it more suitable to you, to make it as self-indulgent as you could. With you replacing Mary, with Jungkook replacing Jimin. She made it seem so easy and for the briefest of moments, it felt like it was realisable. As if the only step missing, the only thing making it not real yet, is the first step, the one Mary took by just walking up to him and asking him to dance, maybe for you to be his for a while.

Then Jimin looked over, with his dark eyes and pretty luscious lips, his very sexy aura and everything that makes him him, and it all felt down to the ground. That's ridiculous.

That would never work.

Maybe hot men with the most endearing hearts that you really desire are not to be seduced by you. It just wouldn't happen. Jungkook would never, as she said. What a shame.

You should have fallen for someone easier like Jimin. He's not one person's man, that's for sure, but at least, he would have been great at pretending to be yours for a moment.

Now you really need to get drunk.

There's pure guilt boiling in the pit of your stomach. Because you've never denied your feelings for Jungkook. He deserves them. He deserves to be loved by everyone. Deeply and passionately. And no matter how true, how pure, how intense those feelings are, he never owes to reciprocate, does he? And here you are, greedy stupid little you, sad and angry because of course, he couldn't love you back like that. Not when there's fucking Jiyeun in the way. Jiyeun or any fucking one else, right?

He's not making it easy for you. Everything he does is making your life harder. As if it wasn't enough on its own already.

Everything he does.

Like buying you these fucking toys you need a science degree to operate.

Sort of.

Maybe you don't need a science degree. Maybe a sober head would be enough to make a toy you've never used before function.

You don't have that at the moment. You're in your favourite pyjamas - an extra-large, greyed by time tee-shirt you stole from Jungkook back in high school - and panties - because it sounded like way too much effort to find shorts or joggings and slip them on. You've managed, somehow, you don't even remember doing it, to make your bed all cosy and welcoming, a perfect backrest made of your fluffiest pillows.

The little toy, this orange thing, sort of shaped like a fat bunny, a big, rounded body with two straight little ears, pointed upwards. It's supposed to be fully charged. It's been disinfected. It's just waiting for you to use.

Except it's the last one Jungkook had bought for you, you didn't get to use it yet, to even turn it on once, nor read its instructions. And here you are, past two am, trying, with your sloppy brain, your blurry eyes, and your impatient cunt, to understand how it works. There's an app linked to it. This much you got from the big, unmissable QR code occupying the first page of the three-page long manual that your eyes won't read.

You picked up your phone, went through the violent burning of your eyes when the screen lit up too close to your face, scanned the code, installed the app and here you are, stuck.

The app won't let you turn the fucking toy on. There's a message that keeps coming up every time you try to link the app to the toy. But the message is written in grey, on white, and you can't see shit and you don't have the patience to decrypt it. Maybe if you close it, and try running it again, and try scanning the code again, and just click on the button that appears under the message, whatever it says, maybe it'll work.

Except it doesn't. After a certain number of times (keeping up with the counting is another thing you can't do well right now) the app keeps on being a bitch. Keeps being difficult and reluctant, and unwilling to let you fucking get off and go to sleep.

You're on the verge of tears.

Why would it be so fucking difficult to make a fucking sex toy work?

Why?

You're so annoyed and impatient and angry now and it's all Jungkook's fault anyway.

You can't try to go to sleep, no matter how tipsy you are, because your brain is filled up with this asshole and won't let you alone. You can't fuck yourself to sleep because the toy you've picked - and for totally irrational reasons you feel like you can not switch to another one - won't let you and it's his. His fucking present. Fucking poisoned gift.

He makes everything worse. Everything difficult. And the more your eyes fill up with frustration tears, the more you're reminded that he's also the answer. He's the worst and the best part of your existence.

Of course, you'd call him.

"I could be sleeping." His voice is light and clear. He wasn't any close to be asleep. He's probably gaming or something. You're so thankful for his voice, the lovely thing, the comforting thing, that you don't even get mad at his aforehand teasing.

"Jungkook-" It's not a call of his name. It's a whine, almost a lament at this point. Tiny high tone, overly dragged vowels. Something like Juunggooo, and he must recognize the tone straight away because he starts laughing in your ear. You bite on your bottom lip hard, almost draw blood, squeeze your fist over your heart, as if it could help it handle it better.

You love him, you love him, you love him.

"Went out with the girls?" You hum as an answer. "Had a little too much fun, sweatheart?"

"No fun at all."

He's laughing again. His sly, mocking chuckle. He's too himself for you to get mad at him. He's too cute when he sounds boyish and happy like that.

"No fun?" He's having fun, it's hearable. It might be because you sound like a dumb, whiny kid. "Why is that?"

"Just cause." He hums like he understands. You hear mockery in it. He sounds a bit distant. As if he's not totally paying attention, as if you're really a four-year-old kid rambling some non-sense after school and their parent just barely pretends to be interested. "Junggooo, I'm trying to have my fun now but your thing is being mean to me."

"What thing?" He's definitely doing something else. He speaks a bit slow, you can picture his gaze far from you. And of course, it'd be, he couldn't even see you even if he tried. It's still vexing. He really doesn't want you to have him all for yourself. Why not fucking Jimin?

"The orange bunny you got me." You explain patiently, pouting a bit. You try your best not to have your vexation be too loud but it's hard. "I tried the app but it won't let me."

"The orange-" You hear it when the gears click. He even gasps a bit. You kind of brought it up out of nowhere when you accommodated him with your constant complains and fights pretty much each time he wanted to talk about this subject. And here you are, opening up a conversation on one of them. You kind of get where the shock is coming from. "Oh, the Gala thing." He even knows its name. "What- How isn't it working?"

"The app says I'm too drunk to use it." You quetch, glaring at the toy laying flat on its back next to you. The asshole.

"The app says what?"

"Jeon Jungkook! Are you even listening to me?" Hysteria was to be expected. Because here you are sad and drunk and horny and highly frustrated and it seems he keeps making you repeat everything. And of course, he would because he can't give you his undivided attention now, can he? Because he's not a generous slut like Park Jimin, he's a useless prick. And if he keeps being one, and he keeps upsetting you, you promise to yourself, as an act of self-love and self-respect, you'll tell him he should be better, he should be more like Park Jimin.

"I am, baby, but I'm confused."

Except he doesn't need any bettering, does he?

It's like he's heard your thoughts. Like somehow, even with the distance separating your two apartments, he's been able to read them directly on the lines of your heart. He knows what you need, the soft and gentle and tender Jungkook who takes care of you, the one that doesn't show often, especially now that you don't really go out and get pissed off drunk together, now that you don't expose the sad episodes you might have to him in fear of being precisely confronted to this perfect torture. Maybe he heard your mind calling Park Jimin's name too many times and he tries to ensure his position. You almost tell him not to bother. That it was just a taunt, it's always him, just him, will ever be.

"What does the message say?"

"That I'm too drunk and stupid to use it."

"I don't think that's what's written, baby."

"But-" You're seriously going to cry in a second. You don't even know from what. The app really succeeded in hurting your feelings by not working for you and he keeps calling you baby, it makes your whole inside boil and scorch like a puddle of lava. "It's invisible letters, how am I supposed to read exactly?"

"If you can't read maybe you should just go to bed for now, hm? Figure it out tomorrow."

"No, now." Full brat mode is on. You know if only he was sitting next to you, you would have raised a hand to pinch him right on the back of his upper arm -where it really stings. It works usually. You don't hurt him, the guy is basically made of muscles, he's the kind of work out junkie that's enjoying the pain. He wouldn't fucking mind your tiny attempt of an attack, no matter the amount of anger and frustration powering it.

By telephone though, it's even harder to make him do something. Possibly undoable. The only weapon that you have is your annoying screeching voice. "You fix it! You bought this shitty thing so you fix it."

"I forgot how rude you get when you're drunk." He's still making fun of you. Not taking you that seriously.

"Jungkook, I'm seriously going to cry." The worst part is that you mean it. If regular menaces won't do, surely affection blackmailing should be more effective.

"Don't cry, it's fine. I'll check. Don't hang up."

As if. You did not plan on hanging up. Ever. You've decided.

It's too nice, cuddled up in your bed, with his voice, smooth and soft, saying words that you really like, like baby, in your ear. You've decided this moment won't ever stop.

"Junggoo-"

"One second, baby." You don't have one fucking second. You don't have any fucking second to spare him. When he's made you horny and lonely and longing for so fucking long. Why would you spare him any more? He takes too long. The time he takes, you prophet, will precisely be the time your vagina will need to dry out entirely.

Even his soft voice calling you baby won't serve to make you wet again.

That's a lie.

It makes you groan. Asshole, asshole, asshole.

"Oh." Your ears perk up. He's back with you, his voice closer than before, it seems, when he starts explaining, a hint of guilt shadowing his tone. "Sorry, it's my fault."

"Of course, it is." You mumble, face deep in your pillows. "Jungkook! Everything's your fault, always." You're probably being unfair. Or maybe not. Is he responsible for making you fall for him or are you to blame for doing so? Turns out, it doesn't really matter, because he doesn't even pay attention to the blatant, telling, honest truth you've just spurred.

"When I received the package I tried it once."

"Tried?" Did he really? The cute little bunny-shaped thing you'd dismissed earlier, cursed at and threw daggers at suddenly looks different to you. You want to pick it up and maybe place a kiss on the top.

"Wait- Not like that! I didn't actually try it! I don't have a fucking clit, what-"

"You just said that!"

"I meant, I tried turning it on and linking it with the app, just to see how it worked. Like the options on the app."

"Oh." Makes more sense.

"Anyway, it's not working for you because I used my email with it and you can only have one." So many words. God. "I have to invite you. Or delete my account and then you make one with your QR code."

You turn into the whiniest, most irritating little thing then. Just a jumble of dramatic cries, something almost sorrowful because your issue appears impossible to deal with. It's not that complicated. He explained it. Too many words, too much thinking, too much paying attention, too much to do and too much delay. How does he expect you to do it when you can't even read the invisible font of the app?

"Fucking invite me then."

"Watch your mouth." It makes you roll your eyes. It's not the first time he says that. He says with this menacing growl at the end. Like he means it. Like he's really threatening you. But no matter how far you go, no matter how many times you curse at him, he never acts on it. You want to tell him, you almost do, to stop promising you things he won't ever give you. There's a ping coming from your phone. With a bit of a struggle, you manage to put the speakers on, so that he doesn't leave too far whilst you take a look at the message. A link to click on. Not that hard, it's bright blue, unmissable. It leads you back to the bitchy app.

Now it's all nice to you. It lets you enter, presents even a picture of your own toy, congratulates you for being linked to it and to Jungkook's account. Of course, it would. Now that it knows you're friends, now that he's in the thing, this bitch of an app is being nice.

There are a lot of symbols, every-fucking-where. Some wavier than others. One is shaped like a music note. Some are just little constellations of dots. You click somewhere, just to try and see if anything happens and it does.

Suddenly, the bunny is brought to life and starts purring furiously on the bed. It startles you, looks a bit intimidating. It sounds angry and complicated with all of these fucking options. At least the other toys he's gotten for you had at most two buttons, one to turn it on and off, and the other one to regulate the three levels of intensity.

You might actually need a science degree to use that. Simply to adjust it so it's not attacking you when you turn it on.

You press another button. The setting changes instantly. It starts vibrating in a jerkier way instead of one straight line of frequency.

Tentatively, you grab it, sort of unimpressed and dubious as to the way this would feel good on you. You've already grown grudges against it. It needs to impress you, prove to you that it's worthy of the effort and of you even bringing it to your precious temple.

It sucks at convincing you. You've brought it to your panties and tee covered crotch, pressed it there, waiting, and it doesn't do much. It vibrates. Weirdly. It stops and goes again, in a pattern you don't understand and it doesn't do much for you. Doesn't turn you on, doesn't make you wet. Doesn't stimulate in any positive way.

You reach for your phone with one hand, trying to keep the other one holding it against you, and it's here that the whole thing fucks up for the last time you can tolerate.

How are you supposed to fucking do that?

Don't they understand that? The people that make those fucking things? That they're going to be used mostly by single people, with a single pair of hands? How are you supposed to manage holding it up where you need it, whilst simultaneously, hold your phone up (everyone fucking knows holding a phone up with one hand, and tap on the fucking screen, especially laid in bed, is impossible and the worst fucking idea one could have - except if getting a black eye is the project) and control the intricate dashboard.

"For fuck's sake!"

"What is it?" Jungkook is sighing heavily in your room. And for a second, you're startled almost off of your own bed. You managed to forget he was even still here, on the other line, apparently waiting patiently for- for what exactly? Maybe for you to wish him goodnight and hang up. You literally forgot he was here. You were about to get yourself off -if only this shitty thing wasn't so shitty- whilst he was still here on the phone.

Why doesn't it mortify you?

"How am I supposed to use my phone and the thing at the same time? Why- How? Jungkook!"

"Stop saying my name like that!" You don't ask because you know exactly how you're saying it. There's no proper balance in your tone tonight. Either you're whining his name like a desperate brat, either you're pestering it like a disappointed, aggravated mom.

"I'm going to cry." You say again, lying this time. You've already started. It's not a lot yet. Just a puddle of tears, in each of your eyes that are just about to spill, and the prickling sensation at the tip of your nose, the latter has already starting sniffling uncontrollably.

"Why?" He sighs again. This time, it's gentler. He might have just found the key to the secret safe holding the very last drops of indulgence he hides deep inside his kind heart. "Baby, the app is really for couples."

"But I'm not a couple, I just wanna cum."

"Y/N-" He chokes on your name. "There are buttons on the toy for you to use. You don't have to use your phone, okay?"

"You're lying."

"Why would I be lying? Look! There are fucking buttons."

There are, indeed. But they suck, you think. You do try them. Pressing on them while you stretch your arms out to keep the bunny's ears close to your covered clit. It's so much work. You don't get it. The buttons are hard to press on, when you manage to activate the little monster, it just jabs against your centre, falls over from your hand. You hate the jerking motion, try to change it because clearly, it won't do. It doesn't work. The buttons suck, the toy sucks and Jungkook is cursing at you instead of helping.

"What do you want me to do? Baby, I'm- Just go to bed."

You hate that he's telling you to go to bed, again. He's probably right. You're being a pain, an embarrassing one at that. You can't just go yet, though. First of all, the very reason you called in the first place, for him to make it so you can fuck yourself to sleep, has not been effectively resolved. And on top of that, the very resolution you took earlier, the one of never hanging up, of never drawing a period to this moment, won't let you.

"This one sucks ass."

"It doesn't." He sounds calm, a bit quiet, tone low and collected. You wonder if he'd dropped whatever he was doing, whatever distraction and laid in bed like you, to listen and talk to you only. That would be nice. You're annoying as hell, poor him, he deserves better, but you're thankful for him.

"It's stabbing, how can it be nice?"

"You just- I don't even know why I'm arguing with you. You're drunk."

"Am not, you are."

He scoffs, doesn't bother insisting. He exhales deeply. You sigh as deep. Your lids are heavy. Your brain is fuming too. Your head feels fuzzy. You could sleep right now. You might make a terrible night. You might have nightmares. You might wake up in a few hours, hot and very bothered, frustrated and on edge. There's a little ping messing with an edge of your eyebrow. You know it'll grow into a headache soon.

"Junggoo..." You whimper as if he could help you. As if he's the key to this headache, to lock it away, along with the rest of your tormented feelings.

"You're tired, baby." He comments. You would bite if you were in front of him. He really wants to send you to bed. "Just go to sleep."

You should. Given that you need a good five minutes to find the energy to open your mouth and mumble, "Don't wanna."

"Then what is it that you want?"

"Told you."

"Hm?" You're not saying it again. You could fall asleep right now. With his slow breathing in your ear. It sounds so lovely. Feels like you've never been this nicely enveloped. It's like those ASMR or lo-fi music compilation videos on YouTube. The ones with the short scene, often animated, playing on the screen. It's instant peace, instant chill, purely quiet, greatly pleasant. You love these sceneries. You even have a few printed on your wall. They are great to look at and try to project in, because it seems you could never create this feeling, this atmosphere in real life.

But you've reached it. Now. The perfect peaceful land. With the perfect soundtrack coming through your phone. You're comfy and warm, it's almost as if he was actually there with you, wrapped behind you, stroking your hair. God, you wish he was there stroking your hair and kissing the top of your head. But he's not here. And why? He should be here. If he can be on the phone with you, when he used to come over to make sure the blanket is nicely tucked under your chin, why can't he be here? Life's so unfair.

"What was that?" He's probably referring to the big loud thump, throwing his toy to the ground made. It's not its fault. Even if it hurt your feelings, it's not responsible for him not being yours. Or maybe it is. He wouldn't give you toys if he were yours. He wouldn't need them. That's probably why Jiyeun doesn't like them. Because she wants him to be all that's pleasuring her. The lucky lucky bitch.

"Your stupid toy."

"Don't- do you know how much it cost?"

"Never told you to buy it."

"Sure, but don't break it! I promise it's good. You can't-"

"It stabbed me!" You accuse, petty.

"You- are insufferable." He sounds about done. Except he's not because he seems to want to prove you wrong, still. The toy on the ground starts shaking back to life. Curiously, you roll on your belly, throw a glance to the ground. It's stirring, moving around slowly, getting closer to you as if it's trying to hop back up on the bed. "Pick it up."

You do as you're told. It's vrooming lightly, quieter than you expected. You can hardly feel it in your palm. The movement more noticeable from the timid sound than by the intensity.

"Oh. It's nice now." Maybe it does have a conscience. It's being all sweet and mellow because the remote is in Jeon Jungkook, international heartthrob's hands.

"See?"

It's really gentle. It turns cute. With its bright orangy-red shade, its two cute ears and its belly, a bit domed to allow a better grip.

Your hand has a mind of its own. If he were to ask about it, to demand an explanation, even when you'll come later, and wonder mad and revolted and half dying of embarrassment, what the fuck came over you, you'd blame it all on your hand. The appendix and its own personal free will are bringing the thing back to your crotch. "You can switch the intensity, it was just at the highest before." You're hardly aware of Jungkook still talking in your ear. The phone on speaker is still laying on the pillow next to you and he's selling it to you, while demonstrating, as if he's signed a sponsorship with the brand. It could be funny but you don't really care, more curious about The Gala and finally getting to know it.

Soon enough you realize that two layers of clothing, no matter how thin, are too much. You lift the hem of his tee, exposing your panties and the lines of your mound, showing through the tissue. It makes sense then, the shape of the thing. It has those two straight ears, or poles, with enough space in between, to tuck your clit comfortably. If you'd like. And you're not sure it won the privilege just yet.

For now, it'll have it but still over your panties. They're so flimsy that really the fitting isn't too far from its initial conceptualized use. "And the modes- see," It's jerky again. It goes for a couple of beats very quick short pulses and then there's a long, monotone one until the pulses come back again. You don't like that one. It's gentler than the one from earlier, that tried to attack your clit with an angry strong beating though. "You can just switch. If you don't like the fast pulses, you don't have to use it. You just try it out." You guess he's right. You just have to try it, tame it. Learn its functions and let it learn you. Probably. Sounds like a lot of work though. The other ones were really straight forward. Good, excellent for some - special shout out to the clit hoover, which is not actually vacuuming but blowing air, which made you cum so fast and so hard in the very first two minutes of trying it. You'd turn it on and it'd do the job. Next to your ear, rambling like a radio you'd forget to turn off in another room, Jungkook is explaining how there are dozens of preset patterns and an infinite amount of slots for personal creations.

It's okay. Sounds like it would do the job. You can already tell how you'll use it if you ever decide to give it a second chance after tonight. Pressed tight against your button, turned a bit higher, in a very basic, very classic constant monotone vibration.

He's switched it to another stabbing like pulsing, very fast and aggressive, you can tell they meant to imitate the pattern of a good pounding but it does little to nothing to your excitation. Really all it does is make your eyebrows frown and your premise of a headache is back. "Hate that one."

"Change it." Kindly, he complies. Another one. You can't really identify it. Maybe a slower thrusting. It's better than the last one simply because it doesn't nearly hurt. Doesn't do much good either. But maybe it's not doing much over your panties though therefore curiously, with eyebrows furrowed now in concentration, you lift the waistband up with a finger and slip the bunny under it. Tentatively, you try to set it nicely where it should be resting, your clit out in the open, hugged tightly by the two ears replacing your lips. It's kinda nice. Barely though.

"So is-"

"Wait, turn it up a bit. I can't even tell what that's doing." You mumble maybe a tiny bit petty, a bit bad faith remaining from the bad impression the toy gave you. It's not that you want to hate because you've decided you would. It's more intricate than that. You're too tipsy to even try and explain that though.

"That one is-" After a while, doesn't do much. The higher setting, you suspect he hasn't gotten up a lot, hardly helps. It does vibrate but it doesn't seem to reach enough, your clit hardly feels anything. Your electrical toothbrush from your horny teenage years used to do a better job at being a vibrator -and this even over your jeans.

You're this close to throwing it to the ground again and give up on it, once and for all. Jungkook would need to understand. It's not because he spent a lot on it, it's not because that strange lady he keeps mentioning insisted on its good, that you are forced to appreciate it. You don't see the fucking point of this one. It does look cute and expensive but is pretty much useless. No one needs a pretty, expensive but awful friend.

"It sucks."

For a few seconds, he doesn't say anything. You consider that he might have even hung up. But then, in the quiet, his voice too serious for him not to have taken what you said personally breaks out. "You're mean."

"I think- I think it's a good opportunity to decide- uh..." The toy is still active in your panties, under your palm. The realization slowed your process of thought for a second but the bigger conclusion that it brings is that really, it sucks. So bad you even forgot it was still on -and it's not you being too drunk to have a fully, 360 awareness of your body, honestly. "To decide collectively that you need, you have to stop buying me those."

"They're not all bad! You loved the other ones!" He accuses, apparently not up for the collective decision. You are probably made of confusion at this point. How many more does he feel the need to get you? Is it that great, that gigantic, that tragic of a frustration that he developed by his girlfriend not liking these that he feels the need to bury you alive with thousands of those? The secretive shelf at the bottom of your dresser already holds little to no place left for another pretty box. And as to the satin bag you use to store the toys themselves, in your bedside table's drawer, you can't even close it anymore.

"When have I ever said that? We talked about one, I said it's fine."

"That's not what you said." Honestly, right now, you have no idea what you said. You know that you didn't find great easiness in talking about them. You've never mentioned any and he never did either, apart from the very first one. You did say something positive about it, you think you can recall. "I don't listen to you anyway because I know how bad of a liar you are."

"Well great. Blatantly admitting you don't care about my feelings-"

He bursts out in laughter. You might be a little bit of a drama queen right now. The hand that is not holding the bunny against your mound -for reasons you don't care to address to yourself, probably for you being so lazy that it feels more like an effort to change your hand's doing, take out and put away the toy, rather than just leave it there quiet and not really bothering- did reach for your chest, in a very theatrical embodiment of an offence.

"That's not what I said, you brat."

"That's what I heard though."

"I said I don't trust your mouth when the rest of you is saying something else entirely." You roll your eyes. Hopefully loud enough for him to hear it on his side of the call. "It's my new passion." He starts, giggling like an idiot. "I won't stop for as long as orgasms will look this good on you."

Oh. My God.

Is he allowed to say that? Is he allowed to say shit like that with the most calm you've ever heard anyone speak with? Like it's normal. Like it's a simple fact. Like the word orgasm in itself isn't so foreign in his mouth. Somehow he makes it sound incredible, so delicious you feel the first proper impulse to your pussy.

"You've never seen it." You counter, uneasy, feeling somehow unbalanced and unprepared against what is probably a simple conversation to him but a real personal attack with too great of weapons to you.

"I've seen the aftermath. I told you already." You wish he'd be more explicit. His words are confusing. They're not telling enough. They can be so much, they might not mean anything. He speaks softly, tranquilly, almost whispers in your ear. It's simply late. It's more appropriate, it feels, to speak quietly like that. It's one of those midnight talks.

He wouldn't know whenever he is seducing you. He's doing it constantly without meaning to. It's just him being himself and you being too weak for him. How could you make out his intentions now?

"You really-" The toy twitches in your hand. He clicked on the switch button of his app again. You're not sure why. From the way he speaks, he might not even have realised. He might be playing with the thing, mindlessly, the way he does when he picks at the skin of his fingers when he talks. He must be because he's still in his own head, talking while the thing, the barely interesting thing, turns into something else. Entirely. It's a wave-like pattern. Growing from pure stillness to a slow, growing vibration that ends in an intense climax. You gasp. He doesn't seem to hear. "You really don't want me to get you any more?"

The second wave hits. "Oh- God."

"I mean- I thought, we were- that it was okay." The sensation is incredible. For some reasons, a technology you don't fucking understand, you wouldn't fucking understand now, every single build hits insanely hard. Each time as intense if not better. You're so close to moaning. If you haven't really taken a second to realize what you were doing, actually using the toy with him on the phone, without him even knowing, somehow you know you need to remain quiet. You can't moan out loud. You sigh loud though. You have to. "I swear with you it's so hard to tell-" It's so hard to keep quiet and the realization brings a grin to your face. You're not that vocal usually. Sometimes you are, with some of the surprisingly good sessions Jungkook's presents have been offering you. But it was conscious. It was you enjoying, wanting to build a bigger pleasure, make it more sensational, it turned you on a bit, you had to admit, to hear yourself. The pleasure the toy is bringing you right now is indescribable. The more you leave it pressed to your clit, the more you feel the heat grow. You know it's already too much. You hiss and sigh, and have to bite back moans each time the high top of the wave comes. It's too much and feels like not enough.

The greedy you would want the final hit of the wave to last longer than those very few seconds. Long enough to bring you there, make you fall over the top of the hill. But it's a teasing setting. Probably programmed specifically for overstimulation. You squirm and bite back whines each time it comes, flinch and have to fight to not tear the ears away because you know the sensation is a lot to handle, too much stimulation, yet you're already addicted, unable to act on the very fair, logical, and sensible decision you should make. You shouldn't even be pleasuring yourself with him on the fucking phone.

"Are you okay?"

Jungkook asks, after having stopped talking altogether for a minute too long but it's not like you were really in any state of mind to acknowledge it.

You don't think he's noticed yet. From the noise, hopefully little, that you were making, at most, he should be able to hear some sort of short breathing, for all you know, he might think nausea is visiting from all the alcohol you've consumed and you're heaving, on the verge of throwing up.

"You're not feeling well, Y/N?" It's his concerned tone. The serious one. The one he uses whenever there's no skip button to the conversation. Usually, it leads to him coming over to take care of you like he's your mother. Which sounds great in theory but doesn't always apply wonderfully in practice.

Sometimes you don't want him to see you looking green and gross from fever sweat; sometimes you just want to be alone and recover on your own without having him watching so dramatically concerned over your shoulder. And now, you wouldn't want him to burst in with your hand still in your panties, a sweaty, bothered, horny mess for him to be left shocked and possibly disgusted by. Maybe disgusted is a big word. Or maybe it's not. How inappropriate is it to masturbate with an unknowing friend on the other end of your phone? Is it even legal?

"I'm fi-fine, Jungkook." You lie through gritted teeth. You can't possibly be fine. You've put yourself in the worst situation and you still don't do shit to get out of it. Something is very much wrong with you.

The logical thing to do, the sensible one, would be to either end the conversation, hang up and then eventually finish yourself; or else, take the thing out of your panties, possibly throw it the further away from you and keep the conversation on if that's what you wish to do.

It would certainly not be to ask for him to turn up the setting because you now really much want to come.

"You don't sound fine."

"But I am."

"How much did you drink?"

"Not that much, Guk." He makes you frown, almost rips a curse out of you. Because all this serious talk is diverting you from your pleasure. It's not like you're going to have fucking alcohol poisoning. You didn't drink that much, honestly. The drinks were not even that heavy, except for the two disgusting shots your friend forced in your hands. "Seriously, I'm good." The building up pleasure has brought a new awareness to your brain, and honestly, you feel way more alert than before. You're far from drunk, no matter how much your behaviour seems to contradict that. You're good. You'd be perfect if he'd shut up or if he'd start half seducing you as he does. Maybe he could talk about your nipples again and what you should do with them.

He did say that. Now that you come to think of it. On top of buying you those toys, he did guide you as to what to do with some of them, how you could use them. They were not his direct advice, they were the lady's but still, he felt the importance to share them with you.

"If you are then just answer the question, how much?"

"Okay in a sec but can you turn up the toy's intensity, please?"

"Turn what?" You almost bark then. The whistling f of a very practical, very useful word you shouldn't yell at him rings to your own ear but you're strong enough to hold back. "Ah the thing, yeah, sure." What a sweetheart. A bit slow, but lovely. Your whole body contracts violently when the newly powered wave hits, the beginning of a moan escaping because it's so good, it's almost painful. "I had like two shots of-" Ah. "Something. I don't know what it was, just-" Fuck. "Gross as- uh." Holy shit, that's good.

You can't believe you've judged this intricate, revolutionary technology so bad before. "And then, like, a martini or two, barely and- and-" You're so fucking close. Each time feels like the final ascension except you get back to square one whenever the vibration drops back to stillness too quick to your liking. It's pure torture. And having to make a fucking list of your consumption that's so far back in your brain right now, especially when you know that it's pointless, is not helping.

"Wait-"

"Jungkook-" You don't know if you're begging him to stop thinking now, not get to the conclusion his logical train of thoughts is trying to lead him to, or if you're begging him to help you cum, maybe be nice to the bunny which only seems to be kind to him and make him make you cum.

"Why did you ask me to turn the thing up?" He already knows the answer. You can hear in his tone that he already knows. And frankly, he's a dumb ass for not realizing sooner. "No, you're joking. You wouldn't- not when I'm talking to you."

"When if not then?" Maybe frustration has brought you some bravery, or maybe pleasure has burned the very last remaining functioning cells of your brain.

"Uh?"

It's probably gone too far now. It still feels like he owns the key to the phenomenal orgasm you can smell coming. If you were to hang up now, you wouldn't even know how to make this shitty thing work. And it's not enough. Still.

Shit.

You're definitely wailing in a second now. The next sound you mean to conceal is a sob. Why can't you reach it? And how can you be so hyper-focused on it, it doesn't seem to matter what's going on with Jungkook.

You've gone crazy. Or perhaps you're drunker than you thought yourself to be. The last wave hits differently. It's straight-up overstimulation when you haven't even come once yet. Doesn't feel very nice but at least, it's the push you need to finally lift it up a bit, make a pause and eventually show some consideration to Jungkook.

"So you've been arguing with me, saying it sucks when really you were-"

"It did suck before you changed the setting." You assert again. Because nagging is the thing you're most talented at doing, apparently.

Silence ensues. In the defeating quiet you realize even the discreet humming of the toy has stopped. He's turned it off.

Something akin to shame is finally showing the tip of its nose. It's been fucking late to the party, you note with a growing, you know to become, devastating mortification. Exhaustion and tipsiness are keeping your conscience quite numb but you don't give a chance to sober-you who'll wake up tomorrow with this awful incident engraved in her memory.

Why can't he say something? Essentially, it's his fault. It's always his fault. He makes you feel things you shouldn't and make you do things you wouldn't. You can't think properly. You're being fucking chaotic and he's responsible for that. Even you know it's reaching. You're not that petty and mean.

In a whisper, dipped in sincerity and shame, you apologize. "Sorry, Jungkook."

"For what?" Because he can't let you off the hook that easily, can he?

"Are you seriously going to make me say it? You know why!" Here comes angry-you again. Getting mad and rude for no rational reasons, and here, awfully unfairly. He really deserves better.

"No, I-" You may have broken him. Jungkook has never been the most eloquent person. Between lisping and stuttering and stopping mid-sentence to let you complete for him his missing words, he's never been the best at talking. But even for him, even knowing his history, you find him pretty affected. Possibly all messed up. There's not even the hint of sensible thought. A void filled with "uh" and "tsk" and lips smacking and hums, it's like he's ceased to function. Maybe if you just hang up and from then on, just pretend it's never happened, both of you can get away with the situation. It's an option.

"Jungkook, seriously, I'm sorry. Let's say it was a fucking, uh, drunk lapse of judgment on my part and- yeah, never mention it again."

"Yeah, okay." He whispers after a while. He sounds really shaken up. "But it's fine, I'm not mad, I'm just-"

"Bamboozled?" You suggest, heart constricted, not ready to joke yet but so desperate to obtain at least a smile from him to prove yourself that it's okay and you didn't fuck it up too bad.

"Bamboozled, indeed." He chuckles, a bit breathless on the phone. You can't help the big sigh that escapes you when relief rushes through you. He doesn't sound too upset with you. "I'm really not mad, I just wouldn't have- I wouldn't have expected this, from you."

Of course not. It makes you cringe. You bury your face in your pillow and release the most intense quiet cry you could manage.

"Sorry." You say again, quiet. Your eyes are prickly. This night is such a mess. You can't make out how you're feeling. It's like your reactions and your reflections all come to their own rhythm, inappropriately, unmatching each other's and certainly unmatching the current situation.

"Stop. And don't-" If you're decomposing yourself progressively, at least, he seems to be getting back to his senses. Voice clearer and more present. "You sound so upset now. Are you embarrassed?" It's a smile you hear in his words. You don't have the right to be mad at him but honestly, you would have hit him in the ribs if he were in front of you.

"Is it even necessary to ask?" You grumble face half suffocating still in the pillow. Oh, here's another solution. Suffocating yourself to death.

"I think so. I mean I bought them and I turned it on for you, I should have- I couldn't have known but I should have. It's fine honestly."

"It's not."

Stop pretending, you fucking liar. Even if he acts quite calm, nonchalant, you can hear a very slight difference to his usual tone. He's not sincerely, honestly, a hundred per cent okay and chill with the situation. He's faking casualness but he's not entirely it.

"It is."

"It's not. I'm just gonna die, Jeon." That makes him laugh even though you're only half-joking. You don't know if it's possible to die from embarrassment. One thing is for sure, if it's possible, you won't survive the night.

"No, you're not, baby. It's fine." Jeon Jungkook is the sweetest, needless to say. You should hang up. Apologize again, hang up and pray for him to forgive you and eventually forget all about it. But you remain on the phone because you're so desperate for his approbation and his love and any sign of reassurance from him. And he's giving it to you. When he could probably have a little rest of his own. If it's awkward for you, you can't even imagine for him. But he accepts to stay and reassures you. What a cutie. "Did you cum?"

You choke on your own saliva. More than taken aback, actually shocked. How dares he?

Or can you say that? Can you act offended when you've just done what you did? In any case, how are you even supposed to answer that question?

"You- It's just that I turned it off and we- I was just wondering if you did..." That sounds about right. That sounds like Jungkook being curious and wording this curiosity without necessarily anticipating how you'd take it. It must be part of his plan, his 'let's be the closest, let's share everything' plan he mentioned a few months back. You're not ready, won't ever be if that's what it'll look like.

You are the problem. Apparently, you can get yourself off when the poor boy is on the phone with you unbeknownst, but you still have a hard time talking about sex with him. "...because it sounds awful if you did not."

And it is. It is horrible. You'd imagine that after getting caught, feeling so embarrassed and guilty, your cunt wouldn't still be quivering and begging for you to pay attention to it again. But you've taken it so far. Made it discover new incredible sensations of course it'd still be obsessed with it and with the climax the toy teased it with.

You groan in your pillow again. Not sure how he'll interpret it. Not sure how you want him to interpret it. Should you just talk to him? He could hang up too. If really he didn't want to partake in this mess he could hang up, he could talk about anything else.

"Listen, you don't ever have to be embarrassed with me, you know that." That's reaching. You want to tell him that he can't ever say that to someone, he can't ever become anyone's mat to wipe their dirty shoes on. He should be the one feeling awkward, being mad at you, except he reassures you again. "And when you just proceed on getting yourself off while I was talking- worrying about your fucking health..." He snorts before he can finish. "How dare you act coy with me!" He's just laughing too hard now, contributing wholeheartedly to the burning flush on your cheeks. Well, you deserved it.

"Is that it? You're going to bring this up each time you'd want something from me?" You sound so upset, even to your own ears. It results in his laughter dying down pretty quickly.

"I think so, yeah." You don't add anything. You don't want to be rude. Still hope for any kind of magic word you don't even know that he could mutter to you and that'll help cure your heart and soul. Therefore you can't tell him goodbye and hang up. You wait for him to do it. Except he doesn't. It's late as fuck too. He might be working later today. Why isn't he hanging up? "If I'm talking about it, you should know that it's fine. I don't mind." An asshole and a cutie. "You okay, babe?"

The simple hum you tried to aim for turns into half of a whimper half of a moan. You're not okay. Any part of your being won't let you lie and pretend.

"Do you want me to turn it on?" For fuck's sake. "I'll hang up and leave it on so you just- it'll turn itself off when there's no battery left anyway."

"Jungkook." Your stern voice is a threat. It doesn't have to be further explained, he gets it.

"What?" He sounds aggravated. You can imagine him raising his hands to the skies, upset and losing patience as he's only trying to make it better for you and oh women are so complicated. Something like that. "Oh my God. Just get yourself off and feel better after."

"You don't tell me what to do." Childish but there's not much left of your brain. "Well, you don't even fucking know what to do with yourself right now. Am I right or am I right?" He whisper-yells back at you. Very mean.

"Asshole." It's a tiny whisper under your breath but you're certain he hears it even if he completely ignores it.

"Listen, since you can't even- how old are you, seriously?"

"Fuck you." Barely louder. You definitely know he's heard this time, but still, he decides to dismiss it. He's always been more productive than you.

"I'll turn it on and hang up. You take care of yourself like a big girl, alright?" He probably believes that you can't get yourself to ask for what you want aka a wild night with the fucking toy you can't get to work yourself. But it's not actually the case. Honestly. Now all you can think about -besides the whole very humiliating moment when he caught you in the act- is the way it kept torturing you, bringing you very high but never enough. It started to hurt at the end, brought impatient frustrated tears to your eyes. You don't even think you could finish with it.

Maybe it's inappropriate to seriously consider it. Maybe you won't ever learn your lesson.

Before you even get to word your refusal, the thing is on. It's on the same devilish setting as earlier. The merciless wave. Fuck.

"Don't! It's not- it won't even make me cum, stop it!"

"What? Why not?"

"I don't know the setting is weird." You start explaining through the thicker pout to have ever existed. You're really considering having him solve your climax. You've gone crazy.

"What's wrong with it? Tell me, I'll put on one you like."

Fuck.

You are doomed.

What are you supposed to do with a guy like this?

"I don't think there is." You can hear the frustration from his end before he even says a word. It's written in the stars that in a second he's going to bring it all up, the part when you got off and pester that you can't still be complaining about the fucking toy. "No, I mean it's- the one I liked, the last one you clicked on, it's like-" Fuck, you're really doing this. "A wave. You know? It grows crescendo but it always stops right before- right when it's really good. And I just couldn't- because the good part doesn't last long enough and, yeah."

"Wait, let me look." He sounds a bit further away from you then. He's logged back into the app, you can tell. And with his tiny "hm" and his "so...", he sounds the way he does when your computer is being difficult and he's trying to fix it because you won't pay a professional to do it when you have this nerd populating your entourage. "Ah. You want the high moment to last longer?" "Yes." You can picture him nod to himself, frowning his eyebrows and sucking his lips in the way he does when he's super focused.

"Like that?" You wouldn't know because the toy is lost somewhere, you can hear it but not see it. You ask him to wait for a second and it stops altogether. Doesn't make it easier to find it but it wasn't lost that far. Once you have it in your hand, you gulp, ashamed, not sure if you could ever play with this thing again. But the other guy on the phone doesn't seem to have his motivation falters. You're not the one telling him to try again, on his own, he executes.

It's hard to tell in your hand, the vibrating ears hugged tightly in your palm, if it's going to be satisfactory enough. If it's precisely the thing that was missing from earlier. It follows the pattern you asked him though. Still to a growing intense high that lasts for approximately a good ten seconds rather than the lame 2 seconds from earlier.

"I think so..."

"Okay then. You... mute yourself and then- Uh, no. I should mute myself so- or we both mute ourselves?" He's not really with you anymore. Lost in his own head amongst those seemingly very difficult questions. You don't even get where he's trying to get at. Wasn't he supposed to hang up?

"Why would you stay?"

"It's just- it's me doing it. There's no setting for what you want, it's me doing it. I have to draw the frequency on my phone."

"There's an option for that?"

"Yes. There's even one to have it follow audio!" He points out with way too much enthusiasm. He might have really found a new passion.

"Sounds like high tech."

"Yep."

"Sounds expensive as hell."

He laughs in the mic, snorts even before he brushes it off. Quite frankly, no matter what you'd have to say to him, he'd always do as he wishes. If spending ridiculous amounts of money on ridiculous things for ridiculous you is what he wants to do, he won't let anyone, not even you, tell him not to.

You don't know what to say, he's not saying anything either. He suggested something quite insane: he'd stay. While his finger would be drawing shapes on his screen to actively give you your pleasure, he'd stay on the phone with you. Maybe it's a bit hypocritical or ironical, how it sounds crazy to you now while ten minutes ago, you had no problem doing it without him knowing. That's probably the main issue here, him knowing. That changes everything.

"But if you stay-"

"We can't both mute ourselves because I won't hear if you ask me to change something or- so you, you just stay like that and I'll mute myself."

"Jungkook, you muting yourself won't change my awareness of you being here."

"But maybe you'll forget about it?"

"Jungkook."

"What?" He sounds contrite then. Like an upset child who's being argued with. He's trying so hard but you make it so difficult, it seems.

There's just one thing holding you back. Until now you couldn't quite pinpoint it. And it's hard to resolve an issue you can't name.

But it just hit you. His way of insisting while making it seem like he does it for you only, to help you out and doesn't necessarily find his part in the cake.

"Do you want to?"

"Uh?"

"You sound like- I don't know what you sound like. You're confusing. If you're just trying to give me a hand and solely that then hang up and I'll just- whatever."

"Oh."

"Of course, it makes no sense for you to do this for me and stay if you don't want to, I mean." He takes forever to answer. For a second, you even peek at your screen wondering if he didn't simply quit the conversation.

It's really all you need to know. If somehow, to some extent, he wants you or at least, wants to partake in this genuinely. You don't want it if it's just a bro hand. You can hardly live with what you've done if he's utterly uninterested. But if he does want it, even a little bit, you might be wrong but you feel like everything would turn out to be fine.

"It's not that hard of a question." You try again because it almost feels like he's forgotten you from how long he's remained silent. He had put you on the spot, in this very conversation too, so many times, you have the right to do the same to him, at least once. "Do you want to stay?"

He cracks up. It's the very hard kind of laughter. With the boyish chuckles, mixed with the squeaky intakes of air. The one that always brings a smile to your face and usually drags you along the fit.

You have no idea what it means right now. It's probably the least appropriate time for it to show up. Therefore instead of making you smile it only reinforces the headache slowly growing at your temple.

"Aah." He starts by exhaling longly. You can hear the grin fixed on his face. "Yes." Your heart trips in your rib cage. You should have guessed it but you couldn't have imagined this answer. And him laughing to tears like a fucking deranged infant doesn't help. "Shit, sorry." He apologized when the remnant of what sounds definitely like a giggle resonates in through the phone.

"What's so funny, Guk?" Your words don't match your tone. You're high under pressure, unsure of what's actually going on. Jungkook is not cruel, you've known him long enough to know that he wouldn't deliberately hurt you, wouldn't mess with you so bad, for so long, even for a great laugh. Still, you can't be convinced that he's sincere. Seriously, how could you? The dude won't stop fucking laughing.

"Nothing, I'm just- I didn't realize until you asked me the question that I wanted to." Oh. "I'm an idiot."

"Welp." Could have told you sooner but I thought you knew.

"Mean. And, uh," It sounds like he's tossing and turning in bed again. You bet he's just gotten the exact same position as before. He's like those cats that turn around in circles again and again until they settle for the initial spot. When he starts talking again, his voice is hardly a whisper, you assume he's holding the mic very close to his mouth. "I should ask you too. Do you want to?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want it, moron." Patience has run thin. Now that you're reassured you don't have to be ashamed and embarrassed anymore, you can simply be annoyed as you get with him.

Honestly, you're still feeling abashed but he doesn't need to know that.

"Quit being mean. It's not my fault I'm slow." He says, faking deep pity and it does make you snort. "Okay, well..."

"Well, indeed."

"You're making this awkward!" You roll your eyes. Feels like you can sort this out. If you do take out the very blatant, scorching awkwardness, it's a very regular interaction between you. Sounds like any other day except in a second he's going to press a finger to his phone in hopes to make you cum.

"Your whole existence is awkward."

"Shut up. Let's just fucking start." He groans as if you're the one belating the initial step –you are but so is he.

"I don't have the fucking remote." He tells you to shut up again, and this time, when you hear him hum to himself when he's opening the app, there's a recognizable brushing noise falling directly in your ear.

"You put your earbuds on."

He doesn't answer but you're sure he's registered the question.

Fine.

If he doesn't want to give you an answer you'll just make up your own. Don't you put earbuds on to hear better? Just saying.

"Put the thing on."

"Oh my God, Jungkook-" You take back your own admission. He's the one, solely, all alone, making it painfully awkward. Sounding like a newly pubescent teen trying to initiate sex. "Could you be any smoother?"

"But-" He sighs. "Do you want me to?" How do you ask your best friend you've may have been in love with for officially a couple of months to please act like an ideal lover even if it's just very short-termed? He sounds willing. But asking is the most difficult part. "I can be- or do whatever you want, I just don't know-"

"I like it when you call me baby." Your whole face is scrunched up in a perfect picture of your intense embarrassment. Formalities need to get fucking out of the way and it's precisely what you've just tried to do. But holy shit, it's painfully embarrassing.

"Oh. Do you now?"

Here comes the smirk. Can't see it. Can hear it clearly. It's pretty much louder than his words even.

You want to tell him to forget it all. That it's not going to work if each fucking second he makes you feel like he's going to be using whatever you say or whatever you do against you later on. You decide to demonstrate exemplary patience, reminding yourself that he's not cruel. Admittedly.

Perhaps you're the idiot and it's all your fault. Because you've just admitted (without him even asking) that you like (and into these circumstances, that it turns you on) to have him call you baby. Thing that he does already every time he starts coddling you.

"Okay then." He startles you, clearing his throat. You wonder if he's as anxious as you are, or at least, a tiny bit nervous. For the most part, he doesn't seem like it. Then again, he's quite good at pretending.

It shows soon after when he starts again, this time with the gentle, soft voice he hardly ever uses with you. There's a tiny newcomer, a certain edge that gives it some firmness and that enchants you. That's exactly what you wanted him to be. "Put it on, babe."

You nod wordlessly, omitting that he can't see you and do as told. Slipping the toy under the waistband of your panties, guiding the ears aside your clit. There's a very faint buzzing coming from them. You barely feel it and you suppose it's just there to have you accommodate better.

"Are you still dressed?"

"It's just my panties and a big shirt." Your shirt you'd add if you had a bit more courage. You hope he's going to let you keep it.

"Take your panties off." The part of you who's his best friend wants to nag, tell him that maybe he should have asked that before demanding you place the toy on your cunt but you feel generous and merciful, and also desperate and tired of your orgasm being stalled for so long. "Are they soaked from earlier?" Okay, this shit's going to be hard. There's no coming back. Strangely, it's just now that it's really hitting you. Even if it's going well, there is no way, you'll ever forget his velvety smooth whisper saying those words. There's no way you're helpless cunt ever forgets.

They are, by the way. You don't even get how you've been able to keep them on and ignore the uncomfortable stickiness for this long. Just sliding them along your thighs feels disagreeable.

"Y/N." Sounds like you're getting scolded. And even if you particularly like the way he just said your name, with that same peculiar edge from earlier, a little sharper then, how are you supposed to answer that? "What did you say earlier? That it can't only be for you, is that right?"

"Yes." You admit sheepishly because now you're definitely getting scolded. It brings flush on your only newly temperate cheeks and you don't even hate it.

"Then I'll give you everything, I told you I would but I'll need you to give me some back. Can you do that?" He sounds so strict, how can you like it so much? You can literally feel the electricity along your spine, sliding down to go faint in the hot mess between your thighs and that's ridiculous. You hate being talked to that way, usually, probably because it's never him doing it. Jeon Jungkook might be your ultimate kink. And somehow, he figured it all out. That whatever he'd do would fit you perfectly well. Also, he might be turning like that because undeniably, you're a brat. "Can you?" He insists again because whilst you've been busy trying not to hyperventilate, he's been waiting for one answer.

"Yes. Yes, I can. Sorry."

"Don't apologize, it's fine." You should want to bite him. Why insist so much if it's to end up leaving you off the hook so easily? You know though, for a fact, awfully bothersome to your ego, that if he were in front of you presently, you'd give him puppy eyes and batting lashes, sad pouty lips and probably tend your neck to invite him to gently pat your hair. "Tell me, are your panties soaked?" "I think I ruined them..."

"You did, didn't you?" He's laughing a bit, kind of full of himself for some reasons. Maybe he knows that it's mainly his fault they ended up this way. Maybe he knows they are not the only pair fallen victim to simply the thought of him. "Was it worth it?"

"You're taking care of me so I'd say yes." A chortle. A purr that you interpret into something you like a lot. It sounds like he's taken your response for exactly what you wished him to. A tease. He makes your belly churns and twists, turns your nerves from your heart to your noggins haywire. The least he can allow you to do, the least you'd like to do, is for him to be affected by you.

It starts with a gentle buzzing. It's nothing much. Nothing at all, you'd say if you'd let your greediness and impatience talk. There's something else doing it for you, for now. Jungkook's breath, sort of heavy, slow, rocking you with warmth. Knowing he's here and here to please you; you're laid in bed, naked from the waist down, wet and about to make it all better thanks to him; the picture itself makes it all for you.

"How is it?" Jungkook asks after some time. It's been silent. You haven't said much, in fact, you haven't said anything yet. Not that ready to demand more, and not feeling enough for moans or whimpers or whatever to be stolen from you.

"Boring." You admit. "S'not what you were supposed to give me." Through a thick pout, you deplore.

It doesn't work. He doesn't care. He doesn't fucking care when he's playing exactly the role you've implicitly asked him to play. "Have you said please, even once?" You hate that he's virtually pinning you down with exactly what turns you on.

"I- Probably." You haven't said much. You haven't been so explicit, so telling simply because you couldn't, but surely, you said please. Didn't you?

"Not probably. You did not. And on top of that, you're complaining." He's figured out exactly what you wanted, what you needed. Therefore, as naturally as it came for him, you fit it your own role easily.

"I'm not complaining. I was just- pointing it out. Sorry."

"You can apologize a lot but you can't even say please. Not once." Well, fuck. You never thought that he could be mean. Awfully mean. You wished, when you let your mind wander there one too many time, a bit too deep, that he'd be like that. Sweet and soft and tender the way he is, always, but also, bad, kind of harsh. "Ask kindly, once."

"Jungkook-"

"I'll give you everything you want. Just once."

"Please, Jungkook." You know he's satisfied with what you offer him because you don't have to wait another second for him to give you precisely what you were waiting for. It's timid, follows the crescendo built you were looking for except it's not intense. It's the first step however it's incredibly effective. It feels as good as the first time. "Plea-please." Manifestly, it is the secret word, the passcode to your pleasure because the intensity you're craving for finally reaches you. It does in an electrifying peak, that lasts long, just like you asked, it's so good, the feeling so perfectly indulgent to your needs, maybe even too much, you squirm, part the little ears from your clit, hissing. "Shit, Jungkook!"

"Too much, baby?" The hypocrite, with his concerned tone, doesn't even take a break from activating the vibration, from keeping on building the intensiveness. You can tell it's he too, him really doing it live, as in it's not absolutely regular, the built sometimes takes longer, sometimes the volume stronger, other times weaker. It's undeniable, every minute of it feels different from the next, you can't even omit for a second that it's him doing it. And he's doing it so well.

"Per- fect, just- sensitive." You moan out. Back arching, right leg twitching. The next brush is particularly nice, goes so far you believe you might come on the spot. Now you definitely can't hold back even if you wanted to. The sounds that come out of your mouth, foreign to your own ears, are not even yours. They come straight from your body, straight from an excess of pleasure you try to deal with, to handle, when you clearly can't. You're alone, and it's you ultimately controlling the power on your own body, you can pull out, even slightly, every time it comes hard and strong and you ought to twitch uncomfortably. You wonder how it'd be if he were here with you. If he forgot just for a while that you were his best friend, the girl who used to be older and taller and has turned, with the years, into this tiny little thing because he just kept on growing and growing, sprouting like a fucking redwood, and now feels like he needs to protect and care for you. If he were there, and he could forget that, you bet, his present voice, heated, scorching, is telling you this, that probably, he'd hold you down, crush your body with his, hand pressing your thighs down and apart, and force you to take the pleasure in its entirety. You imagine him merciless, slipping sweet words in your ear, while he'd have you literally scream from overstimulation.

And then his voice, the perfectly alluring thing, concludes to let you know it won't happen like that. His voice will make you come.

"You sound so good." Especially, if he keeps saying shit like that, with this tone, soft yet strong and highly, terribly affected. He's breathing hot and heavy in your ears. Is he touching himself?

"Please, Jungkook." You implore, vainly, hips slowly grinding against the toy, pressed by your palm on your sensitive centre.

"Especially begging, 'sound so, so good." He's not touching himself. He sounds bothered, but not enough, he doesn't stutter like you do, his voice doesn't jump and dip, stops momentarily like yours does. Shit, you wished he would play with his cock. Fuck, you want to play with his cock. So fucking bad.

"Y-you like it?" You ask, not because you're curious to know, he's said it already, but because you won't ever get tired of hearing him say it, in all those different ways.

"I do, baby. I love hearing you." You can't help the curse that leaves your lips a bit harsh. You're so close. So so close. Eyes filled up to the brim, tip of your nose wet. How many times have you thought, already, that you were seriously going to fall over? "You gonna cum?"

"I can't-" You sob, whine. There's a tear spilling from your right eye. "It's too much." So attentive to your every word, the intensity drops drastically. It still buzzes, discreet, way more tolerable. Ironically, if you can now bear it, you know it's not enough to lead you to your climax either. "Help me, make me cum, Guk."

"Use your fingers." He's been nice, essentially, you can only be good to him. Without even having to think about it, you dip your fingers in the mess that is your cunt. Two fingers slip in between your lips too easily, you could add a third if only there wasn't the bunny taking a bit too much room, and your fingers were longer, and your hips not so twitchy. If Jungkook was here, if only he was here, he'd fit his two fingers and it'd be enough. You bet it'd be enough. You bet his pretty, long, tattooed fingers would stretch you so well and make you come in a heartbeat. "Fuck yourself with them."

It's so gratifying. Having him humming in your ear encouragements and compliments. He's sweet, sweet, sweet. Excellent with his voice. Fuck, he must be unreal with his fingers, with his mouth, with his fat cock.

Diligently, you drag your fingers in and out, it's only mildly agreeable when you're sopping wet, almost gaping. Until he draws on his phone the same magnificent pattern from before.

You wish it'd last longer. It's precisely what you needed, the ideal combination. Along with his words.

You know if you come he'd have to stop. He'll stop calling you baby, stop saying how sexy you are, use all those nasty words he never does and talking like that, with this voice, with this heat in his tone. It's a bothering thought at the back of your mind you have to actively push away.

There's nothing you can do when harshly, yet with a please, he demands you to cum.

You can feel your cunt, wide open from both your spread legs and the excitation, getting wet, growing soaked. You can actually feel it as it happens before you explode. Clenching violently around your fingers, spilling all over them, you might squeak and scream and moan his name continuously, you barely hear yourself through your ringing ears.

"Fuck, Jungkook..." You sigh. Laying there, boneless, hand dripping up to your wrist. He's chuckling. "Fuck."

"Feeling better?" You hmm in response. Words sound like too much effort right now. Your brain is working slow. Extremely slowly. There's a multitude of thoughts forming though, germinating from a strange ground.

One, in particular, does, enlarging ridiculously much next to the others. You could enjoy this luck. You could just bathe in the lovely, perfect haze. Accept that the sky is perfectly blue without a cloud, with even a rainbow somewhere. Maybe a double rainbow even.

There's a very, very dark, very, very large cloud invading your perfect sky though. And because tears, of another kind, have already located your eyes, the new ones fit in, mixing up with them and taking over them with utter ease. What the fuck have you done?

"Jungkook, I'm so sorry-" You start with a tremble in the voice. There's a fat lump in your throat.

"Why? What's going on, baby?" He's sweet as honey, back to his usual self, worried, and you're horrible.

"Your- I didn't even think about her and-" There's a sob bubbling out of your mouth. "It's not me. I didn't mean to-"

"What are you talking about?"

"Jiyeun." The taste in your mouth when you say her name, is unbearable. You know full fucking well you shouldn't say her name. You shouldn't be allowed to. How dare you. Spoil it when you spent way too long virtually getting in this guy's, who's someone else's boyfriend, pants.

"Dumbass." It makes you choke on your own sobs. "It's over. With her, I mean. We broke up." Ah. You want to ask a billion questions. Starting with "again?". Soon followed up by a "why didn't you say anything, dickhead?". You spent the whole fucking night, getting shit faced and spiritually crying in the club over a couple that does not even exist anymore. Then you'd ask for how long they are planning to be over. "For good, this time." You're barely drying up your fat crocodile tears when he calls you an idiot again, says something about how he's not that kind of guy and you should know it.

Feels better. The thunderstorm is gone.

Alcohol and horniness and hardcore loving are such a terrible combo you need to avoid.

"Cuddles." Tiredly, half-dead, but still alive enough to be greedy, to feel sensible, skinned and want him to give you more. "Come cuddle." He's late to answer, delays it as if you don't desperately need his response.

It's terribly quiet and still. The dark of the night seems even more sombre. He can fix everything if only he'd give you the answer you desire.

"You sure?"

"Always." You say, maybe too honest. He doesn't seem to mind, agrees with a snort.

"Alright."

He appears in front of you in the blink of an eye. Literally. That blink does last longer than usual. The orgasm may have crushed you. You close your eyes and when you open them back up, he's here. Standing in the doorframe of your bedroom, dressed in all black and oversized, as usual. You look up, eyes squinted, bothered by the light coming from the hallway. He's staring. Gaze brushing, from your head to your toes, seemingly slowing down when they reach your naked thighs.

"What?" You mumble, embarrassed, one hand sliding down just to make sure the hem of the shirt is covering your crotch. You didn't even put your panties back on. You may or may not have wiped yourself clean enough with the wet wipes wisely sitting on your bedside table -you thought about it really hard but you can’t remember if you actually did it.

"You never mentioned it was my t-shirt you were wearing." You shrug. You'd have a better come back if you weren't so tired and if it wasn't simply true. "Would have been nice to know." He says, kneeling down next to your bed. The latter is low, mattress barely raised from the ground and even when he's crouching down, he's hovering above you, looking down on you. "Easier to picture." He adds quieter the closest he comes to you. It's enough words to know who he is at the moment. In what form, what version of your Jeon Jungkook, has come to visit. It's the gentle one. The one whose voice doesn't raise, doesn't feel as animated as his usual one when he spends his time being a clown to make everyone laughs. The one that made you fall, the first time. Not exactly the one you had on the phone with you earlier and even if you like him, if you adore him in fact, you feel sort of uneasy, worried. He might be gone forever, this one.

Unless it is him. His hands reach forward, large and warm, they lie on your thighs. The fingers brush up a bit, to the hem of his shirt, and they stop there. He looks up from them, straight in your eyes, smiles, digs the tips in the meat of your thighs before he lifts you up, aiming for the border of your bed.

God. You hope it'll happen again. But differently. More in-depth. He'd be less dressed, he would manhandle you, before he'd do some unnamable things to you. But another day. One when you're not almost dead. When you feel hornier and less soft and desperate for direct comfort to your swollen heart. It could be tomorrow when you wake up. If he's up for it. Please God, make it so he's up for it.

Jungkook hops on the bed behind you, huffs comfortably, holding your cover by a corner to bring it up and over the two of you. He fits behind you too naturally for it to be the first time. He doesn't seem to mind that you're so underdressed, compared to the other times, that you still have some remnant of your orgasm on you, that it's different. His arm sliding around you, holding a bit too tight, pressing you a tiny bit too hard, you're still hot from earlier. It's perfect though. You don't want him to move an inch and you hope, the hand that's wrapped on his forearm, makes him understand.

"M'not too clingy?" His own cheek pressed hard to your own, he asks, which is weird. How could he still wonder? He's never ever been too clingy. Even when you were kids and he followed you around before even asking if he could, he wasn't too clingy. The closest, the better. You deny with a uh-uh. He calls out for your name when you're fighting to keep your eyelids open. It's the most comfortable, the warmest you've ever felt. Like a cocoon of pure love and adoration. On top of it, there's his hard arms around you, his hard thigh pushing against yours, his crotch -with the feel of his member, slightly stiff- glued to your butt, and his chest, as hard as the rest, holding your back up like a strong wall. "I promise I didn't plan the whole toys thingy for that."

"For what?" Sleepily, you wonder, actually confused from exhaustion. To cuddle with you? Like you haven't in so, so long. Why would he try to apologize for it? "To use them with you."

"What a shame." You don't think he can understand. Diction is not something you care for at the moment. The hard laugh bubbling in his chest, rumbling, shaking your whole, lets you know he did, in fact, get it.

"You're so-" He starts but the thought dies way too soon for you to even try and complete it yourself. "I'll have a billion questions for you tomorrow."

"No." You whine. Because he's fucking up everything. If he believes you'll say it all to him, there's no way you can. There's no way you will. He chuckles.

Doesn't seem to be taking you seriously.

"Yes. And you'll answer every single one of them." He gives a sweet but pressing kiss to your neck.

"No."

"I adore you." Fucking hell. "I broke up with Jiyeun because I adore you too much. I realized I want to spend all my time and energy on my best friend." You don't even know what he means. You can't even hold your eyelids open now, you can't even keep your hand on his arm, it being too heavy and sleep having taken over most of your body.

You bet he's saying that just because he's guessed it. He's figured you all out and the asshole doesn't mind playing with your soft heart. He knows he'll get anything from you if he's this good. Hopefully, tomorrow, he'll have forgotten about his little interrogation because you're not sure you'll be able to lie. For now, he's holding you way too close for you to care. Whatever. May it last forever, this feeling.

A/N: DON’T HATE ME OKAY?! i know i have an issue with angst and endings, for some reasons, i don’t want to hurt my characters but i can’t get myself to write an actual fully happy, non-ambiguous conclusion, and i’m really sorry for it lmao.

i sincerely hope you enjoyed the last part of The Wishlist! Thank you immensely for anyone who’s followed along, please let me know your thoughts, i really really want to know :)

for now, i’m sending you lots of love and kisses, take good care of yourself and others, see ya very very soon :]

tag list: @safi4x​ @kai-kai-bookshelf​ @somewhereinthestarss​ @hsinmyheart​ @moonchild1​ @monvieesdaebak @pasteljoonie​ @fangirls94​ @jinsalpaca​ @ggukkieland​

[manjiropie]

do whatever is in your mind.

Young Mikey x Reader!

Warn! no warnings today! enjoy!

It's not often Mikey and I have a quarrel. We do bicker here and there, but that's what happens between friends, right?

I've joined Toman for almost a year now– although I've known Manjiro for much longer. I met him through Emma, who is a big friend of mine for as long as I can remember. She was there for me at times when I felt like there was no exit, no light. She's an extremely important part of my life– of me.

I've come to realize that I have been spending more and more time near Mikey, which is not bad, I do enjoy his presence. He may look tough and intimidating but he's just like a mochi: freezing cold on the outside but melting saccharine inside. Now that I'm a part of the gang and actually get to know and participate, I've gotten closer to him. Here and there Mikey invites me out.

"So, it's like a date?" I'd smirk suggestively at him.

"In your dreams." He'd try to hide his smile and he'd look away.

However, there are a few little habits he has that tend to send me on a rage trip. I get mad easily. Things will likely set on fire quickly. It's not that I want to, but my mother is not one of the most patient people in the world and she tells me to cool down. As if.

This last week was the cherry on top.

Mikey had crossed the line. He had pissed me off in every single way possible. He pretended not to listen to me while he was eating. He would answer me in a "oh, I don't really fucking care about what you're talking about!" way. He tripped while he was laughing hysterically at something Draken had said and his pink lemonade was all over my white shirt. He drew in an assignment that was due to the next day for my math class. He told me off for no reason at all in front of everyone in the last Toman's meeting... all of that wasn't on purpose. I am aware of how incredibly short his attention spam is when it comes to not so important affairs. But, fuck, couldn't he just be a little nicer to me? At least during last week where I was having sharp cramps in my fucking uterus? Yeah, maybe he didn't know that because I try not to be so obvious. But when he told us we'd be training last thursday I almost laid on the ground in fetal position and cried for hours. I didn't! I fought and then went home and cried.

Then, this Saturday– today –he invited me to his house to hang out. Emma was with a friend and his grandfather was out of town. When he called me to his house we never did much. We'd watch TV, hang out on the couch discussing stupid stuff, we'd be on our phones... nothing so wow. It was still fun, though.

I wasn't in the best mood to leave my comfy bed but I was way less in the mood to fight him off over the phone. So I slid out of the bed and dressed the first jeans I saw laying on the end of my bed and the oversized Nirvana shirt hanging off my chair (it's actually my dad's shirt, shhh).

~

I knocked twice on his bedroom's door.

"Come in." He yelled from inside. I open the door and he's laying on the bed, his head hanging off of it and his hair is almost touching the floor. His face lit up and he rolled over so he laid on his stomach. I walk over and sit down beside him.

"What's up with the frown?" I didn't notice I was frowning to be honest. Guess the bad mood followed me here.

I shrug.

"Ugh, don't tell me you're in a bad mood." He whines. "I called you here to chill and you're already angry. What's up?" He lays on his pillow and swings his legs to place them on my lap. I huff and shove them off, getting up.

"You've been treating me like shit the whole week and now you wanna chill?" I say, more calm than I thought.

"I did not treat you like shit this week? When do I treat you like shit?" His tone was one of disbelief and confusion.

"Ah, Mikey. Embarrassing me in front of the rest of gang; spilling your drink on my school shirt, which is now stained; ignoring me or answering like you're bored..." I list them off on my fingers. "I am the one who asks, what's up with you?! God, you're always being so unpredictable, which is good sometimes but not like this! Not to me!"

I flop down on the couch, starting to get tired of this whole thing. Knowing Mikey, I know that he'll not lay down again.

"So you're the only one allowed to have bad days now?" He sits on the edge of his bed and I turn my head around lazily, uninterested, bored, like him.

"You were laughing incredibly loud with Takemitchi and Draken friday."

"You can be so annoying sometimes."

"Oh, I'm the annoying one now?" I stand up.

"If you don't like my company, why did you even come in first place?" He also stands. We don't have much height difference, but he's hardly two inches taller than me.

His voice is calm, like always. Which makes me infuriated. "Fucking hell! Does it hurt for you to apologize!?" My sudden outburst takes him on surprise, and me, too.

"I already apologized, stop whining about it."

"I'm not whining–"

"If you weren't," he walks to his desk and sets a cup that was once beside his bed down. "You would've dropped this matter before."

"You don't give a damn about what I feel, do you, Mikey?"

"What?" He turns around, brows knit together.

"You heard me. You made me have a bad week and the least you could do is apologize, you dumbass!" I stomp to his direction.

"I already did! Why don't you–"

"Shut up or I'll punch you." I say, slightly looking up.

His eyebrows twitch and he slowly tilts his head to the side, like a puppy. "Or what.. ?"

"Are you fucking deaf?" I point to my ears.

He comes a little closer. "You're gonna do what if I don't shut up?"

"I'm going to punch you if you don't stop being a brat." I sneer at him. My blood boiling. The stress from this shitty past week overflowing in that moment.

"Oh, yeah?" I could feel his breath oh my nose.

"What? Are you doubting me? I would." I jerk up an eyebrow. I've never fought physically with him. But it's not like I can't.

"I'd like to see you try." His eyes flicker to my lips for a brief second and my breath fails, making me cough.

"What? Can't punch me?" He amuses.

"Fuck you."

Suddenly I feel an arm sneak around my waist and in a second I'm chest to chest with Mikey. My eyes widen– his were peaceful as ever, although superior.

"Do it." He says, looking down at me.

The way he's holding me is making my head spin. True, Mikey is cute...

"Do what?"

He laughs at my confused expression. "I don't know... what did you say you'd do to me?"

Ha ha.

His hold on me tightens.

"Do whatever is on your mind." He says.

My eyes roam free between his eyes and his soft pink lips. Do whatever is on your mind.

If he knew what was on my mind, would he still allow me to?

"Do it," he encourages me once again, "aren't you the 'oh so brave' one? Punch me, yell at me, do whatever you want to me."

Those words were the last push I needed. My hands find the soft skin of his neck, hidden by his long hair. I pull him close and lock our lips together. I feel him making a little sound, I don't know if it was surprise or relief.

If by just looking at it his lips seemed soft, actually touching it felt like kissing cotton candy or guessing cloud shapes.

He didn't pull back, in fact, he held me with both hands. I have no clue how he did that but it seemed as though all of my worries dissipated as we kissed.

My heart was beating so fast that it made my chest hurt. My head started to pound when I spent a little too long without air. I pull back from his lips and keep my gaze on them as I breathe heavily.

"Hm." He hums quietly, almost dreamily if you'd ask me.

I look up at his face and smile a bit, noticing how his cheeks are pink. I lift an eyebrow up as if asking what he was thinking. He shakes his head and then puts his right hand on my cheek, caressing it. He kisses me again. This time is slower. As though being present in the moment. As if it were just me and him and nothing else.

----------

I hope you guys liked It! It was so pleasant writing this out of the small bits of ideas that I have. Don't forget: my requests are open. You can request anything! Thank you for reading! Oh, likes and reblogs help a lot! If you consider following it'd make me even happier <3

[mrkcore]

𝐄𝐏 𝟐: 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐒𝐍𝐈𝐏𝐄𝐑 - 𝐥.𝐡𝐜

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: lee donghyuck x fem!reader

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: college!au (cs - computer science major haechan, psychology major y/n)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, slight angst

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): profanity, awful gamer language

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 0.7k

𝐚/𝐧: the second installment of the and they were roommates! series, and probably my fav one :D send in an ask or comment here to be added to the taglist! the game they’re playing in valorant! i know hyuck plays overwatch and lol, but idk how to play those so valorant will have to suffice. (it’s very similar to overwatch and apex legends!)

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

“haechan PLEASE, for the love of god, fix your crosshair.” jeno says, observing the horrible sight in front of him.

“shut the fuck up jeno, stop backseating, you got killed by the sag-” haechan suddenly stops talking. did he just get killed by the same sage he was just talking about? and with a classic gun?

“and so did you, maybe if you had a better crosshair, you would have been still alive.” jeno snaps back.

“will the two of you shut up so chenle can clutch and we can win the game?” renjun says sternly. the two go quiet while haechan sits back in his chair, huffing.

“chat, did you see that sage rotating? they must have been hacking, there’s no way she made no sound while rotating.”

“awh darn it.” chenle groans. the word “defeat” on a red banner displays nicely on the top of haechan’s monitor as he swore.

“maybe if haechan kept his mouth shut, chenle would have been able to concentrate.” renjun snarled.

“hey! i didn’t know my mic wasn’t off, i’m sorry, alright.” he retorted.

“i don’t even think they had ranks, it doesn’t show on my logs.” jeno commented.

haechan rolls his eyes, and he knows renjun is too. “wow thanks jeno, that makes us feel a whole lot better.” he grumbled.

“the sage got like 3 aces during the game, that’s pretty impressive.” jaemin pointed out.

“do you think they were stream sniping me?” haechan asked. “there’s no way i wouldn’t have heard the sage rotated unless they knew i was at showers.”

“haechan, not everyone that did better than you stream sniped you, they probably don’t even know you.” jeno quipped. 

“i can’t believe that was our warm-up round.” chenle mutters, still troubled over the last game. “we need to go another round before we do ranked.”

“haechan, can you keep it down? i have a presentation in the morning and i would like some sleep please.” you suddenly peaked your head into his room.

“oh yeah, sorry i’ll keep it down.” he says, droned.

“thanks.” you turn around to go back to your room, closing his door.

haechan sighs. 

this was going to be a long stream.

they lost. every single match that night. they didn’t even play ranked.

“fuck! i even put on my intense gamer playlist and it didn’t work.” haechan cursed. “well, that’s it for today chat, i have a presentation tomorrow for class, so that’s it for today’s stream. hopefully we can play ranked next time.”

after ending the stream, he still couldn’t stop thinking about the sage. they weren’t playing ranked, had no ranks, how was it possible that they won? impossible, had to be a stream snipe.

whatever, haechan interrupted his own thoughts. i’ll figure it out tomorrow after class.

“how was your presentation this morning?” haechan asked, setting the table for lunch.

“it was alright, probably would have been better if you’d stop screaming at 2 am.” you tease as he laughs sheepishly.

“yeah, sorry. i was just raging at this sage.” he admits.

“mhm, maybe if you listened better, you would have heard me rotate off. showers is literally the first place i looked.” you said calmly, chewing your food.

haechan blinked in confusion.

me?

“you were the sage last night? that got 3 aces in one game?” he shrieks, completely utterly shocked.

“uhm, surprise?” you revealed.

“you came into my room to tell me to quiet down! what was that for?” haechan is still in disbelief.

“your reaction was so funny i had to take a peek for myself.” you giggled.

“does that mean you stream sniped me?” he grunted, still hung up on the situation.

“well, you were screaming, so maybe an indirect one?” you admitted, trying to stifle your laughter.

“sheeeeesh.” he groaned. “bro, next time when jaemin doesn’t wanna play, you’re joining us. randoms are so shit.”

“alright, bet.” you agreed. “road to radiant?”

“that’s so cringe.” 

haechan wailed as you hit him in the arm. 

“fine fine fine! i’ll carry you to radiant.”

“brooo you got sniped by me yesterday, how are you going to say you’re gonna carry me, hm?” you scoffed.

“it was an off day yesterday, i swear i’m good, i’m literally almost immortal.” he states, proudly.

“we’ll see about that.”

© mrkcore. 2021. — reposts of my work is not permitted.

[juletheghoul]

Oblivius Chapter 7

This is a CHONKY BOI. THE BACHELOR 'PARTY' IS HERE PEOPLE.

This is by far my longest chapter and I had most of it written before I even posted the second chapter of this story. Makes me SOOO happy how pumped all of you are to read this, it has taken over my life. Keep messaging! Keep sending me asks! 💖

Would love to do little drabbles, memories - anything to do with these two (except spoilers of course)

Likes & reblogs are appreciated

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Pairing: Frankie x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.4K

Warnings: TW: INFIDELITY 👀 Angst, yearning, kissing, **18+ [no minors] SMUT** p in v (sex wrap it up) Oral, F & M receiving, language (Please let me know if I forget anything)

Masterlist Series Masterlist Prev Part Playlist

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

Age 28:

“I just love her, I love her so much and there’s nothing I can do.” He was drunk and in a bad way.

“I know Fish, it’s tough from here but maybe when you get back you can talk to her.” He knew Pope was trying to make him feel better, but when he’d spoken to his mom earlier in the week and he’d heard that she was seeing someone- it had broken his heart.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting - she’d never promised anything but he had this hope that she’d wait for him. That she’d be there to greet him with the love he’d always craved from her.

“She’s with someone else, I just want her to want me.” If he kept going down this road he was going to cry. He couldn’t cry here. Not in this bar and not when it was crawling with other soldiers.

“I think you should just talk to her when you get home, Fish - things might change when you see her again. Or do the grown up thing, and move on.” He looked at him, regret and heartbreak on his face.

“There’s no one like her.” He said it more to himself than Pope but he heard it all the same.

There was a pretty girl walking over to him now, a shy smile on her face.

“Hi - I’m Claudia - can I buy you a drink?” She wasn’t Spills, but she was very pretty.

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

**Present Day**

The week leading up to the wedding was a blur. It simultaneously flew and crawled by. Schrodinger's week.

The dinner was coming up and with it a curious feeling was settling itself in your stomach. A strange mixture of desperation and acceptance. The acceptance told you that if Francis wanted to get married then you should keep your mouth shut and let him get on with his life.

The desperate, possessive part of you reminded you that he was your perfect match, that you shouldn’t let Claudia have him when he so obviously belonged to you. How would you accomplish that though? How could that be done without him hating you for ruining his wedding?

When you were sitting in the restaurant surrounded by the wedding party both those thoughts plagued you. They kept you quiet and pensive, present, but secluded within your own mind as they fought for dominance.

Benny sat next to you like always and you got the sense he was gearing up to make a move and you didn’t exactly know how to feel about it. Your mind was battling over that too.

Do I go out with him and try to get over Francis? Or do I turn him away, and keep pining over a soon to be married man? Choices.

Claudia was almost trembling with excitement, everything she said, everything she did was grating. It all irritated you and you felt the need to dampen her spirits. A malicious little part of you wanted to bring her down a peg. Maybe it was her attitude at the Bridal store. Maybe it was just plain old mean-spirited jealousy. With the dinner almost up, with the bachelor party still to come you couldn’t help it.

It was like a compulsion. The words crawled up your throat and the possessive, angry part of you had to spit them out.

“Oh my God Francis, remember our pact?” Your face was a mask of innocence - just reminiscing with an old friend.

Frankie’s expression changed then, from the same tentative joy he’d been wearing all night to something forced and fake.

“Barely.” His eyes were boring into you, the intensity seemed to be demanding you to shut up about it. While everyone else was still relaxed and unaware of the land mine you’d stepped on, you saw the look Pope was giving you, he knew.

“What pact?” Claudia asked with a breezy laugh.

“It’s silly really-” Frankie cut you off.

“It’s nothing, just bullshit we talked about when we were kids.” He tried to smooth it over with her but she didn’t like that. She sensed his hesitation and when Pope tried to engage them in conversation she challenged him.

“If it’s nothing, then Spills can tell me.” It was said with a bitter sweetness, she had seen through his avoidance and she wasn’t interested.

“Well, when we were in our early twenties - Francis and I decided to make a marriage pact.” You were smiling as though it was nothing and Claudia laughed along with you but you heard the edge in it. She wasn’t amused, and neither was Frankie.

“See honey? It was dumb. Just something dumb kids do when they don’t know any better.” He pulled her close but you could see the stiffness in the way she held herself. You didn’t expect his words to hurt you like that, and all of a sudden you regretted bringing it up.

What seemed like a good way to rile Frankie up was just a cruel little jab at a relationship that you didn’t belong in. A relationship that would go on despite you; in spite of you. You got quiet after that and you saw that he couldn’t bear to look at you.

The battle in your mind was over, and acceptance had won.

You quietly excused yourself to grab some fresh air, the shame at your ploy to ruin Claudia's night sat in your gut and you felt horrible. This wasn’t how you were raised, despite your feelings about her or Francis it was cruel to do this to her on the night before her wedding.

Fuck, now he’ll leave with her for sure. What have I done?

“Hey - thought I’d find you out here. You okay?” Benny had come out looking for you and you smiled at him.

“I’m okay - just needed a minute away you know?” He sat beside you and you tried to focus on him. On his handsome face, how tall he was. If you’d met him a few years ago you would have been all over him.

“Yeah I get that.” He scooted closer to you, until your legs touched and smiled at you. “Look, I know you’re close to Fish, but I’d really like to take you out.” He blurted out the words and you couldn’t help but let out a surprised oh!

He was smiling and he took your hand in his, he was looking at you intently now, making his move.

He was closing in and for a moment you forgot about your shame, about everything except Benny’s mouth. The kiss was soft, tentative. He was testing the waters with you and it was nice. His hand came up and rested on your face softly. Feather light touches on your cheek with the very tips of his fingers.

Objectively speaking, it was a lovely kiss, but it did nothing for you and he felt it.

“I’m sorry.” You rested your forehead on his and he sighed, the air moving the hair framing your face slightly.

“Don’t be, it was worth a shot.” he smiled sadly and you kissed him on the cheek. You both had your answer. The door slammed, breaking you out of your moment with Benny and you saw the back of Francis’ head as he stalked back inside.

----

He wanted to get drunk. He wanted to punch Benny, he wanted to knock his teeth out. He wanted to walk out there, grab Spills by the back of the head and kiss her until she finally understood what she meant to him.

When they walked in together his guts twisted up with rage, it clawed its way up his throat and instead of lashing out he ordered three shots of liquor to burn it away. He drank them quickly, one after the other.

“You and me, outside. Now.” Pope was dragging him away and he wanted to fight but Claudia was asking him what was wrong and he didn’t have an answer for her. Not one she’d want to hear so he let Pope drag him outside. He could see Spills staring at him and he couldn’t look at her.

“What the fuck are you doing right now?” Pope spoke calmly, but his voice had an edge.

“Drinking. It’s my bachelor party, I’m supposed to get drunk aren’t I?” He was pacing, the rage making him restless.

“Why are you marrying Claudia?” Pope stared at him.

“What are you talking about?” The question stopped him in his tracks.

“Do you think that no one can see it? It’s painfully obvious that you’re nowhere near as in love with her as you should be. You’re hung up on Spills and she’s obviously hung up on you.” He was trying to speak calmly and Frankie was pissed off all over again.

“It doesn’t fucking matter how I feel about her - she’s out here with Benny and I’m getting married tomorrow.” He was spiraling.

How the fuck did I get here?

“She’s out here with Benny, because you’re supposed to be getting married tomorrow. If you want to continue with Claudia I’m not going to get in your way, but get your fucking shit together and control your emotions. Figure out what the fuck you want and remember that Benny isn’t your enemy.” He approached him and clapped his arms onto Frankies shoulders. “Fish, you have to figure out what you want here, make it work with Claudia or let her go - stop this living in between shit. It’s not fair to anyone.” Frankie shook out of his grip, too upset to see reason.

He knew he was wrong, he knew he had no right to react this way but it was too much for him. All the little moments he’d thought they’d shared - what had they meant?

What does it matter? You’re getting married, she isn’t.

He ignored her gaze when he approached their table, Claudia was approaching him.

“You okay babe?” She was approaching him with open arms and he embraced her. Eyes closed - trying to feel something other than anger. He focused on the smell of her hair, on the feeling of being buried into the crook of her neck. She sighed loudly and ran her fingers through his hair, soothing and smoothing it out. “It’s just pre-wedding jitters babe, tomorrow everything will be perfect and we’ll be married.” She was whispering into his ear and it was meant to be reassuring.

He felt nothing.

You’re not her. No matter what you do, you’ll never be her and I have to be okay with that.

“I’m okay babe - see you tomorrow.” He kissed her, really kissed her. Tried to muster up whatever he thought he felt for her before and she responded but it was useless. All he felt was anger; she pulled away smiling and said her goodbyes. He glanced at Spills and the look on her face made him feel ashamed.

“Let’s get fucked up.” He said it with a fake smile plastered on his face and everyone except Pope and Spills cheered.

---

His hostility was astounding. He barely looked at you the whole night and you had a feeling it had to do with Benny’s kiss. You had to talk to him about it, a part of you hoped he’d be jealous and realize that you belonged together but maybe that was all in your head. Maybe he didn’t like his friends dating you, or you dating them but that didn’t make sense. Why would that bother him?

You’re the one getting married to someone else here, you dick.

Will and Benny were keeping up with him but as the night wore on everyone came to the realization that tomorrow would be a very long day if they didn’t quit now but Frankie wanted to keep the party going. He wasn’t belligerent, but he was being more aggressive than you’d ever seen. He told the boys that he wanted to continue drinking when they all got back to his house and they agreed but when you all got there it was obvious that Benny and Will were down for the count.

“I’m going to get these two into bed, can you make sure he’s okay and that he doesn’t get too fucked up?” Pope was herding the brothers into the basement where they’d been staying. He gave you a curious look then, a narrowing of the eyes that screamed talk to him.

---

When you walked into his old bedroom he was sitting on his bed, bottle of alcohol to his lips and you’d had enough.

“Francis that’s enough, you’ve had too much and you’re going to be sick.” You were trying to take the bottle away from him but he was stronger than you and he was in a foul mood.

“You don’t get to do that, you don’t get to pull that shit and then baby me.” His tone was vicious and you pulled back.

“I’m not trying to baby you, you asshole- I'm trying to make sure you’re not hungover for your wedding tomorrow.” He scoffed loudly at your words. “You got something to say Francisco?” You were angry now, his attitude was pissing you off big time. Your question set him off and he unloaded onto you.

“Oh I got plenty to say.” He put the bottle down and towered over you. “You fucked up Spills, you knew how I felt about you this whole fucking time and YOU were the one who shut it down. Making this stupid pact so you would be guaranteed someone who was crazy about you while you went off and did whatever and whoever you wanted and then bring it up in front of everyone like it was a joke.” The anger was burning away the alcohol in his system and there was nothing but raw honesty left. “And now what, you’re going to date my friend? So is it anyone who shows you attention except me?”

The expression on his face was angry, but there was a raw hurt in his voice. An old wound that he was blaming you for opening up.

“I have loved you since I was fucking fourteen, and you never gave a shit. You used me and you kept me dangling on a string but guess what, I am not a last resort. I have found a woman who loves me and you’re going to have to live with that.” The words were knives to your heart because for the most part they were true.

You couldn’t stop the tears at his onslaught of painful truths but underneath the hurt his words caused, you were fucking angry.

“You want to tear into me because I’ve been a fucking idiot fine, have at it, but you do not get to shame me for having a moment with someone who likes me. You’re getting married! Am I supposed to stay celibate and alone for the rest of my life because you gave up on me? I was waiting at the airport to tell you that I love you. That I know I’ve wasted time and that I want you.”

“Gave up on you? Are you fucking kidding me right now? So when I call to see how everyone is doing and I find out that you’re seeing someone - I'm supposed to just know that you’ll figure it out? I have been putting off finding someone in hopes that you’ll finally see how devoted I’ve always been to you. I am so fucking pissed off at you and you want to know what the worst part of it is? The fact that I still fucking love you. Even though I’m hurt and so goddamn angry. Even though I have her and I know she’s head over heels for me, you’re the one in my head. I still love you and seeing you like this is breaking my fucking heart Spills. It should be you I’m marrying tomorrow. It should have always been you.” You could see the tears in his eyes now and that hurt even more.

Every single fibre of your being screamed at you to run to him, to wrap your arms around him. Instead you responded with your own truth.

“I wish it was me tomorrow. I know I couldn’t expect you to wait for me forever but I don’t want anyone else. Benny is sweet but he’s not you Francis.” You were well and truly crying now. Everything you’d been holding in came bubbling up, spilling out of you and there was nothing you could do to stop it, it had to come out.

“I should have kissed you back like I wanted to. I shouldn’t have been afraid, I should have seen it and dealt with my own feelings for you. I’m sorry Francis. I’m sorry it took so long for me to realize how perfect we are for each other. I’m sorry I was too late and I’m terrified that you’ll leave me behind and marry her, and that I’ll be here waiting for you forever.” Your voice was cracking and high, barely a whisper at certain points with how hard you were crying.

His legs brought themselves to you in three long strides and then his mouth was on yours. Your tears mixing where your faces touched; pure adrenaline coursing through your veins when his hands buried themselves into your hair. It was nothing compared to the inexperienced albeit enthusiastic kiss you’d shared as teenagers. This was all-consuming. His mouth trapping your bottom lip roughly and biting softly to draw out a whimper. His tongue using the sound as the invitation to plunder the inside of your mouth.

He tasted like honey and alcohol, like the gum he chewed and tiramisu. He tasted like all the things you loved in this world and you never wanted him to stop kissing you.

He trailed his kisses down to the line of your jaw, the long column of your neck and up to the place beneath your ear and all you could do was frantically clutch at his hair.

“We’ve been so stupid Spills, driving me crazy.” He was whispering the words into your neck, his hands a vice grip around your waist.

“I’m sorry Francis, I love you - I love you so much.” The both of you couldn’t get the words out fast enough, fervent breathes as you kissed; both trying to make up for lost time. His wedding in a few hours was forgotten, his fiancé didn’t exist. It was just the two of you in his old bedroom where his first kiss had been denied.

You were rewriting that now.

His hands lowered and grabbed at the flesh of your ass roughly and you moaned into his mouth. He brought his kisses to your neck as he decisively pulled your dress up.

“I’ve been wanting to fuck you for half my life Spills, it was you I thought about while I was away. I would fuck my fist every single fucking night thinking about you letting me taste your pussy.” His eyes were dark with want and you gasped at his words, the alcohol and the honesty making him braver; the words were shooting directly into your cunt, making you weep for him.

“It’s always been you, look at what you do to me, what you’ve always fucking done to me.” He grabbed at your hand roughly and pressed into the sizeable bulge at his crotch. It was hard to form words. It was hard to articulate how you felt now that this was finally happening.

“Will you let me baby? Will you let me bury my tongue in your cunt? I want you to cum all over my face.” He was rubbing at your clit through your panties and it was like you were suspended in amber. Dumbstruck at his words, his confidence - his need for you.

“Yes Francisco, please.” You were gripping his hair frantically as he pushed you onto his bed. His big strong hands pulling your underwear down and tossing it over his shoulder. The same hands pulling your thighs apart to find your slick seeping out of you, all glossy and wet. He moaned at the sight.

“Look at that- so fucking pretty for me.” He made himself comfortable between your legs, grinding into the mattress as he studied your body. He kissed your thighs as he brought his face closer and closer to your clenching core. His facial hair tickling you as he trailed them up up up. You watched him propped up on your elbows, your hands automatically reaching out to run through his hair.

“Bet you taste so fucking good, like peaches.” He ran his finger along your seam, smearing your slick all over your lower lips. He was going too slow. You tried to move your cunt closer to his face but he smiled almost cruelly and held your hips down.

“My greedy girl.” He spread your lips apart and spit into your clit, you felt it sliding down towards your opening but he dove in cat-quick to lap it up before it went further.

His tongue was heaven. You threw your head back as he licked from your opening up towards your clit, over and over. “Eyes on me, I want you to watch me.” It was too much and you whimpered as he let the saliva drip from his mouth and into your clit. Focusing his tongue there, moving it up and down over and over and over. The wet glide of it too much and the string holding your sanity together was too tight, it would surely snap and let you float away soon.

He groaned onto your skin, his eyes steady on you as he slid two thick fingers inside you. Curling them in a way that had you tensing up. He could feel your thighs clenching as he scissored them inside you, stretching you open while his tongue pushed you over the edge. It was too much and when he wrapped his lips around your clit and gave it a long steady suck, you shattered.

He held you down and licked you through it. Lapping up the waves of arousal, drinking you down deep while his fingers pistoned in and out of you with a wet squelch.

You had to push him away.

“You taste so good honey, I wanna eat you for days, until you’re a wet little puddle in my bed.” He crawled up towards your limp body and kissed you roughly, his facial hair irritating your skin but it didn’t matter. Not when you could taste yourself in his mouth, not when he’d made you cum harder than anyone had any right to.

His hands were a blur as he tried to get his jeans down and you helped him. You could see your slick on his fingers, then his jeans and your hip where he held onto you. A little trail of you wherever he touched.

You frantically pulled both his jeans and his boxers down, his cock freed and bobbing between your thighs. You could see the sticky tip of him, angry and red with how hard he was and your mouth watered. You had to taste.

He was surprised when you flipped him over, the startled look on his face quickly replaced with a hungry smile. You took off his jeans and his boxes fully to lay between his legs. You rested your head on the strong muscle of his thigh as you lazily stroked him, the velvety skin of his cock encasing the iron beneath. He watched you with a look of rapture and his breath hitched when you pulled away to scoop some of your own slick from between your legs to make your strokes more fluid.

“You can’t possibly know how many times I’ve imagined this - fuck - give me your mouth baby, please.” He was thrusting up into your hand. You licked a wide stripe from the base of his dick up to the tip, circling it with your tongue. He groaned at the sight of you and he grabbed at the hair at the base of your skull to guide your movements.

You took the tip into your mouth and hollowed your cheeks prettily while he watched you, taking a bit more each time you lowered your head. You were ravenous for him, the soft sounds he was making, the control you had at this moment was intoxicating and it pushed you to take him further.

You took him as far as you could, swallowing around him as your nose brushed up against his curls and the tears leaked out when you let go to take a breath.

“Holy fuck baby, yes - look so fucking hot with my dick in your throat. Let me see you do it again.” He guided you down and you held there as long as you could before you sputtered and coughed, spit and his precum connecting your mouth to his cock.

“Fuck baby - so fucking good, if you do it again I’ll cum…” he left it up to you, taking his hand away from your hair and as tempted as you were to watch him come apart in your mouth your cunt was achingly empty and you needed him inside you.

“Next time you can cum in my mouth or on my face, wherever you want, right now I need you to fuck me.” You crawled up and he kissed you, he was frantic and he licked the spit off your lips and it was so primal you moaned. You found yourself on your back again and he was holding your thighs open while he rubbed his length through your folds.

“I’m going to cum inside you. I’m going to pump you full of me, fuck it into you. I wanna see it dripping out of you when I’m done.” He was lining himself up and when he slid in all the way, everything was right in the world. This was how it was supposed to be, the thick stretch of him was perfect, you were so fucking full - your cunt, your heart - every part of you.

“God baby, you’re so tight and wet - feels so fucking good.” He was speaking into your mouth and all you could do was wrap your arms and legs around him. Incoherent whimpers and sounds spilling out of your mouth with his movements. Sweat was beading on his brow, his fingers traced your hairline almost tenderly. His movements are equal parts filthy and loving.

His thrusts were hard and fast, not being able to control himself. You heard the wet, obscene sound of them and it made you wetter. You raised your legs higher, bracketing his ribs while he snapped his hips.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, love you - let me love you.” His words were curt and he wasn’t going to last long so you yanked the straps of your dress down. He leaned onto one arm, reaching down to rub perfect circles onto your clit while he took your nipple into his mouth. Your orgasm crashed into you out of nowhere and he groaned when he felt you clenching.

He brought his hand back up to grab at your hip roughly for more leverage while he fucked into you two, three - four more times before he was spilling into you.

He made good on his promise. He fucked his cum into you. A couple more shallow thrusts even though he was too sensitive and he watched himself do it.

“Look so fucking pretty like that, all puffy and full of my cum.” He watched as it slid out of you and down your ass onto the bedding.

Is this what I’ve been missing out on? Francisco Morales; sex god.

You were too blissed out to move but he went to work, taking off the rest of his clothes and then stripping you of yours. It was difficult to articulate how you felt in that moment, on the one hand this was everything you had wanted. The sex had been amazing, he didn’t just fill your body - he filled every single ounce of you. Your heart swelled when he tucked you into his side and covered the two of you with his blanket.

On the other hand, the postcoital bliss was wearing off and the implications of what had transpired was a weight growing in the pit of your stomach.

Your body and heart wanted to soar; a kite flying higher and higher. Your conscience was the string, and it was being shortened fast. He loved you, he still loved you even though he was engaged and he’d been thinking of you the whole time. You wanted to cry with happiness; with guilt as well.

The guilt was present, reminding you consistently that this man was supposed to be getting a good night’s rest for his wedding tomorrow. Instead the two of you were laying in bed, curled around each other. His spend slowly seeping out of you.

It was hard to focus on it though, especially when his skin was so warm under your cheek. When his hand rubbed at your arm and your legs were a tangle underneath the blanket. You couldn’t help but reach up and run your fingers through the hair matted on his forehead and he made it even harder when he captured the same hand and pressed kisses to your fingers. He broke the silence before you could though.

“I’m still pissed off at you.” He had a dreamy look on his face despite his words.

“I know. I’m pissed off at me too.” You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. The scent of his body-wash mixing with his own sweat. You couldn’t get enough and he curled himself into you as you ran your fingers through his hair. Your hands are constantly moving, touching every bit of each other you could.

“We’ve wasted so much fucking time Spills.” There was a deep sadness in his voice, it sliced into you because you knew he was right.

“I know Francis, I’m sorry it took me so long.” You were scratching at the wiry hairs on his cheek, trying to map out the face you loved so much. He sighed loudly. “What's going to happen tomorrow?”

“I don’t know - part of me thinks I should pack up the truck, throw you in the back and drive away. Another part of me wants to forget this whole thing happened and follow through on the commitment I made.” He wasn’t holding back with his words or feelings and although they hurt you couldn’t force him to do anything he didn’t want to do. You kept quiet, at the end of the day the decision was his. “I have to tell her the truth. I have to tell her that we did this, I cannot show up there tomorrow and pretend like I didn’t.”

You could see the guilt on his face now, the implications dawning on him a little later than they had for you. He scrubbed at his face with his hand and groaned.

“How can I just break her heart like this?” He was spiralling. “She doesn’t deserve this.” You felt like an intruder then, suddenly the closeness wasn’t there, he was pulling away from you emotionally if not yet physically.

“What do you want to do Francisco?” The use of his full name snapped him out of his train of thought and he looked at you then.

“What do you mean?” He looked at you in confusion, as you pulled away from him reluctantly.

“I know it took me way too long to get to this point, and you have every fucking right to hate me. If you tell me now that you want to make it work with her I’ll support your decision. I’ll keep my mouth shut and we can pretend this never happened. I would do that for you because I love you, and I will no matter what. You tell me what you want to do.” The tears were coming down your face as you said the words and as much as it hurt to get them out you meant them.

You couldn’t stay here - you wanted him to make his choice without influence and he said nothing as you quickly dressed and walked out of his room, instead you lay on the couch in the living room, crying softly to yourself. Sleep was nowhere in sight and in a few hours, you’d know for sure what would happen.

----

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[wicked-mind]

Fire and Gasoline - Alternate Ending

Summary: Break-ups are hard. Especially when the cause of the break up is the man of your dreams cheating on you but what’s even worse… You both still love each other.

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Cheating, unreciprocated kiss, swearing, drinking, tiny bit of implied smut

All Writings Masterlist

Fire and Gasoline - Original Version

As always, any likes, comments, and/or reblogs are appreciated (: I love that shit.

*gifs not mine

ALTERNATE VERSION

Since the day Bucky met Y/N, he knew she was the one. She was a new tech analyst at the facility and made sure the heroes had all the new tech possible. Bucky got to know her for about two months before asking her out and they had been like fire and gasoline ever since. He loved her more than anything in the world, more than himself. But he always thought she was out of his league. She was too sweet, too innocent for him. He worried everyday that he wasn’t enough for her, that she would figure out just how screwed up he was and leave him for someone better.

Y/N stood in the technology lab with her assistant, Nick, going over some new technology. Nick flirted with her all the time which she ignored every time and kept reminding him she was dating Bucky and that he would break Nick’s arms without trying if he didn’t stop, but he didn’t. Y/N was working on a present for Bucky, a new type of knife to add to his collection. She got inspired after watching Star Wars with Bucky one night and decided to surprise him with some sort of laser blade. Once she got it to finally work and test it out, she squealed and clapped her hands, turning to Nick and saying, “We did it!” What she didn’t expect to happen was Nick pressing his lips to her’s.

Bucky had rounded the corner to greet Y/N with some coffee when he paused, seeing Nick kissing her through the window. He frowned, jealousy immediately flooding him. He hated that they spent so much time together with Nick’s incessant flirting, worried that one day Y/N would choose Nick over him. Nick was a handsome man, had the same hobbies as her, and was just as smart. He stomped away, going up to his room in a jealous rage. He couldn’t think rationally, feeling cheated in his relationship. Betrayed. Hurt. All he could think about was getting even. What he didn’t see after he stomped away was the abrupt slap Y/N had landed to Nick’s face.

Y/N finished up in the lab, sending Nick home after firing him for sexual misconduct. She filled out her report with Steve of why he had to fire him and said she was alright. It took a few hours before she was able to go find Bucky, the knew laser knife in her hands. She knocked on his bedroom door softly and opened it with a smile but froze when she saw him perched over Katerina from communication who had always had the biggest crush on Bucky. Even though he was under the blankets and she could only see his bare shoulders, she could see the movement of the bed as he thrust into her. Katerina’s eyes met her’s and she smirked. Y/N quickly shut the door, tears welling up in her eyes as she walked back to her own room. How could he do this to her? He knew her history of how all her boyfriends cheated on her before.

After a good hard cry, Y/N went to Natasha. Her eyes were glossy and her nose was red from crying, but that didn’t stop her from sitting down in Natasha’s office, “I would like to be transferred with you to the Seattle facility. I think it would be good for me to help set up the tech lab.” She told Natasha, picking at her fingernails as she spoke.

Natasha raised her eyebrows at Y/N. When she had asked her before to come to Seattle for a temporary position until the new facility was up and running, Y/N had told her she didn’t want to be away from Bucky, “I would love to have you. But I’m curious, what changed?”

Y/N looked up to meet Natasha’s gaze, “Everything. I just need this right now, Nat. I’ll go start packing and leave tonight. I’d like to be there to make sure everything is all set up correctly in the lab.” She said before standing and going back to her room. She didn’t have much stuff, most of her things got packed into the two suitcases she had. She quietly snuck passed Bucky’s room, hearing light snoring coming from inside knowing he was asleep. She couldn’t confront him… How could she go through that again? Every time she seemed to find the perfect man she could picture the rest of her life with, they cheated on her or left. Bucky was no different in her mind. She was gone that night on a private jet to Seattle to the new facility.

Steve was walking passed Bucky’s room when he escorted Katerina out, his brow furrowing at the view as he watched the brunette leave in one of Bucky’s shirts. He looked at Bucky with an eyebrow raised, anger in his eyes at what his best friend had done to Y/N, “What the hell, Buck? Did you and Y/N break up?” He asked once Katerina was out of earshot.

Bucky shrugs, folding his arms, “You could say that.” He muttered out with a frown as he leaned against his doorframe, “Saw her kissin’ that punk, Nick, yesterday.”

Steve’s jaw dropped a little, realizing the full situation since Y/N had reported and fired Nick, “You’ve gotta be kidding me, Bucky!” He said loudly, “So you go and screw the first thing that bats her eyes at you?! You don’t even know what happened, did you even talk to Y/N?”

Bucky’s frown deepened, “Didn’t need to,” He snapped back, “Saw the whole thing.”

Steve ran his hand through his hair as the other rested on his hip, “You really screwed up, Buck. Did you stick around long enough to see her slap him? Or fire him? Or maybe ask her what happened? She filed a sexual misconduct complaint with me yesterday, saying that Nick just randomly kissed her!”

Bucky’s jaw dropped at his words before a loud groan passed his lips, “Fuck.” He growled out. He had fucked up. He let his jealously get the best of him and screwed everything up. He betrayed her in the worst way possible, “I… I didn’t know, Steve. She’s going to hate me.”

Steve kept the deep frown on his face, shaking his head, “I wouldn’t be surprised. The best thing you can do is go explain it to her right now before Katerina goes around and tells everybody that she was in your bed last night.” He said, pointing a finger at Bucky before disappearing down the hallway shaking his head in disbelief still.

Bucky sighs and immediately made his way to Y/N’s room, shifting on his feet awkwardly. How was he supposed to tell the love of his life that he cheated on her? That he did the thing that every man before him had done to her? He took a deep breath and knocked on her door, “Y/N? I need to talk to you..” He said through the door, hearing silence he knocked again with still no answer. After a few minutes of standing there with no response from her, he tried the doorknob to find it was unlocked. As he started to push it open, he immediately started apologizing, “Y/N, sweetheart… We need to talk and I-“ He paused when he looked around the room. All her belongings were gone from the room and her closet was empty. Fuck. Y/N knew. She must know if she was gone.

Natasha was walking by the door when she noticed Bucky sitting on what used to be Y/N’s bed, “What’re you doing, Barnes?” She asks, folding her arms and leaning against the doorframe.

Bucky looked over at Natasha before back to the floor, “Do you know where she went?” He asks softly, his heart breaking inside as each second passed. He had ruined his chance at real love because of his unbridled jealousy and temper.

“She came in last night and asked to be transferred to the new Seattle facility, left immediately after.” Natasha told him, “What happened? She looked like she had been crying when she came and talked to me.”

“I fucked up.” Bucky said, staring at the floor, “I thought I saw her kissing Nick in the lab yesterday. Turns out he kissed her and she slapped him then fired him. I didn’t see that though… All I saw was his lips on her’s… I slept with Katerina. She must have known.”

Natasha frowned at him, wanting to yell at him for his mistake but instead decided to go an alternate route, “Y/N loves you. She’s never shut up about you.” She told him, “I would give her a little bit to cool down before going and seeing her. You’re lucky she isn’t a field agent otherwise she would’ve killed you. I would have.” Natasha turned and left him in the room.

Bucky took Natasha’s advice, giving it a few weeks. He could barely look himself in the mirror anymore. All he saw was guilt plastered on his face and rage at himself. How could he do that to her? To the one he loved, the girl that he knew was the one… He had packed his bag to take to Seattle with him. He needed to see her, to explain what an idiot he was and that his jealousy and rage got the best of him. Bucky grabbed his bag and walked to the runway, getting on the jet to go see Y/N in Seattle.

Y/N was busy trying to sort through resumes for potential tech analysts to hire in her office. She let out a deep sigh and put the papers on her desk, leaning back in her chair. Her heart still ached and when she slept the only thing she saw was Katerina grinning from underneath Bucky as the bed shook. She hadn’t had a proper nights sleep since she left New York, spending her night crying herself to sleep to only wake up crying from the nightmares. A light knock on the door interrupted her train of thought, letting out a soft, “Come in.” Her eyes looked at the door and she froze when she saw Bucky standing there. He looked as good as the day she met him except for the dark circles under his eyes letting her know he hadn’t been sleeping well either. She could read his face like a book. It was like a written apology was stapled to his features. Y/N adverted her eyes from his gaze and looks down, “What are you doing here?”

Bucky shut the door behind him gently, looking Y/N over. It saddened him to see the heartbreak clear on her features. He didn’t know how to start, just staring at her sadly, “Sweetheart…” He began but was cut off.

“Don’t.” Y/N said, looking up to try her best to glare daggers at him. The brim of her eyes started to fill up with tears at the familiar pet-name, “Don’t call me that.”

Bucky flinched at the words, feeling his heart break a little more than it already was, “Y/N we need to talk about what happened.” He said, staying standing by the closed door.

Y/N shook her head, looking up at the ceiling in hopes to keep the tears from falling, “Talk about what happened? You mean talk about how I walked in on you fucking Katerina?” She said, her voice cracking slightly as she said it. She kept her gaze anywhere but on him.

“I’m sorry…” Bucky said softly to her. Now he knew the truth about how she found out- Nobody had told her, she had walked in on him during the deed and that must’ve hurt her so much more. The guilt inside of him bubbled up more, “I was coming down to your lab to give you some coffee… I saw Nick kiss you and-“

“So the first thing you do is go find that bitch and pull her into bed with you?!” Y/N yelled, standing from her desk and throwing her hands into the air in anger. She didn’t try to stop the tears that now streamed down her cheeks, “He kissed me. I didn’t kiss him. I fired him instantly and filed a report while you were busy finding the first woman to breathe in your direction to go fuck.”

Bucky watched her, his own tears brimming in his eyes at the sight of her so mad at him, “Y/N I’m so sorry… I wasn’t thinking… I was just so consumed with jealousy and anger. I never meant for this to happen.”

Y/N tilted her head at him, her eyes narrowing as a deep frown sat on her lips, “You didn’t mean for it to happen? Really? You just happened to trip into bed with her naked?” She said before taking a deep breath, “You knew how much that would destroy me. You knew everything about me. How every man I’ve been with did the same thing that you did to me. And you didn’t care.”

Bucky couldn’t stand it anymore. He walked over to her, walking around her desk until he was looking straight down at her face with his pained eyes, “I know. I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He told her, “I was stupid. I was an idiot. But I love you, doll. Yours is the only face I saw while I was with Katerina. I wanted it to be you and I feel so guilty that I did that to you. I regretted it the whole time and especially now. I love you. Please just give me another chance.”

Y/N sniffled slightly as she listened to him, staring straight up into his apologetic, painfully broken eyes, “And I love you and I probably always will. But I can’t trust you anymore.” She told him, tears streaming down her face, “I can’t be with you if I don’t trust you.”

Bucky reached a hand out to touch her cheek, wiping away those tears that were breaking his already broken heart with his thumb gently, “Give me a chance. Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll regain your trust in whatever way possible.” He begged, “I love you… I know I fucked up really bad. And I’m so unbelievably sorry for breaking your heart. Please let me try to put it back together.”

Y/N stared into those eyes she loved so much. They were like her own personal ocean but right now the waves were crashing, unresting, “I don’t know…” She whispered to him, breaking her eye contact with him and looking to the floor.

Bucky moved quickly, pulling her into his arms in a tight hug and couldn’t help but feel the smallest bit of relief when she hugged him back, sobbing into his chest, “I’m so sorry, baby.” He whispered down to her, keeping a tight grasp around her body, “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I promise.”

After Bucky left Y/N’s office, she slumped in her chair and thought about everything that was said. How could she trust him? Believe that he was actually sorry? She couldn’t… The image of Bucky fucking Katerina would stick in her brain forever no matter what he did to make it up to her. Y/N leaned her forehead on her desk and groaned at the situation. She had been here many times but this time was different. She thought Bucky was the one but maybe he was just the same as all of her exes. Once she gathered herself and sat herself back up straight about to go through the applicant list again, another knock came at her door, “Come in.” She said softly, looking up the door expecting to see Bucky with his endless apologies again but instead there stood the tall and blonde Captain America giving her those sad blue eyes.

“Hey, Y/N.” Steve said, shutting the door softly behind him and taking a seat in front of her, watching her intently. He could see her glossy eyes, knowing she had been crying and the dark under her eyes meant she hadn’t been sleeping well. Steve had never seen her like this for as long as he had known her. She looked defeated- broken.

Y/N looked at him before back down at the papers on her desk, leaning back in her chair, “Are you here to tell me how sorry he is? That I should give him another chance?” She asks softly.

Steve shook his head at her, “No, I’m not.” He said softly, returning his gaze to her, “I wanted to make sure you were okay. You left without saying goodbye.”

Y/N felt tears stinging her eyes again, shaking her head slightly as she closed her eyes tightly to try and not let the tears fall down her face, “I’m not okay, Steve.” She said, finally looking up to meet his gaze, “He knew exactly how to ruin me and he didn’t care. He knew every other relationship I had ended that same way- being cheated on. Me walking in on him… That’s not the first time it’s happened to me. I’ve caught two other of my exes screwing women… He’s no better. He’s ruined me.”

Steve listened, his eyes shifting into a sadder stare than they were already. He didn’t know that about Y/N and it just made his sadness grow for her and anger grow at Bucky, “I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He said to her. What else could he say? The tears falling from Y/N’s eyes stung him deeply. Steve was Bucky’s best friend which meant when Y/N and him started dating, Steve got to know her really well. He thought someone like her would be good for Bucky, someone full of so much light to help him out of his darkness. But Steve was wrong- Bucky had just pulled the light out of Y/N and destroyed it, “He’s an idiot.”

Y/N scoffed, “I can think of far better words to describe him other than ‘idiot'…” She said looking towards Steve, “But I’ll contain my language for you.”

Steve’s lips twitched slightly to a smile, “Appreciate that, Y/N.”

“You know, I was headed up to his room to give him a gift when I caught him in the act.” Y/N said softly, opening her drawer and pulling out the laser knife she had made for Bucky and passing it to him, “You just click that button and laser knife.” She watched him click the button and the red laser blade appear, “I made it for him after we watched Star Wars.”

Steve looked at the blade in amazement, “This is amazing.” He said, turning it in his hand to observe every bit of it, clicking it to make the laser disappear, “Star Wars? I don’t think I’ve seen that one.”

Y/N nodded, “Yeah, Star Wars. It’s not just one, there’s like nine movies now I think.” She said, “I haven’t seen any of the new ones yet though. Was going to wait and watch them with Bucky but I guess that isn’t going to happen.”

Steve heard her voice trail into sadness again t the end of her sentence, frowning slightly again. He hated the sound in her voice, she didn’t deserve to feel like this. If anything, Bucky deserved to feel like this, “I’ll watch them with you.” He blurted out before continuing, “I’ve never seen them before and I’d like to see where the inspiration for this comes from.”

Y/N smiles slightly at him, “You don’t have to do that, Steve.” She said softly, “I know you’re probably busy.”

Steve flashed her a small smile, “Don’t worry, I want to do it.”

Luckily for Y/N, the apartment suites for staff were in the total opposite side of the facility than where the guest rooms were which meant she didn’t have to see Bucky in the hallways when she walked to her apartment suites from her tech lab. It also meant that Bucky never saw Steve come over to watch movies with Y/N. She started the Star Wars series over so Steve could get the full Star Wars experience. He was great to be around. He was always a gentleman, he made her laugh, and he always brought the best snacks to enjoy while watching the movies. They started by sitting on opposite ends of the couch with the snacks in between them but they slowly started getting closer until they sat right next to each other. One night, Y/N looked up at Steve who noticed and paused the movie, “Whats up?” He asks, giving her a small smile.

Y/N smiled a little. Steve made her feel better, feel worthy of love again like there was a light at the end of the dark tunnel she had been trapped in. She had known him from the first day she started work back in New York and he had always been kind and welcoming, “I have a question for you but I don’t want to pry.” She said to him, biting her lip.

Steve raised an eyebrow at her as he watched her face curiously, “I have an answer. What’s your question?” He asks. Steve enjoyed hanging out with Y/N as well. He could see the light in her start to glow again and he couldn’t help but feel like he had something to do with it. Whenever Steve came to visit, usually the weekends, he would sneak up into her apartment so Bucky wouldn’t get suspicious. He didn’t know how Bucky would feel if he figured out he was spending so much time with Y/N.

“I was wondering what Peggy was like.” Y/N said softly, picking at her fingers as she asked the question, “You know all about my relationship with Bucky and all I know is that you loved Peggy.”

Steve smiled gently, “Peggy was great. She was beautifully confident in everything she did. She was sweet and kind, but also fierce and smart. I have no doubt she could move mountains if she put her mind to it.” He told Y/N, watching her face as she listened, “Reminds me a lot of you.” That was the truth. Y/N reminded him a lot of Peggy. The way she was smart, determined, fierce but also kind and sweet. A good soul.

Y/N smiled softly, “She sounds great. I’m sure we would’ve been friends.” She said, nudging Steve’s shoulder with her own slightly, “Do you think you’ll ever find love like that again, Steve? I really thought Bucky was the one. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never find a love like that again.”

Steve kept his eyes on her, keeping that small gentle smile on his lips as he listened to her, “I know I’ll find a love like that again.” He said, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and pulling her a little closer, “And I know you will too, Y/N.”

Y/N and Steve continued having little moments right under Bucky’s nose. Bucky was helping in the training department which was on the opposite side of Y/N’s lab so he didn’t really have a reason to see Y/N. That didn’t mean that Bucky didn’t linger around outside her apartment door or the door to her lab, wondering how she was doing. He kept his distance and everyday it seemed like she was doing a little better, even happy. The dark rings under Y/N’s eyes had faded and she didn’t look like she had cried in a while. Bucky continued to try and make amends with Y/N from a distance- sending flowers to her apartment every week as well as having her favorite coffee waiting on her desk in the morning. Little did he know that Y/N and his best friend were getting closer and closer every week.

Steve sat with his arm around Y/N’s shoulder, smiling to himself as he watched the sixth Star Wars movie. He enjoyed them and it made Y/N’s little laser knife even cooler as he saw where her inspiration came from. Eventually, she switched the blade color to a blue and gave it to Steve as a gift for helping her feel better and he was ecstatic, never going anywhere without it. He would make jokes about being a Jedi to Y/N which made her laugh. God, he loved to see her laugh and smile. A Peggy sized hole in his heart had been replaced with Y/N and he wondered if she felt the same for him. As the movie ended, he looked over at Y/N to see her asleep leaning on his shoulder. He felt his heart flutter at how comfortable she was around him. Sure, it took a long time for both of them to get to this point, but it felt right, like they were slowly mending each other’s broken hearts while slowly falling in love, “Hey, Y/N, movies over are you tired?”

Y/N smiles at his voice, wrapping her arms around his large one and snuggling her face into his shoulder, “Nope. Not tired.”

Steve chuckles at her, “Honey, I think you might be tired.” He told her gently, “Why don’t I help you get to bed?”

Y/N shook her head against his shoulder, “I’m comfy here. You’re an excellent pillow.” She protested and opened her eyes to look up into those blue ones. Bucky’s eyes used to hypnotize her but now… The way Steve looked at her felt like magic was running through her body. He gave her butterflies that would bounce off the insides of her stomach frantically trying to get her to make a move with him.

Steve shrugs, “Alright, alright.” He chuckles out and picked up the remote to start the next movie, “We are onto the ones you haven’t seen though.”

Y/N sat up straighter next to him, focusing her eyes on the screen in front of her as it started with the opening, “Okay, pass me some popcorn.” She asks and watches Steve grab the bowl of popcorn and pass it to her. She kept brining some of the popcorn to her mouth before she realized Steve wasn’t paying attention to the movie and was still looking at her. Y/N looked back up at him, “Hey, you were just giving me crap for not watching the movie and now you’re not pa-“ Steve cut her off by cupping one of her cheeks in his palm and leaning down and giving her a soft kiss. He waited until she kissed him back before twisting his body a little bit to face her, blindly grabbing the bowl of popcorn from her lap and trying to place it on the table but it fell to the floor. He pulled away and looked at the mess he made, “Oh crap.”

Y/N took a deep breath, blinking at him when he pulled away before grabbing his arm and pulling him back to her, “Don’t worry about it…” She whispers before pressing her lips back to his. He slowly but easily moved do lay her down on the couch, crawling on top of her and continuing to kiss her, each kiss more deep and passionate than the next.

Steve pulled away finally to look at her face, one hand stroking through her hair while the other rested on her hip. He looked into her eyes and smiled softly to her, “I think I’m falling in love with you, Y/N.”

Y/N smiled up at him, her hands stroking gently through his hair as he spoke, “I think I’m falling in love with you too.” She whispers back to him before pressing her lips back to his. Steve made her feel safe, made her feel like he would never hurt her in anyway, especially in the way Bucky did. Unlike when she was with Bucky, being with Steve felt secure. There was no doubt that if they had a relationship that he would be a loyal, loving man. There had always been deep doubt inside of Y/N when she was with Bucky that she had ignored for a long time. But with Steve… Everything was effortless. She could be herself and not worry about if he was taking care of himself or worry if his emotions were going to flip on a dime. He was consistently Steve.

Bucky caught Steve a few times at the facility, questioning what he was doing in Seattle instead of New York. Steve always told him he was just making sure everything was getting set up correctly and see if anybody needed any help. He was keeping his relationship with Y/N on the down-low, worried of how Bucky would react. It wasn’t until a week before the grand opening of the facility that Bucky was lingering outside Y/N’s office when he heard the phone call or at least her side of the phone call that made him panic.

“Hey! How are you?…. I’m good…. I miss you too. I’ve been considering what you said and I think I have an answer for you… I know we are going to need to find some new movies to watch… Are you coming for the grand opening?…. I’m excited… I’ll save you a dance.”

Bucky could hear Y/N starting to head out of her office and made himself scarce. Who was she talking to? How long has she been talking to them? She missed them? He felt that same jealousy bubble up in him. He would have to wait another week to figure out who this mystery person talking to his girl was. Bucky wanted to be the only person she missed. The only person she danced with. The only person she watched movies with and even though he knew he ruined that for himself, he was still determined to get her back.

On the night of the grand opening of the new facility, Y/N looked so beautiful Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. Her hair was curled and swept to one side of her neck and she wore a long dark blue dress that sparkled slightly when she walked. Bucky watched her walk around making conversation, bringing a champagne glass to her lips as she smiled and talked. He kept himself at the bar, ordering whiskey after whiskey as he watched her. He sat up as he noticed her making her way to the bar, running his hands over his clothes and through his hair to make himself look more presentable and put together.

Y/N smiled at the bartender, passing him her empty champagne glass. He asked if she wanted a refill and she nodded her head at him with a smile, “Yes please.” She said with a smile. Y/N looked over at Bucky as the waiter refilled her glass, her smile fading a little but still on her lips. She had to admit that Bucky always looked good in a suit. Her stomach was twisting slightly with the way he was looking at her with a small grin on his lips. She bit her lip at him before turning to the bartender, “Thank you.” She said and watched the bartender smile at her before going to help other guests.

Bucky stood from his seat and moved to sit by her. This was his chance to talk to her, see how she was. See if she wanted to try again with him, “I thought you didn’t like champagne.” He said with a smile.

Y/N looked over to him and allowed a small smile to appear on her lips, “I’ve acquired the taste I guess.” She said with a small shrug.

Bucky nods slowly, bringing his whiskey glass up to his lips and taking a large gulp before smiling back over to her, “You look beautiful, doll.”

Y/N looked at him and smiles, “Thank you.” She said, running her free hand down the dress to flatten it out a little bit before taking a sip of her champagne glass, “You clean up nice yourself.”

Bucky nodded and grinned at her compliment, taking a drink of his whiskey and keeping his eyes on her, “How do you like Seattle?” He asks, trying to keep the conversation going. This is the longest he had been able to get her to talk to him since he’s been staying here.

Y/N shrugs her shoulders slightly, “It’s alright. It never stops raining though and it’s always cold.” She admitted, looking down at her glass of tequila, “I miss New York. It would rain and be cold sometimes, but at least it had sunshine too.” She bit her lip looking at him before sharing her information, “I’m actually going back to New York soon.”

Bucky smiled as he listened to her. Y/N’s voice was like music to his ears, “Yeah, you never did well with the cold.” He said before downing the rest of his whiskey in his glass, “That’s great news.” He loved the idea of Y/N being back in New York with him- it was just another step closer to her forgiving him and getting her back.

“Yeah…” She murmurs out, bringing the glass to her lips and taking a large swallow before she felt a large hand on her hip. She turned to look up and to see Steve which immediately brought a smile to her lips, “Hey! You made it!”

Steve looked at Bucky before looking down at Y/N with a smile, “I did, sorry I’m late.” He said before looking back to Bucky, “How you doin, Buck? Getting the training division all figured out?” Bucky shrugs, not noticing Steve’s hand on Y/N’s hip, “They’re getting there. Few more weeks and they’ll be able to figure out their head from their ass.” He joked. Bucky had been helping train field agents in hand to hand combat during his stay in Seattle.

Steve nods with a small chuckle and smile, “Yeah, here’s hoping.” He responded before looking down at Y/N, “Did you save me a dance?”

Y/N smiled and nodded to him, “I did.” She said up to the blonde, setting her champagne glass on the bar and pulling him towards where the other couples were dancing to slow songs.

Bucky watched them go, his eyes falling to Steve’s hand on Y/N’s hip. It made his lips part slightly as he started to put pieces together in his mind. Steve hadn’t just been here figuring out how the facility was coming along, he was here to spend time with Y/N. Steal her right out of Bucky’s grasp. Bucky frowned as he watched Y/N wrap her arms up around his neck and Steve wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her close. Bucky shook his head when Steve laid a gentle kiss on top of Y/N’s head, slamming his empty glass down onto the bar before making his way to the elevator to go to his room. He had pushed her away from him and right into Steve’s arms. Into the arms of someone who would never hurt her or betray her loyalty.

Later that night, Bucky was planning on going to talk to Y/N and let her know she didn’t need to be sneaking around with Steve. That he understood and wanted her to be happy. But instead, as he was about to knock on the door, he froze. He heard noises with his enhanced hearing. The noises. The noises she used to make for him when he had her tangled in his arms naked.

“Oh… Oh god, yes… Mmmm… Right there… Yes, Steve!”

Bucky blinked at the sounds, feeling his heart break all over again and knowing he was the cause of all of this. He used to be the only one that could make Y/N say those things, moan like that. The only one that could make those sweet noises pass her lips. Here he was- getting taste of his own medicine. At this moment, Bucky felt like he knew how Y/N did when she saw him with Katerina. He did something unforgivable, pushed her away and right into the arms of a better man. Bucky had received a taste of his own medicine.

___________________________________________________________

Taglist: @buckypops @bibliophilewednesday @stcrryslibrary

@perseone Here is the alternate version (;

[alfredolover119]

I looooove your zukka rec lists! I recently became Avatar-obsessed, never got a chance to watch it as a kid and only just got through it all! I was wondering if you'd consider doing a specifically angst rec list? I love fluffy zukka everything, but sometimes you just gotta have your heart ripped out of your chest and put back in after being thoroughly blended.

thank you! i relate heavily to “recently became Avatar-obsessed” haha. as for the angst list, i sure can try! warning: all of these have happy endings because im a crybaby who can’t read unhappy endings. also, p much all of the fics in the completed section were featured on my other lists but this is specifically the ANGSTY ones >:^)

angsty zukka wips

first, most obviously, feels like we only go backwards by @oldpotatoe

-currently at 102k with 19/27 chapters posted; rated teen

-the amnesia fic. the amnesia fic. the amnesia fic. you know. i haven’t actually read it yet because, as previously mentioned, i’m a crybaby and am waiting for it to finish up but, from my understanding, this fic will murder you in a dark alleyway with no remorse. if u like zukka angst, you’ve probably already read this, but just in case!

An injury leaves Sokka with amnesia. His last memory is of the failed invasion, of leaving his father behind in enemy territory on the Day of Black Sun. Of hopelessness. Rage. // But then he wakes up, and the war is over. Suddenly, he must come to terms with the fact that years have passed, and that he's somehow the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador to the Fire Nation. He is also supposedly friends with banished-Prince-turned-Fire-Lord Zuko, of all people. Close friends.

Yeah, nah.

and i’ll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands) by @goldrushzukka

-currently 38k with 6/8 chapters posted; rated mature

-holy shit. holy SHIT. modern au based on the “my cat likes my fuckbuddy and i am falling in love” trope(?). maybe it’s just because of how the last chapter ended, but oh my god. this one made me cry. made me want to commit violence. when it’s not angsty as hell, it’s pretty funny, but holy shit. ao3 user nebulastucky please.

It’s supposed to be a one night stand. Pick up some guy at a bar, barely remember his name and never learn anything real about him, send him packing in the morning with a thanks for the ride and a cup of coffee to-go. That’s how it’s supposed to go. // But then it’s the best sex Sokka has ever had, and he thinks he’ll hate himself if he never gets to have it again.

Violet Blossoms and Celestial Objects by @hollypunkers

-currently 15k with 2/? posted. rated teen.

-this is the sequel to blue (an angsty, zukka rewrite of book 2-- go read it if u havent!)! !! this is a book 3 rewrite. only two chapters in and mrs hollypunkers is really abusing the miscommunication tag, as zukka writers seem to enjoy doing. im excited to see how the world and story develops with the changes to the story! you should be too!! its very good! obviously spoilers for blue lmao

Having sided with the Avatar in Ba Sing Se, Zuko not only must navigate his new relationship with Sokka but returning to the Fire Nation as a banished enemy. His own journey of self discovery and personal growth must now coexist alongside the personal struggles of every other member of the Gaang as together they blaze a treacherous path toward an unsure victory against Zuko's own father and nation.

breakable heaven by @fruitysokka

-currently 71k with 9/11 chapters posted. rated teen

-swt ambassador zuko! soon to be chief sokka! fake dating ur best friend to get out of an arranged marriage! what could go wrong!!! i also haven’t read this one ((see: i’m a crybaby who is being hurt by too many zukka wips already)), but it has been hanging out in my marked for later for months. from what i understand, this fic has: angst.

With his twenty-first birthday looming just around the corner, the Southern Water Tribe Elders have decided that Sokka, next in line to be Chief, needs to get married. Sokka does not want that, but he does need to get them off his back until he can figure his way out of it. What better way to do that than to pretend to date his best friend (and newly minted Ambassador to the Southern Water Tribe) Zuko? // Seriously, this is a foolproof plan. Maybe one of Sokka's best. Absolutely nothing can go wrong.

angsty zukka fics (completed!)

(i’ll put these in wc order)

lighthouse beam by @incorrectzukka

-7k, rated g

-a modern college au!! zuko’s inner-monologue is very angsty in this fic. typical zuko. also per usual, theyre both fucking dorks. they sort themselves out in the end, but not before The Angst. zuko is semi-deaf in this fic and also he has a bit of internalized homophobia.

Sokka’s breathtakingly beautiful and he’s smart and makes other people laugh. Zuko has a half-burnt face and a deaf ear. It’s not rocket science. // Or, Zuko falls in love with the boy in his Philosophy class.

This Isn’t My Idea of Fun by @khaleeseas

-9k, explicit

-moon spirit/nwt prince!sokka, no war to be found here! admittedly this isnt THAT angsty but like. the angst IS present. zuko is still the prince. a lovely childhood friends (though they hated each other for a minute haha) to lovers story. 

If you asked Zuko, he and Azula saw far too much of Chief Hakoda of the Northern Water Tribe’s children growing up. It wasn’t until they were older, and Azula pointed out that - duh - their families were trying to set them all up, that he realized why. // He was told by his mother to be polite. These people were their friends and allies, and though their nations were as different as they came, harmony between nations was the most important thing. // It wasn’t his fault the Chief’s children were so annoying.

put your lips close to mine (as long as they don’t touch) by @celestialceci

-9k, teen

-modern au! zuko and sokka are college roommates. zuko goes to spend the summer with sokka. again,, not really that angsty but-- its there!! the detail and feeling of Home in this story make me happy. zuko is insecure as hell here too. if ur into that. 

Zuko hates his home. He likes college alright, but he likes Sokka even better, his assigned roommate turned best friend. Spending the summer with Sokka will be fun, a welcome change of pace he desperately wants. It probably won't awaken anything in him... right?

the thing about dancing by anodymalion

-9k, teen

-yes. this one right here officer. it makes my heart ache. also trans sokka! which is cool. but the zuko angst in this one. hurts me. not so much relationship angst as it is zuko learning he deserves happiness angst. i’m sure u know The Type.

The first time a attendant spills Zuko’s tea and doesn’t immediately fall to her knees, begging the Fire Lord’s forgiveness, it is not anger but a resounding warmth that fills his chest.

i could (never) give you peace by @zukkababey

-10k, mature

-OUCH. OUCH OUCH OUCH. boys please learn to communicate im begging u. also zuko.. zuko, dude. as the tags of the fic say, hes “really going through it” in this one. YOUCH. post-canon.

Zuko almost said it. He almost said the words I think I’m in love with you, but he choked them back down at the last second. // Zuko would never be able to be what Sokka wanted. They might have needed each other during the summer, when two boys with too much weight on their shoulders found comfort in each other in the only way they knew how. // But now Zuko was Fire Lord, and Sokka was leaving.

this love burns so yellow (becoming orange and in its time, exploding) by @meliebee 

-18k, teen, major character death 

-i lied. THIS is the one, officer. found family.. good mai and zuko and toph friendships.. . ozai escapes prison and tries to overthrow zuko. OBVIOUSLY angst ensues. poor boy. he Does heal in this but it gets worse before it gets better. angst angst angst angst.

Ten months after Zuko is crowned at seventeen, he faces his first coup.

Anything for You by beersforqueers

-23k, explicit

-istg. this is probably one of my favorite zukka fics. its PAINFUL. modern au where theyre broken up but sokka hasnt told his family yet so zuko goes home with him for kataang wedding. a bit smutty, but the plot oh my god ohgm y fuvk. made me cry the first time i read it. (see: crybaby!me) insert that one picture of the horse with the caption PAIN. 

In which Sokka and Zuko have broken up but Sokka hasn't told his family yet. So when Katara and Aang's wedding weekend rolls around and he doesn't want to break Gran-Gran's heart, he asks Zuko to pretend to be his boyfriend for one last weekend. // Things don't go as planned.

Moving Mountains by @thefangirlingdead

-64k, mature

-so. when i read this the first time it was in one sitting. soulmate au set within canon era / the comics, to an extent. soulmates can hear each others thoughts. i will happily say this is slowburn, jesus christ. champagne without the cham. 

Soulmates are chosen by the spirits and can hear each other’s thoughts. Sokka thinks it’s cheesy and dumb. Zuko thinks it’s poetic justice that he doesn’t have one because he doesn’t deserve it. Cruel irony is finding out that the prince of the Fire Nation (and the person currently hunting you) is your soulmate.

In the Soft Light by @voidcenturyscholar and @romancedawning

-83k, teen, graphic depictions of violence

-moon spirit!sokka living in the northern water tribe. zuko is sent to the northern water tribe as a cultural liaison. iroh is the fire lord but while he is away taking care of lu ten after his injury ozai steps up. i cannot express how many emotions this fic made me feel. background yuetara. i would almost say found family?? but. anyway. plenty of angst to spare here with a healthy dose of enemies to friends to lovers.

As the newly appointed cultural liaison to Northern Water Tribe, Zuko is the first Fire Nation Citizen to step foot inside the city's walls in nearly a century. He's determined to prove himself—to the Fire Lord and to his father—even if the Water Tribe's spirit-touched prince seems to want nothing to do with him.

That Midnight Sky by @zukkababey

-103k, teen

-now now now. tms... modern college au where sokka agrees to tutor zuko in physics because zuko has to maintain straight a’s and physics is just not doing it for him. so. thats cool but THEN azula moves in, randomly, with zuko. to hide the fact that sokka is tutoring zuko, they fake date! what could go wrong!! the mutual pining in here combined with the angst... wonderful, tasty. everyone read it rn. also SLOWBURN 

In Zuko’s strict family, needing a tutor is just about the worst thing you could do. Failing a class, however, is even worse. The only rational solution? Take up Aang on his offer to find him a physics tutor and have Sokka—beautiful, smart, handsome Sokka—tutor him in secret. // When Azula’s arrival threatens to reveal Zuko’s secret, it’s up to Sokka to convince her this definitely isn’t what it looks like. See, he’s actually… Zuko’s… boyfriend? // Hmm. There’s no way this could get complicated, right?

[violetnotez]

hi! may i pls make a request for bokugo, todoroki and midoriya hcs on what they would do if they had to vs their secret crush in the 1v1 ua sports festival arc? i hope you have a great day!!🥺

Hi babe! Im so sorry it took so long to make these, but I literally couldn’t stop thinking about this idea cause it was so fricking cuttteeeeeeeee

I did headcannons as well as a short one shot right after, I hope thats alright! <3

Music Genre: Pop | BNHA

Characters: Bakugo, Shoto, Izuku

Warnings: cussing

Music Collection | Tip Jar | Requests!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Bakugo

This dude right here ^^^

Sorry but-hes not gonna be too kind

Bakugo most deifnitely is denying every single damn sign that he has a crush on you

He deifnitely doesn’t stare at you for way too long during class, or doesn’t smirk to himself when you got past this first round, and his heart didn’t drop to the floor when he realized he would have to fight against you

Nope, deifnitley not

😑😑😑 Bakugo stop being a shit and admit you have feelings

Kirishima was the one who first recognized his crush on you, and you know damn well he noticed Bakugo’s demeanor instantly changed when he saw your face flash against his in the versus round

When Bakugo saw that on the screen, his shoulders instantly stiffened, his eyes steeled, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets so no one could see how tightly his hands were balled up

Only Kirishima noticed the change in his best friend as his freinds cheered at the line up

“Hey-you okay dude?” He asked, his voice full of concern as he tried to place a hand on his shoulder

Of course, Bakugo being the little shit he is, shoved his hand away with his shoulder, standing up quickly

“I’m gonna go get ready for the 2nd round,” he grumbled, giving his friend a side eyed look and he turned his back on the stadium and going to the hallways to chill

Now, even though he was rudeeeeeeeee af, this dude is freaking the hell out internally

He wants to win so badly, but-at what cost? Something was different with you-he was okay with putting his all into each and every fight

If he had to hurt himself, or hurt his opponent to come out on top-that’s all that mattered right? But for some reason, the thought of hurting you made his body feel queasy and made him feel like shit-

this never happened to him, this possessive want to protect someone and keep them safe-this was such a foreign feeling that it kind of scared him

Was he getting soft? Was he not tough anymore?

He didn’t know what to do-go easy on you and potentially let you win, making him look weak? Or go all out, making sure he wins to the point that he hurts you-which would make him feel like shit after. Would you hate him after? Could he handle that idea of you despising him for hurting you?

These thoughts were making him so conflicted to the point of rage , and Bakugo being Bakugo, he was just fuming internally,

his digits were tugging at his strands, his fist colliding with the table as a curse slipped through his lips

He didn’t know what to do and it was fucking annoying to him

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧

“So I guess we’re paired together huh?” your voice echoed through the deathly silent room, the sound sending a cold shiver down Bakugo’s back.

He quickly looked up, his chest tightening at the mere sight of you leaning against the door frame.

“This is my fucking room-get out,” he grumbled, his crimson red eyes squinting at you at an attempt to look intimidating.

You simply rolled your eyes, a small smirk playing on your lips.

You had known Bakugo for too long and too well to get scared at his harsh words anymore.

“I don’t see your name on the door,” you quipped back with a grin, “and besides, it might be good Im in here. You’re so loud somebody’s gonna think you’re talking to yourself.”

Shit-was he really starting to talk to himself now?

Bakugo swallowed a clump of saliva, a pit growing in his stomach. If he was talking to himself-did you hear everything he had said? Did you know he was actually thinking of going soft on you?

You noticed how he stiffened at your words, a gruff exhalation of breath leaving his lips.

“Don’t worry, I was just joking around-“, You simply chuckled, shaking your head as you sat down next to him. “-but you still are really loud though.”

“And you’re still fucking annoying, as always.”

“Ouch!” You smiled, scrunching up your nose in mock hurt.

Bakugo pursed his lips, hating how cute he found you when you made that expression.

You didn’t seem to notice the way Bakugo was affected by your movement, taking a deep breath.

Something in your expression had changed-you no longer looked so carefree and relaxed. You gave him a concerned look, your teeth gnawing at the side your cheek.

“So is something on your mind? You’re usually always cussing someone out, but cussing at the air isn’t usually your thing.”

His feet shuffled under the table, his hands way more clammy than they usually were. So he really was being too loud- he needed to think of soemthing to tell you. And something realllllll fucking quick.

But he couldn’t-he felt like his was gasping for air, just staring at your waiting face. God, why did he have to actually like you like that? Now as he’s looking at you, something in his heart hurt-he couldn’t hurt you. He just-couldnt. He’d feel like a dick after and he’s never be able to forgive himself if he laid even a scratch on you.

Why was this so fucking hard?

You sighed, your tongue swiping your bottom lip as you look down at your hands.

“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine,” you looked up, your eyes piercing to him and making his lungs feel shut off. “But-dont let it affect you. I want you to come at me with all you got-“

You gave him a devilish grin, your eyes sparkling.

“-I wanna rub it in your face that I actualy beat you in front of a whole ass crowd. Might be good for you ego too,” you gave out a laugh at the last sentence, Bakugo’s shoulder softening slightly.

“Tch-,” he grunted out, his crimson eyes rolling in their sockets, “-like you could ever fucking beat me.”

You gave him one final look, your eyes quitting at him with a mischievous glint.

“We’ll see about that,” you gave him one last smile, standing up from your chair.

“I’ll see ya later.”

Bakugo heard your feet walk out the room, that tell tale click of the door closing softly reverberating in the room. He let out a sigh, something about your words making him feel like a huge weight just left his shoulders.

If you wanted him to go all out-then he’d do it.

Izuku

Dude, this poor baby

He’s actually freaking out. Like HARD.

Izuku wants to win pretty badly to prove it to himself, his family, his mentor/role model...but at what cost? Hurting you?

Hahah well that’s funny cause that ain’t happening

He’s legit thinking of just going easy on you-what’s the harm in that? Sure he might lose, but at least he wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt-

This dude is not very good at hiding his feelings for you, so of course Iida and Ochaco already know of this infactuation obsession Izuku has for you

They kinda have to explain to him that’d it be really really stupid to just let you beat himjust because he didn’t want to hurt you

Iida basically explained that it’d hurt the “pride and prestige quality of the games” if he didn’t “fight to his fullest” and “y/n’s honor would be incredibly diminished” as the fight “wouldn’t be fair nor honest”

Which basically translated to just fight her Midoriya

Uraraka told him that you could hold your own, and you wouldn’t ever get mad at him cause like-it’s the point for everyone to fight their all to win

So Izuku kinda took a chill pill

Until he stepped into that arena

Cause ohohoohohoh it is wayyyyy different from talking about fighting to actually doing it

He’s kinda nervous at first-cause it’s happening. He has to actually fight you like this. In front of everybody.

Damn fate really did not like him right now did it?

You come at him full force-and holy CRAP did it throw him off

But it kind of woke him up to the situation-if your going to try your best, then he felt a little bit better forcing himself to do his best as well

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t wanna scream “Sorry!” And run over to you everytime he blasts ya with OFA, but it’s all good

Your fight was a little bit longer than the others, but in the end, you lost to Izuku

You two were seriously burnt out though-you got cuts and bruises everywhere from falling (and a big ass headache), and Izuku’s arms looked like burnt fried chicken

Deku felt pride in himself, cause damn you were really strong and he actually fought you off but-he hurt you AND made you lose

Looking at your face, he feels like shit-cause of course you look really beat down knowing you won’t be advancing to the next round

His foot stumbled forward, wanting to go see if you were okay

But the teachers quickly usher you two to go see the nurses, so he just had to give you an apologetic look until he could actually talk to you

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧

Izuku sat on the make shift bed, every movement he made setting off a plethora of crinkling noises from the paper overlay.

Everything seemed to be okay with him-he was actually surprised to hear he wasn’t as beat up as he thought he really was. Over course, Recovery Girl scolded him for taking such a risk on his body with his quirk, but with a big smooch on his cheek he was ready to go.

He heard a click of a door opening, expecting to see Recovery Girl come hobbling over to check his vitals one last time-until he looked up and his heart stopped on his chest.

There you were, banged up and bruise, your stance favoring your right side.

You seemed to be pretty surprised to see him too-your eyes widened in shock, and your shoulders stiffened at the sight of him.

Izuku’s head was going on overdrive-how were you feeling? Where you okay? Did he hurt you that badly? did you hate him? Was he invading your space just being present?

The thoughts were coming a mile a minute, his mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish as he kept watching you with a stunned, blank expression.

To his relief, your shocked expression turned into a small smile and your eyes softened as you looked at Izuku’s shy gaze.

“Hey,” you simply said, breaking the awkward silence of the room.

Izuku quickly cleared his throat, repeating a “hey” back to you as he watched you sit down, his toes scrunching in his battered red shoes.

Guilt was bubbling in his stomach, his brows knitted in pain as you tred to sit down on a hospital bed. You were practically limping your way to sit down, the unmissable look of pain knitted in your brows.

God, he did that? To you-out of all the people in the world, you were one of the last people he would ever want to land a finger on. Of course, you had messed him up pretty badly, but it just felt strange to know he had caused you this discomfort.

“Are you-you feeling alright?” He asked quietly, his voice meek and hesitant.

You gave him another strained smile, using the table next to you to support your weight.

You weren’t going to deny it-Izuku really did a number on you. In the fight, your adrenaline was kicking in so much that the pain was barely even noticeable to you. But now that you were calm and collected, the throbbing pain that seemed to be everywhere was coming out in full force.

“Yeah, I’m doing okay-I guess,” you gave a small chuckle, trying to hide the grimace as a zap of pain pierced your bruised rib cage.

Izuku immediately noticed that look on your face, his feet touching the cold linoleum floor.

You felt hands gingerly circle around your sides, the pressure reassuring yet light, heat from another person radiating onto your back.

Midoriya was supporting your battered body, leading you to the closest bed and setting you down gingerly.

To say the feeling of Izuku holding you was making you flustered was an understatement-you were freaking the hell out. But something about him holding you was so comforting-even with him beaten up, and him being the reason you were in this portion- he still somehow was able to make you feel safe and protected.

“ ‘Zuku,” you asked, your heart thumping a mile a minute, “what are you-you doing?”

He set you down gingerly, his hands light and feathery against your skin.

“I-Uh,” He have you a sheepish grin, his cheeks red and his voice a stuttering mess from that nickname. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-to offend you, you just seemed like you were hurting...”

You tilted your head with a grin, your hand wrapping around his wrist for support.

“Don’t worry-you didn’t,”

His face light up, a warm relieved grin on his lips.

“Oh good! I was worried, cause after the whole match and everything, and you looked so hurt, I just, I don’t know, I was worried maybe you wouldnt want me around but I just didn’t want to-“

For some reason, that relief that you didn’t hate him had released the stuttering of poor Izuku, his brain going once again at a pace much to fast to comprehend.

You could barely catch a word, but you were able to stitch his thoughts together, a giggle escaping your lips.

He couldn’t be more adorable, could he?

Your heart pounded in your chest as your digits wrapping around his freckled cheeks. The sensation of your skin so close to his made his mouth stop in its tracks, his emerald eyes wide with shock.

“You really think I’d hate you ‘Zuku?”

God-he love that nickname. Your voice sent a shockwave if electricity through his body, his mind helplessly numb and in control by you.

Even with you cradling his cheeks, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you.

“I-Uh-Uh....maybe?”

Izuku heard you sigh, your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip.

He know it would look strange to anyone walking in, with him standing in between your legs and your hands wrapped against his cheeks. He knew he should move, just in case of the off chance somebody could walk in, but-he didn’t want to. He was in love with the feeling of your body so close to his, finally able to drink in every beautiful feature of your face, put every perfect sensation into his memory....it was nerve wracking yet soothing and he never wanted this moment to end.

“Deku, I could never hate you,” you smiled gingerly, your mind fighting your digits from tracing each adorable freckle decorating his face.

He looked at you with wide, confused eyes, his bruised lips parted and mind blank.

You said-you didn’t hate him?

He felt a rush of relief completely envelope his body, feeling on top of the world. You didn’t hate him for fighting you-and you even said you could never hate him. Was he really that lucky to have such a sweet crush like you?

He felt so happy he just had the undeniable want to just kiss you-you we’re close enough after all, he could just lean in to you....

“Oh-uh,” he quickly stuttered our, terrified he would actually act on what he was thinking, “Thats-thats great, thank you,”

You chuckled at his flustered ness, his cheeks a raging red from his thoughts-he definitely wouldn’t ever stop being a nervous wreck around you.

Shoto

Honestly, you would never know Shoto had a crush on you

hes just SO HARD TO READ

Also this boy would be the last person to realize he had a crush in the first place

very very oblivious poor baby

anyways, because of this oblivious part of him, he’d probably figure out he had a crush right then and there

Like, as he sees your face flash against his, and theres a big VS symbol in between you two

He gets this terrible, sinking feeling

like OH SHIT I have to fight them 

He knew something was different this time around, because with everyone else he was fighting agains,t he could give two shits about them

but with you, the person he was actually fighting against felt important now

He just didn't want to fight you

So that through him off- big time

*queue a shoto todoroki internal monologue

this guy is really having an epiphany rn

Like dang- all those times I would stare at them, or get angry when somebody hurt them, or my face would get really hot when they told me “hi” meant I liked them!?

This pooor thingggggggggggggggg

Now,

 Shoto isnt egotisitical-

 hes just practical

So he knows that he would probably win this match-

 he saw you as a great fighter, yet his quirk was alot more flashy and powerful than yours

So he had either two options:

one) was to just go all out and try to finish the match ASAP, or

two) prolong it, so you could get some exposure to the heroes watching

(spoiler alert- he goes with number two)

But what he doesn't realized is how FLUSTERED he gets when hes fighting you

He’s never been close to you like this before, even if you are fighting-and damn he didn't realize he had been craving this 

He was making more mistakes than he usually would make in a match like this, so it was harder for him to keep the upper hand like he thought he would

But, of course- this is Shoto Todoroki we’re talking about

He finally zaps out of this love sick puppy phase and he starts to fight you for real now- 

anddddddd he manages to push you off the stage boundaries

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧ 

Shoto took a deep breath, his lungs feeling icy from his quirk and his body heavy with fatigue.

Damn- that was a hard ass fight.

The sound of a roaring crowd was piercing his ears, Present Mic’s booming voice echoing the results of the matchup.

“Todoroki” seemed to be echoing throughout the stadium, his last name a mantra in the speakers.  He won the match after all- he’d be advancing.

Shoto licked his lips, the tang of blood sparking in his mouth. Shoto didnt really feel much in these moments, as he could never really appreciate the achievements he had under his belt at such a young age.

But right now, something different was bubbling in his stomach- Shoto turned to look at you, your knees digging into the gravel and your fists balled into the dirt, your head laying low.

It wasnt rocket science to tell you were feeling down about loosing the match, and Shoto could see you were frustrated by the circumstances- he won, and you didnt.

Watching you struggling to get up from the icy ground he had made, your body beaten and bruised....he felt-guilty.

Suddenly, he felt his feet walking towards you, his heart beating a mile a minute in his chest.

His head was swarming with nerves as he held out his digits, his palm stretched out in a peace offering.

“Here,” his voice was smooth and deep, sending a shiver down your spine as you looked up at his outstretched digits.

You gave him a quizzical look, almost as if to say “what are you doing?”

Shoto bit his bottom lip, looking at the side as his cheeks flushed red.

“Take my hand-you’re injured.”

His tone was placid and calm, his bi colored eyes boaring into yours. It was just so confusing....he won the match, so why did he want to help you?

“Why?” you asked, your voice groggy and thick.

“Because-you’re hurt, and I’m certain my old man wouldn’t want me to be doing this. So I want to do it.”

I small laugh escaped your lips, the sound so sweet that it made Shoto’s face even more red and his heart beat faster in his chest.

“Shoto Todoroki being a rebel-“ you joked, shaking your head as you laughed, “I wouldn’t expect that from you.”

You looked up at the Todoroki son, a smile on your lips as you took his hand.

Ah crap-Shoto was really over heating at this point, his mind going haywire as he tried to figure out why it was so hard to keep his right side at bat as he pulled you up from the floor.

He found something so endearing about how small your palm was compared to his-it fit almost perfectly in his, the skin soft and warm against his.

Shoto cleared his throat, his eyes dancing nervously, trying his best to get his nerves in check.

“Is that-a bad thing?” He asked, feeling slightly sad that you had taken your hand out of his to dust off your tattered PE pants.

“Nope,” you said, popping the “p” in the sentence, “I think it’s a good thing-I like it.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[semischarmed]

Clarity

My hot roommate Zach is the perfect man. I think I won the cosmic lottery when we got paired freshman year. “Roommates for life!” he shouted, as he wrapped a tone arm around me in a side-hug. I chuckled, of course. Who knew the cutest guy in our dorm was such a dork. I remember that moment vividly, committed every last detail to memory. In what he likely only barely remembers, I recall to the last detail. I play it back often -even moreso, nowadays: The crisp autumn breeze. The filtered sunlight through amber trees, bathing us both in golden afternoon. The warmth of his touch, and the unintended taunt from his arm pulling me towards him and his jacket ever so slightly wrapping over my back. The slight, dense smell of coffee wafting from him and his minty breath cutting through. Thats how I remember him. Warm. Sincere. Safe. Zach would probably say that was the moment we became best friends. I, on the other-hand, would say that was the exact moment when I fell for him.

We did everything together from then on: Ate together, joined the same clubs, signed up to the same classes- that first year we were inseparable. Best friends to a tee. I’m not even sure what he saw in me- the guy was a hell of a lot more sociable than I was. He could literally find anyone else on campus, yet I had the privilege of being his roommate and friend. I commit that wonderful first year to my life. It is my happiest year to date. I commit that version of Zach to myself as well.

Trouble started early in our second year. He spent all summer back home, hanging out with his high school friends and his brothers. When we finally met back in our new room, he seemed distant. Still, I made the effort, getting closer and closer to him every day. He’d been sending signals too, I think. A stray touch, just a half second too long. A lingering stare in my direction. A gentle smile when I ask him a bout his day. I had to know for myself with certainty. 

So, one terrifying October night, I asked him straight up.The fucker laughed. Cruel, hideous, insensitive laughter. I’d never felt more alone in my life than when he laughed at my confession. That broke something in me. I quickly ran to my bed, crying myself to sleep. Without skipping a beat, Zach left the room to grab a bite to eat, seemingly unchanged by my outright confession. I had never been so humiliated in my life, yet only he would ever know. Still I felt him hold that over me in the weeks to follow like a dark cloud. Of course he’d still offer hangouts. He’d ask for help with some dumb assignment or try to get me to open up by faking some issues about himself. He was mocking me. I felt his sneer, ever-present from behind. Thats when I began researching alternative methods to exact what I needed from him.

Why a private university had a book like this is beyond me. It was a spellbook. A dangerous one, at that. All manner of incantation and processes regarding the human soul. I poured myself the next few weeks on its pages religiously. Translation is a massive pain in the ass but it gets done.

“Love cannot be created by spell,” it stated. Leave it to a fucking book to let me down too. I wiped away stray tears until I caught sight of the last batch of spells. I sighed at its contents. Fine. I couldn’t make him love me through magic, but I could have him the next best way. His body. The final section of this book of spells is, of course, the curses and enchantments required to possess another being.

———

The preparations have been made. It’s another late, awkward night in our room, where he just passes by, gives me a nod and a grimace and then heads to bed. This night would be different. I chant the words. The price is steep. Half of my body’s lifespan for the ability to take someone over in their sleep. That’s the one I settled on. Of course, there were more permanent spells outlined, but this seemed to be a happy medium.

The magic is dark in nature, and I feel the cloud over me deepen. I feel myself detach. It’s weightless, but grounded. Makes sense, given the purpose of this spell. I watch my target and lick my astral lips. There he was, happily dreaming without a care in the world. I study every curve, like sculpture. He is muscled, but tone. Zach likes to sleep with his shirt off, so I get to see what powerful chest up close. I watch as powerful lungs, drawn in air before gently dispersing it. Perfection. I watch that beautiful face lie still in a satisfied smile. Angelic. This body is power, incarnate. My power, soon.

I follow closes until I am but inches from his face. I stir around him, slightly. I want him to know it’s me. Bleary eyes open and he gives a weak smile when he sees me. “Dude-” the smile quickly fades to shock. “Wait what the fuck...” in sinful glee I push into my man. He involuntarily absorbs my particles, my spirit. He tries to push me away, to get me off him. Hands are useless to stop me. I phase through them with no resistance. His breath quickens as he begins to panic. This only further brings me into him, as he is forced to breath in the only air around him-me. 

Then, he starts choking, trying to force the parts of me in him out. I am unfazed. Instead, in I keep filling into him until all of me is inside. This is the way we were meant to be. He pulses and convulses and chokes while I align myself into him. I revel in Zach. In being Zach. Despite all the shit he pulled this year, he still is perfection. My perfection, now. 

I command his lips mine. “Invoke me. Become me. Manipulate this body. Explore us. Stay, in me. I want you here, forever.” They’re not words he usually uses. I rile in a frenzy when these phrases leave his lips at my behest. When his voice becomes my own and I make us moan. When his body complies with my every whim. When Zach’s flesh is mine. It is euphoric. Orgasmic even. I intend to follow through, to reward it. To pleasure it. God it feels good being in him. Being him. He may not love me, but love me he will, even if indirectly. Every waking moment I spend inside this man will be a moment of him loving himself, loving me. Now, And then I feel it. I clutch my head in pain. Zach.

Veins strain in his forehead as he puts every last effort to exorcise me out. Resistance almighty in this body. In tears I feel myself stripped from momentary heaven. He chokes as a dense fog that is me escapes his mouth. He is successful.

When I am kicked out of his body abruptly, I flare in anger. How could he do this? How could he? I look back at my slumbering form. No matter. My resolve is steel. Somehow, somewhere deep inside me, I knew somewhere it had to come to this. I chant the final curse mentioned in the spellbook. The price is the steepest of them all.

I watch as my physical form dissipates. I writhe as I am renewed with newfound energy. Potency. Virility. I’ve put in everything. Everything I ever was into becoming him. Zach would be mine, no matter what. 

Before he can readjust, before he can even think about what had just occurred, I flood back inside my man. Inside my body. My one true body, now, given what I had to sacrifice. I make him smile while he takes me in. Smile in preparation of a new, permanent driver. I thrust my astral form inside its new home. It’s warm. Roomy. muscular. We make this body grin, shout, cry, writhing all the way in its sheets in our battle for control. I’m not even sure he knows what he’s doing when he fights me- but he always was a natural in everything he picked up. I feel our shared muscle contract and relax as it is forced to accept its two masters- soon to be one. Soon to be me. Zach’s soul was strong but no one was a match for the full force of an entire human body-turned-spirit. I feel his soul start to lose footing. Jackpot. Immediately fill take its place. My place.

I was far deeper in Zach now than I was before. His essence struggles, trying to escape me but I keep us steady, hold us tight. Our minds begin to connect this time around and we sync. The book said this was a necessary step. I blink away our tears into a satisfied smile. Our face is flush from the fight, flush from my greatest victory. “You’re mine forever,” I think to myself, My words. The verbalization of my invasive thoughts in his head- they’re spoken in his tongue. In his jock-like inflection. I even now think in his voice. Of course, it’s relatively minor in the grand scheme of things. Yet it is undeniable proof. The finality of it all. Proof that my body no longer existed in this world. Proof that for me, forever, Zach would be my default. Just one last step to it all. One last push- I’ve already given this much, there was no going back. I would displace Zach as the true owner of this body. It’s as the final line in the book states: “Encapsulate their soul, devour it, digest it, make it yours. Then, true control at long last.”

Tears stream down our shared cheeks as we both realize the true gravity, the true consequences of my actions. We are synced now, but I haven’t yet completed the process. So, our emotions are a mix. So, it’s bittersweet. He’s mine. We’re one. I’m finally with Zach in a way most intimate. Despite it all, he isn’t fighting back. Why?

I rage inside him, wanting him to be mad, wanting him to hate me, to give me justification my ultimate transgression. He offers none. Instead, I am hit with borrowed clarity. More of his memory floods into me and I begin to cry. 

I watch my every worst moment through his lens, relive the demons of my past and yet, from his perspective they never looked quite as dark or traumatic as I had made them out to be. Even my confession itself, my initial catalyst, had merely been a blip in Zach’s mind. If anything, he had been more concerned that his own nervous laughing was the cause of my spiraling. I quickly realize how much wasted time I spent, building up Zach into this god in my head. My god. In the end, he was human after all.

I feel Zach pull instances of himself from my memories in turn. It turns out he had many, many insecurities as well. Many moments where he needed validation or support. Many moments, even in recent memory, where I had never picked up on on his fear and self doubt. An offhand comment here. Some self-deprecation there. Of course, stupid me always there to respond by telling him to quit joking around. I felt the months of torment he felt in my coldness after my confession. He wasn’t making fun of me or being an ass, he wasn’t even patronizing (well, he wasn‘t trying to at least)- he thought he was losing a friend. The guy was just a bit oblivious. God I was so dumb. Of course, he blames himself for my eventual actions. Poor guy. Zach didn’t deserve any of this- he never did. “Thank you” he cries in new clarity.

In mental tears I begin to undo my connection to him. It’s not something he had the capacity to do himself- I made that a reality when I used my physical form as tribute. I know the price which must be paid, for my greatest sin, born from misunderstanding. There wouldn’t be much left for me- the price for the spell was my physical body after all. It didn’t matter. I made that choice for myself when I recited the spell. But Zach... he had no choice at all. He still had a chance at a life. A life well-lived with knowledge and confidence gained from my memory. It was the least I could give him.

I begin to drift away as I balance the cosmic scales. I detach the last of myself from Zach, ready to give him back his body, ready to return him to his life. It’s merely a reverse of the process from before, yet it all feels lighter somehow. I take it as a sign of karmic justice. Of course, I am scared. Who knows what awaits me? Maybe I can find another body to inhabit. Maybe one in a coma. Maybe i’ll be reincarnated. Maybe nothing. Maybe I’ll just vanish on the spot...

Zach doesn’t give me the chance to find out. I feel his astral hand holding on to mine. His face is sympathetic. Kind. Warm. Like it used to be. Like it always was. His body leans up to pull me into a warm embrace. I start crying in spirit. “You, you don’t have to do this-” 

“I know” he says. He pulls me tighter. “Roommates for life, remember?” Now he’s crying. “There’s no way to go back- we both know that, but you still got a life to live-we both do.” He smiles as he guides me to himself. I reattach to him. We weave our souls as one. “C’mon man, I told you I grew up sharing a room.” I am a complete mess of emotions at this point. Unworthiness, Love, Relief. I feel his mess too. Neither of us knew where to go from here, but we both knew we’d face it together.

The experience was sobering, to say the least. We cried together that night. We cried at newfound realization. We cried at irreversibility of what I had done. Hell, we even cried at the extra rent that had to now be paid. I had no way of undoing what I did, and Zach wouldn’t let me go. In the end, we decide to just give it a go, a resolve to live as one person. “Zach 2.0,” as he jokingly put it. Dork.

———

“A happy accident,” is what Zach called the events of that night. He always was the optimist. Although, these days, I’m a bit of an optimist now too. I am Zach now too, after all. All things considered, we’ve done quite well together. Zach 2.0 was everything. We were smart, intuitive, confident, compassionate. We’ve made this body the healthiest it’s ever been. Hell, together we even graduated with honors, something neither of us could ever hope to do alone. Both our parents were real proud of that one- he told mine at my funeral that we had been together and we’ve been in close contact ever since. By no means were we the perfect man though. There was no perfect man. We’ve had our share of fights, struggles, times where one of us would take full control of this body we share, shut the other out.

Once in a blue moon, we both dream of what our lives could have ended up as, had I not done what I did or had he let me disappear that night. In retrospect, I really do think my life had a lot of things going for it. Hindsight is always 20/20, as he likes to say. I saw many an opening, so many areas for improvement that my younger self was blinded by in lust and perceived betrayal. There was so much life I could have lived, had I just not opened that stupid book. I don’t dwell on it too much though. We’re both quite happy sharing this body. I’m living in one body with my crush, whats not to like?

The first few months were quite jarring. Our friends and family would see us happy and outgoing at one moment and then flip to quiet and reserved on a flip of the switch. Gratefully, they been patient with us, assuming it was the byproduct of a grieving boyfriend. The more years I grow with him, the more alike we have become. Sharing one body and living one life tends to do that. I’ve probably rubbed off on him a little too. He’s just a bit more analytical now, a bit more perceptive, and I’ve learned to let loose every once in a while. Altogether, we make a great team. We’ve even managed a slew of relationships along the way. Hell, he’s even gone out with some guys-no doubt a byproduct of my soul being a part of him. Of course, in the ultimate cruel twist of fate, they never last- he tells me “none ever match me”. Well of course they can’t. I’ve lived every moment with him, felt his every thought, lifted him when he was up, consoled him when he was down. Ironically, in a roundabout way, the spell did end up causing love, causing for him to fall for me- at the cost of us never being able to be a couple in the physical sense. Guess you really can’t have it all.

In the few years we spent together my love for him has only deepened. I know he feels the same way. We are one person, after all. All things considered, it’s not a bad setup. If love on the physical plane happens, it happens, and if it doesn’t- then we still always have each other. Regardless, I’m sure we’ll find someone out there for the both of us, someday-there’s that optimism again. Of course, we don’t pine for it. Our main focus has always been each other. Growing together. We’ve got a whole life yet to live. And he’ll have me with him every step of the way. And we can’t wait to face it all, together.

-End-

Eh, it’s a bit underdeveloped but I’m not a novelist and I didn’t want to spread this out over parts. Going for something a little different with number 14- hope y’all like it!

[bakusquad-assemble]

hiya lol could you write a bakugou x reader and (they're dating already) and he's just being soft for her and cuddling in his dorm and he starts tickling her and she's screaming n stuff so the class rush in and are totally not expecting to see bakugou practically sat on reader and tickling her, lol no pressure obvs lol

Ahhhh thank you so so much for the request,lovely!! I really enjoyed writing this one so I hope you like it! Soft boy Bakugou has my whole heart! I’m very slowly making my way through my request inbox, but feel free to send me more prompts to get the creative juices flowin!

Bakugou Katsuki was never one to show affection so openly like his other classmates would with their significant others. He was a reserved person, and the idea of PDA had always embarrassed him. So when the two of you had started dating, you were very aware of how he reacted to being touched, and respected him enough to never poke or prod in public. What took you by surprise though, was how different he was in your private company. The once prickly and standoffish boy couldn’t keep his hands off of you. At first it was jarring, his warm arms around you feeling so foreign and new, but you couldn’t help but relish in it. Sometimes you even found yourself teasing the poor touch deprived boy to see how much he needed your body against his. It was cruel, sure, but also incredibly validating to have Bakugou huff and puff until you paid attention to him. Today was one of those days.

Bakugou made his way to your dorm room after class as he did everyday, his textbooks from class slung over his shoulder in his book bag, fully intent to study and spend some quality time with you. Just being in your presence always had a calming effect on the explosive boy, so he found himself drawn to you every chance he got. He knocked once on your door before letting himself in, tossing his bag to the floor and locking his crimson eyes onto your form. You were already sitting at your desk, head buried in your book and head nestled in the palm of your hand. You made no movement in his direction, instead keeping your eyes glued to the pages before you.

“Hey, Suki.” You smiled softly at his presence, earning a grunt in return. He threw himself onto your bed, looking over at you longingly but still said nothing as he pulled out his own papers and got to work. The two of you sat in silence for a bit, a smirk ever present on your face. You could feel the boy's frustration radiating off his body and knew that it would only be a matter of time before he got sick of the lack of contact. Bakugou cleared his throat and you lifted your head ever so slightly.

“You okay? You need some water or something?” You teased, finally turning to look at him over your shoulder. He was looking at you with furrowed brows, a light flush spread across his cheeks.

“why the fuck are you still sitting over there?” He asked, trying his best not to sound desperate, but a little seeped through. You could’ve melted on the spot from his tone.

“I’m doing my work.” You stated plainly, turning your back to him once more to hide your smile. You could hear him growl at your response.

“Yeah no shit dumbass, but why are you doing it over there? You don’t want to spend time with me or somethin?” He tried his best to look anywhere but you, feeling the embarrassment overtake him. You could hear the distress in his voice and you couldn’t help but let out the laugh you’ve been stifling. He was so needy and you loved it. You put down your pen on the desk and turned completely in your chair, finally facing your red faced boyfriend.

“the fuck you laughing at?” He looked confused, trying to flesh out the meaning of your behavior.

“Aw what’s the matter, Katsuki? Does someone need attention?” You teased again, your head cocked to the side toyingly. You saw his demeanor change immediately. The once confused expression was replaced with a devious grin as realization hit him like a ton of bricks. You were fucking with him.

“Oh, you little shit!” Bakugou jumped off of his place on the bed and rushed at you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you from the chair roughly. You couldn’t stop the loud scream that escaped your mouth, echoing throughout the room and cascading down the hallway of the dorms.

“Tryin to mess with me, huh?” He snickered into your ear, holding you against his body tightly as you tried to fight against his hold. Laughter bubbled out of your throat as Bakugou picked you up with ease, slinging you over his shoulder and making his way back to his previous spot in the room. Despite your kicking and playful fighting, Bakugou’s grip on you barely wavered. He slammed your body down onto the bed and climbed on top of you, a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

“Well now I’m gonna make you pay for that.” His voice was sinister, dangerous, and you had no doubt that he meant business. Panic washed over you, and your fighting against the blondes grip got more frantic.

“No no no!” You laughed nervously, the sound mimicking that of a person in immediate danger, a scream of terror, but you were smiling and so was your boyfriend.

“Too late, you made me mad and now you’ve got to pay for it.” He let his hands live on your hips for a second, relishing in the feeling of your presence, before digging his calloused fingers into the sides of your body. Bakugou’s tickles were vicious, but there was still a certain softness to his hands. He let them roam your body, feeling every curve and smooth expanse of skin. His laugh cascaded around you like snow flurries, beautiful but bitting. To everyone but you, the sound was devious, Filled with malicious intent, but you knew better. So you laughed too. You laughed so hard that you could barely breathe.

“S-stop! Stop please, it hurts!” You felt your lungs burning, your chest tightening uncomfortably as Bakugou’s tickles only got more intense. You let out another scream, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you tried to fight off the strong blonde boy on top of you. It was no use though, he easily overpowered you in your current state. You thought about using your quirk to get him off of you, but honestly you didn’t really want him to stop. You loved feeling his hands wander your body, feeling his hot breath against the crook of your neck. It was intoxicating.

“In your dreams, y/n! You’re fucking dead!” You screamed once again, this time much louder, cowering from the anticipation of his punishment, but it never came. Instead you heard your door swing open, hitting the wall with some force. Both of you jumped at the sudden noise, and the sudden appearance of some familiar faces standing on high alert in your doorway. Bakugou made no motion to move from on top of you, instead shooting a dangerous glare towards the four idiots that had just made their appearance, their voices ringing in his ears like gunfire.

“Y/n?? Are you okay?” Mina’s voice echoed throughout the room immediately

“We heard screaming! Is everyone alright?” Kirishima spoke up next, his voice laced with obvious concern. The four figures froze in the doorway as they took in the actuality of the scene, a blush fighting its way fervently up Bakugou’s neck. Kaminari and Sero attempted to stifle their laughter, but to no avail.

“Oh ho ho, shit!” Looks like we had the wrong idea!” Kaminari snickered, bumping Sero in the side with his elbow.

“Damn, you two sure do have a weird way of gettin it on!” Sero chuckled, causing Kaminari to laugh even harder.

“Come on man, don’t kink shame them!” Kaminari’s stupid voice had Bakugou seething with rage.

“DON'T YOU FUCKERS KNOW HOW TO KNOCK?” Bakugou’s voice bellowed throughout the room, causing you to wince just from sheer proximity. Your face was a light shade of pink from being found in a compromising position, but Bakugou’s was fire engine red. Kirishima shifted awkwardly in his spot, bumping Kaminari hard in an attempt to get him to stop laughing.

“We’re sorry, Bro! It just...sounded like Y/n needed help! that’s all! We were all chilling in Mina’s room down the hall and heard her screaming!” Kirishima pleaded apologetically, clearly shaken that he had overstepped in such a personal way for the angry blonde. The last thing he ever wanted to do was make his best friend angry or uncomfortable.

“JUST GET OUT BEFORE I KILL EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!” Bakugou yelled again, this time effectively stifling the laughter coming from Kaminari and Sero. Mina let out a soft giggle, ushering the terrified boys out of the room in one swift motion, feigning confidence to hide her own fear of being blown to bits.

“Alright guys, nothin’ to see here! I think we should give these two love birds their privacy.” You could feel Bakugou growl softly at her words, causing you to chuckle into your hand. Mina gave you a wink and a flirty little wave as she closed the door behind her, leaving you and Bakugou alone once more. Bakugou quickly took a pillow from your bed and chucked it at the door as it closed as hard as he could, making contact with a loud thud and earning a screech of terror from the other side of the door.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you before laughter cascaded from your lips. Bakugou looked back at you with wild eyes, clearly confused by the sudden noise of happiness.

“The fuck are you laughing about now?” You shook your head and wiped your eyes before looking back at him, a smile ever present on your face.

“It’s just...of course they had to barge in like that! They never cease to amaze me. ” You let your smile fade slightly as your hand reached out to caress his cheek. He hesitated for a second before allowing his form to melt into your touch.

“I’m sorry, Katsuki. Are you okay? I know you don’t like letting people see you like that. ” Your soft voice enveloped him, causing him to nod ever so slightly into your hand.

“M’fine. Those dumbasses just get under my fucking skin.” You let out a soft laugh, nodding with him.

“I mean, at least we know they’d come save me if I was ever being murdered.” Bakugou let an exhale of breath from his nose, the corners of his lips upturning ever so slightly.

“I’d get there first.” His confident tone was masked with warmth, a tone you recognized all too well. It was the same tone he talked in when he talked about your future together. It was filled with love. You rolled your eyes, but you still let the smile rest on your lips. You pulled Bakugou down next to you, keeping your eyes locked onto his crimson ones.

“ I know you would.” You whispered before bringing your lips to meet his in a loving kiss. It was short-lived contact, but still sent a shiver up Bakugou’s spine. He never expected to fall in love, never once imagined he’d let himself be so vulnerable in front of another human, but there was something about you that broke him down. Every single wall he had made that he believed to be impenetrable, you demolished with a single kind and understanding smile. And while Bakugou never imagined himself falling in love, he had unequivocally and irrevocably, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He pulled you in close to his chest, letting you rest your head there as he let himself savour the gentle sounds of your breath. He ran his hands through your hair gently as he felt you speak up once more, the words escaping your mouth causing a surge of pride to rush through the blonde boy's body.

“you’re my hero, after all.”

[twdeadfanfic]

Vows Pt.9

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Series Summary:

The last battle with Negan doesn’t go as it should, with Negan coming on top, and so reader, Daryl’s girlfriend, offers herself as a wife to Negan if he doesn’t kill Daryl or anyone else. Negan accepts, he won’t kill anyone but will take reader as a wife, and he’ll take Daryl and some of the others to the Sanctuary as prisoners, promising not to hurt anyone if reader is one of his wives and the communities work for him.

This has both flashbacks to reader and Daryl’s story since meeting to now, and the present with reader living at the Sanctuary as a wife, trying to keep Daryl and their people safe, and she and the other wives dealing with Negan, plotting… (This is not a Negan x reader fic!)

You had to wait several weeks until you could put in motion your plan to set your friends free from the Sanctuary. Not only had you to come up with something with as little risk of backfiring as possible, you also had to wait for the best, or rather only, moment in which it’d work.

At first, you’d wanted to do it yourself alone, not wanting to put any other wive at risk, and the less they knew about it, the safer they’d be, but Abby knew that you were up to something, and she hadn’t stopped until you’d agreed to let her help.

Since then, every other wive had ended up knowing about your idea too, noticing that you were planning something…now you thought that without their help, you probably hadn’t been able to put everything in motion.

Just a couple of weeks ago, Lila had come to your room at night, announcing that she knew what you were trying to do, that she’d heard you and Abby whispering about how to get a key to the cells, and that she knew how to get one, and was going to.

Apparently, Arat was on the rotation of saviors who watched over the cells. Lila’s idea was to slip off the wive’s room one night when Arat were on watch and go see her, tricking her to get the key without her noticing it.

You guessed that involved sleeping with Arat, and you didn’t want Lila to have to do that just to get you the key, put Lila kept assuring you that it was okay, that she didn’t mind it at all, and you didn’t have any other idea as to how to get the key, so you ended up agreeing.

You were now pacing nervously around the wive’s room, waiting for Lila. Tonight was the night in which she’d gone to try and play Arat. You were scared thinking Arat might discover what Lila was up to, or that Lila’d be caught up with Arat, or sneaking around the Sanctuary. Lila had told you that she’d be fine, that it was not the first neither the second time that she sneaked out of the wive’s room to go have fun with Arat, but you still couldn’t shake your worry. You didn’t want Lila, or anyone else, to get hurt while trying to help you.

Every other wive was now aware of what was going on too, but they didn’t seem as anxious as you. Apparently, they were used to Lila sneaking out to see Arat, and she’d always been fine, so they weren’t too worried about it…she’d never tried to steal a key to the cells from Arat, though, so you were scared thinking what Arat might do if she caught Lila, although she must know that all the other wives would team up against her and try to convince Negan that she was pestering Lila if she tried anything…but if she was caught losing the key to the cells, nothing good could come to her either, so you weren’t sure how Arat might react if she caught Lila…

“I still think we’re not taking full advantage of this…” Frankie commented, taking you out of your thoughts.

She’d been helping too, but she thought that you all could be doing more. Your idea was to free your friends, open the cells but bust the locks to make it look like someone had helped them from inside without a key, and have them running away from the Sanctuary, the other wives seemed to know a lot about the corridors and whatnot, and about the saviors taking watch, so they had helped you choose the best escape route.

Frankie, though, didn’t think it was the best plan. She thought that your people shouldn’t run away once free, but go to the armory and get weapons, you all would be joining them there, and then fight against the saviors too, probably other workers would join too.

You, on the other hand, thought that too dangerous, both to your friends, the wives, and the workers.

You didn’t know in which condition were your friends, but you knew it was not good, after weeks inside the cells with barely any food, you didn’t know if they’d be strong enough to fight so many saviors, not to mention in their territory…it’d be hard enough even if they were as strong as ever, not to mention that you all would have to get to the armory, which was guarded by saviors, while you barely had any weapons. And you knew that Daryl was still weak and recovering from the iron burn...you gave thanks every day that he hadn’t died of an infection.

Neither did you know how many of the unarmed workers really knew how to fight anyway, and could stand against the saviors, while most of the saviors were skilled, ruthless, and good armed. You knew that Frankie and Abby could work a gun and use the knife, but the other wives had no experience fighting, they had barely put down walkers, let alone kill human, alive people who was fighting back.

“I told you, I want to burn down this place too…” You assured Frankie. “But I don’t want us dying on the process…my people will help us from outside once they’re free.”

You had written a note to Rick to slip it into the cell with the key, explaining everything about how to get out, advising him to hide with the others but not go to any community controlled by Negan, though you didn’t think they’d be that stupid, and explaining that, if they’d try to overthrow the saviors from outside again, you had people who’d help from the inside…you didn’t know how you all could coordinate that attack, you had no way to communicate with them.

“Yes, because your plan from outside worked so good the last time…” Frankie sighed.

“Hey…we almost won…Eugine plan tampering with the bullets worked…they were just way more and with more weapons that we knew, and they tricked us using Dwight.” You shrugged defensively.

“Yeah, Eugine’s plan to send away the walkers that your people left surrounding the Sanctuary worked too…fucking Eugine,” Frankie cursed, and you had to agree, you had hated Eugine for that too, when you still thought he’d betrayed you all. “Didn’t want to help us poison Negan either.”

“I still think we can work that idea without Eugine, we should think about it…” Abby said, and you weren’t very sure of what they were talking about, but it sounded like something you wanted to be part of. “Also, who was the idiot who decided to crash a truck here to let walkers inside when we were surrounded? My sister was cleaning the savior’s rooms and the walkers almost got her if me and Laura hadn’t got to her first!”

You let out a sigh, rubbing your forehead. “I, uh…I’m afraid that was my idiot…he wasn’t thinking straight…”

“Daryl?” Abby scoffed. “Woman, once every fucking savior is dead and we’ve gutted Negan, I’m punching your boyfriend for that.”

“Fair enough,” you snorted…your friends safe, the saviors and Negan dead…could that be a reality?

The door opened and you all looked to see if it was Lila, though you knew it was way too early. It wasn’t her but Tanya, who came from the infirmary, setting in motion another part of the plan.

“Not pregnant,” she announced, her excuse for having gone to the infirmary was wanting to take a pregnancy test.

“No shit,” Abby snorted.

“I mean, I was already there so why not check for real, last thing I need is baby Negan,” Tanya shrugged before looking at you. “But I talked to your friend Siddiq, didn’t give him details, but told him that this night he must let himself be seen all the time, so people can vouch for him, and also next Wednesday night.” That was the date when Aran was on watch again, the one you all had picked for your friends to escape. “He wanted to ask things but I didn’t let him.”

“Good, good, thanks.” You nodded. The less Siddiq knew, the safer he’d be. You also wanted him to escape, but he wasn’t in a cell, being the doctor of the place, and you hadn’t been able to come up with any idea that wasn’t too risky.

“Now…let’s wait for Lila.”

*

It was late at night when Lila finally slipped back into the wives’ room. She was carrying with her a box of chocolates, and you guessed that’d be her excuse if someone asked her what she’d been doing outside.

“Are you okay? Did Arat notice something?” You asked anxiously.

“I’m fine, I told you I could do it, Arat doesn’t know anything, didn’t notice me getting the key, she was busy,” Lila chuckled, placing the box of chocolates on the table and taking one before flopping on the sofa.

“Okay, okay, good…” You nodded, but you still couldn’t help how nervous you were. “You think she’ll say that she’s lost her key?”

“And face Negan’s rage at it? Would you?” Lila snorted. “Nah, I’m sure she’d just try to find it and hide that she doesn’t have it for as long as she can…she’s not the first one to lose a key, Sherry stole one from Dwight, I’m sure, and there was this other savior too…the idiot admitted having lost it and he ended up in one of the cells himself. Nah, Aran’t won’t talk.”

“Alright…okay…okay, good….” Everything seemed to be working, but that wouldn’t make you worry less about this whole thing. “You got the key, then?”

“Got something better.” Lila smiled and you eyed her with worry.

“What did you do?”

“Well…I was going to be near the cells already, so I took that note you had written for your friend Rick, once there I told Arat to go make sure there was nobody around that could catch us, and while she was at it, I slipped both the note and the key under Rick’s cell door…at least I think it was Rick’s…”

“What?! That was dangerous! What if Arat caught you?! Or somebody else!” You had wanted to be the one delivering the key and the note with the instructions, you didn’t want anyone but you having to take that risk.

“She didn’t catch me, nobody saw me, it’s fine.” Lila shrugged, and you had to admit that maybe she was actually quite good at sneaking around, you hadn’t noticed her taking the note with instructions from where you had hidden it. “I know people look at me and think I can’t fight or do anything like this, but I can, see? Maybe I’d have been even a better savior than wife.” Lila smiled, but you still felt guilty.

“Lila, nobody thinks you can’t do it, but you didn’t have to, you didn’t have to put yourself at risk, you don’t have anything to prove,” you insisted.

“It’s fine! It’s not that different from sneaking out of my parent's house through the window of my room to see whoever I was dating that moment, I used to do that all the time when I was a teen.” Lila shrugged, chuckling, and she nudged you when you still looked worried. “Relax! Come on, you have to look like nothing is going on, there’s still a few days to wait until your friends try to go out, Negan can’t notice, yeah?”

“She’s right, we have to act like everything is fine and nothing is going on, alright…” Frankie nodded.

“Yeah…is not like we’re not used to acting here,” Abby snorted. “Good job, Lila, and you even brought us chocolate.” Abby sat down next to Lila, wrapping an arm around her before reaching to pick one of the chocolates.

“Hey, Lila,” you insisted. “You know what could happen to Arat if Negan finds that she lost the key, right? Or when my people break free on her shift…you okay with it?”

Lila shrugged, but her smile was gone. “Yeah…I mean…I have fun with her, and she’s hot, but I do know that she murdered a bunch of kids in Oceanside, and other things I don’t know about…so…yeah…she’s no innocent…”

“Yeah…”

“Come on, everyone...we have to act like everything is fine…”

*

The days leading to the evening when your friends were supposed to escape felt eternal, and every hour you spent with Negan, you were afraid you were acting suspicious, but finally, the day came.

Every other wive knew what to do, stay at the room, let herself be seen there, and you hoped that Siddiq was doing that too, getting himself be seeing by saviors and workers.

The other wives had decided that you should be entertaining Negan that evening, since you’d be the main suspect of your friends breaking out, and so you’d lured him into the bedroom as soon as you could, trying to channel your best black widow seductress performance despite your nerves, and intending on keeping him there for as long as possible.

You’d timed the plan as best as possible, but there were variables that you couldn’t predict…how long would it take Rick and the others to be able to leave, would they run into trouble, would they be caught and have to fight their way out…if so, Negan would be the first to know, and so when there was an urgent knocking on the door, your heart leaped to your throat.

The door opened before Negan could say anything, and Abby peeked inside.

“What the fuck, doll, couldn’t wait to join or-” Negan began but stopped when he saw Abby’s urgent expression. “What?!”

“Something happened, Rian is looking for you, it seems urgent, you need to come right now!” Abby seemed genuinely worried, and it was scaring you, but you knew it might be just an act, you didn’t know what to think…

Negan cursed and began dressing up quickly, and while he had his back to Abby, she winked at you, helping you ease your worries a bit. Negan stormed off his room, rushing down the corridor and out the wives’ room, leaving you all there.

“So?” You asked anxiously once you were sure Negan had walked away.

“They did it…I mean, at least they escaped the cells, I know that but couldn’t get anything else, I don’t know if they’re out the Sanctuary or not…”

“Okay….okay…” You tried to breathe, sitting down on one of the sofas, and Noemi sat down next to you, reaching out to hold your hand.

“All we can do now is wait…and we have to keep pretending that we don’t know what’s going on, just in case…”

*

You didn’t know how long you spent there, waiting, probably less than it felt, but it felt eternal nonetheless, until finally the door opened and a savior that you’d seen around often walked in.

“Y/N? Negan wants to see you.”

“In the bedroom?” You asked, trying to sound nonchalant, and the savior scoffed.

“No. Follow me.”

You did so, the other wives giving you encouraging looks before you closed the door behind you.

The savior led you through the Sanctuary, stopping in front of a room, and nodded at you to walk in. As you’d been walking, you’d tried to remind yourself that you’d trained how you should act, whatever was the news, that you could do it, you’d been acting and performing for months, after all…

You tried not to forget it all as you walked into what seemed Negan’s office or place of meeting. There was a table in the middle of the room, chairs around it, and Negan was sat down at the head of the table with his bat lying against the side of the chair.

“What’s going on?” You asked when he didn’t say anything, and Negan kept looking at you in silence before he spoke.

“Your friends are gone.”

“Gone?” You glanced at his bat and swallowed hard, both pretending to be anxious and nervous for real. “What do you mean…gone?”

“I mean, gone!” Negan snapped. “Gone as in they left without saying fucking goodbye!”

You blinked at Negan before scoffing. “You’re trying to make fun of me…quit it, it’s not funny, Negan.”

“Do I look like I’m laughing, doll?” Negan asked, his voice sounding dangerous.

You frowned at him before sitting on a chair, facing him. “So…you’re telling me that my friends left their locked cells, walked around a place full of your saviors, and left said place, while more of your saviors kept watch on the lookouts.” You said and Negan just looked at you in silence, seeming to study you, so you tried to hide your nervousness. “Is this…is this some kind of trick?”

“You tell me, doll, is this some kind of trick?” Negan kept eyeing you in that dangerous way. “Won’t you happen to know how your friends managed to do everything you just said, get out the cells, knock out Arat who was on watch, kill my lookouts, ran away? I was thinking, dear wife, that maybe you have a say on this?”

You scoffed at that.  “Yes, I sent my double to fuck you while I went to get a key to the cells, set my friends free, help them escape, but I decided to stay here instead of leaving with them,  because my new husband is too charming for me to want to leave this place and go back to my friends and family, how could abandon you if I’m given the chance, the man who burned my ex-boyfriend with an iron and threatened to throw me to one of the cells if he misbehaved.”

You weren’t too sure of how Negan was going to react to your words, if it might work as you expected it or backfire, but to your relief, he snorted.

“Charming as always, darling, even when you should bite that pretty tongue…” Negan told you, but he didn’t sound that threatening anymore, you could read him better now than when you first married him. “Don’t you think this might not be the best moment for you to say what you truly think of me…and here I was, thinking that you were fond of me now,” he joked.

“Well…” You shrugged. “This life is not that bad as I thought, I can give you that…would you rather I lied?”

“No, darling, I want you to say the fucking truth…” Negan was back at studying you. “You know nothing of this then?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Truth is it? I have no idea, otherwise, if I had known that they were going to escape, I’d have tried to go with them in a second…and you know it.”

“Yeah…won’t you want to be far from your rabid bitch Daryl, uh?” Negan asked darkly, and you just shrugged. “Who did this, then?”

“How do you want me to know?” You shrugged, rolling your eyes, trying to look exasperated. “Who has the keys?”

“They didn’t use the keys, the locks were busted from outside,” Negan explained. “Who do you think would want to get your friends free? Besides you.”

“No one?” You scoffed. “Workers have no reason to risk it, your saviors hate us, so…well, there’s…no, nothing…”

“What is it, doll.” Negan squinted at you. “I told you I want the truth…for your own good, darling.”

You looked at him and then let out a sigh, falling against the back of your seat, pretending to give up. “Siddiq…you didn’t have him in a cell…maybe…I don’t know if there’s a way for him to reach the cells without being seen…” You really,  really hoped that Siddiq had followed your instructions and let himself be seen by saviors the whole time, so you weren’t throwing him under the bus.

“Good thinking.” Negan nodded. “Same than me, I’ve been having a lovely conversation with our dear doctor right before they brought you in…It wasn’t Siddiq, he was at the infirmary with a couple of my guys, inventorying whatever the fuck they have there,” Negan explained, to your relief. “Didn’t seem to know what had happened either, and I was very thorough in my questioning.”

You hoped that it didn’t mean he’d hurt Siddiq, but you didn’t ask anything of that, instead blinking at Negan. “So…so you mean Siddiq is still here too, then? He didn’t leave with the others?” You frowned before scoffing quietly. “So they left him behind too…” You muttered.

“What was that?” Negan asked, and you shook your head. “Oh…oh, you think your friends left you behind…” Negan chuckled and when you glanced at him, he was looking at you with a smirk, but you just shrugged.

“I think…I think that somehow they found themselves free, and they managed to leave this place, without bothering on checking if they could take me, the person who agreed to marry you and shag you to keep them safe and alive, with them when they escaped, because yes, why would they do that,” you blurted out, pretending that you hadn’t rehearsed it, and Negan chuckled at it.

“Oh, darling…” Negan’s dark smirk grew. “I’d say you’re sounding kind of bitter…I thought you’d be jumping in joy…and I thought your dog would never leave this place without you…”

“Yeah, you and me both…” You muttered bitterly…you were relieved Daryl had left, though, you were afraid he wouldn’t leave without you, and you had told Rick on your note to do anything that he needed in order to take Daryl with him.

“Well, well…maybe I’m starting to seem more charming to you now?” Negan teased you and you glared at him. “Here you are, admitting that you’d leave me at the first chance…while I wouldn't have left you behind like your friends did, you know…”

“Yeah, I’m sure if there’s a fire at the Sanctuary, you’d carry all your brides to safety before saving your own skin,” you scoffed and Negan just chuckled.

“I would.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed again. “If you didn’t want me to admit that I’d leave this place at the first chance, you shouldn’t have made me say the truth.” You shrugged. “So if you’re going to punish me for it, just go ahead already.”

“I’m not going to do anything to you, doll, I’ll let it pass…It’s not like I didn’t know it already.” Negan chuckled darkly. “And I’m not going to punish you for being honest and saying the truth when I ask you to.”

You didn’t say anything to that, just shook your head bitterly.

“Jumping in joy…” You repeated Negan’s words. “You think I’d be jumping in you if they escaped? They were idiots…” You sniffed, swallowing hard, trying somehow to summon tears to your eyes. “I took this deal to keep them safe! I’ve kept them safe, didn’t I?!” You ranted. “But no, they didn’t seem to trust me to keep them safe, they had to run away…and now, now when you find them, you’re going to kill them, no matter our deal, right?”

Negan nodded. “You know I have to do it, doll, can’t have people thinking that they can try to run away without consequences.”

You sighed, letting yourself fall against the back of the seat again, before looking at Negan. “All of them? Can you just…spare all but one or something, kept the others locked again or…I don’t know…” You said, trying to sound desperate.

“What, you wanna be the one picking who I kill?” Negan chuckled darkly and you glared at him with tears in your eyes. “Haven’t decided, doll…Rick and Daryl…you know I’ll kill them, darling, you know I have to,” Negan said and you nodded, closing your eyes tight as you swallowed hard. “Rosita and Eugine…those two are useful…might kill them anyway, but…” Negan shrugged. “Dwight, second time that rat crosses me…”

“Wait…Dwight?” You interrupted Negan. “You’re telling me…you’re telling me that they took Dwight with them, but couldn’t spare a second to try and get to Siddiq or me?” Negan didn’t say anything, but his smirk grew and you glared at him. “Don’t you dare to smile at that or…”

“Or what, darling?” He asked, but he sounded more teasing than threatening.

“Or nothing…” You let out a defeated sigh. “Got nothing I can do…but…” You chuckled darkly before looking at Negan. “You got nothing on me anymore, either. The people I was protecting with our deal are gone…you got nothing on me…you said I wasn’t here against my will…”

“What is this, doll, you saying you're dumping me?” Negan squinted at you.

“Well…maybe you know any other place where I can get a bed as comfortable and a supply of chocolate? If you don’t, then I guess I’ll have to stay married to you.” You blinked at Negan and he smirked.

“I’m afraid I don’t, darling…and I’m sure your bedroom is way more comfortable than the cell where I’ll have to keep your pretty ass if you don’t want to be married to me anymore.”

“Then I guess I’m still your wife…worse things in the world, I guess, than a comfortable bed and a supply of sweets…” You joked.“So…yeah, yeah, I’m still married to you even if there’s no deal anymore, even if I’m not protecting my family anymore.” You knew you served your people better as a wife on the inside, than locked and unable to do anything.

“Your family…” Negan chuckled. “The way I see it, doll, your family just abandoned you without looking back.”

“Don’t say that,” you pretended to snap, glaring at him.

“What, you said it yourself, love,” Negan smirked at you. “They didn’t even try to help you out, not even your dog, after all you did for them…they got their chance, they seized it, I don’t judge.” Negan shrugged. “But…I told you, I wouldn't have left you behind like that…so, darling, maybe you want to start reconsidering where your loyalty lies from now on…”

*

If you enjoyed this, comments and reblogs are always more than welcome, thanks.

Also, as always, excuse my English, it’s not my first language.

New taglist for Daryl,I trimmed it, if you want to be tagged let me know and also, please, if you are not interested in being tagged anymore let me know too

@coffeebooksandfandom​​​  @gruffle1​​  @yenne-yen-illustrations​​  @sourwolf-sterek32​​  @lonewolf471​​​  @daryldixonandfrogs​​​    @collecting-stories​​​ @princessxpunk​​​    @smiithys​​​    @captainbuckyboobear​​​   @dazzledamazon​​​   @spidergirla5​​​ @lilythemadqueen​​​ @lightning-butterfly​​​ @purplebtsmagic​​​  @courtnytrash04​​​       @seizethesam​​​    @fuseburner​​​ @phoenixblack89​​​  @boywivlove​​​  @amaroho​​​ @woundmetender​​​  @classyunknownlover​​​ @tenderlyunlikelyexpert​​​ @kaitieskidmore1​​​ @sttrawberries​​​ @huffledor-able541​​​ @browneyes528​​​ @soraitmnt​​​  @thereshallbenoother​​​ @leej2468​​​  @heartlessmarvello​​​  @redneckstrash​​​ @bitchynicole​​​   @supernatural79impala​​​     @thiccblondeliv​​​ @maggie-l-m​​​ @baseballbitch116​​​ @sweatywildpanda​​​ @theteaset​​​  @amaroho​​​ @my-current-fandom-is​​​   @whitexwingedxdoves​​​ @nickangel13​​​ @oceans-daughter-3​​​  @tuttifuckinfruttifriday​

[americxn]

Run - part 2

warnings: violence  word count: 2300 a/n: as requested. btw you’re all so sweet, can you hear me crying??

Kai’s grip around the back of your neck was unforgiving as he hauled you out of the car, the grit of his driveway biting into your knees as you lost your footing and fell. Hissing in discomfort, you let him pull you up, both of you wordless as you let yourself be dragged up the front steps of Kai’s house.  The door was kicked open by Kai and you were shoved over the threshold, somehow managing to stay upright. You could make out quiet voices in the living room to your right, voices that fell silent as Kai slammed you to the hard wooden floor, landing a harsh kick to your ribs that left you gasping on the ground. And then you were being dragged again, Kai’s grip unrelenting as it tangled in your hair once more and you were pulled into the living room. When he let go, helping you to the floor with a shove, you were able to lift your head, meeting the cold stares of the cult members as they leered down at you, all of their faces painted with distaste. Your hands began to shake, knowing full well that the jealously and anger of the other members might well be allowed to turn physical at Kai’s order. Kai seemed to realise this too and he smirked, stepping forwards so that his scuffed shoes were mere inches away from your face. You didn’t dare move, your laboured breathing filling the silence of the room.  “Let me have a turn, Divine Ruler.” One of the men to Kai’s right spoke gruffly. It was silent for a moment before the sound of skin on skin impact thudded through the room. You grimaced, looking up slowly to see the member on the floor, cradling the side of his face and Kai sneering down at him, shaking out him knuckles. “None of you get to touch her.” He hissed. “I just want you to get a good look at her and keep it in mind to compare how she looks in a few days time. To remind you,” your shoulders shook violently as he raised his voice, “what happens when you scheme against me.” Footsteps sounded down the hall at the commotion, Beverly appearing moments later in the doorway. Her eyes landed on your cowering figure on the floor, filling with desolation before quickly becoming vacant. Her face went slack, her expression becoming as uncaring as the men crowded around you.  You knew she had to be careful to mask her emotions, otherwise she risked revealing that she had been the one to warn you of Kai’s pursuit of you. But the possibility that she hated you as much as everyone else in the room still stung as it cut deep.  You watched in silence as Beverly’s eyes drifted across the space, slightly to the left as you followed her gaze, every thought eddying from your pain-clouded mind as your stare settled on one of the cult members. Liam. Satisfaction filled your head as you regarded him coldly, glad to find that he looked just as terrified as you felt. A little smile formed on your lips. And then your body snapped into motion, moving before you had a chance to process your thoughts. You were on your feet in less than a second and upon the boy in two, the crowd parting with a cacophony as gasps as you lunged at the boy, knocking him to the floor and clawing his face, leaving deep marks in his skin with your nails. Blood spilled instantly, dripping down his pale face in stark contrast. The others scattered and started shouting but none of the moved, too scared to interfere as you yelled in Liam’s face, managing to land a few hard punches on his face. “You lying prick,” you screamed at him as his arms rose in a weak attempt to protect himself. You felt a strong pair of arms loop around your waist and you were pulled off Liam. To your utmost gratification, his face was bloody.  You bucked in Kai’s grip as he pulled you away from the trembling boy who was being helped to his feet by two other members.  “Let go of me.” You snarled at Kai, fighting to turn around in his arms, wanting to hurt him too. To hurt everyone in this room. “He lied!” You declared, trying to dig your feet into the smooth wood floor as you were hauled out of the room, Kai struggling to lift you up and flip you over his shoulder as you screamed insults at him, clawing at his back as he walked the both of you up the stairs.  Your fists bashed against his back in desperation, but to no avail. Kai kicked the door to his bedroom open before throwing you down on the bed, leaping upon you immediately. You were once again pinned beneath his considerable weight and he snarled at you to “stop fucking moving” as you writhed on the bed beneath him, your brain screaming at you to throw him off and go after Liam again, the boy who had lied at your expense and had gotten away with it. To spill more of his blood. “Y/N, STOP.” You stilled your movements, pulling feebly at your arms as they were pinned above your head.  “He lied, Kai.” You insisted, voice trembling in rage and fear. His face was cold above yours but you caught the glimpse of uncertainty that flashed in his eyes. “Why the fuck would I want to kill you? Why would I want to lead the cult? I can’t do that. I don’t want to do that and I know that you realise too, please, Kai,” you rambled on, “Liam came to me last week asking me to help him get out of the cult and I didn’t want him dead so tried to help him excuse himself from the meetings, Kai, you know I would never hurt you, I-”  “Stop,” he cut you off grimly as your eyes filled and overflowed with hot tears that stung as they worked their way down your face.  “You have to believe me. Please.” The last word was carried on a sob. “I said stop.” He repeated, firmly. You fell silent, chest heaving with the force of your weeping that you didn’t try to conceal.  “You’re telling me that he lied?” He spoke with a calmness that rallied the anger within you. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.” You snapped at him, shrinking back into the bed at the warning that flashed in his gaze as he considered your words.  “I’ve been with you for years, Kai. Years. He’s been here for a matter of weeks.”  You tried to reason with him, your sobs quieting as you watched his gaze soften more and more with each word. “And he never would of accepted your offer if you hadn’t have promised him a place to stay. You know this, please, Kai.” Kai studied your tear and blood streaked face carefully and your chest swelled hopefully as his hand drifted to your cheek, caressing the side of your face softly.  But then his grip tightened on your face, his hand clenching onto your jaw painfully and you winced as he jerked you head back, exposing your bare throat to him. “If you’re innocent, then why did you run?” And with that he dragged you up, moving off you so that he could tug you by your face off the bed.  “No!” You screeched. “No, KAI, PLEASE.”  He lugged you across the room, to his closet, pulling open the door to the small space and slapping you hard enough to see stars before shoving you in. You let out an ungodly squeal as he slammed the closet door shut, the sound of the lock clicking into place a condemnation that summoned the most primal part of you.  You kicked at the door, slamming your fists against it repeatedly and pleading to Kai as he walked away, the sound of his bedroom door closing sending you into a panicked frenzy.  Your fingertips bleated in pain as you tore at the door, fists throbbing as they were pummeled against the hard surface repeatedly. But it was pointless, Kai was long gone. You sat back, heaving down air as you tried to calm yourself. “Please don’t leave me in here.” You whimpered into the unappeasable darkness. What if he just didn’t come back? What if he had decided that he didn’t need you around anymore and just left you to rot. The dark enclosed space was illuminated by the borders of light around the doorway and you lifted your shaking hands into the dim light, frowning as you saw that your knuckles were bloody and swollen. Helplessness like you had never known it settled over you and your body shook violently as the events of the past two hours finally caught up to you. The sound of your cries were smothered by the darkness of the closet as you curled your knees to your body and sobbed luxuriously into your hands. ____________________________✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*_________________________________

Kai returned later that day, the light stinging your eyes as he opened the door and stared down at you blankly. You reluctantly met his gaze, your eyes puffy and face blotchy, unsure of how long you had been locked in the dark. Your gaze flicked down to his hand, seeing that he was holding a sandwich, which he presented to you, holding it out and watching you carefully as you extended an aching arm to take the plate from him. “No.” He said quietly, moving the plate out of your reach before taking the sandwich and chucking it onto your lap. You scowled as the contents spilled out of the bread, smearing onto your pants.  “I don’t trust you with the plate.” He explained quietly, tearing his gaze from you as he closed the door again in your face. “You’ll probably break into pieces and use it to cut your own throat or some shit.” He muttered, his voice muffled through the door. You took a steadying breath as the darkness closed in around you once more.  “Wai-wait.” You called after him as you heard his footsteps heading towards his bedroom door. Your voice was raw but he heard you, his foot falls halting. “Can I please have a glass a water?”  Kai was silent as he considered your question. But then he walked the last few steps to his door.  “Maybe tomorrow.” His words were cold, the sound of his bedroom door closing condemned you to silence once more. ____________________________✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*_________________________________ Kai left you in his tiny closet space for days, only letting you see light when he came to bring you scraps of food, barely enough to keep your stomach’s incessant rumbling at bay. Your tailbone burned throughout it all, forcing you to shift your position every ten minutes, making sleep almost impossible. Any sense of time had long since evaded you and you were forced to sit in your own blood, piss and tears for god knows how long before Kai finally unlocked the door, holding a hand out to you silently and helping you to your feet. You looked at him, eyes dull as you held you upright, scanning your body and grimacing at the smell of you. You swallowed, apprehension building in your gut as you anticipated his next move.  His gaze softened. “It’s over now.” He assured you softly, bringing your head to his chest and embracing you tightly. You didn’t return his hug, fresh tears squeezing their way out of your eyes, wetting the front of his shirt as he held your head to him. Pulling back, he eyed you in concern as you stood motionless before him. You met his gaze. Was that...guilt? Frowning, you struggled to discern the emotions displayed on his face before you scooped you into his arms, pressing a careful kiss to your temple. You didn’t have the energy to protest as he carried you into the bathroom, setting you down on the counter beside the sink and tugging off your pants and shirt.  Exhaustion clouded your consciousness and you let Kai take control, allowing him to lift you down from the counter and leading you to his shower. He helped you wash, scrubbing the piss from between your legs and the blood from your hair. Kai apologised to you before peeling off your underwear and you cringed as you became completely exposed to him, but he consoled you softly as your face flushed and you began to protest weakly. Eventually you gave yourself over to him, the need for sleep weighing down on your body.  After he had washed every inch of you, you let him lead you out of the shower and wrap you in a warm towel, taking your hand to bring you to his bed. You fell asleep as Kai took up a hairbrush in his hand and struggled to work it through your knotted hair, letting you fall forwards onto the bed and making sure you were completely dry before folding the covers over you and leaving the room, allowing you to sleep deeply.  You were woken up several hours later by Kai who helped to sit you up and presented you with a large glass of water, not leaving your side until you had drained the entirety of the glass. “I’m fine.” You said to him sharply as he mother-henned over you, hurrying to his dresser and finding a warm shirt for you wear as you sat yourself up, using his duvet to cover your exposed chest. But Kai really didn’t seem interested in your body as he passed you the shirt and let you pull it on yourself.  You ignored him completely, scowling at the floor as you got dressed. “I meant what I said to you in the car.” He said quietly after several beats of silence as you pushed yourself to your unsteady feet. He took a glance at you as you had to take a moment to steady yourself on your feet. You knew what he meant, the accidental declaration that he had made. “Why the fuck would I kill someone I love?” The memory of this brought a glower to your face and you brushed past him as you exited the room. Without so much as turning to address him directly you bit out, “yeh? It’s going to take a hell of a lot to prove it to me, Kai.” He turned to follow you, a reply forming on his lips. But it was your turn to close the door in his face, your turn to cut off his words as you took the stairs the kitchen, a single clear thought occupying your head: Liam. 

[anime-corner]

Unmiss You I Iwaizumi H.

A/N: So, I basically don’t know how it turned out like this... Not proud of this one though, kind of am? It’s honestly confusing. But hey, hope you like it!

Two A.M. At least that was the time that was shown on his phone. He couldn't remember how long since then. Or how it happened. He just knew that he fucked up.

The device rang in his hand, answering quickly, not bothering to check the caller I.D., hoping that it was you, "yeah?"

"Aww, Iwa-chan! That was quick! Did you miss me that much?" He scoffed, throwing the phone on his bed, the call on speaker as he laid back down, his arm draped over his eyes.

"What do you want, Oikawa?" He asked without the usual insult to the setter's name.

"Are you… still thinking about her?" The caller said, careful in his words, "Besides, it's what? Almost three? You're usually not up this early."

"Why do you care?" He huffed as he thought about it. He never did stay up late or woke up early unless it was to give Oikawa the support he needed. But this time it was different, he knew that, and that was because he was waiting for you.

"Geez, of course, I care! You're my best friend! And it's obvious that you're miserable without her." Oikawa could hear shuffling on the other end.

"What do I do then? She won't answer my calls o-or reply back to my messages." Iwaizumi held out a pillow, throwing it across the room in frustration, "Hell, I can't even get a glimpse of her without those crows stopping me!!"

"Maybe… She wants to move on?" It was silent for a few moments as he debated in his mind. Was she really?

"... I hope not. Because wouldn't it be unfair if… she gets to forget everything when all I want is to get her back?" He gripped onto his dark hair, tears threatening to spill, his firm look shattering to pieces, "She's all that I think about after that game. She's in my dreams, within my vision… I could even hear her at times but…"

"But what?" A heavy sigh left Iwaizumi's lips as he succumbed to his thoughts.

"You're right… Maybe, she doesn't want me back. I can't just rewind time to make it right. I can't go back to before I fell for her, to stop myself from meeting her and undo everything because I know that I'll just end up liking her. Loving her." It wasn't like him to act like this.

He was stubborn. He wouldn't stop at anything like a breakup. Instead, he'd do anything to get you back. But, with how he was right now, he doubts that he'd be able to. That's just what was running inside his head. Full of doubt and regret.

"It would have been easier that way…" Oikawa comments, giving out a sigh as well.

"Yeah, no shit. But like you said, maybe she wants to move on. And I just have to live with the fact that you can't easily unmiss a person you so badly miss." Iwaizumi let out a growl of annoyance, hearing noises from the other side of the screen,  "Oi Kusokawa, are you still listening!?!"

"Get up. Out of bed. I'll pick you up in thirty minutes." He had to blink a couple of times, trying to register the words of his friend.

"What do you mean you'll pick me up!? Oi, don't come over or I'll kick your ass!"

"Just do it, will you Hajime?" Iwaizumi mumbles incoherent words to himself, debating whether or not he should. In the end, he gives in.

"Whatever."

Forcing himself out of his bed, he dressed with what he thought was okay looking. A long sleeve grey shirt and ripped jeans, not bothering to look good for something Oikawa had planned for him. It was useless, he thought. A distraction was useless. A knock came as he opened it, the setter eyed his friend from top to bottom.

"You look like shit." Oikawa said as he went in, hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, thanks sherlock." He rolled his eyes, closing the door.

"What's with the outfit? Come on, I'll get you something else." The setter darted towards his room, opening the closet for something the dark-haired male to wear.

"Why are you here, Oikawa? I'm assuming you aren't here just to take my mind off of her." Iwaizumi questioned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Actually, I asked (y/n) if she could just hear you out. She'll be meeting us at the park." Oikawa admitted, already preparing for the worse.

"YOU DID WHAT!? YOU IDIOT! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT!?" Hands wrapped around the collar of Oikawa's shirt, face dangerously close and seething with rage.

"Because you're both hurting! See for yourself!" He got out his phone, scrolling through the messages he and two of Karasuno's members had been exchanging, "Both Tobio-chan and that Small Fry has been sending me pictures of her during their practice and she's trying her best to cope, struggling just the same as you."

"Shut up Assikawa!! (y/n)... She doesn't want me back. If she did, we would have fixed our relationship by now." "I lost her because I messed up. And--" Oikawa threw a pair of jeans with an oversized dark blue denim jacket and a grey hoodie.

"Here. Wear this." It was also the same one he wore when they watched the game between Karasuno and Shiratorizawa, "That's what you wore on your first date, right?"

"I… yeah."

"Good. I'm sure she'd like it if you wore that instead. I'll give you ten minutes to freshen up." He left Iwaizumi to get ready, closing the door behind him, "Or at least, as much as you possibly can. Geez, I can't believe you're an emotional wreck!"

Was it okay? Was it okay to see you? Did you hate him? Or did you still care? Was there still a chance for the two of you to get back together? More questions than answers and honestly, he only wanted to know if you'd take him back again.

"Hey, are you really sure she'll be there?" He got out of his room, wearing the clothes Oikawa handed him.

"I'm sure but…" Looking at him up and down again, a smile on his lips. His usual cheerful and outwardly carefree expression was on his face, "Look at my Iwa-chan, all grown up and ready to get his girl back!"

"Shut up! This was your idea!"

"Huh? Does that mean you don't really plan on fixing all of this? Are you giving up?" Iwaizumi choked on nothing, that wasn't his intention. He wasn't giving up. He just didn't know how to.

"That's not…" He was struggling to get his words out.

"Just kidding, Iwa-chan~!" Oikawa received a hit behind the head, one of the usual violent punishments he would get from his best friend, "Gah! What'd you hit me for?!"

"Shut up!"

"Is your vocabulary only limited to that?"

"Shut up!"

The walk towards the meeting place was quiet. He was uneasy. What were you even expecting from him? A sorry? To beg for forgiveness? A hug perhaps? Because he'd be ready to give you anything and everything. Shit, he should have brought that scarf you made for him.

"Huh? She isn't here yet?" Oikawa looked around but you were nowhere to be found.

"I knew it. She hates me." The dark haired male crashed down on a nearby bench.

"Now, don't go all psychic on me Iwaizumi. I was only late." Standing up quickly as if he didn't drown in his sorrows sitting on that wooden seat.

"(y/n)!" The setter greeted, tackling you into a hug.

"Sorry Tooru, did I make you wait?" You asked, pulling away from his hold.

"Nope! We just got here. I had to make sure Iwa got all dressed up instead of coming here only in sweatpants. Or those nasty jeans I saw him wear when I got there." He shuddered when he felt Iwaizumi's glare hitting his back as he raised both of his hands, making his way to the sides, "Well, I'll be way over there before Iwa-chan hits me again!"

"So…" The both of you start, the male clearing his throat when you didn't open your mouth to speak.

"Uh, you go first." He gestured towards you as you shook your head.

"Tooru asked me to listen. Now, talk. I still have to help Kiyoko and Hitoka in handling the boys." Iwaizumi nodded, realizing what little time he had to explain.

"Right." He began, rubbing the back of his head, "Oikawa told me everything… that happened that day.

• • •

You have been meeting up with Oikawa for the past few days now. You planned on surprising him on your third anniversary and with his best friend's help, you knew he'd like it, especially if he and his team win against Shiratorizawa. Well, you want your team to win too, but can't choose which side you'd support so, you decided that whoever wins would avenge the other.

Aoba Johsai lost.

His team lost and you stood there at the balcony crying your tears out, both in frustration and happiness. The latter because of your team and the former for the loss. You excused yourself, looking for any of the third years in the team. And you happen to stumble upon Oikawa.

"Tooru!" You shouted, running towards the setter.

"(y/n)? Shouldn't you be with your team?" He asked, looking around for the crows. Or at least, his little rival other than Ushijima Wakatoshi.

"They'll understand why I left. But most importantly, how are the two of you? How's Hajime?" It was your turn to look for your boyfriend.

"I'm… not sure. Iwa-chan's probably with Mattsun and Makki. The others should be together." You nodded, grasping both of his hands in yours.

"I'm sorry for what happened, you were all really great! I promise we'll beat up Ushiwaka's ass for you two!" You declared, earning a chuckle from him.

"It's fine, (y/n)-chan." Oikawa ruffled your hair once you released his hands before remembering something, "Hey, why don't you give your present to him, I'm sure he'd like it especially when you've been at it for weeks. Isn't it your anniversary today? It'll help him a lot." You hugged the man in front of you, appreciating the help and support he has given you.

"I hope so. Ah well, thanks again for the help Tooru, I really appreciate it. I'm happy that Hajime has a friend like--" You were then cut off by a shout, your name echoing throughout the hall.

"(y/n)!!"

"Hajime! Great timing! I've got something--” You rushed towards him and was about to give him a hug when the look on his face made you stop.

“No. You don’t have to. I can see it perfectly clear.” Iwaizumi said as your brows furrowed.

“What do you mean?” You asked, glancing at the other two third-years behind him who only shrugged.

“What do I mean?! I should have known that you liked Oikawa from the start! We lost the game and the first person you went to find was him!? Unbelievable (y/n), unbelievable!” He bellowed, glaring at the two of you. His eyes were clouded with grief from losing and seeing you with his best friend triggered something he didn't want inside of him.

“W-what? That’s not true. Look, I just managed to bump into him and--” He cut you off again, his hands clenched tightly.

"Yeah okay, blame it on that!"

“Hey Iwaizumi, I think you should calm down a bit.” Hanamaki joined in, placing a hand on the shoulder of their vice-captain.

“Yeah, they were just talking. (y/n) was probably comforting him and asking for you.” Matsukawa added, getting ready to help his best friend if Iwaizumi ever decides to punch away his anger.

“Bullshit! I know what I saw! How do you explain those past few days huh?! I wanted to ask you out before the Interhigh and it so happened that I saw the two of you together. I ignored it because I trusted you!” He held back, not to get him and his team kicked out and bring shame to the school in his final year. Though it was painful, he knew he needed to get rid of it verbally, "If you wanted him then you should have said so from the start! I would have understood. So, I'm letting you go. That's what you want right? To be free from me?!"

"H-hey now, you don't mean that right? Why don't we take a seat a-and we'll talk this out, yeah?" You offered, walking towards him cautiously.

"Talk? You still want to talk?!! I'm done (y/n), okay!? Just leave me alone! I never want to see you ever again!" He lashes out, his emotions controlling every bit of his sanity.

“Idiot! You’re a total idiot!!” You screamed at him, closing your eyes in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. You don't want to let him see how weak he's making you, not in a situation like this.

“How did I become--!!”

“I asked Tooru to help me think up an idea for the gift I wanted to give you for our anniversary. He’s your best friend so I thought it was okay and that he’d be able to keep a secret. But surprise, surprise, you don’t like that kind of thing. You don’t need to be jealous of someone I don’t have feelings for! But hey, I guess you don’t trust me like you say you do!” Shuffling through your bag, you pushed an Aegean hued scarf with Olive colored horizontal lines near the fringe, “Here, take it. Burn it for all I care. We’re done.”

'Did she..? No wait, don't move. I'm sorry..' He thought, he couldn't voice the words out and even if he did, the damage was already done, 'Why can't I…? (y/n) please, let's talk…'

"Goodbye, Haji-- no, Iwaizumi-san…" Saying his last name added salt, tons of it, to the biggest wound ever inflicted on your heart. And on his too.

'I said don't go..! I can't reach you if you do. I can't feel myself, please don't go.' Again, the words wouldn't dare leave his mouth as he was also afraid that he'd say something wrong. He didn't dare blink, wanting to still see your figure within his vision, 'Let me see those hands again, I'll kiss it all better. Just don't leave me…'

"Oi, Oikawa!!" Suddenly he was on the floor with a bruised cheek and an angry setter in front of him, being held back by the other two they were with. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"I get it that you're like that towards me but (y/n) didn't do anything wrong! She asked me for what you wanted and this is the thanks she gets!?" His grip on his collar was tight as he was still able to get close to him despite being held down by two of their friends, "You saw those bandages on her hands right? Well, she made that scarf all by herself just for you! She did that despite knowing nothing about knitting!"

"I…" He started but, as if you were still there, the words he so wanted to stay retreated back down his throat.

"What!? You what, Iwaizumi!!?" Oikawa snapped, almost on the brink of insanity like how Iwaizumi was before you left, "Got anymore bad things to say about her!?!"

"Zip it, will you?! I know that she didn't do anything wrong! It's just my fucked up and tired self making all the excuses!" He looked down, burying his face in his hands.

"Y-you could still run after her. I'm sure she'd--" One of them said, patting his back.

"She won't. Six years and never did she go against her word once she's made up her mind. It'll take a shit load of convincing but, I doubt she'd want me back." He gave out a huff, walking away until his best friend stopped him.

"Then you've just got to be stubborn like usual and try your best." Oikawa spoke, pumping the depressed Iwaizumi up.

"Huh? Ah, y-yeah…"

• • •

"How long has it been since you last slept?" You asked him, caressing his cheeks with your thumb as he leaned into your touch.

"What?" He blinked a couple of times before sighing, "I slept, maybe for just a few hours before waking up again because every time I close my eyes, that face you gave me that day keeps coming back to me and…"

"And?" He didn't want to tell you but, this would be the chance that he couldn't take hold of on that day.

"And there's this stupid scene that keeps playing in my dreams, during that fight we had, you left and when I saw you again, you were so happy with someone else and that broke me." He wanted to cry but all he could do was ball his fists with his brows furrowed in anger. Anger towards himself and his stupid decisions, "My last words to you that day was to leave me alone. That I never wanted to see you again. But, I was wrong. I still want you here by my side. I still want to see you. I still want to hear your voice every morning after I wake up and every night before I sleep just like before."

"Iwaizumi…" You started but your words just went in one ear and out the other as he continued.

"What I'm saying is, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I fucked up. That my jealousy got in between the two of us. It was dumb of me and Oikawa's supposed to be the childish one." He chuckled bitterly, mostly to himself. Now that he spoke his mind, it was silly of him to feel that way. To feel, was it inferiority? "I guess I still wasn't used to being the one getting the attention instead of him who's always surrounded by fangirls everywhere. Or believe in the idea of someone who would actually love me and not use me just to get to him."

"Iwaizumi, never in my life was I attracted to him. You know that right? I told you this once before." He held both of your hands, placing the other on his cheek. It was as if he was touch deprived and wanted to make up for the times he was away from you.

"I know. It's just that… letting you go that day was the hardest thing I've ever done. I couldn't even stop you, I just stayed there. I tried, believe me, I tried but I couldn't. I wanted to make you stay. But losing my last game in high school and all my emotions were over the place that it took a toll on me." Iwaizumi admitted. Sighing for who knows how many times now.

"It's okay. I understand." He stared at you, confusion written all over his face.

"No, you don't! I'm not blaming this on my loss. I'm blaming this on myself, for doubting you. You've been loving me so right despite studying in different schools and all I did was hurt you! Days after we broke up, I've been feeding myself these useless reasons not to see you, telling myself that you're mad at me and that you don't need me anymore. I'm sorry. Please hate me…" He was crying, he didn't care anymore if anyone saw him so… vulnerable. You wiped it all away, a smile on your lips.

"Hajime." You started. It was the first time in weeks since he last heard you say his name, "I love you."

"W-what?" These words were the least he expected to come out of your mouth but, he wasn't complaining either.

"You heard me. I love you." You repeated before you giggled, "Sure yeah, you were totally an ass for not listening to me but it doesn't change the fact that I still love you. And I also heard from Tooru that you haven't been like yourself since that day, my fault entirely. I should have thought about what your reaction would be.

"You know… I tried to come up with tons of reasons to just give up, so we both wouldn't have to hurt like this. It would have been easier for both of us. But, I can't. I don't want things to be easy between us. Everything you do makes me fall for you over and over, deeper than the last time. And hearing you say that you still love me, makes me realize that I should have tried even harder." Iwaizumi hugged you tightly, afraid that this was all a dream and was about to wake up. Or was he going soft just for you? Because it was obviously not because of Oikawa.

"So, what do you want to happen to us? What's your call?" You asked looking up at him.

“What’s this? Are you two okay now?” The childish devil on Iwaizumi's shoulder popped in between the two of you, “You are! That’s great! I’ll tell them right now--!”

“You, hanger bastard! I’ll beat you up--” He was about to give Oikawa a piece of his mind when he heard your voice echo in his ear.

“Hanger bastard? What’s with the new insult?” You laughed out loud, the wing spiker smiled, missing the sound, "Where'd you get that?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow, I'm sure Mattsun and Makki want to get a say in this too." He suggested, receiving a nod from you.

"Hey Iwa-chan, you guys don't have to diss me every time you get jealous!!" Iwaizumi scoffed, ignoring the setter.

"Anyways, I'll fetch and take you home after practice. We've got a lot of catching up to do." He offered, intertwining both of your fingers together, “We can even start now, I’ll walk you to Karasuno.”

"I'd like that, Hajime."

I gave you my heart and I don't regret not taking it back. My attention is yours and no one else's from the beginning until the end.