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lowkeywritings · 6 years ago

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Games - O.D. imagine (1/2)

Disclaimer: Hello! This is my first imagine for OMB; felt like writing some Spooky stories. A second part will be coming for this, so please let me know your thoughts on it! And thank you to @spookysprincesa for helping out! (gif not mine)

Feel free to send in requests!

Warnings: language, far too angst-y, will be redeemed in second part

Word Count: 2931 oops

She knew it had been a bad idea. Her sister had said as much, too. And her mamma. And that really short kid from around the block, big eyes and all.

There are some things you just know.

The sun will rise tomorrow. Prophets are the enemy. Water is wet. The sky is blue. There’s no such thing as the ‘friendzone’.

Also, Oscar Diaz is an asshole.

Yet, knowing that, and having witnessed hordes of women enter and leave Spooky’s life, most for quite short-lived affairs, she had managed, unluckily for her, to get involved with him.

It had started the way most of these things do - somewhat intoxicated and unbothered by the idea of consequences. A few too many blunts had her floating above the sofa, getting lost in a dark, hypnotizing gaze, losing all sense of where he ended and she began. Years of friendship down the drain, of swallowing down feelings, because of course he doesn’t like you and this couldn’t work out, he’s not like that.

His lingering touches told a different story that night, yet here they were. She, locked in a damp and dimly-lit bathroom, losing a staring contest with her own reflection - he, smugly sat on a decaying barcalounger in his own living room, winning a contest of his own in which his hand battled with rising up an excessively short skirt tightly wrapped around an excessively attractive woman.

Had to be expected, really. A few smashes after parties, unbeknownst to everyone they knew, didn’t exactly make for a solid relationship. They weren’t a thing. She didn’t want them to be, anyway. Right?

Contest over. Her reflection won, puffy eyes and all. But what did it matter? He wasn’t hers to cry over. She took an extra minute to talk herself up, index finger pointed at the mirror.

You a bad bitch. You don’t care about him, or his stupid pretty face. You’re a warrior. Show no fear.

It seemed a bit much, but it worked, and soon enough she was ready to face the outside.

The air was heavy as she emerged from the bathroom, blasting music bringing her back to the harsh reality unfolding in front of her. The door snapped behind her - forgot it did that - bringing a few questioning stares her way.

His, namely. His eyes flashed of regret for an instant, so fast you could’ve almost missed it. She didn’t.

Miss short-skirt didn’t, either, and certainly not when he stood, quite roughly, and her excessively round bottom nearly won over the floor. He held her back, his hand around her waist, and the room suddenly got blurry once again.

Confused as to why this was bothering her so much, she opted to leave it to the universe to figure its stuff out and cut the night short. Why stay around if the only person you truly want to hang out with is busy with someone else?

What kind of game is that?

Fresh air entered her lungs and she breathed it in, like pushing her head above water. It felt light, freeing. Nothing anchoring her down in that god-forsaken living room. She had fond memories of that place, of hanging around him without a care in the world, laughing it up. Simple times. When the idea of him feeling up some other girl didn’t matter much, because he just didn’t know what he was missing then.

He did now, yet he was still in there with her and she was out here by herself.

She was barely passed the outside sofa, however, when she heard the door, her chest tightening at the idea that it might be him. Probably wasn’t, though. That kind of thing only happens on TV.

“Hey.”

His voice was low, but clear and unmistakably his. It cut through the dark night and stopped her going forward, feigning surprised as she turned to him.

“Hmm?” she sang back, a perfect picture on nonchalance. She wasn’t leaving because of him, or his new conquest, and she didn’t care about his stupid ass anyway.

“Where you goin’?” He caught up with her in a few long steps, simultaneously getting out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He offered her one, and she declined with a wave of her hand.

“Dunno. Why?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and watching as he lit his own cigarette.

He shrugged. “Just curious.” Yeah right. “Shouldn’t go walkin’ around too much at night, though. Lookin’ like this,” he added, avoiding her eyes as he looked around, then at the ground.

“Like what?” she insisted, raising her eyebrow in a dramatic fashion. He smirked swiftly, the sight of his dimple making her stomach flip, but evaded the question.

“You know,” he replied, voice low, still not looking at her much. He seemed more interested in staring into the distance and squaring his shoulders, like he was trying to intimidate the air or something. She knew, of course, what he meant. He meant to say she looked nice, like someone who might get attention. He meant it as a compliment, but seemed very intent of not letting it out.

She waited, hopeful. It never came. “Sure,” she sighed.

He was a very poor conversationalist for someone who had chased her down in her leave. She stayed silent, watching him take a long drag of his smoke, taking the time to admire his face.

“Doesn’t mean anything, you know,” he said quite suddenly, meeting her eyes for the first time. Her questioning look let him know she wasn’t sure what he meant, and he went on. “Deena.”

He said the girl’s name like that was supposed elicit some sort of reaction. Miss short skirt doesn’t mean anything, he said. Ah.

Their own encounter didn’t seem to mean much, either, despite their prior friendship, yet they had still seen each other naked five times. Did it really have to mean something for her to be annoyed?

She hadn’t even been with anyone else, not that he’d asked her for that. Though she knew, as well as everyone else, that he probably wouldn’t have taken kindly to it. Typical older brother, alpha-male attitude.

Never wants to share anything.

“What’you mean?” she asked, perfectioning the act of pretending she didn’t know, or care, that he would or had already stuck it in with some other chick. That the mere idea of it was making her blood boil. That she didn’t wish she could walk back in the house, grab that puta by the hair and yank her through a window, and flying far away from Freeridge, Spooky’s living room, and his dick.

Spooky didn’t explain, and instead studied her face for a minute too long. He seemed annoyed, for a second, like he hadn’t expected it. Like he, too, wanted her to go back into the house, hair-yanking galore.

Had he been putting on a show for her benefit, she wondered. Sounded like him, the way he always enjoyed mocking others and getting a laugh out of it. That kind of game, however, with her as the butt of the joke, seemed a bit far fetched even for him.

“Oscar,” she continued innocently before he could say anything, taking a step towards him, getting close enough that she had to tilt her head up slightly to catch his gaze. She batted her eyelashes at him, and his eyes widened in excitement, enjoying the feeling of her soft hands on his broad chest.

He had always liked the way she said his name.

The way she whispered it through her lips made it sound something of a promise, a warmth he didn’t remember much of.

The next thing she said, however, felt cold as ice.

“You ain’t my man. Chill, okay? It’s not that serious.”

His nostrils flared as she stepped back, any hint of her presence now replaced with a gust of wind.

She flashed him a sad smile, turning away and walking towards the street. She was heading home, not that she was going to tell him that. She preferred to give off the feeling that she was going out, enjoying her night, outside of him, who isn’t her man.

“Hey!” he said again, this time much louder than before. She was further, to be fair, but he also seemed a little less friendly than before, too. She turned back, staying where she stood, in the middle of the street.

“What?” she replied in the same tone, squaring her jaw. Time to drop the act, it seemed. She knew she has struck a chord, telling him to chill and leaving him behind. Knowing him, he was bound to be annoyed. Angry, even, or so his eyes said.

“What’re you playing at?”

“I ain’t playing. I’m leaving.”

He kissed his teeth, taking a deep breath. Trying to calm himself down, she realized. He really was angry. She beamed at the thought, pleasantly surprised that she could incite that in him. She had always been the one to calm him down, when he got riled up. When they were just friends.

“You’re not leaving, for one,” he said, his voice rumbling. She felt a shiver run through her spine, but hoped it didn’t show on her face. Now is not the time, hoe. “And you’re not talkin’ to me like that, either.”

“Or what?” she challenged him, using a loud voice she didn’t know she had. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem,” he went on, clenching his jaw as he took a step forward, “is your fucking tone. Now get back inside.”

She let out a humourless laugh, tilting her head to the side like she was truly wondering if he was serious. He clearly was, by the stare he was giving her, his tensed body and the dangerous steps he kept taking towards her.

‘Spooky’ was right.

“My tone’s just fine, and I am leaving. Give Deena my regards, will ya?” she spat, turning away like she didn’t know he was already steps away from her and about to catch up with his ridiculously tall legs. She knew by saying that, she was admitting defeat, but it was too late now.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, and she heard him very close, as he was fast approaching. Her power walking kept her ahead, however, and she tried her best to ignore him. “So that is why you’re tryin’ to leave,” he laughed, suddenly a lot less tensed. “Don’t worry, mami, you still the finest hyna on the block.”

She all but punched him square across the face as she heard him chuckle behind her.

Asshole.

She cursed herself for letting the situation get the best of her like this. She knew very well he didn’t owe her anything, and that kind of reaction only made sense if they had agreed to some sort of exclusivity, which they had not. Still, with years of friendship behind them and what she thought was mutual respect they had between them, she felt entitled to a better treatment than that. Instead, he seemed to be taking far too much pleasure in knowing he had gotten under her skin.

“Come oooon, don’t be like that,” he insisted, suddenly catching up to her like he’d been holding back until then, rounding his arm around her waist and stopping her dead in her tracks. She fought against his hold, but he was too strong, and she turned to face him, pure rage flashing on her features.

“What do you want? Why don’t you just go back to your putas and leave me alone,” she spat, pushing against his chest. He let go of her, letting out a loud laugh as she fumed in front of him.

“Chillout, mujer. It’s not that serious, right?” he replayed her words, smirking. If looks could kill, he would be dead, the way she stared him down like he was the most unpleasant thing to look at on the planet.

Far from it, obviously.

“You don’t get it.”

“Get what? That you’re mad? No, you’re right, I don’t.”

She cursed under her breath, shaking her head, more at herself than at him. Of course he wouldn’t get it. She had been a fool to think that having known him and cared for him all this time would change anything. He was still the same guy, and she wasn’t special.

She wasn’t special enough to be the one he would be true to.

“Forget it, then,” she sighed, feelings tears swell up. She bit at her cheek, trying to focus on other things. Not them, him, with his deep eyes and his sweet touch and everything about him that she knew but no one else did. They way he laughed, the way he smelled, the way he said her name, the way he hugged her when they said hello, the way he kissed her forehead when they said goodbye, the way his features softened at the sight of his brother…

She closed her eyes suddenly, hiding her face in embarrassment as she tried, in vain, to pull herself back together. His face dropped, filling with worry as he realized what was going on.

“Hey, hey, hey,” his voice reverberated like a whisper somewhere above her head. She had to keep looking down or he would see the tears, and he obviously already knew she was crying by now but she couldn’t bare the thought of him seeing her. “Baby?”

His use of the nickname only made the tears double, and she tried to turn away but he had her locked in place in a second, like he already knew what she was about to do. His palms caressed her face as he tilted her head up, getting a full view of her wet cheeks and puffy eyes. He must think I’m quite a sight, she thought. Such a sexy alternative to whatsherface in the skirt. She averted her eyes, ashamed and annoyed.

“Look at me,” he asked, and she did, biting at her lips to try and control the tears. “What’s wrong, mami?”

He was surprisingly soft, like she knew he could be, and she enjoyed the feeling of his fingers by her temple, and the proximity of his body. He smelled of smoke, and some cologne he’d been wearing since forever that she loved.

“Nothing, I’m s-sorry. Forget it, okay? I’m fine,” she lied, staring into his eyes with her best attempt at seeming genuine. She sniffed, swiping the tears away from her cheeks, trying to erase the damage.

“Stop lyin’ to me,” he insisted, and she sighed.

“I’m not-”

“Yes, you are. Cut the bullshit, tell me what’s wrong,” he ordered, and despite the tone, she knew he meant it to be caring.

She stayed silent, trying to steer away from all the things she wished to say but couldn’t, wouldn’t, and she knew would make her cry more.

“Baby, it’s me,” he insisted. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“Not this,” she finally replied, wiping away a few more stray tears. What could she say, really?

She couldn’t exactly let him know how she felt, what she wanted from him. She knew this had been a mistake, going from friends to whatever this was. Especially knowing how she felt about him. Telling him what was wrong meant never being able to be as close as before. It would ruin everything.

“Just tell me.”

“No.”

“Just fucking say it.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“Bullshit!” He was getting annoyed, speaking with a bit more vigor each time, but she wouldn’t let up. She took a few deep breaths, refusing to answer. “Is there something you want to tell me, nena?” he added, searching her eyes, and her heart sped up.

It’s almost like he knew.

Asshole.

She had grabbed the back of his neck and crashed her lips on his before she could really register it. All she knew is that she needed this, to have him to herself just one more minute.

He reciprocated in full force, meeting her with his soft, plump lips and slipping his tongue inside her mouth in a strong, efficient effort into taking control of the kiss. She fell into his arms, his hands going to her hair, both her arms around his neck. Electricity flew through her body as she let out a moan, heat rising in her face and between her legs. This is what she craved for. All the time.

Letting go to catch some air, she let her stare wander across his face, taking in all the details of his features like this. Panting, flushed, looking at her with a desire she couldn’t get enough of. She pecked him on the lips one last time, and on the cheek, and stepped away before he could reach for her again.

“Have a good night, Oscar.”

Her breathing was still erratic, and her hands trembled slightly as she took a few more steps away from him. He looked at a loss, his arms fallen on either side of him, deflated.

“You can’t be serious,” he said, his voice breaking slightly, just enough for her to notice. “What are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing.”

She left before he could witness the waterworks again, going from a strong walk to an all-out run as soon as he was out of sight. He called out to her, but she was too embarrassed to turn back.

Everyone was right. This was just the worst idea.

She should’ve known sleeping with the man she loved was a mistake.

What kind of game is that?

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