#once you get past that icy cold exterior and he actually lets you in of course

[cattamouche]

I think scara is a sloppy kisser...

he can be so, so impatient and even more emotional. all it takes is your addictive smile and a warm welcome-home-hug after a particularly long day of work and his feelings start to spill over so quick at the reminder that hes so fortunate to have somebody to come back home to. someone who loves and accepts him even with all his flaws, who has stuck with him through thick and thin. his person, who does so much for him every day, just because you love him. of all people, you love him. and he gets so emotional over the fact. he wants to feel all of you, grabbing at every inch of your body he can reach and holding on so tightly as if you're moments away from disappearing. he gets so overwhelmed he forgets he's the only one who doesn't need to breathe, and you're left pushing his face away despite his attempts at chasing your lips just to catch your breath because my god is he relentless. now you're suddenly pressed against the wall, forehead to forehead and panting in your living room, his silent apology at the realization that he once again got too carried away is to just stare. admire the way your eyebrows crease and your eyes are half lidded, mesmerized by the way he singlehandedly got your chest to rise up and down at such a fast pace he almost begins to mimic it. but all he does is watch, impatiently so, waiting for you to catch your breath and give him the greenlight to keep going.

[no1frogfan]

In the wee small hours of the morning

Tsukishima Kei x gn reader

Word count: ~1k

Tags & warnings: fluff, a little angst but it's just soft pining Tsukki

Note: Idk it’s cold in the mornings now and that makes me think about him too much. Trying out a new header situation too, I guess?

“Tsukki?”

A confused rasp stills him as he’s pacing through the living room, down the hall, and back up again. Outlined by the flickering tv screen, he sees a nest of hair poke up over the back of the couch.

“Y’ok?”

The gravelly timbre of your exhaustion weighs down each syllable, the edges of each word melding into one another over the tinny sound of some cooking show rerun.

After weeks together, the two of you have finally grown accustomed to sharing space. The living room is evidence of that — his half-built lego set, your cups (yes, multiple cups) of water, his clean jerseys, both your books, they all lay strewn across its surfaces. Kei’s finally stopped cloistering himself in his room, and you, you’ve moved past the pretense, no longer tip-toeing around him or bothering to look “presentable” around the house (not that he ever cared).

Actually, he likes you better like this — mussed hair, ratty house clothes, unguarded, at ease. It’s a secret little sliver of you that nobody else gets to see and he wants to hold it tight against his chest.

Instead of answering you, Tsukishima rubs his bleary eyes.

He’s been drifting through the apartment a lot these days, mostly in the early hours. Restless. Cold.

His toes are freezing and the tips of his fingers are icy as he curls them into his palms. You keep the apartment too chilly for him, but he never touches the thermostat. Not when you always look so inviting, all cozy and bundled in an oversized blanket. Yes, inviting. Even now, when you’re clearly pissed that you’re still awake, and so worn out that your face is crumpled into a tight grimace.

Three days ago, he admitted to himself that he’s hurtled past the line of friendship with you.

If he’s honest, he passed it a long time ago, and living with you has only forced him to come to terms with that fact. He’s sprinted far beyond a passing crush, barreling straight into whatever this is. Whatever it is that has you swimming across the inside of his eyelids whenever he closes his eyes. Whatever it is that compels him to pace the length of your apartment at night, slowing his steps when he nears your door, lifting his hand to the doorknob before hastening away, only to spin around the next minute and do it all over again.

It’s not cowardice. It’s not. It’s just…

Tsukishima stares at your huddled form. There’s a hint of impatience in the tilt of your chin, but mostly, you look concerned. Beneath your joking barbs and prickly exterior, you’ve always been concerned about him. That’s why he’s even here, trying not to inconvenience you further while his landlord fixes the leak in his apartment. It was supposed to take a few days, then a week, but now it’s been almost a month with no news, and he thinks he should just find a new place to live. But even when he’s snippy and seething about the whole thing, you’ve been gentle with him, letting him stay in your office-slash-guest room without paying a cent of rent (though he’s tried to insist on it many times), and bringing home treats to share after work (“They were having a sale!”).

It wouldn’t be right to force his feelings on you when you’ve been nothing but generous.

(What he can’t admit is that he doesn’t want this to end, for you to shut the door on whatever this is, once and for all.)

Plus, he’s seen you with Tadashi and Yachi and even Kyoutani, and you’re like that with all your friends. It’s not like you’re sweet on him. You’re just sweet. But he’s not sure how much longer he can stand to be stuck in limbo, unable to tell you and unable to not tell you.

The heat finally kicks on and Kei’s reminded that he’s cold. Freezing, actually, and haggard from lack of sleep. But he also puts on a bit of a show, rubbing his arms and shivering theatrically (why, he’s not sure).

“You’re cold,” you state dumbly, after staring at him for too long. “Do you want…?”

There’s less hesitation in your voice than he expects as you sit up a little to lift the corner of the blanket.

Maybe exhaustion was the final push he needed. He rushes over — before you change your mind (before he changes his) — and slips under the blanket.

Stiffening, you utter a bewildered noise.

Ah, shit.

Shit. Maybe not. Did he- You were offering the blanket to him, not telling him to get in with you. Obviously. Obviously. Fuck. Should he double down? Should he back off? Should he-

You stir again, and the weight of your head drops heavy onto his shoulder. (Is this…?) Tsukishima hardly dares to breathe as you pull him close and cradle your hands against his chest. He’s lightheaded, giddy as he tucks in the edges of the blanket, making sure to completely cover you both. He’s careful with his ice-cold hands, too, avoiding your bare skin as he wraps his arms around you.

Your exhales fan hot against the crook of his neck, and slowly, slowly, they deepen.

Eventually, drowsiness overcomes him too. After the frantic pattering of his heart has subsided, and after the bright red flush on his cheeks has faded. After the feathery wisps of dawn unfurl from behind the curtains, he cracks his heavy eyelids open one last time to look down at you, nestled tightly against him. Your face is slack, your lips gently parted, chest rising and falling in time with his.

Kei knows that tomorrow, when you’ve both had a good night’s sleep, you’ll have to talk about this.

He tightens his hold.

Tomorrow, whatever this is, you’ll cross that bridge together.

[multifandomfix]

Jack Frost Fluff Alphabet

A = Aroma (What do they smell like?)

He smells like vanilla and peppermint.

B = Babe (What would they use as pet names? Do they use them a lot?)

He’s a sucker for pet names and will use them often. He’ll have a whole host of holiday/winter themed ones on hand, but he’s a fan of the classics as well.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

You have to (quite literally) warm him up to the idea of cuddling, but once you do, boy does he love it!

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? What would they think about living together?)

Settling down definitely isn’t the first thing on his mind, but you could get him to come around to the idea in time.

E = Emotion (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He mostly shows his affection through flirty jokes and some lighthearted teasing.

F = Flirt (How do they flirt? Are they smooth or awkward?)

He can be a pretty smooth flirt if he really puts in the effort to be.

G = Gifts (Are they a gift giver? What kind of gifts do they give?)

He isn’t big on gifts because he never seems to know what to get you, but on the rare occasion he does decide to get you something you know it always comes from the heart.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He’s really not all that fond of hugs. He doesn’t mind them as much coming from you, but it’s not his favorite form of affection.

I = I Love You (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It’ll take him a while. He’ll have to get past those walls he’s built up to let you in, but when he does say it, he’ll say it with his whole heart.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Oh he can get insanely jealous. It melts that icy exterior of his and boils his blood to see you laughing or flirting with someone else.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you?)

His kisses are usually very spontaneous and can get a little heated. He’s also a big fan of kissing the insides of your wrists.

L = Little ones (How are they around children? Would they want some of their own?)

He’s not the best with children, though they do seem to like him. He’d never really considered having his own, but if you’re looking to start a family with him, he could really start to picture it.

M = Meet (How did they meet you?)

He met you at the beginning of winter when you rushed out to see the first snowfall and he was so charmed by your adoration of the season that he couldn’t help but introduce himself.

N = Nurture (Are they good at taking care of you if you’re hurt/sick?)

Frankly, no. He’s not great at it. He usually winds up making things worse. It’s not as if he doesn’t want to help you though.

O = Out (What’s a typical date night with them like?)

He loves giving you the whole winter experience. Things like taking you to see the northern lights, snowball fights, ice skating, etc.

P = Propose (When do you/they propose? How does the proposal go?)

He proposes on Christmas. Claims that you saying yes would make the holiday less awful for him. It’s actually quite the romantic proposal, despite him trying to make light of it.

Q = Quirk (What small habit/feature/quirk do they have that you find especially endearing?)

The way he always seems to be warm, despite basically being coldness personified.

R = Routine (What does a typical day together look like? Routines, schedules, habits?)

With Jack there is no routine. He likes to whisk you off with him in the middle of the day, or surprise you with breakfast in the morning. Routine bores him.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you?)

He can be pretty protective. Overprotective perhaps. You often have to remind him that you know how to handle yourself.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, etc?)

He puts in a pretty decent amount of effort for anything he’s serious about doing, but if it’s something he doesn’t want to do, that effort will be greatly reduced, unless you provide him some incentive.

U = Unique (What’s something they’d only do for you?)

Deal with Santa. It’s his least favorite thing to have to do, but if you asked him for a favor and he had to go to Santa to do it, then he would.

V = Vulnerable (How long does it take them to feel comfortable being vulnerable around you?)

A good while. He’s not so easy to get to open up, but once you’ve made that first crack, it can all come spilling out of him.

W = Wardrobe (What would they wear to impress you?)

His usual suit is pretty impressive already. It’s sleek and sexy, but you like seeing him in anything blue. It just makes him look so good.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Jack is a terrible cook, but he does make excellent homemade ice cream.

Y = You (What are some things they would like in a partner?)

He’d like someone who would defend and support him. He can sometimes feel insecure, and to have an advocate would make him feel so loved.

Z = Zzz (What are their sleep habits?)

Jack is a light sleeper. He’ll be the first awake at the slightest of sounds. He’s also a sleep cuddler.

For 🧪 Anon

Jack Frost: @phantomofclownery, @creativegenius22

[rae-gar-targaryen]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read part one here.

---

It doesn't snow in Santo Padre.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That had gone famously. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I care, Frida.”

“... and if I wanted you back?”

“Please, querida.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he fucking serious? 

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

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

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

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

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

You weren’t about to cave so easily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. And you were doing so well. 

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel was silent for a moment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are something, Frida.” 

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded toward Angel’s arm once more.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How could something about you not be beautiful?"

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had outdone herself. You felt gorgeous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If he only knew. 

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

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

And he saw you, too.

Oh fuck. 

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

He fucking wouldn’t. 

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

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

Fuck, you were hot when you were mad.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he … drunk? 

Fuck this. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel flinched. 

“I deserve that,” he said. 

Strike two. Too little, too late. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strike. Fucking. Three. 

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

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

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

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

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

Ice cold. 

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus fuck!” Angel yelped. 

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

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

Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head. 

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

Well, shit. 

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

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

Not much got past Johnny “Coco” Cruz.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel ignored his question. 

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

“No hug for me, jaina?” 

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

You recovered quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coco snorted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who says I want anything,” EZ asked?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel sighed before he spoke again, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know that,” Angel snapped. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

Huh. Unexpected  Should you open it? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. 

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

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

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

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

There. Short, sweet, and to the point.

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

"Gracias, Frida."

"Don't thank me yet."

You put your phone down flat on the counter. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If Angel noticed, he hadn't said anything.

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

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

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

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

You shrugged. "Suit yourself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You decided to take conversational mercy on him, 

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I really ain’t,” he said. “And you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At Angel’s puzzled look, you carried on,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what a question it was. 

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

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

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

"Ever the poet, Frida."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 But this moment? This was about you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What were you doing? Taking comfort in something that you couldn’t, in good conscience, call your own?

The rumpled shirt seemed to be mocking you, taunting you. Reminding you that, once again, you were seeking clinging to something you shouldn't. Seeking solace in things -- people -- that you shouldn't. 

Apart from Christopher's warm, sly, sensational goodnight kiss the other day, Angel's was the first touch you'd experienced like this since, well, Angel… How easy it was to slip back into your feelings for him, get caught up in him.

I'd give it all just to hold you close, sorry that I broke your heart... You shouldn’t be doing this. 

“Angel,” you prised his lips from your body. “St-stop.” 

Angel’s eyes were wild, hair mussed and lips swollen.

“What, querida?” 

“Angel,” you sighed again, sliding your shirt down and coming to sit up. “We can’t be doing this.”

Angel slouched next to you with a huff, trailing his fingers down your arm.

“Why not?”

You sighed. After all this time, the feeling of Angel so close to you was everything you thought you wanted. But everything that had been said? The water beneath your respective bridges? Angel was still awash, had not come to rest on any bank. And you were still waiting on the shore -- now certain that all you would mold from the riverbank clay were memories and half-baked dreams. 

“We’re not together,” you breathed, leaning over the bed to pick up your sweats and tug them back on. “And that’s not what this is. We're too old for platitudes, and happy endings are for children's stories. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, you know this is wrong.”

“Querida -- I want…" Angel started, before turning away, leaning over his thighs and tugging his hands through his hair… his distress with how he had let himself get so out of control with you was mounting. He sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“What? Angel,” you touched your hand to his still-bare shoulder. “What do you want?”

"A second chance…?" Angel's normally smooth voice trailed at the end, transforming his desire into a question, fading into the silence of the room. He shifted his shoulders, turning his body to once more face yours, but not quite meeting your eyes. 

You let his words hang in silence for a moment, weighing how you wanted to respond.

“Say something, Frida.” 

"I knew you'd say that," you chuckled drily. "I know you, you're like this. But second chances become third, fourth, fifth. I can't trust you. What did you expect me to say?"

Angel opened his mouth to answer before catching sight of the expression on your face, twisted into proverbial knots. Even now, you were being far more gracious than he had any right to expect. He closed his mouth again, sighing.

"I don't know, dulce."

"I do,” you shook your head. “You expected me to say 'yes,' " you reached across the bed to one more lace your fingers through his. "I know you. But what does it say about me that I want to? It would be so like me, wouldn't it?"

You squeezed Angel's fingers tenderly in your grip, awarding him a flickering, wan smile. 

Angel's voice cracked when he spoke again, "Then say yes, Frida. Let me prove it to you. Prove that we’re meant to be together."

"And would you? Would you take me back if I did that to you? If I had someone else's child? While we were together?" 

Angel was silent at that, not having considered the reversal of roles. In truth, though you knew him, he knew you, too. It would be so wildly out of character, how would he have been expected to consider it?

"You think you might, because you love me. But, see, Angelito, I don't think you would. So how can you sit there and say we're two people who are meant to be when we don't even love each other the same? Love doesn't come in pieces, amor. You held my heart in your hands. And you crushed it. Let it crumble into nothing, like sand. Like I meant nothing."

“But this--” Angel gestured between the two of you, eyes lingering on the skin of your neck where his mouth had been, tracing his fingers over your kiss-swollen lips. 

“--Can’t happen.” Tears were rising to your eyes again. 

Goddamnit. Couldn’t you get through one conversation with him without crying?

“Maybe we are meant to be. And maybe we'll find our way back to one another. But right now? I -- I don't think I can. But more importantly, I don't think we should. And please hear me when I tell you how much it breaks my heart to say that."

Your heart was burning, but your skin was ice. Dream, they call desire. And he could hear the heartbreak in your voice. Always stupidly genuine.

Angel was stock-still, and as you took in his prone form, eyes tracing to his face -- you saw a lone tear slip down his cheek, shaking his head. 

"I miss you, you know?" He chuckled, no humor in his soft, velvet voice. 

"I know."

You were in a fugue state, the rumble of Angel’s bike retreating down the street barely registering as you were processing as you retreated to your bed, the room and your sheets noticeably cooler in Angel’s absence. The room feeling too large without him in it.

As you settled into bed, you noticed it -- Angel’s old shirt, still on your chair. 

You hadn’t thought to return it.

---

The following week found you back in the shop, preparing for your mid-afternoon appointment. You had wiped down the table, changed the wrapping, and were now idly jotting as you waited. Thoughts on one person in particular. 

The bell above the shop door dinged, causing you to look up from the poem you were penning on the lime-green sticky you kept a stack of near your work station. 

Your one o'clock was right on time.

And you were greeted with the sight of Angel striding in with two cups of caffeine, offering one two you as he rested his ringed hand on the counter.

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

Since Angel had departed your place in the middle of the night a week ago, the words between the two of you having had time to simmer and settle, allowing you to process the weight of it all. 

For his part, Angel had given you space. Hadn’t said anything past texting you to tell you he had made it home safely. 

 In the days that had followed, you had cautiously cracked the ice between the two of you, hoping to assuage any awkwardness and rebuild some kind of friendly connection removed from the physical. It was probably better that way. Messaging him idly to ask about his day. Not that you had shared with Angel, but you were also texting Christopher. 

Angel had called the shop, asking if you were available to help him with something he’d wanted to do. Something special, he’d said.

“Something for Ezekiel,” Angel told you. “He’s been through alot lately, with Gaby and the club and everything … been through alot with me lately. Now feels like the right time”

You had, of course, readily agreed. Eager and honored to help Angel with a tribute to his brother. The texts between the two of you changed to exchanges of ideas, you sending him screenshots of your sketches before the two of you had decided on a design that fit. 

You accepted the cup of coffee from Angel gratefully and with a gentle smile, beckoning him behind the counter. Coffee truly was a love language. 

“You can sit in the chair and lean forward, or you can lie on the table. Both are clean. Dealer’s choice,” you said between sips. 

Angel nodded, slugging the last of his coffee and placing the cup down before slipping his shirt over his torso, baring his back to you as he sat in the chair, leaning forward and twisting his abdomen to bare his shoulder blade to you. 

The tawny patch of skin on his shoulder, above the large Mayans tribute that covered the expanse of his back, seemed like the perfect place for something for EZ, the angel (ha ha) on his shoulder and guiding influence in one another’s lives. 

You cleaned and bic’d the area, stenciling your design into the space and getting your kit ready to begin.

Angel watched what he could of you from the corner of his eye, a resonant ache blooming through his chest at the familiarity of this scene. Of you, all business, touching his skin, preparing to impart a piece of yourself that he would wear on his body for the rest of his days. 

You queued up your playlist, the sounds of motown flowing through the shop as you hummed along idly. 

In this moment, Angel knew … he was still in love with you. Likely always would be. You had been far too gracious with him, as you always were -- in the way you had treated him the other night. No mention of your “almost” encounter, for which he was grateful. And he knew he was correct in his assessment of you when you had first started dating -- it was in your nature.

“You mind?” Angel broke the comfortable silence between the two of you, gesturing at the journal-like sketchbook you had left near your station. 

You shook your head in acquiescence, “No. But it’s kind of a mess in there lately,” you acknowledged. “Shit poet, and all.” 

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” Angel barked a laugh. “I didn’t insult your poetry, Frida, you did.” 

“Ever the self-deprecating, starving artist,” you sighed dramatically. 

Angel took that as his cue, flipping through the pages of your book. One page felt particularly heavy beneath his fingers. He flipped to it, to be met with dried, pressed flowers that had been delicately glued to the pages, the page covered in a plastic slipsheet -- the dried, dusky pink of peony petals were affixed to the page next to a swath of a white, lacy-looking bloom. 

Around the flowers were sketches of hands that looked suspiciously like Angel’s own, down to the tattoos, and idle lines of poetry. 

Angel furrowed his brows as he glanced at the flowers again.

“You got those flowers for me,” you acknowledged, looking over his shoulder to see the page of your book he had settled on. “One of our first dates, when we went to the park. I’m not sure if you remember.”

Angel’s throat caught in a way that both annoyed and unsettled him. How were you always doing this to him?

“Recuerdo, Frida,” he breathed. “Lo recuerdo todo.” 

You patted his arm gently, resuming your work. 

“I like pressing flowers. It takes a while, but the end result is worth it.” 

You pinched your brows in concentration as you drew along the stenciled lines you’d previously etched into Angel’s shoulder blade, gun buzzing. You began to fill in the minimalist rising sun that was now filling the shoulder blade, stippling the interior as you went, the effect giving the sun an almost stucco-like finish that looked breathtaking against Angel’s golden skin. 

Angel allowed you to continue you work in silence, the weight of the past few days with you settling into his bones. He had pleaded with you, endeared himself to you so much that he had lost his voice. His bones filling with the words he wished he could verbalize. 

He was slowly arriving at that place of acceptance -- Santo Padre was a small town. He would see you. And it appeared that you could now stomach his presence, but he wouldn’t push his luck. Seeing you alone. Hell, even seeing you with someone else, was better than not seeing you at all. 

But once thing was clear -- you were someone who would always be in his life, his memories, his heart.

Angel was lost in his thoughts; you were focused on your work. The only thing that gave any indication as to the passage of time in the room where you two found yourselves was the evolution of your playlist passing through tracks.

Isn’t that how it always was with Angel? Time stood still. 

As you finished his tattoo, you snapped a quick pic for your work Insta -- and maybe, selfishly, for yourself, to admire, too. It’s true, what you had felt all those months ago, and again a week ago -- Angel Reyes was your muse. 

Made to be admired in perpetuity. 

You cleaned and wrapped it, pushing back wordlessly from your seat and making your way to the front as Angel gingerly tugged his shirt back over his head. Quoting the rate over your shoulder, you put Angel's aftercare bag together. But not before slipping the lime sticky in.

“Is that it?” Angel asked, arriving at the front counter, kutte once again in place..

“C’mon, Angelito, you know you get the friends-and-family rate,” you shrugged.

"And is that what we are, querida? Friends?” Angel's voice had none of the bravado it held when he had first spoken these words to you the day you'd met. Now it was cotton soft and carefully tinged with hope. He leaned over the counter.

You shrugged again.

"I guess we'll see, won't we?" You tilted the corner of your lips in a gentle, wan half-smile. 

"One day with you, and already friends again?” Angel breezed. You shrugged lightly in response, as he continued, “Or maybe the day after that? A man can hope, Frida."

“You know what they say, Angelito,” your voice was soft, but he’d recognize the teasing lilt anywhere. He’d heard it so often at the breaking dawn of your relationship. Kindness, with a hint of subtle flirtation. It was just how you were. “Hope springs eternal.”

Angel nodded, tossing a few bills on the counter and gently rapping his ringed-knuckles against the counter, a he was wont to do. He smiled gently at you, all glimmering white teeth and high cheeks. 

As Angel walked away, head down and focused on his phone now as he headed out the door and toward his bike, you watched him leave. Your elbow on the counter and head propped in your hand. 

You wondered when Angel would discover the sticky, recalling the words you had written on it. 

my stark moments of clarity between hazy and woebegone memory (thanks to spilled red wine) -- are still marked by the firm hand of your bruising ardor.

Your phone buzzed, breaking you from your reverie as you looked down at the name flashing on the screen, an easy grin blooming across your features.

“Well, hey,” you greeted. Unable to keep the happy chirp from your voice at hearing from him again so soon.

“Hey, mama,” he greeted in that smooth, throaty rasp of his you adored. “You busy later?”   

---

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

[motherjoel]

last cup of coffee (spencer reid x reader)

summary: you and spencer are the famous frenemies of the BAU, but one day he goes too far in a fight and the team decides to force you both into the same car to make up. little did you know, the check engine light isn’t just a suggestion.

a/n: this is on my ao3 but i wanted to post it on here too! let me know what you think :)

wc: 2.6k

tw: brief mention of suicide

-

“Triple A says it’ll be a few hours before they’ll get here,” Spencer sighed, shutting off his phone and shoving it in his pocket. The car engine had stopped working about 10 minutes ago and you cursed yourself for your terrible navigation skills. It may have been your fault that you had no idea where you were, but you'd never admit to it- like many other things you’d never admit to. Your extreme sense of pride led you to blame Spencer for not doing anything about the check engine light. It was this same sense of pride that hid your real feelings for this man- feelings you would never admit to even yourself. Instead, you shielded yourself from these emotions in the form of daily bickering matches with Mr. Genius.

The two of you had ended up in the same car on the way back to the hotel, which was insisted on by the team. You could feel the tension in the air- the tension that had been there since you stormed out of the break room earlier. You both normally never went for blood in these arguments- nothing behind either of your words were to be taken seriously, even the team knew this. Everyone knew that you and Spencer had a bit of a love hate relationship- today, however, was focused on hate. Ever since he went a little too far during one of your bickering matches, you had been icy with him. The team couldn’t take the tension, so they figured a long car ride would solve the issue, except, what was meant to be only an hour of awkward silence was now an indefinite amount of time.

“Well that's just great,” you huffed, going to check your phone to see that it was dead. You dropped it into your lap with a sigh and leaned your head on the window to gaze outside. The cold glass felt nice on your forehead- a contrast to the flushed hotness you had been feeling whenever your mind drifted to your fight with Spencer. The pent up anxiety from this case had really weighed on you- the unsub was killing teen girls and was framing the deaths to look like a suicides. This struck a chord with you, but you tried your hardest to not let it show. You thought back to your argument earlier, where your icy exterior had faltered slightly.

Most of the team was in the break room of the police station you were working the case at, fueling up on the coffee you all so desperately needed. You were the last one to fill your cup, or so you assumed, so you decided to fill your mug to the top with what was left in the coffee pot. Spencer was the last to walk in, and when he saw you holding the empty pot he immediately started in on you.

“Wow, I'm not surprised Y/N took the last of the coffee. Predictable,” he said with a huff, slamming his travel mug on the counter. You winced at the noise, your stress headache was back and you didn’t feel like dealing with his temper.

“You know what Reid? Maybe if you weren’t shitting around with that pretty receptionist over there, you would’ve gotten here on time. Not my fault men think with their dicks,” you said the last sentence under your breath, but he definitely heard it from his flustered reaction.

“I was asking her to bring me some files!” he yelled, seemingly defending himself to the room of your teammates who had stopped in their tracks to watch their daily entertainment. “You know what, Y/N, you’re just insufferable,” he said, turning to the coffee machine to fill it up. Your eyes widened, but you tried your best to mask your expression or to come with a response- when both failed, you stormed out of the room and went to the bathroom to ground yourself, not hearing Morgan whack him on the back of the head once you were out of sight.

-

You had both been silent for about 20 minutes when you decided to look back at him for the first time. He was shifting in his seat, trying to get comfortable for a nap. You couldn’t stand to sit here in silence for what could possibly be hours, so you tried to break the ice.

“Tired?” you asked him. Simple, but enough to get the two of you talking. Or so you thought.

“Yeah, someone took the last cup of coffee,” he said sarcastically, not daring eye contact.

Groaning, you opened the car door, stepped out and slammed it, deciding to walk down the street you had stopped on until you reached the dead end. It had begun to snow as you walked, and you cursed yourself for forgetting your jacket. At this point, it didn’t matter- the icy coldness of the outdoors was better than the coldness coming from Spencer's attitude.

 After walking for a few minutes, you had come across a cliff with a view overlooking the city below. The sight was enough to make you forget about your dead phone and the genius, who had, unbeknownst to you, quietly followed you to this spot. You spotted a green wooden bench overlooking the city and took a seat. It wasn’t long before your tears began to flow. They were wet hot tears of embarrassment, of anger, and of sadness. For years working in the BAU, you had tried to keep up your barrier, being the badass in the black boots (Garica’s loving nickname for you). Your past weighed on you, however, and you kept everyone at an arm's length. All of these people you so desperately wanted to be closer to, and one person in particular who uncharacteristically gave you butterflies. Letting these people in, however, meant vulnerability. Getting close to someone just meant that losing them would inflict great pain on you, and you didn’t think you could survive any more loss in your life.

After crying for a few minutes and wiping your tears on your sleeves, you felt a sweater being draped around your shoulders. The sweater smelled like him. He made his way around the bench and sat next to you. You hastily wiped the last of your tears and scooted to the edge of the bench to stay as far away from Spencer as possible.

“So, why'd you follow me? I thought I was ‘insufferable’” you quoted him from earlier, the sentiment that struck a chord. You hugged the sweater tighter to your body, ignoring that it belonged to him because the chill of the night catching up with you.

“Listen, Y/N, I'm sorry about that. You know how I get when I'm having difficulty with a case, and it's not like we have a great track record with each other,” he defended himself, and he was right. Neither of you really expressed outward kindness for each other, but you never knew why. “But… I didn’t think today was any different,” he finally looked up at you. 

“You’re right, Reid. Today isn’t any different,” you sighed, avoiding actually telling him what was wrong- although your splotchy red post-cry face was telling enough. He flinched at your use of Reid- although you two were “frenemies,” you always called him Spencer, sometimes even Spence. The team teased you for it but you shrugged it off- “Spence” was just easier to say, or so you told yourself.

“Then… why did you storm off?” he asked softly, looking back down at his hands on his lap, fidgeting with them slightly. You avoided his gaze, knowing that you were about to tell him something that only Garcia knows- she did a bit of research on you because she wanted to know why you were so cold, and when she found out that your parents had died at a young age, she was nothing but kind to you. She also kept everything to herself, which you were grateful for.

“When I was in high school, I was in a really bad place,” you started, fighting back the tears. Spencer scooted closer to you, urging you to continue. “I wasn't very well liked. When I was 15, my parents both died in a car crash and I transferred schools to live with my aunt,” you confessed. Spencer's expression saddened greatly, and he rested his hand on your arm as a form of comfort. You gave him a look that said “oh, and that's not even the half of my trauma” before you continued.

“At this new school, I was bullied a lot. Like, a lot a lot. People told me I was a waste of space, I was… insufferable,” you said, ignoring his pitying expression. “I started to believe these things. Spence… I tried to take my own life,” you said, finally breaking down in tears. Before you could continue, he wrapped his arms around you and you buried your face in his chest, letting your messy tears stain his shirt without thinking twice. His hands stroked your back, soothing you. You had melted into him, finally feeling vulnerable for the first time in years. For some reason, you were no longer embarrassed of your vulnerable side. You bore your heart and soul to this man and were greeted with nothing but kindness. Pulling away for a moment, you continued telling your story.

“I’m doing a lot better now,” you said, wiping your tears with your sleeve as he maintained eye contact, showing his full support. “I don’t have those thoughts anymore, and if I do I know to get help. It’s just difficult to get close to people because I'm afraid… that if I lose them, I’ll be right back where I was when I was 18,” you finished, realizing his hands were grabbing yours.

“Y/N, I am so sorry. This case probably affected you differently and I was such an ass earlier, god I'm terrible,” he criticized himself, putting his head in his hands. You reached over and took his hands in yours again, resting your entwined fingers between you. This was the most physical contact you had ever had with him, but for some reason it felt more right than anything- you never knew what you were missing until now.

“Spence, there's no way that you would have known,” you soothed, looking into his eyes and rubbing his hand with your thumb. He looked down at your hands and sighed, before returning his gaze to you, but there was something different about his expression. Rather than his usual contempt, or even the pity from a few minutes ago, he now looked almost amazed. Like you were some celebrity or a superhero who had just saved the world. Before you even knew what you were doing, you started to lean in, Spencer mirroring you. Soon enough, you were inches away from his fluttering lashes, you could feel his breath on your lips. You pulled away suddenly, apologizing profusely for your out of character actions.

“Oh my god Spence, I'm so sorry, I think I'm just emotional right now, and you're being so nice to me, I didn’t mean to make things weird,” you avoided eye contact, face flushed with embarrassment.

“Y/N, it's okay! I leaned in too…” he blushed. You looked back up at him to see his eyes were already on you. Simultaneously, you both leaned in and crushed your lips together, his arms snaking around your waist and yours resting on the sides of his face. Your lips moved in perfect harmony with passion as you leaned your back against the bench armrest, him leaning forward to keep your lips connected. There was a hunger between you two- like these years of bickering and sexual tension (that apparently everyone but you two had noticed) had built up so much, it finally spilled and manifested itself as a makeout session with your once enemy.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like this, entwined with each other, before you both came up for air. He pulled away from you, still leaning over you but his face was now a couple inches away, and smiled. You both sat up and started to laugh uncontrollably. It was ridiculous, really- the two of you having an intense makeout sesh only seconds after you bore your soul to him. But he was Spencer, and you were you. 

“That was…” you started.

“Amazing,” Spencer finished for you. You both sat in silence for a minute, his hand touching his lips, before you scooted closer to him and rested your head on his shoulder, curling your legs under you. He wrapped his arm around you and your hands met, resting between the two of your warm bodies.

 “What are you thinking about?” he asks you. You sigh in contentment, the cold air biting your nose in the right way.

“I'm thinking that this is one of those moments that are so... perfect. It’s just so wonderful, you almost feel sad because... nothing will ever be this good again,” you confessed. He took his arm back from around your shoulder and faced you, looking in your eyes.

“If you’ll be my girlfriend, I can promise you that we can have endless moments like this,” he told you, taking you by surprise. You looked at him, smiling widely as his face broke into insecurity.

“Your… girlfriend?” you asked, still in shock. He started to fidget a bit in his seat.

“Obviously, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do, I know this is really sudden but I don't know… I'm sorry, I know we're supposed to hate each other or whatever, but I’ve just… I’ve liked you for a while now,” he blurted. You laughed at his shyness, it was really adorable to see him flustered like this around you.

 “Spencer, I really like you. I’ve liked you ever since you spilled your coffee on me on my first day,” you recalled fondly, he smiled. “I even liked you when you tried to clean it up but accidentally felt up my boob,” you laughed at that memory, he blushed profusely. “I think these little arguments that we get into were just fueled by my ‘keep everyone at arm's length’ rule- it was you that I was afraid to get close to, because Spencer Reid, you are dangerous. You have the capability of shattering my heart into pieces because I just like you so damn much,” you confessed to him, his face was in awe. You studied his expression, lips parted slightly, eyebrows raised. His eyes held pools of adoration, and rather than be scared and shy away from it, you finally wanted to dive in and soak in it. His expression softened as he leaned in, tilting your head up by putting his hand on your chin.

“Y/N,” he whispered. “I swear to never shatter your heart into pieces if it's the last thing I do,” he said softly before closing his eyes and pressing his lips to yours. This kiss held less intensity, but more soft passion and caring. You felt safe in his embrace, safe for the first time in years, and you knew this is where you were meant to be.

[seriouslysnape]

Could you write Sev taking the woman he’s been in love with for months on a first date in London, and he goes all out for it? Like he even went out and bought muggle clothes to blend in and he’s planned out the whole night. He’s of course nervous af but at the end of the night, he finally kisses her.

Also, your writing is so fucking good! Can’t wait for more!

THANK YOU. This is an amazing prompt. I had so much fun with this one! 

Here ya go! :) (Below the cut!)

A New Beginning

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Severus Snape x Fem. Reader

Warnings: None.

A/N: Quick self promo - for all my Wattpad readers, I have a Severus Snape x Reader story that is currently in the works! Please note, it has been a long time since I’ve written a continuous story so my skills are a little rusty. The first 11 chapters are up now and I update frequently. The title is “The Assistant” and my Wattpad username is @ hufflehotch (great username, I know). If you’re interested, feel free to give it a read! I encourage comments (on any of my works) because I always like to hear feedback!

Word Count: 2,000

“Not at all...but you look too much like a wizard,”

__

Severus Snape: firm, collected, cold, stoic, urgent. These are just a few words that would come to mind when describing the half-blood prince. He kept his guard up at all times. He infrequently allowed others to get too close to him. He kept his heart, his mind, and his feelings protected by having a hard exterior that no one could crack. He never wanted to feel the pain of a heartbreak again. He didn’t think he’d ever find love again.

That was before he met you.

The moment he laid his eyes on you, he knew he was in trouble. He knew the unmistakable skip in his chest all too well when his gaze found yours. He denied it at first. He didn’t dare get near you or engage in conversation for fear of falling for you. However, he found himself constantly in your presence and constantly trying to get away. He didn’t want to hurt your feelings in any way, for you hadn’t done anything wrong. You were so kind to him in the interactions you did have that he felt guilty for pushing you away. Eventually, he gave in. Once he did finally give in, he slowly felt the icy, cold block around his heart begin to melt away.

He began to change quickly. Suddenly, he looked forward to waking up every morning to have a conversation with you over a cup of coffee or tea. He was less stern in all of his Potions classes and actually offered his more pleasant teaching abilities (which had caused a bit of a puzzled stir amongst his students). He found himself enjoying his life again. He wasn’t just existing anymore.

The longer he was around you and the more he got to know you, the more difficult it became to ignore his feelings. He had undeniably fallen in love with you and he couldn’t wait any longer.

He was relieved when you happily agreed to go on a date with him. As exciting as it was, a new sense of nervousness began to creep over him. It had been a long, long time since he had been on a date (if he had even ever been on what was considered a real date). What would you two do? What should he wear? Should he bring flowers? He had a million things he had to work out, and he wanted to make it perfect.

He didn’t want to miss this chance.

He was so desperate to make it perfect that he even invested in some outside help. It wasn’t a super well known fact, but Professor Remus Lupin was a pure romantic. He knew all the ins and outs of how to have a nice date, so he was more than willing to give his colleague some tips. Keep it simple, but sweet.

The day came around and Severus felt like he was walking on pins and needles all day. He could barely get through his Friday classes because he was so overwhelmed with nerves and anticipation.

He had decided on taking you to London. The beautiful Muggle city with endless shops and restaurants to entertain even the most high maintenance of people. Usually, he wouldn’t be too keen on blending with the Muggle world, but you were a dazzling woman who deserved an even more stunning place for a date.

He had to prepare in advance for this. He had to purchase clothes that wouldn’t totally give away that he was an expertly trained wizard. He felt strange being in such foreign clothes, but (even though he’d never admit it) it was nice to wear something other than his black robes.

The white collared shirt was finely fitted over his frame, along with the tan pants and shoes to accompany it. He looked handsome and more put together than he had been in a while. He had even taken the time to keep his long hair from being completely out of control. He had taken a few more moments to ease his nerves. His hands were shaking profusely. He did NOT want to mess this up.

He managed to settle himself enough to where he wasn’t completely frazzled. He took a deep breath and went on his way to pick you up. He was confident. He had this under control.

That was, until he saw you.

All the butterflies in his belly and the rosy heat in his cheeks all came crashing back over him when he saw you clad in a Muggle style sweater and jeans. You looked so perfect that he wasn’t sure you were real.

“Severus,” You greeted with a friendly smile; “I have to say, I never thought I’d see the day where you were dressed in something other than your robes.”

Severus suddenly felt self conscious. Had he gone a little overboard with his attire?

“Is it...too much?” He asked as casually as possible.

Your smile faded into a reassuring expression. It was your turn to get butterflies now that you were really looking at him. You carefully reached for the collar of his shirt. He had buttoned it all the way to the top, just below his neck. You unbuttoned the first few buttons and adjusted his collar.

“Not at all...but you look too much like a wizard,” You explained; “Muggles usually are much more laid back.” You noted.

The tips of Severus’ ears went beet red at the feel of your fingertips just barely brushing against the skin of his neck. He was grateful that his hair kept them hidden. You were so close that he could smell your perfume. It was heavenly and accented you well. He racked his brain of something to say.

“You look terrific.” He complimented.

A certain glow dusted your cheeks. You smiled sheepishly at his words and thanked him. After a few more attire adjustments, you were well on your way into London with the help of a little magic. Severus had forgotten just how amazing London really was. He had a bit of a soft spot for the city.

He had the entire evening planned out in his head. He figured dinner would be first. There was a quaint, yet elegant place that he knew about and had been to a few times before. After that, he thought that St. James Park would be a nice place to wind down for the evening. St. James was likely one of London’s most famous parks, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be super crowded.

The two of you strolled side by side through the streets of London, casually conversing about the things they usually did. Potions, professional Quidditch, Hogwarts in general. At one point, your hand brushed against his as you drew nearer to your first destination. Before he could comprehend it, your hand had entwined in his. He slightly squeezed your hand in surprise, to which you squeezed back lightly with a grin.

Dinner was wonderful. Severus was so antsy and jittery that he could barely sit still longer than a few minutes. His leg bounced nervously under the table and his fingers drummed on the white tablecloth. You kept catching him staring longingly at you. He just couldn’t believe that he had finally caught this moment with you.

“Severus, it’s just me,” You said sweetly, hiding a knowing smirk from behind the rim of your wine glass; “We’ve had dinner together plenty of times.”

That seemed to settle him once more. His tense shoulders suddenly released and he let out an uptight breath. You were right. He didn’t need to try to outdo himself.

“I know. You’re just so beautiful,” He spoke softly, feeling confident again; “[Y/N], I lov-”

His sudden confession was cut off when the waiter approached with your respective meals. Severus thanked his lucky stars for that. He knew now wasn’t the right time yet. A busy restaurant with a bunch of people around wasn’t how he wanted it to go. He wanted to wait for the right moment. He just hoped he’d know it when he saw it.

After dinner, you led him back into the streets of London, still hand in hand. It was well past nightfall by now, the city lights had created a bubble of illumination over the immediate area. You were all over the idea of going to the park before it closed, considering it was your favorite place in the city. It turned out that Severus’ suspicions were correct. The park was shockingly empty for a Friday night. The two of you walked on the dimly lit walkways, soaking up every second.

Maybe it was his sudden serenity and content aura, but the two of you suddenly fell into a conversation that was something other than work related. He didn’t know it yet, but the walls that he had spent so much of his energy on building were quickly tumbling down. He was sharing details of his life that he never thought he’d bring to light again. You weren’t surprised to hear that his childhood had been less than gratifying.

“You didn’t like Hogwarts?” You questioned after hearing that he had a bad experience with the school.

“Well, I was skilled when it came to my classes. I enjoyed learning about the wizarding world, but I was the runt of the litter I suppose. I wasn’t well liked.”He told you, who was on edge with interest; “I didn’t have a single friend. That was until...”

He let himself trail off. He refused to finish the thought.

No. For once, this wasn’t about Lily. He wasn’t mourning over something that was never reality. He wasn’t going to let his life be dictated by one wish that never came true for him. When the time was right, he’d tell you about Lily. You deserved to know when that day came. But it wasn’t about her anymore.

It was about you.

Before you could urge him to finish his sentence, he had stopped your walk just over a small bridge. He held your hands in front of him, his thumbs stroking your supple skin on the back of your hand. His nerves had completely fizzled away now. He knew he was right where he was supposed to be. Right now, this moment was the only thing that mattered in the world.

Your tender eyes looked into his. He had a sight deep within his dark eyes that you couldn’t identify. Had he always looked at you this way? It was such an extensive adoration that it made you weak in the knees. The moon was full in the black, inky sky that was sprinkled with twinkling stars. The moon was cascading a crisp, dull light over the both of you.

This was almost too flawless.

“[Y/N], I’m having a difficult time finding the right words to say.” He admitted, his voice thick with depth.

You took a half step to press yourself against him, allowing this to happen the way it needed to.

“Then show me.” You breathed, bracing for what was inevitably about to happen.

That’s when he kissed you. It was a passionate, temperate kiss that was just borderline needy. It sent waves of emotion over both of you that was too complex to understand. The rest of Severus’ walls were crumbled now. He was vulnerable and open again. It was a huge pressure off of him.

You pulled away from each other just slightly, your lips just hardly touching. You didn’t want to stop touching him. Your hands traveled and rested on his shoulders, his hands on your waist.

“I love you.” He finally declared.

It was like the floodgates had opened. The contents of his heart were spilling all within himself. He could love again.

“Oh, Severus...I love you.” You returned.

Instantly, you kissed again. His new refreshing outlook was very clear in his demeanor. It was the perfect way to end the perfect night.

It was a perfect new beginning.

[weirdlittlecorner]

Lin Kuei Hospitality: Cyrax

Notes: nsfw, 18+, comfort

Plot: A little slower, a little more sensual. Because Cyrax is a great character and deserves more attention and love

h/t = hair texture

Tags: @lilliannmac @onesillybeach @icy-spicy

—

The five men stood patiently as they awaited your decision. There was no doubt that any of them would show you a good time, which only made it harder to choose. You pursed your lips as you considered your options. Eventually, your attention shifted to the man in yellow. His dark skin and beautiful hair made him stand out as the most handsome of the men. But funnily enough, it wasn’t just his looks that drew your eyes to him. His demeanor was much different than the others. While he was standing at attention, as disciplined as the rest, there was a small crack in his stone exterior. As if he were in pain, though there was obviously nothing hurting him. That you could see, anyway.

It was almost as if he couldn’t stand being in the others’ vicinity. You wondered what could have happened to warrant such a reaction. This was the first time that you had ever seen any of the warriors up close, so you had nothing to go off of. It was most likely just some petty drama that was common amongst roommates- if they could even be considered as such. It would make the most sense. You, too, had your friends that you loved dearly, but you couldn’t imagine actually living with them every day. Either way, it wasn’t your place to pry.

The Grandmaster cleared his throat impatiently, motioning toward the line of men once more. Clearly wanting you to hasten and pick one so the rest could return to their business. Offering the dark-skinned man a warm smile, you nodded, “Come on, let’s get out of here,”

—

“Thank you for my new buzzsaw. I was able to try it out today; your work is very impressive,” The man, Cyrax, whispered as the two of you made your way through the long corridor to get back to your room. You smiled at the compliment, though that nagging confusion didn’t allow you to fully enjoy his words. His new buzzsaw. The one that had been amongst the new additions to the Grandmaster’s standard request.

What exactly did a clan like the Lin Kuei need all this new technology for? Again, it really wasn’t your business what your clients did with your products. But you couldn’t help but wonder... Whatever was going on, you just hoped that it was at least somewhat ethical.

__

The impending ‘improvements’ were a sensitive subject amongst the warriors. Cyrax had taken the most offense to the idea, as any normal person would, yet his fellow assassins thought that he was the crazy one. No, what was crazy was forcing one to give up their free will in exchange for the efficiency of automation. But he didn’t dare challenge the Grandmaster. Doing so would result in the most severe punishment; as if becoming a fusion of flesh and metal wasn’t already punishment enough.

“Hey, I noticed that you kind of… seem at odds with the others. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I just thought I’d ask if you wanted to talk about it,” You broke the silence, sinking down onto the bed and patting the space next to you. He claimed the empty space, sitting close enough so that your knees touched.

By the way his brows knitted together, you half-expected him to tell you. But he merely shook his head after a moment, “I am not at liberty to speak on the matter. But thank you for your concern,” His voice was even and had that same cold quality that was the standard, but you could tell that there was great sadness behind his words.

Instinctively, you opened your arms out to him, willing him to position himself in between them. You weren’t really sure what you had expected to happen, but soon enough, Cyrax was locked in your warm embrace. You gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, basking in the silent comfort of each other’s embrace. But soon you felt his shoulders stiffen, along with a kiss being pressed to the base of your neck.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” While you had been excited for tonight’s proposed activities, now was obviously not a great time. You wouldn’t ask him to perform for you just because it was what the Grandmaster had ordered. He needed, deserved, a break. And while you would certainly enjoy the contact, you refused to degrade the man. But he clearly didn’t think the same way. Not when his face was still buried in the crook of your neck.

“I understand that. This is something I want to do,” His words made you shiver as renewed excitement tore through your abdomen. Well, in that case…

A rough hand quickly found its way into your h/t, h/c locks, effectively undoing the delicate hairstyle. A pleasured shiver wracked your body as he used your hair to bring you closer to him as you two shared your first kiss of the night. You hummed as the tip of your tongue darted out to drag itself across his bottom lip, granting you an elicit moan in return.

Without breaking the intense oral lock, Cyrax’ hands freed themselves from the mess of hair in favor of untying the knots in your overshirt. You moved your dominant hand to assist him in the process while your other hand remained cupping his face. Shrugging to remove the fabric from your shoulders, you reluctantly pulled away to unclasp your bra. Seeing that you had things under control, Cyrax removed himself to focus on shedding his own clothing. But not before giving a hard, playful tug on the hems of your pants, effectively pooling them around your ankles.

A giggle slipped past your parted lips as you bent down, yanking your pants, along with your panties, off the rest of the way and kicking off your boots. You repositioned yourself so that your knees pressed against the soft sheets as you returned the favor to your partner. Eager fingertips clawed at the form-fitting armor, as if that would make it disappear faster. Cyrax hummed in amusement at your eagerness before unbuttoning the clasps and untying the knots for you. Impatience turned into wonder as your hands brushed over his chest. His abs. His shoulders. All of which were hard bands of muscle, but also soft in a way. Even his body reflected the gentle demeanor that had separated him from the others. The two of you were content to sit just like this, fingers exploring each other’s bodies.

You embraced each other, much like how you had done previously. Though this time, the intention was very different. The warmth radiating off of the two of you was almost unbearable, but you ignored it as you took to kissing each one of his prominent muscles. He sighed softly, enjoying your impromptu muscle worship. This continued until the pooling heat in your respective pelvises won out and you just had to go further. Cyrax shifted so that his legs boxed in your hips. Pressing himself against you once more, he brought his lips down to your manubrium to plant soft kisses in the crevice of your breasts. Meanwhile, his right hand was making quick work of his pants and boxers, his hard length pressing against your inner thigh. Which, if you might add, was already slick with your dripping arousal.

There was obviously no need to pregame, as you were both more than ready. You didn’t think that you could tolerate more teasing, anyway. Impatient once again, you wrapped your hand around the head of his penis to guide him in. The man groaned as your walls began compressing his cock immediately. With a few more pushes, he was completely in, reveling in the feeling of being consumed by your flesh.

Sighing, your arms found their way around his broad shoulders as he began thrusting into your tight core. The sounds of your mutual pleasure were only slightly louder than the creaking sounds the bedposts made as they scratched the wall behind them. Your e/c eyes closed in bliss as you enjoyed the rocking sensation of intercourse. His lips found yours once more as his speed increased and his hands made their way to your s/c legs. In a fluid motion, your ankles were craned toward the headboard as he pushed himself deeper. The sensation of your cervix being stroked caused you to scream, and you were glad that no one could hear you. You hoped not, anyway. What were once your gentle fingertips rubbing your lover’s back turned into talons that began clawing at the tingling flesh.

If it had hurt, he didn’t complain. But despite your muddled concerns, the feeling of you scratching his back only enhanced the warrior’s experience. He grunted each time your hips met, feeling his climax approaching. And you were right there with him, your smaller body trembling as the familiar knot twisted in your stomach. It kept building, and building until the knot finally uncoiled itself with a burst of wet heat. It felt as if the sun had just imploded inside of you and that you should be a pile of ash. But you were whole, despite the thick dick that was still stretching your pussy relentlessly.

Your screaming had grown impossibly louder as the warrior continued to batter your walls in anticipation of his own orgasm. What seemed like endless abuse to your cervix abruptly ended when you felt a spray of liquid spattering against the muscle. Your lover grunted, his brown eyes screwed shut and his bottom lip bleeding from his teeth cutting through the skin, as he hosed your insides with his warm semen.

Despite having finished, Cyrax made no move to pull out. Rather, he chose to rest over top of you, his cock warm inside your trembling hole. You allowed it.

There were no words. Maybe when you could think clearly again, you would be able to find your voice. It might be a little hoarse, to accompany the ache that would surely be present when you tried to walk in the morning, but that sounded like just that: a morning problem.

[imaginesga1ore]

Loves Harsh Reality

Summary: Life is a bitch.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x Reader, Avengers x Reader (all platonic)

Warnings: swearing, mention of past/current abuse

Prompt: “You want what everyone wants. You want a love that consumes you. You want passion, and adventure, and maybe even a little danger.”

Word Count: 1780

Do not copy, translate, or post any of my stories anywhere you write stories, whether that’s here, Wattpad, or Ao3.

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

Life never treated you well. Not even when you were just an innocent child, trying to navigate your way in this terrible world. You were forced into a cold and unloving organization that was run by people who don’t really give a shit that you were only 2 when they stole you. They never treated you like a human, more like a laboratory experiment, which kind of went haywire. When you were brought in, the sleaze running this entire operation stripped you of everything you had so far, which was only a name you had just barely begun to learn, and they assigned you a number, much like a court case; experiment 973. And that’s what you went by for the next 23 years of your life.

The day you were rescued from that deranged and psychotic place was...hectic to say the least. It began like any other day while you were their little pet; get woken up at the ass crack of you don’t know when, test out your powers until you physically passed out and then get ungracefully woken again only to be forced to use your powers. This continues for hours on end before these assholes make you go fight actual people in hopes that you aren’t lacking in physical strength. You fight until bodies start piling up and when your sadistic handlers are satisfied with your progress, as if you haven’t they haven’t been training you to take down monsters bigger than Goliath himself. But something wasn’t right and you could feel it in the enclosed space of your cell.

While you normally had a rough awakening by someone poking, prodding, and eventually yanking you out of bed, nobody was there. In fact, there wasn’t even a peep from the cells neighboring yours. That was until you heard multiple gunshots and multiple bodies slumping against the floor. See, the thing about HYDRA is that they’ve trained you for this exact moment but every single ounce of training they’ve ingrained in your body and mind left the building completely as you hunkered down against the wall furthest from the thick, metal door barricading you from the outside world.

Suddenly, the door you were just measly standing behind came crashing down, dust from the unwashed floor rising. After the dust settled, you looked up to see the poster boy of HYDRA himself, the Winter Soldier. “Steve, I’ve got a live one here. Female, looks to be in her mid-20s,” he whispered into his ear piece. He slowly moved closer, putting his weapon away as he noticed your frail body shaking from fear. “У тебя все нормально? Я ведь не бил тебя дверью?*” Shaking your head, the soldier stopped in front of you, kneeling next to you. “Меня зовут Баки. Что у тебя?” Shrugging your shoulders, you made an attempt to look over at him. “That’s ok. How long have you been here?”

“двадцать три года*,” you said, a bit of hesitation in your voice, finding it hard to speak after decades of being punished if you spoke out of turn. As you finished speaking, you heard another voice, one which you assumed belonged to this Steve person.

“Хорошо. Стив дал мне добро, чтобы мы могли убираться отсюда,” Bucky said, standing back up on his feet. But you weren’t too sure about this. Along with your training, your handlers had pushed on you the notion that the Avengers, and anyone associated with them, were out to harm you, always, and that’s why you needed to be able to defend yourself.

“Ты ведь не сделаешь мне больно, верно? О-или убить меня,” you asked, clear hesitation towards the soldier who was about to grant you freedom from this hellhole.

Bucky looked at you with sympathy drawn over his features. Shaking his head, he gently grabbed your hands, a shiver traveling up your spine at the coolness from the vibranium arm. “Конечно, нет. Я вытащу тебя отсюда.”

-TIME SKIP-

It had been a few months since the Avengers had rescued you from HYDRA and you were beyond grateful that Bucky had stumbled upon you that day. But the fear that HYDRA had instilled in you about being near the Avengers was still running rampant in your system. Whenever someone knocked on your door, or came up behind you, your fight or flight instincts kicked in like that of an animal in the wild. You thought it’d be better by now, considering you have been going to therapy since coming to the compound. But today, all your frustrations came to a head.

You probably should’ve been in bed considering it was 4 in the morning but you needed to burn off some steam. What you failed to realize was that a certain super soldier was sitting in one of the boxes above the training center, watching your every move. But, him being a super soldier meant that he could pick up on more than you realized. Bucky had noticed that blood dripping onto the floor, which came from your terribly wrapped hands.

He knew you were on edge, but not like you were when he first got you out. By the time that you realized Bucky was in your presence, it was a bit too late. You felt a hand on your shoulder; two seconds later you had the body attached to the arm on the floor, your other arm extending towards their throat, keeping them pinned to the floor.

Once the haze cleared, you could tell who it was that you had down on the ground. “Buck? Oh my god.” Quickly pushing yourself off of him, you started pacing the gym floor. “Fucking shit. I am so sorry Bucky. I-I didn’t mean to do it. Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” You kept rambling and pacing until Bucky stopped you, stepping in front of you to stop you from wearing a hole in the floor.

“I am fine, кукла. Are you ok? Your hands are bleeding.” Looking down, you saw the streaks of red coming out from under the tape on your hands. “Let’s go get you fixed up, ok?” Nodding, you followed Bucky out of the gym and towards the medical center. “So, what’s got you going at 4 in the morning anyway?”

“I couldn’t sleep. No matter what I tried. I even tried that tea Wanda suggested. By the way, don’t drink it. It tastes like dirt.” Bucky chuckled as you sat on a gurney, grabbing supplies from the cabinets. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t we wait for, you know, a doctor, or an actual medical professional to come in and do this,” you immediately questioned him.

“Do you seriously doubt my suturing skills? I did serve in World War II, so I’m pretty confident that I know my way around a needle and thread,” he said, carefully unraveling the useless tape from around your knuckles, taking a look at the damage. “Yeah, this’ll probably take a little bit, but don’t you worry, Dr. Barnes is always here to help.” Bucky smiled at you, calming your nerves the tiniest bit.

After prepping and numbing you properly, Bucky began stitching your open wounds shut. “So, do you wanna talk about why you couldn’t fall asleep? Talking might help, at least it usually does for me,” Bucky asked, not taking his eyes off his work in progress.

“I, uh, I keep having nightmares. They went away for a bit, when I could actually sleep for the night, but for some reason, they’ve come back,” you admitted quietly, almost like it was a dirty little secret.

“Well, you’ve only been here a few months so I wouldn’t expect your nightmares to just instantly go away. It took me a few years to actually get a good night's sleep with them waking me or anybody else up. So I know exactly how you feel,” he said, finishing up before wrapping your hands in sterile dressings. “And you are all set. Now, no excessive force, which includes going to the gym at 4 in the morning and working out like you are about to fight the Hulk.” You laughed lightly, shoulders loosening up.

“Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, you just stitched up my hands cause I got too into my own brain after I almost choked you when you could’ve just dropped me here and gone back to bed.” Tears filled your eyes once more, a thickening feeling surrounding your concerns.

Bucky sighed, gingerly sitting next to you on the gurney. “When I found you at the base, I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy ride for you. Or for anyone here really. Adding another member to the team can sometimes jostle things around. And I knew for a fact that you would feel like an outcast amongst some of the biggest heroes the world has ever seen...so far,” he said as you laid your head against his arm, wiping away the tears that had made their way down your face. “And I thought maybe, just maybe, if we became friends or even just acquaintances, that you wouldn’t feel so alone here. Cause I know exactly how that feels. And ever since coming here, I can see what I looked like when I was found; lost, felt like I didn’t deserve anything good or even deserving of love. But even though you hide it with a sort of tough exterior and you’re used to being trapped away, I can tell you something about yourself that you probably don’t even know,” Bucky said in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Oh yeah? What would that be,” you asked, quite curious as to what he may have found out.

“You want what everyone wants. You want a love that consumes you. You want passion, and adventure, and maybe even a little danger. Cause that’s exactly how I feel right now.” At some point, of which you weren’t sure, Bucky had hooked his fingers under your chin, turning your face up to meet his. Your eyes finally met his, capturing the look of a pure and innocent love in his icy stare. He slowly leaned down, but stopping right before your lips collided. “Is this ok?” Quickly nodding, Bucky pressed his lips to your own, cupping your face as your injured hands made their way to his sides.

Pulling back, Bucky rested his forehead against yours. “Never thought that this is how we would have our first kiss, doll,” he said, making you laugh which in turn caused him to chuckle. “But, I’m not at all opposed to it.”

“I’m glad. Now let’s get out of here. I’m tired.”

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

1. У тебя все нормально? Я ведь не бил тебя дверью - Are you ok? I didn’t hit you with the door, did I?

2. Меня зовут Баки. Что у тебя? - My name is Bucky. What’s yours?

3. Это хорошо. Как давно ты здесь? - That’s ok. How long have you been here?

4. двадцать три года - 23 years.

5. Хорошо. Стив дал мне добро, чтобы мы могли убираться отсюда. - Ok. Steve gave me the go ahead so we can get out of here.

6. Ты ведь не сделаешь мне больно, верно? О-или убить меня? - You aren’t going to hurt me right? O-or kill me?

7. Конечно, нет. Я вытащу тебя отсюда. - Of course not. I’m going to get you out of here.

8. Кукла - Doll

If you see this on another blog, @multifandomwhre , that is my first blog where I submitted it to @sweeterthanthis “Quote Me” challenge. 

[bisexualcrowley]

Undercover

Pairing: Harry Hart x Fem! reader

Summary: While doing surveillance at a gala, Y/n and Harry's identities are threatened to be uncovered and they take to a rather intimate method of hiding their faces

Content/warnings: smutty themes? nsfw, fluffy stuff, cursing, suggestive themes, semi-public foreplay/teasing, making out, Merlin’s still alive bc i want him to be

Word count: 3,729

“A Gala. In the middle of winter, this means I might have to fight in heels, is this really necessary Merlin?” Y/n sighed, glancing out at the light drifting of snow that had begun to flutter down from the sky. Its not that she had anything against winter, the woman mused to herself, just that it makes this sort of work so much more difficult. 

The year had been tough enough already, having lost Harry to Valentine, getting Harry back, the whole issue with the Golden Circle, and the constant stress was getting to Y/n, the smallest thing now able to piss her off, and unfortunately for her, this latest mission seemed to be more than a small thing. “C’mon Y/n, i know we all could use some rest but this is important, the target is threatening to release catastrophic amounts of classified government information. I’m not asking you to be on the front line here, I just need you and Galahad on the sidelines, more as surveillance and backup than anything else.”

Y/n had been less than impressed with Merlin’s words, wanting to stay as far away as possible from field work until she had gotten a decent amount of sleep, but her ears perked up at the mention of her best friend and previous partner at Kingsman.

“You’re letting Harry in the field again?”

She asked, surprised at the man’s words. “I thought you said he wasn’t ready yet, after the problems he had while working alongside the American agents.

“Not fully, as i said, the two of you will just be keeping tabs on him from the crowd, not making contact unless absolutely necessary.” Merlin must have picked up on Y/n’s eagerness to work alongside Harry again and allowed himself a slight smile as he spoke, sliding the paperwork across the table to the younger agent. “This place is fancy, i mean really fancy, you’re gonna want to look your very best. Go over his papers today and be here dressed and ready at 20:30 tomorrow. And I mean it, y/n, be dressed to kill, in more than just the metaphoric sense”

Most of her annoyance having melted away at the mention of Harry, Y/n agreed, taking the papers and shaking Merlin’s hand before turning on her heel and jogging down the hall of the Kingsman offices, hoping to find her friend. Luckily Y/n didn’t need to search far, finding him in the actual tailor section of the building being fit for a tuxedo.

Y/n caught Harry’s eye in the mirror in front of him and she shot him a grin, leaning casually against the door frame. “Lookin’ good, Galahad. Excited to be headin’ back into it?” She asked, affection shining in her smile at the sight of Harry Hart suiting up for battle once again. 

It was no secret among many of the Kingsman agents that Y/n had fallen hard for the man, her feelings becoming clear to them when Harry was shot as she had broken down in tears at the news despite being one of Kingsman’s toughest agents, however she did manage to keep the secret from Harry himself, terrified of losing the relationship they already had by revealing her feelings only to find that they weren’t reciprocated. 

Eggsy and Merlin, of course, had required a fair amount of bribery to be convinced to keep their mouths shut, finding the whole situation more than amusing and wanting nothing more than to spill the beans to Harry, whom they were fully convinced shared y/n’s feelings. Y/n didn’t crack though, and eventually the men had settled on the childish teasing of Y/n and placing bets on who would make the first move. Eggsy had put 50 pounds on Y/n cracking first, but Merlin put his money on Harry, having said something about Eggsy underestimating the woman.

At the moment, despite her refusal to share her feelings with Harry, Y/n feared that Eggsy was going to be the one to win the wager as she felt her heart beat faster at the happy smile Harry had offered her in return.  “Looking forward to be working alongside you again, Y/n, it’s been lonely without my partner”

Y/n felt her face heat up at the compliment, but determined not to let her resolve fail she once again held back the words she wanted so badly to tell her friend, instead choosing to push herself off the doorframe and saunter over to Harry’s position in the center of the room.  “So... A gala. Haven’t done one of these together in ages, have we.”  Y/n’s hand came to rest on Harry’s shoulder, still not having broken their eye contact through the mirror. “It has been a while, although luckily, I never forgot how to dance”

Y/n’s confident exterior faltered at his words, tilting her head to the side and eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “We have to dance?” She asked, voice coming out far quieter than she had hoped. Harry let out a very ungentlemanly laugh at her shock, turning his gaze from the mirror to meet his friend’s eyes properly. “I’d assume Merlin didn’t tell you for this very reason, y/n” He chuckled. “We’d stick out too much, standing in the middle of a ballroom. To draw the least amount of attention to our position, we’re gonna have to dance”

Y/n froze for a moment, weighing her options. On one hand, she thought, I’m dancing with Harry. On the other hand, i’m dancing. In public. What a terrifying thought, i should just tell Merlin i won’t do it. But if i don’t do it, i don’t dance with Harry. 

She squinted slightly, fighting herself for which option was better, but in the end decided that the upside of pretending to be Harry’s date outweighed the negatives in the situation, and after another moment of hesitation, Y/n nodded, nervously drumming her fingers on the man’s shoulder.

“Alright then. If we’re gonna dance, we’re gonna do it right. I’m gonna go find a dress, i guess. See you tomorrow, Galahad” Y/n breathed, a hint of humor making it’s way into her words as she went on, which to her luck Harry picked up on, and replied with an exaggerated salute, earning him a giggle and smile from Y/n before she slung on a coat and took off again.

Lucky for her the London streets were nearly empty, most seeking cover from the bitter cold within the comfort of their homes, and the trip to her own home was quick for Y/n. Almost immediately upon arriving, she threw open the doors of her closet, flicking through hanger after hanger of clothes that Merlin would be less than happy about her wearing to such a prestigious event. It appeared that luck was still on her side, however, as Y/n paused, pulling out a dress previously hidden behind a thick winter coat.  It was beautiful, a slim gown of deep green velvet with a loose, plunging neckline and thin black straps with a shimmering gold woven throughout, and y/n smiled, knowing it would be perfect for the following night.

The next day passed quickly, Y/n having to study the target’s file, shower, do her hair and makeup, fit a variety of concealed weaponry on her person, and what felt to her like a million other things, and it felt like no time at all before she found herself outside the Kingsman Tailor shop, glittering heels clicking along the icy sidewalk leading up to the building. Y/n reached for the door handle, shivering slightly in the cold but was met with the door swinging open in her face, Merlin staring down at her with Eggsy, Tequila and Harry behind him. 

“Y/n, you’re late, c’mon, there’s a car waiting in the back, c’mon lets go” Merlin ushered her along, the group rounding the building to find a black towncar waiting in the alley. It took a bit of maneuvering to fit everyone into the vehicle, coats bunching up in the small space, but eventually the group situated themselves in a somewhat comfortable fashion, and they were off.

The drive was longer than Y/n had expected, but no time was spent relaxing, having found herself rather distracted by her body being pressed against a very well dressed Harry, the cramped space forcing her leg to shift up onto Harry’s so that she was sitting partially on his lap, a position that had the both of them blushing furiously and Tequila chuckling from Harry’s left. 

Hoping to distract from the uncomfortable and unfortunately mildly arousing way she was seated, Y/n leaned forward to peer past Harry and raised an eyebrow at the American agent, who in return mimicked her expression, which brought a mix of annoyance and amusement to the still blushing woman.  “Mind if i ask why Harry was forced into the middle seat? Last time i checked, i’d fit a fair bit better” Y/n asked, Harry humming in agreement with her statement.

“Why, you wanna sit on my lap instead?” Tequila smirked, earning a snort of laughter from Eggsy and Merlin in the front seat and a glare from Y/n, where Harry shifted uncomfortably and blushed harder.

Y/n’s snapped back, but her retort was cut short at the feeling of the car slowing to a stop and Merlin leaning over the drivers seat to run over the night’s details one last time. 

The plan went smoothly from then, Eggsy and Tequila positioning themselves near the main doorways and Merlin settling himself behind a computer, leaving Harry and Y/n to shed their coats and make their way further into the ballroom. A string quartet was set in the middle of the north wall, playing what y/n recognized immediately to be a slower rendition of the seal lullaby, and she fought the urge to twirl around a couple times, instead smoothing out her dress and holding out a hand to Harry.

“Well Mr. Hart, may i have this dance?” Y/n spoke calmly, careful to avoid appearing overly enthusiastic so as not to draw unnecessary attention to the pair, but the warmth shining in her eyes was undisguisable to Harry, who took her arm with a smile and led her to their position in the ballroom.

The image of the two Kingsman agents settling into a graceful mix of a waltz and a simple slow dance was reflected off the marble floors, creating what would have been a beautiful photo had there been a photographer near them and y/n relished in the moment, hand clasped with Harry’s, his hand pulling her waist to his as they swayed to the music.

Harry caught Y/n’s eye as he caught her after a spin, a grin breaking through his character that made her heart flutter. The song slowed to it’s end and the couple for the night paused, the taller figure dipping y/n and freezing, their faces inches apart. Y/n felt her breath hitch in her chest, heart pounding at the intimate position they had paused in.

Her eyes met Harry’s again, the latter panting slightly, his pupil dilated and face flushed red, and dear god it turned Y/n on. Biting her tongue to hold back what would have been a rather humiliating moan, she rested her weight into Harry’s arms, allowing herself a second to catch her breath. As the next song began, Harry shook himself out of whatever state he was in and pulled y/n back up against him, resuming the dance like nothing had happened. Y/n, still flustered, tried to distract herself by shooting a glance towards their target, who had moved from lingering by the side entrance to scanning the crowd from a nearby refreshment table.  As the song reached a peak Harry spun y/n around again, but this time around her heel caught on the seam of her dress and she stumbled, accidentally turning away from her partner. Quickly righting herself, Y/n returned to her previous stance, but not before making brief yet intense eye contact with the man they were watching.  “Shit... Merlin do you have eyes on the target? I might have just fucked us over” Y/n’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper, eyes blown wide with horror at the prospect of ruining Harry’s first real taste of action since the Golden Circle incident.

“Hang on, hang on, don’t abort mission yet” Merlin muttered through her earpiece, y/n hearing the clacking of keys as the older agent fussed with the security cameras

“Fuckin hell, Galahad, Y/n, he’s coming your way. Hold your position, we don’t blow your cover unless we’re 100% sure he knows who you are. Keep dancing, but don’t let him see your face” 

Merlin’s voice cut across the earpiece again, and by the way y/n felt Harry's shoulders tense she knew he heard the message too.

“Shit, what do we do?” she hissed back, watching her partner risk a glance to the left and finding the target moving smoothly through the crowd, eyes set on the couple.

“Keep dancing, stay inconspicuous for as long as possible, if we’re lucky he’ll just pass on by. Now i’ll say it again, don’t let him see your bloody faces.” Merlin’s voice was low, and Y/n couldn’t stop the nervous feeling they caused from setting in as she watched the man grow nearer out of the corner of her eye.

“Merlin i don’t know what you expect us to do here if it’s so imperative we don’t move from this spot, we can’t just-”

Y/n tuned out Harry’s urgent whispers as a solution came to mind, eyes widening at the ridiculousness her own mind had come up with, but not seeing a better solution she shushed him, placing a finger over his lips.

Harry looked confused but went along with it, cocking an eyebrow in silent questioning and giving her shoulder a soft squeeze as the man drew closer, nearly close enough to get a good look at the pair, and y/n knew she had to make her move.  With a quick whisper of “forgive me for this Harry”, Y/n brought her hands up to cup her friend’s face and pulled him into a kiss. Harry froze momentarily, his jaw tensing in shock before he followed her lead and returned the kiss, their lips moving against each others perfectly in sync and y/n couldn’t keep herself from sighing into the kiss, unconsciously pressing her body closer to his. 

Harry deepened the kiss, his hands moving to thread through her hair and a vague thought reminded Y/n he was just helping to conceal her face, but it was shoved quickly to the back of her mind with a particularly passionate movement from Harry which she met enthusiastically. Her hands inched upwards to tug at his perfectly styled hair, which earned Y/n a low moan against her lips, and she pressed closer again, unconsciously slipping her leg between Harry’s. She felt his cock twitch against her thigh and all thoughts of what they were there to do flew out the window, one hand clasping at the collar of his tuxedo’s jacket and the other cupping his cheek, pulling his face down to her own.

Feeling bold, Y/n made a move to nip at Harry’s lower lip but before she had the chance, they were interrupted by a more than amused Eggsy clearing his throat beside her.  The pair flinched in surprise and pulled quickly out of the heated embrace, leaving Y/n wiping speared lipstick from her face and fixing disheveled hair, Harry somewhat discretely adjusting his clothing to hide the now quite sizable bulge in his trousers with a deep blush across his cheeks and Eggsy watching from the side, eyes tearing up from the effort of holding in his laughter.

“Merlin says good thinkin’, Y/n. The two’ve you were a bit busy to notice but Tequila got the guy, he went down nice n’ quiet, we’re supposed to get to the car as soon as possible” Eggsy had a shit eating grin plastered across his face as he spoke, which only got wider when Y/n gave Harry an awkward smile, which he returned briefly before shoving his hands in his pockets and staring down at his shoes.

Snickering, Eggsy escorted the pair through the crowded room and through a series of side doors, which after a seemingly unnecessary number of hallways led to a back exit where the towncar that had brought them to the gala was waiting. Dreading what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation with Harry, y/n winced at the thought of how inappropriate her actions towards her friend were, and she moved to open the passenger side door but was stopped by Eggsy once again, who flung open the door and threw himself in next to Merlin, who quite to her displeasure shared Eggsy’s smirk. 

Y/n’s eyes locked with his, silently pleading to switch seats but her weak attempt proved to be in vain as Eggsy winked and pointed over his shoulder to the back of the car, where Harry was already seated.  Y/n glared at Merlin but didn’t argue, and took a deep breath before sliding into the car, which to her luck was no longer so cramped due to the third agent having stayed behind with the target. The space was still smaller than she would have wished, but the cover of darkness provided a touch of comfort that y/n was endlessly grateful for. 

Shadows crossed across her legs as the car rolled into gear, Merlin driving out of the alley and beginning the long journey back to the Kingsman headquarters. Y/n sighed, leaning her head against the window and closing her eyes, hoping the cold glass against her skin would help to drown out her racing thoughts.

Much to her dismay, however, they had been traveling for less than ten minutes when Eggsy turned around, leaning over his chair with the same wicked smile stretched across his face as he had worn before.

“So, you two had some fun t’night, didntcha?” Merlin let out a snort of laughter from beside him, Eggsy nodding his head suggestively between the pair in the backseat. Too tired to come up with a snarky reply, y/n simply rolled her eyes at Eggsy, and went back to working up the nerve to say something to the uncharacteristically silent figure seated beside her.

The realization that Harry was rarely this quiet around y/n outweighed her fear of confrontation, concern for her friend pulling her focus from Eggsy to the older man, and she turned to face him.  Harry was sitting stiffly, hands clasped in his lap and head straight forward, but he must have been watching y/n out of the corner of his eye, as he looked to the side to meet her eyes when she turned from her position by the window to look up at him. 

In that moment, the car was silent aside from the low rumble of the engine, the tension between the two growing from tolerable to an absolute peak, hanging thickly in the air between their bodies.  It was thick enough, apparently for Eggsy to pick up on it, and with a chuckle about “giving you two some privacy”, he pressed a button beside his seat that caused a black divider to come up behind him, separating the front from the back of the car and leaving Y/n and Harry in silence.

Both Harry and Y/n stayed frozen in place, faces turned to each other and her eyes locked on his. Hesitantly, y/n placed a hand on Harry’s knee, a motion that years of friendship had taught him meant she had a lot to say, but didn’t yet know how to say it, and Harry nodded, the silent exchange sharing more than words would be able to.

“...I... I’m sorry, Harry, i shouldn’t have...” Y/n’s voice was low, barely above a whisper as she spoke, trailing off as the words caught in her throat. 

"No, y/n, it was my mistake, i just...” Harry's voice faltered as well, fingers coming up to fuss nervously with the strap of his eyepatch, a habit y/n had noticed Harry picked up when he felt flustered.

Neither of them knew what had happened; one moment they were sitting in silence, y/n’s hand on his knee and tension high, and the next moment y/n found herself being pulled into Harry’s lap, her hands once again tugging at his hair as they met again in a heated kiss.  Her dress had hiked up to her hips at this point, allowing Y/n to straddle her lover properly, and this time she didn’t hesitate to grind down against him, Harry’s hands coming to grip her smooth hips as she rubbed her barely covered sex along the bulge in his trousers, both letting out groans of pleasure at the friction.

Harry’s fingers trailed down y/n’s body as they made out like horny teenagers in the backseat, moving from her hair down to cup her covered breast, and down further to trace along the slick fabric of her panties. Y/n whimpered at the touch and moved to return the favor, her own hand coming to palm at his cock through his pants, at which Harry gasped and yanked her down onto his lap once again, hips thrusting up to grind against y/n’s cunt.

She moaned against his mouth once again, pulling away for just long enough to strip off Harry’s coat and unbutton his shirt before returning to her position on his lap. The two were so caught up in the moment that they didn’t notice the car pulling up to the curb and stopping, however they did take notice to the door flying open and the flash of a camera, followed by Eggsy’s delighted voice and a deep laugh from Merlin.  Embarrassed, y/n quickly tugged her dress back into place and slid out of the car, holding out a hand for Harry to take as he climbed out, looking as red faced as y/n felt.

“Go on, buggers, we took you to Galahad’s place. I’ll find out who won the bet tomorrow, go have some fuckin’ fun.” Eggsy laughed at their dumbfounded expressions at his words, but chose not to respond, instead returning to his seat beside Merlin who drove off a few seconds later, leaving two very sexually frustrated agents on the sidewalk. 

“Well then... Wanna take this inside?”

[peggyrose19]

Hold Me While You Wait

Welcome to part 2 of me writing St. Tweedle instead of sleeping! What can I say, they’re fun. So here’s Remus finding out about the two of them. ( if you know the song from the title you get a gold star) also in case you weren’t aware i don’t know how actual conversations work.

characters by @lumosinlove

@im-oknutzy-trash, @wonder-womans-ex

Luke found himself fiddling as he waited in his room. He didn’t normally get so antsy, could usually keep a relatively calm exterior. But in his room, hidden from curious eyes, his walls dropped, letting his nerves peek through. His expression, staring back at him from the mirror he stood in front of, was stony and pale.

“Relax,” a familiar voice said. Luke didn’t even flinch, so familiar by now with Saint’s random appearances. 

“How am I supposed to relax?” he asked exasperatedly, moving on from the buttons of his jacket to his cuffs. He didn’t look at Saint, but could hear him moving, could imagine his lithe body sliding through the window, blond hair catching the last strains of golden sunlight. He could picture the smirk too, as Saint came up behind him, close enough to touch. 

“It’s just Remus,” Saint murmured softly, surveying Luke in the full-length mirror they stood before. Luke watched his face in the glass. “We hang out with him all the time. And besides,” he added, “you look good. No need to fix what isn’t broken.”

Luke turned to face Saint, mere breaths separating them. “When did you become all philosophical?”

There was a softer side to Saint, Luke had discovered over the past few months. One that only came out when they were alone, as if Saint was afraid of anyone else knowing that he did actually have a heart. And he cared a lot more than he ever let on. That was the thing about Saint. He always held things inside. He was this wild swirling storm of emotions, warring with each other constantly and held at bay by an icy wall of sharp wit and easy sarcasm. Luke liked to tell himself that it was him who brought Saint’s walls down, let him show that delicate interior beneath. 

“It’s all your fault,” Saint replied then, and Luke smiled. “You’re a bad influence on me, Tweedle, what can I say?”

Luke smiled, and leaned forward to kiss Saint gently. He too was softer with Saint than anybody else, letting him see the caring parts of himself. There was something about Saint that felt safe, felt like home. 

“Tell me it will all be okay.”

Saint’s expression flickered. “Well, I can’t tell you that, Tweedle,” he replied, not unkindly. “I can’t control it, can I? And I mean, he’s your friend, is he not? You should know better than to ask me, what do I know of Remus Lupin? That he’s mad? That he’s in love with Sirius? That’s about all I can give you, babe.”

Luke knew that wasn’t true—from the gleam in Saint’s eyes he did too—but he also knew that wasn’t Saint’s intention. Saint had never been the type of person to respond with logic. His intention was always to make Luke smile, to distract him. And most of the time it worked. Saint had an uncanny ability to pull your focus away, make you think of something else entirely different in a mere sentence or two. In this case, he was once again successful. 

“Wait, Remus is in love with Sirius?” he asked.

Saint shrugged. “I dunno. He certainly stares at him enough though. It’s like they both have hearts for eyes these days, I swear.”

Luke just blinked. “Since when have they been together?” Saint shrugged again. Luke spluttered. 

“Have you not noticed?” Saint asked amusedly. “Jesus Christ, he’s your best friend is he not? Must I do everything?” Luke stifled a laugh at Saint’s dramatics. 

He had noticed Remus acting differently lately if he was honest, cagey and inconsistent, disappearing randomly throughout the day and reappearing with flushed cheeks or the occasional bruise. The more he thought about it, the more it all began to make sense. How Sirius never seemed to be around when Remus was missing. The way they always seemed to end up beside each other when they all hung out together. The sudden—or maybe not so sudden—lack of animosity between the two. He just wondered how the hell Saint had noticed before him. 

Luke was pulled from his thoughts by the light brush of Saint’s lips against his own. He smiled into the kiss, let Saint push him back until he hit the wall, let his hands slip under the edge of Saint’s t-shirt. Saint always kissed like a burning fire. Pushing and taking, meeting Luke step for step. It had always been that way, ever since that very first kiss right here in this room, the two of them pushing and pulling, taking and giving what the other put down. 

A knock at the door startled them apart. Standing in the doorway was Remus, staring at them with wide eyes. Luke felt like his heart had stopped. 

“Remus.” 

“Um. Hi.” 

Remus stood there awkwardly, not moving. He looked truly surprised, Luke noted as he studied his face and desperately tried to control his own pounding heart. As his breathing began to slow, he noticed Saint had stepped nearly to the other side of the room, seemingly trying to put as much space between them as he possibly could. Luke tried not to feel offended by it; it’s not like they could pretend they weren’t just making out thirty seconds ago. 

“What’re you doing here?” 

“I was coming to get you. We were supposed to leave five minutes ago? The party, remember?”

“I remember,” Luke replied faintly, still grappling with the sudden change. 

Luke had known Remus would find out eventually, had known he really should have told him back when it first started. Remus was his best friend after all, they trusted each other with almost everything. Almost. Some things gave him pause though, not because of Remus but because of himself. It was hard to trust someone completely, was something Luke had learned when his father had been arrested. You never truly knew everything about a person. 

“So…” Remus started awkwardly. “Are you two like, together or…?” 

“Um,” coughed Luke. “Something like that.” 

Saint stayed eerily quiet. Luke glanced over at him quickly, finding his face stony and pale. It was uncharacteristic of him, and a bit disconcerting to see that vibrant color drained from his face. 

“Oh well, uh. Good for you, I guess.” 

“Could you give us a minute?” Luke asked, gaze flitting back to Saint. Remus watched him warily for a second but he nodded and left, shutting the door quietly behind him. Luke had the fleeting thought that he was only going to listen through the wall, but he pushed it from his mind. Remus wasn’t like that.

Luke turned to Saint, stepping cautiously toward him the way one might approach a spooked horse. “You alright?” he asked softly. 

Saint’s gaze snapped to his, icy cold for only a single moment. Then his face crumbled. He said nothing, simply stepped closer to Luke and pulled him in, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Luke’s eyes slipped shut and he felt Saint lean into him. He took the weight silently, nuzzling against Saint’s neck and breathing in the familiar smell of sea salt and fresh air.

 He didn’t pull back until Saint did, cradling his face in gentle hands and looking into those lost hazel eyes. 

“It’s just Remus, remember?”

Saint sniffled. “Damn you Tweedle.” 

Luke smiled. “Come on.” He held out his hand and, surprisingly, Saint took it. They headed for the door and, when Luke opened it, Remus was waiting on the other side.

“I’m sorry,” Luke blurted out then, surprising even himself. If possible, Remus’ eyes grew wider.

“What are you sorry for?” 

“Not telling you.” 

Remus sighed. “It’s… I mean, do I wish you would have told me? Yeah. Am I gonna make you tell me everything? No. Besides, I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I did.” He swallowed hard. “There’s something you should know.”

“About you and Sirius, I know,” Luke interrupted, wanting to stop the terrified look on his friend’s face. It seemed that fear didn’t go away, even with those you were closest to. 

“You know?” 

“Yeah. Well. Saint told me. I wouldn’t have figured it out.”

Remus’ gaze shifted to Saint, who just smirked and shrugged as if to say ‘what can I say, you aren’t subtle’. At least, that’s what Luke got out of it. 

“Oh. Well uh… guess that makes this night a bit easier then.” 

“Guess it does.”

Saint sighed long-sufferingly, that indifferent mask fixed back on. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, let’s go.” 

Luke couldn’t help a small smile, but it hurt his heart that Saint felt the need to pretend around everyone, even their friends. It was true that Remus was more his friend than Saint’s, but they had gotten closer over the past few months. On occasion, Saint had even been polite. But Luke should have known that wouldn’t be enough. Saint didn’t trust people, didn’t open up to them. He still found it miraculous Saint ever opened up to him. 

“Luke, you coming?” Remus asked, and Luke glanced up to see both him and Saint standing at the top of the stairs waiting for him. 

“Yeah.” 

Luke grabbed Saint’s hand again as they headed down the stairs towards the front door, squeezing gently. Saint glanced at him curiously, once. But he didn’t say anything, and he didn’t pull away. 

When they reached the first floor, Remus headed outside without a second thought, but Luke paused, pulling Saint towards him.

“Hey,” he whispered, Saint falling against him. Their lips met, just a brush of a kiss, before Luke pulled back again to look at Saint fully. “Are you okay? Truthfully.”

Saint smiled Luke’s favorite smile. “I’m fine.”

“Good.”

With another gentle kiss, Luke let Saint go and followed him outside into the cool night air to where Remus was waiting.

[elldell1204]

I Always Have Your Back - Jay Halstead x Reader

Anonymous:  Drabble challenge Nr. 17 - “Good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion”? With Jay Halstead Thank you! 😊

Thank you so much for the request! 🥰 I do have to confess that this is one of the most recent requests, but I got so inspired by the prompt that I felt I just needed to write it. Don’t fret! I do have ideas for the others, it’s just finding inspiration, but they will be coming soon. I hope you enjoy this one, I’m super proud of it! ❤️

(slightly inspired by this Linstead fic on Ao3, feel free to check it out!)

Warning: Mention of drugs, implied attempted rape (not graphic), mention of sex trafficking. Don’t read if this will upset you! 💕

wc - 7,464

You’ve always hated when the criminals fall through your fingers. Just when you think you’ve got ‘em, all ready to be wrapped up with a bow and sent off to Statesville, something crops up and (wrongfully) gets them off the hook by the skin of their teeth and they walk, but not without a smug grin over the shoulder at you first.

That’s why for the past month, whilst you’ve been trying to find incriminating evidence on a suspect in a missing persons case, every little thing just pisses you off. It’s like the case is all you think about, night and day. You even dream about it in your sleep, though it’s more like a nightmare. Trying to solve this case has been like torture for every member of the Intelligence unit, making everyone more irritable than usual, resulting in arguments and eyes that shoot daggers being a daily occurrence. Something which didn’t exactly help your already rocky relationship with your partner, Jay Halstead.

It wasn’t like you didn’t get along. In fact, at work, it was the complete opposite. He was the best partner you’ve ever had, seeing as you both worked liked clockwork as a duo and even got praise from Voight after a case one day saying you were the best partnership he’s ever had in his unit. You hated to admit it (and even then you never did out loud, only in the quiet of your own heart), but you’d actually fallen for your partner, something you vowed never to let happen in your lifetime as a Chicago police officer. You wanted a successful career, not be the ‘slut’ who throws herself at every male cop she works with. You’d seen many a colleague go down the road of dating a partner, and nearly every time it ended badly, but even worse for the female half of the relationship.

But every day, the little things he did or said just made you want to throw caution to the wind, push him up against the wall and kiss him breathless. And sometimes you thought you saw the same glimmer of lust in his eye as you felt.

Only, he acted like he hated you. Well, not exactly. He was nice to you, cracking jokes with you and being friendly, but whenever the conversation steered anywhere close to flirtatious, he often caught himself and put up a wall. A cold, icy wall; the complete opposite of anything you would associate with Jay Halstead. You loved the cheeky, boyish side of him, but the iron clad exterior really broke your heart, mainly because to you it meant that your love was unrequited and the partner you cared for so much was having trouble opening up to you, shutting down before your very eyes like he would when a case hit a long-forgotten nerve. Though your spirits were dampened every time it happened, you understood, especially after Kim told you the story about Erin and Jay’s downwards spiral after she left. You wished you knew him before Erin, because according to Kim, he never used to be as angry at the world. Before, he knew he could do some good, put in his bet and that helping one person would mean something. You knew he still did, but that need for justice wasn’t quite satiated anymore. It was as if, over time, the job had dampened Jay, and he needed help seeing the sunshine again.

At least that’s what Voight had told you, not in as many words, when you’d been with the unit for a few months. According to him, you were the person that coaxed the raincloud away from over Jay’s head, bit by bit, so that he could start to enjoy the sun again. Jay didn’t notice at first, but when he did, that’s when he started reverting back to the colder version of himself when things got too close to the dangerous waters of flirtation.

Lately, neither of you had gotten within ten feet of what could be considered flirting, let alone friendly jokes and conversation, and it was all thanks to this case. The unit was tasked with finding out what happened to seven young women, all addicts, who let their addiction take over to the point where they couldn’t afford their next meal when they suddenly go missing. Like, off-the-face-of-the-earth, vanished-into-a-cloud-of-smoke, left-no-trace missing. You made huge progress within the first week, finding out that all the girls were supplied by one common dealer: Elena Perez. A forty-two-year old, divorced woman who owned her own restaurant in a pretty nice area in the south side. You found she was a ‘business in the front, party in the back’ kind of dealer, so to speak. Only, you had no way of getting to her without raising her suspicions. For weeks you did surveillance, watching two different girls approach her restaurant and walking away with a bag of white power in their hands, each on different nights to the other, until one time when they entered but didn’t leave.

Which meant you were back at square one.

Every other attempt to gain more info was met with a dead end, so walking into the precinct this morning, you didn’t feel too hopeful. You were one of the last to arrive (not that you were late, you were actually half an hour early), trudging up the stairs to the bullpen with two to-go cups of coffee in hand from your local coffeehouse around the block from your apartment. One was for you, seeing as your energy levels were pretty low, and one was for Jay, half because you wanted to cheer him up and half as a peace offering after the argument you both had last night when you were both frustrated, getting absolutely nowhere in the case after combing over all your notes from the past month or so. Let’s just say you were glad you were the only two left in the bullpen, and the door to the break room was closed to avoid any prying ears.

Yours and Jay’s desks faced each other and were the closest to Voight’s office, with Jay’s back being to it. You made it to yours without passing out from exhaustion and placed Jay’s cup in front of him with a small, sorry smile on your face. Jay eyed the coffee before looking up and mirroring your expression, and that was all that was needed to repair the very minor crack in your bond (one that seemed to be needing repair too often during this case) before getting on with your day.

It was only ten or so minutes later when Voight stormed out of his office and over to the board at the top of the stairs with a tempestuous expression, his bad mood only amplified in his body language. His exit prompted the rest of Intelligence to jump up. Well, jump was an understatement, given that you were all the definition of defeated. Jay came and propped himself on the edge of your desk, whilst you spun your chair to face your boss.

“Tell me you have a lead, any lead. I don’t care if it’s less than a shoeprint, we need something to go on.”

He glanced round at each and every one of you, showing a steely glare before moving onto the next person. No one had anything. You’d had an idea for a while now, but you knew it was immensely dangerous, and therefore you decided you would only bring it up as a last resort. Now seemed like the right time.

“I know this won’t be favourable,” You began, and you could feel all eye direct their attention to you without even breaking eye contact with Voight. “But I could go in undercover?”

“No.” Jay all but shouted. You immediately diverted your eyes to your partner, an anger bubbling deep in your chest. “Absolutely not. It’s a huge risk. We don’t even know what she does to the girls! In my opinion, that’s way too dangerous and downright stupid.”

He had his jaw set tight as he spoke, making you wonder how the words didn’t come out more strained than they already did. His arms were folded tightly over his chest, his fingers gripping his biceps so hard his knuckles had turned as white as paper. In hindsight, you realise that he had your safety at heart, and he meant well with his words, however, at the time, all you could see was red, mostly thanks to sleep deprivation.

“Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion.” You seethed, and your partner looked at you like you’d just shot him in the heart. You turned to face your boss before continuing. “Sarge, you know about my work from Vice. I know what I’m doing, and I’m one of the damn best undercovers in the entire department. And what else do we have to go on? This is our only hope at finding those girls.”

Before Jay could refute, Voight agreed and told everyone to begin prepping, dishing out tasks to everyone in the unit. You were whisked away by Hailey and Vanessa to put together your cover story before you could even look at Jay, let alone discuss what the hell you had just gotten yourself into.

***

Twenty-four hours later and you’re now Riley Hensley. It was your cover from the last bust you did in Vice, which was luckily still intact, so you managed to slot right back into it, even getting your old job at the corner store back within minutes of talking to the owner. You were sat sipping one of the worst coffees ever to touch your tastebuds whilst reading over your pseudo-life. You’d arrived at your undercover apartment last night with just a scruffy duffel bag to your name, and it was then that you’d realised it was the smallest apartment you had ever set foot in, and you’d lived alone in New York straight out of college with a student’s salary. Once you got there, you set it up a little more to your taste, putting a few personal touches to make it seemed more lived in.

The rest of the team had left you to do your thing back in the district before you went under (which consisted of a lot of psyching yourself up and getting yourself in the mindset of your new character), getting busy with setting out surveillance plans and shift changes and places to put bugs. You managed to have very small and brief conversation with the team before you left last night at 7pm to spend your first night in the apartment. Most were quick goodbyes and ‘stay safe’s, but Jay’s was different. You felt a little bad about your earlier encounter, but now wasn’t the time. For all you know, that could have been the last time you ever spoke to him, so you didn’t want to waste it on possibly unnecessary apologies. He seemed repressed, like there was something he wanted to say but just couldn’t find the words or the strength to do so, but the encounter ended up being more friendly than you had interacted with each other in weeks.

He handed you a little zip up bag, telling you it was full of Narcan in case you were accidentally dosed. You had taken it, your fingertips brushing against his for less than a second, but enough for you to feel comforted. You thanked him, and he gave you a small fleeting smile before his eyes went back to his feet. “I don’t doubt that you know what you’re doing, but please, be safe.” He had said. You had to hold back tears. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, but you felt guilty for snapping at him earlier and you didn’t know how to apologise (damn your sleep-deprived brain). You also felt the urge to just tell him everything; your feelings, your favourite moments with him, how much you were going to miss seeing him every day. And although you desperately wanted to throw your arms around him and hug him so tight you might stop his lungs from working, you just nodded, and he walked away, leaving you to go back to reading your files, or at least try to.

Now, after surprisingly one of the best sleeps you’d had in the last month, you were nearly ready for your first meet with Perez this evening. You were dressed in a tattered hoodie you usually only wore to bed, some leggings that had begun to thin out from wear and a pair of canvas pumps that had a hole in the front. Your usually pristinely-kept hair was looking more like a rat’s nest than an actually rat’s nest, and you were planning on going for a run or doing some sort of workout before you went to the meet to work up a sweat and make it more believable that you were an addict in withdrawal. Also, the bags and dark circles under your eyes from the recent sleepless nights actually worked in your favour.

You were so engrossed in reading the file and going over your plan that the knock at your door startled you more than it should have. You stood from your chair at the kitchen table, pushing it back under before stepping carefully over to the front door. You peered through the spyhole, being surprised to see your partner stood outside. You assumed he had brought you something you had forgotten, but you had to let him in quick before anyone saw and suspected anything, so you opened the door and roughly pulled him in by his arm.

“Nice to see you too.” He joked as you stuck your head out of the door and looked around for anyone, but being satisfied that there was no one there, you came back in and locked it before turning around. You could tell he was surprised to see you looking so…not you. He lifted an eyebrow as he looked you up and down, and if it wasn’t for how worn down you looked and how self-conscious you were of your appearance right now, the action would have sent a heat straight to your core. “On second thoughts, maybe not.”

“Well, I am trying to sell the ‘utterly broke drug addict’ act, so you shouldn’t have expected a ball gown.” You shot back, teasingly.

“I wasn’t, it’s just so different to how good you look normally.” He said, walking over to your couch, unaware of what he just let slip out. It made your mind race ridiculously fast, just like your heart, but you realised he probably didn’t mean it in the way you hoped he did.

“As much as I am enjoying your company, what are you doing here?” You went and leant up against the wall facing him.

“I’m here to let you know it’s not too late to pull out of this.” He looked straight into your eyes as he said it, so deeply you were worried he might have seen how nervous you were under your brave facade.

“Well, I’m not going to.”

“Y/N, it’s too dangerous. We don’t know what Perez does to the girls. She could kill you.”

“I know how to handle myself, Jay.” You squinted your eyes at him, as if you thought he was speaking utter nonsense. Really, you just didn’t want to think about the possibility of him being right.

“But you won’t have back-up in there with you.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress, Halstead! You don’t need to be my knight in shining armour. I know what I’m doing, and most of the unit will be outside at all times in case I need you, anyways.”

“Don’t do this, Y/N. We can find another way in-”

“Don’t you see? I have to do this! There is no other way. I owe it to the girls and their families to find them and stop any more from getting hurt. If I don’t, I won’t be able to live with myself. So let me decide what I can and can’t do, Jay, please.”

You didn’t realise you were both shouting now, not until you noticed how out of breath you both were and that Jay was now very close to you after standing up to have the shouting match. You could smell him, that mix of eucalyptus and cedarwood you love, so close that if you were to reach out a hand, you could grab the back of his neck and pull his lips to yours. You even think you might have seen his eyes fleeting down to your own lips for a second. Only you didn’t act on your desires. Instead, you walked over to the kitchen, wrapping your arms around yourself in some sort of hug, keeping your back to him.

“I appreciate your concern,” You practically whispered, so quiet you were unsure if he could even hear you. “But I’ll be fine. Plus, you have my back. You always have my back.”

You turned slowly to see that he hadn’t moved an inch, only his eyes had followed you to where you were, excruciatingly far from where you were mere seconds earlier.

“And I always will.” He muttered in reply. He began to walk towards the door with soft steps, passing you on his way, unlatching it when he got there, but before he could open it, he turned back to you once more. “Stay safe, Y/N. I need my partner.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you to slump down into the couch with your head spinning, in the same place he was sat before, desperate to savour the faint scent he left behind to calm your nerves.

***

The first thing you noticed when you turned onto the street was the van. It had “A. Johnson & Sons Plumbing” printed onto the side of it, the vinyl sticker peeling slightly at the edges with age. It was one of three the 21st precinct owned, each one a different company on the outside, but practically the same layout on the inside. You knew they were watching the visual and listening to the audio that the tiny camera and microphone picked up in your necklace, whilst the unmarked car that housed another two members of your unit would only be listening to the audio.

You checked your work phone before you left the apartment with just your undercover burner, being met with a message from Hailey telling you how Jay had pushed for the first shift in the van, which made you smile. You kept that close to your heart as you walked down the cold dark street, getting closer to the restaurant with each step.

“Everything okay?” You said a few feet from the restaurant after checking nobody was around you.

“All good. Do your thing, Y/N.” Hailey’s reassuring voice came through the small earpiece you had in.

You pulled open the door to the front of the restaurant, immediately aware of how out of place you looked in your scruffy clothes compared to the smartly dressed patrons dotted around at their tables. You caught one of the waitresses’ eye, who, after scrunching her nose up at you, made her way over.

“Table for one?” She asked you, her voice a little strained as she looked you up and down with a slight hint of disgust. You really were a sight; sweaty from your run, shaking and scruffy in an attempt to sell your act.

“I’m here to see Ms Perez?” You asked, your eyes frantic, unable to focus on anything. At least that’s what you wanted her to think.

“Um, I’ll go see if she’s busy. Wait here.” The waitress said before disappearing through the doors at the back of the restaurant.

You had earned some interest from some diners now, being the topic of a few hushed discussions and wary glances. You knew that it’d be caught on the camera you wore, and you could only imagine Jay’s massive eye roll at how sheltered and rude they were acting, which calmed you slightly and made you smile on the inside. You saw the waitress returning, looking uneasy at the news you were about to receive from her. You expected what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth.

“Ms Perez gives her apologies, but she’s very busy right now. She said to ask you to leave.”

You began to plead with her, quietly but not too quiet that you wouldn’t appear erratic and in need of a fix, but she didn’t budge, and so you left with a huff, your hand shaking as you reached for the door handle.

You’d expected this to happen, seeing as the same had occurred to a girl you saw when you were doing surveillance. You followed what she did that night a few weeks ago. You looked behind you to check if the waitress watched you leave, which she hadn’t, so you turned to the right and made your way to the back of the restaurant to where the deliveries went. It was even darker down there, with no streetlights to illuminate your way, only the mild moonlight. You made it to the back, seeing nobody to stop you, and so you entered through the door that you assumed led to the corridor where her office was. You were right, as the second door on the left had a plaque on the door that read “Ms Elena Perez, Owner and Manageress”, and so you knocked.

“Enter!” You heard from inside, the call muffled by the door. So you did, timidly opening the door and stepping in. She hadn’t looked up from her computer yet, so she hadn’t seen you, but you definitely saw her. She definitely wasn’t your average drug dealer, that’s for sure; dressed to the nines in her figure-hugging dress, a scarlet red that reminded you of fresh blood complemented her caramel features perfectly. The same shade was painted onto her lips and her nails, like a wolf who had just feasted. If you weren’t so confident in your skills, you would have instantly been intimidated, and so that’s the front you put on. You hugged yourself with one arm, trying to make yourself as small as possible, whilst the other was busy scratching some imaginary itch on your arm. You immediately dropped your focus from her before she got suspicious, your eyes fleeting around the room at where you could place a bug, but to her, you would just be acting like a normal addict going through withdrawal.

She probably expected you to speak first, thinking you were one of her staff, but when you stayed quiet, she raised her eyes. At first, they were imitating the kindness a good boss might show to her workers, but when she saw it was a drug addict, the one she had told to get lost, her eyes became icy with manipulation. It was like she was a lion and her prey was about to walk directly where she wanted it.

“I thought I told you to leave.” She questioned, standing as she tilted her head at you. With her heels, she was definitely taller than you, something she must have took pleasure in.

“Please, Ms Perez, I was told…I, um, I need…” You began, mumbling and stumbling over your words.

Game time.

“A fix? Anyone within fifty feet of you would be able to tell that. But why would I be able to help you with that?”

“Um, Rachel said you could help me? I was clean until I lost my job a few months ago, but then I slipped back into old habits and I’m really struggling with money right now, I thought you might be more understanding than other…you know…and let me pay you over time and in other ways than money.”

“I don’t usually.”

“Please.” You beg, meeting her eyes properly for the first time. You see her consider it, because her eyes seem to go to a dark place, and you know that you were right in going with this approach. It followed the pattern of the other girls, so it was your best bet after all.

“What’s your name?”

“Riley. Riley Hensley.”

“Okay, Riley. I hope I can take you for your word.” Perez concedes, walking over to a safe she has in the corner of the room, typing in a code to open it and then pulling out a little dime bag of a white powder. “Heroin?”

You nod, beginning to act excited. Before you can say anything, though, she reached out her empty hand, palm up.

“Give me what you have on you today, and I’ll see what you owe.”

You stuck a hand into the pocket of your hoodie, grabbing the crumpled-up bills you had brought with you. Two tens. You put them in her palm, and after inspecting them, she handed you over the bag, which you took eagerly.

“This is enough for today.” She held up the bills before walking back to sit down. “If you come back to see me, don’t go to the front again.”

“Yes, yes, of course, thank you.” You nodded before leaving quickly. Perez thought she had laid the bait, and you had snatched it right up, when really it was you who had her right where you wanted her.

***

It went on like this for a week or so; you bringing the right amount for what she gave you. But it soon became a deal of you bringing whatever cash you could scrounge with anything valuable you had to offer. For a while, the bags got bigger and bigger, fuelling your faux addiction, until the value of the items you brought decreased and you had no cash to your name.

You had gone a couple of days without seeing her, pretending that you didn’t have anything to give, and so when you turned up tonight with a measly pair of tarnished silver earrings that ‘belonged to your mother before she died’, she didn’t seem pleased.

“You realise these aren’t even worth ten bucks, right?” She laughed in your face to degrade you. You began to fumble with your fingers.

“They’re real silver-“

“I don’t give a shit. I’m not giving you anything.” She shrugged and sat back down at her desk.

You looked at her, dumbfounded and desperate. “Please, Ms Perez. I need it.”

She didn’t even acknowledge you.

“Ms Perez, please, I’ll bring you something better tomorrow, I promise.”

She seems to perk up at your words, looking up at you with what can only be described as an evil smile.

“I don’t take promises as payment, little girl.”

You sighed audibly. “You know I keep my promises, Ms Perez. I always have before.”

“If I give you something now, you promise me that you will come back here tomorrow with something worth it?”

You nod eagerly.

“Okay then.”

She stands, getting you the same size bag that she gave you the first time a few weeks ago. As you take it from her, she grips your forearm hard, making you yelp in pain.

“You better keep your promise, girly, or you’ll have to pay me back another way.”

You whimper your consent to her, and, satisfied, she releases your arm. You left quickly, rubbing at your arm. It was definitely going to bruise. Once in the fresh air, you took a deep breath, going over the encounter in your head. ‘Pay me back another way.’ You felt a smile tug at your lips. You were getting somewhere.

Walking away from the restaurant, you saw the familiar van parked at the end of the road, so you said, “Pull round the corner. I’ll meet you there.”

You saw someone get out of the back and walk round to the driver’s side before the van drove off. You carried on the same way, and when you got to the van, you opened the back doors and got in, finding Adam and Jay sat waiting for you.

It was the first time since he came to your undercover apartment that you had seen Jay, but he looked a lot rougher than he had that day. His hair was messier, his eyes more tired and he looked overwhelmingly worried. But you didn’t have the time to ask him how he was doing. You knew you were close to finding the much-needed answers, you just had to keep going.

“Wow, you look rough.” Adam teased, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Ha ha, funny. Did you hear all that?” You asked.

“Yeah, we did.” Adam replied, serious this time.

“Another way to pay her…” Jay repeated what he heard, and you saw a sliver of hope flash across his face.

You nodded, the same smile you had earlier returning. “Yeah, I really think we’re getting somewhere.”

“Just…be careful, Y/N.” Jay met your eyes, and you could read a million more things he wanted to say to you right now, but you both didn’t have the time.

“I will. I better be going, then.” You said, slipping out of the van and walking back to your apartment, a little more bounce in your step than you had before.

***

Another week went by, and each time you met with Perez, you brought next to nothing, but she always said very little at all in protest. You knew it wasn’t enough to pay for what she was giving you, but she was being extremely lenient. Of course, you did this on purpose, wanting to see what the alternative form of payment would be, but you were beginning to give up hope after seven days. That was until you turned up tonight, at your usual time, and Perez wasn’t alone. The man in her office wasn’t one you ever saw before, and you knew that the team in the van would be running him through facial rec to put a name to the face.

“Who is this?” You said to Perez, glancing between them both. He was tall, rather muscular, good-looking, the same caramel skin and dark hair that Perez had, but they didn’t share similar features, so they definitely weren’t related. You might have been attracted to him if you didn’t know what he was probably involved in, or if your heart didn’t love someone else.

“This is Nicolas.” Perez replied, the same evil smile she wore so well was resting on her face.

“And why is Nicolas here?” You decided to go with the sassy approach.

“You owe me.” She stated simply. “Nicolas works for me, in a different branch, so to speak.”

You furrow your brows. What the hell is she on about? “And?”

“You are going to work off your debt.”

Your eyes go wide. “I can’t, I already have a job.”

“At the convenience store. I know. But it isn’t paying you nearly enough to pay your debt. Plus, we’d provide you with whatever you need.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” It was Nicolas that spoke this time. His voice was smooth, comforting even, but it still put you on edge. “You can start tonight. You’d earn a lot of money with your body.”

“Um, I don’t know…” You mumble, starting to back towards the door. Nicolas began to walk slowly towards you. You’d expected some sort of sex trafficking, but didn’t think this was how you’d be integrated into it.

“Y/N, don’t go anywhere. We don’t have GPS on you, it’s not safe for you to go mobile.” You heard Jay through your earpiece.

“I need to go quit my job at the store. I don’t want to leave on bad terms. I promise I’ll come back tomorrow, and then I’ll start working for you.” You tried to compromise, but both of them had a hungry look in their eyes.

You knew they weren’t going to budge. You had to escape. So you turned to run, pushing down hard on the door handle when you felt Nicolas grab your arm. You tried to thrash around to get him off, but when that didn’t work, you threw your head back, hearing what you assumed was his nose crunch with the force, which worked.

You swung open the door, ready to sprint, when this time you were pulled back by your necklace, which snapped off, and two arms wrapped around you from behind, stopping you from going. You began to scream, knowing the team would be starting to move in, but you had to hold your own for maybe thirty seconds. Only, you didn’t have that, as you felt the sharp jab of a needle in your thigh, and suddenly you felt an overwhelming urge to sleep, your eyes feeling heavy and every muscle growing weak. The last thing you saw was darkness as some sort of bag was pulled over your head.

***

You felt groggy when you began to stir, the feeling starting to flood back into your limbs, but still you couldn’t move. You looked around with fear-filled eyes, realising you were alone in a dingy basement. It wasn’t big enough to be that of a warehouse, more like a normal house. You listened hard for any sounds, but all you could hear was the occasional car driving past, nothing distinctive.

You tried to move, getting jolted back as you rolled over. You looked to the wall, finding a chain than lead to some sort of cuff on your wrist, and you knew then that you were stuck there until someone came to find you. You felt a chilled draught rush over your skin, and when you looked down you saw you were only in your underwear, sprawled out on a filthy mattress.

Immediately you felt violated, and you had yet to feel any pain associated with what you thought they would have already done to you. Still, you were angry. Upset. Furious. Disappointed in yourself for being in that position, the one where you couldn’t escape. But, even in hindsight, you couldn’t think of anything you could have done differently to save yourself from this situation, besides wearing a GPS tracker, which none of expected to need.

Your only hope was the team had caught the licence plate before you were driven off to wherever you were. For now, all you could do was wait. And with waiting came thinking, something you barely had enough energy to do right now, but as soon as your mind flooded with the thoughts of your friends and family, you were more than happy to use whatever power you had left on them.

First, your mind went to your family, the last holiday you spent together, all the time you spent without thinking once about work. Next, you thought of your unit, how they were like your second family, the fun you had each day with them, even when you were dealing with the worst mankind had to offer. The laughs from the after-work drinks at Molly’s in celebration as jokes were shared around the table. And then, you thought of Jay.

Why the hell hadn’t you told him before you left? You knew this was one of the most dangerous operations you had ever been on, and yet you were too cowardly to let him know your feelings. You didn’t want to think like that right now, though, so your mind just went to him. His jokes that made you laugh so hard you could barely breathe, his little chuckle that was like a music to your ears you yearned to hear every day, the way he was able to comfort you like no one else after a rough case, making you content and at peace with the world once more, a feat that wasn’t easy to achieve when the darkness hit you hard.

It was then that your little reverie was interrupted by the bolt on the door being slid across, the heavy metal clanging sound reverberating around the room, or was it in your head? You were still a little fuzzy, after all. The footsteps sounded menacing as whoever it was made their way towards you. You were trying to focus on their face, but it was proving to be more difficult than it should have been.

“You’re awake.” The voice was familiar, not overly so but you had definitely heard it before. You saw the hand coming towards your face in a blur before you felt it, but that did nothing to quell the sting when it collided with your cheek. You managed to supress the cry of pain, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. That’s when he gripped your jaw roughly, his fingers and thumb digging into opposite cheeks to give you that ridiculous pout to humiliate you. “Ah, I expected you to be stubborn. No need to worry, we’ll wear you down and fuck you so hard that by the end of the week, you’ll be begging for mercy through tears. Call it your initiation.”

You took a sharp intake of breath at the words, and he chuckled darkly. Your eyes finally focused, seeing the same caramel skin and dark chocolate hair you mistrusted earlier.

Nicolas.

“The ketamine still wearing off?” He laughed, throwing your face down with ease. That’s when you heard him start to unbuckle his belt. “That should make the next part easier then…”

It was like the adrenaline began to surge in waves through your veins at those words, and you began to thrash around, smacking away his hands and screaming bloody murder until your throat felt raw, but you didn’t stop. He grabbed each ankle in his hands, tight as vices, and still you lashed out, kicking your legs, trying to connect with his body anywhere you could. There was absolutely no way you would go down without a fight.

He'd managed to pin your legs down with his knees when his fingertips found the fabric of your panties, your arms still flailing with purpose in his direction, and before he could pull them down, the metal door swung open, crashing into the brick wall with a crack.

Nicolas got distracted, turning his once hungry eyes away from you to see the cause of the noise, which allowed you to dislodge a leg from underneath him, wrapping one and then the other tightly around his neck before squeezing them so hard you were surprised you didn’t break it.

You were still crying, still so flooded with adrenaline and the overwhelming need to survive that you jumped at the warm hand placed on your arm, beginning to lash out at it once again, when the hand turned into an arm, and then two, wrapped tightly but not overly so around your torso, prompting you to let go of the man you had now knocked out cold. You felt a hard chest meet your back, calming you and somehow you knew it was safe to let go, to just cry, to let it all out.

“Ssh, Y/N, I got you, I got you.” The voice was warm, inviting, comforting, one you loved so much, one you trusted with your life.

“Jay.” You whimpered in between cries, and his arms loosened slightly at your realisation. You turned ever so slightly so you could tuck your head into his neck, the tears still flowing. He rocked you gently in an effort to comfort you, but he knew you needed to get this out of your system.

You were still crying when you felt the blanket wrap around you, when you were practically carried out by Jay and into the back of a car, still sat in his lap with your head nuzzled into his neck, craving that familiar eucalyptus and cedarwood smell that would calm you. You had relaxed by the time the car pulled to a stop, and you were helped into the pristine building and onto a gurney, a hospital gown placed onto the bed for you to put on whilst everyone cleared out of the room with a few lingering looks your way before the curtain was pulled across.

You did just that, giving yourself a moment to reflect before opening the curtain. You were safe. You were unharmed, mostly. You were shaken up, but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t work through. You were okay.

“I’m ready.” You said as you pulled back the curtain. You were met with a warm smile from Natalie before you got situated on the bed.

***

About an hour later, after you had endured countless tests and a visit from Dr Charles, your team was given the go ahead to come in to see you. They walked in with caution, but at your bright smile, they seemed to relax.

“Did you find the other girls?” You got out before they could even ask you how you were, which earned a chuckle.

“There’s our Y/N,” Adam laughed. “Always straight down to business.”

You merely smiled and shrugged before looking around at each member, expecting an answer.

“Yeah, we found all of them upstairs in various rooms. Looked like the start of a sex trafficking ring, so we did good to catch it early, but it was all thanks to you, Y/N.” Hailey was the one to provide you with it.

“Don’t be silly, we all worked hard, and we did it together, although I do expect a couple of days off, boss. I’m exhausted.” You laughed along with the rest of the room.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Voight smiled at you genuinely.

You saw everyone’s eyes fleet towards Jay, who was yet to say anything, when Vanessa coughed lightly. “Well, we’ll give you some space to rest up. See you soon, Y/N.”

You thanked everyone for coming, exchanging goodbyes as they all walked out one by one, except for Jay.

He had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, his eyes looking anywhere but yours until everyone had left. When he finally looked up, seeing you smiling at him, he relaxed, taking a few steps towards you so he could sit on the edge of the bed.

“Hi.” He said a little sheepishly.

“Hi.” You replied. You felt a small blush creeping up your neck.

“How are you?” He asked, lightly checking you over for any visible injuries.

“I’m better. They didn’t…do anything. Like that.”

“Good. Otherwise they wouldn’t be leaving the cage for a couple of days.”

“Yeah…” You smiled weakly. There was a little bit of tension in the air. You weren’t used to being so close and open with him, but it felt…nice. “How’d you find me?”

“We saw the plate on the van as it sped off but couldn’t get back to the car in time to tail it. We put a BOLO out and started canvassing, but it was a couple hours later when we found it in the driveway of some house, so we thought we were too late. Luckily, we weren’t.”

You nodded along slowly before the silence resumed, but not for long. “Thank you.” You whispered meekly.

“Hm?” He furrowed his brows as you locked eyes.

“You know, for getting to me before…”

“Y/N, I told you I always have your back, and I meant it.” He said, and you saw something in his eyes you had never seen before.

“I know.” You hummed, and you felt an overwhelming urge to tell him. To tell him how you felt, that you had loved him for months and were too scared to say anything. “Listen, Jay, I need to tell you something.”

“I do too, Y/N, and I know, I’m the same, but not now. It wouldn’t be right.”

You didn’t feel deterred or ashamed. You completely understood him and wholeheartedly agreed. Although you weren’t sure if you were going to say the same thing, you just nodded, but you craved that comfort you knew he gave you, whilst also wanting to reassure yourself.

So you reached out your hand for his, and he met yours, interlacing your fingers together, his thumb running gently over the back of your hand. He lifted it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your skin, letting his lips linger there longer than would be considered just friendly, before lowering them back down to the bed. He leaned forward, not to kiss you, put to place your foreheads together, an action that seemed more intimate than a kiss right now. He lifted his eyes to yours once more, and looking into them, that’s when you knew for sure.

You loved Jay Halstead, and Jay Halstead loved you.

[tree-wizard]

I tried writing a fan fic for the first time! I didn’t really know what I was doing but here it is. It’s inspired by @an-aspiring-jester ‘s post about Scroldie tending to wounds in the Klondike(I tried to make the wound description not too graphic). Also have no idea if Scrooge and Goldie are in character, I might have made them too mushy cause I MUST HAVE FLUFF.

Thanks to @promiseddifferent for encouraging me.

And oh the title is a line from the song “Ghost Love Score” by Nightwish.

Redeem Me Into Childhood

Goldie briskly walked into the cabin and carelessly tossed her pickaxe and shovel aside.

“Be careful! If ye break my supplies, you’ll have tae pay me!”

She turned her head over her shoulder to look at the miserly grungy miner, walking into the cabin behind her and rolled her eyes. He growled and went to carefully lay down his tools, and check on the ones Goldie had thrown.

Goldie slumped down on the bed and started picking the semi dried scab on her hand. An hour ago when they had been mining, Scrooge had yelled at her for being too slow and lazy and in her frustration and determination to show him that she was just as capable as him she accidentally gashed her left hand. That certainly didn’t make her seem any more capable, so she had assured Scrooge that she was fine and when he turned away from her and focused on his own mining, she wrapped her hand in the under skirt from her dress and tried to continue working.

It was pretty bad but she didn’t want to further show him how out of her element she was. She could have used the injury and feigned being super hurt so that she could get out of doing the terrible work and maybe even had time to look for the lockbox. But she knew Scrooge would never let her in the cabin alone. In fact, once he noticed that she was using her pickaxe with one hand and that really wasn’t doing anything he grudgingly, and with a lot of muttered curses, sent her to the cabin and decided to end early for the day himself so that he could go and make sure she didn’t steal anything. Showing weakness wouldn’t do her any good while she was stuck out here with him.

She felt her cheeks slightly burn from the embarrassment and frustration with herself that was starting to swirl in her empty stomach. Ughhh, she had been so foolish. She couldn’t let his angry words affect her this much. She always had to be under control, not a klutzy damsel in distress. But why did she care what he thought of her anyways? She was the Ice Queen of the North. That’s why. She had a reputation to keep. She couldn’t let him see her as less of a formidable threat. But strangely that explanation seemed hollow and almost like an excuse and the implications of that made her feel nauseous.

Suddenly she felt a sharp spark of pain that pulled her out of her thoughts and made her hiss under her breath. Absorbed in her reflections on the events of the day, she had lost attention of her hands and now noticed that she had scraped open a part of the gash that had already been starting to heal. Her hiss spread through the cramped air of the small cabin and startled Scrooge. He was crouched by the stove, putting in wood to build up a fire, and now he looked up and across the room at Goldie.

“There’s some gauze on the table. Ye should go wrap up yer hand.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you cared about me?” Goldie scoffed.

Scrooge lowered his head and Goldie couldn’t see the pink rising on the surface of his cheeks. It's just the fire, he told himself.

“I don’t care about you. Just your ability to dig up gold.”

“Ha! I almost forgot that you’re an inconsiderate and selfish jerk.”

“As if you aren’t,” Scrooge retorted and she gasped, pretending to be offended. She continued to sit pouting on the bed. She was so frustrating. If she didn’t want to deal with her hand, so be it.

She wanted to snap back at him in some way to restore her pride and not let him win but her hand was aching and the part she had just scraped open was starting to bleed. As much as she hated following his advice, she got up and walked over to the table. She took the roll of gauze and tried to rip a portion, but she felt a sharp prickling sensation shoot through her hand and she tried to stifle a shriek.

Scrooge had stood up and walked over to the table by this time and she felt his eyes fixed on her. “Hmm, ye seem to be managing this well” he taunted her and she furrowed her eyebrows in exasperation. She lifted up the gauze to her beak and sunk her teeth into it, hoping to tear a part off. It was way pretty tough though and she struggled to even make a slight rip.

She didn’t seem so vile when she was focusing her neverending fury on something other than him. It reminded him of his younger sister Hortense and that filled him with a sense of warm comfort and tenderness that diffused his annoyance and bitterness. Scrooge chuckled and extended a hand.

“Let me help,” he said, much softer than Goldie expected. He seemed genuine and benign which caught her off guard and made her wonder if she should be cautious. She grunted and reluctantly dropped the roll of gauze into his open palm. He closed his fingers over it and then gestured at one of the chairs by the table. Goldie sat down and watched Scrooge grab a bucket of water, a cloth and a second chair from the other side of the table and bring them over to her.

“Give me your hand,” he said as he sat down beside her. She obeyed and felt his rough fingers grip her hand. He dipped the cloth into the bucket, squeezed out the excess water and started to wipe the blood and dirt off the small matted feathers of her palm. She flinched and jerked her hand when she felt the damp wetness trickle over the ravenous edge of her exposed gash. Scrooge tightened his grip on her hand and continued going over her wound. As much as she annoyed and infuriated him, he didn’t particularly want to inflict her any pain. But this was for her own good.

He finished cleaning her wound and started to wrap the gauze around her hand. He was slow and thorough and the repetition made her feel a bit more relaxed. It was almost hypnotic. Normally it irked her to have her personal autonomy restrained but his strong grip on her hand was actually oddly comforting. She settled into the calmness of the moment and let herself lower her defenses as she raised up her eyes to watch him.

She prided herself for her self sufficiency, her ability to take care of herself after her family kicked her out many many years ago, to survive in this lawless wilderness and build a business and a name for herself. But here was this rough mean miner, holding her hand in his and actually caring for her wellbeing like no one had done ever since she was a very young child and her mother sang to her a special lullaby when she was sick. She had so many painful memories from her childhood that she tried to hide behind tall icy walls and never think about, so even the few happy ones were veiled by a forgetful haze. She was surprised she was even remembering this now. She had no idea when she had last thought about her mother’s song. She couldn’t remember the words anymore but a faint melody floated to the forefront of her mind from her subconscious. Her cold exterior was melting and an innocent peacefulness slowly spread through her.

The cold Yukon winds pushing against the walls of the cabin, all his past failures that always hung over him, his dwindling hope in finding his fortune all faded away as he focused on bandaging Goldie’s hand and her soft humming that curiously almost sounded like a lullaby.

He’d spent all these years mainly on his own and while that generally didn’t bother him, there were increasingly many nights this past year in the Klondike when he’d lay in bed in his small cabin and feel almost crushed by the emptiness, the vastness of the valley around him, the distance and time away from his family. But now he didn’t feel as lonely. She was here with him.

He stopped to take a quick glance at her. Her eyelids had closed over her emerald eyes and she was resting her head sideways on the back of the chair. The light from fire had reached out and hugged around her golden locks of hair, surrounding them in a warm glow that made them even more beautiful than they already were.

Goldie felt Scrooge’s fingers slip from her hand, taking their warmth with them. She opened her eyes and saw that he had finished wrapping her hand up and had neatly tied the ends of the bandages. She reached out with her hands to his, yearning for their comfort again. Scrooge looked up at her as she wrapped her hands around his. He knew she’d never thank him but the soft gratitude in her eyes was enough for him. Scrooge slightly smiled at her and she couldn’t help smiling back. They sat a while longer, holding each other’s hands, in a small warm cabin, safe from the boundless shimmering white snow and deep northern darkness of the desolate Klondike. Two silent souls not alone for once.

[multifandomwhre]

Loves Harsh Reality

Summary: Life is a bitch. 

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x Reader, Avengers x Reader (all platonic)

Warnings: swearing, mention of past/current abuse

Prompt: “You want what everyone wants. You want a love that consumes you. You want passion, and adventure, and maybe even a little danger.” 

Word Count: 1780

Do not copy, translate, or post any of my stories anywhere you write stories, whether that’s here, Wattpad, or Ao3. 

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

Life never treated you well. Not even when you were just an innocent child, trying to navigate your way in this terrible world. You were forced into a cold and unloving organization that was run by people who don’t really give a shit that you were only 2 when they stole you. They never treated you like a human, more like a laboratory experiment, which kind of went haywire. When you were brought in, the sleaze running this entire operation stripped you of everything you had so far, which was only a name you had just barely begun to learn, and they assigned you a number, much like a court case; experiment 973. And that’s what you went by for the next 23 years of your life.

The day you were rescued from that deranged and psychotic place was...hectic to say the least. It began like any other day while you were their little pet; get woken up at the ass crack of you don’t know when, test out your powers until you physically passed out and then get ungracefully woken again only to be forced to use your powers. This continues for hours on end before these assholes make you go fight actual people in hopes that you aren’t lacking in physical strength. You fight until bodies start piling up and when your sadistic handlers are satisfied with your progress, as if you haven’t they haven’t been training you to take down monsters bigger than Goliath himself. But something wasn’t right and you could feel it in the enclosed space of your cell. 

While you normally had a rough awakening by someone poking, prodding, and eventually yanking you out of bed, nobody was there. In fact, there wasn’t even a peep from the cells neighboring yours. That was until you heard multiple gunshots and multiple bodies slumping against the floor. See, the thing about HYDRA is that they’ve trained you for this exact moment but every single ounce of training they’ve ingrained in your body and mind left the building completely as you hunkered down against the wall furthest from the thick, metal door barricading you from the outside world. 

Suddenly, the door you were just measly standing behind came crashing down, dust from the unwashed floor rising. After the dust settled, you looked up to see the poster boy of HYDRA himself, the Winter Soldier. “Steve, I’ve got a live one here. Female, looks to be in her mid-20s,” he whispered into his ear piece. He slowly moved closer, putting his weapon away as he noticed your frail body shaking from fear. “У тебя все нормально? Я ведь не бил тебя дверью?*” Shaking your head, the soldier stopped in front of you, kneeling next to you. “Меня зовут Баки. Что у тебя?” Shrugging your shoulders, you made an attempt to look over at him. “That’s ok. How long have you been here?”

“двадцать три года*,” you said, a bit of hesitation in your voice, finding it hard to speak after decades of being punished if you spoke out of turn. As you finished speaking, you heard another voice, one which you assumed belonged to this Steve person. 

“Хорошо. Стив дал мне добро, чтобы мы могли убираться отсюда,” Bucky said, standing back up on his feet. But you weren’t too sure about this. Along with your training, your handlers had pushed on you the notion that the Avengers, and anyone associated with them, were out to harm you, always, and that’s why you needed to be able to defend yourself. 

“Ты ведь не сделаешь мне больно, верно? О-или убить меня,” you asked, clear hesitation towards the soldier who was about to grant you freedom from this hellhole. 

Bucky looked at you with sympathy drawn over his features. Shaking his head, he gently grabbed your hands, a shiver traveling up your spine at the coolness from the vibranium arm. “Конечно, нет. Я вытащу тебя отсюда.”

-TIME SKIP-

It had been a few months since the Avengers had rescued you from HYDRA and you were beyond grateful that Bucky had stumbled upon you that day. But the fear that HYDRA had instilled in you about being near the Avengers was still running rampant in your system. Whenever someone knocked on your door, or came up behind you, your fight or flight instincts kicked in like that of an animal in the wild. You thought it’d be better by now, considering you have been going to therapy since coming to the compound. But today, all your frustrations came to a head.

You probably should’ve been in bed considering it was 4 in the morning but you needed to burn off some steam. What you failed to realize was that a certain super soldier was sitting in one of the boxes above the training center, watching your every move. But, him being a super soldier meant that he could pick up on more than you realized. Bucky had noticed that blood dripping onto the floor, which came from your terribly wrapped hands. 

He knew you were on edge, but not like you were when he first got you out. By the time that you realized Bucky was in your presence, it was a bit too late. You felt a hand on your shoulder; two seconds later you had the body attached to the arm on the floor, your other arm extending towards their throat, keeping them pinned to the floor. 

Once the haze cleared, you could tell who it was that you had down on the ground. “Buck? Oh my god.” Quickly pushing yourself off of him, you started pacing the gym floor. “Fucking shit. I am so sorry Bucky. I-I didn’t mean to do it. Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” You kept rambling and pacing until Bucky stopped you, stepping in front of you to stop you from wearing a hole in the floor. 

“I am fine, кукла. Are you ok? Your hands are bleeding.” Looking down, you saw the streaks of red coming out from under the tape on your hands. “Let’s go get you fixed up, ok?” Nodding, you followed Bucky out of the gym and towards the medical center. “So, what’s got you going at 4 in the morning anyway?”

“I couldn’t sleep. No matter what I tried. I even tried that tea Wanda suggested. By the way, don’t drink it. It tastes like dirt.” Bucky chuckled as you sat on a gurney, grabbing supplies from the cabinets. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t we wait for, you know, a doctor, or an actual medical professional to come in and do this,” you immediately questioned him.

“Do you seriously doubt my suturing skills? I did serve in World War II, so I’m pretty confident that I know my way around a needle and thread,” he said, carefully unraveling the useless tape from around your knuckles, taking a look at the damage. “Yeah, this’ll probably take a little bit, but don’t you worry, Dr. Barnes is always here to help.” Bucky smiled at you, calming your nerves the tiniest bit. 

After prepping and numbing you properly, Bucky began stitching your open wounds shut. “So, do you wanna talk about why you couldn’t fall asleep? Talking might help, at least it usually does for me,” Bucky asked, not taking his eyes off his work in progress.

“I, uh, I keep having nightmares. They went away for a bit, when I could actually sleep for the night, but for some reason, they’ve come back,” you admitted quietly, almost like it was a dirty little secret. 

“Well, you’ve only been here a few months so I wouldn’t expect your nightmares to just instantly go away. It took me a few years to actually get a good night's sleep with them waking me or anybody else up. So I know exactly how you feel,” he said, finishing up before wrapping your hands in sterile dressings. “And you are all set. Now, no excessive force, which includes going to the gym at 4 in the morning and working out like you are about to fight the Hulk.” You laughed lightly, shoulders loosening up.

“Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, you just stitched up my hands cause I got too into my own brain after I almost choked you when you could’ve just dropped me here and gone back to bed.” Tears filled your eyes once more, a thickening feeling surrounding your concerns. 

Bucky sighed, gingerly sitting next to you on the gurney. “When I found you at the base, I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy ride for you. Or for anyone here really. Adding another member to the team can sometimes jostle things around. And I knew for a fact that you would feel like an outcast amongst some of the biggest heroes the world has ever seen...so far,” he said as you laid your head against his arm, wiping away the tears that had made their way down your face. “And I thought maybe, just maybe, if we became friends or even just acquaintances, that you wouldn’t feel so alone here. Cause I know exactly how that feels. And ever since coming here, I can see what I looked like when I was found; lost, felt like I didn’t deserve anything good or even deserving of love. But even though you hide it with a sort of tough exterior and you’re used to being trapped away, I can tell you something about yourself that you probably don’t even know,” Bucky said in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Oh yeah? What would that be,” you asked, quite curious as to what he may have found out.

“You want what everyone wants. You want a love that consumes you. You want passion, and adventure, and maybe even a little danger. Cause that’s exactly how I feel right now.” At some point, of which you weren’t sure, Bucky had hooked his fingers under your chin, turning your face up to meet his. Your eyes finally met his, capturing the look of a pure and innocent love in his icy stare. He slowly leaned down, but stopping right before your lips collided. “Is this ok?” Quickly nodding, Bucky pressed his lips to your own, cupping your face as your injured hands made their way to his sides. 

Pulling back, Bucky rested his forehead against yours. “Never thought that this is how we would have our first kiss, doll,” he said, making you laugh which in turn caused him to chuckle. “But, I’m not at all opposed to it.”

“I’m glad. Now let’s get out of here. I’m tired.” 

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

1. У тебя все нормально? Я ведь не бил тебя дверью - Are you ok? I didn’t hit you with the door, did I?

2. Меня зовут Баки. Что у тебя? - My name is Bucky. What’s yours?

3. Это хорошо. Как давно ты здесь? - That’s ok. How long have you been here?

4. двадцать три года - 23 years. 

5. Хорошо. Стив дал мне добро, чтобы мы могли убираться отсюда. - Ok. Steve gave me the go ahead so we can get out of here. 

6. Ты ведь не сделаешь мне больно, верно? О-или убить меня? - You aren’t going to hurt me right? O-or kill me?

7. Конечно, нет. Я вытащу тебя отсюда. - Of course not. I’m going to get you out of here.

8. Кукла - Doll

I will also be posting this on my other blog, @imaginesmcu. This is a very, very late submission to @sweeterthanthis ‘s “Quote Me” challenge. 

[flurrys-creativity]

Icicle Danger

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids) x Reader; Genre: Slice of life, Fluff, a little Angst, a little hint at Romance; Rating: sfw, PG-13; Warnings:  stray cats, mysterious hyunjin who is actually shy and awkward hyunjin, mentions of being impaled -> those warnings escalated quickly; Wordcount: 1.246; Event: Winter Hearts from kdiarynet; Prompt: Number 17 - “The danger of icicles”

Summary: Intrigued by the mysterious Hwang Hyunjin in your class, who was seemingly cold and distant, you decided to get to know him. Through a chance encounter you met him and saw past his icy exterior. Now you were determined to break the ice but would he let you?

A/N: Once again.. I struggled.. and even though I had the intention of doing something supernatural (I was very close to make an Ice Queen!Hyunjin) I ignored that and made it somewhat normal

You had a theory that in every class were specific types of people; a girl group, some sports people, some geeks and nerds and the mysterious one. Sadly you had a thing for exactly those types of people.

In this class the mysterious one was none other than Hwang Hyunjin. Everybody knew his name, everybody always talked about him but nobody ever dared to speak to him. He usually kept to himself, adding to that mysterious vibe.

It was hard for you to not get intrigued by his whole persona. He seemed so cold and distant most of the time but you had seen his soft side as well. 

A mere coincidence that you happened to run into him. You were on your way home after buying some snacks for the weekend, when you used a shortcut through a back alley and stumbled upon him feeding the stray cats. 

When he saw you and both of you locked eyes, he immediately jumped up and almost ran away from you. He didn’t even give you a chance to say something.

And now whenever you saw him, he would give you one look before he would move on, doing his own thing. Maybe you even gained the most attention from him than anyone else on campus.

You thought to yourself that this might be a sign to actually confront him. Not exactly with the situation you had witnessed but more like befriending him. 

It still took a lot more courage than you thought to approach him. Days passed without you contacting him, and days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months.

You almost religiously visited that back alley, hoping to meet him again, because you just couldn’t muster your courage and talk to him in class. But you never met him there again and you wondered who was feeding the stray cats now. You felt bad for them and after a while you started to continue his mission. So whenever you passed the alley, you would always leave some cat food before you would be on your way again.

As the weather got colder and it started to freeze during the nights, you started to grow more worried with each passing day.

That was the reason why you made a whim decision one Saturday evening and got back out of your apartment. You couldn’t let the cats stay in the freezing cold, leaving them there to possible death. Therefore you wandered around the back alleys, quietly calling for the cats with some snacks in your hand.

Despite walking around for some time now and calling for the cats, none of them came. You grew restless, not able to tone the worry down. Where could they be? Were you already too late? Questions like these flooded your mind and made you careless about your surroundings.

Hyunjin had heard you calling for the cats, which irritated him. All the cats were safe at his place, sleeping on the couch or in the bed peacefully. He had noticed that you had started to feed the cats as well and even though you seemed harmless, he always stayed in the dark and just watched you.

Something he did once again. He had gone out of his apartment and followed you around silently. He hoped you would give up on the cats and go back home but it didn’t seem like it at all. 

Whenever you stopped shortly, Hyunjin got his hopes up, only to see you would continue regardless of the cold. He considered telling you the cats were alright but he didn’t want to be bombarded with questions from you. All he wanted to do was to relax on his couch and watch some movies, but instead he followed a stranger around the back alleys.

He shook his head, questioning his own sanity for doing this, when he noticed how you crouched down and started to look underneath piles of trash. A deep sigh left his lips and he looked up in exhaustion.

That was the moment he noticed the large icicles dangling above you. They moved dangerously from side to side through the harsh wind, threatening to fall any second.

Hyunjin hesitated, biting on the inside of his cheek. Calling for you could be the tipping point for the icicles to fall and going up to you would reveal that he followed you around. He groaned and stuffed his hands deeper into the pocket of his coat.

A loud squeak escaped your lips when you were ripped to your feet and pulled away from where you were.

“Are you stupid or something?” 

You heard someone say, directly followed by a loud crash behind you. Confused, you turned around and saw something shattered on the ground. At first you thought it was glass but as your gaze wandered up you saw more icicles dangling there and realised what those shards on the ground were.

“Thank you”, you breathed and turned back to the person that had apparently saved you from being impaled.

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow questioningly but didn’t respond otherwise. His eyes looked you up and down, as if he wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt.

“I asked you a question”, he suddenly said after the both of you just stared at each other, being silent for more than a few seconds.

“Huh?” Your eyes widened, while you tried to remember his question. “Oh, right. Apparently?” You shrugged with your shoulders and gave him a lopsided grin. “I guess I got careless there. But it’s fine, I’m going to be careful now!”

“You are going home.”

“What?”

Hyunjin clicked with his tongue in annoyance before he avoided looking at your face. “The cats are fine. You can go home now.”

“Oh.”

When Hyunjin glanced back at you, he saw a genuine smile spreading over your features. A smile where the corner of your eyes crinkled slightly and a smile that showed your teeth.

“That’s good. I’m glad.” You nodded slowly and then looked down to your hands, which still held the bag full of snacks. “Right! Here!” You thrusted the bag into his hands, ignoring the confused look in his eyes. “I think you have a better use for them than me now.”

You smiled again before you backed away and waved him goodbye, already turning around on your way home. You knew when you had to retreat and even though you wanted to know more, you didn’t want to force yourself on him.

Hyunjin sighed once again, looking down on the bag of cat treats and then back up to your form that moved further and further away. Another sigh escaped his lips and he pressed his eyes shut before he groaned and loudly called for you.

Surprised, you turned around and silently waited for him to say anything else. 

He groaned again when he realised you wouldn’t come closer again and quickly jogged over to you. “Would you”, he swallowed loudly and once again avoided looking into your eyes, “would you like to give these to the cats?”

You tilted your head, trying to understand his question. “You mean the both of us together?” 

“Yeah, would you like that?”

The same genuine smile appeared on your face again as you nodded enthusiastically. “I would love that.”

Maybe you weren’t so bad to keep around, Hyunjin thought to himself as he led the way. Maybe he could ignore his awkwardness for once and get close to you.

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[cheshiresense]

Hadrian/Orion (I just can't let go of them, I love them so much) with an added Soulmate AU to everything else, please ?

Lmao Hadrian/Orion, what a surprise~ Let’s go with a classic ‘the one where you have your soulmate’s name written on your body’ AU.

1. In all 22 years of his first life, Hadrian never finds his soulmate. Plenty of people try of course (tattoos are a thing even in the magical world and people can be seriously weird), and even more of them want, to be the Boy-Who-Lived’s destined soulmate, but none of them were born with Hadrian’s name on their wrist, and Hadrian promised himself a long time ago when he was still a little boy in a cupboard under the stairs with no family and no real home, when he’d seen the name appear at seven years old and then learned that the person whose name was on his wrist belonged to him and no one else, he’d sworn he would never love another, not the way one should love a soulmate. It didn’t matter when Aunt Petunia muttered about freakish names, didn’t matter when Uncle Vernon told him his soulmate would be better off without him - Orion Black was Hadrian’s soulmate, and nobody in the world could ever take this one thing away from him.

It’s considered even worse manners to ask to see someone’s soulmate than it is to ask to see Hadrian’s scar, so nobody asks, not even Ron. There are shops that sell wristbands in all colours and designs, and in the magical world, those designs even move. Hadrian gets a solid black band with the constellation Orion stitched into it, and for years and years to come, when he was scared or hurt or alone, even just seeing the tiny silver stars winking back at him in the dark of night would make him feel safer.

The first time he shows someone the name on his wrist is… well, he doesn’t actually show anyone. But Sirius hugs him, tight and fierce, at the top of a Hogwarts tower after he and Hermione rescue him from Dementors, and when he pulls back, for a moment, his gaze catches on the band around Hadrian’s wrist. His face goes a little funny, recognition coiled with bafflement, but there’s no time for anything else, and sooner rather than later, Sirius is gone with Buckbeak.

(Sirius lives another two years before he dies. Hadrian is fifteen and angry at a world that would rather be led like sheep to a slaughter than face their fears, and his godfather pulls him aside and shows him the Black family tapestry and the only Orion Black on it.

“I recognized the constellation so I thought I’d check, just in case,” Sirius explains, and in this first life, he is the first and only person Hadrian bares his wrist to. The script is still there, solid blue and visible, so they’re definitely still alive, but there are no other Orions on the tapestry aside from Sirius’ dad. Sirius grins anyway, optimistic and encouraging in a way that momentarily wipes Azkaban from his face. “Who knows, maybe there’s a bastard out there who escaped my family’s attention. Or maybe it’s a muggleborn. I hear Black isn’t that uncommon a name in the muggle world.”)

The war begins again when Hadrian is fourteen. It ends when he’s twenty-one. The name on his wrist never fades, and he spends every day hoping his soulmate lives, that they don’t attend Hogwarts, that they’re not even on the Merlin-damned continent.

And then Fate comes calling, and Hadrian thinks maybe his soulmate had been much farther away from him than even he ever guessed.

2. Orion is born with Harry Potter on his wrist. He’d been dumped at a muggle orphanage shortly after his birth, and then that orphanage had been ravaged by a werewolf pack when he was two. Maybe that’s why nobody ever wondered exactly when his name came in. Nobody who might’ve known stuck around long enough to tell the orphanage, and with green script the colour of Harry’s eyes, everyone just made the most logical assumption after Sirius and Remus adopted him. But the truth of it is this - he was born five months earlier than Harry, with a name already etched into his wrist. Harry Potter - this Harry Potter - could not possibly be his soulmate.

But nobody knows that. Instead, their families see the name on Orion’s wrist, and then they see a completely different name on Harry’s wrist, and Orion becomes one of the very few destined for an incomplete soul. It’s just a figure of speech of course, his soul is as whole as anybody’s, but it sets him apart from the very beginning, garners pity as much as being a werewolf garners contempt, and his only saving grace is the fact that not even Harry would stoop to blabbing about Orion’s soul-name in public, even if it does make for very easy ammunition against him. Besides, it’s easy enough to sneer “no one will ever want to be your soulmate” and pretend it’s only because Orion is a werewolf.

So Orion spends the next ten years and change following Harry around like a dog begging for any small scrap of affection. It had been fine at first, for a few years, before Harry found out about the werewolf secret and changed. Even though he didn’t have Orion’s name, Harry had told him it was fine, they were still family no matter what. It was fine, until it wasn’t, and by the age of fourteen, Orion had almost convinced himself that he didn’t care. Didn’t care that his soulmate hated him. Didn’t care that Harry had turned most of their school against him. Didn’t care that most of the world would rather his kind didn’t exist.

But then Hadrian Evans had swept into his life like a natural disaster, changing everything he touched without even trying, pulling everyone into his orbit whether they liked it or not, and refusing to live in a world where Orion was treated as lesser, so he demanded the world change for Orion instead.

And for the first time in his life, Orion looks at his own wrist and wishes it was someone else’s name, because however much Harry had hurt him, broken him, left him feeling something very close to hatred, he’d never quite managed to stop wanting Harry to accept him, to like him, to finally see Orion’s loyalty and bring him back into the fold, not until he’d met Hadrian and realized that yes, he did deserve better.

3. The first time Hadrian lays eyes on Orion and Neville tells him his name, he knows, absolutely knows, straight down to his bones - yes, this is the one, this is my soulmate, this person was who I was waiting for.

He doesn’t march right up and reveal all, obviously. For one, it takes weeks to get past Orion’s icy exterior, with good reason. For another, the whole dimension travel thing is hardly something Hadrian can just go around telling people about. And for a third… well. Orion has given no indication that Hadrian Evans is what’s written on his wrist. He could be hiding it, like Hadrian, but Hadrian likes to think he would’ve noticed. Orion’s not actually that hard to read once you get past his walls. On the other hand, if he has Harry Potter written on his wrist, that’s a bit of a problem too. Which Harry Potter does it mean? Is that why Orion was so loyal to Harry even though the other boy had done nothing to deserve it?

But Fate gave Hadrian Orion Black, printed out in vivid blue the colour of Orion’s eyes, and surely Hadrian wouldn’t have been plucked out of his own world and dropped into this specific universe if the only Orion he’s ever met isn’t his soulmate.

Fate of course is no help at all.

In the end, he decides it doesn’t matter. Orion is fourteen - Hadrian isn’t putting a finger on him until he’s legal, and even then, it has to be Orion’s choice. Just because the universe has matched two people together doesn’t mean it always works out, and Hadrian isn’t going to be one of those arseholes who tries to force their soulmate into a relationship just because of what’s written on their skin. And soulbonds aren’t always romantic. There are plenty of platonic ones in the world as well.

Besides, he knows Orion feels a measure of gratitude to him for befriending him in the first place, which is just wrong, but the point is, Hadrian doesn’t want him latching onto the soulbond out of any kind of obligation. He wants Orion to like him - and possibly even fall in love with him one day - for him. Just because it’s him.

(Just Harry. A sham of a childhood, too much blood on his hands, and a whole war down the road, and in the end, just Harry is still all he can really be.)

As for Hadrian himself, it’s not as if it’s hard to like Orion. He’s standoffish and cold to those who’ve bullied him in the past or those he’s wary of because he doesn’t know them, and that’s his right, borne from years of bearing the weight of Harry’s verbal abuse. But he’s also overwhelmingly, heartbreakingly devoted to Hadrian once Hadrian proves that his kindness is genuine, and isn’t that sad? A little bit of kindness - eating meals together, studying together, decent manners and a smile - and that was all it took because underneath the frigid exterior, there was just a boy desperate for somewhere to belong.

So Hadrian is fine with simply befriending him. Even if Orion never figures out they’re soulmates, even if they aren’t soulmates, Hadrian can be content with what he already has. It’s not like he’s in love with Orion at this point anyway, he’s never been in love with anyone so maybe theirs will be a platonic bond in the end. Orion deserves the world, and that may or may not include Hadrian in the long run, but in the meantime, Hadrian will be damned if he lets anyone continue treating Orion with one iota less of the respect he deserves.

4. Of course, life rarely works out the way anyone plans it, and Hadrian has always, always been Fate’s bitch. In the end, it’s his wristband that gives him away, which Hadrian should’ve predicted, because Orion is Sirius’ son, and just like Hadrian’s Sirius, he recognizes his namesake instantly the moment he spots it one day, when the two of them and the rest of their friends are out by the Lake, enjoying a summer afternoon after their last exams of the year. Even Hermione probably can’t identify constellations at a glance the way the Black house can.

Orion goes preternaturally still, half bent over to spread a towel on the grass. Hadrian is sprawled out on a towel of his own, bisected by the shade of some nearby trees, and he’s down to shorts and a shirt, for once foregoing his robes. The wristband stands out starkly, and nobody else is around, all of them splashing around in the water instead. Orion had just come back up for a break, and it takes even Hadrian - relaxed as he is - a few seconds to realize the air has grown tense around them.

“Orion, what-” He half sits up, ready to hex someone into oblivion, and then he follows Orion’s line of sight, only to freeze as well when he sees his own wristband.

A strained minute of silence follows, like a breath caught and held, waiting for the drop.

Orion is in his sixth year, seventeen already as of February. It’s not like he hasn’t already realized - probably as far back as fourth year if he’s honest - that there’s something really off about Hadrian. Prodigy he might be, but there are some things you can’t learn just by being smart or good with magic. Hadrian duels like he was born for war, as terrible as that sounds, but he’s been tutoring them in Defense for almost two years now, and he has the reflexes and muscle memory of a veteran Auror. Orion would know - he’s seen his dad and Uncle James duel before. And the things he knows - he can brew everything from Anti-Paralysis Potions to Blood-Replenishing Potions to Veritaserum and make it look easy, but he doesn’t know even the most basic of household charms that a magical child would’ve grown up around, had to be assured that faerie lights at Yule didn’t actually hurt the faeries, and just last year when he’d moved into Orion’s house for the summer, he’d spent whole afternoons sitting in the children’s section of their library, looking at Orion’s old picture books - with miniature characters that reenacted the story live like a play when you opened the book - like he’d never seen anything more amazing.

(Remus had just looked sad when Orion had quietly mentioned it out of Hadrian’s earshot. Sirius had disappeared into the duelling chamber and blown things up for a few hours.)

Of course, those were things Orion had observed over time, the details you only knew if you were Hadrian’s friend and took the time to get to know him. But even a stranger on the street could probably tell you something was up if they saw Hadrian and Harry standing side by side and you told them they weren’t related.

Black hair, green eyes, the same nose and jaw and knobbly knees. The only difference between them, physically speaking, were superficial - Harry was a little taller, Hadrian didn’t wear glasses, Harry had messier hair, Hadrian had scars that Orion hadn’t quite plucked up the courage yet to ask about.

Even Hadrian’s surname was suspicious. Evans? What are the odds that his family name would just so happen to be Aunt Lily’s maiden name?

But it was such a far-fetched idea, that they could be related at all, when - personality-wise - they were so wildly different. They were even the same age, so unless the Potters had secretly given away Harry’s twin at birth, there was just no way.

And yet.

Orion slowly sinks to the ground. He drags his eyes away from the wristband to check Hadrian’s expression, only to be met with guarded stone features and eerie Avada Kedavra eyes. He doesn’t say anything, just watches Orion in return, but saying nothing is an answer in itself, isn’t it?

Orion releases a long, careful breath, feeling like a single wrong word now might actually get him obliviated. He knows Hadrian has it in him, has a lot worse than a memory charm in him, but Orion has never worried that it might turn on him one day. That he thinks it now, that he can look at Hadrian and see the warrior staring back - it just means this is important, and Orion cannot mess this up.

It’s not like he’s never thought it before. Common sense and logic usually buried the clues and dismissed his what-ifs, but when he’s alone and awake at night and can’t sleep, and there’s really nothing better to do than think of Hadrian, sometimes, he does wonder.

And it’s starting to look a lot like he might’ve actually been right.

He inhales and exhales again, looks once more at the wristband - silver stars on a black night sky, for Merlin’s sake, it might as well be his name wrapped around Hadrian’s wrist - and then he meets Hadrian’s eyes again without flinching. “I’ve wanted you to be my soulmate since before fourth-year Yule, when we both said we’d go the Ball without a date, so it pretty much felt like we were going together.”

His ears burn red, but he keeps his chin up and his gaze steady, and he gets the pleasure of watching some of the ice recede from Hadrian’s face as his eyes go wide and his lips part with genuine surprise.

And then he blushes, and Orion stares, brain stalling, and all he can think is, oh, he’s pretty, which Sirius must never know.

“Bloody hell-” Hadrian mutters, slapping a hand to his forehead, and then a twitch of his fingers and a mumbled Muffliato fizzles up around them to give them some privacy. And then he drops his hand, looks around, and promptly rolls his eyes before dismissing it again with another wave.

“Come on,” Hadrian says as he rises to his feet, looking simultaneously fatalistically grim and recklessly determined. “I’m not talking about this here. We’re going to the Room of Requirement.”

He pauses though, teetering from the balls of his feet to his heels and back. And then he sticks out a hand towards Orion, and Orion feels almost clumsy as he lurches forward to take it, letting Hadrian haul him to his feet, easy as anything.

“Wait, are you really-” Orion stammers out, because holy fuck is he actually right, and he knows he shouldn’t talk about it here, and he sounds like some half-wit, but-

Hadrian heaves a sigh, and then he lifts their joined hands and uses his free one to peel back the wristband.

Orion stares. Orion Black, stamped out in the looping cursive of his handwriting, as blue as his eyes will ever be, stares boldly back at him.

“Come on,” Hadrian repeats, hiding the name - Orion’s name - away again and tugging at his  hand. “I have some things to tell you, about- about who I am, and where I come from, and I’m not doing it here.”

Orion nods faintly, feeling dazed, but he follows when Hadrian moves, close enough to crowd him.

When Hadrian - Hadrian Evans, Harry Potter from another bloody universe - glances at him, as scared as Orion’s ever seen him, like this isn’t literally everything Orion has ever wished for, miraculously come true, and all Orion can do is press closer and clutch tighter at the hand in his.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever let go.

5. It’s a while later before everyone knows. Literally everyone - there’s a dimension-traveller in their midst, blessed by Fate and Magic, and nobody wants to mess with that, although there has been more than a few letters from the Unspeakables since they found out.

But before everyone, their friends and families find out first. Harry looks like he’s swallowed a lemon, but at least he keeps his mouth shut, for the time being, and for weeks, James and Lily go around looking equal parts shocked and awed and a little like they’re not quite sure how to treat Hadrian anymore.

Sirius and Remus don’t give a damn beyond listening closely to everything Hadrian decides to tell them. Orion’s father looks achingly relieved every time he sees Orion and Hadrian together, and his dad beams ecstatically every time he spots them holding hands. Sirius isn’t quite petty enough to flaunt it in front of James, and not quite mean enough to say it in front of Harry, but in the privacy of their home, Sirius calls Hadrian “my godson” a lot, and every single time, Hadrian protests, but his face also scrunches up a bit like he wants to cry. He also melts and pretends he doesn’t whenever Sirius ruffles his hair or pulls him into a hug. That’s probably half the reason why Sirius keeps doing it.

On his part, Orion doesn’t care if only he and Hadrian knows or if the whole world knows. He has Hadrian’s name on his wrist, even if it’s not the name he uses now, the name he’s embraced along with the life he’s made for himself here, and Hadrian has his, jumping an entire universe to meet Orion, but more than that, so much more, Orion has Hadrian, and it wouldn’t have mattered even if their names hadn’t matched, he would’ve loved him regardless.

Because here and now, he has the way Hadrian looks at him in the morning when they wake up, soft and lazily content. He has the way Hadrian trusts him to have his back in battle, and the way Hadrian turns to him first, always, finding him in a crowd or asking for his opinion or just to know he’s there. He has the way Hadrian calms when Orion wraps him in his arms after waking from nightmares, and even when he can’t fall back asleep, he learns he can depend on Orion to stay up with him.

He has the sight of Hadrian wearing the Black family engagement ring, offered the morning after Orion turns eighteen, pressed firmly into Hadrian’s hands because Orion’s feelings won’t ever change no matter how many years Hadrian gives him to reconsider.

“What if you’re not ready though?” Hadrian half-pleas, because this is somehow still something he worries about, that he’s taking advantage, that Orion will want someone less broken, less sad, carrying less baggage.

“I am,” Orion says steadily, because he has never been more sure of anything. “I’m ready. But maybe you aren’t yet, and that’s okay. I’m just making my intentions clear. But however long you need, I can wait. I will wait. I promise.”

Hadrian looks at him after that like he can’t believe Orion is real, and Orion will treasure it forever.

Two years later, he has his own engagement ring on his finger, secretly crafted and given to him when Hadrian - clear-eyed and confident - proposes at their favourite diner in the magical district of Rome. Orion can’t stop grinning all night.

[daddyllodge]

Poisonous blood || Riverdale au

chapter two

read here or on ao3

word count : 2067

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" and over here we have the courtyard—"  kevin keller began to say as he leads the new girl to a empty table. the second they bumped into each other before class stared the two raven haired teens hit it off.

veronica lodge was the utter definition of beauty. her long black hair and alluring eyes it was nearly impossible not to notice a girl like her. most of the guys didn't even bother to try and hide the fact that they were practically undressing her with their gaze.

who could blame them though? the young latina had curves and she knew it; her clothes only seemed to enhance them all the more— despite the winter coat she wore.

setting his lunch tray onto the table he chose for them, veronica followed suit; taking a seat next to him. she listened intensely to his words, eager to learn about all that was riverdale high.

" there's a lost of cliques here— allow me to introduce, " kevin said with a excited glint in his eye making veronica smiling response, gesturing for him to proceed.

" over there we have the ever so cliché popular group; lead by the queen of the damned herself, cheryl blossom." kevin began, nodding towards the only redhead girl surrounded by a large group of girls and guys.

as soon as he said this, however, veronica noticed the redhead turned her gaze towards them— almost as if she heard kevin's words.

both girls eyes met and quickly the two girl looked away.

" she's pretty. "

kevin snorted, " just wait till you see her true self. "

saying nothing in response she let kevin continue all the while taking a bite of her cafeteria food which if she was being honest, wasn't as bad as she thought it would be.

taking a slow breath, kevin went on to discreetly pointing with his plastic for to the group behind him. " over there we have the down to earth kids that almost everyone loves— or at least pretends to, "

veronica furrowed her brows in confusion, " what do you mean ? "

" well," kevin paused taking a sip of his bottled juice before he continued " take valerie brown for example, she's a soft spoken girl that loves to help and while that may be a great quality it also is her greatest weakness. she'll put others well-being before her own and so it makes it easier for others to take advantage of her pure intentions."

upon hearing this, veronica felt a wave of sadness and worry as she looked towards the girl kevin was telling her about.

seeing this kevin smiled sympathetically, " don't worry, that girl can very much take care of herself." he waved veronica's worry off.

" not to mention she has two older 'sisters' who always look out for her. " kevin smiled. " like melody, "

" that girl is a force to be reckoned with, she'll go to the ends of the earth for her sisters; with a temper matching the devil's melody is always there to protect those who've earned her trust and loyalty; though she does tend to go off the rails sometimes she always has someone to bring her back. . . " the sheriff's son rambled on, clearly have some kind of friendship with the two girls he was talking about.

" josie mccoy, she's the level headed one— a leader if you will. " kevin explained pointing towards the third girl of the group.

looking over kevin's shoulder, veronica caught sight of a thin girl wearing a yellow jacket with eyes fixated on a sheet of paper laid out on the table she was sitting on with melody and valerie leaning over her.  

" she's wise and courageous and most importantly fair. josie loves her sisters even if their not her biological ones she loves them as if they were and is always there to keep them balanced. "

veronica smiled, " that's sweet. " she said fondly looking away from the group of girls that smiled and laughed at one another.

kevin nodded, " yeah, they're at whole lot better than those mutts over there. "

the sound of hatred coming from the bubbly boy caught veronica's attention, turning to the boy who was glaring at a group of guys.

" mutts ? " veronica questioned and out of the corner of her eye she could tell the redhead— cheryl, was looking at them again.

" they're all dogs, v. " kevin said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world; which in his eyes it was.

" i dated one of them before; let's just say he wasn't allowed to be sleeping with the sheriff's son. " he glanced at one of them and for a moment lingered on before looking back to veronica.

picking at his food, kevin continued. " sure, they're pretty to look at but get past the false exterior and you'll be running for the hills. "

veronica looked towards the group of guys curiously; eyes studying every single one of the guys in the group until they landed on a pair of icy blue eyes that were starting back at her intensely.

a eerie feeling washed over veronica and suddenly her breath hitch as the reminder of her first day in riverdale, when she was chanced by an beast like wolf. veronica almost shuttered at the memory of him chancing her flashed across her eyes for a split second before she blinked and the memory was quickly pushed to the back of her mind.

it wasn't until then that, veronica remembered the note she found at the foot of the bed the morning after her indecent.

the words written on the paper were noticeably written in a hurry but even then, veronica had found herself reading the two lines over and over and it wasn't until that moment at the courtyard with kevin that veronica realized she had unintentionally memorized what the note said.

❝ 𝒊 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏, 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔 . . . ❞  

           ❝ . . .  𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆, 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒆. ❞

the words echoed in the back of her mind as she met a pair of cold blue eyes, looking at veronica as if he was surprised by her mere presence.

" that's jughead jones, " kevin spoke bitterly once he noticed the two looking at one another. " he is the so called ' leader ' of the group, and by extension the biggest dick of them all. "

" . . .  that's if you don't come across his twin brother, who name ironically is— " kevin was quickly cute off by the bell ringing signaling the end of lunch, making the young teen sigh.

" i'll tell you more later, " kevin said gathering his things before standing " what class do you have next ? "

"ap biology with- . . . " veronica pulled her folded up schedule out, quickly  reading the teacher's name, " mrs. ruiz ? "

before kevin could respond his name was being called through the intercom, requesting his presence in the main office.

" it's okay, kevin. " veronica smiled. " go, i'll be alright on my own. " she reassured the boy who was clearly worried about leaving the new girl by herself.

" i have your number, text you soon ! " kevin said before running off to the main office.

and so, veronica grabbed her belongings as she began to stand only taking merely two steps before feeling a pair of pricing blue eyes on her making her heart race.

refusing to look in his direction, veronica quickly walked back into the school's building.

she may have been new to the school but she knew better than to get involved with someone like him;  the second veronica's eye met jughead's she felt something— something that made her want to stay as far away from him as possible.

' it's a big school, shouldn't be all that hard. '

veronica thought to herself as she blankly looked at her schedule, vigorously re reading the room number as to not go through the horrid embarrassment of going to the wrong class. the young lodge had been so focused on memorizing the room number that veronica did not bothering to look where she was going until she felt herself collide with something hard with such force that she was almost knocked down.

though, before her body could hit the floor a pair of hands held her in place; almost immediately, veronica was engulfed into a sweet warmth that allowed the apples of her cheekbones to color into a bushing pink.

veronica eyes snapped up to meet a pair of dark— guarded brown eyes looking back at her own.

" i— " she began to say but his presence alone was oddly familiar and the overwhelmingly scene of comfort that seemed to surround him was all too much for the young girl to say anything else other than a breathless apology before rushing off .

the ghost of his hands on her hips was still present by the time veronica made it inside the school building, where she ignored the looks she received that were all a mix of attraction and curiosity. her heart was racing just as fast as it was  when the dark wolf chased had chanced her.

veronica's vision clouded with unshead tears as the sensation of her throat closing up began to make her feel as though she was suffocating.

somehow managing to make it into the girls restroom her chest began to rise and fall at an alarming rate as she paced back and forth the empty restroom. veronica knew what this was, she knew if she didn't settle down she'd probably pass out; she knew no one would ever believed her if she tried to tell anyone what happened in the woods two nights ago.

" veronica ? " a blonde with a pale white complexion hesitantly approached, worried lines showing at the sight of the raven haired teen who looked at her with wide eyes.

almost immediately, the blonde haired girl rushed to veronica's side " you're hyperventilating, " she muttered taking the brunette's hand in hers letting the shorter girl squeeze onto the limb as tight as she wanted. " purse your lips and breath . . . slowly, v . . . slow breaths " she coaxed softly never once taking her worried gaze off of veronica.

" it's okay, you're alright. "

veronica didn't know this girl, she didn't know how or why she knew her name much less why she was helping her but as veronica did as she was told, she couldn't help it but feel glad she the blonde had came in when she did.

it was clear her mind was having a harder time to actually process what had happened in the woods with the wolves, one wanting veronica dead while the other protected her. veronica knew that was the real reason why she had such an abrupt panic attack but when the blonde girl asked her what happened veronica could only think of one thing to say.

" not a big fan of being the new girl. "

that was a lie.

veronica loved being the new girl, the attention it brought her but it wasn't until that very morning that veronica found herself unsure if she still liked being the new girl.