#my school only offered spanish i’m pretty sure

[inkdrinkerworld]

a change in place

cw: fluff, strangers to lovers, canon level violence, pre-atsv events, blood, needles, mention of food

wc: 3.1k

pairing: miguel o'hara x civilian!reader

It had started as a regular day, regular enough actually. It was raining hard, and your boots were getting wet and then there was a flash of purple, yellow and red and three people fell from the sky.

You were on your way to work, needing to get to work on time this once. The rain has been keeping you back all week- you’re not sure how your boss would take it if you’re late for the fourth time. 

“Make sure you clear the area of civilians!” you hear and quicken your pace. Whatever is going on, you want no part of it. 

You’re speed walking, trying to avoid puddles of water in the cracks on the pavement when a metal appendage is flung in your path. 

“Hey!” you yell, turning to the direction of the body to see the three spider-people tying whoever it is they’ve been fighting with their webs. 

One of them turns to you, black spider eyes blinking at you. There’s a little chill that runs down your arms as he leans his body in your direction, like he wants to hear what it is you have to say. 

“Watch where you’re throwing those limbs around!” you don’t linger for something else to fall in your path, stepping over the limb as you carry on your way. 

There’s commotion behind you, but you’re trying not to look. You don’t want another thing flung at you. 

As it turns out, not looking wasn’t the best decision because you hear a shout and before you know it your umbrella is falling to the ground and your feet are hovering over it as you’re pulled off to an alleyway. 

“Let go of me!” you twist and come face to face with the spider-person you’d reprimanded. “What’s your deal?” 

“Do you go around grabbing every girl by the waist to save them from imminent danger?” 

You can’t see the man’s expression behind his mask, but you assume he isn’t smiling by the tone in his voice, 

“Do you go around telling off Spider-people?” you offer a real smile this time. 

“When they’re not careful, course I do! That arm could’ve taken my head off.” 

They don’t answer; only jut their chin to the villain they’d been webbing bursting through the constraints and is charging down the street, trampling the cars that had been alongside you. 

“Oh,” you gasp, the spider-person putting you down. 

“You could’ve been crushed.” they say and you flash an embarrassed smile as the person stands on the ground. 

Before the man can say any more, there’s a little holographic woman that pops up on his shoulder that makes you gasp. 

“Are you a fairy?” you ask, reaching a hand to the woman in yellow who flits around the man’s shoulders and head.

“Oh no sweetheart. I’m this one’s” her thumb points to the man standing beside you. “AI companion, though I guess AI is a bit wrong, because I do everything for him. He’s a little temperamental.” 

You giggle at her teasing. He grumbles Spanish under his breath. 

“Help him improve his vision, I almost lost my head.” The man wants to argue, but you’re bending down for your umbrella and shaking it. You turn to him, “This was really nice and all but I gotta get to work.” 

He nods, watching you walk off. The woman returns, this time taunting him. “For someone so against love, you sure feel attraction pretty quickly.” 

“Lyla, scan for any more anomalies.” 

-

The next time you see the Spider-people, you’re on your way back from school. It’s late, too late for crime in your city- most everyone is asleep at this time. Except you, and your ten assignments that were due about an hour ago. 

You’ve treated yourself to an Earl Grey tea and three slices of pistachio cake. 

However, the Spider-people are trying to ruin it. You’re not sure since when your city had gotten so many super-villains that they needed to defeat but here they are again. 

“Watch out!” you hear, the man in the red and navy spider suit from the last time comes swooping down, webbing himself to the bakery you’d just left and pushing you back inside. Even the owner is shocked. 

“We have to stop meeting like this,” you say to him, tucking the hair in your face backwards. 

“We do.” he seems a lot more tense than the last time you’d run into each other. 

“Is this one worse than the ‘Giant Metal Octopus’ from last time?” you’re quoting your local newspaper as you speak. 

He doesn’t say anything to your question, just taps at his wrist before a series of little robots pop out. They look like the prongs of a ‘y’ on a tiny ball. 

“These should keep you safe, don’t leave the panadería till I come back,” there’s no time to even say good luck before he’s gone. 

You turn to the old man as the little robots attach themselves to the door of the bakery, “He was strange, no?” 

It takes hours before they’re done, and after the day you’ve had, you’re barely able to keep your eyes open. 

The large Spider-man comes in, his robots hopping back to his wrists and disappearing in his watch. He addresses the old man first, whispering apologies about keeping him awake so long, to which the man responds with a flick of his wrist. “We all need a protector, right kid?” 

Then he turns to you, “Oye,” you blink owlishly at him as you stand, shoving your pastries into your bag. “How far do you live?” 

You wave off his concern, “Two miles from here, s’not far.” 

He follows after you as you leave the bakery. “If you’re going to walk me back, could I know your name? Just in case you turn psycho-murderer on me ?” 

The man scoffs. You can tell he’s deliberating if he should give you his name and before you can tell ‘nevermind’ he mutters, “Miguel.”

You introduce yourself, “Why did you become Spider-man?” you ask, looking back at the man who’s still in his mask. 

“Wasn’t much of a choice.” 

‘Okaay,’ you think, ‘not big on conversation.’

There’s silence for about twenty paces before you ask, “Why didn’t you go back to wherever you come from, like the other spider-people? Do you have a crush on me?” 

Again he scoffs, and the little woman from last time appears on his shoulder, “Miguel, there’s no more anomaly activity here.” 

“Anomalies? Like things that aren’t supposed to be here?” you ask and Miguel bats at Lyla who looks shocked when she sees you. “Are you supposed to be here?” 

He grumbles and you imagine his lips in a straight line that looks almost comical for someone as big as him. “Yes, I’m supposed to be here.” 

You pout, dramatised and exaggerated, “Here I thought you just kept coming back for me.” 

The little woman in yellow pipes up, “Well, he-” 

Miguel cuts her off, “Lyla, go away.” She does; much to your dismay. 

You stop before your apartment door and Miguel lets out a small chuckle at the door. It’s painted a blue that resembles his suit, and there’s a fairy on the handle. “Not all of us can get to your level of brooding mystery, Miguel.” you say with a bashful smile as you fiddle with the key and the lock. 

“Not judging, it just makes sense.” you hum, reaching into your bag. 

“Do you have nut allergies?” you ask, reaching into the bag as your eyes remain trained to his face to get his answer. 

He shakes his head, ‘no,’ and you brandish one of the slices of cake. 

“Take it,” you say when his hand doesn’t move. “As a token of gratitude.” you say with a performative lovelorn tone. 

Miguel lets another chuckle escape before taking it, “Thanks, coqueta,” his hand makes the slice of cake look foolishly small and that makes your eyes widen a little. You’re not sure if he can tell, but he teases, “Make sure you lock up.” 

You don’t see it but Miguel fights the urge to let one of his nanobots stay on your doorstep camera. 

For no reason really, just to make sure you’re safe. 

-

The next few weeks you delve deep into trying to track him down, trying to get even a crumb of who he is. You come up with nothing and then decide to take a different approach. 

Someone who can make such advanced tech has got to get the information and the funding from somewhere.

Again, you find nothing.

“Who is this man?” you mutter to yourself, chopsticks holding a potsticker near your mouth.

You take a bite just as there’s a knock on your window. Your heart is in your throat and you grab your phone and a knife you have laid on your coffee table. 

The knock sounds again, a little more impatient as you draw closer. As you look up, you spot a familiar red and blue suit and let out a big breath. 

Opening your window, Miguel’s eyes widen at the sight of the knife, “Most women don’t take well to strangers knocking on their window,” you say amused at the way he’s holding himself on your window sill.

“I’m sorry,” then as a second thought he murmurs, “You were asleep.” clearly catching your tired eyes. 

“Not exactly,” you lean towards him and whisper, “Are there anomalies here? Is that why you’re here?” 

Miguel almost cracks a smile at your stage whisper. 

“No, I’m here to give you something.” he pulls a box from his pocket. You’re surprised that his suit can have pockets, it seems stuck to him. 

“What for?” you look up at him, eyebrows drawn low with your teeth nibbling on your bottom lip. 

“Repayment,” Miguel explains, “for the cake.”

You can’t argue when he opens the box and shows you a little pair of fairy wing earrings. “I highly doubt this was the same price of a two dollar slice of cake.” 

They’re delicate things as you peer at them in the box. The pair are almost holographic in colour, swirls and delicate lines indenting the wings- like those from the fairy illustrations you’ve seen almost about a thousand times. You’re enamoured by them; by the effort it more than likely took to get a pair like this. 

“No, they were a little over four dollars. Lyla spotted them for me.” 

Your face flushes, then you gather yourself, “So you’ve been thinking about me then?” Miguel indulges your flirting with a chuckle. 

He’s nervous though, or annoyed, you’re not sure you’re reading him right- but to aid your assessment, his hands are shoved into his pockets and his head hangs low beneath the mask. “They’re beautiful.” you say, taking them from his hand and inspecting them close up. 

“There’s a little amethyst stone on the end of it.” he says and you smile wide. 

“You went through all that trouble,” you say and Miguel frowns. “Do you want to come inside or are you just making your Spider-rounds?” 

“Spider-rounds?” He’s confused and intrigued by you at the same time.

“Yeah you know, your little patrol of the city to make sure everyone’s sleeping soundly and safe from the anomalies.” 

Miguel shakes his head, “I think you’re letting your imagination run away from you.” 

Before the conversation can go further, Lyla pops up, eye mask pulled up as she says, “Some Vulture thing just came through a tear in the arachno-humanoid poly multiverse,” as a secondary thought she turns to you, “Hey honey, might want to get inside.” 

It’s a blur, the moment between the Vulture attacking Miguel and him getting his mask on and pushing you into your apartment. 

You hear a lot of crashing, shattering and grunts. You’d never been close during the other battles, but now it’s quite literally on your doorstep and you feel the pin pricks of panic settle in your chest and fingers. 

If you’d had a little more blood pumping to your brain you might have stayed inside your apartment, hiding behind the door and the little fairy earrings. But your door is opened and you’re rushing outside to catch a glimpse of Miguel on the Vulture’s back claws digging into its back as he tries to get it to yield. 

He spots you, eyes widening behind the mask as he catches you walking towards him and the Vulture. 

“Get back in the house!” Miguel yells, the distraction enough to have the Vulture throwing him off his back and making his way to you as you hold your hands to your mouth as you watch Miguel’s body hit the ground hard. 

“Hello dear, why was the Spider-man visiting you?” The Vulture is on his way to you when you grab a rock and launch it towards his head. It hits him square in the forehead, but it doesn’t slow him. 

His wings are enveloping you in seconds, your screams ringing out as you’re off the ground.

“Pretty enough, maybe we could get a reaction from the Spider-man.” 

It’s not like when Miguel had saved you those last two times- this time your heart is beating in your throat and your fingers are trying to grip some part of the Vulture that will cause him pain. 

He gets to you first though, talons biting into your obliques and your bicep. There’s a burning sensation and you’re not sure if it’s poison or if it’s just the pain- but it stings like all hell. 

You fight and twist, trying to get a good grip on him. You pull on the feathers just under his neck and you pull. As his wings open, and you’re free-falling you get why people would want to skydive. There’s an adrenaline rush that makes you feel like you could actually fly. It makes you sympathise with Icarus; the boy had a taste of a freedom that’s usually not afforded to humans and it’s freeing in a way that makes you accept the splat that’s going to be you hitting the pavement. 

Miguel doesn’t let it happen.

His nanobots form a blanket on the ground, holding you as he rushes off to capture the Vulture. 

“Lyla, call Margo and tell her open the multiverse anomaly receiver.” 

You don’t hear much of what her response is because your hand is covered in blood as you press it to your side. 

“Coqueta, pensé que dije que me quedara adentro?” I thought I said to stay inside? Miguel’s hand moves to his watch, giving new instructions to his nanobots that mould to your open wounds. “You have a hard time listening, don’t you?” 

You look up at him, breathing harshly, “Sometimes pretty people distract me. I thought you said, ‘For sure come outside, I need help,’ it’s easy to mix up the words.” 

“You don’t even know what I look like,” He points out and watches you roll your eyes as best as you can in your current position, “Hold on to me.” He thinks better of the simple instruction and lifts his mask up to look at you, “I mean exactly what I said. Hold on to me.” 

Swinging with an open wound wasn’t as nice as the other times. This time you could tell Miguel was very conscious of where his hands were and how much pressure he was applying to your body.

You're wherever Miguel stays, and it looks very him. The room he takes you to is full of dark reds and blues, matching his suit completely. “Did you want to camouflage in your own office?” you’re a little breathless as you speak, body tired and growing even more tired as you lose more and more blood. 

Miguel doesn’t say anything, he just clears a table and lays you on it. “Don’t scream or anything. The other Spider-people are asleep.” 

“There’s more of you?” 

He gives one deft nod and then digs around his desk till he pulls out a first aid kit. 

Your eyes are fluttering shut and Miguel notices your breathing getting worse. 

“Don’t close your eyes.” he instructs, tapping your cheek lighting to get you to open your eyes again. 

“I’m tired,” you groan, jolting away from his hand on your hip. You melt into it when you open your eyes and find Miguel staring intently at you. “You could’ve left me at the hospital.”

“And explain your wounds how?” he holds an antiseptic cloth in his hand. “This might sting.” you nod, biting your lip as the cold cloth presses against your side.

“Fuck,” you murmur, clenching your fists as he finishes cleaning the blood. Miguel tries to distract you but talking to strangers isn’t really his strong suit. 

“Is this your first time getting stitches?” he asks and you hum- a broken little sound as the needle pierces your skin. Miguel feels awful at the sound, “I’m sorry, it’s going to pinch the whole way through.” 

You nod, trying not to focus on the way the needle pinches on your side with every stitch. “Do you have to stitch yourself a lot? Is that why you’re good at this?” 

Miguel doesn’t say anything to your question, just ponders the way you put on a brave face as he closes the stitch. 

The second time the needle pierces your skin you feel your head spin, “Think I’m gonna pass out,” you say and Miguel frowns. 

You hadn’t looked that bad to Miguel, but he feels his mistake fester and feels the way it can all go wrong so quickly. 

“Lyla, get her vitals up on the screen,” he instructs, hoping the nerves aren’t reflected in his voice, watching as your blood pressure drops. “Fuck,”

You go to say something but Miguel stops you, “You’ll have to stay here tonight. There’s no way you’re going back to your apartment.” 

Your eyes feel heavy as you look at him, “Okay,” you twist to lay flat again but the movement seems to have taken the last bit of energy from you. “I’m sorry.” Your bones liquify and your breathing is even and Miguel swears lowly. 

His chest feels heavy and achy.  

“Looks like you’re getting bedside manner training,” Lyla coos as she finishes displaying all your vitals. 

“I just don’t want her to die here, Lyla. When she’s a bit more stable I’ll take her to my room.” Miguel uses a gentle hand to brush your hair from your face, and he takes a moment to let his affection guide him as his thumb strokes the slope of your nose then the curve of your lip.

“You won’t die, no one else is dying,” the words are whispered as he finishes sewing you up, taking his time in cleaning the wound before sitting back in his seat, just watching your vitals till they’re good enough for him to move you to his room.

[artzychic27]

Okay here's an idea I came up with for the favoritism au, I was thinking that maybe two of the science kids (besides Zoé who is probably close to him alright) might be close to Marc, and those are Reshma and Cosette.

For Reshma, I thought she got turned into an outcast because she was seen as a threat to Marinette due to her sewing skills. So she got turned into an outcast thanks to Socqueline and Marinette and had people ruin the clothes and costumes she made because they thought “she stole them from Marinette”. She is known as a lesser version of Marinette.

As for Cosette, they already know this type of behavior since she had to live with it for years (thanks to its siblings) so she isn’t fooled by Marinette that easily and calls her out on it soon when they’re alone. Marinette then made it an outcast because not only of the way they look but also not accepting her offer of “being friends with her”. So Marinette makes sure they’re constantly reminded that they are nothing compared to her more successful siblings.

So what do you think? Hope these ideas aren’t too bad.

Marc: … I’m going to adopt you both.

Zoé: Marc. No.

Marc: And we shall rain down all sorts of hellish terrors on Marinette and make her wish she had never been born.

Reshma/Cosette: …

Cosette: I get a warm, fuzzy feeling from you. So, what do you think of the rest of our classmates?

Marc: *Holds up some rope and chloroform* Help me kidnap and interrogate them?

Reshma: Okay, red flags now!

Zoé: Ixnay on the operay!

Marc: Sorry! I haven’t really interacted with people much. Lemme rephrase that. Help me bind and gag my classmates and then drag them into the school basement where I will subject them to all sorts of horror until they give me the answers I demand regarding their standing on if they worship that demon or not.

Cosette: That is worse!

Marc: Seriously? How about when I tent my fingers?

Cosette: You just look evil like that!

Reshma: We don’t we just invite them to a secluded location away from the eyes of Marinette’s lapdogs-

Marc: And then whack them all on the heads! Good idea, Reshma!

Cosette/Reshma/Zoé: …

Zoé: Okay, it’s obvious you need more help with your social skills. In short, guys, he’s going to help you get revenge on Marinette.

Cosette: Sweet!

Reshma: I’m quite tired of seeing that stupid smug look on her face. I just want to punch her lights out.

Marc: Later. We still need to see where our classmates stand on this whole thing.

Cosette: Trust me and don’t tie them up, they hate her. I hear Simon badmouthing her in Gaelic. I’ve had to translate a couple of times, and it ain’t pretty. And you should hear the stuff Denise has been saying in Spanish. You’d think there wasn’t a word for that, but I stood corrected.

Reshma: They’re just afraid to outright say anything to her face. It’s why all of us leave the school during lunch, so she can’t go after all of us. Sort of a silent alliance, if you will.

Marc: Ooh! So you guys weren’t avoiding me? Then, I take back all of the things I said about you to Lila.

Cosette: What did you-

Marc: Moving on!

[neonartistycauseidk]

DROP CATCF HEADCANONS

Okay…..Okay….Okay….omg where do I start…..

I think I’ll try going by character???

Charlie:

…Gay. I know what you are sir. This man likes MEN. (I’m pretty sure a majority of people headcannon this…but whatever)

Charlie and Matilda (the one from the Jr.) are childhood besties and have been friends since kindergarten——he met James about a year later.

Perfect cinnamon roll. Literally can do NO WRONG…and thats to A FAULT.

Goody-two-shoes—-need I say more?

Listens to songs from the 20s, 30s, 40s, and 50s on record because his family has quite a bit of records.

The shortest (height-wise) of the group…I’m not sure—-this one just feels right. (Like…maybe 5”4 or 5”5? He’s pretty short)

Also, definitely the youngest of the group…12 MAX at the time of the tour (I headcannon he was 10 during the main events of the story)

Became interested in Wonka through Grandpa Joes stories about working there

Loves his grandparents stories about their lives in general (despite Grandpa Joe’s being his favorites)

Gets in a relationship with James in the future (Implied in a previous post)

NEVER…and I mean…NEVER curses. The worst curse word to ever come out of him was “gee-willikers”

Mom friend/therapist friend of the group.

Oh…also the——matchmaker of the group…yeah…somehow this little guy got all of his friends together and HE doesn’t even know how it happened.

Violet:

Lesbian. WOMAN LOVER.

Was…actually pressured into gum chewing by her parents. I mean, just listen to any of her songs from the musicals…it’s pretty obvious.

Broke multiple Guinness World Records…her most notable, of course, being able to chew a singular piece of gum for a total of five months…yikes.

Despite being a “professional gum chewer”…she doesn’t actually care much for candy. It’s not like she down right DESPISES it, like Mike…but still.

If we’re talking modern au (not in the 70s or the early 2000s), she would absolutely be into Billie Eilish and AViVA

Lover of motorcycles and cars,

Leading me into my next headcannon: Violets a major tomboy…which should come as no surprise (much to her mothers dismay)

After the tour, her relationship with her parents became strained (more so than it already was) and she was often insulted by them for being “stupid” and “immature.” I mean, “how could a girl be told NOT to do something…but then do it any way?”….especially if it turned her BLUE.

Cut her hair, bleached it blonde, and left home the second she could…desperate to sever any relation/and or ties to family.

Ends up in a relationship with Matilda (Charlie’s bestie).

Bestie = Mike Teavee….OOOOGGH BOY these two are absolutely chaotic together. What a perfect duo

Likely the closest with Charlie post-tour? Idk it just sorta feels right.

Doesn’t stay dark blue for her entire life—-as she grows up, the color of her skin gets lighter…becoming and staying light blue when she’s around 16, I’d say.

Miranda:

Demisexual…likely Demi-aroace…

Speaks seven languages (Chinese, Russian, Japanese, German, French, Spanish, and English), however, she says she speaks six because “saying she speaks seven languages…would be bragging.”

Fences, plays soccer, and lacrosse

Plays the violin, piano, cello, harp, and flute

Student council president at her school

Participates in every extra-curricular activity her school offers

Similar to Violet, pressured into being the best by her parents…if she were in the book, movies, or musical adaptations—-Miranda and Violet would probably have a rivalry.

Very professional…speaks to everyone as if she’s speaking to—-like—-the president or something

Assumed she had her entire life planned out at the before the tour…at only 11 years old.

Thought she’d become a lawyer or a politician—-that or a schoolmaster, like her father.

Took the longest to warm up to all of the golden ticket winners post tour—-was afraid of feeling things.

Pretty much hated everyone at first and actually thought the tour was a “waste of time.”

However, she hated Augustus the least…so it kinda makes sense why she became…friends with him first.

Took her the longest to befriend Mike….OOOGH boy—-it was a struggle…since they, too, had a rivalry—-and she was convinced he was an UTTER BUFFOON before actually getting to know him.

Post tour, Miranda is left with red spots over her skin…luckily, though, there aren’t a lot.

Last one, calls Augustus “Auggie” in the future.

Augustus:

Demisexual and genderfluid (he/she/they pronouns…)

Nicest of the “rotten kids”

Actually, besides Charlie of course, has one of the best relationships with his parents (er—-well, mother…his father passed away before he could remember him).

Probably was the most willing of the “rotten” golden ticket winners to be friends with Charlie post tour

Cross dresses (mainly in the future) and probably gets fashion advice from Veruca—-okay, you know what…they’d probably bond over fashion.

Though everyone disliked Miranda (except Charlie because he literally cannot hate anyone), Augustus was the first to get Miranda to open up—-to everyone’s shock.

Unlikely lovers: Augustus and Miranda—-HEAR ME OUT.

Sweetest little guy…I can’t even.

After the tour, he began to have a healthier relationship with food.

Can sing opera level notes (I blame “A Little Bit of Good” from Chicago for this one)…So…I guess, vocally, he’d be a countertenor?

Never lost his German accent—-despite not living in Germany anymore when he’s older.

Veruca:

…I don’t think she’s gay, guys—-although, I’m not opposed to demi-girl (she/they) Veruca. At the very most…I’d say bi-curious? (Oh god I hope this doesn’t offend anyone I’m so sorry I know people see her as a lesbian its just not something I see SORRY)

Definitely became nicer post tour—-she actually becomes ashamed of her past self.

Probably only remains in contact with her dad in the future considering the fact that her mother…wasn’t necessarily in the picture anyhow…

Does ballet. I LOVE this detail from the broadway musical…

Half Russian and British

Voice of reason when it comes to her and Mikes relationship (both platonically and romantically).

Ends up together with Mike eventually

If it’s modern au—-I could see Veruca being into musical theater (the “big ones” now specifically…even though I could see it being in my regular version of events)

Learns to be—-less spoiled, one could say…

Dresses in a lot less fancy clothing post tour—-of course it’s still nice clothing…but its not like she’s wearing luxurious, poofy, sparkling dresses everywhere and anywhere to “flaunt her families riches” in everyone’s face.

Mike:

Bisexual. No comment.

Modern au Mike would be OBSESSED with Saturday morning cartoons. He’d also be a Nickelodeon kid without a doubt. Spongebob would be his favorite…because of course it would…He’d also like Ed, Edd n Eddy.

Also modern au…Mike would be a theater kid. I feel like his favorite would be Spongebob the musical…..go figure.

Since I’m assuming Captain Knuckleduster (in the catcf verse) is a piece of media Mike consumes…(both shows and games based on Captain Knuckleduster)…I’m gonna say it was something he really loved as a kid…perhaps Captain Knuckleduster provided him comfort due to him feeling like a father figure to him. Hmmm…Do I smell daddy issues?

Yeah, Mike and his dad, Norman, aren’t very close…

…huh, it’s probably why Violet and Mike are close….they both have parental issues (Violet with her mom, mainly, and Mike with his dad).

Mike and his mother, Ethel, however…I actually feel like they end up on good terms and have a pretty good relationship in the future! I also feel like in the future that Mike learns to respect her and appreciate her.

In the future—-Mike probably becomes a physics teacher…Not only based on his interests but also out of respect for his mother (since his mother is normally portrayed to be a teacher).

Genius….Need I say more?

Post tour, Mike ends up—-pretty much back to normal size! Maybe an inch or two taller…but normal sized!…yet, theres a catch. Because of his body being stretched to UNGODLY lengths to try and fix him…he likely ended up with bones like rubber….and post tour, his limbs can stretch very far….uncontrollably.

But after bouts of depression, self-hatred, self-discovery, and then self-acceptance (and also therapy…lots of it), Mike realizes he can actually control it…basically giving him a super power almost (move over elastigirl…here comes Mike Teavee).

Ends up becoming pretty close with Charlie in the future too.

Thinks he’s a smooth a** mother f**ker when it comes to flirting…but…oh my god…he just…OOOOGH boy…he sucks at it. Can’t flirt in a smooth way AT ALL yet thinks he’s just so…good at it???? It probably drives Veruca insane (in a good way) and probably gets a laugh out of her too.

Okay, so, uh…That’s it for now! I hope you liked my headcannons!!! I’d love to hear yours! Also, thank you for listening to my babbling lol!

[httpiastri]

i’m so sorry if this sounds stupid (i am american 😭) but being from sweden, have you learned english since you were little in school or something? your english is incredible 😭😭 im from new york and here we don’t start learning a language until you’re like 11–12, and its only for 6 years(unless you choose to pursue it further in college). i am, in no way, as fluent in italian as you are in english and it too is my second language 😅 sorry if this sounds dumb or something i am just so curious LOL

omg no it's not stupid at all!! thank you so so much for your sweet words 🥺

i'm not sure about when kids here start getting taught english, but i would assume it's at around age 8? maybe?? i can't remember 😶 but then it's mandatory up until you're 17, but i took two years of extra english bcs it's always been my fave subject :) apparently the first time i spoke in english was when i was about 7, my parents found me talking to some americans (in a headset) while playing online video games, and they were so shocked because i hadn't started taking english classes yet so they didn't understand how that could happen 🤠 in sweden everyone also chooses a third language in grade 6 (age 12 ish), most schools offer spanish, french and german classes. then you study that language for four years, and usually one more year in high school. so i had 5 years of german but pretty much all i can remember is how to say "i'm a potato" 🤡

but i mean i think it's much easier to get fluent-ish in english in today's society, especially if you spend as much time online as i do lmao. you just get exposed to the english language everywhere, in a way that i'd assume you don't get to italian? (excuse me if i'm wrong!!) like even young kids watch tiktoks or yt vids or read instagram comments... and i have this memory of me sitting in a car with two girls that i used to coach a few years ago (when they were maybe 10 years old) and seeing them play roblox and chatting (in perfect english)(or, at least perfect roblox-english) with strangers about trading some items......

[afterthegreatunknown]

Randomity: Apples and Oranges

“Hey Fiona, did Stepfather ever spoke in his first language around you?”

Fiona looks up from her book, for she was lying on her bed, and stares at Fernald, who is standing in her bedroom doorway. “Why are you asking me this?”

Fernald continues to stand there. “I was downstairs in the kitchen eating apple slices when Stepfather came in for a glass of water. He then started talking to himself.”

“And?” asks Fiona. “That’s just a regular habit of his that started long before I was born. You know, the way you’re describing it now makes it seems it’s something to worry about.”

“Fiona, when the man talks to himself, it’s in English. This time around, he was speaking in his first language,” continues Fernald. “He was speaking in his first language of Khmer as he sat across from me and stared at my plate of apples, all while drinking his damn glass of water.”

Fiona scrambles to sit upright on her bed, and pushes up her glasses. “So instead of asking Stepfather about the sudden switch to Khmer, you went to my room to ask me a question?”

“Yep. I just went up from my seat, and left my apples slices—” Fernald pauses in his talking all of his sudden, and his eyes soon widen in a sort of revelations. “Discussing this now with you, I realize this makes me a giant asshole. Please excuse me while I try to do damage control.”

Fernald soon runs out of Fiona’s view. Fiona only stares at the empty doorway, before returning back to lying on her bed. She flips a page of her book, before closing it.

“So, Stepfather never spoke in his first language around Fernald then,” says Fiona. “I guess that’s something Stepfather and I have that’s just ours. I don’t know how to feel about that.”

---

“The more I look at my Spanish One book, the more I want to cry,” says Quigley. He then buries his face into his hands. “I should have taken French. This is a nightmare to learn!”

“Why would you want to take French?” Duncan peels off the skins off the orange in a perfect nonbroken spiral. “It more or less has the same difficulty. The only difference is that the difficulty varies on what stages one is learning it.”

Isadora looks up from her world history book. “I would have like it if they offered a bit more variety. Though we should be grateful our new school offers any foreign language class.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a requirement in the legal and educational sense for school to offer foreign languages, Isadora,” says Quigley, unburying his face from his hands.

“Prufrock Prep didn’t.”

“Let’s not bring up that hellhole again.” Duncan soon drops the spiral peel onto the table. “You know Quigley, you could always ask Hector for help. He is fluent in Spanish, after all.”

“I could, but that would mean admitting defeat to the Hook-Handed Man,” replies Quigley.

“That man doesn’t even speak a slick of Spanish!” snaps Isadora. “Are you really letting his words get to you that badly?”

“YES!” Quigley buries his face into his hands again.

“Why don’t I try helping you then? I know some basic Spanish from watching telenovelas with Dad.” Duncan leans over, and looks at the page Quigley is on. “We even have an orange on hand to act as our example!”

Quigley unburies his face, and stares at Duncan, who’s holding the unpeel orange.

“Now, repeat after me,” says Duncan. “Na.”

“Na.”

“Ran.”

“Ran.”

“Ja.”

“Ja.”

“Naranja.”

“Naranna.” Quigley sputters the last syllable into something else entirely.

Isadora grimaces at the pronunciation. “Wow. You weren’t even close to what Duncan said.”

[karlachi]

hey!! did you go to spain yet? how was it? i’m planning to go soon - anything you would recommend? :)

hi hi yes i did!! i went to seville (and cadiz for one day) and it was so nice ☀️ sorry for the super detailed reply BUT i'm excited to share so here goes :p

i'd only visited spain once before, on a school trip to barcelona, so i don't have much to compare it to but seville is beautiful and i recommend it! we went for 5 days and i found that was plenty of time to see everything we wanted to, so 3-5 days there is probs good

i also found everything there very accessible, we were able to walk around the city no problem which was great for my terrible anxiety with public transport

i'm not sure if ur planning to visit seville but here are some cool places there i recommend:

☀️ las setas (metropol parasol) - big mushroom looking tower thing that u can climb up and see the city from high up!! we went at night and it was gorgeous :D

☀️ el museo de ilusiones (museum of illusions) - cheap entry, it was really quiet when we went (10am ish) which was perfect for taking pictures, and the staff were nice and offered to take photos for us

☀️ real alcazar - i honestly couldn't believe how beautiful this place is, there's so much to look at and the garden is spacious and so pretty and there are ducks that sit with u!!!

☀️the cathedral - huge and really impressive :0 (also colombus's tomb is there if u give a shit about him) there are cool displays to take ur time wandering around, i especially liked looking at the clothes up close because the details were insane!! also u can go up the bell tower (la giralda) which is likeee 35 floors. i was super tired after but the view was impressive, not sure how good their wheelchair access is though for those who need it

lastly the food was really good and not too expensive compared to uk prices. my sister found it a little difficult to find vegetarian options as lots of spanish food contains meat and seafood but she still had enough options to be able to eat well

hope this helps!!

[asprinkleofstarlight]

A Music Box from the Attic of my Memory

I was cleaning out my laptop, because this 2015 MacBook Pro offers only 120GB of storage and I stubbornly refuse to buy myself a new one, when I discovered these songs which I had saved during high school and which I had forgotten when I was introduced to Youtube Music and Spotify. This is a music box from the attic of my memory, songs which characterized the years and friendships and emotions of high school, seven years later.

Mandarin

爱在深秋 (Alan Tam)  The title seems especially poetic. 

Mine Mine (Jay Chou) 明明就 (Jay Chou) Sure, I still listen to Jay Chou now (at twenty-five years of age), but my earliest Jay Chou song choices raise an eyebrow now.

五月天 (S.H.E.) My morning alarm clock song for so many years.

童年 (Sylvia Chang)

兰花草 (刘文正) 外婆的澎湖灣 (潘安邦) 乡间的小路 (齐豫) 橄欖樹 (齊豫) 送別 (齊豫) 龙的传人 (李建复) A collection of childhood Chinese classics, mostly given to me by Mom. 外婆的澎湖灣 is bright and cheerful. And of course 龙的传人 is the song that every Saturday Chinese school kid sings at the year-end performance.

忘情水 (劉德華) One of the songs from Our Times, that Chinese movie that I watched too many times.

再回首 (姜育恒)

180度 (孫燕姿)

今天看我 (小虎队) 天堂海 (小虎队) 庸人自扰 (小虎队) 愛 (小虎队) 放心去飛 (小虎队) 星光依旧灿烂 (小虎队) 祝你一路順風 (小虎队) 紅蜻蜓 (小虎队) My beloved 小虎队, even though they’re such an old boy band that they disbanded before I was even born. Still, these songs were among the first on my Chinese playlists. The only reason that 蝴蝶飞呀 is not on this list is that it still appears on my playlists now, seven years later, and it holds the title of my unofficial “all time favourite song.” 

我的未来不是梦 (張雨生) This was the kind of music that Mom wanted me to listen to, even though the singer’s story is quite tragic.

隱形的翅膀 (張韶涵)

生如夏花 (朴树) This song still occasionally appears on my 2022 playlists.

滿天星 (李玉璽)

晚秋 (童麗) 難忘今宵 (童麗)

如果有来生 (谭维维)

逆來順受 (關心妍)

花开那年 (魏晨)

山楂树 (黑鸭子)

天路 (龔玥)

美麗的草原我的家 (龔玥) I think this was one of the first instrumental songs on my iPhone 4. I’m not sure why Mom listened to so many of these northern Chinese folk songs.

Cantonese

日落日出 (周柏豪)

I Wanna Believe (林欣彤) A cute, energetic song that reminds me of first year.

灰姑娘 (梁詠琪) Another pretty song that reminds me of first year.

我就是我 (鄭俊弘)

English

Beating Heart (Ellie Goulding)

Stay the Night (James Blunt)  High school was weird.

Falling In (Lifehouse)  My second-favourite English song during high school, after What Makes you Beautiful by One Direction (which was a sort of guilty pleasure). Nowadays, though, this song carries more nostalgic memories, and I’m much less embarrassed by it than that One Direction song.

Fire In the Rain (Måns Zelmerlöw) Heroes (Måns Zelmerlöw) Hope and Glory (Måns Zelmerlöw) Songs that I listened to while running on the treadmill, because Mom was determined that I exercise. I particularly enjoyed the music video for Fire in the Rain.

Good Life (OneRepublic)

Good Time (Owl City) Somehow, I always mixed up Good Life and Good Time. Glad there was so much positivity, though.

Jet Lag (Simple Plan) Ordinary Life (Simple Plan) Rest of Us (Simple Plan) You Suck at Love (Simple Plan) Jet Lag was one of those songs which I heard for the first time and immediately knew would become one of my all-time favourite songs. A feeling as certain and definitive as that is rare. And given my long-distance friendship with Ewen, it was certainly very fitting. 

French

J’ai cherché (Amir)

Vivo per lei (Andrea Bocelli)  Somehow, I had downloaded versions of this song in Italian, French, Spanish, and German.

L’amoureuse (Carla Bruni)

Le serviteur du mal (Aya_me) I went through a weird phase of listening to European-language covers of Japanese music. 

Adieu (Coeur de pirate) Ava (Coeur de pirate) Cap diamant (Coeur de pirate) Danse et danse (Coeur de pirate) Golden Baby (Coeur de pirate) Hôtel amour (Coeur de pirate) La petite mort (Coeur de pirate) Les amours dévouées (Coeur de pirate) Lève les voiles (Coeur de pirate) Loin d’ici (Coeur de pirate) Place de la République (Coeur de pirate) Prince Arthur (Coeur de pirate) Saint-Laurent (Coeur de pirate) Verseau (Coeur de pirate) Berceuse (Coeur de pirate) C’était salement romantique (Coeur de pirate) Comme des enfants (Coeur de pirate) Corbeau (Coeur de pirate) Ensemble (Coeur de pirate) Fondu au noir (Coeur de pirate) Francis (Coeur de pirate) La vie est ailleurs (Coeur de pirate) Le long du large (Coeur de pirate) Pour un infidèle (Coeur de pirate) Printemps (Coeur de pirate) Crier tout bas (Coeur de pirate) Drapeau blanc (Coeur de pirate) Oublie-moi (Coeur de pirate) Tu oublieras mon nom (Coeur de pirate) Where do I even start with Coeur de pirate? That first French class, perhaps, where we listened to Comme des enfants, like so many French students who embark on their journey in this language. Her live concert, where I encountered so many of my classmates from French courses throughout undergrad. Messy attempts at translating the lyrics of Printemps in the back of a car during a long road trip, surrounded by towering trees on either side. A song on repeat on my iPhone 4. Early mornings and dark nights with Oublie-moi. Cap Diamant is pretty, and Place de la République is powerful, and Verseau is energetic, and Oublie-moi is haunting, and Comme des enfants the most special of all.

Je reviens au berceau de l’Acadie (Grand Dérangement)  During Explore 2017 in Chicoutimi, one of our assignments was to give a presentation on a song. This was by far both my and Megan’s favourite. 

Dernière danse (Indila) Feuille d’automne (India) Dernière danse was definitely the more popular one, but I liked Feuille d’automne better.

Ma référence (Jena Lee) Vous Remercier (Jena Lee)  Her name isn’t very French, but Ma référence was the second most-frequently played song in my entire iTunes library, beat only by 蝴蝶飞呀.

Les Champs-Élysées (Joe Dassin) Very much a classic, and it reminds me of Québec even though it should for obvious reasons remind me of France.

C’est la vie (Khaled)  Such an energetic song. Megan loved the music video.

Toune d’automne (Les Cowboys Fringants)  Marie-Elizabeth, the first classmate that I ever talked to in first year, told me one morning as we were studying together for our third-year French class that she particularly liked this band. 

A nos actes manqués (M. Pokora) Voir la nuit s’emballer (M. Pokora) Juste une photo de toi (M. Pokora) Someone presented Juste une photo de toi for that assignment during Explore 2017 in Chicoutimi. Was it Megan and her group? 

Envole-moi (Génération Goldman) Là-bas (Génération Goldman) C’est ta chance (Génération Goldman) I particularly enjoyed the music video for C’est ta chance.

Un coup sur mon coeur (Marc Dupré) Another pleasant song that reminds me of that class in Chicoutimi 2017.

Elle me dit (MIKA) Not my type of song, but this one is a classic.

Pas toi (TAL) Je prends le large (TAL) Le sens de la vie (TAL) Marcher au soleil (TAL) Le sens de la vie was another one of those energetic songs that I listened to for motivation during long nights of studying.

On va s’aimer encore (Vincent Vallières) One of our animatrices told us, that day in Chicoutimi, that she wanted this song to play at her wedding one day.

Italian

Alice e il blu (Annalisa Scarrone) Diamante lei e luce lui (Annalisa Scarrone) Non cambiare mai (Annalisa Scarrone) Senza riserva (Annalisa Scarrone) Tra a due minuti è primavera (Annalisa Scarrone) I’m not sure why I listened to so much of Annalisa Scarrone, but her songs must’ve characterized my early Italian phrase. My favourite of these by far was Diamante lei e luce lui, which I often played on repeat on my iPhone 4.

Dove ci siamo persi (Giada) Siamo amore (Giada) Of all my Italian-language songs, Giada’s were never among the ones closest to my heart, yet the lyrics ‘con il cielo negli occhi e il sole nell’anima illuminiamo la notte’ have served as my Instagram biography for years.

Dove resto solo io (Laura Pausini) Limpido (Laura Pausini) Se non te (Laura Pausini) De tu amor (Laura Pausini) Benvenuto (Laura Pausini) Celeste (Laura Pausini) Le cose che non mi aspetto (Laura Pausini) Non ho mai smesso (Laura Pausini) Io canto (Laura Pausini) Strada facendo (Laura Pausini) Gente (Laura Pausini) Strani amori (Laura Pausini) Dove sei (Laura Pausini) La solitudine (Laura Pausini) Non c’è (Laura Pausini) Incancellabile (Laura Pausini) Seamisai (Laura Pausini) Bellissimo così (Laura Pausini) Mille braccia (Laura Pausini) Primavera in anticipo (Laura Pausini) E ritorno da te (Laura Pausini) Il mio sbaglio più grande (Laura Pausini) Siamo noi (Laura Pausini) Tra te e il mare (Laura Pausini) I think I was obsessed with her at one point. Maybe because I mentioned her to my French teacher, Mr. Cassino, and he said that she was very famous and he listened to her music too? Anyway, she featured very, very prominently in my high school playlists. Benvenuto reminds me of New Year’s spent on the downstairs couch with my parents. Io canto was the song I listened to for inspiration and motivation during the preparatory period leading up to IB exams. Or maybe that was Strada facendo — the memories blur a little, now. Gente was the song that I listened to as I rode ski lifts up the mountains, my fingers so cold that I couldn’t even feel them. Strani amori reminds me of a celestial canvas full of stars. La solitudine and Non c’è and Siamo noi were classics on my phone.

Forse un angelo (Studio 3) The song that I associate most closely with Cinzia, that first tumblr friend. Such a bright, happy tune, full of bright, happy memories.

German 

Verrückt nach dir (Beatrice Egli)

Mehr als perfekt (Christina Stürmer) Seite an Seite (Christina Stürmer) Wir leben den Moment (Christina Stürmer) Millionen Lichter (Christina Stürmer) Ah yes, this is a familiar tune. It reminds me of German classes and long conversations with Ewen.

Der Morgen (Daniel Bertram) Unser Himmel Atmet (Daniel Bertram) Long, foggy roads. The house lounge in Ross House. My friendship with Sophy. Echoes in the mist.

Geiles Leben (Glasperlenspiel) Nie Vergessen (Glasperlenspiel)

Atemlos durch die Nacht (Helene Fischer) Auf der Suche nach mir (Helene Fischer) Ein kleines Glück (Helene Fischer) Es gibt ihn also doch (Helene Fischer) Fehlerfrei (Helene Fischer) Marathon (Helene Fischer) Mit keinem Anderem (Helene Fischer) Phänomen (Helene Fischer) So kann das Leben sein (Helene Fischer) Von hier bis unendlich (Helene Fischer) Didn’t Atemlos durch die Nacht become a meme at some point? Regardless, I quite enjoyed Helene Fischer, which I often listened to on repeat. 

Spanish

17 años (Dvicio) Crucigrama (Dvicio) Enamórate (Dvicio) Justo ahora (Dvicio) Paraíso (Dvicio) Rebeldes (Dvicio) Se Te Olvido Quererme (Dvicio) Oh man, Dvicio. Ewen and I spent so much time talking about how cute these Spanish boys were. I once saw someone on the bus who looked like the lead singer.

Contigo hasta el final (El sueño de Morfeo) I don’t remember this song, but that band name is cool.

Somos aire (Motel) Esferas (Motel)

Creo en time (Reik) Tu mirada (Reik) Ciego (Reik) Con la cara en alto (Reik) Noviembre sin ti (Reik) Tu fuiste de aquí (Reik) My first foray into Spanish music began with Noviembre sin ti, which reminds me of afternoons spent in front of the computer in the computer room, and conversations with Cinzia — was that her name? — who was among my first tumblr friends, when I was just a fledgling little language blogger trying to find my place on the internet.

Japanese

Ai Kotoba (Hatsune Miku) The ever-iconic Hatsune Miku, although I preferred Shounen-T’s cover by far.

Just Be Friends (Vocaloid)  Definitely an iPhone 4 song. Why did I listen to this so often during high school? 

Orenji (Kagamine Len)  This song was pretty, if nothing else.

Aku no Meshitsukai (NicoNico Chorus) Calc (NicoNico Chorus) Fire Flower (NicoNico Chorus) From Y to Y (NicoNico Chorus) Futariboshi (NicoNico Chorus) Hoshi No Uta (NicoNico Chorus) Karakuri Piero (NicoNico Chorus) Senbonzakura (NicoNico Chorus) Souzou Forest (NicoNico Chorus) Twinkle (NicoNico Chorus) Vocaloid was an entire playlist by itself. I learned so many random Japanese words by listening to these songs on repeat, and they often accompanied my artistic exploits or those long hours spent on the treadmill. My favourites among these were Calc, Futariboshi, Hoshi No Uta, Senbonzakura, and Souzou Forest.

[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​

[teddy06writes]

could we have more sapnap x karl x quackity x reader maybe about how reader joins, or how the relationship is revealed, or angst, also is there a reason that anon asks are turned off? i mean it might just be me also cause i cant switch to anon, ik that hairbrush anon loves this blog and wants to request but they cant cause anon is turned off, (i know hairbrush anon irl so thats how ik this for some background context) sorry if this is rude

anon: “ Your karlnapity fanfics are sooooo good. I was wondering if you could make another one, it could be about literally anything and I’ll read it. Keep up the great work! “

sapnap x karl x quackity x reader

trigger warnings: swearing, mentions of panic attacks

premise: how you joined the Karlnapity poly cue

{also the anon thing was fixed once I got this ask}

“belp” talking

‘blep’ texting

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

You didn’t meet them intentionally, far from, actually, you had only met Alex, the first of the boys you’d met, by pure chance.

Well, pure chance, and an asshole who didn’t look where he was going outside A hall.

~~

You had just emerged from your first class of the year, a debate class, with maybe 50 students total, and were immediately slammed into by some jerk who didn’t even stop at first.

You had fallen into someone, who after making sure you were stood up right began to cuss the guy out in Spanish.

“You got something to say to me, dick?” The guy had asked as he turned around.

“Yeah bitch! Why the hell did you push them?”

If you thought this dudes 5′ 9′’ ass wasn’t gonna square up to a huge football player you’d’ve been wrong.

“They were the one who didn’t fucking move, so don’t fucking start with me!”

“Bro you literally slammed into them! You could’ve fucking moved man!” He shoved the guys shoulder, “You didn’t have to take the asshole route, yet we’re still here.”

“Listen Dick, I don’t give a shit, they were in the fucking way.”

“Man your really looking for a fucking fight are you?” He shrugged off his back pack and let it drop to the ground.

The guys laughed, pushing up his sleeves, “I could take your scrawny ass any day, chicca.”

Before he had a chance to blink a fist had been launched toward his face, catching him right in the jaw.

He stumbled back, looking almost as surprised as the guy you’d tripped into, who was looking down at his own fist, clearly in pain.

“Oh you little bitch!” The jock growled, moving to punch him back.

Quickly you scooped up his bag, shoving it into his arms, “We gotta go!!” You shoved the guy, grabbing your saviors hand and tugging him along as you started to run.

As you dodged around campus, trying to lose the yell of the jock behind you the guy who you’d dragged with, offered, “I’m Alex.”

“(y/n),” You slowed to a stop, “I think we lost him.”

Alex nodded, wincing as he examined his knuckles.

You took his hand, checking over it carefully, “It’ll bruise hard, you might not have full dexterity for a while. That’s what you get for punching someone without preparing,” You chuckled, glancing around, “My dorm’s not more than five minutes away, if you don’t have another class to get too, we can go get you some ice.”

“That’d be good.” He winced.

After taking him back to your dorm and getting his hand iced, he disappeared, saying he was late to meet someone, and you rarely saw him again except for your debate class, where you hardly spoke.

~~ You’d met Nick not too long after, though this time, pure chance was more purely your friend George catching you sneaking out of a party you didn’t want to be at.

“Seriously (y/n)? It’s barley even been an hour!” The brit yelled.

“It’s way too loud in there,” You hissed, motioning to the frat house, “I can’t hardly think, let alone stand it.”

“George! Get back in here! Clay challenged someone to a drinking contest and it about to start!” Someone yelled from the house.

“Yeah, in a second Sapnap!” He called before turning back to you, “Stay a little while longer?”

“I don’t want to be here.” You growled, but he was already dragging you back towards the house, saying:

“Come on, it’ll be entertaining if he wins and if not, well, it’ll still be pretty funny.”

Sighing, you allowed yourself to be pulled back inside, following George through to where Clay stood across a counter from a curly dark haired man, and Niki, a woman you’d met a few weeks prior, quietly pouring shots.

“Now the only reason I’m letting you do this Wil, is cause I know you won’t be able to do more than three.” She muttered, sliding the shots between them.

George laughed, “This is gonna be great!”

You sighed, moving to stand back against one of the walls, next to a dirty blonde man, who said, “You don’t look to happy to be here.”

“Not a fan of the noise.” You muttered, rubbing at your forehead.

He nodded, “Makes sense, one of my boyfriends doesn’t like the noise either. I’m Nick.”

“Didn’t George just call you Sapnap? What is with people around here and having weird nicknames?” You shook your head with another sigh, “I’m (y/n).”

“I dunno. Half the people I know at this school have weird nicknames,” He began to point at various people around the room, “Dream, Fundy, Skeppy, Hbomb, Quackity’s around here somewhere. Hell I even know someone who calls himself ‘Technoblade’.”

“Sounds like a prick.” You chuckled.

Nick nodded, “Oh he is.”

You continued to talk for a while, watching as Wilbur tried to out drink Clay, and failing miserably not to laugh when he nearly fell down, totally wasted.

“Hey, uh I think we should head out. I feel bad leaving Kar...” Alex trailed off as he realized you were standing with Nick, “Hey, your uh, (y/n) right?”

“Yeah, Alex, you almost busted your knuckles trying to fight McAllen outside debate with Fenner.” You chuckled.

Nick turned to Alex, “You what?!”

“uhh...” he stuttered nervously.

“You told Karl you fell!”

“In my defense he pushed- no not even- he slammed into (y/n)!” Alex said desperately.

“He did, Alex was just defending me,” Alex grinned at your addition, “But...” his face fell, “This one also is essentially just an angry chihuahua.”

“Dude!”

Nick chuckled, “Their right. You are an angry chihuahua.”

Alex rolled his eyes, glancing at his phone, “We should go, Karl’s texting me angry emojis.”

Nick nodded, “It was nice to meet you (y/n).”

“You too.” You smiled, and then they were gone again.

~~

You didn’t meet Karl for almost a month after that, only encountering the man in the colorful sweater when you had been left sitting alone in the dining hall, after a late night study session.

Niki had left a few minutes earlier, but it was long enough that he’d assumed you’d been sitting alone.

“Oh hey, sorry I’m late!” He had called, just a hair too loud.

You blinked up at the mousy haired boy, confused for a moment, before motioning for him to sit down, “It’s okay.”

The few people still left in the hall barley paid attention, so you stifled a laugh, “I wasn’t waiting for someone, my friend just left actually.”

His face got red, “Oh, I- sorry- I’ll just leave then.”

He started to stand up but you held out a hand, “No- uh- you, can stay. I don’t mind.”

He grinned, “I’m Karl! Karl Jacobs!”

“I’m (y/n). Thank you for trying to save me from mild embarrassment.”

“It was nothin, just don’t think people should have to be alone.”

You giggled, “Knight in shining armor.”

That made Karl grin even more, giggling a bit as he asked, “Whatcha working on?”

“Oh, Niki and I were just studying for finals, it may be a few weeks away but I want to be ready.” You chuckled.

“Man, I’m glad I’m only taking one class this semester.”

“Lucky.” You sighed, tucking the last of your papers into folders and stowing them away in your bag, “No late night cram sessions for you then.”

“Nah, my boyfriends’ll rope me into helping them study.”

“Thats the price you pay.” You chuckled.

He nodded solemnly, “A price I am very willing to pay.”

“They sound like lucky guys.” You smiled wistfully, quietly wondering why all the cute guys you’d been meeting were dating, either other people, or each other.

Karl not noticing the almost bitterness in your voice chirped, “Yup!”

~~

“Come on! They’d love you!” Karl exclaimed.

You’d been becoming friends with Karl over the last few months, and now he was begging you to go and meet his partners.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah!” Karl was practically bouncing up and down, “Your like the best! I want my boys to meet you!”

You groaned, letting your head fall into your hands, “Fine.”

“Yay!” Karl giggled, tugging at your wrist, “Come on!”

You looked up from the table at him. “Right now?”

“Yeah, I was suppose to be meeting them at the library.”

Sighing you stood up, “I hate this.”

He smiled sympathetically, “Sorry.”

You slipped your bag over your shoulder, and followed him out of the dining hall towards the library, trying to ignore the stupid feeling in your stomach at his hand in yours.

Upon reaching the library Karl excitedly dragged you over to a table in the corner where your stomach dropped upon seeing who was sitting there.

“(y/n)?” Alex asked.

You chuckled, “Snapmap and Chihuahua boy, I didn’t realize this Karl was your Karl.”

Karl looked confused, looking back and forth between you and his boyfriends, “You guys know each other?”

“That one talked to me at a party when my friends all but ditched me,” You pointed at Nick, and then too Alex, “That one tried to fight someone who bumped into me.”

“Thats- you know what, I’m not gonna ask.” Karl said, plopping down next to Alex.

You sat down on the opposite side of the table next to Nick, “Karl you text in angry emojis?”

~~

Over the next few weeks Karl continued to drag you along to various study sessions, movie nights and other things you assumed would normally just be the three of them, making you confused heart even more confused.

It was strange that they willingly let you intrude on there dates, and any time you tried to bring it up with Karl he’d just brush it off, and if you mentioned it to Nick or Alex, they’d say something about how they were good with it cause Karl was.

And then one night, you were all piled up on the fire escape of the boys apartment building, Alex had just gotten back from a seminar, and was half curled on Nick’s lap, legs stretch across Karl, who was also leaning against Nick.

You quietly hummed a song you heard Wilbur playing, freezing as Karl tugged on your hand, pulling you closer to lean on him, Nick’s arm stretching just a bit farther to wrap around your waist as well, almost cementing you into the moment.

“I like this.” Karl murmured.

Alex nodded sleepily, and Nick looked at your over Karl’s head, “(y/n), uh- I guess we’ve been meaning to- uh- to ask-”

“He means, do- do you want to join this relationship?” Alex asked, cutting him off.

You blinked, surprised, and Karl quickly started talking in your silence, “You don’t have too, we just figured, you know, we, really like, you and- it- we think you like us-”

Cutting him off, you grabbed the sides of his face, quickly pressing your lips to his, and then pulling away, you leaned over to kiss Nick, and then Alex.

“I knew there was a reason you kept letting me in on your dates!”

[kythed]

“you can hear it in the silence” - a collection of conversations between you and futakuchi kenji. 

1. april 14th, 7:56pm.

“it’s terribly boring, isn’t it?” the voice comes from right near your ear. you start, turning to see a young guy dressed in jeans, a tee, and a baseball cap, slouchy and messy in the most attractive and purposeful way. “the movie, I mean.”

you turn your eyes back towards the screen — some spanish neo-noir retelling of the same old “sexpot femme fatale turned domestic by a dashing hero with a horse” plotline. “yeah, it is. I only came so my film major friends would finally respect me.”

“that’s valid,” he whispers with a snort. an older man sitting beside him shushes him. “I only came so I could make fun of the people who only came to impress their film major friends.”

“oh, ouch,” you say, grinning. “way to attack like 90% of the foreign film audience.” 

“I’d say it’s something more like 97%, actually,” he says, briefly glancing at the movie. the dark haired, sultry love interest is batting her lashes at the brooding protagonist, nightgown slipping off her shoulder. “the remaining 3% is horny teenagers who can’t yet figure out how to erase their search history.” 

despite being in the middle of a crowded theater, you laugh, giggle echoing off the walls. several people turn around to shoot you dirty looks, and you immediately clap an apologetic over your mouth. oops.

“I’m kenji futakuchi,” your seat-neighbor whispers, extending a hand. “unprofessional film critic, engineering major, and thai tea hater. I’m willing to take you out for boba on our first date, but if you order thai tea it will also be our last.” 

“bold of you to assume we’ll even have a first date,” you say, shaking his hand with another quiet laugh. 

“oh, we will,” he says with what can only be described as a bona fide smirk. “I saw the way you were looking at me earlier.” 

before you can respond, the curmudgeonly old man beside kenji leans over and scowls. “if you kids want to keep flirting, do so outside. some of us are here for cultural enrichment.” 

kenji glances at you, face spelling out mischief. “you heard the man. shall we?” 

for a moment, you consider saying no. but then reason kicks into gear and you stand up, dusting popcorn off your lap. “we shall.” 

(discovery number one: your hand fits perfectly in his.)

2. may 2nd, 11:17am. 

“you know, this actually isn’t so bad.” kenji takes another cautious sip. “still can’t hold a candle to jasmine.”

“I respect that,” you say, offering him a taste of your drink. “I feel like everyone who hates thai tea is just jumping on the bandwagon. it’s pretty decent.”

“you’re pretty decent,” he says petulantly, snatching your tea and replacing it with his own. 

you roll your eyes. “your comebacks suck. still can’t believe I agreed to go out with you.” 

kenji feigns a look of surprise. “oh, are we going out? I thought this was a platonic thing.” 

you send a pointed look at his hand resting on your thigh, his thumb rubbing light circles in your skin. 

kenji follows your gaze and suppresses a smile, shrugging. “friends do that.” 

it’s a cool spring day, the air smelling of his cologne — vanilla, coffee, and burnt orange — and the eucalyptus growing in front of the cafe. the sunshine is fresh and pale, casting a glowy halo over kenji’s brunette mess of hair. he smiles rather angelically, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. 

“and do friends do this?” you say softly, leaning forward so your nose is just centimeters from his. 

kenji gulps, adam’s apple bobbing painfully in his throat. his voice cracks with his next words. “y-yeah. I do this with my buddies all the time. no homo.” 

you slowly bring your hand up to cup his jaw, letting your eyes linger on his lips before glancing back up and smiling. “oh, good. ‘cause I do this with my girls all the time, too. full homo.” 

“yeah?”

“mhm,” you purr, trying to channel some of that femme fatale energy, leaning even closer so you can feel his warm breath on your mouth — and then you pull away with a cackle, leaving kenji blinking down at you with reproach.

“women are so cruel,” he sighs wistfully, fanning his shirt and running a hand through his hair. 

“sorry,” you chirp, not sorry at all. “I don’t kiss on the first date.” 

“you don’t kiss on the first date?” kenji repeats. “so what’s the timeline — we hold hands today, and then you let me hug you next week, and then we kiss in a month, and then in like fifty years we finally fu—” 

“kenji!” you say, whipping around. you’re scandalized. there’s a family with primary school aged kids sitting at the other table, shrieking with laughter and bouncing around like pinballs on a boba-fueled sugar high. “keep it PG.” 

“I wasn’t gonna say anything bad,” kenji complains. “I was just gonna say that in fifty years we finally, uh… furbish the condo we purchase together.” 

“sure you were,” you say, and kenji just laughs. there’s something in the way he looks at you… something soft and affectionate that makes you think he might actually intend to stick around for fifty years. it scares you a little — but in a good way. 

later that day, when kenji drops you off at your front porch, you lean forward again. usually you keep your word, but today’s an exception. 

(discovery number two: he tastes like colgate and thai tea.)

3. august 21st, 8:02am. 

“what the hell,” you cough, squinting through the smoke. you can barely hear yourself over the shrill beeping of the fire alarm resounding around your apartment. “kenji?”

kenji emerges from behind the fridge, nonchalantly leaning on the wall with a nervous smile. “hey, baby. sleep well?”

“don’t you ‘hey, baby’ me, mister,” you say, marching forward, fanning the smoke away with your oversized sleep shirt. (well, technically it’s his shirt, and that’s why it’s oversized. it fits perfectly fine on him.) “what in the world did you do?” 

“why is it that when something goes wrong you always automatically blame me?” he complains, coughing. 

“because it’s always your fault,” you say, gently but firmly pushing him aside to reveal, sitting innocently on the counter… a smoking toaster with two pieces of bread (burnt nearly completely black) resting in the slots. oh lord. “kenji. babe. darling.”

“ooh, keep going, please,” kenji coos, yelping when you lightly pinch his elbow. “hey!” 

he’s about to retaliate before you double over in laughter, holding onto the edge of the kitchen counter for support. you choke out giggles between breaths, hardly able to keep balance. “you — (wheeze) — you nearly burnt down the kitchen — (wheeze) — trying to make toast?” 

“it’s not as easy as it looks,” kenji insists, gingerly picking the slices of bread (although they’re more like crackers now) out from the toaster. “I’m sorry that I wanted to do something nice for my beautiful girlfriend. and I’m sorry that the only thing I could handle was toast and coffee. well, technically just coffee, I guess.” 

he picks up a mug from the counter and offers it to you. “it might be kinda cold now. sorry. I tried.”

he’s so earnest and adorable and lovely in that moment — standing in the middle of the clouded kitchen in just mismatched socks and an old pair of boxers, holding the coffee out for you to see — that you can hardly contain yourself. 

“god, I love you,” you say without thinking, the last word catching in your throat as you look up. oh. oops. kenji’s staring at you, unblinking, big brown eyes filled with… surprise? “I mean, I meant —”

“you love me?” 

“I, uh,” you falter. this isn’t you; you’re supposed to be the calm and collected one. “this isn’t how I wanted to say it, but—”

“but you do, right? you love me?” kenji sets the mug back down and pulls you in by the waist, grinning broadly and resting his forehead against yours. your heart is pulsing erratically, but a smile big enough to match his somehow finds its way onto your face. you nod, and kenji immediately kisses you hard, tangling his fingers in the back of your hair. 

“I love you,” he says breathlessly after finally parting. you feel the uncomfortable warmth of your face and the swollenness of your lips... but you can’t quite bring yourself to care. “I love you a lot.” 

“you love me so much that you even tried to make me toast,” you laugh. “and you brought me cold coffee in my second favorite mug.” 

“no, wait,” says kenji, glancing back towards said mug. “that’s your favorite mug.”

“no, my favorite is the green one with the—”

“—with the orange flowers,” kenji groans in realization, slapping a limp, penitent hand to his cheek. “I’m a failure of a boyfriend. I deserve to go to boyfriend jail.” 

“you do,” you agree, nodding solemnly. “but lucky for you, I have a get-out-of-jail-free card right here.”

“oh?” says kenji, a devilish smile quirking up the corners of his lips. 

you hum and offer him your clenched fist, like you’re about to place something in his palm. but when he extends his own outstretched hand, you interlace your fingers with his instead. “yep. right here.” 

“you think you’re so clever,” kenji sighs, nonetheless bringing your hand up to press a brief kiss to your knuckles. 

“I do.” you shuffle towards the counter to take a sip of the coffee — sure enough, it’s cold. (but he still made it exactly the way you like it.) “c’mon. breakfast.” 

(discovery number three: burnt toast doesn’t taste so bad when you eat it with someone you love.)

4. november 1st, 10:38pm.

the commute across town from your university to your apartment is on the longer side, around forty minutes. it feels even longer late at night, though, on your way home from your part time job. 

the subway rattles on its tracks as it slows to rest at a stop (but not yours) and a handful of sleepy passengers stumble out, swinging briefcases and pulling their scarves a little tighter. you stifle a yawn, slumping back into your seat. 

“you okay?” 

you smile. ever since you got hired a couple months ago, kenji’s insisted on coming to “pick you up” from work to take the train back with you, even though he works all the way across town. (he’ll probably stay the night — he has a drawer full of his things at your place these days, complete with a dozen wrinkled t-shirts, old soccer shorts, and a bundle of irreparably tangled chargers. he hasn’t bothered to bring his own shampoo over yet, though, claiming that “yours smells so nice and fruity” and “men’s shampoo just smells like nondescript testosterone and insecurity.” he’s right of course, but all the same, you’d rather he not use up all of yours.) 

“yeah, I’m okay,” you sigh, taking his hand and feeling him begin to rub circles on your palm. you close your eyes. “just tired.” 

“hi ‘okay-just-tired,’ I’m dad,” kenji says slyly, and you open one incredulous eye. 

“did you really…?”

“I really did,” kenji says, puffing up his chest. “you walked right into it.” 

you groan and fall on top of him dramatically, burying your face in his thick fleece jacket. “I’m too dead for this. I’m like frankenstein before he was reanimated — just a bunch of limbs and organs in a useless, fleshy pile.”

“technically, he’s frankenstein’s monster,” says kenji, petting your hair absentmindedly. “frankenstein’s the name of the doctor. cute literary allusion, though.” 

“do you ever shut up?” your voice comes out muffled by kenji’s coat, but not at all devoid of its intended irritation. 

“occasionally,” he says as you lift your head. he pulls you closer with one arm until you’re practically sharing a seat, legs interlocked, your temple resting on his shoulder and his chin nestled in your hair. “when I’m sleeping. when I’m eating — well, sometimes. sometimes I talk with my mouth full.”

“yeah, I’ve borne witness to that,” you say, wrinkling your nose. you’ve tried to improve kenji’s table manners countless times (especially in light of your family’s thanksgiving dinner soon approaching), but it’s all been in vain. most likely because he enjoys seeing you get worked up about his not using a coaster, etc. “disgusting.”  

“when I’m concentrating on physics,” he continues, as if he hadn’t heard you. “when I’m in the library. when I’m kissing pretty girls.” 

he bends down and tries to give you a peck, but you gasp and dodge it. “girls? plural? you’re out here kissing pretty girls other than me?”

“when I’m kissing one specific pretty girl,” kenji corrects himself, grinning. 

you feel your own grin stretch across your face. “and which pretty girl is that?”

“my pretty girl,” he says smugly, looking incredibly pleased with himself. 

you scoff. “corny.” 

“you like it.” 

you chew on your inner cheek, trying and failing to suppress your smile. “you know I do.” 

the train’s speakers crackle alive, a cool automated voice emanating from their unseen perches: “approaching hiwamari station. projected arrival in: 1 minute.” 

“alright, time to wake up, sleeping beauty,” kenji huffs, lugging you onto your feet. you hang limp in his arms like a rag doll, unwilling to bear your own weight. “you are perfectly capable of standing. shape up before I alert the authorities, you hooligan.” 

“hmm,” you groan, finally arighting yourself with some difficulty. you want to ask where in the world he learned the word ‘hooligan,’ but your brain can hardly afford you even the most basic cognition right now. “it’s too late, and my knees hurt, and I’m tired, and I saw an ad for that new vietnamese place at the last station, and now I want banh mi. but I can’t have banh mi because there’s none on this side of town, and that irritates me.” you take a deep breath. “also, I’m cold.” 

kenji laughs and slips a loose arm around your waist as the doors slide open, gently guiding you down onto the platform. the night air bites at your skin, painting goosebumps in its wake. you’re about ready to just sit down on the ground and curl into a frustrated, exhausted ball when he crouches down, fingers straightening and smoothing the lapels of your coat. “well, I can’t really help with the sore knees and the hankering for banh mi part, but I’m pretty sure you’re cold because you’ve had your buttons undone this entire time. dummy.” 

he buttons your jacket quickly and deftly, careful to avoid pinching you in the process. a particular kind of warmth bubbles up in your chest at his concentrated expression — kenji likes to maintain his effortless, reckless reputation, but when it comes down to the bare bones of it all, he’s still the type of guy who’ll button his girlfriend’s coat for her. on the walk from the subway to your apartment, his arm doesn’t leave your body once, keeping you close to his side and shielded from the wind. 

“I’m not a dummy.”

“sure, dummy.”

(discovery number four: body heat — specifically, kenji futakuchi’s body heat — is by far the most effective way to stay warm.)

5. december 23rd, 12:01pm. 

“who’s your best friend?” the question pops into your mind and out of your mouth almost instantaneously. kenji, who’s lounging on the sofa next to you, turns, eyebrows furrowed. there’s a small douglas fir in the corner of the room, minimally decked with what ornaments you could “diy” from around the house: snowflakes made of sticky notes, bedazzled plastic utensils, etc. several small packages have been haphazardly tossed around the tree’s base, yours neatly wrapped in red tissue paper and string, kenji’s covered in newspaper and excessive scotch tape. (he tried. maybe not his best, but he tried.) 

“depends,” he says, turning off his phone and tossing it onto the carpet. “what’s your definition of best friend?” 

“you know,” you say, helplessly splaying your fingers. “monica and rachel. frodo and sam. taylor swift and karlie kloss.” 

“hold on,” kenji says, holding up a hand. “didn’t taylor swift and karlie kloss have a falling out?” 

“yeah, but for the sake of the argument,” you insist. you narrow your eyes. “wait. how do you know about that?” 

“you talk about it every time you listen to that one album, which is at least once a month,” kenji says with a grin. “probably more like twice, actually.”

“oh.” you flush, making a mental note to use earbuds more often. “anyways. answer the question.”

“wait, but you just gave me a bunch of examples,” kenji complains. he glances briefly out the window, which is iced over like a sugar cookie, obscuring the snowscape outside. mariah plays faintly in the background, jingling and whistle tones echoing through the halls. “you didn’t define anything.” 

“a best friend,” you begin, faltering and taking a moment to think. a best friend… what is a best friend, really? you frown for a moment before smiling brightly. “a best friend is a commitment. it’s when you commit to being there for somebody when they need you. and it’s when you commit to finding that person when you need them, too.” 

kenji lets out a low whistle. “okay then, socrates.”

“it wasn’t that deep,” you say with a laugh. “so. who’s yours?”

kenji grins boyishly, face lighting up like a christmas tree topper. “easy. you’re my best friend.” 

oh. you weren’t expecting that. your chest gives an involuntary little thump of pleasure. “me? what about kamasaki?”

“mmm,” kenji muses, counting on his fingers. “he’s, like, my fourth best friend. maybe third on a good day. but you’re the one I go to first.” 

you have the sudden urge to wrap your limbs around him like a koala and never let go; only your dignity keeps you from tackling him right then and there. you clear your throat, praying he can’t hear your thoughts — he’d never let you live it down. “you’re mine, too.” 

kenji doesn’t respond, just smiles and rolls off the couch onto the floor with a thud, spreading out on the carpet like a seastar. the silence doesn’t bother you, though — silence (what little you can get of it) is comfortable with you two. plus, it’s never really silent. there’s always something there, something very undefinable but very real. 

(discovery number five: you are in love.)

[youmarin]

Ch. 00 Pt. I : To-Not-Do-But-Actually-Do List | JJ Maybank × fem! reader

a/n : I wrote this between last night and this morning. It's not my first time writing fanfic but it is my first one of JJ Maybank. I always delete my works thinking they ain't good enough. Hopefully I won't delete it this time and when I get some breaks I can keep writing. Anyways to whoever stops and reads: Thank you very much and enjoy the story!

tw: underage drinking, smoking, slight mention of anxiety (it's barely there).

There's a small conversation in Spanish but I clarified what is being said.

word count: 3.0k+

You were studying for an upcoming test. It was Friday evening and you were sure nobody liked to study on Friday evenings just when the school week had come to an end. But you had nothing better to do. Well, you were invited to a kegger by your friends, which you were seriously considering going to since you already knew the material and didn’t know what to do now. But you were unsure about parties. One goes to have fun, right? But fun usually means getting drunk, high or hooking up. And you weren’t about to do any of them. But you figured it wouldn’t hurt to put in practice your socializing skills. 

You told your parents you were going out for the night. They looked at you oddly, but didn’t say anything, only wishing you had a good time, telling you to be safe and to call once you got there, once you were on your way back and if something came up. Of course, they also asked who you were gonna be with, where were you gonna be, if someone was going to pick you up, who would bring you home. The whole interrogation. 

After taking a shower and dressing up, you called your friends hoping someone could give you a ride. Luckily for you, your best friend hadn’t arrived yet and was close by. He was always late for everything so you kind of figured that’s how it would be. 

“Hey pretty lady.” , he smirked at you as you got on the bike behind him, arms around his torso, “What made you change your mind?”

“Got bored.”, you answered simply.

“That 's weird. You're not one to get bored. But guess we’re actually having fun tonight so let ‘s go!” he answered, hyped as ever, you chuckled as he drove off to the beach. 

You lost sight of him as soon as you stepped on the beach. And that's on having fun tonight together, huh. “So, now what?” You asked yourself looking around for some familiar faces. You managed to spot some of your friends among the crowd but they seemed to be having fun engaged in conversation and you didn’t want to burden them. Yeah you had just arrived and you already were starting to regret coming, and being surrounded by a squirming crowd, all dancing and moving around wasn’t helping. You made a haste turn and gasped when you felt something spill over your top.

“Oh dammit.” The boy cried over the spilled drinks. Some had gotten on his T-shirt too. “I mean shit, I’m sorry dude. It was kinda your fault too though.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile as you looked up. “Oh shit. Sorry Y/N.”

“You’re great with apologies, Maybank.” He smiled back, but he grimaced seeing your ruined shirt. You noticed and looked down, the thin fabric of your blouse letting into view your bra. You crossed your arms over your chest trying to make it better, looking up at him again and smiling awkwardly to try and hide your embarrassment. But he could make out your flushed cheeks and your discomfort. He felt his own cheeks get warmer at the fact you caught him staring and that you crossing your arms definitely didn’t help. 

“I try my best. Care for a drink?” He offered you the one cup that didn’t spill over you. You scrunched your nose and nodded your head hesitantly, reaching for it. “Actually, can you wait here for a sec.?” You nodded again and there he left you, looking around awkwardly waiting for him to get back. You looked at your drink, swirling the liquid in the cup, questioning if you should drink it. You had never drinked before. And you were alone, well, JJ was with you but you didn’t know if he was actually coming back or if he had just grabbed the opportunity to spare you from your embarrassment. You took a sip, making a face - there goes the no drinking thing you were talking about- and you saw JJ approach, eyes squinted looking for someone. He spotted you and smiled as he came to a stop in front of you, holding a drink and a sweatshirt. He offered the sweatshirt to you “Here.” 

“Oh, um, thanks.” He held your drink as you put his sweatshirt on. It was like two sizes bigger. You extended your arms making a silly pose and he approved, making you do a little spin. 

“Never seen you around one of these before. Didn’t think it was something you liked.” He started walking, you by his side.

“I actually don’t like it. You just bumped into me right when I started to panic about being here.” You said jokingly although it was actually the truth. JJ let out a laugh. “But I thought I might do something different tonight. Get out of the comfort zone, you know?”

“And how’s that going?” He questioned, you could see a smile hidden by the rim of his cup. You smiled.

“Not bad. I’m actually talking with someone, I had my first drink…” You said, and downed the last of said drink. “Not a fan of them to be honest.” you made a face and blinked a few times, not liking the taste. 

“No way.” He said incredulously. You nodded, letting out an affirmative sound. “ What would people think of me for corrupting Y/N Y/L/N?” 

“So bad of you.” you played along. “Nah, it’s just one drink. As long as you drink moderately it’s fine. Also I could’ve refused, so you’re not corrupting me.” You shrugged, then widened your eyes because of all your blabbering. “I went too deep on that joke. I'm sorry.” You smiled nervously, smoothing your hair. He just laughed.

“That ‘s fine. You have no idea how much shit I can talk.  My friends are shutting me up all the time. Wait- Not that you were talking shit- Oh God.” It was your turn to laugh about how conflicted he looked. He smiled and calmed down seeing that you didn’t take it wrong. 

There was a beat of silence before he spoke up again, “So… You wanna go somewhere more quiet?” The question caught you off guard. He sensed your hesitation and rushed to explain. “I mean, since you don’t really like parties. Thought you might want to head over to somewhere else? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. “ 

You nodded, “Wait, but what about you? I don’t wanna make you leave.” you worried

He brushed it off. “There’s always more of these.” 

So you both went further down the beach, the sounds from the party heard from a distance. You sat down and saw him take out something from his pockets. “Do you mind if I burn one?” You shook your head. He lighted it up and took a hit, slowly letting the smoke out after. You caught yourself staring, and he also caught you, showing you a smirk,  “You probably haven’t smoked before either, right?” He said mockingly. You pushed him jokingly, then overthinking about if you weren’t getting too confident around him. You hadn’t spoken more than a couple times before. 

“No, I haven’t.”

“Such a good girl.” he cooed, “I shouldn’t be the one to make you drink and smoke in the same night but, who’s better than me?” He offered you the blunt. 

“Yeah right.” you answered sarcastically, and once again hesitated but took it from his hand - there goes the “no smoking”. The same night, in less than an hour. You just need to hook up with someone and you shall check out your To-Not-Do-But-Do List-. You looked at it and proceeded to put it in your mouth. 

“Easy there.” He warned as you inhaled the smoke. You coughed it out, laughing as he caressed your back, trying to ease you. 

“Whoah.” you blinked a few times as you tried to get used to it. And that's how you spent the rest of the night there talking and smoking. Usually you had trouble making conversation but with the help of the alcohol and weed you were more easy going tonight, mostly talking nonsense and laughing at everything, which had JJ glancing at you with an amused smile. “Yeah, she definitely had never smoked before.”  He saw as you scrunched your nose, suddenly, and smelled his sweatshirt that you were wearing. “I smell like weed.”  You said, disgusted. Apparently, you forgot you were smoking. “And I’m wearing a boy’s sweatshirt.” Your eyes widened as you lifted your arms and looked at the sleeves of his sweatshirt as they dangled when you moved them around. “My parents are gonna kill me. Twice!” You cackled almost hysterically, which made JJ burst in laughter too at the sight of you. 

It was a little past midnight and after running out of energy, you had fallen asleep profoundly, leaning over JJ, your head resting on his shoulder. He didn't bother to wake you up at first, being very comfortable with how you two were. But then he almost fell asleep too and it was pretty late so he gently tried to shove you awake. “Y/N.” you grunted, and tried to ignore him. “Y/N we have to go. It 's late. Don’t wanna fall asleep here for some creep to come and kill us.” 

“You can fight them.” you mumbled. “You look like a very brave courageous prince.” 

“Do I now?” He looked at you, trying to hold back a smile. “Yeah this prince you’re talking about is lacking money. And sleep. So let 's go.” He helped you stand up. You made eye contact with him and your eyes widened. “What now?” he questioned, amused.

“Your eyes are very pretty.” 

“Oh you’re gonna make me blush. C’mon, I can give you a piggyback ride until we meet with John B.” In fact, he did blush a little by the intensity of your gaze. Not that you would notice being as you were right now. You fell asleep again almost immediately once on his back, your head resting on top of his. He almost dropped you when you got too relaxed and your grip around his shoulders got a little too loose. He hoped John B hadn’t left.  He didn't feel like walking all the way to the château. He figured you’ll stay with them. He didn't know where you lived and even if he did he wasn’t about to drop you off high out of your mind. 

“Hey, I was looking all over for you. Kie and Pope already left.” John B started as he looked at your sleeping figure being carried by his friend, his curious eyes making the question for him already but he spoke nevertheless, “You’ve been with her all this time?” 

“Yeah. She’s out like a light. And she doesn’t look like it but she’s starting to feel heavy so let’s get to the Twinkie. Also, have you seen my backpack? I thought I left it around here." He started to make his way to the van, John B keeping his pace.

“ Yeah, I grabbed it when I started looking around for you." He said before saying what he really wanted to say at that moment, "Listen, man, I know you… Are JJ, " He missed the puzzled look JJ was giving him, "Like the JJ Maybank. Big time player.  But Y/N. Out of all people? How did you even get with her? We actually know her and it would suck to hurt her feelings.”John B kept going, just astounded with how far JJ could go.

“We didn’t do anything of whatever you’re imagining.” JJ squinted his eyes at him. “I bumped into her and we stayed together after that, we chatted, drinked, smoked a little…”

“You let her smoke? Since when does she smoke?” 

“Since today man, I don’t know. And it’s not like I forced her to do it. She can make her own decisions. Also she was with me so it’s not like something would have happened to her.” John B raised a brow, “At least nothing that she didn't want.”  He opened the sliding door of the van. “Just help me out, dude. Geez, you’re supposed to be my best friend bro. Wouldn’t hurt to show a little trust.” 

“Precisely because I am your best friend is why I care about it.” He helped JJ get you inside of the van. 

“If someone was looking at us they would say we’re kidnapping her.” John B stated as he made his way to the driver’s seat and started the Twinkie. JJ took a seat, while you laid there sleeping, your head resting on his lap. He made sure you wouldn’t move and smack your face with the van or fall to the floor. When they arrived at the Château, they both helped you out of the van and got you inside the house. JJ went to bother a sleeping Kie, asking her to help you get changed out of your clothes, though he thought you looked cute with his sweatshirt on. 

_________________

You woke up, slightly disoriented but well rested. The smell of food reached your senses. Stretching, you looked around and saw you were sleeping next to Kiara Carrera. How the hell did you get there? 

“Goodmorning.” she said, startling you. 

“Good- Morning?” You stared at her. Kie saw the confusion in your expression and smiled. Teasing a little wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“Did you enjoy last night?” Kie asked, and purposely got a bit closer, looking at your lips.

“What?”

“You don’t remember?” she clicked her tongue. “That’s a shame though.”

“What? No! No. I do remember.” Kie raised a brow, “ No, I was with JJ-” you stopped yourself, “Not! Not in a sexual way.” You rushed to explain. Sheepishly, fidgeting with your hands, you looked up at her again. “Did we really…” God,I thought I was straight. I mean, I am straight. Kie is really pretty though. God you just had sex for the first time and you don’t even remember,  you shook your head to stop the nonsense that were your thoughts at the moment.

At that point, Kiara couldn’t hold it anymore and started laughing at the conflict you were having in your head, your troubled state written all over your face.

“You two! Come and get breakfast before we eat all of it. And Kie, stop messing with Y/N.” You heard John B and JJ shout from the kitchen. You were really hungry, now that they mentioned food. And it smelled really nice earlier. You both got up and went to the dinner table, where you found JJ fixing up a plate for you. He motioned for you to sit. “Goodmorning.” He said, giving you a smile. “You good?” 

Nervously, you greeted him back, nodding. You probably made some trouble for them last night, especially for JJ. You all sat at the table, chatting and recalling stuff from last night. Guess you still were straight, and didn’t hook up with Kie. She was just taking advantage of you not being able to process anything too well before eleven in the morning and making fun of you. You were enjoying yourself but, 

“I should be going home.” you said, excusing yourself.

“I can go with you. Also, your phone went off a few times this morning while you were sleeping.” JJ mentioned casually as he stood up after you. 

“You don’t have to do that.” You told him but he brushed you off, saying it was no problem.  “Oh my God, my phone! I mean, my parents! They’re totally gonna kill me!” The other two held their laughter towards your distressed face and JJ grimaced as he motioned for you to follow him and you went to the room he always stayed in. He gestured towards your clothes and your phone. He had washed your clothes earlier after he woke up. When you looked at your phone’s screen, you saw all the missed calls you had from your mom, your dad, even your brother. Your stomach dropped. 

“You didn’t tell them you were going out?” JJ asked. 

“I did! I just never said I was going to stay at someone else’s place!” As if on cue, your phone went off again. You both looked at each other and you answered, already grimacing at what was coming.

“Hey ma’.” 

JJ frowned, your voice sounded different for a moment. Then he heard a loud voice from the other end of the call, most likely your mom’s. He couldn’t make out what she was saying because it was in Spanish? and she was talking way too fast in a hysterical tone. He looked curiously as he heard you both.

“¡No! Mami estoy bien. Es que se hizo tarde y me quedé en casa de Kiara.” You lied, saying you stayed over at Kie’s as your mom asked you who the hell was Kiara. “Una amiga, ma. Perdón que no dije nada. Ya voy para allá. Sí, sí, bye.”  You sighed. “I’m grounded.” you fake smiled and looked over at JJ. He gave you an apologetic look. “Well I don’t really go out much.” You laughed nervously. “I should go. I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused you guys.” 

“Yeah, yeah, no I mean, not at all.”  JJ answered awkwardly, a hand brushing his hair back  as he smiled at you nervously. 

They let you take a shower and change back to your clothes before making your way out. You thanked them, and both you and JJ made your way out of the château and back to your house. You decided to walk, since it wasn’t too far. You stopped a couple houses before yours, telling JJ that going back after staying out the night without telling anybody and coming back home with a boy was just you asking to get yourself killed. He laughed, telling you that he understood. 

“I have no problem introducing myself to them. Since I am indeed very brave and courageous and all.” He teased, trying to see if you remembered what you said to him last night. You did remember, but did your best to play it off as if you didn’t, feeling kinda embarrassed. He laughed it off when you looked at him as if you didn’t know what he was talking about, a little hurt but he wouldn't make a big deal about it. You were high as a kite anyways. “Forget it.” he finished with a sigh. “See you around?” He asked, hopeful

“Sure. See ya around.” You gave him a hug, then started to make the rest of your way back to your house. You turned to look at him once more and gave him a smile and a small wave. He smiled and waved back. It would be hard to take that smile off his face for the rest of the day. 

[sergeantsporks]

Do You Want the Knife You Left In My Back, or Can I Keep It?

Rating: Teen and up, Gen

An injured Hunter wanders into Hexside. What was Luz supposed to do, just let him bleed out on the floor?

Ch1/?: Backstabber

Ao3

“The human must be truly formidable if the Emperor sent both of us to capture her.”

Hunter glanced back at Kikimora. “Nah, he was probably just worried that you’d mess it up, so he sent me to make sure it went smoothly.”

Kikimora studied her claws. “I know it was you that attacked me when I tried to bring the palisman to the Emperor. You and the human.”

Hunter whipped around. “Oh, do you want to talk about that now? Because I know that you knocked my airship out of the sky and tried to have me killed. So you have nothing on me. You tell the Emperor what I did, I tell him what you did.”

“The human really must be formidable if she managed to get the palisman from you.”

Hunter rolled his eyes behind his mask. “She’s really not. I was a little bit busy fighting you to worry about her.”

“Truly a strong foe,” Kikimora continued, “So strong she was able to overcome you.”

“What are you talking ab—”

A blast of magic hit him, and magical bonds snaked around his hands and feet, yanking on him and sending him to his knees. Hunter struggled and tugged against the ties, but they held firm. “HEY! Kikimora, what—”

Something sharp touched his back, right between his shoulder blades, and he froze. “She attacked us from behind,” Kikimora hissed in his ear, “She went for you, first.” Something slammed into his back, like she’d punched him. “She was brutal. Merciless.”

Kikimora twisted her hand, and Hunter felt a tingling shock, and then—

His world exploded. Heat flooded out from the wound, and Hunter heard a guttural, choking scream.

Oh, wait.

That was him.

Kikimora pushed him facedown to the ground, knife still in his back. “I killed her, of course. It was a tough fight, but to avenge a fellow coven member? Of course I didn’t give up until I succeeded.”

Hunter coughed, blood coating the inside of his mouth. “Kiiii…”

“That’s what happens,” Kikimora hissed, “when people try to replace me.”

She walked off, and Hunter just lay there on the ground, his mind fuzzy with pain.

He had to…

Ugh—

Hunter pulled out his staff, and inch by agonizing inch, used it to pull himself up, shaking. He twisted, reaching for the knife, but the movement just tore more, and the world blacked out for a second. He gripped his staff tightly, his knuckles white.

Kikimora could easily kill him in this state, if the wound itself didn’t kill him.

That meant the only thing standing between her and total control over the coven and Uncle Belos’ complete trust was… Luz.

Kikimora would probably go to the owl house first.

That gave Hunter the advantage.

Xxx

“Thorn vault!” Luz called, slamming her hand down on her glyph. The plant erupted outward, pushing her over Skara’s head to the goal. Skara jumped, but missed her by inches. “Ah! Not again!”

Luz touched down. “You’ll get it someday.”

“Unlikely!” Gus called from the bleachers, “I predict never!”

“Zip it, twerp!” Skara yelled back, “Just wave your flags!” She dusted herself off. “One more try?”

“One more try,” Luz agreed, “Amity, you ready?”

“Always!”

Gus screeched, pointing. “Luz!”

Luz whipped around in the direction he was pointing to see an awfully familiar staff moving slowly towards her.

And the person clutching it like a lifeline.

Amity raced towards Luz, skidding in front of her, an abomination already rising out of the dirt. “Stay back!” she warned Hunter, “I beat you once, I can do it again!”

Luz put a hand on her arm. “Wait! There’s something wrong!” She moved cautiously towards Hunter—he looked awful. Residue magic swirled around his wrists and ankles, and…

“Is that blood?!” Luz rushed forward to him, taking his arm. She stifled a scream at the jagged blade sticking out of his back, blood staining his white cape red. “Ohmygosh, what happened to you?!”

His chest heaved with ragged breaths. “Kikimora—never thought—this open—” He slumped against her. “After… you…”

“Find Viney!” Luz yelled to Skara, “Amity—”

“I’m not leaving you alone with him!”

“Okay, fine, Gus, get Eda!”

Luz lowered Hunter to the ground, holding him up so that the knife wouldn’t go further in. “Don’t die!”

Amity hovered over them. “What did you mean, ‘after you?’ Were you coming to hurt Luz?!”

Hunter coughed, blood flecking his lips. “I…”

“Amity, he’s in really bad shape! You can’t interrogate him right now!”

Hunter pawed weakly at her hand. “Kikimora… want… to kill… you… exposed…”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Big bad coven leader wants me dead. Now shhhhhh, stop moving around, you’re going to make it worse!”

Puddles landed next to her, Viney sliding off of his back. “Whoa! You must have been having the most intense grudgeby match of all time!” She knelt next to them, gently turning Hunter onto his stomach. “Oooo, that’s bad. You should have gotten the healing teacher, I don’t know if—”

Luz grabbed her arm. “No! No teachers! Please.”

Viney hissed, examining the knife. “This isn’t just a regular knife—there are some kinds of objects that are enchanted to be resilient to healing magic—in case you really, really want to make sure your enemy bites it.” She drew a circle with her finger, and the knife glowed golden. “This one isn’t too powerful—I can stop the bleeding and put a patch on all of the internal problems, but I can’t seal it up. He’ll have to heal on his own. Where did you even get this knife?!”

Hunter whimpered, and Luz grabbed Viney’s hand. “It doesn’t matter! Just do it, before he dies!”

“Okay.” Viney snapped her fingers, and Puddles shooed Luz to the side, offering Hunter a cloth to bite down on and gently holding him still with his talons. Viney took a deep breath, and the knife glowed again, floating out of Hunter’s back, the cloak floating away, too. Hunter let out a muffled scream into the cloth, and tensed, which just made the blood spurt harder out of the wound. Viney drew a circle over his back, and the bleeding abruptly stopped. Puddles coughed up bandages, and a needle and thread, and Viney nodded to Luz and Amity. “This isn’t going to be pretty. You might want to look away.”

Amity pulled Luz away. “Luz, what exactly are you planning to do now? Just dump him on the doorstep of the conformatorium and run away?”

“No way! What if Kikimora finds him first? We can’t just send him back, she is literally trying to kill him!”

“And he’s trying to catch you!”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to let him die!” Luz took Amity’s hands. “Amity, you fought him too. You didn’t feel even a little bit bad for him?”

Amity looked away. “Maybe a little bit,” she admitted, “But… if you’re not going to leave him with his coven, what is your plan?”

Luz bit her lip, staring at the ground. “Iwasthinkingmaybehecouldstayattheowlhouse,” she mumbled.

“What?”

“I was thinking he could stay with me,” she said louder, “At the owl house.”

“What?! No way! Luz, are you crazy?!”

“Ooo, hehe, jury’s still out on that one, Amity, you know that.”

“I’m serious, Luz, you can’t let him into the owl house!”

“Look at him, Amity, does he look dangerous to you?”

Amity looked back to where he was lying limp on the grudgeby field, Puddles nuzzling his face. “… I guess not… but still, he doesn’t have to attack you, all he has to do is put a trap, or let someone else into the owl house to bump you off!”

“The only people out for me right now are him and Kikimora. And Kikimora is also trying to kill him. Sooooooo I’m not overly worried about it.” Luz gave Amity’s hands a squeeze. “C’mon. I think I can handle one stabbed guy in a fight, give me that much credit at least.”

“… Fine. But good luck convincing Eda, she doesn’t exactly have the most… friendly of feelings towards him.”

Speak of the devil, Eda flew over the fence on her staff, Gus hanging onto the end. “I heard a kid got stabbed! Luz, you didn’t tell me it was knife day at school, I would have come to watch!”

“Kni—okay, sure, that’s a thing. It’s not knife day, Eda. None of the students got stabbed.”

“What? So what happened?”

Luz pointed across the field. “Uhhhhhhhm, soooooooo?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Eeeeedaaaaaa, I haven’t even asked anything yet!”

“Okay, let me set parameters for your next few sentences, then. If you are about to ask me if we can, in any way, shape, or form, take care of the Golden Guard and his lovely new piercing, the answer is no.”

“But Eda—”

“No. Nada. Nein. You speak Spanish, right? No. Any other ways I can say it?”

“Eda, he needs help!”

“Dump him on his coven’s doorstep, ring the doorbell, and run away. We’re not taking care of him.”

“Eda, listen—”

“No, you listen, Luz. That kid is trouble—and not the fun kind. You try to be nice to him, and he’ll stab you in the back. He’s been Belos-ified through and through.”

“I thought the same thing about Lilith!”

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t. My sister’s too much of a nerdy dork to ever be really horrible. This kid’s a nerd, sure, but he’s not Lili. He’s dangerous, he’s desperate, and unlike Lilith, he’s working completely for Belos, not himself.”

“Eda, Kikimora’s trying to kill him!”

“Well, I hope they succeed at murdering each other, and maybe take Belos down with them while they’re at it.”

“It would be murder to leave him at the coven!”

“Guess I’m going to be a murderer, then. Add it to the list of crimes.”

“Wouldn’t you want him to help me if I was in his place? If you were stuck in the owl beast form, and King was trying to kill me, wouldn’t you want him to help me?”

“I sincerely doubt King’s murdering skills, and NO, I think I wouldn’t want you anywhere close to Belos.”

Luz gave Eda big puppy-dog eyes, and her mentor sighed.

“Buuuuut I guess I see your point. Gah. Fiiiiiiiineee. You can take him home.” Eda leveled a finger at Luz. “But you have to feed him, and water him, and clean up after his messes, and keep him entertained, understood?”

“He’s not a pet, Eda.”

“I said, understood?”

“Understood.” Luz hugged Eda. “Thank you!”

“Oh, and if he tries to hurt you, if he tries to sell us out to Belos? I will do Kookymora a solid and finish the job.”

[peralta-guaranteed]

Jake and Amy single parents AU.

Pretty please! :))

oh! Oh, I strangely love this one!

- Amy is a police-widow with little Mac (no, Teddy was not the father, it was a non-canon detective), while Jake is at the better end of a really messy divorce from Sofia, who very quickly handed over all alimony of Maya to him to focus on her career.

-Amy tries her best to juggle the newly single parent life with her full-time position running a bookshop, while Jake is not too happy about having to bring Maya in to the precinct all the time, but it can’t be helped (and Scully makes a surprisingly good babysitter). The squad’s had his back through the entire break-up, and they all love his little girl to bits, so at least she won’t be missing the family aspect in her life - and will always have an amazing female role model in her Auntie Rosa, who’s already planning to teach her Spanish just so she can trashtalk her dad with her without Jake knowing

- Mac + Maya meet at daycare and absolutely hit it off, despite the age difference of two years. Mac has apparently seen another curly headed toddler and immediately decided to brother the sh*t out of her. He takes her along to all his games and helps her pick colours for her pictures and shares his apple slices with her in exchange for a bit of sandwich (which is much nicer anyway).

- the daycare workers absolutely adore the little duo, and can’t help remarking how much they look like siblings anyway. So of course Jake has to meet the mom of the adorable little boy who always bring his daughter over to him for pickup by holding her hand.

- he’s a bit afraid of having to deal with the usual “Aw they’re little boyfriend and girlfriend” comments he’s expecting, but obviously Amy is having none of that. Instead, she tells him how glad she is that Mac has found a little friend to protect. “He’s always trying to protect everyone so much, ever since his dad... well...”

- (Jake knew, distantly, that she was the widow of one of his colleagues from another precinct, but apart from the usual condolences they’d all sent it had never really registered in his mind that there was a wife and a child left behind.)

- “Oh well Maya is so happy too. She’s a bit shy and scared at the moment, so having a big friend help her get out of her shell is great. Your little boy is a sweetheart, too.”

- Amy smiles at him, and he’s pretty sure his heart should not be doing what it’s doing, so he beats it down and tries his best to ignore it. Which is hard, because she smiles at him a lot in the coming months when they meet up for playdates, Mac over excited to show Maya all his favourite spots at the park or the coolest fish at the aquarium.

- Jake moans during one of their meet-ups about a case that has been dragging on forever and is going to need an allnighter to finally be solved, and his partner Boyle is really trying his best alone, but he’s the primary on it and- it feels great to talk about it with someone who understands, outside of his squad, even if Amy sometimes nods with the saddest look on her face when he mentions parts of his job. But she offers him last minute babysitting if he ever needs it, considering her job finishes promptly at 5pm each day, and he can’t help but take her offer when another case hits that needs him on a stake out at 10pm.

- so Maya gets a lovely sleepover with Mac, and Amy gets the biggest box of her favourite pralines as a thank you, because Jake has never, not once, given Maya to a babysitter to go to his job without feeling remorse and guilt, not even his own mom, but he had to deal with none of that when Maya gladly ran up the stairs to Amy’s place where Mac was already shouting her name.

- needless to say that Amy and Jake become the great friends they always are over time. He brings coffee and muffins to their park playdates, and she brings over frozen meals from Mac’s abuela for kid movie marathons at Jake’s place. They know each other’s schedules to help out with the kids, Jake has convinced everyone in his friend group and workplace to only buy books at her store from now on, and Amy is already planning the christmas gift she needs to pack for Maya and her daddy.

- it would be a nice, supportive friendship of equals, and a good help in their single parent life, if it wasn’t for the fact that Jake realised about three playdates in that he was falling for Amy faster than a shooting star. It took her a little longer, but realisation hit when she was packing Mac’s lunchbox, her own lunchbox, and Maya’s lunchbox too after a sleepover, and subconsciously already wanted to bag up a fourth set of sandwiches with some gummy bears and a soda thrown in for good measure.

- Rosa tells him to ‘grow a pair and ask her out, she sounds perfect for both you and Maya’ when Jake confides in her. And that is rare praise coming from Diaz, because no one is good enough for Maya in her eyes, sometimes not even Jake himself. But he can’t take advantage of Amy’s friendship like that, not when it risks losing both her and Mac for Maya... and there is always the underlying fear that Maya will bond with a new woman in her life and be left behind yet again if they don’t work out, just like with her mom, whose biggest contribution to her life since the divorce has been the alimony payments each month.

- Kylie, meanwhile, warns Amy not to risk too much when she confides in her. She sadly remembers the many days she had to spend at her friend-coworker’s side after the funeral, cleaning out half of a closet and half of a shared home, basically. She’d been hoping that Amy would find love again, maybe in a few years time, but when she heard the news about her ‘great new friend’ being a detective himself, her heart dropped because she knew what that might be heading towards, and Amy very much shares her fears. She’d vowed to an absolute ‘no cops’ rule for her planned restart of dating in two years, perfectly scheduled with Mac’s start of school.

- as it is, both of them dance around their emotions in a perfectly synchronised waltz while still getting closer and closer as friends and parents, to the point that the daycare workers don’t even bat an eye anymore when Amy brings both Mac and Maya in, or when Jake picks both of them up into his arms with an excited ‘ready for ice cream and games?!’ before they meet up with Amy for a Coney Island afternoon.

- until one day, when the daycare offers a ‘star gazing sleep over’ event after the story of the stars and night sky was the theme of the week, and it falls right on the day Amy and Jake were planning to take the kids to a movie. “We could still go.” Jake mumbles while Maya runs into the daycare center, not shy at all anymore, and Mac follows her. “You want to go see Paddington’s Big Adventure... without the kids?” Amy jokes, but he looks so serious. “No, of course not, but I mean - we - uh - we both got the evening off now, don’t we? I told my captain I won’t be in no matter what. Seems like a waste of time just going home. We could see that period drama you talked about, that will definitely get an Oscar?”

- Amy hesitates only for a second, but they do go. They watch the drama that Jake has to admit is pretty damn good for a movie where nothing explodes or is set on fire, and that praise does not only come from the fact that Amy grabbed his hand with a gasp during a particularly emotional scene, and then kind of forgot to let go afterwards.

- but then the movie ends and Jake still doesn’t want to go home. Neither does Amy, apparently, because she offers up an ‘amazing 24h diner’ around the corner for some late night snacks, during which they laugh and flick chocolate chips at each other and end up blushing like mad when the waitress comments on what a ‘cute couple’ they are.

- he walks her to her front door, and they both kinda don’t know what to do as they say goodbye, because this kind of date night should usually end on a kiss, but it wasn’t really a date, was it, they would’ve taken the kids along if it hadn’t been for the day care event, and-

- “Ames, I’m - this is terrifying, but I think I’ll hate myself even more for not ever saying anything - and, and, I kind of, maybe, I think you might also-” She takes his hand again, a lot softer than she did in the cinema. “I think this is the kind of talk that needs a coffee and a good couch.”

- That’s how they end up at her place that Jake already knows so well from bringing Maya over, from the perfectly styled bookcases down to the absolute mess of a playroom that is Mac’s kingdom. They both grip their coffee cups tightly as they talk it all out, about what they’re afraid of, what they would risk if they gave ‘them’ a try.

- “I wouldn’t ever want to put Mac through losing another cop-dad even if it wasn’t from work, and I won’t let Maya lose another mom.” “Me neither. And I promised Mac I’d never forget his papa, but... I can clearly see him love his new daddy, too. He already looks up to you so much. He wants a flannel shirt for christmas.” “Maya introduced you as Mama Amy to one of my aunties. Which was quite a thing to explain.” Amy laughs, and then smiles at him, and his heart does that thing again, like it has been doing for months now, but this time he doesn’t beat it down. This time he lets it lead him to lean in for the most careful kiss, a kiss that Amy gladly returns, just as carefully.

- they agree to take things slow, be mindful, not drop it on the kids immediately or rush into things from the pressure of friends or family.

- and then three months later Amy finds the perfect apartment for the four of them, and Jake aks Gina and Rosa for ring preferences and proposal tips, and ‘slow and mindful’ has flown out the window the second Maya brought home a picture she did with Mac at daycare showing their little ‘family’ before Amy or Jake had even talked to them about their possible dating.

- Maya grows up with her Mama teaching her Spanish along with Auntie Rosa, and an abuela and abuelo who love to spoil her with Cuban sweets just as much as her big brother. Mac gets to ride along in his Daddy’s police car sometimes, and hears stories about his brave Papa from his colleagues. His auntie Gina is so proud of him for taking care of his little sister the way she took care of her little brother too. And Jake gets to see Amy smile all the time now, and knows it’s him and their kids that is making her smile so much.

[study-coffee-chicago]

Stars on your Sleeve (Part 2) [A Jay Halstead Imagine]

A/N: The name of the girl is Y/N (I mostly write my imagines in second person POV...except for the one you guys might see in a few weeks) and cariña is just a nickname/term of endearment in Spanish that means sweetheart. Sorry if anyone got confused about that in part one!

"Dad," you started as you walked into Jay's office after school that day.

It was a Thursday and you had taken the bus from school to the district. It wasn't often that you did this, but you had gotten texts from both your mom and dad telling you that the current case was going to drag on and on tonight, so they wanted you at the district so that you wouldn't be home alone until two or three o'clock in the morning.

"Hi, cariña. How was your day? Learn anything interesting in school?"

"Dad," you groaned. "It's high school, half the stuff they teach me I won't ever use again."

"Well, excuse me for wanting to know about my daughter's day."

"Just can't wait for this week to be over to sleep in."

"You and me both, kid."

"Half the time you work weekends though, Dad," you pointed out.

"Comes with the sergeant title."

"And your sleeping in is like 7:00."

"Point taken. Now, did Mom pack you a few extra snacks or do you need some money for the vending machines?"

"She didn't--"

"Don't even finish that sentence, young lady," Hailey said as she burst into Jay's office. "I packed you a few extra things and you know it. You just want--"

"--Oreos," Jay and Hailey said at the same time.

"Hey, don't blame me! They taste good," you protested. "Anyway, Dad, can I use your laptop to do my homework?"

"Don't you have that school-issued one?"

"That one blocks Netflix."

Jay crossed his arms across his chest. "Homework, huh?"

"I'm just writing a paper. It's not like I'm doing math or reading something."

"What type of paper?" Hailey asked. "Because, I'm pretty sure that if it's a research paper, you need to focus."

"It's a narrative, so I don't need to be constantly focused, Mom."

"Makayla does the same thing," Adam said as he entered the office as well. "Let the kid have the laptop, Jay."

"Thanks, Adam."

"Uh," Jay groaned, "I guess."

"We also have a lead, so you wanna roll out after I give you the info?" Adam asked.

"Yeah. Sorry, Y/N, you need to go into the breakroom now."

"But why can't I stay in here?" you whined. "I want your spinny chair."

"Y/N, this is a case," your mom told you. "You know the rules: no being around the case talk. It's for your own good, we don't want to scar or scare you."

Mom, you know what I've seen, you wanted to tell her, but you knew it would be no use as your parents would never budge on this rule.

"I know, Mom."

Jay pulled his laptop from his desk along with the charger. "Rules?" he probed, holding onto the laptop and charger.

"Dad, I know the rules. Mom, c'mon, tell him."

"It's your dad's laptop, Y/N. I'm not arguing with you or him on this one."

Jay cocked his head to the side. "I'll give you the laptop after you tell me the rules...even though I know you know them."

You sighed. You went through this every time you used his laptop when he was going to be gone. "Only use my account, don't try to login to your account, and do not delete my search history."

"Here you go." He handed you his laptop and charger. "Good luck on your paper. Don't work too hard."

You went into the breakroom and opened the laptop. First, you pulled up Netflix, and then you pulled up your paper. It was your paper for your senior portfolio, which most people were putting off, seeing as you were only a freshman, you didn't need to work on it yet. But, you knew it had to be long, so starting it now would probably be helpful.

The paper was basically a narrative telling a story about each year of school. The stories had to be from two to five pages long, which meant that the paper in its entirety would be between 26 and 65 pages long. But, you didn't mind. It's not like you had to write a boring research paper. You also had to write about your career goals and one wish for your future as well, which would make the paper even longer still.

Seeing as your schooling didn't exactly match up with the American school system until you were around nine and in third grade, you had gotten permission from your teacher to just write about the sections of kindergarten, first, and second grade, as just memories from when you were six, seven, and eight years old.

You'd save the memories of six and seven for later, since you'd have to dig into the part of your brain where you were in the orphanage with your older sister, Illiana.

For now, you just scribbled down a few lines for ideas of when you were eight years old...which was pretty simple since a lot happened in your life that year.

***

"Y/N, we brought you some food if you--"

"Shut up!" Mouse hissed as the rest of the unit clambered up the stairs and into the bullpen. "She's sleeping."

Yes, when Mouse came home he returned to his job as the tech analyst of the Intelligence Unit. And, when Jay became sergeant, he pulled a few strings and got him a huge salary increase.

"I'll pull the car around front," Hailey offered.

"No," Jay whined. "That means I gotta be the bad guy and wake her up."

"Sorry, babe. I call dibs."

"Ew, guys, please keep the lovey-dovey nicknames to home. I don't need to see that," Adam joked.

"Shut up, Ruz."

Hailey swiped the keys from Jay's office and Jay went to wake you up. But, before he did, he saw the laptop, still open to both Netflix and your paper.

There wasn't much in the paper yet, as Jay had expected, only a few bullet points. His name caught his eye below the age 8 section...whatever that meant. He didn't mean to pry (well, really he did), but he closed the laptop without logging you out so that he and Hailey could take a look at it later.

"Y/N, Y/N, wake up."

You were woken up by someone gently shaking your shoulder.

"Quiero dormir, vaya," you whined. That was one thing you always did: reverted back to Spanish when you were tired. At least both Jay and Hailey understood it now because they had learned Spanish...which helped them with parenting because when they were mad at you, they'd talk in Spanish and that's how you know you were in deep shit.

"I know you want to sleep, and I'm not leaving," Jay answered. "But, we're going home so you can sleep in your bed instead of here."

"Mmmm, okay," you mumbled. You rubbed your eyes, but then decided it was too much work to get up, so you just sat up and closed your eyes once again.

"C'mon, cariña. Mom's got the car out front and then all you gotta do is stay awake until we get home, okay?"

"Mmmm," you mumbled and then stood up. He already had your backpack slung over his shoulder and was holding his laptop in the other hand. "Can I skip school tomorrow? I'm tired."

"Not a chance," Jay chuckled. "But, I can drive you to school and we can get you a frappucino on the way there."

"Mom won't be mad?"

"We don't have to tell Mom everything now do we?"

"No, we don't."

***

"What are you doing?" Hailey asked Jay as she slid into bed next to him that night. "Are you seriously checking our daughter's search history this late at night? C'mon Jay, she's a good kid. You won't find anything."

"That's not what I'm looking at. But, now that you mention it, I should probably check that, too."

"Then, what are you reading? Because I know for a fact that your case notes are definitely not as organized as that."

"Wow, Hails, you're so sweet," Jay said sarcastically. "It's Y/N's paper. The rubric was pasted at the top and it looks like she has to write about a memory from each year of her life and her career goals and a wish for the future."

"And you were snooping because...?"

"Because I saw my name. I wanna see what she says about us, Hailey."

"Jay, she loves us, baby. We're her parents. We both know that. You don't need to read her schoolwork to know that."

"Either way, I'm still reading it. Join me if you want, or go to sleep."

"Uh, fine. But if she asks, this was your idea and I will not hesitate to throw you under the bus."

Age 8, they both read to themselves, leaving/running away from orphanage

"God, no matter how many years it's been since she told us what happened, it never fails to break my heart," Hailey said.

Jay wrapped one arm around his wife. "I know, babe. I feel the exact same way."

"Hey, Y/N," the therapist started and you looked up at her. "Do you want to in that room over there and watch some tv while I talk to jay and Hailey? I can even turn on the Spanish movies for you."

"Okay!"

After getting you all set up, she left you in the room with a Spanish children's movie playing while she went to get Jay and Hailey.

"Jay and Hailey?" she asked as she entered the waiting room.

"Dr. Smith," Jay greeted.

"I have something to tell both of you, and Y/N told me it was okay that I tell you. When I asked if she wanted to be the one to tell you this, she said no because she didn't want to make you sad."

They entered the room where you had previously been and Dr. Smith sat in a chair and Jay and Hailey sat on the couch.

"What's this about?" Hailey asked.

"Well, she told me why she ran away from the orphanage."

Jay and Hailey were shocked. You'd been with them for three months and hadn't once mentioned why you ran away and what happened before Jay found you. It wasn't for lack of trying on Hailey and Jay's part, though. They tried. After all, they knew how to talk to child victims. But, they didn't want to push you too hard, and eventually, they just dropped the topic all together because they knew you'd talk about it when you were ready. Apparently, today was the day that you were ready to tell that story.

"And?" Jay pushed. "Why'd she run away?"

"She said that they came for her, the people who you were fighting," Dr. Smith said.

"Los Rebeldes," Jay said, more to Hailey than to anyone else.

"They came for her specifically?" Hailey asked.

"No, they just came to the orphanage. She said that she heard voices--male voices--telling them to get down on the ground and then some shots rang out. Her sister, Illiana, told her to hide and slipped the necklace around her neck. So, she did. She said she closed her eyes really tight and she just laid there, hiding and barely breathing. She said she heard a gunshot and then she heard Illiana scream and she heard squishing noises."

"Oh my God," Hailey gasped.

"You're saying they shot and killed her?" Jay asked, his voice cracking.

"That's what it sounded like, yes."

"How did she get out?"

"She said that she snuck out through a small door in the back of the room. She said it wasn't a real door, but it was a small door that led to the outside, by her description, it sounded about three feet tall and two feet wide."

"The waste doors," Jay muttered.

"The what?" Hailey asked.

"The waste doors...well, that's what we called them on Base anyway. They were these little doors where you could place stuff outside. Sometimes we'd put the packaging of our MRE's there or other crap we didn't need anymore. Not good for the planet, but yeah, that's what we did."

"So, Jay, you're telling me that Y/N essentially snuck out of the orphanage through a trash chute?"

"Well, we used them for waste, which is why we called them waste doors. But, I heard rumors of them being used at orphanages for parents to put their baby in a crib. They'd just open the door and place the baby in the little crib on the other side of the door."

"She moved the crib and snuck out through there?"

"If there was a crib, then she moved it and got out. If not, she just crawled out through there."

"Did she tell you anything about when she left?" Hailey asked Dr. Smith.

"She said that she didn't have much with her, just her teddy bear and that locket. But, she said that she walked for the rest of the day. And, according to her timeline, the soldiers came right after breakfast. She said she was really scared that they were going to find her and so she just kept walking. But then, she found a bit of a forest it sounded like and since it was starting to get dark and cold, she laid down."

"I found her in the middle of the night and she must've been there since sunset. No wonder she was hypothermic."

"We got her her first banana split after that therapy session," Hailey said. "I honestly don't know whether the food was to get her to try something new or to comfort us."

"Yeah, that was a rough night. I didn't even want her to leave my arms," Jay said. "Jay found me and I went home to Chicago," he read aloud. "Man, that night was rough, too. Probably worse than the night where we found out why she left."

"Now, it's crowded here, cariña so stay cerca to us or go mano a mano with me or Hailey, okay?" Jay asked you as the three of you found a parking spot at Navy Pier.

Adam, Kim, Kevin, and Will were all there as well. They had planned to go out and party and go to a bar when Jay returned home, but that changed now that he and Hailey had a kid to take care of, so they had decided to take a trip to Navy Pier.

In the airport, Jay had gotten a huge coffee from Starbucks, seeing as he had barely slept on the way home. Before coming to Navy Pier, you had gone to a place called iHOP where you had gotten some really yummy pancakes, and Adam, Kevin, and Will had made you laugh a lot and Kim spoke Spanish with you.

"What does that word mean?" you asked.

"What word?" Jay asked, looking down at you as he took your hand.

"Cr-crowded," you sounded out slowly.

"Uh, it means there's lots and lots of people."

"Oh, okay. I stay by you."

"So Y/N, what do you like to do?" Will asked you.

"I like reading and play fútbol," you told him.

"Really? Jay loves playing soccer!"

"We played back at the big house in España," you told Will excitedly. "We won and I got lots and lots of goals."

"Looks like you have a pro soccer player on your hands, little brother," Will said to Jay.

"Don't I know it."

"We go on the big thingy you showed me in the little book in the plane?" you asked Jay.

"The Ferris wheel?" You nodded excitedly. "We can do that, but let's walk around first. We might be able to play some games and win you a friend for Osito."

"Really? Osito have a friend?"

"Really," Jay promised.

As you walked down Navy Pier, you were excitedly pointing out every little thing you saw from the ducks and the seagulls to the big yachts floating down the Chicago River.

"Let's go into Garrett's, babe," Hailey suggested when they were inside the big atrium. "Give her a taste of Chicago's world-famous popcorn."

"I think that's a great idea," Jay agreed. "What do you think, cariña? Want to try some popcorn and then we'll get your favorite?"

You tilted your head to the side. "Popcorn? What is that?"

"Palomitas," Kim clarified for you in Spanish. "Hay muchos tipos diferentes de palomitas allí para probar y comprar."

"Oh, okay. Yes, please."

"What did you say to her?" Hailey whispered to Kim.

"Just gave her the Spanish translation of popcorn and then told her that there's a bunch of different types of popcorn that she can try and buy in there. But, you and Jay most definitely have your work cut out for you when it comes to learning Spanish. You're lucky that she's pretty good with English already and that I'm here to help you learn Spanish."

***

"Sleepy, cariña?" Jay asked as he heard you yawn from the backseat.

Hailey was driving and he was holding a big bag of caramel and cheddar popcorn...which Hailey was telling him not to eat all of it because she knew he would. You were in the backseat with your big stuffed bear, whom you had named Osita since she was a girl bear because she had really soft white fur and a pink ribbon tied around her. Jay had won that for you when he played a shooting game. You also had a stuffed duck that Will had won for you when he played a guess the weight game. You named him Pato...which meant duck in Spanish. You had gone on the Ferris wheel and had pointed out all the pretty things in the sky when you were up there. Hailey had never seen Jay so happy as when he was smiling wide at every little thing you pointed out and he tried to explain to you what they were.

"No," you answered as you laid your head against Osita. It was currently 3 pm Chicago time, which made it about 9 pm Spain time.

"Tell you what," Hailey started, "When we get home, we can show you your room, and then we can watch a movie and eat this popcorn. Because, if we don't start eating it soon, Jay will eat it all."

"Jay eat it all if we no eat it too?"

"Jay eats a lot," Hailey joked.

You reached your hand in front of you and towards Jay. "Palomitas please." Jay chuckled and Hailey smiled as he put some popcorn into your little outstretched hand. "Gracias."

"De nada," Jay told you.

"When we watch movie, how I get it?" you asked.

"We get it on the tv," Jay told you.

"No, how I know what they saying?"

Hailey hadn't thought that far ahead when she had suggested watching a movie. "Um," Hailey faltered. "We can make it so it's in Spanish."

"But then you no know what they say," you pointed out.

"We can put words on the bottom of the screen in English for us," Jay suggested. "Then all three of us will know what they're saying. Is that okay?"

"Okay!"

"Hailey," Jay whispered. "What are we gonna watch?"

"She's too old for princesses probably and way too young for action movies...how about Disney Channel movies? We could try High School Musical? That one's pretty good."

"You're kidding Hails. You watched that? Didn't it come out when we were like 20 or 25?"

Hailey held back a laugh. "Yes, it did. But, I babysat a lot of kids in my neighborhood who were around Y/N's age, and we'd always end up watching those Disney Channel originals."

"Okay, whatever you say, babe."

***

"I think I'm gonna bring her to bed," Jay said.

You had fallen asleep halfway through the movie. Before starting it, you had seen your room. It was purple! And, in black letters behind your bed, it said Salon de Y/N, which meant Y/N's room. Jay assumed that Kim had helped Hailey with the spelling and the boys had helped move the furniture into your room. There was also a little basket with a few things they thought you would like, such as a few different colored soccer balls and a bookshelf.

On the bookshelf, Hailey had picked out some books in Spanish that she had found at Barnes and Noble and some short chapter books in English that she used to read as a kid, such as the Nancy Drew series and Little House on the Prairie. She knew that you might need help reading them and might not be able to completely understand them all by yourself yet, but she knew that she and Jay would be there to help you.

"It's 6:00," Hailey protested. "Shouldn't we wake her up and have her stay awake for a few more hours so that her body can adjust?"

"If you're asking an adult like me that, yes, I'd stay awake. But, she's a kid. She needs her sleep. And, I'll probably be up before you anyway, so I can deal with her if she wakes us up at five in the morning."

"Okay super dad," Hailey joked. "Bring her to bed. I'll make us a quick dinner and cover this popcorn so it doesn't get stale. Can't wait for us to go to bed tonight." She winked.

"Hails, as much as I would love to take you up on that, I don't think it's a good idea when it's Y/N's first night. But, I will give you all the cuddles in the world tonight, don't you worry about that."

"As long as you didn't pick up the habit of snoring overseas then I'm all for that, babe."

***

Jay woke up to the sound of soft whimpering. It sounded like it was coming from the hallway but he couldn't be sure. He reached over Hailey and was about to grab her gun from her drawer where he knew that she kept it, but stopped when he remembered that it was probably just you. It wasn't just Jay and Hailey in the house anymore; you were there as well and that's probably where the noise was coming from. And, he didn't want to scare you by holding a gun.

He glanced over at the clock. 3 am. Yeah, sounds about right that you'd be waking up right about now since you'd slept for about nine hours and it was 9 am in Spain right now.

Jay slowly tiptoed out into the hallway, cursing himself that he hadn't left a light on or kept his and Hailey's bedroom door open so you could find them easily.

Jay reached out for the hall light switch and flicked on the lights, causing you to jump. "Hey, hey, it's just me. It's just Jay," he said calmly once he laid eyes on you. You were holding Osito and there were fresh tears running down your cheeks.

Jay never knew the force of an eight-year-old running into him could be so strong as to almost knock him over. You dropped Osito and wrapped your arms around him as if your life depended on it.

"It's okay, it's okay," Jay soothed. "What's wrong, cariña? Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"I-I no know where I was," you mumbled into his shirt. "Was dark. Think you and Hailey left, so I came to find you."

"Oh, sweetie," Jay started. "I'm sorry. I forgot to turn the light on for you in your room so that you'd know where you are. And, me and Hailey would never leave you."

"You promise?"

"I promise." Your stomach grumbled. "Hungry?" you nodded. "Alright, let's get you a sandwich and then get you back to bed."

"You eat too?" you asked.

"You know, I could go for a sandwich."

***

The next morning, Hailey rolled over to see that Jay wasn't in bed next to her and his side of the bed was cold. Then, she remembered you and walked over to your room and slowly opened the door. You looked up from the Spanish book you were reading and put a finger to your lips.

"Jay sleeping," you told Hailey.

Jay was sitting upright in your bed against the headboard, his thumb holding a place in what looked to be a Nancy Drew book.

"Did Jay read to you last night, huh?" Hailey asked as she walked closer to you and Jay.

"Yeah, he told me that Nancy does what you and Jay do with policia. Then, I sleep again and then I wake up and he sleep again, so I started reading in Spanish."

"I think we should let him sleep a little more while we go finish High School Musical and eat palomitas before Jay eats it all. Does that sound good?"

You nodded eagerly and closed your book. Then, you got out of bed and followed Hailey out of your room. And, after hearing that Jay had read to you and seeing him sleeping upright in your bed so that you'd be able to sleep, she had one more reason why she was truly head over heels for the man she married and got to call her husband.

"Look, Jay. She wrote her birthday in here for age 9," Hailey said as she pointed to the laptop screen.

"God, I don't think I'll forget that day for the rest of my life. It was such a good day."

"You are such a sap when it comes to Y/N."

"Hey! let me be sappy about our daughter, Hailey Anne. She's in high school now, high school. That means she'll be going off to college soon."

"Don't get too far ahead of yourself, sergeant," she joked. "Just keep reading this. It was your idea to snoop through her stuff after all."

"Jay, you got the stuff?" Hailey asked as she was sitting cross-legged on their bedroom floor with wrapping paper, tape, and scissors in front of her.

"Jesus, Hails," Jay laughed, "You make it sound like we're doing a drug deal."

"Well sorry if I want her birthday to go really well. Now, did you get them or not?"

"They're in here." He set a plastic bag down on the bed. He took out three framed pictures and laid them out on the bed. Of course, he made sure that the frames were different shades of purple. "Good?"

Hailey stood up and looked at the pictures. "I never know the CPD's sketch software could work miracles like this, so yeah, I'd say we did good."

Over the past month, everyone in Intelligence had told you that they were testing out a new sketch software to use to try to track down criminals. They let you play with it because they said they wanted to see what it would do...even though they knew what it did, how good it was, and it wasn't new. It was just a ploy to make sure they got your birthday gift right. They had told you to try and input someone's face from memory, someone like your older sister, Illiana.

So, when you had to go to the district for the day with Jay and Hailey, you'd ask to play with that software to work on your sketch. Little did you know, they were printing it out on fancy photo paper and putting it in a frame for your birthday. Jay had also swiped your necklace one day when you had taken it off to go swimming and had taken pictures of what your mom and dad looked like. Then, he and Hailey each took one parent and worked on making their faces through the CPD's sketch software.

"Now what the hell is this?" Jay asked as he held up a big board that Hailey had laying out in front of her as well.

"That, Jay, is so we can stick the back of the frames to it so that we don't have to give the three of them to her separately. Then, she can just take them off from it and place them wherever she wants in her room."

"You're smart. Maybe you should've gone to law school."

"Haha, very funny, Halstead. But then I wouldn't have met you."

"Eh, I beg to differ. You'd probably end up being some prosecution or defense attorney and then I'd have to testify, and after getting yelled at by you on the stand, I'd end up making an ass of myself and ask you out for a drink."

"Is that so?"

"That is very much so."

He walked up to her and grabbed her by the waist and she gave him a peck on the lips. "Hails," Jay whined. "Why'd you phone it in?"

"Because we have presents to wrap. Now, sit your ass down on the carpet and help me."

"Yes ma'am. But, damn, you're really going to be the death of me."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

***

"Before we do cake everyone, me and Hailey have one more gift for Y/N," Jay announced by tapping a fork gently against his champagne glass. Yes, the adults were drinking champagne because they were celebrating your first birthday with them as their kid. No, they wouldn't even give you one sip...but you didn't care and you didn't ask.

You had gotten spoiled all day. Will had taken you out for breakfast where you had gotten chocolate chip pancakes with all the toppings. Then, he took you to the sporting goods store where you bought an FC Madrid jersey and to Barnes Noble where you bought a few new books.

Then, when you got home, you were surprised to find everyone from Intelligence there along with some people from Med, and firehouse 51. Emilia, Mouse, and Makayla were there, and your friend, Rosa, whom Emilia had introduced you to earlier in the year at her welcome home party since Rosa was one of Emilia's little cousins.

You had gone outside and played a huge soccer game. And, when you got sick of playing soccer, Emilia busted out a makeup kit she had bought for you. And you, Makayla, Emilia, and Rosa did each other's makeup. While the four of you were doing makeup, a soccer tournament had broken out where Intelligence played Med, and then the winner of that game played Firehouse 51. Intelligence won against Med...mostly due to Jay. But, then they played 51 and they got creamed.

"Here you go, nena," Hailey said as she passed you the gift. Hailey had started calling you nena since Jay had a nickname for you, cariña, which you learned now meant sweetheart in English. So, she decided to call you nena, which meant honey. And, you and Hailey had thought it only fair if you came up with a nickname for Jay. So, the one you decided on was quite fitting in your mind: pecas...which translated to freckles. And, Will, well Will calls you Osa because your favorite animal is a bear. It's probably one of only three words he knows in Spanish next to hola and adios.

The gift was long and hard...like a piece of wood. You slowly opened the gift, wondering what else you could have possibly gotten.

You bit your lip as you finished tearing the paper off and flipped it over. "Mamí, Papí, Illiana," you whispered as you held back tears. "¿Cómo lo hicisteis?" you asked. Seeing as Jay and Hailey had been working very hard on their Spanish for the past nine months, they could understand you and could sometimes explain an English word to you in Spanish if needed.

"We didn't really need to test out the drawing thing," Jay answered. "We just needed a picture of Illiana. And, I got the pictures of your parents from the locket."

At this, you started to cry harder, remembering that day when Jay had to cut your necklace off of you in the back of the Med truck in Spain.

You stood up and hugged both Jay and Hailey at the same time. Now, you had both of your families watching over you: your biological family from in heaven and your parents in the here and now. And, your biological family now had no doubt in their mind up there that you would never, ever forget them.

"You remember what she called us that night?" Hailey asked.

"How could I forget? It was the first night she called us mom and dad. I still remember her exact words when I told her we weren't trying to replace her biological family: Son mi familia en el cielo y en mi corazon, pero vosotros sois mi familia aquí."

"They're my family in heaven and in my heart, but you are my family here."

"Exactly."

"Oh my God!" Hailey laughed. "She wrote sixth-grade: I cheated on a literature test and Mom had to come to pick me up and I got in trouble. And then, Dad went full-on dad-mode."

"No fucking way," Jay laughed as he brought the laptop closer to him and looked for the sixth-grade section. "I can't believe this is what she's going to write about!"

"Well, in her defense, it was the first time we had to ground her and the first time you went full-on, overprotective, my daughter can do no wrong dad-mode."

"Pretty sure the next time I'll do that is when she gets asked to the homecoming dance later this year."

"Jay! You will not! You will not scare the boys away from our daughter!"

"Well, they should be scared!" Jay argued. "We're both cops, babe. We can make their death look like an accident."

"Jay, what you're talking about is murder and I shouldn't have to remind you that that is illegal. If so, I am going to the Ivory Tower tomorrow to get you stripped of your sergeant title."

"Fine, fine. The next time I'll do that is when she gets her driver's license."

"Hey, on the bright side, we wouldn't have to pick her up from the principal's office then," Hailey pointed out. "She could just drive herself home."

"We wouldn't have to figure out which of us should go pick her up like last time?"

"Exactly. And I'm pretty sure she was thankful that it was you and not me who picked her up in sixth grade."

"Miss Halstead," your literature teacher said as she stalked over to you from the other side of the classroom. "Care to tell me what you have under your sleeve?"

"My arm?"

"I don't like being disrespected in my classroom. We both know you have your phone in there. And, lying to me will just make this worse."

"I-I needed it," you stammered, not wanting to have the whole class hear how stupid you were.

"For a test? You know the rules: no cheating. Principal's office, now. Grab your stuff. And, I'll be calling your parents as you walk down there."

You grabbed your backpack and started your walk to the principal's office. It's not like you had a choice...well, you did have a choice. You could've just not used your phone on the test. But, after that last grade you got on that essay and how weirdly worded the questions were, you basically had no choice but to use your phone. It's not like you were using it to look up the answers per se, but you were using it to try and understand the questions because there was no way you were going to ask that teacher.

"Mrs. Halstead, right this way," you heard the office secretary say as they led Hailey to the principal's office. Your phone was sitting on the principal's desk, the tab you had been using to cheat open and you were fiddling with the strings of your hoodie. You had thought about deleting your search history, but knew it wouldn't be of any use because Jay and Hailey would just be able to look it up with whatever police software crap that Intelligence had access to. You knew you'd be in more trouble if you deleted it and they found out that you were lying, so you decided you wouldn't delete it...even though you were regretting that decision as your phone screen stared back at you.

"May I ask why my daughter is in the principal's office when I thought she should be taking a test?" Jay and Hailey knew all about your literature test that day as you had read the book twice to be ready for it.

"That's exactly why she's in here, Mrs. Halstead," the principal told Hailey. "She was trying to cheat on her literature test."

"She wouldn't do that!" Hailey defended you. "She studied so hard!" She looked between both you and the principal, but your gaze stayed trained on the floor.

"Just take a look."

He passed Hailey your phone and she looked at the search history and the timestamps of said history. "Y/N, is this true?"

You nodded. Hailey sighed. "I'm assuming she's suspended?"

"Since this is her first academic infraction, I'm not going to suspend her. She does need to go home for the rest of the school day, though."

"Thank you. C'mon Y/N, let's go."

You hung your head as you left the middle school, Hailey holding your phone and still trying to figure out why you did this. But she knew that one thing was for sure: the minute Jay got home, he would not be happy.

***

"You're kidding me, right?" you heard Jay ask Hailey in the kitchen.

You were currently in your room, but the kitchen was right down the hall, so if you were quiet and focused enough, you could hear their conversation.

"I wish I was, Jay," Hailey said. "Just...here, take a look."

You assumed that Hailey was handing Jay the phone and he was looking at your search history.

Jay took a deep breath and restrained himself from shoving the chair into the kitchen table.

You heard his heavy footsteps coming down the hall and quickly locked your door and then sat back down on your bed.

You heard the doorknob jiggle as Jay tried to open your door.

"Y/N! ¡Abras la puerta inmediatamente!" (Open the door immediately!)

You were in deep shit if he was yelling at you in Spanish.

You didn't move from your bed.

"¡Ábrelo ahora!" (Open it now!)

"¡Estoy viniendo! ¡Calmáse!" (I'm coming! Calm yourself!) You got up from the bed and opened the door.

"Do not ever, ever tell me to calm down ever again! Do you understand me?" Jay asked angrily as he flung open your door after he had unlocked it. You nodded. "Now, I understand that you were caught cheating on a test. Care to explain that to me?"

"Not really," you sighed as you sat on your bed.

"I'm giving you one more chance to explain to me why you chose to cheat. And I suggest you tell me the truth, kid."

You looked up to be met with Hailey standing in the doorway. She nodded to you as if to say you better listen to your dad.

"Well?" he asked as he crossed his arms across his chest.

"I needed to cheat!"

"Nobody needs to cheat!"

"Well, I did!" You dug through your backpack and found the paper you had to write for the class that your teacher failed you on. "Because of this!" You threw the paper on your bed. "And because my teacher is a puta!"

"You do not call your teacher a bitch, young lady!" Jay yelled.

"Jay!" Hailey yelled. "Take the paper, go to our room and read it and calm down!"

"So Mom can tell you to calm down but I can't?"

Jay turned back to you, but Hailey grabbed his arm. "Bedroom Jay. Now." He left the room and Hailey turned to you. "As for you. You're grounded from your phone for the foreseeable future. Sorry, nena. Now, we'll be back to talk to you after we've read whatever it is you threw on your bed."

***

"We read the paper," Jay said as he and Hailey entered your room again fifteen minutes later. "And, I'm sorry for yelling. I know me and your mom are both detectives, but it'd look better if you told us why you cheated instead of leaving us to put the pieces together."

"I'm sorry, I really am. It's just, I failed that paper. And, I worked really hard on it. And, she said it wasn't a real tradition."

The paper topic was to write about a family tradition and you wrote about the Spanish tradition of eating grapes on New Year's Eve. With twelve seconds left of the year, you'd put a grape in your mouth for every second that passed. You'd try to get all twelve grapes in your mouth, but that was really hard. You wrote about the last time you did it with your family and your papí almost got all of them in your mouth while you only got three in your mouth since you were only three years old at the time.

One of the grading criteria for the paper was that it had to be a real tradition.

"She said that it wasn't a real tradition, Dad. She said that because she had never heard of it and that it sounded weird to her, that it wasn't real. So, she failed me. I also put some Spanish words in there, but I put the translations next to it. I thought it would make it more...what's the word? It's kind of like real? Like it'd make it more real to read? You know that word for it?"

"Authentic?" Hailey asked.

"Yeah, that. I thought it'd make it more authentic to read. And, I knew the material of the book. But, the questions were so confusing and I didn't want to ask her to clarify because she's mean."

"So you googled the questions to try to figure out what they were asking?" Hailey asked.

"Yes. I'm sorry. I really am. I just didn't want you to be disappointed in me and think that I've been here for four years and not know English."

"Oh, cariña." Jay crouched in front of you. "We'd never think that. I promise. And I know Mom would never think that either, right?"

"That's right," Hailey agreed.

"Now, I have to go make a phone call."

"You went off on that teacher, Jay! I don't think I've ever heard you that angry when you weren't in interrogation!" Hailey laughed.

"Well yeah! That teacher's logic and grading criteria were seriously flawed. And, you read that paper. It was really good. As Y/N put it that day, she really was a puta."

Hailey rolled her eyes.

"Wish for the future," Jay read aloud. "I wish that I could figure out why Los Rebeldes came to the orphanage and killed Illiana."

"I think that's enough snooping through her stuff for the day, babe," Hailey said, beginning to feel uncomfortable reading this. "Let's just go to bed."

"Yeah, I'm just gonna take a quick shower and I'll be back, okay? I love you." He gave Hailey a quick peck on the lips and made his way to the bathroom to take a shower.

"I love you, too."

But, Jay barely heard her. He was so lost in thought about how to get answers for you, for his daughter. Hell, he wanted those answers just as bad as you. What kind of sick bastard would come into an orphanage heavily armed and just kill innocent civilians and innocent children?

***

"Mouse," Jay said as he entered the bullpen the next morning, "I need your help with something."

"Jeez, Jay, you're late," Ruzek commented. "Where's Hailey?"

"It's her RDO. And, I promised Y/N a frappuccino because she had to wake up early for school and had to go to bed late last night because we were working a case."

"Does Hailey--"

"No, Adam. Hailey does not know that I gave our fourteen-year-old daughter sugar-laced coffee this morning. And, if you so much as say the words frappuccino, Jay, and Y/N in the same sentence, I will bump you back down to patrol so fast you won't know what hit you."

Jay started to walk towards the tech area where he assumed Mouse would be. His voice carried, so he hoped he'd heard him when he'd said he needed his help.

"Whose idea was it to give Jay all this power?" Adam asked rhetorically. "I think it's going to his head."

"I heard that Ruz!"

"You needed something, Jay?" Mouse asked as he turned around from his laptop and took a sip of his coffee.

"Yeah, can you do something off the books for me?"

"You don't even have to ask anymore, man."

"Just need to make sure you don't assign a case number to it."

"I can do that. Now, what do you need?"

Jay pulled out his phone and pulled up a Spanish newspaper article from two weeks ago. He laid the phone in front of Mouse. "This. This is why I need you."

Mouse looked at the phone and back up at Jay with raised eyebrows. "I'm gonna need you to translate that. I don't speak Spanish."

"Says that the guy who killed everyone in the orphanage that Y/N was in is meeting with his lawyer about an appeal. That son of a bitch. And, it's happening on Monday."

"He's meeting with his lawyer on Monday or you'll know if he won the appeal or not on Monday?" Mouse asked.

"He's meeting with his lawyer on Monday."

"And you need me because...?"

"Think you can hack into Spain's maximum-security federal prison system?"

"You cannot be serious."

"I am dead serious, Mouse."

"Why don't you just wait to hear the news?"

Jay sighed and took a seat next to Mouse. "Y/N has to write a paper and was using my laptop. It was this narrative thing for her senior project, so it's due in a few years. But, I'll spare you the details. Y/N had to write what one of her wishes for the future was and she wrote that she wants to know why the guy killed everyone in the orphanage. Not who, because we already know that it was Raúl Rodríguez. She wants to know why."

"That guy's the one who told them to attack the orphanage? The one that killed her sister, right?"

"That's the prick."

"Okay, I'll see what I can do. I'd know that if it was my sister or my kid that I'd want to know."

"Thanks, man."

"Video and audio?"

"Yeah. I'm probably gonna get Emilia in on this too to translate."

"Why? Don't you and Hailey speak Spanish?"

"We do, but they're gonna talk really fast and I probably don't know law lingo except for the word lawyer."

"Fair enough. I'll get to work."

***

"Hails, Hails," Jay shook Hailey awake.

"Jay? Why are you home so late?" she asked as she rolled over and opened her eyes. It was almost 11:30 and she had gone to bed half an hour ago...she thought Jay would've been home by 11:00.

"Paperwork," Jay answered honestly. He instantly regretted his decision of waking Hailey up knowing her history of insomnia. "But, I shouldn't have woke you up. I'm sorry, babe."

"No, I'm awake now. What's up?" She sat up in bed and turned on the lamp to see Jay changing out of his clothes and into his pajama pants and an old t-shirt. "You don't have to sleep with a shirt on you know."

Jay smirked. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? But, don't want our daughter to walk in on me shirtless."

"She's spending the night at Rosa's," Hailey informed him.

"In that case..." Jay trailed off and took off his t-shirt along with his pajama pants so that he was just in his boxers. "Better?"

"Much better."

Jay pulled back the covers on his side of the bed and slid in next to his wife. She cuddled into his side and he wrapped an arm around her.

"What'd you want to tell me?" she asked.

"How do you know I wanted to tell you something?"

"You had that look in your eye, Jay Halstead. Now, tell me."

"So persuasive." He rolled his eyes playfully.

"Shut up."

"You love it, though." He gave her a quick kiss on the lips. "You know how Y/N's biggest wish was to know why Raúl Rodríguez attacked the orphanage?"

"Mhmm," she mumbled.

"Well, I'm gonna find out why."

She pulled away from him. "What? How? You're going to Spain? To interrogate him? You know the CPD doesn't have jurisdiction there even though you were a ranger there, right?"

"Hails, I'm not going overseas to find him. I promise you that."

"Okay." She settled back into his embrace. "Then what are you doing?"

"Having Mouse see if he can hack into the prison system so that I can watch the lawyer talk to him."

"And you're going to be able to understand everything they're saying?"

"No, but Emilia will."

"You called her and told her your plan before you told me?"

"No! The only person who knows is Mouse. I figured I'd call Emilia tomorrow. Like I said, I was just at the district late doing paperwork."

"Okay, I believe you. And, we're not going to have her in the room with us, Y/N that is? We're going to tell her why he did this so she doesn't have to hear it from him?"

"Precisely. Now, am I right in assuming that since Y/N's gone for the night that we can be as loud as we want?"

"You are very much correct in that." Then, he gave her a kiss...and this time, he didn't phone it in at a peck.

***

You were sitting in the breakroom Monday afternoon trying to do some American history homework. There was so much reading involved, but it was okay because you liked history. And, there were pictures in the textbook...it wasn't like you were reading Romeo and Juliet like you had to do in English class.

You knew Emilia was here because she had brought you some fries, much to your mom and dad's dismay since your mom had packed you a few extra snacks. But, Emilia said she had to hold up her reputation as your cool aunt...even if she wasn't related to you whatsoever. And so far, she was holding it up.

You didn't know why she was here, but you assumed it was because Kim was in the field and they needed someone to translate audio. Sometimes Jay would call in Emilia if he knew that she wasn't working to do some translating so he didn't have to deal with calling up a patrolman. You also knew from hearing some of his conversations with Will that Will wanted to ask her out.

And, you hoped she say yes. You wanted Emilia to be your actual aunt. Apparently, she had a thing for doctors according to Jay's side of the phone conversations you'd heard, so you hoped it'd work out if your uncle Will ever got the balls to ask her out.

All of a sudden, Emilia came into Jay's office and he took off running. Hailey saw this and she started following them.

"What?" you asked yourself.

They always would tell you if they had to leave and they'd always be sure to tell you they loved you before they left.

You quietly walked out of the breakroom and towards where you had seen them running to. You assumed they were in the tech area because of the direction they ran in and the fact that whenever Emilia was here, she was most likely in the tech room.

As you got closer, you started hearing Spanish.

Someone talking about an attack...an attack on an orphanage.

A man said it was in the Tabernas Desert.

You peeked your head around the corner to see that on the screen there was a man in a nice suit and someone sitting at a table with handcuffs on.

"Anything we don't already know?" Hailey asked.

"Not that it sounds like right now," Emilia answered. "They're just talking about the orphanage Y/N and Illiana were in and where it was."

So this is the guy who did it. This was the guy--no, the monster--who led the attack that killed your sister.

"The lawyer just asked Rodríguez why he did it," Emilia said.

"And?" Jay asked

"Jay, I need to be able to hear them talk, so shut up."

Jay held his hands up in a sign of surrender.

"The lawyer just asked if it was something personal, something like Rodríguez being an orphan and he didn't have a good experience there so he attacked it, something that would tug at the board of appeals heartstrings essentially." There was a pause as Emilia continued listening. "He said no." She paused again. "Oh my God."

"What?" Jay asked frantically. "Why did that prick kill innocent children?"

"He said he ordered the attack because the orphanage was receiving aid from the US, for things such as food, clothing, and basic necessities."

"Un-fucking-believable." Jay wanted to punch something, but he restrained himself. "So, because our country was helping those who couldn't help themselves, this prick went after them?"

"That's what it sounds like. I'm sorry, Jay."

"Hails, how are we going to tell Y/N?"

"You guys don't have to tell me," you said as you made your presence known. "I heard the whole thing."

Jay sighed. "I'm sorry cariña, really I am. I'm sorry that this happened to you. That you had to find out this way. That this was the reason for what that monster did. I'm sorry."

"Dad read my outline?" you asked, turning to Hailey.

"Yeah, nena, he did. It was just open and you know him, he couldn't stop himself."

"Because he's a detective before he's a sergeant, just like Nancy Drew," you said, bringing it back to the books you'd used to read with your dad every night when you had just come over to the states from Spain and were working on your English.

"This should never have happened," Jay said softly as he walked over to you and brought you into a tight hug. "People that do these kinds of horrific acts shouldn't have the right to be born, much less to live."

"But if that wouldn't have happened you wouldn't have found me. And I wouldn't have found my forever Mom and Dad."

A/N: I wrote over 6.5k words to get this posted today! That's a new personal record for me! Also, my neuroscience class is kicking my butt right now, so if I don't update as frequently, that's why. Hopefully, I'll get one out every week or every two weeks at the latest. Please like/reblog and comment because I love getting feedback and it keeps me motivated to write. If you want to be added to the taglist, just tell me and I’ll add you! 

taglist: @theambracer88 @virtualreader @kelelas-life @celyndavies @brookerz122493 @musicismyescape27 @anotherfan07 @thexplosivegirl @dreamingwithlens @xoxmariaxox @onechicago18 @iamasimpingh0e 

[artzychic27]

Artist Family 1991 movie?

All is more sullen than usual for the Artists. It’s the third anniversary of Rose’s disappearance

Juleka: *Solemnly staring at Rose’s empty room* Think of it That. For years we’ve attempted to contact Rose in the Great Beyond. And for years… Nothing.

Ever since Rose’s disappearance, Juleka has been looking through her spell books for other ways to contact her, but just can seem to find anything

For Marinette, she tries to cope the only way she knows how… Through torture.

Alix: *Tied up: Screaming through her binds*

Marinette: *Aiming an arrow at Alix* Don’t be a baby. I know what I’m doing.

Marc is more unhappy than usual… And it gets Nathaniel in the mood.

Nathaniel: *Watching Marc sleep* Look at him. I would die for him. I would kill for him… Either way, what bliss. *Marc wakes up* Unhappy, darling?

Marc: Oh, yes. Yes, completely. Nathan... The sun. Me atraviesa como un puñal.

Nathaniel: Oh, monochrome. That's Spanish.

Marc: Si.

Nathaniel: *Grabs a bucket of black paint and splatters it all over the window*

Marc: Mi amor... Last night, you were unhinged. You were like some desperate howling demon. You frightened me… Do it again.

Also, their neighbor, a well-respected judge, hates them because Marinette can’t keep her flaming arrows on the Artists’ property. Why does this matter? You’ll soon see.

Nathaniel: *Playing chess with Juleka while Marc snips the buds off of roses* It’s a milestone, Marc. It’ll be our third séance. All those years, gnawed by guilt, undone by woe, burning with uncertainty.

Marc: Nathaniel, don’t torture yourself… That’s my job around here. But, imagine if Rose did return. Half alive, barley human, a rotting shell.

Juleka: *Sighs* That’d be a sight.

Unbeknownst to everyone (Except Félix), Juleka has a crush on Rose.

Later, the Artists’ lawyer, Cecil and his wife Bridgette arrive to ask for a loan. (Wow. Asking for a loan from teenagers? Yeesh.) Why? Because they owe a loan shark.

Bridgette: Why did I marry you?

Cecil: Because I said yes!

While Cecil tries to work out a deal with Nathaniel, Bridgette collects expensive looking items for a charity auction from Juleka, Marc, and Félix

Marc: *As Félix pulls body bags out of a closet* Uncle Niknak's winter wardrobe. Uncle Niknak's summer wardrobe… Uncle Niknak.

Nathaniel: ‘The Rose Artist Off-Shore Retirement Fund’?… A tribute to thee. Some called her inhumanly evil.

Cecil: No!

Nathaniel: Only her parents before she fled her home.

And they make a deal… But…

Nathaniel: It’s going to have to wait, you know the rules better than that. Old business is old business and new business is new business. And this is new business and we do not discuss new business until… The next quarter.

After an unsuccessful attempt at stabbing Nathaniel with one of the many swords in the house, Cecil gives up until Nathaniel mentions going to get money for the monthly expenses from the vault

Meanwhile, Marc shows Bridgette a golden finger trap from the court of Emperor Wu

Bridgette: *Trying to not pocket it and run off* Oh, Marc, this is too extravagant, even for the auction.

Juleka: Let’s keep it.

Marc: Juleka, it’s for charity. *Bridgette gets her fingers trapped* Widows and orphans. We need more of them… Bridgette, about the séance tonight, why don’t you come? It's Nathaniel I'm terribly worried about. He won't eat, he can't sleep, he keeps coughing up blood.

Bridgette: He coughs up blood?

Marc: Well, not like he used to...

Cecil returns to his office with a suitcase full of doubloons from the Artists’ account, no knowledge of how to get the vault open, and in his office is Ms. Craven, a loan shark and her familiar-looking daughter, Willow

After some intimidation from Willow, Cecil gets an idea of how to repay Ms. Craven the money he owes her when he sees how similar she looks to Rose

There’s thunder and lightning on the night of the séance. Perfect weather

Marc: Marinette, Alix, put down that antenna, and come inside.

With their plan in place, Cecil and Bridgette arrive

Bridgette: *Shows Marinette the finger trap still on her fingers* Could you help me? *Marinette removes it with ease*

Marinette: Push, do not pull.

Marc: *With everyone seated around the table for the séance* Harken all souls. Every year on this date, we offer a clarion call to Rose Artist… Alix, drop the cleaver.

Marinette: *Sees Alix aiming the cleaver at her* Stop it.

Marc: From generation to generation, our beacon to the beyond. All close eyes and join hands.

After a practical joke on Bridgette involving That, the séance continues.

Marinette: Let us ransom you from the power of the grave. Tonight, oh Death, let us be your plague.

Juleka: Rose Artist, ceoli couris, ferimani bo… She’s near. *Félix plays a dramatic sting on his organ* Rose! Gather your strength! And knock three times! *One knock… Two… Three*

Nathaniel: She’s at the door!

That quickly goes to unlock the front door. And there, much to the Artists’ disbelief and joy is Rose… Or so they think. And there with her is Ms. Craven, posing as a psychiatrist named Dr. Schloss

Ms. Craven makes up some story about how “Rose” was found in Miami, tangled up in a tuna net. There were psychological tests, and a bunch of crap.

Nathaniel: And now she’s back.

Rose: At least for a week. I’ve got things to do back at the Bermuda Triangle.

Marc: *Sighs* Oh, the Bermuda Triangle./ Nathaniel: The Devil’s Island./ Marc: The Black Hole of Calcutta

Nathaniel: Pardon me for a moment. *Kisses up and down Marc’s arm* Our fifth date.

Marinette: No one escapes the Bermuda Triangle. Not even for a vacation. Everyone knows that.

Any attempts Willow tries at getting a good night’s sleep, it doesn’t work because The floors are constantly creaking, Marinette and Alix keep staring at her from down the hall, and That keep sneaking up on her which causes her to scream.

Nathaniel: … My dear friend. I’ve got goosebumps./ Marc: I know./ Nathaniel: Screams in the night. It can only mean one thing./ Marc: She’s home.

The next morning, Marinette and Alix suspect something is up with “Rose”. Meanwhile, Nathaniel takes “Rose” to the vault

Alix: *As Marinette warms up the electric chair* Do you think that’s really Rose?

Marinette: Nathaniel and Juleka seem to think so. But I think Marc isn’t sure. Now let’s a play a game. Sit in the chair.

Alix: What game?

Marinette: ‘Want to meet God?’

And Nathaniel does take Rose down to the vault, via gondola in the catacombs of the Artist home, only this vault leads to a secret room… That also leads to the money vault when a certain vial of poison is lifted

During that time, while they’re down there, Nathaniel reveals to “Rose” that his jealousy over her catching the attention of conjoined twins Ali and Eli drove her off

~Meanwhile~ Alix: So, if that’s not Rose, then who is she?

Marinette: An imposter. Now give the chair a few more seconds to warm up./ Alix: Why?/ Marinette: So it Can kill you./ Alix: I knew that.

~Later at the charity auction ~

Auctioneer: *Presenting the finger trap on Bridgette’s fingers again* This piece is encrusted with rubies and 15 emerald chips. It was donated by Marc and Nathaniel Artist. Remember, over half our proceeds will benefit the elderly and the mentally disabled. The bidding starts at $5000.

Nathaniel: Five, hah! Not good enough. $25,000!

Auctioneer: I have twenty.

Nathaniel: Twenty-five! *To Marc* Meyn Ziskeyt?

Auctioneer: Twenty five.

Marc: Thirty. *To Nathaniel* My howling demon.

Nathaniel: *voice cracks* Thirty-five!

Marc: Fifty!

Auctioneer: I have $50,000.

Marc: Your turn, my ecstasy.

Auctioneer: Fifty thousand going once, fifty thousand going twice. Sold to Marc Artists for fifty thousand dollars. *looks disgusted as Marc and Nathaniel obscenely make out*

They bought it back as a gift for “Rose”, but… She doesn’t know how to take it off! The Artists are now starting believe that she really is an imposter

Marc attempts to break “Rose” and get her to confess by taking her to the Artists’ cemetery where he reminds her of the credo

Marc: "Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc." "We gladly feast on those who would subdue us." Not just pretty words… Rose. As an Artist, you understand completely.

“Rose”: … As an Artist, I do.

Seeing that everyone’s onto her, Willow calls Ms. Craven and has her pose as the psychiatrist to try and make the Artists none the wiser

Marc: Nathaniel, Juleka, why don’t you speak to Rose? She’s right outside the door.

Juleka: We would… If that were the real Rose.

Nathaniel: She’s an imposter! A charlatan! A sham! A counterfeit!

While wandering around the home, Rose sees Marinette and Alix sword fighting and practicing lines for something.

Ms. Craven successfully convinces the Artists that their reason for suspecting “Rose” is an imposter is due to displacement, and meanwhile, Rose helps Marinette and Alix out with their sword fighting scene for a play they’re in at school. A play she’s not allowed to attend but goes to anyway

Just a few minutes before the play, Mme. Bustier, asks Marc a question about Marinette.

Mme. Bustier: Now, the students did projects on their heroes. Alya Cesaire chose Lois Lane.

Marc: Have you spoken to her parents?

Mme. Bustier: And Marinette did her project on someone named Calpurnia Dupain.

Marc: Oh, her great aunt on her father’s side. She was burned as a witch in 1706. They say she danced naked in town square and enslaved a minister. *Unaware of Mme. Bustier’s horror.* Don’t worry, we told her university first.

And after so many horrible performances, comes the best one yet… Where Marinette and Alix splatter fake blood all over the audience.

Nino: … I suggested a evening in the park, but no. You wanted to see the performances.

Alya: *Spits out fake blood* Shut up.

Furious that her plans to get into the vault have failed since “Rose” decided to go to the play, Ms. Craven insists that “Rose” must leave again… But not before the Artists mark the occasion with a going away party where the entire Artist clan is invited.

Marc: *To Marinette who is dancing with Luka* Marinette, would you go check on Rose upstairs, please?

Marinette leaves (Not before kissing Luka) and overhears Willow and Ms. Craven going over their plan to break into the vault. She quickly runs to go get help.

Meanwhile, Cecil figures out a way to get rid of the Artists for good. And here’s where the judge comes in- He gets a restraining order agasint them so they can’t set foot on their property

After the party, the Artist family tries to find Marinette when they realize that she’s gone missing. But when they return with her, they find that they can’t get inside their own home. And when they attempt to appeal to the judge, he sends them away out of spite.

The Artists are now living in a motel. Nathaniel is in a state of depression knowing they’ve been betrayed, and Marc is just trying to keep Juleka, Marinette, and Alix from going crazy… Er.

Also, he gets a job as a kindergarten teacher’s assistant. Let’s see how that turns out.

Marc: And so the witch lured Hansel and Gretel into the candy house by promising them more sweets. And she told them to look in the oven. But, before she herself could push the children inside, Hansel pushed her, that poor defenseless elderly witch into the oven instead and burned her to a crisp as she writhed in agony… Now children. How do you think that feels? *The children cry* … Exactly.

That gets a job as a courier, and Marinette, Juleka, and Alix sell poison macarons.

Not able to stand the sight of his family in such a state, Marc returns to the Artists home to confront “Rose” only to be captured by Ms. Craven and Cecil. And unknown to Marc, That followed him.

Craven, Cecil, and Willow torture Marc so he can tell them how to access the vault means of torture, but he’s a total masochist and is loving every second of it

That returns to the motel and- through Morse code- tells the Artists that Marc’s been captured

Nathaniel: Mar... Marc... Marc? Marc is what? Slow down, That! It's terrible when you stutter!

*That starts tapping in Morse Code with a pen*

Nathaniel: Marc... in... danger... stop. Send... help... at once... STOP! *He runs out. That collapses*

Nathaniel arrives just before they can try and kill Marc, and engages in a sword fight with Cecil, which he gains the upper hand on, then loses when Ms. Craven has Marc at gun point. She forces him to show Willow the vault or she shoots Marc if they’re not back in an hour

Before Nathaniel can pull out the book that activates the secret door on the shelf, Willow pulls out a different book- A spellbook that projects It’s contents into reality and creates a storm. A bolt of lightning strikes Willow and launches Cecil and Craven out the window and into graves dug by Marinette, Alix, and Juleka

Alix: Are they dead?

Marinette: Does it matter?

Months later on Halloween, it’s revealed that Willow has been Rose all this time, and the story about the tuna net and the Bermuda Triangle were true. She just suffered from amnesia

Bridgette: *To Marinette* Dear, where’s your costume.

Marinette: This is my costume. I’m a homicidal maniac; they look just like everyone else.

While the others play a good game of ‘Wake The Dead’ Marc and Nathaniel stay behind because Marc has something to tell him.

Nathaniel: Monochrome, what is it?

Marc: I finally received a letter from my mothers, and… *Shows him an ultrasound photo* They said if it’s anything like me, they want us to have it.

Sequel

[layniapetrovnaaa]

“No boys”

 Request: @soytrash

Hey beautiful 🤍 how about a cute little moment between reader and Logan with Laura regarding a crush 🥺And Logan is just overprotective, but prior to Laura coming home from school and talking about a crush, Logan is trying to get some from reader 🥵 please and thank you hun let me know if that’s okay or not 🥰 (maybe with the baby from your family series too) sorry if it’s too much I love your writing 🥺🤍 

Warnings: Smut, swearing (if you squint).

A/n: Do you guys picture yourself when reading fanfiction? Cause I do and don’t haha. Typically when I read/write for Logan I picture myself as Scarlett Johansson in Match Point and The Island lol. I’d love to hear about you guys, so just let me know!

Reader is written as under 30 y/o, if you are older, just change the number :)

I hope this is good enough (I’m not really that confident in this one). Let me know if you have any constructive criticism. 

[The Howlett Family series] 

It was a particularly warm day in the Canadian Rockies, warm enough to open a few windows and have the cozy log house smelling of the fresh outdoor air. the window above the sink that you were currently standing at let a breeze into the house that tickled you just enough to have your body bear a small chill. 

As you rinsed one of the bowls you had used this morning to prepare breakfast, your hips swayed side to side in a fluid manor that matched the rhythm of the song that lightly boomed out of the speaker which sat by the fruit bowl on the counter. The reason behind the low volume was that Logan was currently trying to put your youngest daughter down for her daily afternoon nap. If the wails and grumbling coming from the baby monitor was any indication, it wasn't going very well.

You dried off your hands and picked up the monitor, holding down on the button that allowed your voice to come through on the other end.

“You need some help?”

“We’re fine. I just cant find her goddamn pacifier.”

“Did you check on the shelf by her changing table?” you spoke again.

Suddenly the crying stops and you smile knowing he found it.

He lets out a quiet “Thanks.”

You set the monitor back down and go back the the half a dozen dishes left in the sink.

“Kid’s quite the screamer hm?” you announce as Logan walks out from the hallway a few minutes later.

“Yeah she is, I think she got it from her mother.” he jokes walking around the island to be closer to you.

You let out a breathy gasp like-laugh.

“Oh really?” you say in an exaggerated tone, humor still consuming it.

“Mhm, and speaking  of screaming...” he places his hands on your waist and squeezes a bit.

“We can’t baby, Laura's gunna be home in like ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes is enough time. I can’t help it, you just look so sexy--”

Before he can finish you interrupt.

“Logan, you know damn well ten minutes isn't enough time.”

“I just need something [Y/N].” he says as his hands find your breasts and you let out a small moan, abandoning the dish towel and griping the counter.

He kisses your neck, sucking and nipping at the soft flesh, which brings forth light breathy moans from your mouth.

You turn your head to kiss him and you can feel yourself throb a bit when your lips meet. his hands dip into your top and pull your breast out of their confines, teasing your nipples with his fingers.

He continues to grope and kiss you as his dominant hand makes its way into your pants.

You moan loudly into his mouth as the pad of his middle finger circles your clit a few times.

His lips separate from yours so he can speak.

“Hmm, You like that?” he says in his breathy and gruff voice.

You can’t seem to make out any words, so instead you offer an almost whiny sounding “Mhm.” as his fingers inch lower.

You gasp, throwing your head back onto his shoulder, your right hand coming up to hold the back of his neck, as his middle and ring fingers enter your tight lubricated hole.His fingers curling in the classic “come hither” position, making you squeeze around his digits.

Even after all of the time you had spent with Logan, your body still didn't know how to handle the pleasure, that being evident in the way that your back arched and you sporadically bucked your hips back into his crotch with every jolt of pleasure that you felt.

Your moans were absolutely erotic as he seemed to push further into you, finding that spot that did in fact make you scream.

And the explicit squelching noises were making you even more desperate as he fucks you with his fingers.

As you let out another slew of loud moans, you feel his hand come up to cover your mouth.

“As much as I love hearing those pretty noises you make, baby, you gotta be quiet.”

Your eyes rolled back and fluttered shut at his his words and the vibrations from your moans bouncing against his cupped hand.

His thumb starts to circle your clit in the same rhythm that his fingers were moving in.

God, you were so done for.

He releases his hand from over your mouth before he asks:

“You gunna cum?”

“Mhmm” you let out in high pitched whine.

“Ouh! Don’t stop.” you pleaded as that marvelous feeling started to take over.

“That’s right baby, jus like that.” he speaks, egging you on until your mouth falls open and your eyes squeeze shut, your orgasmic euphoria taking over.

Eventually your body comes back down to earth.

“Look at that, you got three minutes to spare.” he coos in a triumphant tone.

Your breath is heavy and you whimper slightly when he pulls his fingers out of you.

You glance over to the built in clock in the stove before readjusting yourself and catching your breath.

Turning around, you plant your hands on the space where his shoulders and neck connect, and kiss him. Your tongues danced together sensually until you pulled away.

“I wish I could return the favor...” you hum and he kisses you again.

“You will later.” he says as the screeching of the school bus tires alerts you of Laura’s homecoming.

You look up at him and bite your lip, giving him a sensual smile as you nod.

You separate from him as you hear the front door open, going over to greet Laura.

“Hey honey, how was school?”

You could hear Logan in the kitchen, chuckling at your total change in demeanor. 

You turn slightly to roll your eyes at him, but the small amused smirk on your face gives you away.

You turn back to your daughter as she answers you while getting her homework and lunchbox out of her backpack.

“It was alright. We got to watch a movie in my english class, so that was  nice.”

You follow her to the kitchen where she sits at one of the bar stools at the dark wood island, slapping her purple folder and pencil onto the table.

You noticed something off with the young mutant, like she wasn’t telling you something.

When she looked up to see you and Logan analyzing her, she knew she would have to put on a better performance if she wanted to keep her secret. Fortunately for you, she wasn’t feeling up for a challenge today. And it’s not that she wanted to hide what her friends had told her was called a “crush”, but she knew how her parents would probably react.

“Laura, is there something you need to tell us?” Logan spoke.

“Sweetheart, you know you can tell us anything, right?” you squeeze her shoulder in a loving manor.  

She nods, taking in a breath before turning to you and muttering: No puedes decírselo a papá... (You can’t tell daddy...)

Hearing this concerned you. Laura and Logan had a pretty open relationship, despite their constant bickering.

Your eyes quickly flick over to Logan, who was watching you and Laura, his arms crossed while he leans against the kitchen counter.

“Que es Laura?”

Logan was accustom to yours and Laura’s more private conversations you had in spanish. He wasn't really a fan, only because when they would occur, he felt left out. But, he figured this must be important and waited patiently before asking you what she had just said about him.

“Hay un chico en mi clase que está enamorado de mí.” (There is this boy in my class who is in love with me). Her voice is quiet, but her tone sounds exasperated.

Logan's brows furrowed when he heard “un chico”. He didn't know much spanish, but he did know that un chico meant a boy, and he did not like the sound of that.

You snort, your hand quickly flying up to cover your mouth before you speak.

“Aww Laura!”

A shy grin spreads across her face.

“What did she say?” Logan speaks up

You bite your lip, trying to hold in your small bit of laughter. You look over at Laura and can tell that, although she is nervous for what her fathers reaction may be, it would be best to tell him about her dilemma.

“Laura has a not so secret admirer.”

“He wrote me a note.” she says, grabbing a crinkled white paper from her pocket.

You could tell by her humorous tone that she found the situation comical, and didn't seem to reciprocate the feelings.

Logan on the other hand had immediately gone into full protective father mode, snatching the note from her hand, and reading over it to make sure nothing obscene had been written/drawn on it.

After he is finished looking at it he crumples it up and puts it in the garbage.

“No boys until you are 30.”

“Logan don’t be ridiculous.” you say, walking over to fish the note out of the can.

“I am not being ridiculous.” he scoffs, incredulously.

“In fact, I think I’m being a bit lenient. 30 years old is a perfectly reasonable age to start being romantic with someone.” he says, and now it was your turn to scoff as you hand the paper to Laura.

She makes a disgusted face and holds the very corner with her pointer finger and thumb. You couldn't tell if it was because it had been in the trash, or because of it’s contents.

You turn back to face Logan and cross your arms.

“You do realize that we’ve had a baby together and I’m not yet 30, right?”

He retracts slightly, and grumbles:

“That’s different.”

“Uh-huh” you reply sarcastically.

“The feelings are not mutual by the way.” Laura finally speaks up. Deciding to clear the air before an argument started brewing.

“I don’t have a crush on him.”

“That’s my girl.” Logan says, and you chuckle.

“That conversation is not finished by the way.” you say while you walk over to the pantry to get Laura a snack, Logan grimaces, thinking of the conversation that would come later.

“Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you and Mama end up together?”

“Uhh, well...” he starts, glancing up at you, not sure if it was the right time to share.

Yours and Logan’s story was a bit controversial. The reason being that you were only 19 when you first “got together”, and Logan was your ex-teacher. And it wasn't exactly the most orthodox either. Instead of the typical flowers and a dinner date, it was more like neither of you could sleep one night, and one thing led to another, which led to you waking up in his arms in the morning. You had always had romantic feelings towards The Wolverine. Though they were never truly discussed, you both knew they were there, and you knew they were unbreakable. So, after that night, you two became exclusive.

“We met at Charles’ school, you know that.” you speak, setting the packet of crackers in front of the pre-teen, and walking over to grab an apple to cut up for her.

Laura sighs, knowing that she probably wouldn't get the answer she was looking for if you weren't willing to share it.

She rips open the wrapper, glaring at Logan when he steals a cracker from her.

“Well, how did you know you had a crush on each other?”

You chuckle lightly as the knife cuts into the ripe and scarlet colored fruit.

“We didn’t exactly have a crush on each other, Laura.” Logan starts, but a dry cough finishes the sentence.

You look up at him, asking if he was alright with your eyes.

He gives you a blunt nod as he lets out a deep breath.

You notice your daughters furrowed brow as she munches on the biscuit, and elaborate on Logan’s previous statement.

“Your father and I’s relationship is a bit complicated and unconventional, Laura. What he was saying was that we have and had a connection on a level so much more than a crush.”

She nods and pops another cracker in her mouth.

“But,” the crisp sound of the apple interrupts you slightly.

“usually when you have a crush on someone, you get the feelings of butterflies in your stomach whenever you see or think about that person. You smile when they smile, and laugh when they laugh. You want to be around them all the time, and you try to get their attention. You sometimes get nervous, and jealous of others that are close to them.”

You place the apple slices on a plate and slide it over to her, cleaning up the slight mess you had made and you glance over at her.

Laura sat starring at the plate as she thought of all of her symptoms you had just listed.

“Why were you asking?” Logan asks, his voice stern and suspicious.

She looks up, once again nervous.

You smile, getting an inkling as to where this is going.

“Well, there’s this-”

“No Laura. No boys, remember?” Logan interrupts, his custodial protectiveness resurfacing.

“It’s not a boy.” she mutters.

Logan blinks a few times, looking over to your grinning face.

“It’s a girl?” he asks, making sure that he wasn’t getting mixed up at all.

Laura looks up from the oxidizing apples a second time and nods.

“Well,” he leans back in his seat, breathing out.

“Tell me ‘bout her.”

She grins and you smile back, lovingly.

And then she doesn’t stop talking about the girl with the dark umber skin and curly caramel highlights until you have to remind her to eat her apple slices.