#if anyone writes crack fic about this feel free to message me i could use a good laugh

[michameinmicha]

i can’t believe nobody has written humphrey’s body/humphrey’s head fic before? that seems like such an obvious crack ship and just nobody has done it yet??

[rae-gar-targaryen]

loved you once [angel reyes x fem!reader]

A/N: So, this is NOT the Angel fic I previewed the other day. That one (and the EZ fic) is STILL COMING, I PROMISE! This just jumped into my head and wouldn’t leave. And I wrote it with a speed I am heretofore unfamiliar with (heretofore? Did I use that right?) I invented a tattoo and an ex-girlfriend for Angel, and I fudged the timeline a bit. So, apologies in advance for that. 

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 (as always, the appearance is ambiguous, but the reader is described as having female pronouns/parts. Also, the reader here speaks a bit of Spanish. I’m half Mexican, so I do imagine a latinx reader, but I hope I’ve written this so you can imagine yourself with no restriction.)

Word Count: 15.3K (HAHAHA WHAT THE FUCK all for a TWO AND A HALF MINUTE SONG, ARE YOU KIDDING ME????) of ANGST! (SERIOUSLY THIS IS SO ANGSTY) lyrical nonsense and the remnants of sticky, cotton-candy sadness … fluff that makes you feel empty. 

Warnings: ANGST, non-explicit references to infidelity, sexual references and sexual content, oral (male receiving), fingering and other nastiness -- so 18+ ONLY, please! Canon-typical douchebaggery, references to a past relationship, song references and poetry. (It is me, so yeah, poetry.)

Summary: You and Angel may as well be strangers now. But why? After all, you loved him once. And he loved you, right? Based on the song “Loved you Once” by Clara Mae. Listen here. 

--

We don't need to be best friends, we don't need to hang again. But tell me why we have to be strangers because I loved you once?

What were you doing here? You haven’t been back to the clubhouse in months. Not since -- well, you know. You hadn’t talked to him since then, either. But that wasn’t your own doing. 

No, Angel had erected a veritable wall of silence, and you respected him enough not to breach it. 

That was what relationships were all about, anyway, right? Mutual respect of the other’s needs? So when Angel had told you in no uncertain terms that your relationship was over, you were … upset. Understandably. You wanted to sit with him, talk about where this sudden insistence that you depart his life had come from, but he was resolute. With the absolute air of authority that comes with either a great deal of thought, or borne of virtually sudden external influence, with nothing in between. He clearly didn’t want to sit and talk about it. 

And so you didn’t. 

Ever mindful of his wellbeing, and when he was and was not receptive to communication. 

"It ain't working," he had said. You had settled for merely imagining the faraway look in his large, oilslick eyes, since he was much more interested in staring at his boots and the grooves in his floor, his forearms laid over spread thighs, unmoving and resolute from his spot at the end of the bed. Refusing to meet your eyes. 

From your seat next to him, you made to brush the arm closest to you with your fingers. When you touched, he gave no indication that you were even there. That he even felt you. Which you knew was bullshit. He always felt you. 

"Angel, what --" you hated the way your voice cracked as you tried to ask him what the hell was going on. You hated how you had sounded so small and quavering to your own ears. That wasn't who you were. You were clear, outspoken. It was always one of the things Angel said he loved about you. Loved.

You didn't know this, of course, but Angel hated it, too. How you’d sounded in that moment. Hated that his words had taken the fire out of yours, your voice unfamiliar in its timidity. 

"It ain't working," he repeated. "I can see it. Not my fault you can't." 

That was it. 

No "I'm sorry, querida." 

No "I hope we can stay friends." 

Not that you would expect an apology, or anything as cliché as a "let's be friends," from a steadfast man like Angel. Predictable in his volatility. 

You should have pushed back. Demanded an answer. You hated that you didn’t, the shock and sudden sadness morphing you into a silent, crystalline girl you didn’t recognize. Your eyes welled with tears, turning your head away from where Angel sat -- at least you wouldn’t let him see you cry. Even if you knew he knew the tears had spilled over your lashes and down your cheeks were of his own doing. 

You had arrived back at his place a day after your tense "conversation" to discover that your items you had come to reclaim were tossed into a box and left outside of the door. 

You had knocked once, in the hope that if Angel was home, he’d at least come to the door to shout through it, or, heaven forbid, would open it so you could look him in the eyes just once more while he shattered you. Your knock was met with silence, though you could have sworn you felt Angel on the other side of the door. 

In the months since then, you had cried (obviously), you had questioned (it was sudden, it wasn't just you; your friends were surprised, too), but most importantly, you had persevered. 

You had taken a bunch of new clients and inked some pieces you were incredibly proud of. You had gone out with your friends a few times, always with a wary eye on the door of the local dive, ya know… you never knew who would walk in.

Santo Padre is a small town, after all. And the cracks in your soul were nowhere close to healed. No molten gold to spill in and repair the fissures of your heart, rendering metamorphosis of something broken to something flawed, but beautiful. You sat, alone, still just… flawed. You had never felt less beautiful. Even after all this time. 

And your friend Aneesa, ever the supporter, would stop at nothing if it meant hyping you up enough to leave your cave of blankets, sheet masks, and comfort movies. Your only rule? All nights out with Aneesa were strictly girls’ nights. She was gracious and understanding of this rule, of course. She and Gilly had been together a touch longer than you and Angel. 

And if Angel had ever asked Gilly to ask Aneesa about you? Well… you never heard about it.

Not that Angel would do any of that. Shit like that was so middle-school. 

So, here you were. Back at the clubhouse after months of self-imposed exile for the sake of self-preservation. 

Coco had texted you -- the first you’d directly heard from anyone within Angel’s circle, inviting you to a patch party for some nameless, faceless newbie. The invitation had a string attached to it, of course -- the tattoo artist’s chair in the corner of the clubhouse needed a resident for any partygoers jonesing for new ink. Certainly, the new patch would need something decidedly “Mayan” to show off his new status. 

You had hesitantly agreed -- Aneesa would be in attendance of course, and offered herself as a human-sized buffer to separate you from people you were otherwise hoping to avoid. 

--

Now, perched near the tattoo chair, you busied yourself with setting out your portfolio of completed pieces, sketches and most-requested designs. You wiped down the chair a few more times than strictly necessary, but you wanted to be ready for anyone who might plop themselves down for a new piece of art. 

The main room of the clubhouse was sweltering -- a familiar blend of desert heat, cigarette smoke, citronella, and the smell of citrusy, foamy beer. The dim lighting and thundering bass giving everything a slightly blurry edge in your party-periphery. You glanced across the room at where Aneesa and Gilly sat together on a corner couch, thighs pressed together. Aneesa tossed her head back in a full-bodied laugh at something Gilly had whispered into her ear, swatting his arm -- Gilly’s reciprocal smile demonstrating his pleasure at having garnered such a reaction from his girl. 

A wave of cheers and noise accompanied the thwack of the clubhouse door swinging open -- more Mayans pouring in, jostling one another's shoulders, slapping each other on the arms, and good-naturedly cajoling. 

There was Coco, mid-pull of the cigarette between his lips, quicksilver eyes flashing around the room, taking stock of who was where. EZ followed, million-watt smile on full display as he gently guided a pretty girl with long, inky hair through the bottleneck at the entryway. 

If EZ was ambling his way in, then, surely, not far behind ...

With an arm around a tall, broad guy you hadn’t seen before, was Angel. Midway through a joke with the guy you assumed was the new patch, you took the opportunity to study the man you had once considered the moonlit orbit of your entire world. 

You hated to admit it to yourself, but he looked good… His arms still replete with thick, corded muscle. His hair was a tad longer on top than you remembered, slicked back and belied with cleanly-cropped sides. His smile as warm and blinding as the cruel light at the end of your better dreams, only for you to awake each day alone. 

As you continued your silent study, you were surprised to see -- still adorning his left arm … the tattoo you had given him on the day you had first met. You had thought he would have blacked it out by now … a cover-up on top of a cover-up. 

But there it was --- the soft, leafy greens creeping down his forearm on sharp vines, abutted with bursting blooms -- small, ornate gladiolus buds and a sprig of purpling rosemary. Such a flowery piece on the arm of someone like Angel might have been laughable. But if anyone dared, he would simply stare, stone-faced, with burning eyes and a set jaw, ready to ask just what they thought was so fucking funny. 

To you? It was perfection. It was remembrance. 

‘Cause I loved you, once… 

---

You had moved to Santo Padre from Oakland. Hardly an axis-tilting move, but significant enough to you. 

Your friend Oliver had offered you a seat at his tattoo shop. And you? You were positively itching to get out of the city. A few too many bad nights with a few people you could no longer in good conscience consider friends. 

So, here you sat, resident of one of two chairs in this corner parlour off the so-called “main” drag in sweltering, dusty Santo Padre. 

Your books were pretty clear … Not that you attributed much logic to the ebb and flow in any conceivable pattern of the tide that was tattoo shop patrons, but January seemed an agonizingly slow month. You filled the idle time with keeping the shop neat, disinfecting and re-disinfecting every surface, and organizing Oliver’s books. 

And if you weren’t dreaming up new sketches and designs for the more adventurous prospective client, you were jotting idle lines of lyrical poetry in the margins of your sketchbook. 

If the month dragged on like this, you were sure you could publish an entire book of moody, mid-winter prose that would make Charles Bukowski want to drown himself in stiff Cabernet. 

The dinging of the bell above the parlour door yanked you from your doodling stupor. You looked up to see who had come in, your gaze met with a towering, golden-skinned man donned in a leather vest, his boots squeaking on the shop’s linoleum floor as he made his way to the front desk. He leaned over it and rapped his silver-ringed hand against the top with the ease and comfort of someone who had been in many times before. If the ink trailing his arms was any indication, he may as well be a regular, though you hadn’t seen him in before. There was no way you could forget that jawline, and those shoulders. 

“Yo,” he called in greeting, eyes flashing to where you stood, walking to meet him at the counter. You swore you saw his gaze dart over your form, giving you the old up-down. An easy smile graced his full lips as he made himself comfortable leaning against the counter.  

“Oliver here?” 

You shook your head, the action serving to answer his question and --hopefully-- clear your head of the foggy spell this man was casting over you with his presence alone.

“Nah, sorry. He’s guest-chairing at his buddy’s shop in L.A. Did you have an appointment?” 

“I look like the kind of guy with a datebook?” He chuckled at his own joke. “No appointment, corazón.” 

“Walk-in? Always a risky strategy,” you lilted. 

“What can I say? I’m a risk-taker,” he replied with the practiced ease of breezy flirtation. 

You smiled softly, grabbing Oliver’s calendar from the desk, flipping to the following week. “He’ll be back in next week, if you want to wait?” 

“That’s no good for me, babe, I’ll be out of town.”

“Ah.” You huffed a bit through your nose “Bike rally?” You asked, gesturing at his worn leather kutte, cringing internally a little at the teasing edge your voice had taken on. Were you always this bad of a flirt? 

The man looked at you shrewdly for a beat -- seemingly trying to discern just how much fun you were making of him before taking mercy on you and peeling back the slight layer of awkwardness the conversation had taken.  He scrubbed the back of his neck before confirming,

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he rumbled a chuckle. “Why? You wanna go?” He raised a full brow at you in a mild challenge. 

Your eyes widened at his seemingly-serious invitation. You took in the quirk of his lips, causing the slightest crinkle at the corner of his warm eyes -- the look of a man borne of good humor and who smiled often. It was endearing, and if you were honest, made you melt a little. Even if you now realized he was teasing you. 

“Sorry, guapo,” you cracked a smile of your own, gesturing at the empty shop. “As you can see, I’m a very busy girl. Highest of demand.” 

“Claro,” he replied. “So, I better get in while the getting’s good, huh? Your chair open now?” 

“Uhm,” you chewed your lower lip, now slightly nervous at the prospect of spending more time with this man. “¿Quieres esperar para Olí? I won’t be offended. You haven’t even seen any of my pieces.” 

A beat of silence passed between you both, the man seemingly weighing his options. 

"I mean," You broke the silence and leaned forward, lightly tapping a fingernail against his bicep. “What if my art style doesn’t suit the king of the bikers?” 

"Something tells me you'll suit me just fine." His smirk was full-bore now. He didn't miss a beat, did he?

You were silent, probably for a few moments too long. Was he actually flirting with you? You blinked. He probably flirts with everyone ... get over yourself, you internally chided.

"Angel," the man said, recovering the moment and holding out a large, ringed hand for you to shake. You gave him your name, shaking his hand firmly. 

You nodded your head over your shoulder, toward your chair. 

"Well, come on back, Angel, you can tell me about what we're doing today."

Angel followed you back to your station, and you could swear you felt his dark eyes on your form as you walked, the thought that this man was looking at you with any kind of discerning attention made your cheeks warm a little. He folded his long body into the chair you gestured toward, and you took the rolling seat next to him. He proffered his left arm to you, tracing down a spot on his forearm.

"Just wanna cover this up," he paused, letting you observe the offending ink. "It's about time." 

"'Clara Forever,' huh?" You took in the faded, loopy lettering down his forearm. "Who's Clara?" Your tone was gently teasing by nature, but he seemed to clam up a bit at the question, regarding your sharp tongue with sharper eyes.

"Well, it wasn't forever," he finally bit out, shoulders now a little more tense than before.

"Aw, cariño," you sighed in good-natured taunting. "Didn't anyone ever tell you the number one rule of tattoo? 'Forever' is a certain jinx. And a name is almost never a good idea… unless it's your dog's."

You made a sweeping hand gesture over the rest of his person, your eyes noticeably cataloguing the ink adorning most of the real estate on his arms and what little you could see of the top of his chest. 

"How did anyone let you get this far without telling you the rules?"

He relaxed at the humor in your soft voice, comfortable now that he had confirmation that you were teasing him rather than seriously ridiculing. His posture relaxed once more, he waggled his eyebrows at you, also teasing,

"Le sorprendería saber que nunca fui uno para seguir las reglas?” He asked. Would it surprise you to learn that I was never one for rules? 

"¿Tú?" Your eyes widened in mock surprise. “Para nada.” Not at all.  

"Hey," he swatted your arm gently. "Cuidaté, niña. Insulting your customers? I can see why your chair is empty." He chuckled at his own little jab as you busied yourself gathering your supplies.

You turned and reached for him, holding his arm in one hand and running your now-gloved thumb over "Clara Forever." 

"So?" You queried, "What are we doing with this? How do you want to cover it?" 

Angel shrugged, the leather adorning his shoulders creaking ever-so-slightly with the movement. 

"Figured I would just black it out. I've been putting it off long enough. To hell with her anyway, yaknow?"

"Hmm…" you considered his proposal. "I could do that, if that's what you really want. Easy enough. But…" you trailed.

He shifted in the chair, arching an eyebrow at you.

"But?" He pressed.

Now it was your turn to shrug. You released his arm from your grip and gestured to the booklet containing photos of your most prized work. 

"Why waste the opportunity to give yourself something you really want?" You handed him the book. "Besides… from the looks of things, you have limited real estate left on this arm. May as well fill it with something… more you?” You made to hand him the scrapbook. “You can see what else I've done. See if anything sparks an idea." 

Angel regarded you for a moment. Leaning forward in the chair and slightly more into your space, eyes never leaving yours. He took the edge of the book, deliberately brushing his fingers over yours as he did so, making you hold your breath a little. If Angel noticed, he had the decency not to say anything. 

“Why not?”

You exhaled softly as he leaned away again, flipping his way through your book. 

As he scrutinized the photographic renderings of your pieces, you took the chance to really take him in. His strong jaw and full lips were objectively pleasant, abutted by deliberately-shaped facial hair. He had a prominent brow, something that would surely give away his feelings, even if he decided not to verbalize them. There was no hiding a frown or a smile on that face.  You fiddled with your fingers as he flipped through the pages. 

“This is some seriously top-notch shit, querida,” he voiced his approval, followed by a warm smile. He flipped his way through your minimalist renderings, floral pieces, lines of script, and one particularly involved piece with a burgundy phoenix and lifelike flames...

“Yeah?” You couldn’t hide the pleasure in your voice that he might think of you in a positive light. “Which one do you like?” 

He flipped the book to you, gesturing at a geometric planetary canvas piece you had etched down a prior client’s thigh. 

“Did you think of that one?” 

“The client had their ideas, I just execute, I guess… That was a fun one.” You shrugged, glancing at your shoes scuffing at the linoleum, suddenly feeling very shy under his scrutiny.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he leaned forward once more, his fingers gently brushing along your chin to bring your eyeline to his. “Don’t downplay your talent. You’re a badass. Own that shit.” He gave you a soft wink, releasing your chin from his grip.

Um, wow.

Was it always this hot in the back of the shop? Or were you just spontaneously combusting? Did that seriously just happen?

All you could do was nod. 

“Aight,” he crossed his legs at the ankles, making himself comfortable in the chair. “I’ve decided.” 

“Yeah?” You breathed, “What’ll it be?” 

As if he was doing nothing more complicated than ordering fries, Angel pointed at your book. “Dealer’s choice.” 

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t believe he was just going to trust you to cover up his ex’s name etched into his arm. “¡Oye! Did you hear nothing I said earlier about walk-ins being risky? Nothing about the rules?”

Angel scoffed. “About as well as you heard that I don’t give a shit about rules, babe,” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You like rules, huh?” 

Oh. The rumbling tone his voice had taken on with his last question did not go unnoticed by you. If there was any heat to spare in this shithole desert-town, it was now one hundred percent flooding through your body. 

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d had that effect on you… (although, let’s be real, he probably, definitely, already knew).

“Fine, Angelito,” the mocking tone had returned to your voice. “But unlike Clara, this one’s gonna be forever. If I find out you cover up my art, I’m gonna blacklist you at every shop in Southern California.” You raised an eyebrow at him in a challenge. “Can you live with that?”

Angel nodded. 

“Do your worst, Vince.” 

You wrinkled your nose at the moniker. “Vince?” 

“Yeah,” he seemed so assured in his own cleverness. “Like Van Gogh?” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Van Gogh!?” You feigned offense, hand-over-heart, lashes batting. “Not even Frida? Come oooon, Angelito.” 

He chuckled. Shifting in the chair and offering his arm to you so you could get him ready. 

“You gotta earn ‘Frida,’ dulcita.” 

“Everyone’s a critic,” you sigh, shifting your focus and taking stock of the space on Angel’s arm and what you had learned of him so far.

Someone who was seemingly confident and breezy, whose rough exterior belied something softer that was just out of reach. Someone who clearly cherished things and people he adored, if the tribute you were now covering was anything to go by. And, by the same token, more than a little impulsive. He wore his heart on his sleeve, apparently literally. 

You gathered your inks and began to work, your playlist and the buzzing of the tattoo gun filling the silence. 

It’s not like you had any reason to know it, but Angel considered you as you were working, admiring your focus and the intensity with which you afforded your art. Was he a little nervous about the fact that you were free-handing a design for him off the top of your head? Maybe... But what was life without a little risk? And he certainly wouldn’t mind a little risk with you. You were, it was obvious to him, very pretty. It was more than a little off-putting how easily you traded quips with him, seemingly unaffected by his presence and everything that came with it. If it wasn’t for the little hitches in your breath when he gently flirted with you, he wouldn’t have anything to go off of in terms of your interest. Something that was both respectable and maddening to him. 

He reached his other arm over to the side-table, grabbing your sketchbook and idly flipping through the etchings. 

Not only was the book filled with little designs, splashes of watercolor mixing with pen and charcoal, but he noticed the cramped words in the margins, perusing at his leisure and ignoring the itching buzz of the needle on the skin of his other arm.

“So, not only a Vince, but a Frost,” he broke the silence. 

You paused your work, wiping your brow with the back of your hand and looking at him with a question in your eyes.

He tapped his finger along the lines of prose in your book. “A poet,” he said. 

“Ah,” you said. “Uhm, more like a bad poet,” you chuckled, embarrassed. You made to begin again, when Angel gently gripped the wrist of your free hand. 

“The fuck did I just say?” He lightly tugged, forcing you to look into his maddeningly honey-dark eyes. “Don’t brush off your shit. Would Frida do that?” 

You regarded his eyes for a moment longer, darting your gaze to his pouty lips, resolutely set in their mission of imparting some of his confidence onto you. 

“Point taken, Angel,” you pulled your hand from his grip, which he released, trailing his fingertips over your hand as he did so. “I’m the greatest poet who ever lived, you’ve convinced me. Fuck William Shakespeare.” 

“Yeah,” Angel boisterously agreed, pleased to be bolstering you but surprising you with the little barking shout, “Fuck that dude!” 

You chuckled, shaking your head and silently returning to your work, the silence filled once more with the pleasant buzzing as you drew away. 

When you were finished, you released Angel’s arm, allowing him to inspect the clean lines of the greenery that you had drawn out of his former-love tribute. What were once loopy, cursive letters were now vines creeping steadily along his forearm, soft, yellow and red gladiolus buds emerging from where Clara’s name had once sat, neatly finished with the clean lines of the purpling sprig of rosemary along the edge of the piece. 

Angel was speechless, leaving you to marinate in your nerves. 

“It’s …” he started, “... flowery,” he supplied, lamely. 

“No shit it’s flowers,” you shot back, feeling a little defensive now, but wanting to make a quick recovery. “And they’re for you, Angel.” 

He seemed puzzled. 

“Gotta say, Vince, this is the first time a chick’s gotten me flowers,” he chuckled, “Guess they won’t die?” 

“They won’t,” you assured. “They really are for you, you know? Look at you, the rest of your ink. What it covered. You’re clearly a man formed by your experiences. It only seemed right, si? Gladiolus? They’re for remembrance. Rosemary? Symbolizes thoughtfulness and memory.” 

You continued as you began wipe the piece clean before wrapping it in new saran-wrap, “Your memories and choices make you who you are, sure. But you never know… something good could bloom from them, through the cracks."

His silence at the end of your little soliloquy was deafening. He hated it, you were sure of it. Fuck. Why did you have to get so fucking clever with him? You should’ve just done some black ink in something tribal, something masculine. What the fuck was wrong with you??

You dared to sneak a glance at his face, only to find that he was already staring at you, lips softly upturned in the hinting bloom of a smile, tarpit eyes twinkling with a good-natured mirth he would come to reserve just for you. 

“Fuck Shakespeare. That was damn beautiful, Frida.” 

The heat had returned to your cheeks, standing quickly. 

You stripped off your gloves, and made to turn your way to the counter, gathering the aftercare sheet and balm for Angel to take with him. 

You spun back toward him before he could get up.

“Oh! Can I take a picture?” You held up your phone, shaking it lightly. “For the ‘gram?” 

“Sure thing,” Angel dutifully held his arm under the lamp you had used to work, letting the fresh ink and colors pop against the golden dunn of his skin. 

You took a few photos, deciding to scroll through your camera roll later on and post your favorite. You made quick work of wrapping his arm in a sheet of clean plastic wrap before relinquishing your hold on his arm, turning to walk back to the counter. 

“Uhm,” you trailed … the telltale squeak of Angel’s boots on the linoleum indicating he was following you back to the front of the shop. You assembled everything into a bag for Angel to take with him, grabbing one of your cards from the front card-holder, and quickly jotting your number on the back next to your where the instagram handle for your art page was neatly printed, hoping he didn’t notice your sneaky little move. 

Angel resumed his comfortable lean against the counter, turning and tilting his forearm, scrutinizing your work. 

“It’s gonna be a clean one-fifty, Angel.”

He looked slightly surprised at the figure, a light frown dusting his features. 

“You sure about that? For the size, and the color, and time and everything? It’s been, like, hours.”

You shrugged. 

“We’ll call it the friends-and-family rate.” 

He gave you a long look, very clearly looking you up and down now, a prolonged edition of the greeting he had graced you with when he had entered your shop mere hours before. 

“And is that what we are now, querida? Friends?” 

How was it even possible for his voice to reach such a low register when he said these things to you?

While your insides flip-flopped at the flirtation, you hoped your face was the impassive mask you were trying to school it into. You subtly brushed your slightly-sweating palms against the frayed hem of your shorts before bringing an elbow up to the counter, resting your chin in your palm, lightly batting your lashes at him before responding...

“Sure,” you replied. There! Easy, breezy, cool-as-you-please. How does it feel, Angel?

“One day with you and friends already?” He rapped his ringed hand gently against the counter. “Can’t wait to see where we’re at tomorrow.” 

He swiped the bag off of the counter, tossing a few crisp bills onto the countertop and a wink over his shoulder before exiting the shop. 

You counted the bills on the counter, watching as Angel left the building.

Holy shit.

Three hundred bucks. He had tipped you 100 percent of what you charged him.

Cheeky.

Maybe Santo Padre wasn’t so bad, after all… 

---

Now, staring at him from across the room made you feel like you were drowning in the sickly-sweet cotton candy of sugared dreams, now lost to time. The saccharine balm melted to acrid wax, leaving you with only the tinge of bitterness. 

You were jostled out of your reverie by the sudden appearance of EZ’s blocky frame, ambling toward you with the same girl from before on his arm. 

He greeted you with a slow wave and a soft smile. 

“Hey, girl,” he greeted, clearly unsure of how much friendlier and closer he should approach you. 

You took mercy on Angel’s sweet, (big) little brother, opening your arms slightly for a hug. EZ took to the gesture like an over-excited golden retriever, scooping you up and spinning you once, before putting you back where he found you, slightly dizzier than you were before. 

He offered your name to the girl by his side, who looked pleasantly amused at the spectacle before her, her amusement melting to recognition at the name EZ had imparted to her. 

Ah. So she knew who you were. 

You tried not to let that realization sour your encounter, easing a practiced smile onto your features and offering your hand to the girl to shake. 

“Oh!” EZ chuckled. “This is Gaby -- er, Gabriela.” 

“Encantada,” you eased, gently shaking her hand before having a realization of your own. “Gaby, as in Leti’s friend?” 

She nodded, a warm smile illuminating her already sunshiney features. You could see why EZ obviously liked her. She had the practiced social grace of a debutante, but the friendly aura of someone you had known for your entire life. 

“I hope you’re keeping Ezekiel out of trouble,” you teased gently. 

“Only as well as I can,” she replied. EZ rubbed the back of his neck as you two gossiped about him like he wasn’t standing right there. 

“Listen, hermanita,” EZ began, swirling the dregs of his beer around the bottle clutched in his hand as the conversation lapsed into comfortable silence, “About Angel --” 

That was a hard no. 

“Coco!” You called as you spotted the lithe man prowling through the crowd after obtaining a drink from the bar, effectively shutting EZ up. 

Coco sidled over, slinging an arm over your shoulder and nodding in greeting to EZ and Gaby. 

“Wassup, chiquita? Over here with all the cool kids?” 

“You know damn well I was never cool enough for the cool kids,” you knocked your shoulder into Coco’s good-naturedly. 

“Dunno about that, pequeña,” Coco took a drag of his cigarette, sighing as he exhaled. “I’ve got some pretty cool body armour thanks to you.” 

“All in a day's work,” you mock-saluted. You were doing great. Keep it light, keep it friendly. You may be able to make it out of this unscathed, after all. 

Gaby and EZ were speaking softly to one another just to your side, as you and Coco continued your conversation. 

“So, who’s the new guy?” You asked, nodding over to where Angel and the still-unnamed newbie were tossing back shots. You tried to ignore that each one had girls placed on each of their laps. Well, mostly you were trying to ignore one girl placed on one lap; tried to ignore as ringed fingers trailed up and down her thigh hypnotically as he howled in laughter at something the new guy had said. 

The longer you stared at the way he was touching her, the more You thought you could feel it on your own skin. And you knew all too well how that touch felt. Memories, make you, right? 

You blinked harshly, turning your face back to Coco’s, only to find his hawkish eyes trained on you as he continued to smoke. Now you were certain he had seen everything you had, and more. And you cursed yourself for slipping. Because nothing slipped past Coco. 

He took mercy on you nevertheless. 

“Andres. He’s aight. You may not remember him from before, when he was just a prospect.” 

“Guess not,” you agreed, shrugging amiably, suddenly very interested in toying with the hem of your flowy little summertime skirt. 

“Mierda,” you heard Coco hiss, glancing up to see none other than the new guy -- Andres -- walk over, his arm around the waist of the girl from his lap, accompanied by none other than Angel Reyes, furnished with his own lap-turned-arm candy. She was giggling in his ear, popping her gum and bumping her hips against Angel’s as she walked by his side. 

You felt EZ stiffen from your other side. 

Great. 

The easy smile you’d had when conversing with Coco now felt positively screwed into place, settling unnaturally, a stranger's face made up of your own features. 

Andres smirked at you in greeting, eyes trailing over you -- the most unwelcome iteration of that gesture in this context to-date. 

“I hear you’re the girl to see about some ink.” 

You bit back the snarky response that rose to your tongue. You see anyone else here, tonto?

“Sure am,” you replied, cool as you pleeeeaseeee. Maybe a little too cool. The ice in your voice was obvious to everyone except the strangers before you. 

You really were doing great, weren’t you? 

“Great,” the new meat brushed the girl off from his side, plopping unceremoniously into your chair. “You did that right?” He pointed behind you to where Angel was standing, gesturing at his arm and your miniscule mural of memorial greenery. 

“Cierto.” You nodded, sparing Angel’s arm the barest of glances.

“Aight, well, none of that girly shit, alright, sweetheart? Angel may have had the good grace not to say anything, but flowers ain’t really my style, yeah?” 

What the fuck.  

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Coco visibly tense next to you, obviously displeased at the uncalled-for critique of your work. Of a piece he himself had often admired. He would never admit it, but he thought the story behind it was even better. It’s like you had walked out of some shitty romcom Leti watched with her tittering friends and into Angel’s dreams, sinking yourself beneath Angel's skin like a dream he would recount to all of his friends. Coco knew the most about you by nature of Angel's second-hand stories when you were together. Although Coco thought, once he had met you, Angel's stories didn't do you justice. How wonderful and talented you were. How warm and welcoming.

Angel watched the exchange silently, clearly none too keen to defend the piece you had designed for him. That had come to mean so much to you. 

That stung.

You winced, almost imperceptibly. But you were certain Coco saw it, not much escaping his sniper’s eyes. EZ, with his owlish perception and photographic memory, certainly would have seen it, too. If Angel saw it, it’s not like he was going to say anything now. 

Where the fuck was Aneesa? Wasn’t she supposed to be heading this kind of shit off? You glanced over at the couches in the corner where your friend had previously been sitting with GIlly, and was now nowhere to be seen. Fuckin’ typical. 

“Aight, no más flores." No more flowers. “What were you thinking, then?” 

That was you, ever the professional. 

Andres showed you his phone, a rendering of an old-style beastly cat, like a panther from an old folktale, pulled up in his image search. 

“Something for a warrior,” he puffed his chest slightly. “I was thinking here,” he shrugged out of one side of his new kutte, tugging the button-up to expose one side of his chest. 

“You got it.” 

You set to work, cleaning the area to be inked and getting your tools ready. The rest of the group drifted as the project progressed, clearly not feeling the need to stand there for the entire duration of a tattoo. 

You were acutely aware that Angel hadn’t stepped as far away as the others, circumventing the periphery of yours and Andres’ space, not close, but not far. And he still had yet to even look in your direction. Or acknowledge your existence. 

You tried your best to ignore the icy shard of Angel’s indifference that was currently wedging its way between your ribs and lodging itself firmly once more into your heart. At this point, you guessed it would never heal. 

“Sooooo,” Andres lolled his head to the side of his chair to face you, slinging back the beer from the bottle dangling in his free hand. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You were around a little bit when I was prospecting.” 

You opted not to respond, aware that Angel was likely listening, and you would need to choose any words carefully. Andres had no such reservation, clearly uncaring about who might be listening. He pressed on, each word more infuriating than the last. 

“You were Angel’s little sidepiece for a while, right?”   

You tried to keep your despairing sigh to a quiet little nothing. 

“Sure.” You offered lamely. “Sorry, man, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really work better when I’m not talking.” 

“S’alright, jaina. I can talk enough for the both of us.” 

You hmm’d nonchalantly at that, lip imperceptibly curling over your teeth in distaste at the moniker. You chose instead to focus on the piece. You wouldn’t give a shitty tattoo, even if this guy was a douchebag. And the pleasant buzz of the tattoo gun. Maybe you were etching the lines a little sharper than strictly necessary. If he noticed, Andres gave no indication, continuing on with his diatribe: 

“So, what happened? I mean, Angel knocked that other chick up? Ouch, right?” 

You were now seeing red, the edges of your vision blurring slightly with angry, pinpricking tears. Thank fuck you were just about done with this. 

“But that’s the life right? I mean, we’re not exactly known for being steady with just one chick. You know how it goes ...” He eyed you up and down again, lingering a little too long on your legs before finishing his thought with a smirk “... Clearly.” 

You hated his use of “we,” like he was in any way, shape, or form worthy to be in the class of man EZ, Coco, Bishop, or, hell, even Angel, was. None of them would talk to you like this. No matter what Angel had done. 

You shut off the gun, pushing back from the space with Andres, spinning in your chair, and grabbing the clean wipes for Andres’ fresh ink. As you dabbed the area and made to bandage it, the oblivious biker grabbed your wrist. None of the teasing fun or gentleness in the same gesture that Angel had imparted when you had first met. No, Andres’ grip hurt. It was all bruising possession and entitlement. 

“I think we would have fun, you and I.” He leaned forward and far too into your space, the stale stink of warm beer heavy on his breath. 

You wrenched your grip from his, standing quickly and offering him a tight smile, cheeks flaming with your anger and embarrassment. How dare he speak so trivially of your relationship with Angel. How dare he think you were so easily won with his kutte and shitty attitude. 

“Uhm,” you tugged your fingers agitatedly through the ends of your hair, chewing your lip. “You’re all set, Andres. Aftercare sheet is on the table next to you. It’s on the house. Happy patch party!” Your voice sounded so shrill and fake in your own head, but you just didn’t have it in you to care at the moment. 

With that, you quickly whirled on your heel, in a distressed flurry past the Angel-shaped blur who had been watching the entire encounter, and out of the clubhouse door into the cooler late-night air. 

Getting heavy to breathe in this room together. It’s so awkward, we can’t seem to do it better. Can’t we just fake a smile and put our shit to the side? 

---

Angel had waited a whopping 18 hours to text you after your clandestine tattooed meet-cute. 

You were in the middle of exchanging consultation e-mails with a prospective client when your phone had buzzed. 

“Vince?” The text read. 

You bit back a smirk before responding,

“Vince? No Vince here. This is Frida’s phone.”

You watched as the little bubbles appeared in the corner, disappeared for a second, and then reappeared. You were grateful for the little manifestation of Angel’s hesitance. It made him seem more human. And it made you appreciative that he was clearly trying to choose his words with you, when words had seemed to come so easily to him when you had met. 

“My bad. Oh, beautiful, talented Frida.” 

You couldn’t hold back the smile on your features now. Grateful it was still you and only you in the shop so that no one could see your “obviously-texting-a-cute-guy” face. 

“It’s nice to hear from you, Angel. Good thing you didn’t throw away the card.” 

“That card was clearly a gift, querida. Much like the pretty flowers on my arm.” He snapped you a picture of his tattoo, the healing process underway. 

“Looks great!” You sent, cringing at your lack of ability to effectively flirt via text. It was something that your friends had teased you relentlessly about back in the Town -- your notorious lack of game. No! New home, new you! Be cute. Be cute. 

“So, if I’ve given you all the gifts, what do I get?” You sent with a “thinking” emoji. 

Angel at least had the decency to wait a minute or two before replying, either thinking about his response or keeping you in suspense… you weren’t sure. But you were grateful for the little opportunity to catch your breath. How did he make you so speechless when he wasn’t even in the room with you? Some things just weren’t fair. 

“Niña, I paid you for this ink. What more could you possibly want from me?” 

Tricky Angel. Zorro. Like a little fox, he had effectively maneuvered the conversation back to you -- the ball was in your court. Would you tell him what you wanted?

You chewed the end of your fingernail thoughtfully before responding. 

“You texted me, boy. Are you sure it isn’t you who wants something?”

If only your friends could see you now. That was damn smooth. 

“Boy?” 

You snorted to yourself. Trust a guy like Angel to get hung up on something small like that. The bubbles reappeared. 

“I was thinking about this pretty girl I met the other day. Hell of an artist. But a shit poet. Thought I would see if she was free sometime?” 

Angel was merciful. You could kiss him. Had he seriously just taken all the weight out of this conversation? Your heart felt a million pounds lighter in your chest, knowing he was asking you. The wave of relief that he wanted to see you again crashed through you, replaced in the tide with the backdraft of a feeling of mischievousness. You wouldn’t let him off so easily.

So you waited before responding. Let him sweat a little, right?

Only… you weren’t sure Angel was sweating as much as you were, fingers itching with the desire to text him back and accept immediately. 

When what had felt like an eternity (but in reality had only been about seven minutes) had passed, you picked up your phone, opening the conversation with Angel. 

“She’s free next Thursday … After your bike week, el rey de los bandoleros.” 

You put your phone back down on the counter, grinning like an idiot, feeling like you had just swallowed a bunch of bubbles. You entertained the notion that if your combat boots weren’t keeping your feet weighted to the floor, you would have floated away. 

Your phone dinged once more.

“See you then, mi reina.” 

Time passes slowly the more you want it to go quickly. And whenever you have a deadline you’re dreading, it gallops ahead. Time really is that bitch, and she does not give a fuck about your feelings. 

The following Thursday felt like it took a year to arrive. But it found you closing up the shop, your stomach fluttering with butterflies and pop rocks, adorned in your favorite pair of jeans and boots, a clean, flattering tank top that showed off your own ink. You hoped it was fine for whatever Angel had in mind. 

Honestly, he hadn’t said anything about your date. A few flirtatious texts here and there? Obviously. You sent him photos of the pieces you had done for new clients. He sent you ridiculous selfies and a couple of group pics of him and his friends at the biker event. One guy who kept popping up in the photos, Angel had told you, was his “little” brother. But there was nothing “little” about that dude. 

You loved seeing all of Angel’s goofy, smiling faces. Treasuring the photos in your small moments of quiet downtime. 

The rumbling of a bike engine greeted your ears, like the seductive purr of a large cat. You glanced up, a full Cheshire grin alighting your features at the sight of Angel’s gorgeous, deep forest green bike, and the man of the hour looking very at home on the seat. 

He rolled to a stop in front of you, unclipping his helmet and dismounting with his winning trademark smirk, ambling over to greet you. 

“Frida,” he scooped you into a hug, his tall frame causing you to lift, your toes now barely brushing the ground as he brought you to his height. He pressed a soft kiss to your check, setting you down gently and letting you get your bearings, chuckling pleasantly at the obvious, dizzying effect his greeting had had on you.

“Angelito,” you returned. “Back in one piece?”

“Hail to the king, baby,” he countered. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you teased, scuffing the toe of your boot into the gravel of the lot. “So, where are you taking me, o benevolent one?”

“Just gonna hafta find out.” He handed his helmet to you, helping you clip and tighten it beneath your chin. “Ever ridden before?”

“Uhm, well, sure” you replied too assuredly, quickly realizing your slip. “I mean, no. Not like that. I mean, yes, like that. But not on one of these.” Fuck. Could you be more embarrassing? 

Angel released a full-bellied laugh at your response, his head tossing back a little. 

“You’ll have to tell me more about alla that later, cielo.” You put your head in your palm willing the embarrassment to go away. Angel quickly pried your hands away, cupping your cheeks with his own warm hands, long fingers brushing your cheekbones reverently. “In the meantime, just hang on, okay?” 

You nodded, still cursing your idiot-brain that had partnered with the dirtiest corners of your mind to take over your mouth. Shut the fuck up, dumb-dumb. 

You clung to Angel as he drove, your hands roaming his firm torso probably a little too-familiarly. You enjoyed the way the wind whipped around you, tugging at yours and Angel’s clothes as you made your way up the canyon overlooking the desert that was Santo Padre. 

Angel parked his bike on the ridge overlooking the town, the sun beginning its descent in the desert sky in swirling hues of pastels and cotton candy pink-purple-blue overtaking the orange hue. 

You had never been up here before, and you told Angel as much. He looked pleased at that, pleased that he was the one to show you the best view of the Santo Padre sunset. 

Angel busied himself unpacking the bags on the side of his bike while you enjoyed the scenery. Pulling out a couple of wrapped sandwiches and bottles of water, he handed yours to you, coming to stand next to you on the ridge. 

"Thanks," you acknowledged, looking at the offerings. "What, no beer?"

Angel chuckled a little at that.

"I ain't tryna liquor you up, niña. Besides, you want warm beer that's been rattling around on my bike all afternoon?"

You crinkled your nose a little at that. "No," you decided. "Never mind. Besides, I'm more of a whiskey girl."

Angel glanced at you, sipping on his own water idly.

"Really?"

"Really," you confirmed. "Don't tell me you're one of those guys who thinks it's impressive when a girl drinks whiskey because it's such a 'man thing.' "

Angel held up one hand, defensively. 

"Nunca. Just took you for more of a… dunno? Maybe a rum kinda girl?"

"Don't think so. For now, though? Water and sandwiches do me just fine. Whiskey can come later." You took a bite of the now-unwrapped sandwich. "This is good," you confirmed around a slightly-full mouth. "Did you make this?"

"Of course. Pop owns the butcher shop down the street from your parlour. Sliced the meat myself, an' all," he said, a little proudly now that he knew you approved of his sandwich-making skills.

"Bueno," you giggled. "Thank you for this, Angel. Really. This is one of the nicest nights I've had since moving here." You shuffled a little closer to where he was standing, looking in his eyes as you thanked him.

"Bah," he waved away your compliments, "it ain't alla that. This can't be the most exciting thing you've done since getting here."

"Maybe it is," you pressed. "I dunno. Maybe I'm too boring for the king of the bikers?"

"I doubt that very seriously, querida," he turned his body so he was facing you now, sandwich long gone, fiddling with the water bottle in his hands. "You play your cards right, I'll introduce you to the rest of the club. Then things'll get really exciting."

You blinked. One date and he already was thinking about introducing you to his friends? Your inner shy romantic (okay, not so "inner," right? You're pretty clear about who you are) was doing little somersaults in your chest. 

You must've been silent a beat too long because Angel was quick to supplement, "Only if you want."

"I'd like that," you confirmed, nodding and smiling gently. 

"So, are you gonna tell me what brings an East Bay girl here?" 

You raised a brow. You didn't remember telling him where you moved from. He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck nervously, realizing you'd caught his slip. 

"I maaaay have scrolled your Instagram?"

You finished your sandwich, thinking about how much you wanted to tell him.

"Just time for a change of scenery. Olí is an old friend, and he offered me a job. I think he wants to travel more." You shrugged, "It just felt like it was time. Plus, I dunno… I like it here. Much quieter."

Angel nodded at that, not having the heart to tell you that his club was not at all quiet and was the source of the disruption in the otherwise-quaint town. 

You kept talking, telling him about the friends you'd left behind, your old shop, weekends spent in the park surrounding Lake Merritt, and going to Raiders games. Angel took in your features as you spoke, the golden light of the sunset making you glow like something out of a dream he'd had once. Your eyes sparkled as you talked about things you loved, the books and art that inspired your poetry. How you'd gone to art school. You were something.

"-- Sorry, I'm rambling," you breathed in a rush, flush with the amount of talking you'd been doing in a record amount of time. "What? Do I have something in my teeth?"

Angel realized he'd been staring as long as you'd been talking.

"No, querida. Nothing in your teeth." He gave you a dazzlingly white smile.

"Oh thank God," you returned his smile with a small one of your own, shying a little under his gaze, and wondering how long he had been looking at you like that as you'd talked.

He leaned over you now, his height giving him the definite advantage as he'd -- not unwelcomely-- invaded your space. He brought one hand up to cup your chin, his dark eyes revealing flecks of sparkling gold in the pastel wash of the sunset as his gaze once again met yours.

You saw his quick glance down at your lips, you unconsciously giving a small nod before his warm lips met yours.

Oh.

You had obviously been kissed before, been the recipient of past romantic attention. All of that paled in comparison, melting away as Angel's full lips maneuvered over yours, both of his large, calloused hands gently brushing your cheeks as he cupped your face, sliding one hand down to rest on the side of your neck.

You sighed lightly, one of your own hands twined into his shirt, the other resting on the side of his firm torso. 

Angel took the opportunity to slide his tongue past your lips, your own brushing against his as the kiss deepened.

 You were in no hurry for the kiss to end, enjoying the way everything about Angel was so warm, something that was surprisingly welcome, despite the ever-present desert heat of Santo Padre. You could get used to this. 

You had only known Angel a short time, realistically. Your one meeting spawning a series of flirtatious texts and snaps, and now this date that, while low-key, felt almost too perfect to be real. He made you feel safe, desired.

You could already feel him slipping beneath your skin to rest in a special place in your heart. And while you as a person were generally reticent to share that part of yourself with anyone, you had a feeling Angel could take up permanent residence there. If he wanted. 

You dropped from your tip-toes, effectively breaking the kiss.

Angel blinked, looking down at you and noting the pleasant glow on your skin, lips now slightly swollen from his kiss. He could get used to this.

The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur, trading quips and stories as the sun went down. Angel told you about his club, his brothers. About his pop and Ezekiel, and how at one time, he enjoyed being the bigger brother, teasing, pranking and lording over EZ until EZ had hit his growth spurt and could (and would) definitely hit back. 

As he drove you home, you snuggled a little bit against him, pressing yourself into his back and enjoying the way you swore you could feel his heart pounding through the kutte and over the rumble of the bike and the road.

He'd dropped you off with a parting kiss and the promise of another date.

Another date turned into several. Time you weren't at the shop was now spent with Angel, showing him what you were working on, inviting him over for dinners and to watch mindless television while he told you what he could about his day. 

The both of you were slowly peeling back the layers around your respectively guarded hearts, revealing more of yourselves only to be met with pure acceptance by the other. Even blindados had to take off their armour at some point. 

You cherished your time with Angel, and he quickly found himself stumbling, head over his own biker-booted heels for you.

After a few months had passed, he had brought you to meet the club. You had manifested nothing but general acceptance of his lifestyle and were eager to meet the people Angel had so obviously cared for. Who had helped shape him into the brash but conscientious person he was with you. 

And one sunny afternoon had found you bringing lunch you had made for the entire club over to the scrapyard, Angel agreeing with your plan. You never were one to show up empty-handed. 

As you walked across the yard, past the gate, and into the clubhouse, your eyes adjusting to the dim interior from the blinding sun outdoors, Angel bounded over to greet you. Taking the bag full of homemade goodies from your arms, he pressed quick kisses to your cheeks, and one to your forehead. 

He turned, met with the pleasantly-surprised stares of his brothers. He announced your name to the room before turning to you, pointing at each man and supplying a name. You nodded, smiling and offering a warm wave to each. 

The man you knew to be EZ from all of Angel's initial texts and photos quickly strode over to you, shaking your hand in his impressively firm grip before bending down to press a quick kiss to your cheek with a,

"Bienvenido, hermanita. Angel's told me a lot about you. Won't shut up, really," giving you a sly wink as Angel swatted EZ's arm in annoyance at his brother's revelation.

Boys.

The smaller man with the sharp eyes and full curls you knew to be Coco made his way over to where you were now seated as Angel went to get you both drinks, the other men digging into your offerings as you made yourself comfortable.

He sat next to you, tossing you a, "You mind?" Lighting his cigarette after you’d shaken your head.

He studied you through his own plumes of smoke before leaning across the table and speaking to you, lowly and with an almost conspiratorial rasp to his voice,

"You did that cover-up for Angel?" He asked on a smooth exhale.

"Mhmm," you nodded. "He gave me free reign. I was nervous he'd hate it."

Coco seemed to chew over your words for a dragging moment. You shifted in your seat. He was definitely sizing you up.

"Bold move, pequeña, giving the secretario of a biker club a sleeve of flowers." 

"I suppose it was," you sighed, more than a little uncertain now. "But it felt meaningful, right, I guess. I just sort of… started drawing. I… think it worked out, though?" You trailed off.

Coco nodded. "It's a fuckin' good piece, mami. Angel told me what you'd said about memories making you who you are." He snorted lightly through his nose. "It's funny. We've never even met before, and you're already sounding like me." 

A small smile played across his lips, returning it with one of your own.

"I'm glad you approve," you nodded. "Angel's opinion obviously matters, and don't tell him I told you this, but it means alot coming from one of his family." 

And that's what they were. His family. You could see it. The obvious camaraderie and care underlying each of their actions with the other. You admired the system of support, cushioned by good humor, despite being flung regularly into harsh reality. It was clear -- they were there for one another.

Coco's voice broke your train of thought,

"Maybe you got space for me in your books one-a these days?"

Your small smile was a full-blown, sunny grin now.

"Of course. Anytime you want to drop by, you're more than welcome." 

"Gracias, chica." Coco leaned across the table and patted your shoulder before getting up and taking his leave.

And so it went. The boys would filter through your shop. Olí teasing you about his offense that all of his most lucrative, inked clients were now going to you. 

You enjoyed the time working on pieces for them afforded you -- offering you a glimpse into their inner workings, what they felt was important enough to take up permanent residence along their skin. Making idle chit-chat with you while you worked. And always, always sharing embarrassing little anecdotes about Angel. 

The months passed with you and Angel, finding comfort in your unpredictable, but welcome, respective routines. 

One night in particular found Angel wrapped up in your embrace, the physical embodiment of your gradual and growing trust in one another.

He had arrived home more than a little rattled, his eyes wildly darting to the corners of the room before settling in you, exhaling a shaky breath before striding the length of the room and crushing you to him, pressing a bruising kiss to your lips. 

You understood he probably couldn't tell you what had happened, but you asked anyway, needing him to know you would hear him.

"Angelito, everything okay?" 

He shook his head softly in the negative, but didn't elaborate. 

You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

"Okay. We don't have to talk about it," you wound your arms up and around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. "But it's going to be okay. I've got you. I won't let go."

He gripped your wrists, pulling your hands from his neck and sliding your arms down, bringing them to rest around his waist. Once he had positioned you where he wanted, he brought his hands to cup your cheeks, eyes heavy and dark with the weight of his stormy thoughts. 

He nodded at what you had said before bringing his lips back to yours. 

You brought one hand up to meet his, where it rested along your cheek. You twined your fingers through, joining your hands while breaking the kiss. You lead him through the apartment, bringing him to the bedroom. You had music softly playing from your speaker in the corner, candles lit to bathe the room in ambient glow and a warm, honey smell, all in anticipation of Angel's eventual arrival home.

You silently gestured for him to sit on the edge of the bed, where you took your seat next to him. 

You tugged the leather kutte from his shoulders, folding it reverently and placing it on the chair near the bed. He exhaled in relief, shoulders sagging once the leather manifestation of his obligation to a darker world had been removed. The weight of the world a little less on the mantle of his shoulders. 

You turned your attention to his feet next, unlacing and tugging off his boots. Then, his belt. 

Once he was just in his jeans and his t-shirt, you resumed your seat at his side, bringing him back into your embrace and carding your hands through his hair, as his head rested on your shoulder. 

Angel spoke, voice cracking as he broke the seal of silence in the room. 

"It was… it was awful, Frida." He sighed. "I do everything they ask. It's my job … Fuck. Sometimes I wonder how much more my heart can take. But then, I get to come home to you." 

His breath was shuddering now.

And while you didn't always know what to say -- it was a rare sight to see Angel so rattled. But you were a caregiver by nature, ready to give him the pieces of yourself that would make him feel whole.

You guided him down so that he could recline, you came to rest at his side, winding your arms around his torso, your face turned into his neck, cuddling him as he came down from the mania of his emotional high.

The moments passed, Angel's breathing leveling again as you stroked his hair in time to the soft music.

He turned his head to look at you, admiring the flutter of your lashes as you blinked at him, your gaze warm and adoring, full of twinkling fairy light and starshine. 

"Te amo, querida," Angel breathed. This was not the first time he had said it to you during your months together. But each time felt as momentous as the first, each declaration of love felt like the slip of something sweet, and you were determined to store it in your heart and mind forever.

"I love you too, Angel. More than anything," you murmured. "I love your smile, your sense of humor, your strength." You pressed kisses to his face and neck with each admission. "Mostly, I love your strength. And that you trust me enough to tell me when you don't always feel it."

He sucked in a shuddering breath before whispering to you,

"I love your mind. How creative you are. How you see everything so beautiful, just like you," he hmm’d. "Mostly I love your trust. And that you choose to give it to me." 

You kissed him again, leaning over him with your entire body, pressing your palms gently into his shoulders. 

As your kiss deepened, you each began to tug at the other. His hands carded through your hair, tugging gently, but firmly. You lifted his shirt from his torso, the kiss breaking so you could peel it away.

You divested one another of each layer, baring yourselves to the other, body and soul. Again, this wasn't the first time you had done this. But this felt momentous nonetheless. 

Angel skimmed his hands over your form, running his hands softly down and over your breasts, loving your soft sigh at his touch. 

You leaned over him once more, reluctantly removing his hands from you, and placing them gently down at his sides. 

"Your heart is mine, mine to protect," You hummed softly, invading his senses and placing kisses down Angel's neck and to his chest, trailing your lips lovingly over Angel's heart, and pressing one last deliberate kiss there. "And I take my job very seriously." 

As you kissed him, you lightly trailed your fingers down his torso, coming to rest at his hip.

Your declaration was met with silence; you glanced up at Angel through your lashes only to find him already looking down through heavy-lidded eyes at you, his now swirling with some unnamed, weighted emotion.

You trailed your hand across his hip, not breaking eye contact as you took his hardening length into your hand. He inhaled sharply at the sensation of your grip, but refused to look away as you began to pump him slowly, still pressing kisses to his hips, torso and thighs. 

"Please, querida," Angel gasped.

"Please, what?" You murmured back, your voice taking a throaty register you reserved strictly for private moments with your beloved.

"Please… use your pretty mouth?" 

You nodded. 

"Relájate, baby, I've got you," you assured. Sweeping your hair back, the action washing Angel with the sweeping comfort of your scent as you made your way lower down his body. 

Angel slumped back against the bedspread, glittering galaxy eyes still trained on you as you lavished him with attention. 

You took the opportunity to flatten your tongue, licking a broad stripe up the length of him, one hand braced against his firm thigh, the other holding him gently at the base of his cock as you worked.

You swirled your tongue around the tip of him, delighted at his throaty moans, feeling the effect they had on you, making you feel like you were burning from the inside, feeling the slickness from your own center as your thighs rubbed together. 

Taking Angel wholly into your mouth now, you bobbed over him, relishing in the heavy feel of him in your mouth and the throaty groans you received from Angel in response. 

Before you could spend too long lavishing him with attention, Angel tugged on your hair at the base of your neck. Following his grip, you lifted your head and released him from, watching (a little greedily) as his thick length bobbed against him when you relinquished him from the confines of your mouth. 

He guided you up his body, hand still knotted in your hair, pushing his mouth onto yours, uncaring of the saliva on your lips and chin, and the taste of himself on your tongue. 

You straddled his hips, surging the rest of the way up his body and effectively deepening the kiss. The hand that was once in your hair now made its way to loosely grip at your throat, the other skimming his way down your breasts, across your ribs and toward your center.

As his fingers traced through your folds, you involuntarily rolled your hips into his hand, alight at his touch, and desperately seeking more. 

Angel touching you was like the shock of a live wire. Every time felt just as electric as the last, goosebumps erupting across your flesh as his fingers traced across your skin. 

He chuckled through your fused mouths, drawing back at your reaction and the wetness he found between your legs.

"Eager, amor?" Every word fell that fell from his lips sounded like a dangerous purr.

You nodded, drunk on the way Angel's hand gently squeezed your throat, while the other was teasingly making its way to-and-fro across your wet folds, occasionally making his way up to lightly circle and press his thumb over your clit, making your eyelids flutter. Your hips continued to rock against his hand, silently begging for more, his teasing touch making you more than a little crazy.

"Yeah?" Angel asked, his voice thick and syrupy, the timbre like dark clouds. "That shit turn you on? Sucking my cock?"

His words combined with his touch made another rush of heat flood through you. You were certain you would pass out, that your knees would buckle. And you were doing so well, holding your place up and over his hips while he played with you.

The hand on your throat gripped a little tighter, causing your eyes to flutter shut.

"Nuh-uh, baby," he shook you lightly, all mirth gone from his eyes, no more pleasant, smiling crinkles at the corners. His full lips pressed firmly together. "I asked you a question. You answer that shit"

He pressed two fingers teasingly against your entrance, refusing to insert them, despite the little roll of your hips.

"Y-yeaahh," you sighed, head tossed back, "I-I fucking love it -- love you, Angel."

He rewarded you by sliding a long finger into you, allowing you to ride his hand. The hand still around your throat guiding you forward, over him, allowing him to press hot, open-mouthed kisses, first to your lips, dirty and raw, like an exposed nerve in his unabashed want for you. 

He relinquished his hold on your neck, allowing him to trail his lips and his tongue there, kissing you softly behind your ear, down and around your neck to your collarbones, all while his fingers continued their earnest treatment inside of you, his thumb now pressing to your clit, your warming crescendo building.

Using his height and the fact that you were straddling him, Angel encouraged you to lean forward, allowing him to capture one of your breasts in his grip, his mouth following. His warm tongue swirled around your nipple before he sucked the bud into his mouth, grazing his teeth ever so gently over your sensitive flesh.

Angel's attention was rewarded with your gasping sighs and breathy moans. How anyone could make you feel this good was beyond you. Angel had an uncanny ability to elicit responses and feelings like no other person before him.

You felt the thrumming hum and warm, sticky wave of your orgasm building as Angel worked his fingers inside of you, stroking that particular spot from within that he knew would be your undoing.

"O-oh," you whined, keening noises caught in your throat. "Please, baby, I n-need you. Need you inside." 

The room was sweltering. Or was it just you? Angel withdrew his fingers smoothly, not sparing you the chance to be disappointed at the loss of feeling as he smoothly flipped the two of you, guiding you down to the mattress and hovering over your trembling form. 

"Yeah?" Angel asked. "You ready for that, querida?"

You gazed up at him through your lashes, longingly. He would give everything, anything, that he had in the world if you only looked at him like that forever, gaze full of warmth, heat, and unfiltered, starry adoration. 

"Mmm," you nodded, "Please? Angel?"

He was only a man, after all. Who was he to refuse when you asked so prettily for him?

He gently turned you over so that your back was to him, running his hands down the slope of your back and guiding you to your knees, propping your hips up.

Positioning himself behind you, Angel resumed his grip on your throat, using it to guide your head around so that he could kiss you again while he guided himself inside of you. You moaned into the kiss at the sensation, never tired of feeling every ridge of his thick cock sliding into you like he belonged there.

Angel groaned, breaking the kiss and shaking his head, chuckling darkly, his eyes flashing as he swore, 

"Never fuckin' get tired of that shit," he began to move his hips, using his other hand that was gripping your hip to guide you along his lengthy, meeting his thrusts. "Never tired of your pussy … You're so … good."

Angel's words coupled with his thrusts were driving you crazy, causing you to eagerly meet him with the momentum of your own hips, the heat in the room spliced with the distinctive noise of his skin meeting yours. 

Angel, leaning over your back, crowded your every sense, the taste of him, of his kisses still lingering on your tongue. Your ears met with the harmony of your two bodies and the filthy words and sounds coming from Angel's mouth. The sight of him was as intoxicating as ever, as you looked over your shoulder at him, the shadows of the room playing across his tawny skin, glimmering in the low light with the sheen of sweat you knew was also present on yours.

“Say my name,” Angel pants into the slick skin on your back, kissing a line down your spine, his body covering yours possessively.

You were too caught up in everything Angel, failing to respond quickly enough for his liking as you gasped at every thrust.

A crack of heat flashed across your ass, Angel swatting you there once. You should be annoyed, but you couldn't lie -- you fucking loved it when he was like this. Only for you. 

"A-angel," you sighed, the crescendo of your orgasm climbing, threatening to burst any second, you tightening around Angel.

"Bueno," he purred. "You close? Yeah, you fucking are," Angel snarled, taking in the way you threw your hips back desperately to meet him, squirming one hand beneath you to touch yourself. "You can have it, baby, I'll make it good. You just gotta ask pretty for me." 

You deepened the arch in your back, flexing your hips back toward Angel, and gripping the bedspread before you in your fingers, face pressed flush with the sheets, your other hand still pressed to your clit.

Angel tilted your head, leaning over further and gripping your jaw, squeezing to pucker your cheeks. He kissed you, sucking your lower lip between his. He kissed you gently, a deceptive contrast to the hand gripping your face, his hips snapping into yours at a now-brutish pace. He pecked another light kiss to your lips, followed by another, gently biting your lip and dragging it lightly as he drew his face from yours.

He released your lips as you whispered another plea into his mouth.

"Come on then, baby." 

Your orgasm washed over you, pinpricks of striking matches splintering across your skin, followed by a euphoric wave of white-heat, blissfully soothing every nerve it had just lit.

Angel followed, emptying himself into you with a few final thrusts, groaning at the way you tightened just so around him. 

He withdrew gently, collapsing next to you as you both caught your breath. 

Your lashes fanned your cheeks as you blinked hazily at the form of your love through the soft glow of the room.

"I do love you, Angel," you told him, leaning across the sheets to rub your nose back and forth against his, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, grazing your soft fingers against the lines of his forehead, easing them away into an expression of soft serenity. "Always."

---

Now, you walked out of the clubhouse, around to the side of the porch, a quiet corner away from the noise. Willing yourself to calm down as small, hot tears trickled their way, uninvited, down your cheeks. 

Your thoughts were moving a million miles a second, the battle of luck you were waging with the universe saw you quickly losing. 

The year you spent with Angel replaying itself in your mind. Every word, every touch, that goddamn tattoo. Remembrance, my ass. How you would hold him when he came home too high-strung and strung-out emotionally for words. How you would save the best leftovers for him when you knew he had been away and would be craving the Chinese food from the place down the block when he got back. How he felt inside of you on the coldest nights and in the most tender mornings. How he would whisper enchanting endearments into the shell of your ear as he rolled his hips into yours, your mind and body completely his. How you would wear his shirts and overly-large socks around his apartment, leaving doodles and scribbled poems on sticky notes for him to find in his moments alone. How he kissed you warmly, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like syrupy possession that you never wanted to end. 

How it did end. How he had thrown out your world, crumpled it into a crushed paper ball and tossing it away with the carelessness of a child. Ending things with seemingly no spare thought for your feelings. How EZ had let slip when he saw you in town that Angel was expecting a kid, the timing of everything suddenly making a little more sense. How it made you feel, now that you knew you were wholly his, but he was never entirely yours. How you had kept to yourself in the months that followed, the cracks in your heart widening until you felt like you would drown in them. 

The pulse of your feelings for him, always strong; they warm you. But it was still you they all left behind. 

Your thoughts were still swirling when, off to the side, you heard the porch door open and close again, and you prayed that whomever was coming outside was going to have a smoke out front, or that they were on their way out. That they wouldn’t find you. 

But of course, these things never worked out how you wanted them. You cursed any god you could think of for just how un-fucking-lucky you were sometimes. 

Because, really, who other than Angel was making his way around the porch to you? Taking in your hunched form as you leaned over the railing, looking anywhere but at him. 

Of fucking course.

You kept your eyes down, focused in your clasped hands as you leaned over the railing, refusing to look at him. 

And now? Now he was looking at you, and it's the one time you wished he wouldn't. 

One thing you wouldn't do, now that he was here, was break the silence first. He didn't want to hear what you'd had to say, so why would you grace him with your thoughts now? Petty? Sure. But you weren't the one in there with your hands on some ass while a so-called friend harassed your ex. 

A few uncomfortable beats dragged on before Angel broke the silence, shattering it like glass with a verbal hammer.

"What'd he say to you?"

You remained silent.

"What the fuck did he say, Frida?" His voice angry now, demanding. The same tone he used to break your heart. 

"It ain't working. Not my fuckin’ fault you can't see it."

You rolled your eyes, another shard of icy glass painfully wedging into your heart at his use of the name. Still refusing to look in his direction when you replied, softly but sharply, 

"You know exactly what he said. What I'm trying to figure out is why, exactly, you care."

"I care, Frida," was all he offered.

You snorted in response. Undignified, sure. But couldn't he see this was killing you? Where was his mercy?

"I do," he insisted, the thud of his boots across the wood of the porch indicating that he was crossing to you, coming to stand a ways behind you.

"I'm not going to do this with you. He said some shit. It's over. We move on. What more could you have to say about that?"  

Keep it simple, keep yourself safe. You gave him nothing to say back. And then… 

"And if I told you I wanted you? I wanted you back?"

You whipped your head around to -- finally -- meet Angel's eyes, which you did for a fleeting moment before zeroing in once more on your shoes, staring resolutely at the ground. You were not going to let him see you cry again, godfuckingdamnit.

The fleeting glimpse of his face, of his eyes meeting yours once more after all this time, was enough. He looked more tired up close than he had before. Still unfair in his striking beauty, his midnight eyes still enough to pull you in, drown you in their oceanic depths. You hated it. Hated that he still had that power over you. But try as you might, you couldn't hate him. 

Your silence was killing Angel with the precision of a thousand miniscule cuts. Each deeper than the last. Until he couldn’t take it any longer. He reached through the space between, for where your hand rested on the railing. You saw the gesture coming, and whipped your hand away at the last moment, cradling it to your chest like he had burned you. You faced him fully now.

You chuckled softly, wryly, and devoid of any humor before you muttered, "You don't want me, baby. Please don't lie."

“And how do you know that’s a lie?” Angel mumbled thickly, working his tongue around the words, through his own emotion. 

You scuffed your toe into the hewn wood of the deck, shrugging before you responded, simply, 

“If I was what you wanted, you wouldn’t have gone looking elsewhere. And you certainly wouldn't have found someone else. You wouldn’t have said what you said, ended it like you did, with everything on just your terms.” You sighed deeply, with the rattle of tears lodged into your chest before you spoke again, “You made up your mind and never even let me say a word. If you wanted anything to do with me, you could have at least given me a word.” 

Angel blinked, hard. The familiar pressure of real tears building behind his eyes. You were right of course. And fuck, weren't you always? You'd always told him like it was, harsh truths that only you could cushion in your gentle, empathetic way. 

"Please, querida, just let me explain what happened--" 

You held up your hand, shaking your head firmly, effectively silencing Angel.

"No!" Much softer now, "No. I- I'm sorry, Angel, I don't mean to be rude. But, no." Your voice small, but clear, as you'd finally gotten your opportunity to say something back to him. "I, uh, I don't want to hear any explanation, and you really don't have to?"

You lilted the last part like it was a question, but continued on. 

"You, um, you've had a lot of time to tell me something, anything, about what the fuck happened. And you didn't. You left me with nothing. Just confusion and hurt, and I've made peace with that. It's taken a while, but … I just… I don't need that from you. I gave you space, always respected your decisions and opinions, and now you won't do the same. You're still trying to take from me. Offering me an explanation now?" You scoffed. "That isn't for me, and don't fuckin’ act like it is -- it's for you. And I understand that, that's fine. I'm not angry at you for that, but I'm also not going to humor it." 

You exhaled shakily, you couldn't believe you'd said all of that, that you had made it through.

Angel was speechless. It made your heart feel even sicker -- all of this silence from him for so long, and he'd offered to explain himself and you'd (gracefully) told him to fuck off. Why had you done that??

It was about time you'd stood up for yourself, that's why. 

An explanation would be nice, sure. But where Angel's words, whispered affirmations and heady declarations of love, had once made your soul swell and sing… now, you knew, anything he'd had to say to you would only serve to do the opposite. 

And your heart, perpetually bruised by nature of you being a hopeless romantic, just couldn't take it. 

You hopped off the porch, spinning around to face Angel, finding his eyes on you still. Hadn't you wished for him to look at you? To really see you once more? 

"I'm out," you tossed a thumb over your shoulder toward where you'd parked your car. "Sorry, I don't mean to abandon the old post, but uh, I'm sure you guys have someone to fill in. I'll text Aneesa to grab my stuff, don't worry about it." 

Like he would, you thought.

You were mostly rambling to yourself, and not really to Angel, as you backed away, fleeing to your car. 

Angel watched you go, the resonant ache in his chest that had been ever-present since tossing your stuff out, amplified when Luisa had left him, and now sure to be permanent, buried in cement beneath the weight of his every decision, and every word.

You looked good, he thought. Your hair was longer than when he'd seen you last. Your little skirt flouncing as you strode away. Your skin still glowed, full lips still twisted into that wry smile of yours that he had seen from across the room. All of that was true, but your eyes were also tired, and your smile never quite reached them. 

The thought that he was responsible for dimming that sparkle made him feel sicker than he already had. The way you had brushed off Andres, despite his obnoxious insistence, and the things the cocky  new patch had said to you -- may as well add those to the ever-growing pile of things stained and tainted by Angel's guilt.

And he was left alone with that guilt as you left the lot. He turned back to the party. His cool facade slipping back into place. Not ready to face the wrath of EZ and Coco, surely waiting inside to proverbially beat his ass.

What would you say if I come over? And we stand face to face now that we're older?

---

Angel shuffled into his apartment, the late hour catching up to his weary form as he ambled over to his bedside, flicking on the lamp. 

Rubbing a large hand down his face, he sat on his bed in a huff of exhaustion. Your first encounter in months since he'd all-but tossed you from this very room was pricking him with a kind of nauseating nervous  energy. But all he wanted to feel in that moment was you, whether he deserved it or not.

He'd still had it, didn't he? Where was it?

He pulled open the drawer of his nightstand, fishing through its contents for what he hoped was still in there.

His fingers curled over his prize -- a slip of paper adorned with your handwriting. Scrawled lines of poetry on a neon pink Post-It note, curled with age and disuse, something you had left for him while he slept in one morning. 

“I was thinking of you,” you had said when he had asked you about it later, shrugging as if it were the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. 

Your love for him was clean in its simplicity and forwardness, whenever he could wade his way through the mire of your shy demeanor. You had stuck the Post-It to his nightstand while he was sleeping and you made your way to work. Your words were cramped and crunched into the small paper square, but ready to greet him with the shining light of a sunny new day. 

“I see your ardor through a pearlescent lense, and all is pleasantly pink and blurry with you-- Resplendent in your love's solar hope. You are so warm beneath the brush of my fingertips, and I burn. So in love with you, as I am and as I do."

Now, his eyes scanned the words for the millionth time since you had written them. He had committed it to memory by now, wishing he could hold you instead of this crumpled piece of paper, mocking him with its annoyingly bright pink hue.

But how could he? Angel was the kind of man who simmered in his emotion -- burning slowly, lowly, only to reach a pitch. He kept to himself until he couldn’t any longer -- and then it was all bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve. 

He had done what he had thought was right. Cutting you out with all of the brutality and finesse of a battleaxe, to focus on Luisa and his unborn son. He thought she was what he wanted. But now, he didn’t even have them. He had nothing to show for his decisions but the lonely, sick feeling ever-present in his chest. 

The you at the beginning of your relationship would have kissed each bruise in his soul, one by one, until they were better. Would have gifted him with the warmth of your time and attention until he was made whole again with the molten heat of your gracious heart. But the you now? 

Angel could never, would never, cover the tattoo on his arm, though he had thought about it. Blacking it out once and for all, so the piece of you he wore on his sleeve would finally match the  pitch, and emptiness inside. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was, as he’d said all that time ago, your gift to him. And he’d made you a promise that he wouldn’t. 

All he wanted was to look you in the eyes so he could remember that he loved you once.

And not that he had any reason to know it, but across town, you had made it home. Your phone shoved to the bottom of your bag, lighting up with texts from Aneesa, EZ, and Coco. But the only person on your mind was Angel. 

How much of what he had said was true? You weren't sure. But you were sure that you knew where you stood, still painfully alone and in love as ever, the cracks in your heart only fillable by the very person you had brushed off earlier.

And, while Angel readied himself for bed, snapping the lights off and attempting to cut through the oppressive darkness by staring at the ceiling with his own penetrative gaze, the empty side of the bed had never felt more cavernous, but more weighted. Mocking. 

If Angel was being honest with himself -- something he was never too keen on being in his more sobering moments -- he didn't love you once. He still loved you.

Thinking after all this time, I just wanna meet your eyes so I can remember why... Why I loved you once.

Tagging:

@themarcusmoreno @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @steeeeeeeviebb @qveenbvtch @mxsamwilson @ifimayhaveaword @huliabitch @pettyprocrastination @phoenixhalliwell @flightlessangelwings @cinewhore @velvetmel0n @moonlight-prose @rebeccasficrecs @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @aerolanya @djvrins @jenrebloggingfics @ciriswife @justanotherblonde23 @superhoeva @witching-hour​ @luckyharley1903​

[meguriv]

•Midnight•

❣ Denji x fem reader❣

18+

Note: This is my first fic ever, also English is not my native language. I apologize for any horrible mistakes, however I did try my best in correcting any errors. (Sorry if this is cringe ejejshwhwh)

Also if anyone reading this has any tips for writing I would really appreciate you sharing them in a comment or message!

Warnings: 18+, oral (male receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, reader is a virgin (so is Denji), blood.

Word count: 2k

It was midnight, the window was open, letting the cool air of the night into your room. You rested your head on your desk, waiting for your boyfriend.

You have been going out with Denji for only two weeks, you both really liked each other, maybe a little too much.

That’s why there was a lingering tension between the two of you, sexual tension perhaps?

He never got to sleep with a girl and you were a virgin as well. That’s why you decided to invite him home this late in the night, both of you with clear intentions in mind.

Suddenly you jumped in your seat, it seems you feel asleep-

“Hey” a familiar voice said. Looking to your left you saw Denji “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, but I saw the window open and I couldn’t resist jumping in” you smiled at that “I left it open for you”.

There was now a very uncomfortable silence, neither of you knew what to say. He took his jacket off and rested it on the window, he was still wearing part of his school uniform. No matter how many times you saw him in those clothes, you couldn’t take your eyes off his body.

You were looking at each other, he seemed to get a step closer at a time, slowly.

There was a lot of tension like usual, but he was more determined this time.

The light in the room was just perfect, a full moon and distant lights in the street made the ideal atmosphere.

You couldn’t handle it anymore, you were getting tired of the shy girl act and put your hands on his shoulders softly.

“Denji…please, touch me”. He seemed hesitant for a moment “hm” that’s all he could say, grabbing your wrists to put them around his neck, then slowly placing his hands on your waist.

You felt his lips on yours, and then his tongue, it was too much. It started to get heated and passionate very quickly.

You broke the kiss for a moment to breathe, your face felt like it might explode. Looking at him you saw his half lidded eyes on you, his lips looking for yours again.

It wasn’t the first time you kissed, in fact your first kiss with him was the way you confessed. After a few months since his first day at school as a new student, you finally had the courage to express your feelings and it appeared he liked you too, or at least he liked the fact that you liked him.

Your bodies were pressed against each other, you could feel his erection through his pants starting to grow, it made you so happy that you couldn’t help to bring your hand down, earning a soft groan from him.

“Can I…?” you said still shy but much more eager this time, “Yes” he didn’t know what you meant exactly, but when you pushed him softly to sit at the edge of your bed and got on your knees, he understood.

His cheeks grew hot, he has never had anyone suck his dick before and he didn’t expect such a thing from you either.

As you slid his pants and underwear down, his erection sprung free, making you nervous finally realizing what you have gotten yourself into. Having never done this before, your were scared to mess up but it was too late to back down now. Your brain was full of impure thoughts and no amount of anxiousness could stop you now.

You started at the tip licking it slowly, you knew you had to use your tongue properly for this, you were really just improvising. You tried to fit his entire length in your mouth little by little, using your own hand to help with the job

“A-ah so good” the way he said that made you rub your thighs together, whining softly into his cock.

He placed his hand on the back of your head, playing with your hair softly trying to bring you forward with each bob of your head. “I-I’m close please stop or I will-”

But you didn’t stop, you have dreamed of tasting him for so long all you could think about was sucking him dry with your mouth. You needed his release deep down your throat. It was a greedy pace until he started to move his hips forward reaching deeper and deeper, tears finally spilling from your eyes.

“ S-sorry I can’t stop- it feels so good, ah- so good-!” his moans were music to your ears, you wanted to let him know that the tears were from happiness rather than discomfort, but how could you? His dick was so deep inside your throat you feared you might loose your voice.

He came hard and it wouldn’t stop, it seemed like minutes past and he was still releasing thick ropes of cum, his voice cracking and cursing loudly. You didn’t let a single drop go to waste swallowing bit by bit, the action made him hard again.

After his breaths slowed down he looked down at you, face still red, he could barely process what had just happened all he knew is how turned on he was.

He then fixed his eyes on your clothed body, “Take that off”

You didn’t expect him to order you, but you didn’t complain. Getting back on your feet you took off your nightgown slowly sliding it off of you until it landed on your feet.

His eyes landed immediately on your breasts, you felt exposed but felt yourself grow wet at his gaze.

“Take that off too” he was referring to your panties. You had carefully picked out a laced pair to wear just for him but he didn’t seem to care (that’s the kind of guy he is, you thought).

You did as you were told, however Denji was getting impatient and decided to grab your waist and pull you on the bed.

“Too slow”. Both his hands rested on your breasts, starting to squeeze them.

Denji was feeling overwhelmed by all of this, he did prepare himself mentally before coming to your house this late at night, but when he had you pinned underneath him completely naked and vulnerable, he started to shake a bit, both from anxiousness and excitement.

“It’s okay Denji, you can do whatever you want…please make me feel good” you said sighing at the soft touch of his hands on your breasts, he realised how sensitive you were there.

After you said that, all of his worries faded away. The only thing on his mind right know was fucking you good. He quickly took his shirt off, almost ripping it open, you laughed a little at how eager he was.

He started to kiss you again this time pushing his tongue inside your mouth with no mercy, his hand travelled south, feeling how wet you were already, he inserted a finger making you gasp.

The felling of one of his fingers alone was already too much for you. Your soft moans making him go crazy, he decided to insert a second finger.

His moves were rather clumsy but at the same time it was driving you insane. Just like you earlier, he was just improvising.

“Deeenjii aah I’m going to cum don’t stop aah~” you almost cried,

“Yea? cum for me then, that’s it” his hand moved faster finally hitting that sweet spot inside of you.

He felt you coming as you were tightening around his fingers, making a mess of his hand. While you were recovering from your high he pulled out and started to separate his fingers, looking at your arousal splitting in strings. His tongue went out to lick at them, humming at the taste,

“hmm~ It’s good, here have some too” he brought his hand to your mouth, you grabbed his wrist an started to slowly lick at his fingers until they were clean.

He caught your mouth into his again, you two shared another messy kiss. It felt a little dirty but so good at the same time.

He couldn’t get enough of you, so he started to grind his hard cock against your inner thigh.

He started to lick your neck making you moan again, another sensitive spot he found. Suddenly he bit hard on your skin, enough to draw blood-

“AH! Denji! It hurts!! What are you-?” He was drinking the blood that spilled from your neck, you wanted to stop him as you started to get scared but the pain faded away replacing it by pleasure.

“I needed this, your blood I need it…” you didn’t understand what he meant but to be honest you didn’t care anymore, after all, you did say he could do whatever he wanted with you.

Licking the trail of blood from your neck, he stopped at your breasts, admiring them once again, this time sucking harshly at your nipples, more whines filled the room.

He switched his attention from one breast to the other, taking his sweet time there while he guided his cock with his free hand to your cunt, rubbing at the entrance.

He was teasing but both of you were enjoying it, no need to rush things, after all this is your first time.

Denji was now looking at you as he kept moving his erection up and down your wet folds. The stare was intense, you saw him smile softly with half closed eyes, you returned the smile

“I’ll put it in now okay?” he said closer to your ear this time, “please don’t hold back” you said as you felt like your heart was going to burst.

He indeed didn’t hold back, seeing how wet you were he pushed himself inside of you in one go, holding one of your legs up for easier access. You both moaned at the new feelings, minds getting clouded with pure lust.

Without warning he started to move, none of you holding back any sounds, if someone walked outside the house they would definitely hear everything.

It felt so good, Denji is a natural you thought, sure you didn’t have anyone to compare him to, but the way he moved fast and hard inside of you made your vision blurry.

“So good, you feel so good inside of me, aah~ right there!” you finished the sentence with a sob, it was so good you could cry.

All Denji managed to do was moan, he was trying to say something but he seemed to struggle, you were so tight around him it made him go stupid “Aaah~ hm S-say my, my name, say it” is all you could understand.

“Denji” you complied

“Again” he said

“Deenji~”

“Again” he hit your g-spot this time

“Denji!!” you screamed,

“Say it again!”

“Denji! Ahh! I’m going to cum! yesyesyes right there don’t stop!” He brought his forehead to yours, sweat dripping from both of you. He started cursing you could tell he was close too.

Your hand grabbed at his blond locks pulling his head back a little, and then you came, your walls clenching around him which made him spill his seed deep inside you.

Both of you were riding out your orgasm as much as possible, hips still moving slowly.

He didn’t pull out, your legs were still wrapped around his waist.

He was looking into your eyes yet again, the tiredness becoming clear. He dropped himself onto you, head rested on your chest, where he liked to be the most.

A noticeable silence filled the room. Both of you about to fall asleep to the soft sound of your breathing.

Who would have thought that you would end up with him like this, after falling in love with him practically the same day you met him.

I really am in love with him, you thought to yourself, and with that you drifted into a deep sleep only hoping that he felt the same way.

If only you knew that you made his dream come true…

[oopsimbug]

in which... y/n is just trying to put on eyeliner and harry is bored pt. two

a/n: when she’s back from a six month hiatus after making only ONE fic. wow, do i suck. for anyone who cares, school has been pretty rough. i’m actually procrastinating studying for an exam to finally upload this. it’s been pretty hard to balance both school and writing but oh well. anywho, here it finally is. it took so long to write because i wasn’t feeling very inspired by this. a lot of people asked for a part two and even though i kinda wanted to leave it on a sad note, i am a sucker for giving the people what they want, so sorry if this is a bit shit- i definitely don’t like this one myself. i guess i’m not one for fluffy endings. well, at least for this one i wasn’t. i really hope you enjoy it! more stuff to come, if school doesn’t mind fucking off for a little while (or maybe just forever?) xox -(a) bug

pairing: best friend! harry styles x reader

summary: Harry is worried about Y/n. Y/n is worried about Harry. Harry is solving it by thinking of ways to check on her, while Y/n uses cheesy pasta and the Fresh Prince of Bel Air as an excuse to not think. But what will happen when someone is at her door, and it’s not her delivery man?

warnings: angst, swearing, y/n and harry being idiotos, fluffy end, kissing

word count: 5.3k

It had been a week.

One gruelling, painfully long week.

Harry was biting his nails, staring up at the ceiling as he laid in his bed, worrying about her.

About how he fucked up.

He didn’t think that she would be upset for this long. He thought she would scream at him and then text him the following day, wanting to hang out- a silent “I forgive you”, he supposed.

But after two days of radio silence on her end, he decided to call her. The only problem was that her last words to him were “leave”. She wanted space. She needed to think things through- what things? Harry had no clue. But he had to respect her and her choice to not want him around. So with that, he put down the phone.

But a small part of him (okay fine, a big part of him), wanted her to just show up at his house so they could cuddle again, talking about the stupidest of things while they made cupcakes in his kitchen. They would be listening to groovy music and now and then, they’d stop mixing bowls and sifting flour to dance- well, they were horrible dancers, so more so just wave their hands, hips and shoulders around. It would be fun and would always end up with them laughing at one another. He would lick the batter and she would berate him, telling him that “one of these days, you are going to get salmonella and I’ll just laugh at your stupid ass” and he would retort with something witty and a bit flirty like “don’t worry darling, we both know you would be right at my side if I got sick. I know you can’t stand being apart from me” with a wink and a cheeky smirk. He just wants to see her in her oversized Space Jam hoodie and little basketball shorts. Or her short flower shirt and his sweatpants that she has to cuff at the bottoms because they’re too long. Or even-

He’s gotta stop thinking about her, or his brain will soon explode. But he just can’t stop. He tries to think of the happier moments, like her showing him a tour of her very healthy houseplants that she prides herself in, but every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is her teary face telling him to leave. So no, if he was given the choice to think of her flailing her arms around in his kitchen to dancehall tunes while making sweet treats or crying at something that he provoked, you bet your ass he’d choose the former.

But after the seventh day, he knew that something wasn’t right. This was too much “thinking time”. For all he knew, she could be fine, but she could also be positively bawling. She could be living for this free time, but she also could be waiting for him to make the first move. She could be wanting Harry out of her life for her benefit forever, but she also could be feeling lonely and counting the seconds for their makeup, just like he was.

That was it. He had to go see her and make sure his best friend was okay.

He practised what he was going to say to her in his car on the way to her apartment. “Y/n, I’m so sorry for how I acted. I didn’t stop to think about how you were feeling and didn’t take your emotions into account which was unbelievably wrong of me. I’m truly sorry. It’s just that I really care about you and you’re my best friend and I can’t see you choose a tinder fuck over me and if I saw him in the street I would knock his lights out and I just want to kiss you, can I kiss you, oh god please let me kiss you I just want to-“

Fuck, what was wrong with him? Why was he so upset? He had been on plenty of dates with other celebrities and models and she was always on the sidelines, cheering him on. So why was he getting so touchy-feely about a single tinder date? Maybe he was just in desperate need of attention. He hadn’t had a girlfriend for almost one year and casual fuck arounds also stopped about four months ago, so maybe he just needed to fuck someone quick. That would explain why he sees his best friend’s kindness and natural flirty nature as something more romantic. Every laugh at his jokes, every look in her eyes, every graze of her hand on his thighs as she leans over him to get her drink on the side table next to him, he becomes more switched on and awake. She leaves him feeling giddy and excited at every conversation. “This can’t just be because I’m horny right?” he cannot believe he would ever be that horny. What the hell was he going to do?

*

This is pathetic she thought.

I’m pathetic.

She let out a huge sigh before shoving another forkful of cheesy pasta into her mouth.

What am I doing?

The answer?

Eating carbs upon carbs upon carbs, lounging on her comfy sofa in the most comfortable, yet daggiest pair of pyjamas ever while watching reruns of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air for the fiftieth time, actively avoiding all commitments, housework and jobs that involve moving further than to the kitchen, which even then was an embarrassingly burdening trek on its own.

But she let it slide. How could she not? She was upset and this was how she coped. That’s what she kept reminding herself as she boiled more and more pasta watching the days pass her by without realisation, but now, she’s beginning to question if this was the best idea. Pushing all thoughts of him out of her mind by not looking at her phone just in case he called or texted. But she was beginning to struggle.

It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what inner turmoil she was facing. He seemed genuinely hurt when she snapped at him. He truly didn’t understand why she took so much offence to the playground ribbing, it seemed. And she had to go be a dick and ignore him. He was probably worried sick. How many times would he have called to check up on her? 10? 15? The more she thought about it, the more she wanted this stupid feud to be over and just be in his arms again, even if it’s just as a friend. So she caved. Turned on her phone, expecting there to be at least a call or a text asking if she was still alive or not. And although she did receive a message of that likeness, it wasn’t from Harry, no. It was from her daily water tracking app, pleading her to fill in her daily intake of water so as to not die of dehydration after she was suspected to have not drunk any for the entire week when in reality, she was just too in her head to open her stupid phone and log her water.

Wow, she thought.

Now not only has Harry chosen to not speak to you, but you also look like a huge idiot right now. Of course, he wouldn’t want to talk to you! You got pissed at him for absolutely no reason and now he hates you. He’s gonna ask for his cardigan and track pants that he keeps at your house in case he wanted to sleepover. He’s going to take back all of his little knick-knacks that he leaves over, like the cute diffuser that he leaves because he knows you need it for your constant hay-fever that blocks your nose and then he’s going to declare that you aren’t friends anymore and then you will never get the chance to tell him how you feel and then-

Her panicky brooding is interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Who the hell could that be?”, she thinks. It was too late for it to be the postman with her package containing her entire Amazon wish list that she bought on the third day of mourning to make herself feel better. But it couldn’t be Mrs Xiao asking her if she had any holes in her shirts that needed stitching. The sweet old lady fell asleep at 8:37 pm sharp after her medicine that she’d take at 8:30 pm would kick in (which she learnt after spending nights over at her apartment where her niece, Mei, took care of her. Y/n would learn traditional recipes like baozi and watch movies with her two friends all the time). It couldn’t be Mei either, she was always in online uni lectures from 8:30-10:30 pm, locked away in her little study, so as to not bother or be bothered. So now, a little panicked, Y/n wondered who was truly at her door?

Another two knocks come, echoing off the walls of her little apartment as she turns down the volume of the program she was watching. She stares at the door from her couch, debating whether she should risk getting stabbed by a possible murderer or not, before ultimately deciding that life was too short. She was also getting sick and tired of the knocks that kept arriving in threes. She swings her legs off the couch and onto the floor, pushing them into her slippers so that her feet wouldn’t touch the cold floor, waddling her way to the door before shyly opening it, peeking at who it could be through the tiny crack in the opening, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t mind her current state: belly filled with pasta, hair knotty, giant shirt with sweatpants on and Harry’s patchwork cardigan hanging off her shoulders- which she had been wearing all day, cherishing the pretty piece of clothing and his scent imbedded in it, taking it all in just in case he asks for it back. She peeps at the torso of this mystery person, realising that Harry owns the jumper worn by them, before looking up and locking eyes with a worn out and tired eyed Harry, one hand in the pocket of the familiar hoodie and another extended out near the door, ready to knock again before freezing when it opens up all the way to show herself to her best friend. He doesn’t eye her up and down cheekily like he normally does when she is wearing pyjamas, wolf-whistling at her relaxed state, claiming that “You look runway-ready, my love! Do a twirl for the crowd, will you?”. Instead, he stares her right in the eyes with what looks like almost relief, before smiling a weak and broken smile.

One of them needed to break the silence or both would have just stared at each other in her doorway until the world exploded. So she starts.

“Hi.” her voice hovers a tinge above a whisper, almost as though if she dared to speak louder, this probable illusion of the one she loves would fade away. He lights up a little bit, probably relieved that she started the conversation.

“Hey,” his soft voice matched her volume and tone as if he too didn’t want this to be a dream. “May I come in?” The words sound awkward to her coming out of his mouth. Harry never had to ask for permission to be invited in- he usually just strolled in without so much as a holler to indicate he was present, finding amusement in scaring her instead while she was doing whatever she was doing, whether that be reading, watching a movie, cooking or napping. They were the best of friends and never had to inquire about entry to each other’s domains, along with other small things like if they had anything in their kitchens to eat or if they could sit somewhere, so hearing it was a little disheartening and provoked Y/n to think about how serious this situation was.

“Okay”, she replied after the pause of contemplation, opening the door fully so that the lanky boy could follow along behind her, like a little puppy. She didn’t like how awkward the situation was. She just wanted things to go back to what they were.

But then you wouldn’t be able to tell him you love him... her inner voice argued. And she agreed. She knew that yes, this will be awkward, but it’s an opportunity for him to listen to her and know that she isn’t joking.

“Would you like some tea?” She enquires. They’ll need to handle this like proper grown-ups (which in all honesty, isn’t their dynamic- it’s more like first-year uni students who are mature enough to have deep conversations but still laugh at dad jokes and anything remotely serious, like a painting with boobs), and from what she knows, or has seen in movies when the characters are being serious, is that you need tea or a drink of that sort and a sit down on the couch where you talk stuff out. So that’s exactly what she does.

“Yes please,” Harry’s soft voice replies as he toes off his boots that most definitely cost more than her apartment. Y/n nods and heads to the small kitchenette and flips the switch on the electric kettle before going into her cupboard that housed the mugs. Harry stood awkwardly near the sofas, and to save him the embarrassment of waiting while standing, Y/n invites him to sit with a small, “You can take a seat,” and a quick glance at him before returning her gaze to the mugs to make herself look busy. She didn’t want to look him in the eyes for more than three seconds in fear of bursting into tears and the worn out and tired sight of him. She shakes the thought out of her head and begins to prepare the mugs.

Y/n put two teabags in her mug while putting one in Harry’s. She was raised in a household of avid tea drinkers and she inherited her strong tea quirk from her father who would always keep two teabags with only a dash of milk, and the only difference between her tea and her fathers was that Y/n wasn’t strong enough to take her tea without sugar, unlike her father, who thought that drinking unbelievably concentrated leaf juice with milk was a fun and relaxing time. On the other hand, Harry liked to keep one tea bag in his mug while he drank it, but just like her father, he too took little to no sugar with his cup, being the health freak he was. And early in their friendship, when she mentioned it to him, Harry chuckled and chirped, “Your father is a smart man. He has to be for raising amazing and talented people like your siblings. I’m not sure what went wrong with you though...” while booping her nose as they laid together under a tree for a little picnic. And though she rolled her eyes at him and punched his shoulder for the sly dig at her, she was practically beaming at the fact that he thought her family was smart. Harry had no idea how much that meant to her. Y/n loved her entire family, and she was unbelievably close to them, so it made her entire week to know that Harry, someone she respected and loved so much, recognised how talented and smart each of her family members were. Don’t get her wrong, she didn’t need the validation to know that her family was amazing, but she felt so special knowing he took the time to notice. He did that a lot though. Doing things that meant a lot to her without batting an eye. Saying things that only a person as observant as he could notice, like complimenting her eye colour in the light and asking her to read for him because he constantly mentions how much he loves her voice.

Y/n looked over to the same sweet guy she fell head over heels for, who was sitting on her couch, fidgety as ever, and wondered if they would ever be the same after the very next moments to come. She didn’t want things to change between them, but she was dying inside knowing that he wasn’t hers. And getting over him was not in the question, after the fiasco that happened last week. She just wished she could get inside his head to sate her painful curiosity.

What is he thinking about?

**

What is she thinking about?

It’s the million-dollar question running through his mind. What was she pondering over as she made them tea? Did she want to talk to him? Was she mad that it took him so long to find the balls to face her? Was she as nervous as he was? Was she worried that they would never be the same again like he was?

He was going into panic mode, questioning everything, while probably looking stupid as ever. As much as he regretted how awkward things were now, and the fact that he instigated her to lash out at him a week ago, he was realising that he was not regretting the fact that he did it. He didn’t want her to go out with someone else, and she didn’t. And yes, of course, he feels bad-beyond bad, in fact- for making her cry, and wishes he could take it all back, he also sees this as an opportunity to tell her how he feels about her. He could finally tell her that he thinks about her all the time. About her soft smile, her bright eyes, her melodic laugh, her speaking voice that brings butterflies to his stomach. He could tell her about how he loses himself at work, the grocery store, fuck- even at events- thinking about what she was doing at her house. Was she under her blankets on her couch, watching some corny tv show? Was she baking her signature choc chip cookies that taste like the gods blessed every single biscuit on the tray before they were put in the oven? Was she knitting her cat, Chesnut, another rug to plonk herself down on, with her feet up on the ottoman as she listened to the 7 o’clock news on the radio? Was she writing a paper for another deadline? Something so sophisticated, like the exploration of white and male privilege and how it is ingrained in our society? Something that Harry tried to understand and research so that he could stay in the loop with his smart girl’s interests, but he always struggled with.

It was a huge insecurity of his. Not that his best friend was smarter than he was, no way. He treasured the fact that she could and would whip his ass at a debate on things like the state of the world, or human rights. She could school him on global politics, languages, maths, science, history and literally anything else, and he would be cheering her on. What he was insecure about was her realising that he was probably slowing her down in life. Y/n was well within her rights to kick him out of her life for being nothing but a freeloader and stopping her from reaching her full potential, what with him constantly stopping her from her own life to help him go through shit happening in his. Whenever he was sad, or confused, or upset, Y/n was the first person he would talk to and he feared that she would realise that he was probably taking advantage of her and stop talking to him. And that scared him. It scared him because he knew that she didn't need him at all, but he needed her to do anything in life. Every major and minor decision in his life has been approved by Y/n first, and not because she was a controlling friend who didn’t trust him with his own life, but because Harry needed her validation. Harry Styles, a world-famous superstar, had girls, guys and non-binaries at his feet, following his every beck and call. Harry Styles, who was on the cover of every magazine, known by every celebrity, dated only the most perfect of women, required validation from Y/n, a psychology major at a small university. Y/n, who liked to plan her day out on a to-do list, end up not doing anything on that to-do list and cry about it afterwards. Y/n, who breaks it down to “Murder She Wrote” by Chaka Demus & Pliers like it’s her last 4 minutes and 5 seconds alive on this Earth while making pancakes. Y/n, who cries more when she’s laughing while watching Tik Toks than she does during sad movies.

To celebrities, Y/n was nothing but a regular. But to Harry, she was all. She was the warmth of a sweater that you toss in the dryer for a few minutes to make it extra toasty. She was the pad of butter that you spread onto your pumpkin sourdough toast and it ends up being exactly the amount you wanted. She was the feeling when you are driving home from a long day of interviews and premiers, and you’re on the freeway and the windows down and you just… exist. She is the feeling you get when you watch Pride and Prejudice, and the relief of when you find the perfect word to end a lyric. She is when your shoes fit perfectly, and when you finish a book so utterly fulfilling that you lie there in a trance, looking up at your ceiling at 3 am, wondering how you could have been so lucky to be able to be blessed with an ending like the one you just read. Y/n was all those things and more.

And that’s why he had to tell her he loved her. No matter how scared he was.

***

The electric kettle is finished boiling the tea all too quickly as the bubbling comes to an end and the distinct click of the switch turning back off echoes around the silent apartment. Y/n had poured the scalding hot water into the two cups she had prepared stared into them.

It was time. She had tried to avoid this for as long as possible, but now it was the moment to face the music. She picked up the two mugs of tea and brought them to her lounge where Harry was sitting on her worn in green sofa, staring at her coffee table, eyebrows scrunched, pouted lips, deep in thought, before looking up at her with wide green eyes, and followed her to where she stood in front of him. She passed his mug to him before sitting on the comfy chair a few feet away from the sofa and from him, putting some distance in between them for her sake, so that she wouldn’t try to hug him and say sorry without saying what she needed to say first. Which she needed to start talking about now, so as not to sit in the awkward silence created by the two.

Say something!!

“So…’

Jesus fuck…. was that all you could think of? Wow. I am going to lose my best friend.

Y/n was choking.

“I am so sorry,” Harry’s voice intercepts, raspy from the lack of use, looking up from the coffee table he seemed so interested in. “I am so fucking sorry Y/n. I have no excuse as to why I was making fun of you that day. I pushed too far and I am a shit friend for not noticing that you were already on edge. It was so wrong of me and I am so sorry.” He stopped himself before he started to ramble, looking at her with eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t decipher.

Y/n felt… unsatisfied. Why did she feel this way? He apologised, right? So why does she feel unfulfilled? Why does she want him to say more? He hit all of the points he had to for a standard apology, so why did she think he hadn’t done enough? Was it that little optimist in her brain hoping he would maybe reveal a slight attraction to her? Maybe tell her that he loves her, and has loved her forever and ever? Confess that she has bewitched him, body and soul so that she didn’t have to? God, was she an idiot. But a lovestruck idiot at that. She bites her tongue and replies.

“Harry, I forgive you. Although you were annoying as ever,” She rolls her eyes and smirks, while he lets out a breathy, half-assed chuckle, showing his acknowledgement at her attempt to ease the lowered yet still prevalent tension. She continues. “ I understand that you were just trying to have fun. I guess I was the one who irrationally lashed out . I am always okay with you poking fun at me, but I was just frustrated and tired and I took it out on you. I’m sorry for the improper communication and I’m sorry for pushing you away when we should’ve just talked…”

“I forgive you too. I think this was just miscommunication on both parts.” He stared into her eyes, almost as if he could sense the discontent in her, but chose to ignore it.

“I guess so.” She halfheartedly answered, not really knowing where to take the conversation next. They had both apologised, but evidently still had things to say. Well, Y/n had things to say, that’s for sure, but she was pretty sure that Harry wanted to say something too. He had that look on his face where he wanted to say something but was forcing himself not to.

What does he want to say? Why can’t he say it to my face? I mean, sure, I’m also hiding shit I wanna say, but I have an excuse. This could ruin our friendship. What does he have to say?

“Great,” Harry replies, trying to fill the awkward pauses and conversation that is being held. He still looked like he had something to say, but seemed like he was not budging.

Well, if he’s not saying anything, I’m not either. Why do I have to confess my feelings and put our friendship on the line if he isn’t even going to say what’s on his mind?

“So, are we good?”

“I don’t know. Are we? I mean, I forgive you and you forgive me, right?”

“Right… No yeah, we’re alright. We’re completely fine!” Y/n replies quickly. Why the fuck would you say that? You’re not fine.

There is a pregnant pause and Y/n has half a better mind to just get up, walk to the bathroom again with her head down and lock herself in there till he leaves again, because she cannot take this awkward conversation. Not with him. She shifts, ready to stand up to get some water, when Harry looks at her, confusion and slight panic setting into his face.

“Wait. I don’t think I’m fine…” She looks up at the boy sitting in front of her, reading the words from her mind like they were scribed on a piece of paper in the blackest of ink, permanent and bold. Her heart stuttered. What else did he want?

“Is everything okay, H?” she tentatively asks. He loses eye contact with her, gaze lowering towards the table in front of him

“I-” he pauses, trying to collect his thoughts while simultaneously trying to explain to her why he wasn’t okay. “I just- fuck” his head falls down, his face inches away from the hot tea in his hands, the humid steam billowing out of the mug and warming his elegant face as he takes a deep breath and tries once more to convey his thoughts. “I don’t want us to be friends again.”

Her heart stops. This could go one of two ways. He could either be confessing his hatred or his adoration for her, and either one would probably end with her imploding. She tries to take a neutral tone when she replies.

“What does that mean, H?”

He looks at her once more. “It’s not enough, Y/n... “

“What?” She is confused. Her friendship isn’t enough? How is she supposed to reply to that?

“I want more. I don’t want us to just be friends. I want to be more with you. I want to do more with you. I want to do things that friends… they shouldn’t do together…”

Is he trying to confess he likes her? Why, in all the ways you could speak, would he choose to speak like that?! She has had enough of him dawdling around his feelings. “Harry, stop being cryptic and fucking tell me what’s going on?!”

“I love you, Y/n! I fucking love you, Y/n. So much. And it is eating me from the inside out. I hate that we can’t be normal anymore, and I hate that you don’t love me the way I love you, but I cannot sit here and pretend everything is fine, because I love you.”

Y/n is stunned. Frozen in her spot. Can’t move, can’t speak, can’t breathe. Stuck in space, and stuck in time.

Holy fucking shit… he loves me…

While Y/n processes the life changing knowledge that her best friend loves her, her best friend conveniently sits next to her, wishing that he was dead for the letdown he was about to receive.

“Say something… please, for the love of God, say something!”

****

She looks up at Harry. Not Harry Styles, playboy, whore, singer, millionaire, but instead; Harry, her best friend of five years, reddened face out of embarrassment. She sees the mortality in his eyes. Feels his presence so heavily in the moment. She is in awe. True awe of him, and his ability to love her. And with that awe- and that stupid look on her face, she reaches up and cradles his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs softly over his plush pink lips. He stands just as still as her, barely breathing, as if it would shatter the fantasy to stardust and he would wake up in his bed, cold shivers running down his spine, as has happened previously whenever he thought of this moment, staring up at his ceiling at 3:40AM wondering why he thought of his best friend in such a way. She creeped closer to his face before stopping a breath away from him, and whispered.

“Is this okay?”

She looked into his eyes, and he looked into hers, both never feeling so alive before. He wishes to tell her that she needn’t ask for his permission, and that he wants to kiss her forever. Eternally locked in an embrace that holds their souls together. But all he can muster is a weak and broken whisper back.

“Please,”

She can hold it for no longer, and leans in the rest of the way, their lips moulding together, for the very first time, eyes fluttering close, as his hands reach to grab her by the hips to straddle him, deepening the kiss even further. And when they part for breath, panting for air with slightly moist lips, they touch foreheads, eyes still closed. Words needn’t be exchanged- everything that yearned to be said was useless, as it could never describe how they truly felt for each other. So hopelessly besotted with one another, that all they could do was breathe together before kissing once more, hoping that their actions could provide even an iota of an idea of how much they love one another.

Two best friends, turned lovers forevermore.

[baebaejooheon]

Corpse husband x cottagecore! Reader headcanon

Just a cottagecore esque thing where it’s readers birthday and they throw a big meet up/sleepover thing.

Fem reader just bc. Mentions wearing a dress/skirt

A/N: uhhh leave me alone Ik I have a series in the works that I haven’t written for in months. Leave me alone 😎 not edited pls it’s rlly not good , as well as written at 6 am. Based on a maladaptive daydream I had for like a week straight. I could turn this into a real fic if anyone wants it but like ahaha I can barely write once a year 😌🤚🏻 I will probably reread it and fix it later but as of now you get what you get. I literally just typed this on my phone with no sleep so like 🤗🤪

Originally posted by datchidatchi

A little background, Y/N lives in a medium sized cottage esque house. She has a small garden in her back yard, as well as a free roam fluffy brown cow named dellie, and a big chicken coop. As well as a duck that roams the property and a couple of other animals. As well as a huge flower field a little off the premises. (All of this is infact important.)

It’s Your 23rd birthday, and for this big occasion you decided to invite over all your friends, even those who live outside of the country, to your small home in the middle of nowhere. This would be the meetup that would break the internet.

Many people were invited. The typical among us group:Jack, Felix, Rae, Sykunno, Toast, Poki, and even Corpse who was given the option even tho the likelihood was low given the situation.

A few SMP friends you had made through association were also invited: Karl, Alex, Nick etc.

Many people, lots of fun.

The morning of your birthday, You awoke to many messages and posts for your birthday. Lots of bomb selfies on the feed as well as #HAPPYBDAYY/N trending on Twitter. Along with this, you were greeted with a few texts from your non American friends stating that they arrived safely or that they were checking into the hotel rooms they had booked for the weekend.

When the time came for the party, most of the people had managed to show up. The party was in full swing, everyone had a drink in hand, posting pictures, celebrating being together as well as it being your birthday.

Filling the trending tab on Twitter with so many hashtags

Around 10 pm you got a call from corpse and decided to head upstairs to get some peace and quiet from the loud music in your living room.

Answering the phone the conversation wasn’t anything special, corpse wishing you the fourth happy birthday for that day, as well as asking how everything was going. It was a normal conversation, that was, until his breath hitched and his voice started to quiver as he grew quiet, barely mumbling. Asking what was wrong, corpse went on a small tangent about how he wished he was more confident with his looks, how he wished it wasn’t scary showing his closest friends what he looked like etc. and how he wished he could be there at the party with everyone.

“Corpse I’ve told you 100 times. I understand your situation and it’s ok that you couldn’t show up. I don’t hold it against you, but I didn’t want you to feel left out :))”

“What would you say if I said I just pulled up in an Uber and I’m absolutely terrified of what’s gonna happen?”

Sneaking out of the back door as quickly as possible and running to the front lawn preparing herself. Corpse steps out of the car and You just jump in his arms. like full on koala grip on this man.

Holding his face and just showering him with compliments. Lots of reassurance and sweet nothings.

Heading to the back porch in order to allow him to calm down and prepare. The two end up sitting outside in the dark talking for like 30 minutes.

Finally working up the courage to head inside. You hold his hand the whole time and you see his hands start to shake.

Stepping into the living room, Jack noticing corpse was there, smiling but not saying anything after realizing he’s nervous. Meeting eveyone for the first time really being hard on him. No one else knowing what he looks like so no one really has a reaction

“Look who I found”

“Oh Y/N!! We were wondering where you ran off too. Who’s your friend?”

Corpse just hits them with a “uhh, hi 🤗”

Everyone freaking out as soon as they realize who it is and trying to talk to him.

Phones were put away for most of the night in fear of leaking anything.

You going the extra step to check everyone’s camera rolls (with consent of course) just incase and deleting any photo with any form of corpes face.

A group selfie with just corpse’s hand doing a peace sign

Many drunk escapades

Everyone finding a place to crash for the night. Some staying awake on their phones, some heading to hotels, some alresdy passed out for the night.

You check in on corpse before you head to bed, knowing today was a lot for him.

“Surprisingly? One of the best nights I’ve had in awhile :))”

Heading off to bed.

6 am rolls around and ms Y/N is up at the crack of dawn to do morning chores for the small farm.

Cute hobbit esque dress. Brown skirt, off the shoulder white flowy shirt tucked in, white frilly apron, brown corset belt Etc. you know the fit

Walking down the stairs, you see corpse on his phone in the dark sitting at her dining room table. Everyone was still asleep and it seemed like corpse hadn’t even slept a wink. You know, his insomnia and all.

“What are you doing awake? It’s only 6 am and you partied pretty hard last night?”

“Farm life doesn’t stop for a hangover, but I could ask you the same thing mister :) come on you can help me out”

Corpse is 100% not dressed to do anything outside, especially not any farm work.

Tells him to wait on the back porch while she gathers some stuff from the house. coming out with a messenger bag as well as a basket and a blanket.

Sets everything down and continues to feed the animals with corpse, asking him to grab the big bucket of feed. showing him the ropes, filling up everyone’s water dishes. Collecting eggs etc.

Corpse just watching you with a smile on his face. Your just talking to all your animals, yelling at fiesty hens for pecking at your legs and/or talking to Gerald the duck for getting in the way.

Corpse lowkey obsessed with dellie the cow. Pets her and coos for like 5 minutes straight.

When they finish the sun is barely rising everything still looks like a silhouette from far enough away. putting what needs to go inside away, and then grabbing the messenger bag off the porch.

Dragging corpse to the flower field just down the hill at the edge of the property.

Laying out the blanket and sitting just talking for hours.

You plays music from your phone through a small speaker, dancing around and twirling, lost in your own world.

Corpse’s Instagram story is just full of videos and pictures of you in the sunrise, small captions like happy birthweek to the most amazing person Ik. Or damn who knew farm girl had moves.

Literally 30+ story posts at 7 am.

Corpse takes a picture of you making a flower crown. Shadows cast across your skin, the small bit of sunrise light casting a soft golden glow. The field of flowers all around. Literally goddess worthy.

Fans going crazy reposting the pictures, spamming Twitter etc.

His camera roll is FULL of pictures of her.

Giving corpse A flower crown full of an array of wild flowers

Dancing together. Just twirling and laughing.

City boy corpse loving the farm life

Secretly of course

Relaxing and just sitting with eachother as it slowly reaches 10 am.

“Uh, thanks for this morning, I had a lot of fun.” A small sleepy smile on his face. The flower crown crooked on his messy curls as he just stares into your eyes.

You both end up leaning in for a kiss bumping noses as you gently pull away

Definitely the best birthday gift you could have asked for

Heading back inside to see how everyone’s doing.

Rae being one of the few awake asking where the two of you had been seeing it was already around noon

“Those of us awake took it upon ourselves to raid your kitchen sorry not sorry”

Corpse getting sleepy wanting to take a nap seeing as it was noon and he was running on little to no sleep.

You let him rest in your bed as you occupy everyone downstairs

Everyone leaving around 3 pm, corpse is still asleep so you go outside to check on all the animals once again.

Letting Gerald in the house bc he’s being a pain in the ass.

When you come into the house you see corpse coming down the stairs rubbing his eyes and streatching. His shirt twisted and raising slightly, the jewelry and chains he was wearing now gone.

Giving him a good “morning” kiss.

The day is filled with you cooking for him. Making fun of his foil troubles, watching movies, laughing and overall joking.

Spending the rest of the night cuddling together and making the most of the time you had together.

Making things between you official

✨Extra✨

When you post about eachother to tell the fans that the two of you have been dating for like 6 months the captions are wild.

Corpse is like “ugh look at my gorgeous girlfriend, so pretty, so nice and kind, the most amazing person ever” just full on simp. The pictures he uses are from the morning after your birthday.

Your picture is just you guys holding hands. His usual chains and jewelry. Caption just “eww a city boy 🤮, gotta take all the love I can get tho”

[justalarryblog]

Hey beca! How are you? Do you have any recommendations fic like hl already in relationships, mpreg harry, they struggle to have a baby? Or arranged married? That have 100k words above? Thanks

Hi anon, thanks for the message! I'm doing fine, I hope you are too. :)

The only one I have mpreg!Harry that they struggle to have a baby is this one:

I Hope You Dance by @wickedarcher_08 (83k) | Explicit

Louis and Harry have been struggling with infertility for over a year. After many failed attempts, they decide to seek a specialist, but they end up with more than they ever dreamed.

For mpreg!Harry that is +100k words, I have:

Say Something by @kingsofeverything​​ (105k) | Explicit

At fifty years old and recently divorced, Omega Harry Styles isn’t interested in dating. When his doctor suggests a heat and rut matching service, he signs up out of necessity. It’s the only use he has for an Alpha in his life.

Twenty-eight-year-old Alpha Louis Tomlinson aims to change that.

I also have a tag for Mpreg fics in case you wanna check if there's any other to your liking.

For arranged married, I've read these:

Through Eerie Chaos by @mediawhorefics (102k) | General Audiences

For as long as anyone can remember, Old Hillsbridge Manor has always been believed to be haunted. Everyone in the village agrees and keeps a respectful, fearful, distance. New in town after a bad breakup and an internship that led to disappointment rather than a permanent job, Harry Styles figures taking pictures of the decrepit building could be a great new creative project. Or at least a much-needed distraction while he searches for a job and crashes at his parents’ new house. No one warned him about the apparitions though; about the music, the laughter, the people who flicker and vanish when you call after them, the echoes of a past that should be long gone… Harry has never believed in spirits but even he can admit that there’s something weird going on. What starts as mere curiosity evolves into a full-blown investigation and soon enough, Harry finds himself making friends with an aristocrat from the 1920s and struggling with finding the best way to tell him that he’s dead.

The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.

Part 1 of Through Eerie Chaos

tastes like summer, smiles like may by @outropeace (47k) | Explicit

“Is this true?” Harry grabbed the beta by the shoulders. “Bryce, where did you hear that?”

“There’s rumors going around the castle,” he smirked. “stories about his beauty and his cold attitude. They know he is an omega only because of his scent, but he has never had a heat.”

“Do you know what this means?”

Bryce smirk grew into a big smile. “He can’t give you an heir.”

A cold prince, an alpha with nothing left to lose and a kingdom with a secret.

Praise the Mutilated World by @creamcoffeelou, @delsicle (106k) | Explicit

It was August when everything changed.

By October, the leaves changed, and so did Louis’ heart.

OR: An enemies to lovers dystopian au where Harry is an elite alpha and Louis is a rebel omega with too much to fight for. Every move made is monitored, and a fertile omega’s purpose in life is one thing: to give children to their alpha.

a dream is a wish your heart makes by orphan_account (22k) |Teen And Up Audiences

Fairytale retelling of Cinderella, where Harry is a servant boy who’s too kind, Louis is a prince in an arranged marriage, Liam is Harry’s step brother, and Niall is Louis’ dutiful grand duke.

Si Pudiera Volar by @softfonds (68k) | Explicit

When Harry’s fiancé leaves him for his cousin, he looks the other way for the sake of his happiness. He’ll do anything to forget about him, including joining a monastery. It isn’t until his cousin’s former lover, a pirate, appears that he realizes everything is not as it appears, and an honest pirate might be the only person worthy of his heart.

Or, a fic loosely based on Corazon Salvaje.

The Murmur of Yearning by @mediawhorefics (93k) | Mature

Four years ago, Harry Styles was forced into a marriage of convenience to enrich and ally both his and his promised’s families. The sudden, and slightly suspicious, death of the Marquess of Haxshire, however, brings great disturbance to Crescentfield Hall and, as his late’s husband’s closest male relative, Harry unexpectedly finds himself the head of a family he never felt he belonged to. Between a meddling distant cousin hellbent on inserting himself in Harry’s life, his wicked and mistrustful mother-in-law and his late husband’s advisors refusing to help or take him seriously, Harry struggles in the fight to keep what he’s earned and make the Estate finally feel like home.

Luckily, he doesn’t stand completely alone and finds himself an unlikely ally in Mr Tomlinson, the elusive Land Stewart who has been taking care of the property in the shadows for years. Louis Tomlinson is caring, patient, and unlike everyone else, he doesn’t seem to think Harry committed a murder.

the sanctity of patience by @scrunchyharry (22k) | Teen And Up Audiences

When young Lord Harry was chosen by King Louis of Bavaria to become his husband and prince consort, Harry thought all of his dreams had come through. His illusions came crashing down when he understood it meant living in isolation in the alpine castle of Neuschwanstein with a husband who turned out to be far from what he had hoped for.

His illusions vanished, Harry will have learn to appreciate what has and even, perhaps, fall in love with his imperfect husband and his castle.

Winter Pines and Ocean Eyes by @binarysunsets (14k) | Teen And Up Audiences

Harry is awoken by the sudden weight of his dog across his chest, and he yawns and stretches his arms above his head, relishing the crack of his back the gesture produces and sending Fen tumbling down onto the bed. There’s a niggling sensation that he has something important to do that day, but in his still-sleepy state he’s struggling to recall what it is. When it hits him, he freezes mid-rub of his eyes, and his hand slowly falls to the furs strewn across the bed. His fingers tangle into the fur and he bites his lip.

Right. It’s that day.

The day he’s meant to travel south.

Or, the arranged marriage au between young viking Harry, son of his clan’s chief, and a certain caesar by the name of Louis, heir to the empire.

Liberté by @larriebane(64k) | Mature

AU. 1647. “Pretending you don’t have a heart is not the best way to not get it broken. It’s just the easiest.”

Or the pirate AU I always wanted to write

Teenage Rebellion Never Worked Out So Well by @panda_bear21 (55k) | Not Rated

“I’m an adult!” He glanced down at Harry, who seemed anything but at the moment, where he was definitely on the brink of a temper tantrum. “We’re both adults!” Jay glanced to Anne again, before breathing out a heavy sigh. “Yes, but you’re both adults that do not have jobs and who live off of our money… Which means, you have to do what we say… or you’ll have to find a new place to live.” “You wouldn’t do that.” Louis dared, hoping his glare was enough to guilt trip his mother into calling the whole thing off. Or to tell them that it had all just been a huge joke and they weren’t actually being forced into marrying a complete stranger. “Oh, but we would.”

Or the super cliché arranged marriage fic where things escalate way too quickly.

infinitely all for me by @swallowsmateforlife (10k)| Explicit

The Alpha Louis’ been betrothed to since he was 14 has finally come of age and Louis’ been delivered to his home.

or: the one where they figure it all out

keep me safe, keep me sane, keep me honest by @hilourry (8k) | Explicit

Louis is the Prince of England. All past omega princes and princesses have been married and pregnant at age 18, so his parents arrange him to be married to Harry Styles, the royal family’s PR guy.

Sail Across Me by @iwillpaintasongforlou (21k) | Explicit

Harry is a prince that is about to be forced into marriage against his will and running away to sea seems like a much better option. Louis is the captain of the infamous pirate ship The Rogue and he has a thing for helping defenseless creatures. Especially when they're as pretty as this one.

London is well worth a mass  by @dolphinaaaa (93k) | Not Rated

Louis is an Omega prince of France. When he is 13, he is betrothed to Harry of England for politics. The wedding will seal the alliance between the two coutries. This is their story.

Please feel free to check my fic tags if you want to search for other fics! Happy reading, anon!

[iron-mum]

I wish you would write a fic where Tony and kid Peter are being adorable father and son as retribution for the angst you’ve made me suffer through in the past hah! (JK I love you and your angst! 💛)

Well, well, well. What do we have here, eh? A request for adorable? I'm not sure, I'm very good at that 😌

Here's SIMTony who would stop at nothing to help his unwell son, Peter get better. Even if it meant using Extremis.

P.S. ILY3000 💕

In the final throes of the graveyard shift at the hospital floor, the elevator pinged for its frequent lone visitor. The front desk staff, whilst tense and sitting up suddenly straighter, knew not to actually engage. No ID was needed for their boss, one of them barely suppressing a gulp as his determined strides headed for the private room that had been deliberately placed near to the room equipped for every possible kind of emergency. Once inside, he carefully shut the door silently and took a seat at the bedside.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sharp blue eyes shifted from the persistent buzzing of the most technologically advanced medical equipment anyone, anywhere could offer before looking back down to something far more invaluable and precious. Tony’s entire world. His purpose in life. The little boy on the bed lay motionless, breathing slowly and evenly, nose occasionally scrunching up at the discomfort of the oxygen mask upon him. He should have been cocooned in a hug from his father but instead his son, Peter, was littered with wires attaching him to the very best modern medicine had to offer.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Pale, soft skin with the daintiest of freckles stood out against the dark curls spread across the far too big pillow. The small fingers of his left hand had loosely closed around the calloused thumb of his father, letting him know that whilst he had been rendered weak from illness, he was still aware of his comforting presence. Tony’s index finger gently glided across the small knuckles, willing himself to see a tiny curve of the lips on his son’s face.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

This had been the Avengers fault. Peter’s current critical condition. The young boy had been on a school trip when a battle had broken out and the wannabe heroes managed to cause more destruction than lives saved. A chemical explosion had landed most of the class in hospital and many of them had ended up becoming very unwell. Unfortunately for Peter, he already suffered many ailments so even under the wing of Stark’s finest medical personnel, the struggle had taken a toll. The genius shook his head as thoughts of revenge started to sprout from the many seeds that had been planted since the catastrophic incident. He shelved the many ideas he had that would lead to the demise of the reckless group once his kid was better.

It had been hours when the sound of a nurse's footsteps acted as the catalyst that would remove Tony from the room so he could head back to his lab. As he reluctantly moved his hand away, there was no reaction. Not even a twitch from the slender child. Bending down, he tentatively stroked a small amount of the exposed skin that was available on the boy’s face before planting a light kiss on his forehead. By the time the nurse was opening the door to the room to complete the routine checks, any sign of a visitor would be long gone.

The moment Tony was back in his workshop, he strode towards his desk. Music started to reverberate from the ceiling, the sound greatly appreciated compared to the low hum and incessant beeping from the emotionless devices that were currently keeping his son alive.

Tony didn’t believe in a higher power other than himself. So in no way, shape or form was he ever going to accept that he couldn’t save Peter from the incurable illness now ravaging his frail body. Feeling powerless was simply not an option.

Rolling up the sleeve to his top, the genius opened a drawer and pulled out a device meant for extracting blood as painlessly as possible. Not that pain meant much to him these days. No pain would ever compete with a parent having to watch their child deteriorate every single second of every single day.

Satisfied with the draw, Tony placed it into a diagnostic machine of his own making. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of his workshop, eyeing it like he was in the most intense staring contest of his life. Jaw clenching, his arm shot out allowing liquid metal to glide across his skin before firing a repulsor at the glass and shattering it. There was an element of irony to everyone loving his face except himself in the minimal but intrusive “what if” moments that surrounded his current situation. With a crack of his neck, his arm remained outstretched so the Endo-Sym armour could return to it’s housing tank.

“Boss, the results are back,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed as the music lessened in volume. “No adverse reactions detected still. The chemical composition indicates that the Extremis is unchanged in it’s integration with you on a genetic level and continues to remain stable.”

“And the sample from Peter?” Tony asked, confident that he knew what the answer would be.

“Also remaining stable.”

“Alert the staff intending to see Peter following tonight's shift that their presence will not be needed,” the genius demanded as he mentally reiterated the next steps of his plan in his head. Lips curled into devilishly handsome grin at his victory, eyes crinkling at the sides. The smile only softened when his eyes drifted to a framed picture Peter had drawn of the both of them. He’d done it.

“Certainly, boss,” the AI had responded without any acknowledgement. Tony was too busy in thought. Not only was the Extremis flowing through his own veins, leaving him feeling at perfect health. But soon, it would be doing the same for Peter too. Pain free, peak performance and at complete and optimal health.

“Have there been any sightings of the Avengers in the last hour? I feel a splash of revenge is in order for this special occasion?” The holo-screens in front of him started to flicker as social media sites were searched and hashtags refreshed repeatedly. Hulk had been trending within the hour and Hawkeye in the last eleven minutes.

"Well, how about that?" he grinned gleefully. "I really am being spoiled for choice."

Whilst the genius had been certain F.R.I.D.A.Y. had relayed the message to the morning staff, Tony still found himself exhaling sharply at the sight of someone sat by Peter’s side reading his file. The thin bag of Extremis in his hand was shifted into his back pocket as quickly as humanly possible. The good feeling from beating the shit out of one of the Avengers, plus the buzz of providing Peter with a cure that no meagre doctor had been able to, shifted into a tension as tried to work out who it was.

Their face was narrow with sharp features and glasz eyes remarkably penetrating when they met his perusing stare. His black hair had been combed back neatly, the sides of his temples a distinct light grey. The well fitted suit looked designer even for Tony’s impeccable standards.

“Your services are no longer required,” he affirmed with a dismissive flourish of the hands before the man could even introduce himself.

“I’m sorry?” the other man replied without hesitation, closing the file and rising from the chair. Tony’s chair. If he’d been expecting any pleasantries or introductions, he was thoroughly mistaken. Tony was already locked onto Peter, the gentle rise of his chest a welcoming sight as always. He refused to allow his attention to be divided, ignoring the piercing stare boring into him now. “I have an oath to this patient. He critically needs help from the best in all fields. He needs my help.”

The genius turned at that, an eyebrow raised as he looked the doctor up and down. He certainly held himself strongly for someone who had that much audacity in addressing the owner of everything within his current vicinity.

“Are you new around here… Doctor Strange?” He asked disingenuously, eyes narrowing as he scrutinised the name badge. The letters ‘VISITOR - Dr Stephen Strange’ jotted on the bottom, likely the reason he hadn’t got his AI’s memo. The receptionist who let him in would be fired whether it was her fault or not.

“Unlike everyone else in this building, no, I don’t work for you” the doctor shot back tersely. “However, you were so insistent on my consultation that, somehow, I found my diary completely cleared of all surgeries that were booked in.”

“Well, you can now stick them back in your diary. We’re done here.”

“I know this is difficult,” the doctor started, tone suddenly softer as if he were hoping a change of tact would get through. “You brought me in for my expertise, so use them.”

“I’m the most intelligent, capable person on the planet. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

“Your arrogance surpasses all the rumours and expectations I had of you,” Strange snapped back incredulously. Apparently nothing was going to get through. “Your child is-”

“You know, it would be a real shame if you were to lose your medical licence, wouldn't it, doctor?” Tony sneered dangerously low. This ungrateful little shit was going to get it for not only wasting his time and energy, but also his son’s. An insignificant speck like the rest of the world.

“Are you threatening me?” the doctor replied doing his best to keep his tone cool and unflinching when the other man removed all personal space between them. The lack of intimidation he was feeling only pissed Tony off more.

“Let’s not test my resolve, doctor.” Despite feeling completely wrong about leaving considering Peter’s condition, Dr Stephen Strange tucked the file he’d been reading under his arm and left the room in just a few strides. Tony had spotted the hand diving for a phone as the door shut behind him and clenched his fists in disdain.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., be a darling and ensure Doctor Douchebag doesn’t make it back home,” Tony demanded followed by a nonchalant sniff.

“Yes, boss. His phone has also unexpectedly lost all signal so will not be usable anytime soon.”

Satisfied with the course of action his AI had taken, Tony locked the door to his son’s room for good measure. He eyed the current equipment before making his move. One of the drips currently providing Peter with much needed medicine was switched to make way for a sample of the Extremis that Tony had meticulously created and tested on himself. He peered at his son, swallowing thickly that this would all be worth it.

Bag secured, the first few drops started instantly, the older man watching as they flowed along the thin tubes before entering the cannula imposed on Peter’s hand. The skin began to glow orange, the lava looking trail gliding all the way up the arm’s before entering the chest. Daring a glance at the monitors, Tony noted an instant improvement in the readouts. A smile spread across his face as sheet-white, sickly skin started to immediately brighten.

Peter’s big, brown doe eyes suddenly shot open as he took a huge gulp of air, eyes landing on his father who was remarkably in focus for the first time in his life without the aid of glasses. Tony removed the oxygen mask so he could take his son’s face in fully for the first time in well over a month.

“Dad?” the young boy croaked, clearly a little disoriented from the abrupt wake up.

“Hey, buddy,” Tony whispered, voice cracking with emotion as he closed the distance between them.

Peter lunged at his father, his small arms wrapping tightly around the genius’ neck and face burying into his chest. It had been far too long since either had been able to enjoy the tender, heart-bursting feeling of overwhelming, unconditional love from one another.

“I love you, kiddo.” Tony gushed as one of his hand’s lovingly cupped the back of Peter's head holding him as close as possible. The other enveloped around his back, his thumb slowly stroking up and down. When the older man's hand started to trail through Peter's hair, the boy somehow managed to burrow even closer. Tony soothingly lifted curls between his fingers and then let them ping back as new life continued to circle through his son’s body.

“I love you too, dad,” Peter whispered, a strain evident in his voice that Tony hadn’t been expecting. When he leant back, he saw the likely cause. Now unnecessary wires were tugging at his child’s skin.

“Let’s get these off you, bud. You don’t need them anymore,” he promised softly as he carefully went to work at removing the monitoring equipment clips and stickers. Peter’s curious eyes followed every step of the way, surprisingly not wincing even when some of the tougher stickers were peeled away. Although he was too young to even begin comprehending what had happened, he knew from vague memories he’d been hurt and that he’d slept a lot. Often he had been unsure if he was dreaming or awake when he’d hear his father read him stories, express his love and let him know how brave he was being. A slight tug on his hand drew him from his recollection as he looked down.

"I’m scared," Peter timidly admitted as he eyed up the last piece of medical equipment attached to him. The cannula in his hand.

“Here’s what we're gonna do, bud. We’re going to put on our brave faces and before you know it, it’ll be all done and over with. Can you show me your bravest, fiercest face?” Tony gently challenged, as part of his upper lip curled and he playfully growled.

The child’s dinky nose scrunched up and his lips pushed out into the biggest pout he could form. He shook his head a little and hummed in a way that likely felt fierce to him but could only be described as adorable to his dad.

"Wowzer. That was super mean, you nearly scared me!” Tony gasped dramatically, as he gestured for the boy to look down and see that the only thing on the top of his hand was a small cotton wool ball and a light pressure from his dad. Using his free hand to fish into his pocket, Tony revealed a green Paw Patrol sticker with Peter’s favourite character, Rocky, on it.

It had been a distant memory since the young boy had handed it to him, having spotted the numerous nicks and cuts that littered his hard working hands after a long day in the workshop. Extremis meant Peter wouldn’t even need it, but the placebo effect would make it worth it.

“Am I all better, daddy?” Peter asked as Tony eyed him up once more. The overwhelmed father cupped his kid’s face and planted another kiss on his forehead, relief washing over him that he was now free from the concatenation of medical instrumentation.

“You most certainly are. And that means we get to skedaddle out of here.”

Before his son could anticipate his next move, his father had scooped him up into his arms and they were making their way not only out of the room, but off of the floor for good.

They’d had a chance to change into matching casual wear and feasted on a huge breakfast before snuggling up on the sofa. Peter had selected an Octonauts movie to watch as he tucked into his father’s side and enjoyed the sound of his steady heartbeat.

It would be a couple of hours when Tony’s phone pinged with a notification he knew was F.R.I.D.A.Y. when she was being discreet. His son huffed at the movement as he shuffled to get the phone out of his pocket, muttering an apology to his kid before opening the message.

[Unfortunate accident on the Hawk’s Nest, Route 97. Vehicle crossed the barrier and rolled multiple times down the cliff’s edge before landing in the Delaware River. Initial scan from one of the Iron Sight Bot #364 shows one survivor.]

Tony’s smirk widened into a full blown smile. Peter’s heart-of-gold eyes suddenly on him, looking up from his position. It was likely a silent protest at the lack of head strokes he was suddenly receiving so the genius replied swiftly.

[Call off any emergency services and get him med-evaced here.]

“You know what I think we need. Celebratory cheeseburgers for lunch,” he announced as Peter let out a squee of joy.

[mrs-harkness]

Run To Me (Part 4)

Pairing: Diane Sherman x Fem!Reader 

Word Count: 2.5k

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

TW: Brief mention of vomiting. I don’t want anyone getting triggered, so I would rather be overly cautious!

A/N: If you would like to be on a tag list for this fic, please add a comment below or shoot me a message! Excited about the next chapter, things are coming. Again thank you for the love. I am having so much fun writing this and it means even more when you have people who enjoy reading it!

Even though it had been four whole days since the accident, you were not feeling better. Diane had said that the day after was supposed to be the worst, but it seemed like you felt weaker each day. Diane was keeping a close eye on you though, making sure you weren't running a fever and that the road rash and cuts weren't getting worse. She said if you got any weaker, she would bring you to the local urgent care to make sure something serious wasn't going on.

Though you weren't feeling well, you enjoyed the days spent with Diane in the quiet little house, just the two of you. You had learned a lot about each other in the past few days, developing a routine with one another that always ended the day with a cup of that nasty ass tea, but deep and sweet conversation.

You hadn't gone into too much detail about your past quite yet, about your mother or father or what it was like in the foster home. You shared mainly surface level things and funny memories that were light hearted. You knew the heavier stuff would be discussed eventually. Although you were choosing to keep the painful memories of your past to yourself for the time being, Diane had opened to you almost immediately.

You found out she didn't have parents either, her mother dying when she was a child and she was married when she was very young, to an abusive husband that left her for another woman only a year and a half into the marriage. Soon after she found out she was pregnant and she decided to not reach out to her ex-husband and to just raise the baby on her own. Unfortunately she developed high blood pressure and delivered the baby too soon, and she died in Diane's arms before she even had time to discuss options. Her name was Chloe and Diane chose to live a quiet life after that. She moved to Washington only a few years ago and put herself into teaching, science, and her garden. She always wanted a child, but she was just never able have one again.

When she told you that, your heart broke for her. Of course she was so willing to take you home with her. She was lonely! She had promised to take care of you, but you knew as soon as you were back on your feet, you were going to try and care for her too. In whatever way she would let you. You weren't Chloe, and you could never be Chloe, but you could love her with all your heart.

It had been another rough day, as you had suddenly developed a bad headache and had felt queasy for most of it. You didn't really eat much of your dinner, pushing it around your plate. You didn't want to tell Diane you had vomited up breakfast. If she knew you were barely keeping things down, she may get worried.

Diane cleared the plates from the table and brought them to the sink. She noticed you didn't eat more than a few bites. She didn't say anything but turned to you and smiled.

"How about you go ahead and sit on the couch? I'll be there in just a minute," she said quietly. Her voice had seemed to grow more gentle towards you each day.

You smiled wearily and went to the living room, lazily sitting down on the couch. It could have only been a few minutes, but you somehow managed to fall asleep. You were constantly tired and wanting to nap. Diane said it was a good sign because it meant your body was trying to heal itself.

You were woken up by the couch dipping under Diane's weight. You opened your eyes and saw her smiling at you, holding a bowl of something brown. It smelled sweet and you looked at her suspiciously.

"What's that? No tea tonight?" you asked, hopeful.

Diane chuckled and pulled out two spoons, sticking it into the bowl.

"No, no tea tonight. I don't want you to get too much of those herbs and vitamins. And this, it's brownie batter. Me and my friends as teenagers would make a bowl of it and eat it as we talked about boys and school and our dreams," she said, picking up a spoon and licking off the chocolate from it.

You couldn't help but smile as you took a spoon and licked at it cautiously. You had never had the stuff and it was intoxicating. You shoved the whole spoon in your mouth, ready to inhale the entire bowl.

Diane laughed and pulled the bowl towards her.

"Alright, alright speedy... don't eat it too fast. You'll get sick."

You forced yourself to go slower, but the moment Diane turned around you would be sure to put as much of it in your mouth that would fit. This was worth getting sick over. Diane stared at you, drinking up the image of you enjoying the treat she had brought.

"You know," Diane hummed, "I always thought I'd do this one day with my daughter. Make it a tradition and she'd tell me her secrets and we would be best friends."

You're heart ached in your chest. You knew she meant Chloe and you knew she would rather her be on the couch than you. Suddenly the batter didn't taste as sweet. You put the spoon into the bowl and left it there. You looked up at Diane and saw she was almost beaming at you though.

"I'm glad I get to do it with you," she said, picking up the spoon with her other hand and letting you eat off it.

You felt really confused, but happy at the same time. You knew you weren't her daughter, but sometimes the way she said things or looked at you, it was like she wanted you to be. As if that's how she saw you. You weren't sure if you saw her as a mother though, you didn't really know what that felt like. It was complex for you.

"So, Y/n, tell me. What did you do with your friends? Did you have any special traditions with the girls?" Diane asked, eating another spoon of the batter, it dripping onto her lips.

It broke you from your anxious thoughts and had you now thinking about your past. It wasn't that much better but at least it would keep you talking.

"Well, I really wasn't in one place long enough to make any traditions with my friends. But me and my foster sister, the one who lives in town, we would go and sneak out of our group home and head to the woods behind it. The woods had fireflies in them and we would go see the 'light shows' and talk about a bunch of different things. What our families could have been like, what we were going to do when we aged out, the issues we had at the home."

You remembered those nights fondly, some of the few good memories you had growing up. You wondered if there were any woods in the area and if they had fireflies. Maybe you could go and see a 'light show' for old times sake. You would ask your sister when you saw her. But you needed to call her first.

"Uh Diane, could I possibly use your phone?"

Diane suddenly stiffened, the spoon thudding back into the batter. Her face seemed to harden just for a moment before quickly returning to the warm look she often gave you. It took her a moment to respond, making the air between you thick for some reason.

"Sure. Are you okay?" she said, her voice sounding concerned.

She seemed like she was worried and you wondered if she thought she had upset you.

"Oh yeah! I'm fine. I just actually wanted to call my sister and let her know I made it here and that I'm safe and see when she wanted to meet up," you said in a confident tone, hoping to ease her mind.

Her face seemed to twitch and she swallowed hard, clearing her throat. She smiled at you though and you just shrugged off her strange reaction. She pointed to the kitchen where the phone hung on the wall. Diane had phones with chords still in her house, which you found charming, but also a little inconvenient that you couldn't step outside.

"You're welcome to call your foster sister," she said, saying the word 'foster' strangely, "I'm going to go upstairs and get ready for bed to give you some privacy."

She smiled at you and brushed your hair behind your ear before getting up and heading to her room. You waited until you could no longer hear her footsteps before leaning over the brownie bowl and quickly stuffing your mouth with as much batter as you could. As soon as you swallowed it all, you realized you may have made a mistake, but you could regret it later.

You walked over to the phone and pressed the buttons to the number you had memorized by heart. You felt nervous suddenly even though nothing had changed and you had just talked to her a week ago. Your heart race increased with each ringer, anxious to hear her voice.

"Hello?" a sleepy voice on the other side of the phone croaked.

"Mandy? Mandy, its Y/n."

There was some rustling on the other side of the line and you were pretty sure you had woken Mandy up, but you knew she wouldn't mind.

"Hey! I was wondering when I would hear from you. I was a little worried. You were supposed to call me like two days ago," she yawned.

"Yeah I'm sorry. I had a little set back. But I'm here in town and I'm staying with a woman I met-"

Mandy cut you off with a very obnoxious "Ooooohhhhhh!"

"Shut up. It's not like that. She's just a really good friend that I was lucky enough to meet. Now before you say anything else stupid, when and where do you want to meet?"

Mandy chuckled on the other end. She knew you hated being picked on and anytime she sensed even the possibility of making you uncomfortable, she had to crack a joke.

"Well, I have class tomorrow, but I am free after lunch. There is a nice little coffee shop book store on Howard. You can meet me there at like 2PM. Does that sound good?"

"Yeah, that's perfect. I can't wait. I've missed you so much Mandy," you said, tears prickling at your eyes.

"I've missed you too lighting bug. So tell me, who is this lady you are-"

Suddenly Mandy's voice cut off. You pulled the phone away from your ear, not even hearing a dial tone. You messed with the phone for a moment before realizing the line was dead.

"Diane?" you called out, sticking your head around the corner.

Diane was right there, breathing heavy as if she had been running. She startled you and you stared at her, mindlessly passing the phone to her.

"Your phone line went dead," you mumbled.

Diane put the phone to her ear and pressed a few buttons before hanging up.

"I'll call the phone company in the morning. Sometimes someone hits a line and the whole thing goes dead. Were you able to call your friend though?" she asked, leaning against the wall.

You noticed she said friend this time, but you brushed it off. She didn't know the bond you and Mandy shared.

"Yes! I did. I'm going to meet her tomorrow for lunch."

Diane didn't hid her discomfort this time.

"Y/n, I don't think that's a good idea. You're still very weak. You didn't even eat dinner. I don't think you should go out by yourself. Maybe I should go with-"

"No. It's okay. I'll be fine for a couple of hours. I won't be running a marathon, just having a coffee with my sister."

You wanted to spend time with Mandy by yourself and while you appreciated the thought of Diane going with you, you were still an adult no matter how young you looked. It didn't help that at the moment the brownie batter was now fighting against you and you were hunched over slightly.

"Well maybe consider letting me drive you to town? I need to run some errands anyway so I can drive you and that way if you feel like you need to lay down or rest I wouldn't be far."

You would need a ride to town, but you just weren't sure.

"Let me sleep on it. I hate to think I would be using you just for a ride. And-" before you could finish, you start having a coughing fit. Coughing was nothing new to you thanks to the asthma, but this wasn't that. This was the batter.

You tried to keep it down, but it was too late. You threw up, all over yourself, all over the floor, and even on Diane's slippers. You expelled everything you had eaten that day and more and it took a moment before you stopped gagging, laying in a ball on the floor.

Suddenly fear over took you as you saw yourself and the floor covered in vomit. You know your mom would be so mad when she saw it and you would get punished. You didn't want to be punished. You began to cry and you scooted away until your body hit the wall.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to," you cried. You forgot where you were and suddenly you were back at home. You didn't like going back.

Diane quickly ran over to you, not phased by the vomit and held you in her arms. You fought her off at first but she shooshed you and smoothed your hair, holding you close to her. She knew a flashback when she saw one. She held you and whispered in your ear. It took a moment but eventually you came back to present day. You still felt sick, you now smelled awful, your head hurt, and you were embarrassed. For the first time since you had met Diane, you felt tears prickle you eyes and instead of hiding them, you let them flow.

You cried in Diane's arms as she rocked you back in forth, and you apologized over and over again. You weren't sure if you were saying sorry because you had thrown up on her or if it was because she lost her daughter or because you were the mess of a person she felt fate brought her. She kissed your head and took your face in her hands. She wiped your tears with the pads of her thumb and looked at you with tears in her eyes too.

"Hey. It's okay. Stop apologizing. You're safe now Y/n."

She pulled you back to her chest again and wrapped her arms around you tight as if she would never let you go.

"I've got you," she whispered, over and over.

"I've got you, and I'm not letting go."

[tillthelandslide]

Broken

Anon request: “hi love, hope you are doing well.. I want to request you something.. Can you please write a fic/series where Henry's Gf dies.. and he is absolutely devastated and a mess since then ..He remembers their fond memories, her immense love for him.. He is left to live the aftermath and misses her..(intense angst) I think with your writing this will be loved by all.. Please consider this request.. Love you <3″

A/N: This was honestly such a hard one to write, imagining Henry to be like this honestly broke my heart, I was literally a sobbing mess the whole way through. This was very different for me but I’m glad I expanded my horizons and wrote this. I would say I hope you enjoy it but I don’t think it's appropriate.

Also I know you asked for it to be Henry’s gf but I started writing it and it became wife so sorry. Also I usually write my stories as “you” but I’ve been wanting to switch it up a little so my stories don’t seem too repetitive. 

Also I listened to Goner by Twenty One Pilots (one of my favourite bands) whilst writing this so if you wish to listen to that, to add to the mood, ’ve added it.

I love you all so much - L

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(if you would like to be added to my tag list, feel free to message me, if you are new to my blog then I post Henry Cavill fanfics and make Henry Cavill fake Instagram posts, my requests are open so feel free to request anything and I will try my best to make your vision come to   life. Edit: requests are still open but there might  be a delay as I am working my way through the current ones and all  other stories I am writing)

Broken : Henry Cavill Fan Fiction

Warnings: mentions of death, severe angst, crying and sobbing Henry. Please do not read this if you think it will impact your mental health. Mental health matters and always comes first. Here for anyone who needs to talk 

He had never believed in the idea of the human heart shattering into a million pieces... until he lost her. This dreadful event had been the downfall of his once perfect life. 

Darkness. That’s all his life was now, the existence of her had changed his life, she was his saviour, his salvation, but the loss of his one true love, that destroyed his life. She was the brightness even in the darkest of times and places. Everything he had loved before, he despised now, everything reminded him of the woman he once held in his arms, the one he was lucky enough to call his wife. He was convinced he would never be the same again, he felt like his heart had been combined with hers and when she left him, his heart left him too. He hadn’t expected this, he had expected to grow old with her, have 4 or 5 children and several grandchildren to carry on the couples legacy. She had promised him that’s what would happen. She vowed to love him until their final days, and he had underestimated when that day would be.

Here he sat, in their garden, a cigarette between his fingers, bringing it up to his lips and taking a deep puff, the tar slipping down his throat and coating his lungs with filth, she’d scold him if she were here... but she wasn't. He knew it was bad for him, but he didn’t care anymore. He needed an escape, he didn’t want to feel anymore, he wanted all the agony and anguish to disappear, leave him like she had.

God knows why he blames himself but he does. She had her whole life left ahead of her and this cruel world stripped that from her, removed all opportunities for the both of them to live a full and happy life together.

“I miss you my love” he says, to the sky, the darkness perfectly resembling himself, the stars in the sky seemed to be dimmed, apart from one, which was glistening brightly. He had decided that was her, watching down from heaven. Heaven was another thing he hadn’t believed in until his world collided with hers. She was this angelic being and had to have fallen from heaven, there was no other explanation to her beauty, her perfect personality, one in which complimented that of his wonderfully. She was the kind of person that bettered those around her, made them whole, made them purer. 

Tears emptied from his eyes and he sighed, his hand which was holding his cigarette thrusting into his deep curls, curls he hadn’t washed or brushed in weeks. He didn’t think he could cry anymore, but here he was, water running down his face like a flood, amplifying his red and bloodshot eyes, the deep and bruising bags underneath his eyes a reminder of his soul crushing pain. His hand moved back down, slipping the tip of the cigarette back in between his lips, sucking it.

“God I fucking miss you baby” he says, his voice completly broken, he sounded like a character in a show or film, a different person alltogether and he supposes he is now he’s without his wife. He hears a knock on the door and swears, picking up the ash tray and walking with it, inside his house, where he plods to the door, swinging it open and seeing her best friend.

“Fucking hell Henry” she says as she sees him, the lead in her hands attahced to the collar around his dogs neck, Kal looks up at him making him turn away, even Kal reminds him of her and he can’t deal with him at the moment, hence why her best friend was looking after him. She closes the door behind her, following his trail back outside, releasing Kal from his collar, letting him roam the house.

“Thought you’d want to see Kal” she says, sitting outside with him, it was freezing and dark but she bared it, picking up his pack of cigarettes and taking one for herself.

“You don't smoke” he grunts, flicking the ash at the end of the cigarette into the ashtray.

“Neither do you” she quips back, making him raise his eyebrows, putting out the cigarette as it reaches its end, pulling one from his packet and lighting it instantly, needing his lungs to be filled with the poison.

“If she saw us now” her friend says, making him sigh, more tears falling down his face.

“Fuck” he says, wiping them away, the last thing he needed was her friend seeing him completly destoryed, she would for sure tell his family and hers and that would damage him even more.

“Henry” she says, sympathy laced in her voice.

“I miss her so fucking much” he says, making her reach forward and take his hand.

“Me too” she says, not knowing what to say, but she squeezes his hand, making him tear it back not wanting the attention.

“You don't understand,” he says, making her scorn him.

“Of course I don’t. It’s not as if she was my best friend. For fuck sake Henry, I’m trying to be here for you, its what she wanted” she said, looking away, her eyes landing on that same twinkling star, taking a puff from the cigarette.

“Well she’s not fucking here so who the fuck cares” he spits.

“Amazing. She wouldn’t have wanted this” she says, standing up, taking one last puff of her half used cigarettes, stubbing it out before leaving him.

“Wait” he says, stopping her in her tracks, she looks back, her eyes falling over his face, tears now streaming down his face, she walks over to him and his hands reach out to her, they’ve never done this but she knows he needs it, so she wraps his arm around him, his tears sinking into her shirt as his head rests against her.

“I’m so sorry” she says, tears springing in her eyes too.

“I can’t live without her” he sobs, his voice cracking making her heart ache for him.

“Henry” she says as she hears Kal crying behind her. Henry pulls away and looks at the dog, his face falling, the dog's large eyes looking into his.

“Hey buddy” he utters half heartedly and the dog walks up to where he’s sat outside, Henry puts out his cigarette and his hands begin to pet the dog's head.

“He’s had his hair cut” he says, making the friend nod.

“Yeah, he needed it, I know she usually takes him on Monday’s so I thought I’d take him” she says making Henry frown.

“Shit, did you tell Caroline?” he says, talking about the groomer she usually takes Kal to.

“Yeah” her friend says, a frown on her face too.

“I forgot to tell her.” he says.

“It’s okay, it’s the last thing you needed to remember” she says, referring to the long list of people Henry had to notify.

“We need to sort out the funeral, I can plan it if you’d like?” she says, making Henry shake his head, still petting his dog.

“No that’s okay, I should do it” he says, his voice breaking as he sobs loudly again.

“Henry, she'd hate to see you like this” she says, her hand gesturing to the man whose features looked uncanningly like another person.

“Well she’s not fucking here is she?!!” he shouts making her friend flinch.

“Sorry” he utters, dropping his head into his hands.

“I just wanna be alone” he says.

“No you don’t” she says, dropping down to her knees, placing her hands on his knees so she’s level with his face.

“Talk to me, she asked me to be here for you and that’s what I tend to do” she says caringly.

“Well I don’t fucking want you here, I want her and she’s fucking dead” he shouts, knocking her back, her hands landing on  one of Kal’s paws making him yelp.

“Shit, I’m sorry” he says, to her best friend and to Kal.

“I’ll just fuck off then” she says, giving up. The dog looks longingly at his dad as she storms inside, before she comes back with the lead clipping it onto the dogs collar, slamming the door as she leaves the house.

“Fuck” he shouts, standing up from his chair. He walks back inside, looking around his house. His hands land on a vase containing flowers from his mother and he throws it aggressively against the wall, the noise ringing out dramatically in the empty house. It smashes against a picture on the floor, the picture falling loudly to the floor, the glass from the vase and the frame smashingly loudly making him swear.

“Shit” he says, walking over the picture frame, picking it up, the shards cutting his hand, but he doesn’t flinch at the pain, no amount of pain could hurt more than that in his heart. His fingers push the remaining shards of glass off the picture, revealing a picture of him and his wife on their wedding day. A small smile appears on his face as he scans her face, she looks genuinely ecstatic, that's how he will always remember her. His lips are pressed against hers and he carries her down the aisle, a smile against her lips and he remembers the moment like it was yesterday. It was the best day of his life, their friends and family were there to celebrate the union of the couple, it was the day she promised to love him forever, promised to be his faithful and loving companion until death does she part.

“We didn’t know it would be so soon huh love?” he says, chuckling despite it being far from funny. He places the frame down, deciding to clean the glass up later, he no longer had the dog to worry about and he didn’t care if he got hurt by the sharp shards. 

His eyes drift to the other pictures that frame the walls, the one he had taken of her at their honeymoon, her naked body completely covered by the beach water, the waves crashing against the shore perfectly, making for the perfect picture, she had that same smile on her face and Henry’s lips lift up momentarily at the sigh.

“So beautiful” he says, looking at the picture.

The next is a picture he had taken of Kal attacking the beauty with kisses.

“That was taken after the first time we shagged '' he says to himself, chuckling at the memory. Laughing loudly when he remembers all the times she cringed when he used the word shag. They had shut the dog out wanting to save him from the sight of the two of them making love. Henry had gotten up moments after the wonderful moment when he heard his dog crying at the door, he had opened the door and Kal had jumped up on the bed, kissing her face as soon as he saw her, Henry had picked up his phone almost immediately, he remembers framing the picture on the wall but she had taken it down to cut part out (because her breasts were in the picture). 

He looks at the next picture and he thinks this might just be his favourite, it was a picture of her being carried by his brothers, they had played a game of rugby and Henry was worried she would get hurt but she beat his team and his brothers picked her up to celebrate her winning the final shot. They were all laughing and so was she.

“Oh how I loved your laugh baby” he says. He walks to the kitchen, grabbing the first aid kit from the cupboard and quickly cleaning and wrapping the wound, before  picking up a notepad she kept there, finding a fluffy pen she used and he began writing.

“My love,

No words can truly express how much I miss you, no words can describe my pain. So I’m not going to speak about that. I’m going to talk about how amazing you were, how amazing you will always be. The moment you walked into my life, I knew I was done for. You turned my word upside down baby. I know you were the one the moment I met you, I knew when you said my name for the first time, I knew when we kissed for the first time and every time since, when it felt like fireworks. In films we constantly see these epic ideas of love and me being the pessimist that I am never believed in them. But then I met you. And oh baby did that change. Our love was epic, and it always will be. I remember the first time you met my family, you were so nervous, you bit your lip so much that it bled. But the moment they met you, they loved you, you became one of us, that was the moment I knew I wanted to be your husband. I remember being so excited to meet your parents, because I was so curious to meet the people who shaped you into the wonderful person you are… were. I remember asking you to marry me and I was so fucking happy when you said yes, the moment you became my life will always be the best thing that has ever happened to me. And part of me is convinced that it’s the best thing to happen to anyone, anywhere. I will forever be grateful for the time I had with you but boy do I wish we had more time. I will love you forever and a piece of me will always be absent. I ask you to look over me. Heaven is one lucky place because now they have you. I was and always be your husband, your Henry. This world has no idea how lucky it was to have you, you will forever be the love of my life and I will continue to count my lucky stars, everyday baby.

Forever yours,

Henry

[swaps55]

POV Case Study – Have Some Writing Meta

Point of View (POV) is an integral piece of the storytelling puzzle for Opus, my main body of fic, so I thought I’d do a meta post that walks through how I use it as a narrative tool. The intention is not to tell anyone how they should or shouldn’t use POV, but rather to demonstrate one way I used it very deliberately to create narrative tension, weave in characterization, and develop an overarching theme.    

Your POV character is an enormous tool in your writing toolbox, whether you are using a single POV or multiple. How you use it depends on a lot of things: what person you’re writing in (first, second, third), the type POV you’re going with (omniscient, meaning the POV narrator can see into everyone’s heads, or limited, meaning you only have access into the head of a specific POV character).

My preferred writing style is 3rd person “in-your-face” limited POV, that puts the reader so solidly in the POV character’s head it’s almost like 1st person in a 3rd person trench coat. That coupled with present tense gives me some extra intensity that I love taking advantage of in emotional or climactic scenes. Again, this isn’t to state a right or a wrong way to use tense or POV – there are lots of great ways to use these tools – but for the purpose of this exercise, this is my chosen loadout.

I made the conscious decision early in Sonata that I did not want to use Sam Shepard’s POV, ever. Every story in his series would be told through the eyes of the people around him. Why? Because one of the key character traits of Sam is that he makes himself whatever someone needs him to be. He sees himself as a tool, so to be a useful tool, he has to have the right shape for the job. This raises the question: who is Sam, when he is free to just be himself? I’m not sure even Sam knows the answer to that question, so to reinforce it through storytelling, I never wanted to reader to see what goes on in his head. Everything you learn about Sam comes through the perceptions of others, and to show the reader how differently he is perceived by others, I write with multiple POVs rather than just Kaidan’s.

Below the cut, I’m going to walk you through a specific example where POV was an essential part of crafting the story I wanted to tell. The chapter in question comes from Fugue, a story I’m writing that explores the aftermath of Alchera. You don’t need to have read Fugue to follow the logic, but if you care to read the chapter, it functions well on its own separate from the rest of the story.

Fugue – This Hole You Left.

This was a very complicated chapter that lived and died by POV choices, and it was extremely difficult to put together. The approach I took was a gamble that (thankfully) worked after much fretting, gnashing of teeth, and help from @pigeontheoneandonly.

This Hole You Left takes place after Sam dies over Alchera. I wanted to paint a ‘kaleidoscope’ of grief, and explore how Sam’s death impacted the people around him in very different ways. Therefore, I needed a plethora of POVs to work with, each one giving me something different. The goals were this:

Find differing POVs that would offer demonstrably different perceptions of Sam and/or illustrate different stages of grief and shock.        

Allow each of those POVs to mold to that character’s specific goals and motivations. i.e., I did not want the grief of other characters to be tied to the romantic relationship that had been lost – because that’s not the lens those characters would look through.

Each POV had to move the chronology along in a way that made sense and felt natural.

Kaidan’s POV was off limits. In the absence of Sam’s physical presence, I wanted to treat Kaidan like Sam – the character people could see, but not explore the headspace of. Everything the reader learns about Kaidan in the immediate aftermath of Alchera comes from other people.

That last piece was important. Arguably, Kaidan’s POV was the most valuable one of all, but I was going to have lots of time to explore it in meaningful ways elsewhere. I thought it might be more powerful to express his grief through the eyes of others, and use him as a central theme to weave in and out of the chapter. More about that later.

This constituted one hell of a puzzle to put together, especially when it came to the chronology. For instance, an early mistake I made was putting the most powerful POV (Anderson) too early in the sequence, which diminished what came after it. Moving that POV around meant re-framing other POVs to keep the chronology moving forward (for example, Garrus’ POV initially came after Anderson’s, by moving it before his, I had to change the context so that Anderson’s POV wasn’t a step backwards in time).

Each POV scene was also intended to essentially be its own self-contained short, creating a microcosm of grief, that when put together, would create a much larger and significant whole.

I could write forever about all the trial and error that went into finding the right formula, but it’s probably more valuable to look at where I wound up, and why:

1st POV: Lora Alenko (Kaidan’s mother)

Why: She gave me a window to set the clock in motion and make the loss of the Normandy feel real, because she had the advantage of having no idea anything was wrong. Plus, her perspective felt like a unique one I hadn’t seen in fic when it came to Alchera. I’d set her character up in Sonata, so readers of that fic would be familiar with her and understand what that phone call meant to her in a more meaningful way.

How I used it: I put her in the middle of a mundane, normal, event – lunch with a friend – and then shattered that normalcy with a phone call telling her the ship her son was on had been destroyed. That shift from normal to a state of dread gave me the tension I wanted to use for the rest of the chapter.

Excerpt:

But before she can answer, her omnitool flashes. She frowns and looks down at her arm. It’s a message from Marc. SOS. Call now.

A chill runs down her spine. SOS isn’t something Marc throws around lightly. She’d gotten an SOS from him when he’d found Apollo, the warmblood she’d ridden for years, with a leg stuck through the paddock fence, and the day they’d learned about Vyrnnus.

Kaidan.

“Melia,” she murmurs. “Excuse me, I have to take this.”

2nd POV: Admiral Hackett  

Why: Hackett gave me the chance to explore Shepard through the eyes of the Alliance. To them, and to Hackett, he’s a weapon rather than a person. He also gave me a chance to weave in a sense of anger, one of the stages of grief.

How I used it: This POV came about late in the revision process, but I’m thrilled it did, because I was missing that cold, calculated look at Shepard’s importance. Shepard dying fucks up Hackett’s plans and political machinations, and his immediate response is not to mourn someone who died, but to move on to plan B. This also gave me a shot to work in Shepard’s mother. By seeing her in Hackett’s POV, I could reinforce the ongoing theme that Captain Shepard sees her son as a legacy, rather than a person.

Excerpt:

There isn’t a list of people who can replace Shepard. Time to make one. Hackett exhales, gaze falling to the datapad on his desk, Shepard, Sam still displayed at the top of the casualty list.

He picks it up and hurls it at the wall. It cracks, screen flickering to black as it clatters to the floor.

What a goddamned waste.

3rd POV: Joker

Why: Joker was an easy one. I’d set up some rather terrible foreshadowing in Sonata with a scene in which he makes the comment “I’d go down with that ship,” and Sam replies, grinning, “Not while I’m around.” I wanted to spike the ball over the net in Fugue, so parking in Joker’s POV in the immediate aftermath was a no-brainer.

How I used it: Through Joker I could explore guilt and shock, so I went back to that memory from Sonata and used repetition to make Joker feel stuck in that moment. It was also my first chance to weave Kaidan in to reinforce the notion of guilt and lay some neat groundwork for narrative tension that would come to a head later.

Excerpt:

I’d go down with that ship.

Not while I’m around.

He should have abandoned ship. The escape pod was right there. He could have given up the Normandy at any time. All he had to do was step over the bodies of Pressly. Chase. All he had to do was leave them all behind.

Instead he’d stayed, and Shepard had made good on his word.

I’d go down with that ship.

Not while I’m around.

4th POV: Dr. Chakwas

Why: Through her, I could look at the adrenaline and denial that comes with managing trauma. To her, Shepard was a patient. Because she is overwhelmed with patients in the form of the Normandy’s wounded, she cannot stop to think about the one she cannot help: she has a job to do, and she has to do it. There will be time to grieve later.

How I used it: Again, I used Kaidan to emphasize her role as a caretaker. Kaidan, who is in command of the survivors, has a moment of weakness that she cannot afford to have, and he can only afford to have in front of her, because she overrides his authority in a medical emergency. Because we are in her POV, we see her outwardly refuse to crack, when internally she’s hanging by a thread. It made for a nice contrast.  

Excerpt:

“There was no transponder signal,” she tells him, saying out loud everything she’s been repeating to herself. “We were in hostile territory, with over twenty injured crew. He was gone, Kaidan.”

His fingers curl, eyes still trained on the window.

She puts a hand to her forehead. Between Virmire, triage on the Citadel and this it’s too much. Before today she’s never felt old. Tears sting the corner of her eyes and she swears under her breath. Not here. Not today. Tears are something for tomorrow. Right now, she has a job to do.

5th POV: Garrus

Why: Garrus was a member of the crew who wasn’t on the ship, which is a completely unique perspective. But the question that took me forever to answer, was, how does he react to Sam’s death? What was Shepard to Garrus? I hadn’t written about them during ME1 yet, he was not part of Sonata, and ME1 Garrus is always a little tricky for me. I knew there was something important to gain from his POV, but I couldn’t figure out what it was to the point of tearing my hair out. Eventually, I settled on Garrus seeing Shepard as a mentor he couldn’t live up to, and made his POV about failure and regret.  

How I used it: Shepard was everything Garrus aspired to be, but could never quite achieve. He left the Normandy because Shepard made him feel like he could make a difference, only he didn’t. And then, his friends needed him, and he wasn’t there, and now Shepard is dead. I wove a lot of doubt, regret and self-deprecation into his POV to drive that home.

Excerpt:

Dammit, why hadn’t he stayed on that ship?

He grabs another report from the top of the pile on his desk, which is getting tall enough to sway in the breeze.

This is why. Because Saren had obliterated the Citadel, and Shepard, damn him, had made him believe he could make a difference. He thought he could make it here. Crazy thing, having to fill out a form every time you find a corpse. He’s got three more to add to the list after today.

6th POV: Anderson

Why: Anderson was both a father figure and commanding officer to Sam. Because he’s known him for most of his life, he has a perspective no other POV character has. To him, Sam was more like a son he’d been tasked to protect, and in the end failed to protect him. He and Kaidan are the only people who know Shepard well enough to mourn Sam, and not just Commander Shepard. Anderson would really let me start to explore grief.

How I used it: This was my heavy hitter. Through Anderson’s POV, I could trace Sam the person as he grew into Commander Shepard, and explore the echoes of the kid that still lived in the adult. I was also able to use Kaidan in a really fascinating way. In Opus, Kaidan and Sam served together for four years before the Normandy. Therefore, Anderson is pretty familiar with him, but doesn’t know him the way he does Sam. He keeps looking at Kaidan expecting Sam. In a sense, trying to plug a puzzle piece into the wrong hole. It was a neat way to show Anderson’s grief.

Additionally, this was a great opportunity to demonstrate Kaidan’s sense of loss without being in his head. Anderson does not know there was a relationship between Sam and Kaidan, but the reader does. Thus, I could have my cake and eat it, too: The POV character wasn’t examining the relationship that had been lost between Sam and Kaidan because he didn’t know it existed, but the reader got to.  

Excerpt:

He exhales through his nostrils. “The Normandy was attacked by an unknown vessel. Whoever they were, Joker says they came out of nowhere. Shepard got him into the escape pod, but the ship lost gravity. He…well.”

Alenko stares straight ahead, silent. Anderson looks for a tell, but he only knows Shepard’s.

Alenko isn’t Shepard.

7th POV: Tali

Why: Tali presented a similar problem to me that Garrus did. What was Shepard specifically to her, and what did his loss mean to her? As my closing POV, not only did she need to hit a home run, but she also needed to close out the chapter in a way that tied all the other POVs together and examined Shepard’s death through a much wider lens, without feeling like I was pulling the camera back from her POV to get there. That’s a lot to ask. Lucky for me, Tali never lets me down.

The answer I came to also called back to Sonata, in which exploring what home meant to each of the characters was an important theme. So I went back to this idea for Tali, as she and Sam had a very important thing in common that set them apart from everyone else: they were both born in space, and did not have the traditional fixed point of home that everyone around them had. Home was different to them than it was to everyone else.

How I used it: Tali was the only one left who understood how truly unique and special the home she’d found on the Normandy was. Therefore, when the crew starts to fragment and fall apart around her, she is forced to mourn the loss not only of Shepard, who gave her that home, but the home itself. I was able to use that grief to circle back to how much Shepard changed the people around him, and how deeply his loss will be felt in ways people haven’t even realized yet.

That conclusion was the magic final puzzle piece that made the whole thing work, and it was literally the last idea to take shape.

Excerpt:

Aliens don’t carry their ship names with them the way quarians do. Perhaps when you’re born with dirt under your feet you don’t need to. For them, home isn’t a vessel among the stars – it’s a fixed place in the universe, a way back no matter how far from it you venture.

But Shepard had been different. Like the quarians, he had no fixed point. Home was what – or who – he carried with him. He’d understood the power of a ship name, even if he hadn’t used one out loud. People who served with Shepard felt like they belonged, in ways they couldn’t anywhere else, because he said to hell with that fixed point in the galaxy and brought home to anyone who needed it. For Shepard, there wasn’t a way back. Just a way forward.

Shepard changed people.

They’ve lost so much more than a ship.

The primary objective of Opus is to examine the relationship between Sam and Kaidan, but to really understand the magnitude of Sam’s death, it was critical to explore it outside the confines of that relationship. Part of the struggle Sam and Kaidan have is that Sam doesn’t truly belong to himself or to Kaidan – he belongs to everyone else. That means his death doesn’t belong to either him or Kaidan. It’s shared with all the people he touched and shaped.

That’s what made this carousel of POVs a challenge I really wanted to make work. It required an absurd amount of juggling, but the diversity and uniqueness of each made Shepard’s loss feel real and devastating. But not only did each of those POVs tell us something about Sam, they provided some meaningful character development for the POV character. How they react to Sam’s death and what it means to them tells us a lot about that character, which in turn lends the entire story more depth.  

If you read this far, I’m pretty sure you deserve a cookie. 

I don’t know if any of that is helpful or meaningful other than to show an example of how POVs can be a really awesome tool to tell a story. There can be a lot of depths and layers to why you use a particular character to tell a story through, and those choices can greatly impact the story you end up telling.

[nlights37]

three stars ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️

::In very convincing Matthew McConaughey Texan:: Alright alright alright, 3 stars, 3 fics to disclose little nuggets of info on...

1.  From Fixer Upper, Chapter 4 - Jon and Dany’s text exhange:

She was laughing even as she sent the text, knowing how touchy he was about this topic. Honestly, it was the whole reason she sent it.

Dany: I can’t believe we’ve been fake dating this long and you haven’t sent me a single dick pic 😖

The text bubble appeared for so long she was a little worried, but then his novel-length answer appeared. She was two lines in before she was laughing so hard she was crying and her vision blurred beyond her ability to continue reading at all.

Jon: How ABSOLUTELY DARE YOU?! Apparently I need to explain this AGAIN? If the Westerosi Security Agency is going to see my dick they can come here and do it in person like men. I’m not just gonna offer it up on a silver platter for them. Also need I remind you I am a small business owner, madam? This store is my kingdom and you ask me to besmirch it’s good name so you can see my cock at 2 pm on a Thursday? I’m disappointed in you Daenerys, I really am.

It should probably come as no surprise, given the ‘Buttslut’ text I shared awhile back, that a lot of the dialogue I write (including text messages) comes from the way my husband and I talk to each other, and in this case I based Jon’s reluctance to free the Peen digitally off my own husband’s unbreakable stance that sending dick pics means your dick is then somewhere in the cloud and idk I guess he thinks the Governtment is just chilling and collecting nudes all day.  Anyway, I really did ask him once when we were dating why he had never sent me a dick pic and he said something along the lines of Jon’s response here, and even now, years later, it still makes me laugh, so I used it :)

2.  A Thin Line (Just some thoughts on this fic in general, that I’m not sure I’ve shared):

I was SURE, ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN that a lot of people would hate this fic.  Like, I was over the top about ‘Hey this is crack’, etc, because as much fun as I had making them just awful people to each other, I was like ‘ugh there’s gonna be some stans in both camps that maybe get pissed about this’, but I figured fuck it, let’s do it.  The thing about them in this fic that I really, really enjoyed writing was that they are completely and totally unapologetic about themselves, and letting myself just really let them be the worst versions of themselves, I don’t know, guys.  It felt good.  So good that I was like ‘hmmmm, maybe keep it in the drafts.’

Because that’s the thing I like best about them and this fic - it’s not a redemption story about two tortured souls who find each other and then learn the error of their ways.  It’s more like two villains meet at villain convention and will they birth the antichrist?  Who knows, really, but probably, yes.  Definitely.

Anyway, I really dug that so many people enjoyed their unspeakably assholish tendencies and please know I haven’t abandoned my part 3, in which Dany gets to snob it up in the North and you know, so more light bondage, maybe some matching prenups, I don’t want to give it all away.

3.  From Fang and Claw, Chapter 1:

“When you say fucking,” Drogon drawled, “what exactly do you mean, snack?”  The three were all gathered near the stone walls of the Keep, guards watching anxiously as the three creatures of legend circled and paced.

“Stop calling him that.”  Rhaegal leaned in, nipping at Drogon’s swishing black tail.  “He has a name.”

Drogon rolled his eyes, looking at his brother incredulously.  “I’ll call him whatever I like.  What’s he going to do?  Howl me to death?”

Rhaegal glared, inching closer to Ghost.  “He’s magic, like us, and he’s Jon’s, so you’d better behave.”  The green dragon growled.  “You know what mother said.”

The black dragon gave a dismissive snort, his eyes searching the windows of the Keep instead of Rhaegal or Ghost.  “Be nice.  Yes, I heard her.  This is me.  Being nice.  Not eating this talking little snack.”  His eyes shot to the wolf’s.  “Rather nice of me, isn’t it,” teeth gnashed together, grinding as Drogon uttered grudgingly, “Ghost.”

The white wolf ignored the black dragon, his eyes also falling to the windows.  “You want to know what fucking is or don’t you?”

“I want to know what it is you mean when you say Jon is fucking my mother, yes.”  Drogon sounded angry, offended even, and Ghost was surprised two mighty creatures could be so absolutely innocent to the ways of the world.  Why, he’d been fucking for years now.  Surely there were girl dragons flying about somewhere, though the lack of fucking certainly explained the black dragon’s horrible attitude.

“I feel itchy.”  Rhaegal was shifting restlessly beside him.

Ghost gave a wolfish grin.  “You’re bonded to Jon now.”  Rhaegal nodded though it was not a question.  “That’s what it feels like when Jon’s fucking your mother.”  The wolf’s mouth fell open, and he panted in Drogon’s direction.  “Like an itch you need to scratch.”

His red eyes fell to the windows till he found the one he wanted, and he whispered for the duo to follow as closely as they could as they slid along side the ancient stone, ‘til they were just under the window to Jon’s chambers.

“Hear that?”  He certainly could, and by the look of confusion on the dragons’ faces they could as well.  The Silver Dany let out a throaty yell then, followed by Jon’s name, the sounds and smells of mating flowing from the open window and out into the night.

“Is he hurting her?”  Drogon was rumbling and thrashing his tail about, rage building in those mad eyes.

But Rhaegal responded before Ghost could answer.  “No.”  He drew the word out, his head rising until he could look into the room for himself, then shooting back down to stare at Ghost.  “Why are they doing that?”

Drogon mirrored his brother’s actions, even angrier but endlessly puzzled when he lowered his head as well, clearly befuddled by what he’d seen.  “Explain this!”

Ghost gave a shrug, padding off a few paces, ready to give his brother a spot of privacy with his mate, heading for the clearing along the tree line where he could scent some rabbits running.  “It’s what they do.”  The pair was scrambling after him, landbound, awkwardly lumbering after the sleek wolf.  “Humans.”  Both dragons remained clueless, and Ghost snagged a hare and crunched down heavily, warm blood streaking his fur, downing the small prey in a few bites before continuing.  “When they want to make a pup.”

Drogon shuddered as he watched Ghost eat.  “You’re a fucking savage.”  He grumbled and groused, claws swiping out to catch an elk, idly shooting out gouts of flame to cook the meat before he began to tear it apart.  “You don’t even cook your food, little snack.”

Rhaegal ignored it all, focused only on this new knowledge.  “But our mother is a dragon.”  His eyes lit up, suddenly, turning to his brother in excitement.  “It’s how they make eggs!”

Ghost gave a snicker.  “Humans don’t lay eggs.”  He looked at the pair with amused eyes.  “You lot come from eggs?”

Rhaegal gave a nod, but Drogon preened, proud as he broke his meal’s rib cage between his jaws.  “You should be so lucky.  We certainly do.  Beautiful eggs people pay large sums of gold for.”

Ghost crouched, his attention on the deer he could now sense beyond the tree line.  “Like a chicken then.”  He leapt as the black dragon roared in outrage, his jaws sinking into the deer’s neck, and he pulled the twitching body out of the treeline to drop it in a heap before Rhaegal.

“NOT LIKE A CHICKEN!”

Rhaegal looked at Ghost pleadingly before he cooked the deer his host had provided, his eyes begging the wolf to stop baiting his brother, and Ghost grumpily complied.

“Alright, not like a chicken.  Point is, humans have pups that look like them, and they don’t come from eggs.”  He sat on his haunches, watching the pair as they ate.

“So,” Rhaegal snapped into a femur, “you meant to say that’s what Jon’s doing.  Trying to put a small human in our mother.”

The wolf couldn’t stop the snicker of amusement.  “Oh, no he’s already done that.”  He looked at the pair wonderingly.  What sort of beast were they, that they couldn’t smell the pup in their mother?  “Now he’s just fucking her because it feels good.”

There is nothing funnier to me than the idea that (1) Ghost would ever try ot explain to anyone what sex is and (2) that the dragons wouldn’t know and would be VERY offended and it took a little bit for me to write this scene way way back ago when we all thought that Season 8 would not be a massive shitstain in history because I kept laughing so hard picturing this shit.

This story is probaby one of my favorites, just because it’s silly and every magical creature is TIRED TIRED I SAY of everyone dicking around and just the notion that they’re all like ‘THESE HUMANS ARE SO DUMB UGH DO WE HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING?!”  It just really tickled me, and I might never have written it had the amazing @aweseeds not requested it after her winning bid for the Jonerys Unites charity event.  So, everyone say thank you to aweseeds lol, this might’ve just stayed in my head and silly tumblr posts without that fine investment in fandom content.

Thank you lovely @frostbitepandaaaaa for the ask!  I LOVE YOU BITCH, I AIN’T NEVER GONNA STOP LOVIN’ YOU BITCH!

[anomander-dragnipurake]

Ghosts

I initially had the idea to do this fic a while ago, even before I started writing my first Super Mario fic. I finally got around to it for Halloween after being reminded of the idea via coming across a fanart piece that depicted a similar idea. I'd link it because it's sort of fic inspiration but it's buried deep in the Bowuigi tag on Tumblr and in the reblogs on my main blog.

~

Of course the hotel was haunted, why wouldn’t it be? Just when he thought he was finally free of having to deal with ghosts, this had to happen. Finding the Poltergust in the garage – indicating E. Gadd was here somewhere too, probably trapped in a portrait – was a sheer stroke of luck because Luigi had neglected to bring his own ghost hunting equipment. This one was the new model E. Gadd had been telling him about too which was neat expect for the fact that he now had to use it to deal with a hotel full of ghosts.

Before getting to that though, he glanced around the garage one last time to make sure he was alone before pulling out his phone. He needed to call Bowser, tell him not to come day after tomorrow after all. They’d been planning to have him show up at the hotel a couple days later and then finally reveal their relationship to Mario and Peach because away from home while on vacation when everyone was already in a good mood seemed like a good place to do that. But ghosts had happened instead so it’d have to wait.

Though it wasn’t super late into the night yet, hopefully Bowser would already be sleeping so Luigi could just leave a message. There was a very real chance Bowser would want to come anyway to punch the ghosts over their plans being ruined and only get himself in trouble. Luigi would rather not have to try to dissuade him from that so… He picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, what’s up?” he said. “Aren’t you normally in bed by now?”

“Uh… yeah but um… well turns out the hotel’s haunted, it was a trap from King Boo. He uh… yeah, stuff happened and I have to deal with it.” He needed to save Mario and Peach, the Toads too. “So, you probably shouldn’t come after all. We’ll have to tell them… later.” Both of them had kept finding reasons to put it off, figures after finally committing to a plan something would go wrong with it.

“He got Mario again, didn’t he?”

“Yep and Peach and the Toads and probably E. Gadd too, since his car is here but he’s not.”

Bowser grunted. “How does King Boo keep beating Mario when I never could?”

“Please not now.” Mario was in danger; Luigi didn’t want to hear about Bowser’s rivalry with him when that was a thing.

“Oh uh… all right, sorry. You okay?” All the gruff bravado was gone from Bowser’s voice now. Instead he sounded concerned which meant Luigi’s plea had been filled with more desperation than he’d intended.

“No, not really.” How could he be in this situation? What if he couldn’t beat King Boo this time? Or what if… King Boo took it further and killed Mario before Luigi could get there to even try to save him?

“Right, you’re afraid of ghosts, huh?”

“I know I probably shouldn’t be anymore.” He’d dealt with two full hauntings and captured King Boo twice as well so logically he shouldn’t be afraid anymore but alas, his fear had never been rooted in anything logical. “But… they’re still scary.” He leaned against E. Gadd’s car, holding back a grown. This ‘adventure’ had only just started and he was already tired.

“All righty then,” Bowser said as if reaching some kind of decision. “I’ll go over and beat the ghosts up for you. Except me in however long it takes my fastest air ship to get there.”

“What? No, no, no, you don’t need to come down here. I can handle it on my own.” It was too late though; the line was dead.

Luigi groaned as he flipped his phone closed to slip back into his pockets. Now he had to save his brother and friends and watch out for when Bowser arrived to hopefully make sure King Boo didn’t get him too. Could the night get any worse?

***

The hotel was rather drab looking in the dark of night, there wasn’t a light on anywhere inside it. It had looked much better in the brochures so it was a disappointment all around. Vacation wasn’t what Bowser was here for though so whatever. Maybe a dark hotel would serve as a good arena to beat up some ghosts and King Boo though.

Mario was going to be so shocked when he saw it was Bowser who’d save him this time. That would count as finally besting him too, right? Defeating the person who’d defeated him was basically a victory over both of them, right? So, this was going to be a fun outing after all.

With a signal from him, the ship flew in closer to hover over the roof. “Circle at a distance until I call you back,” he instructed the shy guy at the wheel before vaulting over the edge. In hindsight, even with how much it would’ve slowed down the ship, he probably should’ve brought in a troop of minions for backup but he’d been in such a hurry and hadn’t wanted to wait for an entire troop to get ready to broad it and now it was too late. Whatever though, he could handle King Boo and his tiny boos by himself.

He landed on the hotel’s roof with a thud, the tiles cracking beneath his weight. Glancing around he was disappointed to see that the roof was empty. What his exact plan was, he had no idea but he didn’t a plan, he’d just wing it like he normally did and it should be fine.

The roof was pretty barren and thus it didn’t take him long to locate a possible way down so he could enter in properly through a window or something. Before he could start to descend though…

“Why are you here?”

He snapped around to see King Boo had come out of seemingly nowhere. He was holding a portrait of Princess Peach, which knowing King Boo’s powerset, meant it probably was her. Bowser had given up courting her a long time ago and had only continued to kidnap her to lure Mario in for another rematch. He no longer even did that because Luigi had decided to convince him not to which had ultimately resulted in their current relationship. But it still made him mad because if anyone was going to capture her, it should’ve been him. He at least treated her right, the way a princess should be treated, not trapping her in a portrait. So…

“I’m here to kick your ass,” he said with a slight growl as he balled up his hands into fists. He would’ve preferred to start with a blast of fire but he wasn’t sure how flammable Peach’s portrait was and he wasn’t going to risk damaging it and possibly her.

King Boo raised an eyebrow and laughed. “You’ll make a nice portrait so sure, I won’t question my good fortune, let’s fight.”

Bowser lunged at him even before finished speaking, intending to grab and rip Peach’s portrait out of his hands. But King Boo floated higher, dodging with seemingly little effort. And he was out of Bowser’s range completely, such bullshit.

With a flash of light from King Boo’s crown, there was suddenly an empty portrait floating beside him. “Sorry this isn’t much of a fight, I got stuff to do,” he said as it starting glowing, pulling Bowser in.

Like hell was he gonna be turned into wall art. He’d blast the damn thing to bits with fire and then…

 -

Next thing he knew, he was indoors and looking down at Luigi instead of up at King Boo. It felt kind of like waking up after a too long nap. He breathed out the breath he’d been taking, releasing a puff of smoke instead of the mighty blast of fire he’d intended it to be. He glanced around at the room, it seemed to be an office of some sort. “What happened? Where am I?” he said as he looked back down.

Luigi looked tired but otherwise mostly fine. He had the Poltergust on his back but a different model than the one he’d shown Bowser. This one had a clear tank with something green inside it. “You were captured by King Boo and turned into a portrait,” he said. “Why did you have come? I tried to tell you not to.”

“Because I wanted to.” Bowser always did whatever he wanted.

“Yeah but why?”

“You’re scared of ghosts, I wanted to beat them up for you.” And he still would, he just had to try a little harder. There were few problems that couldn’t be solved with a good punch and/or blast of fire.

“Oh uh… thanks for the thought.” The slight blush on Luigi’s face as he lifted his free hand to rub the back of his neck was cute and made look slightly less tired. “But I um… I’m fine. I can handle it by myself.”

Bowser sighed as he crossed his arms. He wasn’t too good at reading other people’s emotions but… “You don’t seem fine.”

Luigi deflated a little, letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s scary and I’m tired and… scared and stuff. Gotta save my bro though so…” he trialed off with a shrug. “You should probably go the garage but uh… I’m not sure how I’m going to explain your presence to E. Gadd and the Toads, that’s going to be awkward but I’m not sure where else would be safe.”

“Fuck that, it’s personal now, I’m going to beat up King Boo.” No way would Bowser ever stand for such a humiliating defeat. So he turned to march out the room.

Before he could take more a few steps though Luigi grabbed his arm pulling him back. Bowser could easily just drag him along or pick up and carry him with him or even just shake him off entirely but didn’t.

“You can’t,” Luigi said. “He’ll just turn you into a portrait again so… please don’t. I already have to save Mario and Peach, I don’t want to have to save you again too.” He sounded desperate and scared and… it made Bowser feel bad. “So just… let me do it.”

“You’re scared of ghosts though.” So he shouldn’t even want to do this.

“Yeah but… you need special equipment for hunting ghosts and… I’ve never lost to them so… I can handle it.” He was full on hugging Bower’s arm now, making it even harder to pull away.

Bowser could only sigh at that. “All right, fine, I’ll just help you then.” He could do that much at least. “I’m not letting that bastard get away with beating me so easily and I’m not letting you face the ghosts on your own when you’re so scared of them. And there’s nothing you can do to convince me to hide in some stupid safe place instead.”

Luigi looked like he wanted to protest but sighed instead as he rested the side of his face against Bowser’s upper arm. “Okay, that works, I guess. It’s… kind of nice to have some company anyway I suppose, it gets kind of lonely sometimes.”

Bowser grunted instead of trying to come up with a reply because he wasn’t sure how to. “Let’s go,” he said instead, gesturing towards the rooms exit. He wanted to see how Luigi fought ghosts, he’d been curios about what that was like ever since Luigi had told him about it. “I can’t wait to see the look on Mario’s face when I help save him.”

Luigi chuckled nervously. “That’s uh… certainly going to be an interesting meeting.”

[pandoraborn]

The Cruelty of the Beast - Part 5

(Previous)

Characters: c!Dream, c!Ranboo Word count: 1872 words Content: mild manipulation, dark!fic, vomiting, pending apocalypse, manipulation, puppet!ranboo, puppetmaster!dream, mild bonding, mild mind control, mention of abuse

------

“Ranboo, come with me.”

Dream’s voice is curt, almost with an annoyed undertone to it. Ranboo doesn’t hesitate, not wanting to cause trouble. With a glance over in Tommy’s direction, Ranboo gets to his feet and follows Dream out the front door. He glances back toward their cabin, trying to familiarize himself with the surroundings.

They’re in what looks like a taiga, and the cabin they’re in blends in with the trees and even the cobblestone surrounding the area. It’s not a bad cabin inside, nor outside. There’s a sense of comfort here, but Ranboo is on edge all the same.

“What are we doing?”

“I want to get to know you.” Dream leads him further away from the cabin. “We’re going to give Tommy some time to get to know Wilbur all over again, but you and I need to speak.”

“I don’t know what you want with me,” Ranboo admits. He falls in step next to Dream, trying to watch him without tripping over anything. Dream had cleaned up since exiting the prison, no longer looking so disheveled and broken. His hair is pulled back in a small ponytail, and his mask is sitting on the side of his head, instead of on his face. His clothes are the same as they’d been, except washed and sewed back together. Dream looks intimidating all over again.

“I don’t want anything from you,” Dream counters. He shoots Ranboo a grin. “I’m not as awful as Tommy’d been saying about me, you know.”

“You hurt him,” Ranboo points out bluntly. “You abused him. Don’t bother lying about it either, because we can all see how petrified he is of you.”

“Yeah, and Wilbur about ripped my head off for it.” Dream’s voice is far too casual for this conversation. There’s something not right about him. That much is obvious, but now that he’s free and cleaned up, he seems to exude a raw sort of power that scares Ranboo.

It’s also intriguing.

“Ranboo, I’m not trying to be a villain,” Dream continues. “I once had everything, and I lost it all. I made some wrong choices and went down a stupid path that led to my imprisonment, but we’ve all done some stupid things.”

Dream stops walking then, waving his arm out. “We’re here.”

“Where is here?” Ranboo looks around the area they’re in. They’re still in a taiga, but there’s what looks like a campsite. There’s a fireplace, a couple of tents, and...

...and there’s a hole in the ground.

Ranboo glances at Dream nervously, before hedging toward the opening. “Dream, what’s this?”

“You tell me,” Dream says. He gives a grin that’s too wide for his face. “You’re the one who dug it.”

“I don’t remember.” Ranboo stops moving, now staring fully at Dream. “I haven’t done anything, especially not for you.”

“I’m not controlling you, if that’s what you’re getting at. I don’t have that kind of power. Wilbur, maybe, but he’s not interested in you, he’s interested in Tommy.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Ranboo moves away from the hole. Whatever’s at the bottom, he doesn’t want to know. He wants to go back to Snowchester and be safe with Tubbo and Michael. Hell, he’ll drag Tommy back with him if it means Tommy’s safe too.

“Of course you do. We’ve been communicating for months, Ran. We’ve been working together for a lot longer than you realize.” Dream laughs. Ranboo expects it to sound sinister, but Dream’s laugh sounds normal, like he’s laughing at a random joke instead of Ranboo’s missing memories. “Look inside it, Ranboo. You’ll believe me then.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“You trust Tommy, don’t you?” Dream waves his arm toward the hole. “I’m serious, look inside. It’s nothing bad, I’m not going to do anything to you. We’re past this point.”

“I do trust Tommy. It’s only because of him that I’m still here.” He still doesn’t move.

“I know.” Dream sighs and moves toward one of the tents. Ranboo watches him carefully, trying to figure out what he’s doing now.

“I was manipulated into coming here,” Ranboo offers. “I didn’t come here of my own free will. You have me under some kind of spell.”

“Like I said, I don’t have that kind of power. I didn’t swing a watch and hypnotize you, I didn’t plant subliminal messages into your head.”

“Yeah, but you can trigger it somehow. You can use some sort of... of code or keyword to use me. I don’t remember coming here, but I woke up with a sword aimed at Tommy. What did you do to me?”

“Nothing you didn’t agree to beforehand.” Dream finally exits the tent, holding out a book. Ranboo refuses to touch it, though his gaze is locked on the leather. “Take it and read it,” Dream insists. “I’m serious, you’ll understand.”

Hesitantly, Ranboo reaches for the book, grabbing at it as if it’s tainted. With another suspicious glance toward Dream, he opens the book and reads the signature.

It’s his handwriting.

But it’s not in a language he understands.

Frowning, Ranboo turns the page. There’s more writing, but again, in a language he doesn’t understand. It’s all unmistakably his handwriting though.

“This is useless,” Ranboo says. “I don’t understand any of it.”

“Read the last page,” Dream says. “I’d recite it out loud but you wouldn’t believe me.”

Licking his lips, he does as asked. Flipping to the final page of the book, Ranboo’s breath hitches when he sees what’s written there.

“Once the four of us are united, everything will start falling into place. I just need to keep trusting Dream, he knows what he’s doing more than any of us know. I just hope Tommy isn’t too hurt in the crossfire, he’s still fragile. Maybe seeing Wilbur again will help. I’ll remain by his side as long as he needs us. It’ll all be okay, I hope it’ll be okay. It’s us against the world.”

He doesn’t remember sitting down. Ranboo drops the book to the ground as he lands hard, scrambling back away from it. No wonder he’d been afraid to touch it, it really is tainted.

“I didn’t write that, I didn’t have anything to do with this, I’m-”

Dream crouches down in front of him. He takes the mask off, tossing it to the side, and reaches out for Ranboo, grabbing at his wrists. “You’re shaking,” Dream says quietly.

Why does he sound so comforting?

“Ranboo, look at me, please.”

“You’re crazy,” Ranboo mutters with a laugh. “You’re all off your rocker. I’m not a part of this.”

“Ranboo, it was never my intention to hurt you, or use you. Like I said, I made mistakes that I shouldn’t have made.”

“You...but Tommy...”

“I tried to mold Tommy. I made the mistake of thinking I could replace Wilbur, but Tommy will only ever listen to him, never anyone else. His exile was just one mistake after another, and believe me, Wilbur was pissed at me for that. Almost backed out of our deal for that alone.”

“How...” Ranboo’s voice cracks. “How long have I been working for you?”

“I don’t think you should ask questions you’re not ready to hear answers for.” There’s a warning note there, and Ranboo heeds it. Dream’s right in this instance, Ranboo really doesn’t want to know. He feels disgusted, almost sick.

No, he really is sick. He’s leaning over and dry heaving against the ground, leaves and dirt and bits of stone getting all over his clothes and face. He wishes he could actually vomit something up, but nothing’s coming out easily. Even worse is the fact that Dream is rubbing his back and whispering soothing words to him.

He remembers the question he’d asked Tommy the other night. ‘Have we just lost our free will?’ At the time he hadn’t put much weight into it. But looking back, Ranboo realizes he hadn’t had his free will in a very long time.

“Hey hey hey.” Dream finally pulls him upright. Unable to move, Ranboo leans heavily against Dream, fighting back the urge to cry. Crying hurts, and he doesn’t want to hurt. “Ranboo, listen to me. It’s okay. I’ll make it okay for you. I won’t hurt you, I won’t use you. Just... look in the hole please?”

He nods this time. Weakly, he pushes away from Dream, shifting closer to the giant hole in the ground. The surface seems to be made out of blackstone, so when Ranboo reaches the edge, he peers down.

There’s an end portal down below.

He can see the shimmering galaxy that makes up the portal, the endless nothing. It doesn’t make any sense, why would there be an end portal? Why would it be activated? Why...

When he speaks, his voice is still broken. “Are we going there?”

“Yes, eventually.” Dream pulls him upright. “You know what lies in the end, right?”

“I heard....I heard rumors.” Ranboo’s drooling all over himself. He wipes his mouth as he leans against Dream again. “It’s not good. We shouldn’t-”

“I want to release the dragon,” Dream continues, as if Ranboo hadn’t even spoken at all. “Wilbur and I both want to bring it here. It would do a lot more than withers and TNT. You agreed to it once, telling me you wanted things to go back to simpler times. A dragon could do that.”

There’s no comeback this time. The enderman hybrid has no words to say. He’s horrified, he’s sick to his stomach, and knows this is the worst plan. But...

Dream is pushing him away gently and picking the book back up. He dusts it off and hands it back to Ranboo. “You’re scared,” Dream says bluntly. “I know you’re putting up a resistance, but in your other state, you wanted this. You agreed to it, you willingly helped put all the plans in motion. So reach into that part of you and remember something, for once. If not for me or yourself, then do it for Tommy.”

“Tommy’s going to be heartbroken,” Ranboo whispers.

“Tommy will be fine.” Dream is grinning brightly. He moves closer, hair almost reminiscent of gold in the sunlight. “We’re all going to be fine. He has Wilbur, it’s all he’s ever wanted. What’s holding you back?”

Ranboo thinks of Tubbo and Michael. He doesn’t want to give Dream any leverage, so he slumps his shoulders forward, letting himself give in. Memories aren’t coming back, but whatever makes Dream happy, right?

“Nothing,” Ranboo whispers. “Nothing’s holding me back.”

“So you’ll let yourself remember?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. Let’s go back home, alright?” Dream begins walking again. Ranboo watches him for a moment, glancing back down at the portal. With a shiver, he jogs to catch back up with Dream, trying to push the conversation out of his mind.

This time, his mind isn’t letting him forget anything. No memory book is needed, because the image of a lit end portal is forever burned into his mind, and Ranboo knows that if a dragon were to be released, it’d be entirely his fault.

Did we just lose our free will?

Can’t lose what you never had to begin with, can you?

[monaownsmyass]

Peace of Mind

Requested fic by anon. (If you have any fic ideas or requests you'd like me to write, you can leave me an ask!)

Book: My Two First Loves

Pairing: Ava Lawrence x MC (Emma Price)

Genre: Fluff but again, make it angsty

Rating: G, none

Word Count: 2,402

A/N: Ava comes out to MC but MC has her own confession to make. This is technically a continuation of my previous Ava fic but can be read as a stand-alone. And, I’m also planning to write another part to conclude this ‘series’ sooo👀

Tag list: @ineedskyecrandall @kamilahsayeet2063 @avalawrencefl @lovekamilahsayeed @thequeenkamilahsayeed @heygmicheelle @djtjsmith14 @jjlover01 @soft-for-drake @dopeyouth @alexroyard @satrinadia @toalltheboysididntlove @mypegasifly @samanthadalton @playallthechoices @queensayeed (lmk if anyone would like to be included or removed in my next fics and if you only want to be tagged for certain pairings.)

'Can I talk to you?'

I read the message over and over again for the past hour, cracking my head, trying to figure out what on earth she meant by that.

Did I do something wrong? Did I forget something? Was it personal? Or was it school-related? Maybe something happened?

All I knew was that that sentence was the most stress and anxiety-inducing text I could've ever receive.

And here I was, getting it from my best friend.

'Of course,' I replied almost an hour later even though I saw it as soon as I got the message.

Instantly, my phone buzzed with Ava's respond.

'I have to do it in person. Can I come over?'

Okay, that didn't help at all.

'Sure, is everything alright?'

'Yeah, I just have to tell you something.'

I swear I could hear my heartbeat drumming in my ear from how fast it was racing.

'Okay...,' I sent back and fell back onto my bed, groaning.

My mind raced with a million possibilities. The curious part of me wished Ava was already here and would just tell me whatever she wanted to. The fear-riddled part of me wanted to run away and avoid Ava.

But I was done with that. I was done running away from my feelings, I was done avoiding the inevitable truth.

And maybe, if Ava wanted to tell me something, I should tell her something back. Something I think she should know. Something I should've told her long ago.

But was I ready?

Just then, I heard a car stop outside. I peered out my window and saw Ava's sedan. I watched her step out and my heart leapt to my throat. It had been a usual occurrence ever since a few month ago and I don't know where it came from but the feeling never left.

Ava always walked as if she owned the place, every stride exuding confidence in a way I could only dream of. It was one of the things I've always admired about here. But today, there was an extra power to each step, as if she was a woman on a mission.

And what that mission was? I would soon find out.

I moved to open my room door to find Ava about to knock on it, which made me jump.

Damn, how did she get here so fast?

"Hi!" she said, clearly startled as well.

"Hey!"

I side-stepped and let her into my room, catching a whiff of her flowery perfume as she passed me, making me lose my bearings for a second.

She awkwardly stood at the foot of the bed as if she was waiting for my approval and I looked at her, confused. She'd normally plop herself right on it as if she were at home because honestly, this might as well be her second home.

"Uh, don't you wanna sit, weirdo?" I asked her and giggled despite the nervousness bubbling in me.

"Oh! Um, yeah, right."

She cautiously took a seat at the edge of the bed and I shook my head at her.

"C'mon, sit properly! You look so uncomfortable," I told her and waved my hand at her to move onto my bed even though it was more for my sake. Seeing her so hesitant and stiff in my room, the place I called my sanctuary, the place I only let people I trust the most into, seeing her like this in my private space I gladly shared with her over the past few years was unnerving.

She chuckled nervously and scooched up to the headboard, resting her back against it with me beside her. She looked on straight ahead and I looked at her. For a moment, it was silent.

Dead silent.

I cleared my throat to break it and asked Ava, "I know you said everything's okay, but is it really?"

She didn't respond, only gulped and took in a deep breath.

"Ava?" I placed a hand on her arm that sent a jolt up my own. Her head shot towards my direction as if she could feel it too.

"Sorry, I'm just really nervous," she breath out, looking at me. "I'm... I'm trying to get my thoughts in order. My mind is all over the place and I want to get this right."

I stared at her intently, my breathing slow and deep, waiting for her say something.

Finally, she spoke.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you for a while now," she began quietly.

"Something?"

"About myself."

There was a pause between that.

"Okay...," I drew out in anticipation. "What is it?"

"I...," her voice cracked but she cleared her throat before continuing. "I, uh..."

I waited for her as I watched her shut her eyes before exhaling slowly, too nervous to say anything. Then, she opened her eyes and looked right into mine. The intensity and determination in them made me gasp.

"I'm a lesbian."

Her words knocked the air out of my lungs and my eyes widen slightly in realisation.

Did Ava just come out to me?

I felt a deep sense of relief wash over me and I felt strangely... comforted?

I realised she still looking at me, waiting for a respond but all I could get out was, "Oh!

"Oh?"

"Oh."

Ava sighed and began rambling. "I'm sorry, I wanted to tell you earlier, I swear. But I wasn't ready, and I didn't know how you'd take it! Not that I was assuming you'd react badly, but I couldn't be absolutely sure. And if you did react badly, there's no way for me to know for sure that you won't tell your sister or dad."

I was watching her go on and on but my mind was in another place, trying to make sense of it all, what this would mean for Ava, what it would mean for us and our friendship, this strange sensation of excitement within me, it was taking over my thoughts and overwhelming my entire being.

"And if that happened, it could spread to other people and honestly? I'm terrified of what people will think. Of how they'll start treating me. It's scary not knowing what will happen if I so much as do or say the wrong thing in front of someone."

That snapped me out of my reverie.

"Hey, Ava, it's okay," I reassured her and pulled her into a hug. All my senses were overloading with everything Ava but I managed to composed myself. "You know I don't care. And don't worry, I'm not gonna tell anyone."

"Thank you," Ava whispered.

"And you don't have to explain, I understand," I closed my eyes and said the next words softly, carefully. "In more ways than one."

She pulled back and looked at me cautiously. I could feel butterflies in my stomach and I gulped.

"What do you mean?"

Well, this was it.

"I... I think... I might like girls too."

Ava's face went from confusion to shock to relief then to excitement and then... hopefulness? All in the span of a few seconds.

Her eyes shined and in a small voice, she asked, "Really?"

I gave her a slow nod.

She stared at me.

And I at her.

Then, I spoke again.

"But I'm not sure," I admitted. I contemplated telling her the next part but damn it, enough was enough. I said I was done avoiding the truth and I meant it. It was time to own up to it. "The only reason I think I might like girls is 'cuz of this one girl in particular."

"Tell me more about this girl," she challenged and looked me in the eyes.

I knew she knew. Even if she wasn't sure, I knew she had a strong feeling she did.

And in that moment, I also knew I was ready to confirm it.

I gazed back into her brilliant eyes and braced myself to pour my heart, soul and mind to her, all my feelings and thoughts, I was ready to bare everything to Ava even if it left me naked with vulnerability.

I was ready.

"This girl, I learnt so much from her. She's taught me to be confident and to stand up for myself and not let others walk over me. But on days where I couldn't do that, she was always the one who had my back. She's always been there for me and it took me a while, but I realised my feelings for her might go beyond platonic." I paused to gauge her reaction but she remain expressionless. The only way I could tell she was soaking in every word was from the way her eyes focused on mine. Pupils dilated, she clung onto every word I spoke. It made me more anxious but I was glad she was listening.

She deserved to know.

"She's the reason for the smile on my face every day. I see her and suddenly, all my worries are gone and my mind is at ease. She's my comfort and my happiness and my stomach lurches just from the sight of her. She's so beautiful and captivating and when she looks at me, I can't help but feel like the luckiest person in the world. These feelings are confusing and messy and uncertain and I've been trying to figure them out for months now. But if there's anything I'm sure about, it's that I like her. I really, really like her. More than I should."

Never breaking eye contact, I reached out to gently touch her hand that was on the sheets between us. Electricity ran through my fingertips and up my arm, leaving goosebumps on my skin. I saw Ava breathing start to deepen but her gaze never wavered.

"And," I added on, feeling my nerves finally get the better of me now.

The moment of truth.

"I think she feels the same about me."

I saw her eyes become glassy as I felt her fingers intertwine with mine.

And she gave me a single nod.

"She does."

I felt a burst of emotions flood through me as a tear trickled down my cheek. The weight on my chest was lifted and I finally got to breathe again. The burden on my shoulders was eased and I felt so light, I was sure I could fly. The thing that was weighing on my mind was gone and I swear I got giddy from the high of being free.

I was free.

Because the wait was over, the truth was out, I didn't have to run anymore.

"You do?" I asked, voice quivering.

"I do!"

That was when I lost it and broke down into sobs, feeling intense bliss take over me.

This time, Ava pulled me into a hug and I immediately buried my face in the crook of her neck, letting myself cry while she tried controlling her own tears as well but I could hear her sniffling.

"I've dreamt of you saying that for so long," she muttered softly into my hair. "It drove me crazy not knowing if I was imagining things or not."

I giggled despite my tears. "Sorry for making you wait."

"I just want to know," Ava spoke as she pulled back to look at my face. "When I told you I love you that day, you knew how I meant it right?"

I slowly nodded, remembering the way those words were spoken. So soft and emotional and vulnerable. It made my breath hitch hearing them. I could sense how genuine and true those words were from her tone and it overwhelmed me.

Ava Lawrence loved me.

"Did you mean it the same way? When you said it back?"

There was hope in her eyes and I felt guilty. I didn't want to lie 'cuz I wasn't even sure myself.

"Honestly, I'm not sure," I looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "I love you, but I'm not sure how I mean it either." I glanced back at her. "But I do like you, Ava. I really like you."

"I can't say it's the exact answer I was hoping for," she gave me a small smile. "But I'll take whatever I can get."

I shook my head. "No, you deserve more than that. You deserve so much more, but I can't promise that to you, at least not yet."

My heart felt heavy reciting my own words but it was true. I didn't want to lead her on in case it wasn't gonna go anywhere even though I was certain it was.

But I just couldn't take the risk and watch her get hurt because of me.

"I need more time, Ava. I need time to figure this out. To figure my feelings out. I don't think I could live with myself if I end up hurting you. Plus, I still have Noah and Mason to think about..."

Even though they were the last things on my mind.

"I'll wait for you," she quickly said.

"Ava, don't."

"Let me, I've waited for you this long already. Might as well go all the way." She took both my hands in hers and said, "We'll figure this out together. You don't have to do this alone."

"Are you sure?"

"Do you trust me?"

"With my heart and soul."

She smiled. "Yes, I'm sure."

She stood up from the bed and made her way out of my room and out of my house with me in tow.

At the porch, she stopped walking and turned around to face me.

"I love you, Em. And no matter what you choose to do and what your feelings come to be, just know that I love you."

She was about to turn back and head to her car when I stopped her.

"I need you to promise me something."

"Anything."

"If you meet someone, don't wait for me. Don't let me stop you."

"But I want to."

"I know you do," I tugged her into me left her a small peck on the cheek, whispering against her skin. "But if you ever decide you don't want to anymore, don't wait. I'll catch up to you."

She held my gaze and slowly gave me a small, hesitant nod. I couldn't promise her my love or time or feelings right now, so I promised her the only thing I knew I could.

"I'll be there."

(More fics!)

[jaskiers-sweetkiss]

Sunset Swerve - Part 9

Pairing: Luke x OC

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: discussion of death, mentions of drunk driving and car crash, light swearing

A/N: omg okay it’s finally here!! This part took me longer to get out because I wanted to finish the next one before I posted it. So, for the first (and probably last) time ever with this fic you’ll be able to read the next part immediately after this one!! There are some Jordan/Julie moments in here that I’ve been waiting for for a while so I’m really excited for you to finally be able to read them! Also, oops, not me finding more ways to add Talia Mar songs into this story. The lyrics are from her song Selfish and I would totally recommend checking it out, I just felt like the lyrics really fit Luke and Jordan’s relationship! Anyway, enough from me. Send me a message/drop a comment if you want to be added to the taglist and as always let me know what you think!

Part 8  Masterlist 

___

The atmosphere in the Molina’s living room was conflicting. Though in the back of her head she knew it was unreasonable, Jordan had expected them to poof into the living room after leaving the cafe to find Julie being scolded by her father. Instead, they were met with Carlos lurking around the house with his iPad while Tia repeatedly tried to convince him that ghosts weren’t real (rude). Meanwhile, the four ghosts sat on the couch silently, the mood surrounding them somber as they considered what could be happening between Julie and her father. Jordan wasn’t sure what the standard punishment was for sneaking out after being grounded missing school and lying these days, but she was certain it couldn’t be good. Julie was probably being grounded for life and forced to quit the band.

“Typical adult,” Reggie whined, puling the other three from their thoughts. “Remember when we were kids and they never believed what we said?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that was just a you thing,” Alex said skeptically before proudly adding, “I was always pretty trustworthy.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jordan added, staring at the boy strangely.

“Shouldn’t we be more worried about Julie?” Luke interrupted. “Her dad just busted her, okay? He’s probably making her quit the band”

“Woah, when did Luke become the voice of reason?” Jordan teased, trying to ease the guilt she felt.

Luke rolled his eyes but Alex and Reggie cracked a smile at her joke, making her feel a little better.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about Julie right now,” Reggie spoke, a glimmer in his eyes that made Jordan worried about what he was about to do. “But, we can still help Carlos. Adults not believing children ends tonight.”

“Showtime,” he whispered to himself before leaning back and turning off the lamp behind him.

Tia gasped and Carlos perked up.

“‘Ghosts aren’t real,’ huh? How do you explain that?” Carlos asked and Tia shook her head.

“Lightbulbs burn out all the time Carlos.”

“Ooh, wrong answer Tia!” Reggie exclaimed hopping up from the couch and heading towards the window while the others looked on disapprovingly.

“Explain this,” he challenged, fluttering the blinds open and closed.

Luke, Jordan, and Alex all wished, each of them expressing equal parts disapproval and disbelief at the dark-haired ghost’s actions but none of them doing anything to stop it.

It took Tia calling him a demon for Reggie to stop, but it seemed he wasn’t quite done yet.

“Wait, I gotta get it on video!” Carlos explained and Reggie perked up again.

“Yeah, you do!” He agreed, now moving to stand in front of the basket of laundry on the coffee table. “Time for an old classic.”

Before anyone realized what he was doing, Reggie had taken ahold of the white sheet in the basket, throwing it over his upper body. The result was frantic screams from Tia as she dragged herself and Carlos out of the room.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Alex asked sternly as Reggie plopped down in the armchair, sheet discarded.

“Yeah, I do. I’ve defended every kid who’s never been believed,” Reggie answered with pride and conviction before adding, “Some might even say I’m a superhero.”

“Or the first person to be killed twice,” Jordan scoffed and Reggie’s eyes went wide as he realized what she was implying.

“We should probably get out of here before Julie finds out, huh?” He said, jumping up from his seat and running out of the living room.

Luke, Jordan, and Alex all exchanged exasperated looks before quickly following after him.

In hindsight, they probably shouldn’t have chosen the studio as their hiding spot but in their defense, they were sure that Julie was going to be detained for a lot longer than she was. It was only about ten minutes after Reggie’s haunting that they were found.

“You four,” Julie exclaimed, storming into the garage. “Are in so much trouble. Explain yourselves.”

She was immediately met with a barrage of shouting from the ghost, all of them thrilled to see her so soon and not paying attention to her words.

“Julie! You’re back!”

“How’d it go with your dad?”

“Did he make you quit the band?”

“Are you grounded for life?”

“Nuh-uh, stop speaking,” Julie commanded, face still stern as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I just watched my aunt run from my house screaming about ghosts. What did you do?”

Luke, Alex, and Jordan turned to stare at Reggie who was staring back at them with eyes wide. The three ghosts looked between each other, making a silent decision before turning back to Julie.

“It was Reggie.” Alex and Jordan said simultaneously and Luke gapped at them.

“Guys!” Reggie yelped, betrayed.

“Sorry Reg,” Jordan shrugged. “I’m much more afraid of her than you.”

“Reggie?” Julie whined, staring at the wide-eyed bassist.

“I just wanted to defend Carlos! Ta kept saying ghosts weren’t real but he was trying so hard to be a ghost hunter!”

“Aw, Reg,” Julie cooed, dropping her arms and stern facade. “That’s actually really sweet.”

“How does he do that?” Jordan whispered to Alex as they watched Reggie weasel out of trouble.

Alex just shrugged.

“You’re off the hook this time,” Julie sighed, addressing all the ghosts again. “But please stop scaring my family.”

They all nodded quickly in agreement.

“So, Julie, how’d it go with your dad?” Luke asked tentatively.

“I’m still in the band,” She started and the ghosts cheered excitedly. “But, we talked and I have to rearrange my priorities a little. School has to come first or he said he’ll pull the plug.”

“Wow,” Jordan said, shocked. “I would’ve been murdered for something like that.”

“Yeah, your dad is the coolest,” Reggie added and Jordan rolled her eyes with a smirk, they all knew how much the boy loved Ray.

“Yeah, he is,” Julie said softly, nodding slightly as she smiled to herself. “I gotta get back up to the house. School tomorrow.”

The ghosts all nodded understandingly, sending her off with big smiles and enthusiastic waves.

___

The next few days passed in a bit of a blur, though Jordan could distinctly remember feeling like some moments were never-ending. It seemed every passing day brought Julie and Luke closer together and Jordan felt as though she was being torn in two. On one hand, Julie was now one of her closest friends and she couldn’t help but be happy for the girl as she knew about her crush on Luke, but on the other hand, she really couldn’t help those flare-ups of negative emotions she couldn’t identify every time they were near each other. Then there were the moments that passed by too fast which had increasingly and alarmingly begun to include Luke.

She’d started using her free time to write after a rehearsal one afternoon. Jordan and Luke were sitting knee to knee with their guitars in their laps despite the practice having ended. They had been quietly working on some new melodies when Julie called Luke away to “ask him about something”. Luke had, of course, jumped up and followed her out of the garage immediately. It had been one of those moments that had ended all too soon, and the silence and emptiness that followed had felt like an eternity. Her swirling mixture of unidentifiable emotions had left her feeling quite angsty so she turned to the best outlet she knew: songwriting.

She knew the guys were nearly out of their minds curious as to what she was working on with all the time she’d been spending at the piano or strumming her guitar, trying to figure out melodies and chord structures. Reggie had essentially told her as much one afternoon before Alex had hit his shoulder and told him to give her her privacy. The drummer was extremely preceptive and sometimes Jordan wondered if he had a better understanding of what she was feeling that she did.

Still, she should’ve known it wouldn’t be long before one of them got too nosey and she should’ve done a better job keeping track of her stuff.

“Hey, has anyone seen my notebook?” She asked, walking into the garage the day after Luke and Julie’s ‘talk’.

She’d spent the morning wandering around Hollywood searching for her old haunts in an attempt to clear her mind but instead she was left with more writing fodder.

“Uh, I think I saw it over by the couch?” Reggie answered hesitantly, not looking up from the ‘old’ iPod Julie had gifted him (though technology like that hardly seemed old to any of them).

The boy hadn’t been wrong, per se. When Jordan turned to look towards the couch she did see her notebook, however, she found it in Luke’s hands. As his eyes scanned the pages her stomach plummeted and without even thinking she was marching over to the boy.

“Woah, Moss, What’s this?” He asked, pausing at a page before reading off the lyrics,

“I’m selfish, I’m selfish, I’m selfish

when it comes to you.

I can’t help it, can’t help it

crazy things that I do.”

“Give it back.”

“When I need you I come back to you.

I’m selfish, I’m selfish

when it comes to you.”

“I’m serious, Patterson,” she said sternly, grabbing the top of the notebook but not pulling for fear of ripping any of the pages. “You don’t see me poking around in your notebook.”

“You don’t see me leaving my notebook lying around,” he responded cheekily, letting go of the notebook. “Who’s it about?”

“None of your business.” She answered, face hardened as she glared at the boy, hugging the journal to her chest.

“I think it’s about me,” he smirked, leaning back on the couch.

“I think you’re a dumbass,” Jordan snarked back, refusing to give him the satisfaction as she spun on her heels, taking a few steps before poofing up to the nook she’d carved out for herself in the loft.

The next day was the exact opposite of the ones preceding them. Before, Jordan was using any excuse she could come up with to spend time with Luke- making edits to songs, working on melodies, hell she even stayed up all night reading her book while the guys were out so that she could pass it on to him the next day with the idea that once he started reading they could talk about it. However now, she stayed as far away as possible. Or at least she tried.

She poofed up to her spot in the loft after a band practice of pointedly ignoring Luke. She spent the afternoon and evening there, entirely uninterrupted. She’d tried to immerse herself into the next book in her series, hoping a new quest might suck her in and help her forget her thoughts for a while. Instead, they persisted and she put down her book, trading it for her notebook and guitar and spending the rest of the day strumming and humming softly as she worked out the lyrics and melodies. The song still plagued her, despite the anger she was feeling towards the boy.

She’d made it until after Julie had gone to bed before anyone interrupted her solitude.

“C’mon Moss!” Luke called from the garage floor. “We’re going exploring.”

Jordan didn’t miss a beat, not even bothering to look up from her notebook where she had just scribbled down a new chord.

“And why would I want to go anywhere with you?” She spat back, picturing the hurt look on the ghost boy’s face. She had expected it to bring her some sort of satisfaction as being snide had always done in the past, but this time it also brought a little pang in her chest.

“Look, I’m sorry alright?” Luke called up, sounding like he’d rather be saying anything else. “I shouldn’t have gone through your notebook, it was a dick move.”

Jordan blamed the pang in her chest for why she gave in so quickly, poofing down to join the guys.

“Fine.” She conceded, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to look Luke in the eyes. “Where are we even going?”

When she did finally turn to look at the brunet, she had to look away immediately. His eyes were too full of raw and unhidden emotions that she was too afraid to search through for fear of what she’d find.

___

“Guys!” Reggie exclaimed, poofing into the garage a couple of mornings later.

Jordan had returned to her spot on the couch, notebook placed protectively beside her but her book open on her lap as she read. Luke was seated a couple of seats away, reading his own book, and Alex was sat across from him making a friendship bracelet like Julie had taught him.

“You’ll never believe what Ray just told me!” Reggie continued, and Jordan looked up, quirking an eyebrow at the boy. “Okay, well, he told Julie but I was there!”

Jordan nodded, satisfied with his correction.

“We’ve got a gig!”

While Luke and Alex hadn’t even looked up before, Reggie had all their attention now. Each of them tossing aside whatever they were working on and jumping off the furniture, bounding towards the boy and bombarding him with questions.

“Where?”

“When?”

“How?”

Reggie beamed, bouncing on the balls of his feet slightly before dramatically shushing them.

“The gig is here.” The statement caused the other three ghosts to erupt into chatter once again but Reggie held his hands up to quiet them.

“Ray said they could host a garage party and we can perform tonight!” Reggie explained further and the studio was once again filled with screams until he was able to quiet them down again. “He felt really bad about potentially messing things up with that manager from the open mic night that he and some of his buddies are gonna film us for YouTube!”

“What’s a YouTube?” Luke asked finally after the garage fell silent, each of the three ghosts in varying stages of confusion.

Jordan was pretty sure Julie and Flynn had shown her YouTube but she couldn’t remember if that was the one where all the fangirls went to post all kinds of stuff or if it was the one with all the different video genres that people upload. Or was it the one Flynn called the worst part of the internet, where people just talk shit about everyone and everything for no reason?

“YouTube,” Reggie began, clearly enjoying getting to be the one teaching them for once. “Is a website where you can make and upload your own videos. People post all kinds of stuff, playing video games, tutorials, and music videos.”

“We’re gonna record a music video? Like on MTV?” Luke gasped, eyes wide as he stared at his bandmate.

“Yes, dude! And Julie says if we get enough views we could go big!”

Luke gaped at the other three ghosts, opening and closing his mouth like he was going to say something but then changing his mind before he just poofed away altogether.

“Where’d you think he’s going?” Reggie asked and Alex shrugged.

Jordan tilted her head slightly, trying to think through Luke’s thought process. She rolled her eyes when she figured it out before poofing away herself.

“Where do you think she’s going?” Reggie asked, sounding more alarmed this time but Alex just sighed, shaking his head slightly as he collapsed back into his chair.

___

Jordan reappeared in the hallway of Julie’s school, poofing in right next to Luke and causing both him and Julie to jump in surprise.

“Sorry, my Patterson Idiocy Meter was going off,” Jordan smirked and Julie, “It lets me know when he’s doing something especially stupid.”

Julie gave a small chuckle at that while Luke stuck his tongue out at Jordan, who just gave him a false smile in return.

“Anyway,” Luke said dramatically, rerouting the conversation and turning back to Julie. “I was thinking, you should just ditch school today and come rehearse with us.”

“Something especially stupid like that,” Jordan said, smacking his shoulder with the back of her hand.

“No, I can’t,” Julie said firmly. “I promised dad school first.”

“Right, you were at school first, and now you’re leaving to go rehearse,” Luke grinned at his own cleverness and Jordan rolled her eyes.

“Stop trying to persuade her to do bad things!” Jordan huffed exasperatedly and Julie gave her a small smile of thanks.

“I really can’t,” Julie repeated. “Plus I promised Nick I’d be his dance partner…”

Jordan wiggled her brows at that, knowing about Julie’s feelings about the blond-haired boy.

“…and he’s heading this way,” she finished, pretending to hang up the phone in favor of talking to the boy.

“Well don’t you look sharp?” Luke teased despite the boy not being able to hear him and Jordan huffed irritably, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Uh-oh! I think somebody’s got a crush on Julie,” he continued and Julie glared at him and Jordan just about dragged him away by his ear.

Luke continued to mock the boy, mimicking his movements and expressions until he walked off. If Jordan hadn’t been trying to push down the feelings that were making her pissed at him, she might’ve even laughed.

“Well, he’s just too cute!” Luke gasped to Julie once Nick was gone and Julie rolled her eyes.

“Boundaries,” she reminded him. “I’ll see you after school.”

“Fine!” Luke called after her as she began to walk to her class. “Guess we’ll just have to carry you tonight, just like we always do!”

“Shut up, Luke,” Jordan rolled her eyes before calling down the hall at her friend. “Good luck Julie! You’ll be great!”

“Yeah, kill it on the dance floor!” Luke called, doing a small shuffle of his own in the middle of the hallway.

“Dork,” Jordan muttered under her breath but Luke still heard it, snapping his head around to give her a faux insulted look which earned him another eye roll.

“C’mon, we’ve gotta get rehearsing,” Luke spoke, but Jordan waved him off.

“Go ahead, I’ll be right there.”

Luke frowned slightly but poofed away anyway, leaving Jordan alone in the now empty hallway.

She wandered down the same way Julie had gone, deciding that she wanted to watch her dance. She hoped supporting her friend would give her the opportunity to stop thinking about a certain brown-haired ghost in any capacity.

____

She was right, it had helped. Of course, any tranquility she had found sitting on the gym bleachers was immediately destroyed the moment she reappeared in the studio. She had clearly arrived in the middle of something, but she wasn’t quite sure what.

Reggie was going on about “never forgetting your first ghost,” whatever that meant, and then Luke started talking about how talented of a drummer Alex was.

“I wouldn’t let all that stuff get in between you and what you love,” Luke finished saying when Reggie pipped up again.

“I don’t know, man,” he pondered. “Sometimes a little fire can make things better on stage. Like you and Julie.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Luke stuttered out, looking around nervously.

“C’mon, everyone can see the way you look at her when you sing,” Reggie continued, piling it on and for some reason, Jordan thought she might vomit. “You guys ooze chemistry.”

Luke’s eyes kept flitting around the studio, refusing to look at any of them until he made direct eye contact with Jordan who frowned, looking away as she swallowed thickly. Of course, everyone had noticed the chemistry between him and Julie. She’d half hoped she was imagining it but clearly it was real.

“Please never say ooze again, but you have to agree he’s right,” Alex shrugged, standing up from his drum set.

“No, no.” Luke denied, and Jordan eyed her shoelaces, not wanting to catch his eyes, afraid of what she might find. “I have chemistry with everyone I sing with.”

Alex and Reggie must’ve been giving him looks of disbelief because he huffed in that way a child does when they don’t get their way.

“Seriously, watch.”

Jordan watched his feet as he took a step towards her.

“You’d better take that step back,” she growled, hoping she sounded as menacing as she planned to and not like the kicked puppy her heart was making her feel like. She didn’t think she’d be able to take it. Looking in his eyes and feeling like he’d set her on fire but knowing it was all just to prove a point, that it wasn’t real for him.

Luke huffed again, and she watched his feet turn around walking in Reggie’s direction now as he began to sing.

“I believe, I believe that we’re just one dream away from who we’re meant to be,” knowing his back was turned to her, she looked up, watching as he inched closer and closer to a wide-eyed Reggie. “That we’re standing on the edge of… great.”

“Wow,” Alex remarked, “I see chemistry.”

“Yeah, that was pretty hot,” Reggie admitted, voice cracking as he spoke.

Then Luke kissed two of his fingers before placing them on Reggie’s lips. Jordan couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped her at the bewildered expression on the boy’s face and Luke whirled around to grin at her. She rolled her eyes in response, trying to ignore the smile and the feeling that something was flapping around in her stomach that it brought.

“Girls, amiright?” Reggie croaked out.

“Yeah,” Luke chuckled and Alex quickly chimed in.

“No,” he said definitively with a light chuckle.

Jordan barked out a laugh at that, poofing over to the drummer to give him a high five before poofing back to the front of the band setup. The three guitarists slipped their instruments back over their heads and all of a sudden they were rehearsing. Jordan was grateful for the distraction, music was always the best outlet for unwanted emotions.

They rehearsed like that until Julie got home from school, the four of them taking their music seriously while also goofing around. At some point, Jordan had relocated her amp to Reggie’s side of the setup, the two ghosts doing increasingly ridiculous and dramatic stunts with each take through the song. Julie walked into the garage just in time to watch Jordan and Reggie perform a run-through while attempting to backbend as far as they could while still maintaining the integrity of their sound.

“What on earth are you guys doing?” She asked, staring at the two ghosts as if they’d lost their minds.

“Julie! Thank goodness you’re here!” Jordan exclaimed dramatically, “Luke’s been singing your part and…” she widened her eyes, drawing her hand back and forth in front of her neck to silently convey that it wasn’t good.

“Hey! I take offense to that!” Luke exclaimed and Jordan rolled her eyes.

“That was the point,” she sassed, smirking at the boy who pouted in response.

Julie just shook her head exasperatedly at the pair.

“Let’s start practicing before these two can get into it fully,” she suggested to the group and Jordan looked down at her feet embarrassedly before poofing herself and her equipment back to the other side of the setup.

“Girl, where are you going?” Julie asked, her look of bewilderment barely concealing her grin. “This is our song, I want you next to me.”

Jordan didn’t even try to conceal her own grin at the offer, poofing back up by the girl.

They practiced that way for about another hour before they had the song to a place they were happy with. Luke was a bit stressed when Julie called the rehearsal. He wanted to run the song more but the rest of the band shut him down, reassuring him that they would be fine.

Jordan had started to pull out her small makeup stash to get started on her look for the performance when Julie invited her up to the house, asking for help picking out an outfit and suggesting that they get ready together. Jordan readily agreed, shouldering her backpack of clothes and scooping up her makeup as she followed the girl to her room.

She set her belongings down off to the side before joining Julie as the girl opened up the chest across from her bed.

“What’s that?” Jordan asked as Julie began to dig through the clothes.

“Oh, it’s my mom’s trunk with a bunch of her old clothes,” Julie explained, pulling out a piece of fabric. “I try to wear something of her’s when I perform, it’s as close as I can get to having her there with me.”

Jordan nodded, leaning back against Julie’s bed frame as she sat on the floor. It was an incredibly sweet and sentimental gesture and Jordan suddenly found herself with a lump in her throat and an overwhelming bout of homesickness as she fiddled with the small, silver pendant necklace she never took off. Her own mother had given it to her on her last Christmas.

“That’s beautiful,” she said softly, referring to the sentiment and the white shirt Julie was holding in front of her.

Julie made her way over to her dresser, rifling through pants as Jordan remained on the floor, nearly entirely lost in her thoughts.

“We all lost our parents too soon,” Jordan sighed deeply, voicing her thoughts as she leaned her head back against Julie’s mattress. “Reggie’s spent all their time bickering and left hardly any time for their child, Alex’s basically disowned him, and Luke ran away. I was the only one with a decent relationship with my parents and then they...”

She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed, unable to finish the sentence. Nearly twenty-five and a half years later and the wound was still as fresh as it had been on day one.

“It can be hard to talk about trauma,” Julie acknowledged sympathetically, sliding down onto the floor next to her, outfit forgotten on the bed. “Can I ask when they passed?”

“H-how did you know?” Jordan stuttered out, looking at the girl next to her in confusion. She knew she’d never said it. She was still barely able to think it.

“Grief recognizes grief, I guess,” Julie shrugged. “My mom and I were really close but after she died, I couldn’t even hear her name without crying for months, let alone talk about her. It took even longer to be able to look at pictures. You say you had a good relationship with your parents but I’ve never heard you talk about them.”  

Jordan nodded thoughtfully at that. She closed her eyes, swallowing thickly before opening her mouth to speak.

“It was about five months before… before I died,” she answered, eyes clenched shut to stop the tears as images from that night swam behind her eyelids. “It was a car accident. Drunk driver, you know?”

She could still see the flashing lights in her driveway, the faces of the police officers blurred by her tears as they told her the news.

“I’m so sorry,” Julie said, and Jordan knew by the thickness of her voice that she was fighting back tears as well.

“Luke said there was a time where you were the closest thing to family he had. I assumed he was talking about when he ran away but was it because of what happened to your parents?”

Jordan nodded slightly, looking down at her hands in her lap.

“After their… after the funeral, I ran.” She explained, voice cracking. “I was less than a year away from turning eighteen, I figured I was better off waiting it out than any of the other options.

“Luke, uh… Luke sorta took me in. He’d been living in their practice studio- your garage- since he ran away and offered to let me stay with him. I would’ve turned him down but I didn’t exactly have anywhere else to go. I guess He was all I had. None of the guys knew, pretty sure they still don’t, so don’t like…”

“Mention it.” Julie filled in, staring at the ghost with a look of caring and understanding that she hadn’t felt in ages. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Jordan nodded, giving the girl a watery smile of thanks as she wiped the tears from her cheek with the back of her hand.

“Never thought I’d be back living in that studio but it’s better now. We have each other,” Jordan added, trying to lighten the mood. “And we have you.”

“Do you wanna cross over?” Julie asked curiously. “Figure out your unfinished business?”

“I do. When Alex first told us about it, it was all I wanted. A way to see my parents again,” Jordan sighed contemplatively. “But not just yet. I like to think they’re with your mom right now, and they’re all watching over us. I think they’d be proud.

“All my parents ever wanted was for me to do what I loved- to play music- and I’m doing that now, just never in the way I thought I would.”

“I’m glad I can help you achieve that,” Julie said sincerely, reaching over to cover Jordan’s hand with her own, forgetting that it would just phase through it.

“Me too,” Jordan smiled, wiping the fallen tears from her cheeks as she stood up, “We should probably stop crying and start getting ready, huh?”

Julie laughed, pulling herself off the floor as well.

“I have an idea for the song if you’re interested,” Julie said, changing the subject as they moved around her bedroom.

___

Jordan thought maybe after years of performing, the pre-concert nerves would fade away but as she stood in the garage bouncing uncontrollably she started to think they never would. She shook her hands out in front of her as Flynn began their introduction, the doors sliding open to reveal the crowd of high schoolers.

When Julie took a seat at the piano, Jordan felt someone grab her hand. She looked over to see Alex smiling at her reassuringly and Reggie holding his other hand. She smiled gratefully at the two boys, delighted by the fact that they had picked up the pre-show ritual. She turned back to see Luke looking at them all curiously, looking slightly upset that he was being left out of something. Jordan smiled at him, reaching out her spare hand which he took eagerly.

The four ghosts stood in silence, listening to Julie sing.

“Like a rubber ball, we come bouncing back. We all gotta second act inside of us,”

Jordan squeezed the boys’ hands briefly before they were all poofing to their spots on the makeshift “stage.”

Julie immediately jumped back to where she was playing her guitar, singing the first part of the chorus to her before moving to give Reggie and Alex some attention. As the ghosts joined in on the backup vocals Jordan noticed Luke give Julie his signature head nod, signaling that he wanted her to come sing with him and Jordan immediately flashed back to Reggie and Alex’s comments about the pair’s chemistry. She was grateful for the presence of mind to remember that they were being filmed so she fought the urge to roll her eyes and plastered a smile onto her face.

She angled herself away from him slightly as she picked up the second verse.

“We all make mistakes. They’re just stepping stones to take us where we wanna go. It’s never straight, no,” she sang to the audience, basking in the cheers and letting her negative feelings fade out only for them to come right back as she caught another head nod out of the corner of her eyes as he and Julie joined the vocals.

“Sometimes we gotta lean, lean on someone else,” Jordan sang to Julie, doing her best to ignore Luke and the unreasonable and boiling anger she was feeling. “To get a little help, until we find a way.”

Julie broke off when they hit the chorus again, making her way in front of the piano to interact a little with her classmates in the crowd. As they sang, Jordan and Reggie switched spots, the bassist joining Luke at his mic and Jordan singing to Alex from Reggie’s mic.

“Cause we’re standing on the edge of great,” Julie sang from the front as Reggie and Jordan returned to their own mics to sing the backups.

“On the edge of great.”

“Great.”

“On the edge of great.”

“Great.”

“On the edge of great.”

“Cause we’re standing on the edge of,” Julie sent Jordan a quick smile before stepping up onto the piano bench.

“Shout, shout. C’mon and let it out, out. Don’t gotta hide it, let your colors blind their eyes. Be who you are don’t compromise and shout, shout. C’mon and let it out, out.”

“What doesn’t kill you makes you feel alive.”

As Julie took on the chorus by herself, Luke stepped up beside where she crouched on the piano. Jordan tried to ignore the puppy dog eyes he gave her as he played his guitar solo, her stomach sinking as Julie smiled back at him. She focused her attention on Julie, drawing on her pride for her friend as she slid over to Reggie.

“Something big, something crazy, our best is yet unknown. That this moment is ours to own,” she sang with Reggie as they all joined back in, for the rest of the final chorus.

As the chorus came to an end Jordan stepped forward, sliding next to Julie on the piano bench, her guitar disappearing along with the guys. She played out the rest of the song, sharing the piano with Julie as they sang together.

“Running from the past, tripping on the now. What is lost can be found, it’s obvious.”

They shared a friendly smile before she disappeared. Reappearing in the garage as the crowd erupted into cheers. She watched proudly as Julie took her bows before catching Luke’s eyes. She frowned at the scrutinizing look he was giving her. It was like he thought she had wronged him somehow. What was his deal?

Part 10

___

JATP Taglist: @meangirlsx @morganayennefertyrell

Sunset Swerve Taglist: @oopsiedoopsie23 @angryknightstatesmantrash @onlygetaway @deni-gonzalez @advicefromnixxxx @brooke0297 @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @cordeliascrown

[thewayshedreamed]

This Time— Part 6

A Nessian Fan Fic

Fic Masterlist

This chapter offers some additional insight into Nesta’s thought process and sheds a little light on the ongoing process her emotional development has become. I hope it comes through!

This is somewhat of a “building” chapter so that we can get Nessian to the crest, so to speak. Part 7 is already written and only needs some editing, so it’s possible that I’ll be doing a double update today ☺️ They certainly have a lot to discuss, and once I started writing, I couldn’t stop. 😂 Anyway, enough of me. Enjoy!

Links to the previous parts:

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 ||

Warnings for grief related to the loss of a parent and some strong language.

——————————————————————————

Around 11:00 PM, Nesta decided she couldn’t be alone with her thoughts anymore. She was ruminating on similar memories and effectively raking herself over the coals. Although she knew any one of her friends would be there for her no matter the time of day, she picked up her phone to call the one she knew would most likely be awake at this hour.

“Hello?” Azriel’s raspy voice came through the phone.

“Were you asleep?! Since when do you go to bed early?” Her surprise was obvious by her tone. What the hell? He’s never in bed before midnight.

“Nes. Always a pleasure.” Azriel breathed a chuckle into the phone. “I usually wouldn’t be. I’m.. umm.. at a friend’s house tonight.”

Nesta gasped and dropped her voice. “Oh my gods. Az, were you on a date?! Am I interrupting?” She clapped her free hand over her forehead. “I’m the worst. I’m sorry.”

Another chuckle from Azriel. “You don’t have to whisper, you know. She can’t hear you. You’re not interrupting anything. I was asleep when you called, but I’m out on the couch now. What’s up?”

”If you were asleep, then that counts as interrupting! Are you sure?”

”Yes. Just, maybe the short version?” His tone was tentative, almost as if he felt guilty asking her to keep it concise at 11 PM. No one truly deserved Azriel as their friend.

“I can do that. So, here it is. I’ll save you the long, tedious trip through my brain.” She paused for half a second to take a breath. “I’m in love with Cassian.” She let out a quiet groan for effect.

”Mhmm...” The lilting of his voice implied that he was waiting for something like the punchline of a joke; the unknown part of her statement.

Her breath caught. “I kind of expected more of a reaction.”

”Did you? I thought there was more to it.” He seemed entirely neutral in that grating way of his.

”How did you know?!” She asked, incredulously.

”You told me.”

“Mm.. I don’t think so. When?” Now she was actually confused. Did she make some kind of drunken confession at Rita’s? She would remember having this revelation before now.

“At brunch. When we were driving home.”

”What are you talking about?!” Her voice was definitely higher pitched than it had been previously. She was anxious to hear his response, thinking he had surely dreamed this.

”Nesta. We were in my car, backing out of the parking lot. You asked me, ‘Why couldn’t we be the ones to fall in love?’ Or something along those lines. I thought that you were using some cryptic way of telling me because it implied two parties. Why do you think I hit the brakes so hard?” He seemed impatient, as if he was telling her the most obvious thing in the world.

“I thought maybe the question weirded you out! I didn’t even realize what I said, to be honest. How the actual fuck do you notice tiny things like that?” She didn’t wait on his response. He would know it was rhetorical. “Now my problem is this: I think he’s dating someone, so I’ve lost my chance.” She briefly told him what she had overheard the night of Elain’s birthday, her voice starting to crack toward the end.

”Hm. He hasn’t said anything to me about that, but I could see why he would wait being that you and I are close. But honestly, I don’t know that you could ever lose your chance with Cassian, Nes.”

She didn’t have anything to say to that. She simply sat there, playing with the corner of her throw blanket and hoping he would continue. He seemed to sense her discomfort and started talking again.

“I think you’ll regret it if you don’t talk to him. But, if I can offer my opinion, maybe wait a little while so that you know you’re absolutely sure this is what you want. I don’t know how he would handle it if you decided it’s not what you want.”

She felt herself prickle with defensiveness. “I wouldn’t do that to him, Az. Of course I’m sure. It only took me an eternity to figure this shit out.”

Azriel responded in a soothing tone he so often used with her. “I know. But remember, you’re not the one he talks to about you. I’m just looking out for my brother. Maybe let it marinate, yeah?”

She knew his intentions were pure, and she couldn’t really blame him for being protective. Before she could respond, she heard a feminine voice in the background ask: “Az, everything okay?”

She heard him pull the phone away from his face to answer. “Oh, yeah. All good. It’s Nesta.”

Delayed by her scattered brain and the copious amount of wine, the identity of the voice finally hit her full force.

”IS THAT ELAIN?!” She sat up straighter as if it would allow her to hear them more readily.

She heard Azriel laugh, followed by a shuffling on the other end.

“Hello? Nesta? Everything okay?” Nesta could hear the genuine concern in her voice.

“Hey, El. Everything’s fine! Sorry to crash your date. It seems we have quite a bit to talk about. Very soon.”

It took Elain a couple of seconds to respond, and Nesta could hear the smile in her voice. “Yeah. I think we do. Someone told me I should just talk to him. Turns out that they were right.” She paused, waiting for an “I told you so” from Nesta. She didn’t have the energy. “You know you can talk to me about Cassian, too, right?”

Nesta shut her eyes tightly and shook her head. “Of course. I’m sorry. I’ve been leaning on Az since our fight, and I honestly haven’t had the energy to bring it up beyond that. But I do want to talk to you. And Feyre. It’s just been...hard.”

“I can imagine. It’s hard to remember a time before you and Cass. It’s like the end of an era or something. Just know that we’re here.” Her voice was soft, laced with worry and a desire to help her older sister.

”Maybe for now,” Nesta teased, “but you may not have much time to chat these days.”

She knew she was blatantly deflecting, but El’s words had caused tears to prick her eyes yet again. It’s hard to remember a time before you and Cass. She realized how true it was, and what upset her the most was that she knew she didn’t want to know a time without Cassian.

The call wrapped up with more gentle teasing between the sisters, and eventually, embarrassing Azriel a bit over speakerphone. She told them she loved them and promised to keep them updated on how she was feeling. Her heart felt lighter once she finally ended the call, thanks to the laughter they managed to pull from her.

——————————————————————————

Christine Archeron’s death anniversary fell on a Tuesday that year, and Nesta awoke with a similar irritation as last year— death anniversaries should never fall on weekdays. She went through the familiar motions as any other morning, headed to work, and concentrated on her various tasks she was expected to juggle at any given time. As appearances went, it looked like any other ordinary day to those around her, so the extra heaviness remained hers alone to carry.

On her lunch break, she got a chance to pull her phone to check her messages and mindlessly scroll through social media. She had been focused on scrolling for so long that her phone took her by surprise when it vibrated in her hand. She tapped the notification by reflex and found herself studying the sender’s name as if it was some sort of mistake.

Cassian: Thinking about you today. I know it’s a rough one. Keep your head up. Christine would have it no other way ❤️

Nesta read the text several times in a row; just to make sure it was real. It had been so long since he’d contacted her intentionally, and it made her happy that he still thought to reach out today. It simultaneously made her a little sad; however, because it was yet another reminder of what she’d lost in him. That was an issue to deal with later.

Nesta: Of course you are, because you’re the perfect human, and I don’t deserve you. Thanks, Cass 💕 Means the world to me to hear from you. Mom really loved you, and I know she would appreciate you looking out for us.

She hesitated over the send button for several seconds before deciding to go through with it. It felt so weird to intentionally script any type of message to him being that they had spent most of their relationship entirely uncensored. Everything about it felt wrong— she couldn’t act natural with him because it wasn’t appropriate anymore, yet she didn’t feel right having to draft and redraft their communication. It was all so fucked, and she was tired of this odd limbo they stayed in.

She reflected on her conversation with Azriel and Elain on the night she had unintentionally crashed their date. She knew that they both held strong points about her situation and wouldn’t advise her to try to repair things if they knew it was a lost cause. She acknowledged that Azriel, specifically, knew more than he was at liberty to tell her. That being the case, she decided that was evidence in favor of hashing things out with Cassian. It wasn’t long before she was lost in her own thoughts, her food entirely forgotten.

I’ve spent my entire life trying to ensure I didn’t need anyone. I never wanted to depend heavily on another person in a way that I couldn’t manage on my own. But that’s not really the case anyway, right? I’ve managed fine these few weeks, but that’s the thing. I’ve managed. Why do I try to insist that’s enough for me?

But what if the door is closed? What if this was Cassian’s final push, and he’s gone? I don’t know Alis, and she could be wonderful. She probably appreciates the shit out of him and saw immediately that he’s not the average person. She probably knows how special he is. She probably beams anytime he enters a room and tries to take care of his heart in any way she can. She’s probably fucking delightful.

But does that really compete with history? I guess if that history is filled with turmoil, it could. She’ll never know the Cassian that was a freshman in high school— braces and curly hair, still a head taller than most of the other boys in class. She won’t remember how he hit his second growth spurt the summer after sophomore year, where he started to fill out and caught the attention of any girl with a pulse. She doesn’t know what it’s like when he’s truly angry with his dad and the world. She doesn’t know the full range of his eclectic music tastes or the guilty pleasures he sings depending on his mood. She didn’t do the leg work to reconcile the tough, intimidating exterior when he gets upset with the gentle soul beneath. There’s no way she knows when his humor and his laughter are distractions from his pain rather than when they’re genuine. She can’t love him like I do. Im-fucking-possible.

She was pulled abruptly out of her head, and incredible jealousy, by her alarm. It was time to go back to work and finish out the day, and she hoped it passed as quickly as possible. She silently chastised herself for piling this emotional time bomb on today of all days as she threw away her lunch and walked out of the break room.

So much for leaving this issue for later.

She resolved to put all of these thoughts back into their little box until she had the emotional energy to open the lid once again. Whenever the hell that would be.

——————————————————————————

The rest of the day zoomed by at a blissful pace, thank the gods. In fact, when Nesta glanced at the clock, she realized it was several minutes after 5:00 PM. She clocked out, grabbed her things, and climbed into her car. She took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to make the drive out to the cemetery. She wasn’t sure what time Elain had been able to go by, but Nesta had agreed to meet Feyre at 5:30 to pay their respects. It was becoming a standing tradition, where they would make their short visit whenever they could during the day and follow with dinner together as a family.

She made it with a few minutes to spare, so she took that time to sit with her mom one-on-one. She gave her a brief update on her life, told her how much she loved and missed her, and gently brushed any leaves or grass clippings off of her headstone. There were fresh flowers in her vase, something she noted each year on her death anniversary. Any other time of year, they kept seasonally appropriate faux flowers to make sure her site was properly decorated. She made a mental note to offer to contribute to the fresh arrangement in the years following when she saw her family at dinner. They were always taken care of before she made it out to the cemetery, and she didn’t want to risk forgetting for the next year. She leaned into the arrangement, taking in the various floral scents emanating from the blooms in the bouquet. There was a myriad of vivid colors, wildflowers throughout, and Nesta loved how true to her mother’s spirit they were.

She turned when she heard car doors and saw Feyre approaching with Rhysand. She stood, extending an arm out to her baby sister, who accepted it readily and rested her head on her shoulder. They wrapped their arms around each other, and Rhysand stood nearby, resting his hand on Feyre’s opposite shoulder. They stood together for several minutes until Nesta excused herself to allow Feyre some time alone with their mom as well.

She drove to her father’s house where she found Elain already setting the table for dinner. They worked together quietly, making sure they had plenty of place settings for everyone. Azriel offered his help to carry various dishes of food to the dining table and took his seat next to Elain once it was all settled. Almost as if on cue, Feyre and Rhysand walked into the house and took their seats as well. The dinner started off quiet considering the somber mood, but Feyre was the first to break the tension when she started to tell stories from their childhood. In a matter of moments, their home was filled with animated story telling and loud bouts of laughter, and Nesta couldn’t think of a better way to honor her mom’s love of life.

As everyone finished up, she suddenly remembered her mental note from earlier. She waited for a natural lull in conversation, then commented softly, “Mom’s flowers were beautiful, you guys. You did an amazing job.”

”They were really perfect. They couldn’t have been more ‘Christine’ if you tried,” Feyre remarked.

“Elain, Dad. I’m not sure which of you took care of them this year, but would you let me take care of next time? I haven’t contributed since she passed, and I’d really like to.”

Mr. Archeron softly shook his head back and forth, communicating to Nesta that it hadn’t been him. Nesta adjusted her gaze to Elain who looked just as confused.

“Oh. Nes, I assumed it was one of you. I didn’t... I didn’t order them. I wished I had.” She looked down at her hands, and Azriel placed a supportive arm across the back of her chair.

“Okay... so who did?” She glanced around the table from person to person, but no one took any credit. It was Rhys who spoke up first, clearing his throat to master his voice.

“You don’t know?”

”Obviously.” She looked to Feyre for support. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Feyre said nothing, watching Rhysand talk with rapt attention.

When he spoke again, it was cautious, as if his words may startle her. “Nesta. The flowers are from Cassian. He’s done them every year since Mrs. Christine died.”

She was suddenly short of breath. Everyone’s attention snapped to Rhys, including her father’s. Her sisters and Azriel were looking at Rhysand with stunned expressions, their eyes flicking to her face occasionally.

“What? How could you know— why would you know, when we don’t? What the fuck is going on?” She was falling over her own words, struggling to form any cohesive thought.

”I’m so sorry,” Rhysand glanced around the room for the first time, realizing he had everyone’s attention. “The only reason I knew was because he asked me to make sure they made it from the flower shop to her gravesite the year he had knee surgery. He asked me to keep it to myself then, but I figured by now he would have said something to at least one other person.” He looked down into his plate, various emotions playing over his handsome face. Feyre leaned over to comfort him, knowing he was likely embarrassed to be the reason the air had changed so dramatically.

Nesta’s head was swimming, emotions roiling from a million different directions. She knew anger was cheap and unfair, but she pulled on that tether as hard as she could to make sure she could navigate everything she was processing. She was on her feet suddenly, pushing her chair away from the table and walking toward her keys.

“I have to go.” She couldn’t be in here anymore. The room was too small, the walls were too close. Too many people. She picked up the pace, flinging the door open and shutting it hard behind her. She was down the porch steps when she heard the door open again. Azriel’s voice followed her.

”Nesta. Where are you going? Nesta, stop!” He had jogged lightly to catch up with her, and he tugged her gently by the wrist to stop her. She spun on him quickly, eyes flaring and brimming with tears.

“Anywhere but here! What the fuck was that, Az?”

He said nothing; looked down at his own feet as he shook his head.

“Cassian has some fucking nerve, you know that? Why is he insisting upon himself?” Her voice was lowered and had taken on an almost eerie quality; the calm before the proverbial storm.

“Nes, I don’t think he meant to upset you. It sounds like it’s something he’s made somewhat of a tradition. Maybe he just wanted to be sure and see it through.”

”He doesn’t get to do that anymore, Azriel. He doesn’t get to butt-dial me while he makes date plans with some girl, then turn around and send flowers to my dead mother. What am I supposed to think about that? And how would that make his girlfriend feel?” Azriel pulled her into a hug at that, resting his chin on top of her head. He didn’t answer her. There was nothing to say.

She pulled away from him, gripping her keys, and walked toward her car. “I’m out. Tell them I love them, and I’ll call tomorrow.” She nodded her chin toward the house, climbed into her car, and backed out of the driveway.

——————————————————————————

She wasn’t sure how long she’d driven before she found herself in his driveway. She knew it hadn’t been very long considering the sun was still clinging to the end of the day. She honestly didn’t remember making the conscious decision to come here, likely fueled by anger and muscle memory more than anything else. She was still so frustrated at her situation, her emotions spilling over and refusing to be put into that stupid fucking box anymore. The worst part was that, as mad as she was with him, she so badly wanted to see him. She wished the circumstances were less complicated so that she could knock, ask for a hug and some tea, and lay on his couch. They were a hell of a long way from those people now.

She loosed a breath, puffing her cheeks with air and exhaling slowly. Just before she peeled her head from the headrest to get out, his front door opened. He opened it most of the way, then leaned against the door jamb on his shoulder. He had his hands in the pockets of his sweats and one of his ankles crossed casually over the other. For a moment, she only looked at him, unable to move or offer any type of acknowledgement. She took in the charcoal henley he was wearing, unbuttoned save for the very last one. The small flap of the opening leaned to the side, revealing the base of his neck and the beginning of his tattoos. He looked so very Cassian, casual and laid-back, that she struggled to keep her emotions level at the mere sight of him. His hair was down, looking like he had just run his fingers through it with its deep part and how it fell haphazardly around his face. He was wearing his reading glasses, she noticed, the thick frames highlighting the sharp angle of his cheekbones and the wide set of his jaw. He gave her a soft smile, and cocked his head to the side and back in invitation. She could almost hear him gently telling her to “get in here”.

Too late to turn back now.

——————————————————————————

A/N: Alrighty, hope y’all enjoyed this chapter, even with minimal Nessian. The next chapter(s) will more than make up for it, though! I’m hoping to have max Nessian to y’all ASAP. A million thanks to all of you who continue to follow this au. Your comments/ feedback have meant the world to me!

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