#but they stop appearing if you give candy to your significant other

[deathbyoctopi]

The “why does everyone abandon me” pout:

[k-tarotz]

Hello Hun and Candy🤗 I liked your reading series for how the idols would act around their crush so much and I really hope you guys are willing to continue those

Could you please make one on how Niki from Enhypen would act around his crush?

He’s just so unreadable to me so I’m wondering what you would see since you guys are the pros at tarot

Thank you so much if you decide to do this!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Aww you are so sweet, thank you!!! 🤗 🩵🩵

The hanged man, 3 of coins, the emperor

How would Niki act around his crush?

Alright so first of all I feel like Niki wants and prefers freedom! As in almost the opposite to Sunghoon, if you haven't read that one yet basically Sunghoon is very clingy and would like it if his crush is clingy back to him (with boundaries still of course) but Niki is the maknae of enhypen. He gets treated like a baby by the members and by most engenes, which makes him feel quite limited and he doesn't like that. He also has an older sister (a younger one too) so in his family, as little brother, he was surely also limited and had to listen to his older sister a lot. So what I'm trying to say is; Niki might be the type that won't text/approach his crush everyday, in fact he would sometimes stop responding or showing up for a few hours or even days, depending on his mood and his schedule, like sometimes he just wouldn't feel like interacting with his crush (or later significant other) either because he is too tired, not in the mood or just has other plans with the members and he would want his crush to be chill and accepting with that. He still wants his crush to care for him, no question, or to sometimes go out of their way to approach him instead of just waiting for him to do so (especially if they are friends) but regardless not be clingy and not text everyday or at least not multiple messages when he clearly isn't responding anymore. Not saying he is doing that because he is cold or doesn't like his crush, not at all! It's just really simply his preferred life style, at least for now. Such things can of course change, especially the older one gets.

Shy but tries to play it off as being cool! So he is the type to chuckle and look away shyly when his crush interacts with him and for example they touch hands, but he would instantly try to play it cool like "Oh your hand is cold-" and depending how close they are he would even ask them if he wants his jacket-

Smooth and flirty - if he is comfortable enough with his crush (as in knows them for longer, not if they are still strangers) he would probably be like "Hey want to go to the cinema? I heard this new movie is out, maybe [members] will come too" he lied, the members don't get invited in fact they do not know about his cinema trip plan at all lmao 😭 he would then be like "Oh.. seems like the others couldn't make it.. well we are already here so let's watch" and buy snacks and sit next to his crush. Definitely keep Taking glances too, curiously. At some point just... pretend to yawn and then put his arm around them. Only after everything is over and he probably even walked them home, he would all excitedly tell alllll the members about this!

Excited and hardworking! He is already hardworking but like if his crush goes to their concert or dance practice he would definitely give it his all and again keep taking glances! He would definitely love it when he gets praised by his crush for his talents and hardwork. He would try to not show how excited he actually is, so it's not too obvious for his crush (and so he doesn't get teased by the others), but his heart would definitely beat fast as hck-

Would also try to appear more manly? Like he might steal a members jacket that makes his shoulders look more buff, so he looks more manly, he definitely doesn't want his crush to view/think of him as kid/baby, he would also style his hair nicely

Dancing with his crush would also be something he would love to do, if his crush can already dance he would find that very attractive and it would definitely deepen his crush because he really loves Dancing a lot its a big passion for him, but if his crush can't dance he would like to teach his crush how to do so, especially because his crush would look up to him for Dancing so well and even teaching them, he would also genuinely enjoy to lead his crush and to be able to (Innocently) touch them while leading them, to teach them x dance of course!

Not sure how well niki can cook but... for his crush he would go out of his way and try cooking for them sometimes, to surprise them in a good way and especially to show them his culture a bit closer (it would mainly be Japanese food) I can also see him doing at least one of those cute bento boxes for his crush, trying to make the food look cute on purpose and in different shapes!

In general he would enjoy it if his crush and him can chill next to each other and watching a movie or just talking while eating home cooked food

Might also be into matching hair colors! If it's fine by his crush, he would dye it the same color as them and secretly be all happy about it, definitely take pictures with his crush like that for himself and maybe to to show it to some members!

More confident - that's of course when things go well with his crush and especially if they are giving signs back that they like him back the same way, he would feel so lucky and successful and overall more confident in himself because he got someone like them to like him back the way he is and it would just make him happy

If his crush doesn't give signs of liking him back he most likely wouldn't confess but of his crush does give signs back and they keep getting closer to each other during that time then he might would confess after a few weeks (or months depending on circumstances and confidence, but not more than 3 months) not sure how or where exactly but I can definitely see him leaning in slowly, looking into his crush's eyes to make sure its fine, for an innocent kiss - maybe that's how he would confess!

More positive, sometimes niki has a more pessimistic look on things (not all the time!) But having a crush on someone would help him cope with his pessimism and stress better, he would also smile and laugh mor3 often as he is more motivated and feeling happier

Mystery/Mysterious like! He himself would sometimes avoid answering some questions on purpose just to seem more Mysterious to his crush and they think of him even more wonder about him! He himself would also like it if his crush isn't a complete open book, like he would be more curious if they would be a bit Mysterious as well! Not necessarily a lot or secretive tho

Clingy! Especially physically! Definitely putting his arm lots around his crush, holding hands, hugging, whatever his crush is comfortable with!

Thank you for the request, feel free to send more requests in,and from other groups too! Currently requested members for this series are:

Taehyun (txt), Jake (enhypen), Heesung (enhypen) and Jungwon (enhypen)

P.s: if you request an ask with x acting around his/her crush or x as boyfriend/girlfriend these readings take longer for us to take since they are quite detailed and time consuming. If you are impatient and would like your requests to be answered sooner you can dm us and send us a tip and we will do our best to answer yiur requests as soon as possible. Because of our private lives our top priority is paid readings at the moment. This is only for those who wish to do this, if you don't mind waiting that's completely fine too. Your requests will be answered regardless 🩵

Thank you for reading this and supporting us!

- Hun

[tonhashushi]

Things from New Gen that keep me alive in this game over time, bringing me closer to the 10 year milestone in this game <3

A brief prologue before talking about what I've liked about the game since its launch: when the sequel was announced in the same universe but with another protagonist and other secondary characters, I was excited and scared at the same time, because much of the fun of My Candy Love in these almost 10 years of playing meant being with those characters that I had known for a long time and that I already liked a lot, that when I was around 10 or 11 years old I would spend time with my friends in the classroom talking about who our favorite crush was and pointing out who We suited this character and should follow his route, I feel very happy remembering this, it was part of an entire year at school. Over time, the girls stopped playing, but my best friend and I have remained strong over the last few years because the game was already part of us, the affective memories were very significant, and these memories are basically linked to our favorite crushes ( I loved/love Castiel and Armin and she loved Nathaniel). So, I was afraid that New Gen wouldn't make sense to me and her anymore, My Candy Love was the subject we had in common so we started talking and became best friends (nowadays we're both turning 20, you can compare our friendship with Sucrette and Rosalya kakakakak) and I didn't want that to be lost. And the opposite happened, we were really excited since the character descriptions were released and we were eagerly awaiting the game's release. I managed to participate in the Beta and completely fell in love xD.

Now, WHY I'm loving New Gen:

- Thomas as a route was an EXCELLENT idea (I was wondering if they had already thought of this when the character was created, because in High School Life he was already a character who, even with little screen time, was remarkable), as it deepened the feeling of connection with the past game made the experience of being on new routes more familiar, since there is the possibility of Iris appearing and we have that comforting nostalgia of seeing her and remembering when we met her in the park with little Thomas ksksks <3

- I think there's no doubt that the vitiligo and freckles were a really fun addition to the game, giving greater customization possibilities and the results in the images are incredible, I loved it! I made a point of creating another account just so I could have a Newcete with vitiligo xD

- The closet is now much more practical to move around, I really like the option of grouping the same pieces in different colors to reduce the visual pollution that comes with having a closet full of the same items. The option to click on the part of the body where you want to find the clothes makes life much easier for those who like to spend time putting together looks (especially with the various classifications of items to make it easier to find what you want to find). I love playing with the overlapping of the "curtain bangs" wig to leave a piece of hair in the back and another in the front, so the same hairstyle can be used in different ways and that's really cool.

- And now I think my favorite option in the game: being able to revisit the moment with your crush from ALL the episodes, I had never thought about it and I was VERY HAPPY as soon I saw it, when I have no episodes to play or I feel nostalgic I will revisit some scenes (I love the scene with Thomas with the flower crown and in the Nautilus restaurant!).

Speaking of scenes, one that stood out in my mind because I had a lot of fun with it was a moment in episode 2, which was the moment when Newcete arrives at the office early because she was anxious to find out if they were going to win the Noveau Pallace contract and she stands at the door with Roy because she thinks it's still locked. The characters were so anxious that as they arrived they scared each other until they realized they hadn't tried to open the door to enter the building SKKSKSKSK I think my favorite group scene so far <3 I liked it so much that I immediately took a print so I wouldn't forget this moment.

I think I've gone on longer than I should have but I got excited as I wrote, thank you very much if you read this far and thank you very much @tetrakys for choosing this creative way of distributing the codes, I had a good time participating <3

I can't help myself and I have to say that I also LOOOOOOVE THE VIP PASS XD

[dischemketogummybuy]

Dischem Keto Gummies South Africa REVIEWS [Scam OR Legit] Shark Tank Exposed?

Product Review: — Dischem Keto Gummies South Africa

➢Product Category: — Weight Loss

➢Benefits:— Improve Metabolism & Help in Weight Loss

➢Ingrediuents: — Natural Organic Compound

➢Side-Effects: — NA

➢Rating:— ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

➢Availability: — Online

➢Where to Buy:— Click Here to Order from the Official Website

Dischem Keto Gummies: What Are They?

A well-known nutritional supplement and weight loss product is Dischem Keto Gummies (South Africa). The only components of this wonderful mixture are herbal extracts and apple cider vinegar. Each ingredient in it has been shown to help you lose extra weight. Vinegar is the primary component in these gummies. It has several medicinal advantages.

You may detoxify your body with apple cider vinegar. Apple cider vinegar has recently been shown to contain acetic acids, which help in fat burning and prevent fat from accumulating. These candies may increase metabolism and lessen cravings. It has been demonstrated that Dischem Keto Gummies enhance skin health, control blood pressure, burn fat, and enhance general health.

It is secure and effective for weight loss. It is pure and effective, removing stubborn fats and lowering the ratio of excess muscle to fat. Dischem Keto Gummies can also be used to increase energy and curb appetite. The only place to buy these gummies is online at the official website. Apple cider vinegar is used by plenty of individuals all around the world to aid in weight loss and general health improvement.

Get a bottle of apple cider vinegar gummies right immediately to reach your fitness objectives. With the use of this weight reduction vitamin, you may burn more calories. The Dischem Keto Gummies help stop your body from storing fat. This weight loss product was created by professionals. The dietary supplement will help you lose weight and offer other benefits.

How do Dischem Keto Gummies work?

A standard weight loss supplement, Dischem Keto Gummies is ideal for anyone looking to lose weight quickly and easily. Using scientifically researched data and techniques may give you effective results in your weight loss journey. Based on its name, keto is a common weight loss term. The Keto word was first used to describe weight loss. All nutritionists recommend the keto diet to anyone who wants to lose weight fast.

As the Dischem Keto Gummies put your body into ketosis, your body gradually becomes aware of its effects (Ketosis refers to a state in which the body uses its accumulated fats like colossal new carbs and uses the reserved fat as fuel for energy). By Using Dischem Keto Gummies, you will feel more active and less hungry, eventually showing a significant outcome.

The main task of Dischem Keto Gummies is to put your body in ketosis and make it last longer, and give the body essential support to burn fat and enhance your metabolism; ketosis refers to using fat cells for fuel. Starches are often used to fuel the body. Dischem South Africa Keto Gummies is the best manufactured and most effective weight loss supplement that makes your dream come true, and you will see your best appearance in the upcoming Year 2023

Website:- https://www.deccanherald.com/brandspot/pr-spot/dischem-keto-gummies-south-africa-reviews-2023-shocking-ingredients-price-lets-keto-gummies-reviews-za-price-where-to-buy-1177851.html

[ilovevape]

Why Smoke When You Can Vape?

The idea of e-cigarettes is an old one yet all individuals are not completely familiar with it. Exploration and studies show that e-smoking is horde times more grounded than cigarette smoking and affects the smoker's wellbeing. In addition, the spray smoke from the e-cigarettes is least hurtful to individuals in the smoker's area, not normal for tobacco smoke which influences the encompassing individuals so much.

On the off chance that you are a smoker able to stop smoking, e-smoking can be a decent interruption. E-smoking, or vaping as it is prevalently called, could actually be utilized casually and various individuals have their own motivations to vape. The electronic cigarette initiates a sensation of cigarette smoking yet utilizes a spray got by warming a fluid likewise called the fume or the e-fluid. The fume is normally made of nicotine, propylene, glycol, glycerine, and other counterfeit flavors. Not all e-juices contain nicotine and to that end the nicotine fixation assumes a significant part while picking the right fume.

The most effective method to Pick the Right Fume for You

Picking the right fume can be a difficult situation. Particularly on the off chance that you are totally new to vaping and have never truly seen a jar of e-juice. With the scope of assortment introduced to you at the Vape shop online usa, the assignment can turn out to be much really confounding and overpowering. Yet, stress not. It is more straightforward than it appears and should be possible completely well in the event that you apply a touch of sense.

In the first place, you want to characterize yourself among the different classes of vapers. Assuming you have never vaped or never at any point smoked, you ought to pick the vigorously seasoned candy vapes with extremely low nicotine rate. In the event that then again you have been a standard smoker and will stop, and that is the reason have turned to vaping, you can go for nicotine vapes. Be that as it may, stay away from high nicotine focuses. If you would rather not go for cigarettes yet at the same time need the delight of smoking, you can pick the tobacco enhanced vapes. On the off chance that one the other hand, you are to a greater degree a stoner as opposed to a smoker, you can go for CBD blended e-juices.

There are likewise sweet and milk seasoned vapes for the individuals who see vaping as an eating choice (no doubt, these individuals exist) or are simply able to try different things with flavors. There is in a real sense no restriction on what new flavor you could experience on the site since they continue making do and testing.

You probably won't get the right vape for yourself in the primary attempt yet you ought to constantly give a shot fresher flavors and tastes and afterward conclude what works the best for you. You might in fact consider at least two squeezes together to get a more current, fascinating flavor. The central thing is to sensibly try while not totally failing to remember your justification behind vaping. Try not to get affected by others' decisions and vape as you like it. Since, supposing that you could do without it, you are not getting everything done as well as possible.

For more details, visit us :

Online vape shop usa

Breeze pro flavors

Candy king disposable

[husbandohunter]

A Small Predicament [Baby Genshin x Reader]

Characters: Scaramouche, Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Xiao, Zhongli, Albedo

Synopsis: Cursed for a week, the boys either have to live with it or find a cure as soon as possible. You on the otherhand hoped otherwise.

(A/n): It only takes ONE glance for me to start having ideas. It was twelve in the morning yall, enjoy~

Oh here's part 2

--------

Scaramouche

• "Oh you shrank? I couldn't tell-"

• Threatens that he will murder you to pieces and burn your remains but his voice was so squeaky and high pitched (voice crack) that you couldn't help but burst into a tearful laughter. 

• Its payback time  Bully him, take his hat and hover it above his head. Truthfully, without his hat Scaramouche looks like a little schoolboy. Overall less intimidating.

• Tries glaring. Cute. He's really bratty as a kid, sitting on a high chair (which you had to help him get on) and demanding his servants to do his bidding. In reality, his personality never changed. You realized that even as a grown up he still acts like this (bratty kid in a grown man body).

• The curse made his week a living hell. Signora had the audacity to pull his ear when he misbehaves. Childe constantly messes with his hair while giving head pats and the WORST of all, pinching his cheeks. Scaramouche never wanted to commit arson so bad in his life.

• Eventually finds a cure so he doesn't have to deal with it anymore and orders everyone to never speak of it again. Though, he's plotting how he'll get revenge on everyone who made fun of him using the very same curse (You better run).

~~x~~

Diluc

• "Oh…Oh my! Diluc you're just so cute!" 

• Diluc grimaces as you glomp him in this state. How can you help it? With his head so small it makes his hair all the more fluffier! His coat no longer fits him to the point the sleeves had made past his fingertips. He tried wielding his claymore again, only to lose balance and fall flat onto his bum

• (insert kid voice "Retribution!") Did I mention the babyface?

• Diluc tries to act as if everything was normal, acting like the Darknight hero and Mondstadt's Tycoon but fun-sized. He couldn't. There was no way people would take him seriously in business meetings. Same with fighting abyss mages, his smaller form was too much of a disadvantage. Thus you ended up doing most of his paperwork.

• One time you caught him sitting on the floor couldn't reach his office desk  while reading away the various books for a cure. It was three in the morning. You told him it was way past his bedtime and he argues saying when did he ever have a curfew schedule. In the end you managed to convince him and he begrudgingly obliges.

• The type to NOT ask for help even when it's obvious that he really needs it. Before he was the one who helped you reach things from the top shelves, oh how the tables have turned. He avoids Kaeya like a plague unless he was in it for another round of funny remarks. When he wanted to go out and get some fresh air, you insisted on accompanying him. Worst mistake in his life. A travelling merchant bumps into you and commented that you had a very cute son. Diluc was mortified.

• The day ended up with him sulking in his room. Although it was tempting, you resisted from cooing over his adorable form after days of treating him like a child. It wasn't because you were teasing him, Diluc just works so hard that you wanted to spoil him a bit. At least he could still play a game of chess with you.

• When things went back to normal, Diluc ensures that you will NOT see him as your son.

~~x~~

Kaeya

• "Well look who it is, my little Prince Kaeya~"

• Tries really hard not be bothered by it at all. Kaeya still maintains his suave facade, throwing in a couple of flirting lines here and there (and forcing his voice to go a few octaves too low in which puberty has yet to occur HA). Though no matter what approach, he couldn't ignore the sparkling mischievious glint in your eye. You were obviously not taking him seriously.

• Things couldn't get any worse. He lost his masculine physique and boob window, he wasn't able to go to certain places without supervision. But the worst thing of all was that he was underaged. Kaeya hated the fact he couldn't drink anymore, he even insisted you to sneak him a few bottles (which you refused) and had to settle with plain beverages such as fruit juice (what an insult). He was never really grounded since his childhood days but he certainly felt like he was grounded now. 

• Kaeya still kisses you on the lips whether you like it or not. If you ask him to sit on your lap, he will find a way to turn the position into his favour such as resting his face between your breasts. You're not gonna treat him like a kid, nuh-uh, he actively avoids it.

• Since his personality still remains, Kaeya is a naughty child. He will use his innocent appearance to sway people (even you) to get what he wants. That was how he was able to take a sip of the wine he stole somewhere (he wouldn't tell you). Diluc scolded him heavily and threatened to ban him from drinking from his Tavern for a week (they ended up arguing, Kaeya being the passive aggressive little shit he is).

• He was extremely relieved to return back to his normal form again. He has so much to catch up (specifically his bedtime activities with you *wink wonk*)

~~x~~

Child(e)

• "Hmmm to be honest, this actually suits you very much."

• Unlike the other boys, Childe was completely okay with it. Turns out that YOU were the one who was not going to be okay. If you thought taking care of Teucer was energy-draining then expect Childe to take that tenfold and beyond.

• You've officially became his full-time babysitter who is in desperate need of a raise (and rest). You can't take your eyes off of him and archons forbid that he will ever meet Klee. One point he'll be running ahead by your side and the next you'll find him getting himself in a 1vs7 situation with some shady looking treasure hoarders. Childe genuinely thinks he could take them on but the curse downgraded his abilities. You carried him and barely made out of it alive. (This made you ponder whether the best solution would be to strap him against a chair for the time being…)

• Childe being a child will eat all the candies and ice cream he pleases. You wonder if the curse also turned him a few years back or was it that he acts like this simply because he wanted to (it was the latter). He loves being spoiled, spoiled by you! Childe demands your full attention, spoon-feeding his meals, back rubs and head pats. Yep, he's definitely doing this on purpose.

• Did he just call you 'mommy'? (Childe has mommy kink confirmed).  He has so much energy that it was exhausting, you literally had to drag him away from what ever he was doing in order to get him to bed. "No Childe, your sleeping time is 9p.m stop whining." He bargained that he'll sleep if you sleep beside him (you didn't get any sleep. You knew what he was planning. In the end, you tried to make sure he didn't sneak out behind your back.)

• Finally you were able to get out of that hell-hole. Childe promised to make it up to you, you deserve it after all~

~~x~~

Small (aka Xiao)

• "Did you know in the Liyuean language, Xiao translates to small?" You didn't say that out loud. Not when he's this angry (this angy)

• He just stands there, crossing his arms and grumbling. You were hesitant to touch him in case he might hiss at you. Xiao has always been short, maybe an inch taller than you, but seeing him like this made you think 'my almighty yaksha can't be this cute♡'

• He gets mad when you no longer call his name for help. How could you? He's just so precious~ Xiao makes it clear that no matter what form he takes, it doesn't make him weak ("Adepti and you mortals are nothing alike." Or so he says but you could tell he wasn't running as fast as he used to because…small legs). You may not comment on it aloud but he can tell just by the look on your face and it irritates him.

• Also the type to not ask for help but worse. Xiao is an agressive little kid, he seems as if he'll be willing to bite someone's finger off if they try to pet him (He gives strong cat vibes, so thats understandable). His spear was too big for him to wield so he often has to put it away or else he might knock someone over with it. Xiao hates being short so you'll be hearing him complain alot.

• Since he was an adepti, he didn't need to sleep however, the curse must have brought down his power by a significant amount to the point you DID catch him napping. You almost swooned out loud just by taking a glance upon his face. For once he didn't wear his signature grumpy look. Xiao appears like a normal child, one full of innocence. His snoring was soft and breathly but that just meant he was deep asleep. (You wished to take a picture). 

• Of course, everything had to come to an end (much to your disappointment), he still complains about the incident to this day.

~~x~~

Zhongli

• How is it possible for a baby to still look so handsome? (Must be his godly abilities)

• Zhongli is unfazed by this 'curse' since his past lives have already taken many forms. Though for some reason whenever he walks down the streets of Liyue, young girls, mothers, ladies all come him was and start complimenting him and gushing over him (he was suffocating). They'd squeeze him tight or squish his cheeks, it only takes once glance before the little girls start blushing and hiding behind their moms.

• Needless to say, despite what form he is in, Zhongli is still able to get free stuff. He got some free candies and some free kites to play with. You had to help him carry his items. Zhongli ends up tripping too much because his tailcoat reached his feet (he decided to just take it off. You had to hold that too). Seems like he can have anyone do things for him in the end HA.

• He still got that drippy voice and you're just like ???? "What on Teyvat Zhongli, you're a kid." This is why you can't see him as one, its nearly impossible.

• Actively avoids Hu Tao and Childe. Once Hu Tao caught sight of him and chased him for hours, he couldn't stay in one spot knowing that she might just pop out of no where. Childe still spoils him, however Zhongli feels irritated by the fact the only things Childe buys him toys (its different when other people do it.)

• Everytime you guys go back strolling through Liyue, you had to hold his hand in case more women come swarming hin again. You swear that at this rate he might get kidnapped because hes just such a beautiful baby.

• Zhongli learned an important lesson after his curse was lifted: no matter how many years he lives throughout  never take a form of a child.

~~x~~

Albedo

• You find him buried beneath a pile of books and had to dig him out before he suffocates.

• Albedo has the cutest eyes, they're big and round full of curiosity and they sparkle too (he has the prettiest eyes out of everyone tbh). He is the only person who is fascinated by this outcome and immediately goes in the wild to test out his new physique. 

• He was always curious why Klee T-poses when she runs so he decided to try it out himself. She was thrilled to find out that she now has a little brother to play with. In the end, Albedo indulges in the games she always wanted to play but couldn't because he was too old: princess dress up tea parties.

• You felt many things when you saw Albedo wearing a frilly gown and a plastic tiara tucked on his head. Deep down you knew regardless of what gender Albedo was still pretty. Klee even had the guts to redo his hair and hardly anyone was able to recognize it was him at all. He has pigtails, PIGTAILS! You made sure to burn that image into the very depths of your mind forever.

• The only advantage was the he was ablw to fit through small spaces, other than that, being small was way too inconvenient. He knocked down a few of his potion bottles which damaged the floor (thankfully not him) because they were lethal (he wonders how Klee was able to not injure herself when using bombs). You carried him and lifted him to alot of places such as trudging through the snow because Albedo would surely fall on his face due to his small form.

• Enough was enough, he only lasted a day with this and decided to just make a potion and put an end to the curse once and for all. 

[rae-gar-targaryen]

loved you once [angel reyes x fem!reader]

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

And so you didn’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was it. 

No "I'm sorry, querida." 

No "I hope we can stay friends." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To you? It was perfection. It was remembrance. 

‘Cause I loved you, once… 

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oliver here?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But?" He pressed.

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you think of that one?” 

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

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

Um, wow.

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

All you could do was nod. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel nodded. 

“Do your worst, Vince.” 

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

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

You rolled your eyes. 

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

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

“You gotta earn ‘Frida,’ dulcita.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He seemed puzzled. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The heat had returned to your cheeks, standing quickly. 

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

You spun back toward him before he could get up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

Cheeky.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. So she knew who you were. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was a hard no. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He took mercy on you nevertheless. 

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

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

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

You felt EZ stiffen from your other side. 

Great. 

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

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

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

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

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

You really were doing great, weren’t you? 

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

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

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

What the fuck.  

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

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

That stung.

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

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

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

That was you, ever the professional. 

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

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

“You got it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

“Vince?” The text read. 

You bit back a smirk before responding,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You chewed the end of your fingernail thoughtfully before responding. 

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

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

“Boy?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your phone dinged once more.

“See you then, mi reina.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel chuckled a little at that.

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

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

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

"Really?"

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

Angel held up one hand, defensively. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I maaaay have scrolled your Instagram?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boys.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coco's voice broke your train of thought,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Angelito, everything okay?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His breath was shuddering now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sucked in a shuddering breath before whispering to you,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, querida," Angel gasped.

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

"Please… use your pretty mouth?" 

You nodded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come on then, baby." 

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of fucking course.

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

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

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

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

"What'd he say to you?"

You remained silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like he would, you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tagging:

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

[readerinsertfanfiction]

Neeeemooooooo opens her box just as i say goodnight! 😳😳😳😳😳No fair! 🥺😳😳😳😳🌷Hmpf!

Hehehehe //crosses finger im quick enough lolol❤❤❤🤣🤣🔥

🔥 what makes zeta happy while February seems to be going to shit? Theo! And and candy! And and condensed milk! And surprising neeemoooo 🥺🤣🤣😅🌠🌌🌌❤🌈hehehe so here is the plot twist.......

Could i pretty please with alll the candy ontop request sometime wholesome, sweet and fluffy with moto the cutest pirate bae!🥺 i feel there is a lack of content of just pure fluff exploring the trust and love he has for his significant other🔥❤🥺 throw me a message if this is too vague for ya cutie!🥺🌠🌌

Eeeeek ive missed this lil spamming spot hehehehe🥺 and rambling on and on🤣🤣🤣🤣🔥 love ya lots cutie! Hope ya have the best weekend! Get plenty of sleep!

And and //slides over cookies! Eat lots of candy to grow big and tall!🌈🌈🌈🌌🌠

Hehehehe, gotta catch you tired so the rest stands a chance! 🤣🤣🤣 You still managed to be the first, though!!! 

Aaaah, Motonari fluff would be great. 🥺🥺🥺 We all know there is something soft within his heart. I hope this is alright! If not, throw me a message, I guess? 

Eat lots of candy, Zeta. We all know we need some more sweetness and kindness in this world. I really can’t anymore. 2022 can burn itself too 🥁🥁🥁

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku 

Character: Motonari Mouri

Warnings: Mentions of food. 

Word count: -1K

If Motonari had to describe the world with a flavour he’d describe it as bitter. Bitter as the taste of medicine that was meant to heal him. Bitter like the taste of poison that he imagined to linger in the food served to him. Bitter like his heart that had endured so many betrayals until he couldn’t taste the bitterness of the tobacco that he smoked lingering on his lips. Bitter was a lesson, Motonari believed, constantly reminding him that nothing in the world came with ease, that he was to stay on his toes, wary of every move.

Bitter, he imagined the plate in front of him to taste, an artful combination of sugar and bean paste morphed into a flower. The wagashi was an art in itself as much as a food that he couldn’t care for.

In his life of trade Motonari had seen many confectionaries. The type that existed out of molten sugar formed into the silhouette of a favoured form. The type that could be morphed by the hand and resembled glass. The type that looked like rocks, but were soft to chew and melted in the mouth. Even the chewy types that were hard to swallow, but had soft pillowy textures that were inspired by the season after which they were formed. It was a shallow trade, in his opinion, nothing of dire interest, he believed, not understanding the sweet artistry.

“Hiroyoshi, take it away,” he had said, swallowing away the imaginary lump in his throat when he looked down at the food served.

The bitter disappointment in your eyes didn’t escape him, but Motonari dismissed it just as soon. Bitter was the default of the world, he believed, you would have to learn.

‘Bitter’ was what your expression said when you tasted the dried bits of cacao he had brought from one of his travels. Motonari had nearly flung the inventory he had brought with him, disliking the expression of disgust appearing on your face. It had taken you all to stop him from doing exactly that, convincing him to give it to you. So he did, handing over the dried cacao that was such a curiosity from the world that was so different from this.

“Three days,” you had declared, a shimmer in your eyes that told Motonari that you had an idea. He decided to trust in that hope, if only because everyone needed hope, however small. Besides, three days was nothing if it meant he was to fling the cacao overboard.

He had watched the whole process. How you turned the roasted beans into nibs, then into powder, then into a paste with some milk and sugar and some butter. He watched how the brown colour of the cacao stained your hands, sticking and clinging onto your skin and how you would nip to taste, first carefully, then eagerly, adding more milk, or sugar to try as you went on.

The rolled balls of cacao weren’t as pretty as the wagashi you had presented him the first time, looking more like mochi instead and even then it wasn’t as refined. Too round, and dense-looking compared to the soft chewy texture mochi was known for.

“Want to try?” you questioned him when you caught him staring, and Motonari would have denied it if he hadn’t seen the hope in your eyes and remembered your hands, an idea forming in his own mind when he formed a mischievous smile;

“Only if you feed me,” he had boldly requested, knowing that it would earn him a pretty blush on your face, a stutter in your voice as you tried to regain your control.

The treat was quick to melt, surprisingly light in the mouth and not as dense as he had expected it to taste. With a gentle nudge against his lips the treat found its way into Motonari’s mouth, your finger landing against his lips per accident that stilled you both.

“Sorry,” you were quick to gasp, ever so apologetic and always considerate of him as you were already halfway in your retreat. Faster than he could react at least, quicker than he could judge what the sweetness was that suddenly bloomed in his mouth, swallowing thickly down his throat and filling his heart.

His red eyes, filled with sardonic scrutiny, were a lot softer when he grasped your hand, bringing the finger back to his lips as he kissed the tip, another smile crossing his features that could almost be described as; sweet.

“Thanks for the treat,” he says before letting you go, laughing at the heat pooling in your face as he turns away, deciding that, for now, you had indeed succeeded in turning the bitter bean into something sweet.

[engie-ivy]

Another story for my candy heart fix from @goodboylupin and the Candy Hearts Challenge! Humour, lots of shameless flirting and a fed up Regulus.

Candy heart message: CRUSHIN'

Regulus has agreed to tutor a classmate in statistics, but quickly comes to regret his life choices when the only chance the guy seems interested in, is the chance of getting to snog Regulus’ older brother.

“You want to snog my brother!” Regulus points his pen accusingly in Remus’ direction.

Remus huffs and straightens his back. “In my defence, your brother is very snogable!”

Part one: Crushin'

Part two: Fallin'

What chance do I have? Part one: Crushin'

REGULUS BLACK: You can come over. My parents aren’t home.

REMUS LUPIN: ??

REGULUS BLACK: Oh my god. That sounded wrong.

REGULUS BLACK: I meant for the tutoring session.

REGULUS BLACK: I know my parents’ reputation. I thought you’d feel more comfortable coming here knowing they aren’t home.

REGULUS BLACK: I am NOT trying to hook up with you.

REMUS LUPIN: Oh thank god.

REMUS LUPIN: Not that you’re not an attractive guy.

REMUS LUPIN: I just don’t see you like that.

REMUS LUPIN: And I mean, you’re probably a bit young for me.

REGULUS BLACK: Lupin.

REGULUS BLACK: Please shut up.

Remus drops his phone on his bed with a shudder.

He’s not a bad student. He knows all about history and writes killer political essays. He’s just terrible with numbers, but he needs to pass his statistics course.

Regulus is a quiet guy, but he’s nice enough. Rumour has it that his parents are these excessively pushy and high-demanding lot, who bully their children to do nothing but study and threaten the school into letting them skip grades. Apparently, they want their eldest son to become the youngest doctor in town, and their youngest son the youngest lawyer, just so they can brag about their advanced children to their posh friends. They’re lucky both their sons are actually very intelligent. Regulus is in Remus’ class, despite being much younger, and they say his older brother, who should be somewhere around Remus’ age, is already in college.

In any case, Regulus won’t pass up the opportunity to earn some extra credit by tutoring Remus in statistics over the summer.

The house of the Black family is exactly like Remus would’ve pictured it. Very old-fashioned, with weird, old objects everywhere, but while some houses packed with old stuff seem warm and cosy, the Blacks’ house just seems cold and dark.

Remus is sitting at the kitchen table watching Regulus flip through textbooks, talking about how they’ll start with refreshing his knowledge on basic chance calculation before moving on to z-scores and significance tests.

Remus is already bored.

Suddenly, a tall, muscular, slightly sweaty guy barges into the kitchen. He’s wearing running shoes, shorts and a t-shirt that clings to his form and shows off his broad shoulders. As good as the shirt looks on him, Remus isn’t complaining when he takes it off, revealing his well-trained torso.

“Jesus, it’s warm outside,” the guy says, dropping the shirt on the floor while pulling the hair tie out of his hair and letting it fall in dark waves across his shoulders. He grabs a water bottle out of the fridge, and throws his head back to drink, spilling some water that drips down over his chest.

As Remus not very subtly ogles the guy, he wonders whether statistics was so boring that he zoned out and is now in some sort of hormonal teenage fantasy. Well, he hopes that if that were the case, he would’ve at least not fantasized Regulus sitting there, glaring from the guy, to Remus, and back to the guy.

“Sirius!” Regulus eventually snaps. “We have a guest.” He gestures at Remus.

The guy, Sirius, who must be the older brother, turns his head and only now spots Remus sitting there. He smiles sheepishly at him. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hello,” Remus says, and they just look and smile at each other for a while.

Then, Remus leans his head on his hands, giving the guy a sweet smile. “So, do you come here often?”

Sirius blinks at him. “Eh, yeah. Yeah, I do. I kind of live here.” He quickly recovers himself. “What about you? You’re a classmate of Reggie? You must be new. I don’t recall seeing you when I went to school there, and I definitely would’ve remembered a face like yours.”

Remus grins. “Yes, my parents moved around a lot, so I went to a lot of different schools.”

Sirius raises his water bottle. “Well, here’s to hoping you’ll stick around this time.” He takes a swig and then grins. “And hoping you’re so bad at... statistics, was it? That you’ll be coming around here more often.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Remus says, looking up at Sirius through his lashes. “I’m bad. I’m very, very bad.”

A slight flush appears in Sirius’ neck, but the grin stays in place. “Good. Then I guess I’ll be seeing you. I’ll try to keep my shirt on next time.”

“Don’t trouble yourself on my account!” Remus calls after Sirius as he leaves the kitchen.

As he stares through the window at other side of the house into the backyard, where Sirius has gone to stretch, Remus can feel Regulus’ eyes burning on him.

“What?”

“You want to snog my brother!” Regulus points his pen accusingly in Remus’ direction.

Remus huffs and straightens his back. “In my defence, your brother is very snogable!”

Regulus shakes his head. “What is it that people see in him?”

Remus points towards the backyard, where Sirius is just bending over to stretch the back of his legs. He doesn’t think he needs any more explanation.

Regulus groans.

The second tutoring session, Sirius walks into the kitchen in low-hanging sweatpants, clearly just out of the shower, with damp hair and a towel around his neck, again shirtless.

He smiles as he sees Remus. “How is it every time I see you I’m not wearing a shirt?”

“I guess I’m just lucky?” Remus suggests.

“I know chance calculation isn’t your strong suit,” Regulus says without looking up from his book. “But considering the fact that Sirius walks around shirtless ninety percent of the time, you don’t need much luck. In fact, it would’ve been more impressive if you saw Sirius with his shirt on.”

Remus lets his eyes wander over Sirius’ muscular chest and abs. “I highly doubt it.”

Regulus’ eyes snap up as Sirius sits down on the kitchen counter. “No. You. Out. Now.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “You’re kicking me out of my own kitchen in my own house? I’m not disturbing you.”

“Lupin has enough trouble learning anything as it is, without you sitting there making eyes at him, turning his brain to mush.”

Sirius glances at Remus, who just shrugs. Regulus isn’t wrong.

The third tutoring session is, to Remus’ disappointment, at his house. He’d wanted to protest, but Mr and Mrs Black are apparently back from their business trip, and shamelessly flirting with Regulus’ hot, older brother in front of their strict, high-society parents seemed a little awkward anyway.

When Remus opens the door, a disgruntled looking Regulus immediately pushes past him and strides into the house, leaving Remus looking at a brightly smiling Sirius.

“Hi! Regulus wanted to ride his bike here, but you know, it’s probably going to rain, so I thought it better to give him a ride in my car instead.”

Remus looks up at the clear blue sky with the sun shining brightly, not a cloud to be seen anywhere.

“I see,” Remus says. “And I suppose you have to give him a ride home as well?”

“Yes, definitely.”

“And it’ll be a lot of trouble if you have to drive all the way up and down again.”

“So much trouble indeed.”

“The best thing is probably for you to just stay here.”

“That sure seems like the best solution to me.”

For the fourth tutoring session, Remus has lost track of time sitting at the kitchen table at the Black family home, drinking tea and chatting with Sirius. Remus is telling him about all the different places he has lived, and Sirius is telling him what it’s like to be in college at his age.

REGULUS BLACK: What’s keeping you?

REMUS LUPIN: ?

REMUS LUPIN: I’ve been at your house for like more than an hour, waiting for you to come down from your room?

“You said you’d let me know when Lupin got here!” Regulus points a finger at Sirius.

Sirius blinks innocently at him. “It slipped my mind. I have such a bad memory.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “You know the Latin name for each part of the human body by heart!”

“Did you know Remus wants to study history?” Sirius says, not very subtly changing the subject. “Won’t he just make the cutest professor?”

“Not so much as you’ll make the hottest doctor!” Remus replies.

“Yes,” Regulus says, while placing his books on the table. “I’m sure the scientific community and the world of medicine will be greatly benefitted from your good looks.”

Remus sighs.

Sirius has just gone upstairs after Regulus threw a book at his head when he interrupted his explanation for the fifth time, distracting a very willingly-distracted Remus with cute dog videos.

Remus sighs again.

Undeterred, Regulus keeps on talking about some jar of marbles out of which Remus for some reason only wants to take the red ones.

Remus sighs again.

“Is there any chance you’re going to stop doing that if I keep ignoring you?”

Remus shakes his head, and Regulus drops his pen and looks up at him. “Okay, what is it?”

“I don’t think I want to snog your brother anymore,” Remus says.

He had expected Regulus to be relieved, but instead something fiercely protective flashes over his face. “I swear to god, Lupin, if you were just leading him on all this time...”

“What? No!” Remus quickly says. “I just mean that I don’t want to just snog your brother anymore. I think I actually like him! Like, like like him! I think I have a crush on your brother! You know, the massive, won’t-go-away-on-his-own kind.”

Regulus just stares at him.

“I mean, at first I just thought he was incredibly hot, funny and charming,” Remus continues. “But now I found out he’s also clever, sweet and caring!” Remus’ tone makes it sound like it’s the worst betrayal he’s ever experienced.

“And this is a problem how?” Regulus asks.

“He’s in college!” Remus exclaims. “He’s probably just looking for a fun summer flirt to pass his time before school starts again, and now he has ruined me for other men forever!”

Regulus pinches the bridge of his nose. “Lupin, I know you’re terrible at chance calculation, so I’m going to put this in words even you can understand. The chance of my brother being into you is one hundred percent.”

“Really?” Remus’ face brightens.

Now it’s Regulus’ turn to sigh. “I never thought I’d ever be saying this, but I’ve had enough. Lupin, will you please go upstairs and snog my brother?”

Remus knocks once and then steps into Sirius’ bedroom. He’s immediately backed up0 against the door by Sirius’ body pressing against him. Sirius’ arms wrap around his waist and Remus’ arms almost automatically wrap around his neck, so he’ll soon be able to finally run his fingers through that perfect hair.

Their faces are so close together Remus can feel Sirius’ breath as he speaks. “Took you long enough.”

Part two

[cryptiql]

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."

[jombocostello]

(Jotaro, Kakyoin, Josuke, Okuyasu) Valentine’s Day Confessions

Anonymous asked: Happy 2021 and hope you had a great New Year’s! It’s a little early, but could I request HCs for how pt 3 Jotaro, Kakyoin, Josuke and Okuyasu react to getting Valentine’s chocolates from the person they like? If it’s not too much, maybe a little bit about what they would do in return for White Day? I love this cheesy trope. Thanks! ❤️

Thank you, and of course!! I’m such a sucker for literally any cheesy trope haha, so I really appreciate this! Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!

-- Jotaro --

Jotaro is no stranger to Valentine's chocolates.

Every single Valentine's day since the age of 12, he's received dozens of presents from countless peers. Most of the time, he doesn't even know their name - he just wordlessly takes the little box out of their hands and throws it rather carelessly into his locker. The spoils of the day usually end up going to his mom; Jotaro isn't a big fan of sweets.

When Valentine's Day rolls around this year, however, there is someone he wouldn't mind receiving a gift from. Over the past few months at school, he's gotten somewhat close with you. When you were seated next to each other in chemistry at the beginning of the year, Jotaro had thought nothing of it - he wasn't at all interested in making friends. However, as the class began, he started to notice little things about you. You were kind, always taking the time to strike up a conversation with him before class, and your laughter was infectious. Despite your happy-go-lucky nature, you could also be more down to earth, which Jotaro really appreciated. It only took a month for Jotaro to realize he was in love.

The hallways are loud today, as admirers rush through the halls during class to deliver their gifts. Jotaro walks to his locker and unlocks it, reaching in and grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the little shelf. Just as he's about to take one, he feels a tug at the hem of his jacket.

"Hm?" He turns around and stares down at the perpetrator. It's a girl, with pretty hair and an anxious smile. After a moment of silent eye contact, the girl shakes herself a bit and shoves a small bag into Jotaro's chest. "H-happy Valentine's Day!" she says hastily. Jotaro just places the bag in his locker and looks back at her, his expression utterly vacant. It only takes a few more seconds for the girl to hurry away, flustered and a little embarrassed.

The bell rings to signify the official end of the school day (Jotaro had skipped his last class just for the hell of it), and suddenly there's even more commotion. Despite how much he would love to get out of this hellhole, Jotaro stays put, folding his arms over his chest. His gaze locks on a locker on the other side of the hallway - it's yours. He figures he should wait for you.

In the time it takes for you to show up, six other people have gifted Jotaro Valentine's Day gifts. None of them received so much as a word of thanks, which Jotaro doesn't really feel bad about. He just wants to see you.

Finally, you get to your locker. "Hey!" he calls, waving you over. You turn around and grin when you realize who it is, and after quickly grabbing your books you walk over to his side of the hall.

"You made out like a bandit," you mutter, peering past Jotaro and at the stack of candies in his locker. "Does that happen every year?"

"Yeah," he replies. "Still don't know why." He puts his hands in his pockets and leans against the wall. "Did you get anything?"

You laugh a little and shrug. "Nah, but I was planning on giving something." Jotaro's eyes widen and he glances at the ground, trying not to let his expression give anything away. It's a long shot, but he really hopes your gift is for him.

"Are you doing anything later?" he asks after he's recovered somewhat. You shake your head, and a rare smile appears on Jotaro's face. "We could hang out, if you want. Maybe share all this stuff." He gestures to the gifts in his locker, and you laugh.

"That would be fun." Your smile softens a bit, and Jotaro watches you closely. "I guess we could share these too!"

Jotaro's smile grows, and you quickly reach into your bag and pull out a little box of sweets. "Here you go!" You present them to him with a big grin on your face. "It's been really great spending this year with you," you say, and Jotaro can feel his heart pounding in his chest. "Would you want to be my Valentine this year?"

Gingerly, Jotaro takes the box from your hands and holds it close. "Yes," he replies almost immediately. "I'd really like that."

"Cool." Jotaro carefully puts all the Valentine's candies in his bag, being extra-sure not to damage yours. Once he's done, you reach out and take his hand in yours. "Do you mind if I hold your hand?" you ask, noting his surprised expression.

He blinks and clears his throat, suddenly horribly flustered. "N-no. I don't mind at all." With a warm smile, you turn and head to the exit, pulling Jotaro along behind you. He really can't believe how lucky he is that you returned his feelings.

Outside, you both stand together in front of the school. "We can go to my house," Jotaro says, nodding his head in the direction of the route home. "But my mom'll be there."

"Sure! And I don't mind," you tell him with a little laugh. "I know you love her a lot, so she must be nice."

"...Yeah. Yeah, she's nice." Feeling happier than he maybe ever has, Jotaro walks with you down to the road. You're his best friend - you have been for a while - and he's so happy that you've become something more as well.

For White Day:

After one month of dating, you're not actually expecting to receive a gift from Jotaro. He's not a very material person; he prefers to show his love in more subtle, sensitive ways, and you appreciate it endlessly. However, on White Day, Jotaro surprises you with a delicate piece of jewelry! It's kind of obvious that he asked his mom for help in selecting it, but that makes it even sweeter.

-- Kakyoin --

Unlike his more popular classmate, Kakyoin really isn't used to getting Valentine's gifts. Since a very young age, Kakyoin has kept himself pretty isolated; he's never been very sociable. This led to him being labeled as rude and even a little intimidating, and he resigned himself to that fate.

However, when Kakyoin re-enrolled in Jotaro's school after returning from Egypt, things were a little different. Spending fifty days with four near-strangers had helped him open up, and after his dance with death in Cairo, he didn't want to waste a single day of his life. So, he approached his senior year with confidence and charisma - at least as much as he could muster - and to his delight, this ended up creating a beautiful friendship.

You've been best friends with Kakyoin since you wound up in the same class. You're both quiet, though you have an easier time socializing with your peers than Kakyoin does, and you both can be quite talkative once you've opened up to someone. It was during school lunch hour that you and Kakyoin really got to know each other, talking at length about anything either of you found interesting, and it was also during this time that Kakyoin developed a bit of a crush.

Now it's Valentine's Day, and Kakyoin refuses to let himself hope that you feel the same. Besides the crusaders, Kakyoin has never felt this close of a connection with someone, and he's terrified of letting an unrequited crush break it apart. He stands by his locker, trying not to look as anxious as he feels, and he watches out of the corner of his eye as students rush out of class to find their significant others. He's struck by a pang of loneliness as he observes two students lovingly exchanging Valentine's candy, and he tries to will the feeling away as he takes his bag out of his locker.

"Hey, Kakyoin!" He nearly jumps out of his skin when he shuts his locker and finds you smiling sweetly at him. "Shit, did I scare you?" you ask, your smile dropping.

"Yeah," he replies, laughing a little awkwardly. "Don't worry about it." He gets the last of his stuff together and throws his bag over his shoulder. "So how was math today?"

You give him something between a smile and a grimace. "Oh, you know - hell." You both laugh. "The test's next week, so at least I'll have time to study."

"We could study together!" Kakyoin suggests, then all in a rush he feels heat flood to his face. You blink, looking similarly flustered. After quickly shaking himself, he stammers out, "If-if you want to! If it's not weird or anything."

You clear your throat, hastily shaking your head. "Not weird at all! No, I'd love to." Phew. Kakyoin lets out a small exhale and nods. "But hey - can I talk to you for a minute? Over where we have lunch?"

Kakyoin frowns. He starts to ask if something's wrong, but he stops himself. "Oh - alright." Together, you and Kakyoin head over to the back of the school, underneath a large tree. This had been where the two of you met.

There's a solemn feeling to the air as you lean against the wall of the school, taking a quick breath. Kakyoin watches you nervously; he's actually managed to forget what day it is in his worry for you. "Is something the matter?" he asks gently, and you look up into his violet eyes. "If there's anything I can do, please let me know."

You grin, surprising Kakyoin, and suddenly you reach out and wrap your arms around him. "No, nothing's wrong," you murmur, and Kakyoin can hear the smile in your voice. If nothing's wrong, then what...? "I have something for you."

Kakyoin hesitantly lets you go, and you quickly reach into your bag. He almost forgets how to breathe when you pull out a little pink box with a red heart sticker on top. "I was kinda scared to do this, because I don't really know if you feel the same way that I do, but I figured I should try. Would you be my valentine?" With the most adorable grin, you reach out and offer him the box of sweets.

For a few moments, he can't figure out how to cohesively form words. As his mind searches desperately for a response, he carefully takes the box from you. "Yes," he finally forces out. "Yes, I would love that more than anything, (Y/N)."

You laugh out loud and stand up on your tip toes, pressing a kiss to Kakyoin's cheek; you laugh even harder when his face turns the same shade as his hair. "I'm so glad," you say softly. "I was really hoping you felt the same."

"Of course I do," he responds quickly. "You're wonderful." And he leans down and kisses you, and the motion is the most natural thing in the world.

For White Day:

Kakyoin's main goal for White Day is to show you just how much you mean to him, and how much he appreciates your love. He'd get you something that's connected to an interest of yours, whether it be a book from a series you enjoy, a new video game, or a clothing piece from a line you love. He wants the gift to be as personal as possible, and the greatest gift for him would be seeing the way your eyes light up as he gives it to you.

-- Josuke --

Valentine's Day is always the most hectic day of the year for Josuke. In fact, right now he's running full-speed out of his high school to try and avoid the horde of students who intend to shower him in Valentine's Day gifts.

He appreciates it, he really does, but after so many years of countless peers fawning over him, he's starting to get a little sick of it all. He doesn't really understand why they all like him so much; other than his sick pompadour, he's pretty sure he's just like any other guy.

He bursts through the front door and keeps going, racing past the train tracks and finally stopping in front of the cafe down the street from his house. He quickly grabs a table and throws himself into a chair, trying desperately to catch his breath. If he lays low here for a while, hopefully he'll be in the clear -

"What's up, Josuke?"

He whips his head around when he hears his name, but instantly he relaxes when he sees it's just you, his buddy who moved to Morioh only a few months ago. You're a good friend of Josuke's; ever since you were shot with the stand arrow and gained a new ability, you've been spending a lot of time with the other stand users in town - mainly Josuke. You're a really easygoing and lighthearted person, but at the same time you're smart and witty, and Josuke loves spending time with you.

"Seriously, what's going on? You look like you just ran a marathon."

Josuke laughs breathlessly and nods. "I did. I was trying to avoid the Valentine's crowd."

"The crowd...?" you ask, raising your eyebrows. Josuke gestures for you to pull out a chair and take a seat. As you sit, he rests his chin in his hand.

"Yeah. Every year I get totally swamped with Valentine's Day gifts. It's sweet, and I appreciate it, but it can be seriously overwhelming."

Josuke notes a change in your expression, but he can't quite place it; is it embarrassment? Either way, it's gone in a second, and you laugh a little. "Didn't know you were such a charmer," you tease, poking him in the arm, and he swats your hand away with a grin. "Seriously, though, that must be tough. Does rejection ever discourage them?"

"Not really, honestly. I guess I can admire their perseverance." Suddenly, a waiter arrives and asks the two of you if you'd like a drink. "Yeah," Josuke says quickly. "I'll have an iced tea. How about you, (Y/N)?"

You blink, looking a little stunned, and after a moment you order your drink of choice. As the waiter leaves, Josuke looks at you with a frown on his face. "You alright? You seem a little out of it."

You wave your hand through the air, smiling. "Nah, I'm good." After a little more chatting, the drinks arrive and you both enjoy your beverages.

After a few more minutes, you hesitantly say Josuke's name. "What's up?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Ah..." You grin nervously, looking to the side. "I get that Valentine's Day is a sore subject for you, but - isn't this a bit of a Valentine's date?"

Instantly Josuke turns bright red. "Oh my God!" he breathes, totally mortified. "Are you - are you uncomfortable with that? If you are it's really no problem, I just wasn't thinking and - "

"No!" You reach out and grab Josuke's arm, looking at him with wide eyes. "No, I'm not uncomfortable at all. Are you?" He feels his heart skip a little at the sincerity in your eyes, and he shakes his head. "Okay." You let go of Josuke and reach down into your schoolbag, pulling out a small letter. "I really should thank you for dropping the perfect opportunity right in my lap." With a small smile, you set the letter down on the table. "Josuke, would you wanna be my valentine?"

There's something so genuine in your voice that makes Josuke nearly swoon. He can't believe he's never realized how sweet you really are. "Yeah," he says quickly, a grin growing on his face. "Yeah, that would be amazing."

"Really?" You laugh and lean across the table, giving Josuke a huge hug. His heart nearly skips a beat when he realizes you're purposely being careful with his precious hairstyle. "Oh my God, I'm so happy." You let go and lean back. "You scared the shit out of me with all that Valentine's Day talk."

Josuke laughs. "My bad. I'm glad I didn't scare you off." The two of you continue on your impromptu date, and Josuke tucks your letter into his pocket. He's excited to read it, and he's ecstatic to be your Valentine.

For White Day:

Josuke would want White Day to be a full-day experience; he'd take you anywhere, from the mall to the beach and even hours away to a theme park. He'd even skip class if need be! Being with you is so much fun, and he'd want his gift to reflect that. A day full of adventure would be the perfect encapsulation of your relationship.

-- Okuyasu --

Okuyasu has never been too serious about Valentine's Day. For a good portion of his life, he really didn't even have any close friends besides his brother, so romance was never even remotely in the picture for him. However, once he meets Josuke and the rest of his stand-user classmates, he starts to feel a little romantically inclined towards you, his closest friend in your already tight-knit group.

You're a complete goofball. Your favorite hobby is making people laugh, and you succeed wholeheartedly in that task whenever you're around Okuyasu. He finds you hilarious, and he finds it extremely sweet that you love making him smile so much. He likes to think that he does the same for you; you seem to like spending time with him, seeing that you do so pretty often.

When Valentine's Day rolls around, Okuyasu is completely prepared to confess. He's scared shitless, but he's so passionate about his feelings for you that he's willing to ignore any anxieties and make his feelings known. All day he suffers through his classes, playing the scene over and over in his head. It has three outcomes: either you accept and return his love, you reject his proposal but agree to be friends, or you flat out refuse him and cut all contact. He can't describe how terrified he is of the last potential result, but he forces himself to be courageous and persevere.

Finally, his last class ends, and he hurries to your locker. There you are, going through your books, and Okuyasu's breath catches in his throat at how lovely you look today. It might just be the adrenaline, but he's sure you look more beautiful than you ever have.

Nervously he approaches you, and you spot him before he can greet you himself. "Hey, Okuyasu!" you call, waving with a bright smile. "How's it going?"

"Alright!" he replies, his voice far too loud. "Just the same old, ya know?"

"Same here. I was just waiting to get out of class." You finish with your books and shut your locker, and you turn to him. "So what's up? Do you have any plans later?"

"No," he responds hastily. "Free schedule today. But, uh - " he takes a deep breath " - I did have something I wanted to talk to you about." Your eyes widen, and you smile a little.

"So did I! Yeah, there was something I needed to tell you too." You voice wavers a bit, and Okuyasu feels his heart pound even harder in his chest; are you onto him? Are you trying to shut down his feelings before he can mess up and reveal them? "Do you wanna talk outside? It's a little loud in here."

"Sure! Sounds good!" With a horribly forced laugh, Okuyasu follows you outside and into the school courtyard.

You take a seat on a little bench and Okuyasu plops down next to you. "So... I guess I should just tell you, then," you mumble, your voice totally uncharacteristic.

Sweating, Okuyasu vigorously nods his head. "Sure - well, maybe you'd like me to go first?" he offers; you sound oddly nervous.

You say something in reply, but Okuyasu's so stuck in his own head that he honestly doesn't hear it. He figures that it's now or never - Valentine's Day is dwindling to an end - so he reaches over and pulls his love letter to you out of his bag. After sucking in a deep breath, he turns and presents the envelope to you. "For you!" he announces, eyes squeezed shut, and he hears nothing in response until you start to laugh.

He opens one eye, and he nearly bursts into tears when he sees that you're holding a Valentine's Day gift of your own out to him. He feels laughter bubble up in his chest, and he bursts into laughter, setting the envelope on your lap and leaning back to let out a full belly laugh.

"We - we really both - " you wheeze, clutching your sides as you look up at Okuyasu with grinning, teary eyes. "Holy shit, dude! I can't believe it - " You're taken by another peal of laughter, and the two of you laugh and laugh for what feels like hours.

Finally, the hilarious moment winds down to a close, and you wipe the tears from your eyes. "Oh my God, Okuyasu. I'm so happy." You reach out and take his hands, and he nearly jumps at the contact. "I was praying you felt the same, I really was."

"So was I," he responds, grinning. "I love you, (Y/N), and I'd love to be your Valentine."

You gently raise his hand to your mouth and press a soft kiss to his knuckles. "Of course," you breathe, and Okuyasu is utterly smitten.

For White Day:

To Okuyasu, the greatest gift is something that is made with love. Therefore, he decides that the perfect White Day gift is a homecooked meal! He's been taking cooking lessons with Tonio for a good while, so he's fully equipped with the skills to make you a wonderful meal. He might slip up now and again in the preparation, but that's what makes a dinner cooked from the heart so special.

[amyscascadingtabs]

don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you [chapter 1]

“Actually, I want to add one more rule.” “Yeah?” Jake leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head and flexing his biceps through the green shirt with a smug grin. “You’re not allowed to fall in love with me.” "Won't be a problem."

Amy Santiago doesn't date cops. Jake Peralta's sworn never to date a lawyer again. When a couple of drinks and the returning of a borrowed shirt ends with the two of them in bed together, Amy decides to take control of the situation the best way she knows how: a comprehensive set of rules. There's just one little thing she hadn't anticipated – Jake Peralta is full of surprises.

Written for the B99 Summer 2021 Fic Exchange.

AO3 link // playlist

My contribution to this year’s fic exchange, for @fezzle​! @b99fandomevents​​ 💛

1. i never saw you coming (and i’ll never be the same)

 He gets out of the car, and before Amy can gather the courage to shout after him, he’s disappeared from her sight.

She leans her forehead against the steering wheel, squeezing her fist and punching it in frustration. It doesn’t feel better, just makes her hand hurt. Amy pretends that’s what’s making her eyes tear up, and not the thought that she just screwed up her chances of ever seeing Jake Peralta again.

 five months earlier.

 The cop is five minutes late entering the courtroom, and Amy vows to dislike him from that point onward.

 What's worse is that he doesn't seem ashamed. He simply gives Judge Stewart an apologetic grin, runs a hand through his already messy hair, and sits down on the bench next to the sergeant Amy recognizes as Terry Jeffords. Amy gives him a polite faked smile to tell him she's noted this presence and she's going to win this case, but the cop doesn't seem to notice the toxicity in her facial expression, because she gets another wide grin back. Judging from the colorful marks on his teeth, it looks like he had candy for breakfast – could it be gummy bears? Either way, Amy's respect for the man sinks even lower.

 At least she won't have to worry about him, she tells herself. She already knows this case is about to be a win.

 That is until it turns out this man has a reply for everything. She’d been certain the evidence against her client was circumstantial at best, nowhere near enough to get him convicted on, and the notes she’d gone through from the initial police questioning had lacked significant information. It had been nothing short of sloppy, and she’d entered the courthouse this morning filled with glowing confidence. That same confidence is now seeping away, dripping onto the polished floors of the courtroom in exchange for heated frustration as it turns out the detective – Jake Peralta, she learns – was present at the scene earlier than Amy had gathered, and from the vantage point he had, saw her client running from the corner store at full speed.

“Would you say it’s possible my client was running for a different reason?” She asks, staring coldly into the detective’s eyes as she speaks. “Such as exercising, perhaps?”

“Well, he was carrying a huge green backpack, identical to the one he was wearing when my partner Charles caught him ten minutes later. So, no,” he says, meeting her look with a smug smile of his own. “I would say that’s unlikely.”

“But not impossible?”

“Considering we also found the stolen goods in that same backpack, I’d say the chance is pretty solid it was him.”

“The bags couldn’t have been switched? Or, as my client claims, the goods couldn’t have been dropped in there by someone who wanted to get rid of them?”

“With all due respect,” says Jake Peralta, and the self-assuredness in his voice is enough for her to know the case is lost. “The streets were more crowded than a Taylor Swift concert, your honor. Someone would have seen something.”

 ~

 It’s late Friday afternoon by the time Amy returns to the office of Newsom & Associates, but there’s still plenty of her coworkers left to watch as she throws her briefcase on top of the chair before closing the door to her office and digging out her pack of shame cigarettes from the bottom drawer of her desk. The only window in the room opens out to a back alley with trash cans and forgotten bikes, which is a drab view most of the time but comes in handy for secret shame-smoking. She closes her eyes and leans back against the wall, trying to savor the first inhale. She hates the habit and always tells herself she’s going to quit soon, but at times when work stresses her out like this, there’s no better fix. It’s all Jake Peralta’s fault, anyway. He’d waved at her when they’d left the courtroom, looking genuinely pleased to see her, and that had only worsened her frustration. It’s one thing being defeated – it’s worse when the winner acts like it wasn’t even a big deal.

 “You should stop that.” The sound of Rosa’s voice appearing in the doorway to Amy’s office causes her to inhale too much smoke, coughing and tearing up as she hurries to extinguish the cigarette butt on the windowsill. “It’s gross.”

“I needed it,” Amy coughs again before drying her eyes with the sleeve of her blazer. “You should’ve been there. That fucking detective ruined my defense.”

“So? It happens. Doesn’t make you a bad lawyer. Stop pitying yourself.”

“You’re just saying that because you win nearly all your cases,” Amy mumbles. “And everyone’s terrified of you.”

Rosa does a little shrug, but Amy thinks she can spot the hint of a smile on her lips. She can’t be certain, though. Rosa almost never smiles, but that’s not nearly the most terrifying thing about her. She also rides her motorcycle to court and wears leather jackets and skin-tight black jeans to trials, and somehow no one's ever dared to police her on it. Amy once asked her out of curiosity if putting on a blazer would really hurt that much, and the stare she got back told her she’d be a fool to make that mistake again.

“Either way, it's not that. It was that cop who ruined everything. I mean, he showed up late, for god’s sake, with candy in his teeth and a wrinkled suit! But he somehow had an answer and explanation for everything,” Amy snorts. “And he smiled the whole time like he’d already won. And he referenced Taylor Swift! During the trial! Who does that?”

Rosa lets out a laugh. “You're a Swift hater? God, please don't tell me you took Kanye’s side too.”

“I didn't – that's beside the point!”

“Which is?”

“That he has zero respect for the sacred rules of a courtroom, and gets away with it all because of that super-charm smile.”

“Yeah, you mentioned the smile. Twice.”

“It was just so…” She clenches her fist until her red nails press into her palm to the point of pain, then releases it. “It's fine. I’ll win my next case, and there are lots of cops in New York. I probably won't ever see him again.”

 ~

 Amy can barely hide her frustration in court the next week when she hears the doors open and looks up from the papers she was sorting, only to see Jake Peralta for the second time in her life. He’s on time today, which she supposes is progress, but there are stains on his shirt that seem to be coming from the can of orange soda he’s holding in his hand. She wonders if it's his breakfast. If that's his diet, he looks surprisingly fit in a grey suit for it.

 He grins again when he sees her, raising his hand in a lazy wave. Amy gives him a forced smile, then returns to her papers. She’ll have to make sure to win this time.

 But despite her confidence and very best efforts, she loses to Jake Peralta yet another time.

And another.

And another.

 It's not that she's suddenly magically unlucky, because she still manages to win several other cases, but every time Jake Peralta shows up to testify, without fault, Amy loses.

It infuriates her.

 The worst part is that Jake seems oblivious to her anger. He smiles at her every time they leave the courtroom, even though she returns them with little to no genuineness at all. She once spots him doing a childish victory gesture outside the courthouse, but he never once takes the opportunity to brag about his win to her face.

 Aside from his surprisingly good manners when it comes to bragging, though, he's a mess. There's always some kind of stain on his shirt or his cheek that he seems unaware of, his ways of describing things involve one too many pop culture references for Amy’s liking, and she starts preparing to meet him every time a detective is five minutes late. She wonders if no one's ever told him how one is supposed to behave in a courtroom, but he’s usually accompanied by the precinct’s sergeant, so that seems unlikely. The more likely option, Amy figures, is that he just doesn't seem to find it that important; especially considering he seems to get away with it every single time.

 She swears it's all because of that stupid infectious smile.

 ~

 It pleases Amy to no end when she learns that Jake Peralta is going to be the witness in one of the strongest cases she’s had in a long while. The client was clearly acting in self-defense, she has a witness of her own who can testify to that, and although she knows that nothing is for certain until the verdict falls, she’s got a good feeling about this one. Finally, the day has come for Jake Peralta to watch her win.

 At first, the state attorney’s case seems solid. Jake is assisted by a short, round-faced man with dark brown hair and an expression that looks like he’s seconds away from apologizing for taking up everyone’s time, but his suit is matched and perfectly straight and he gets right to the point without any odd references, so Amy still earns a fair amount of respect for detective Charles Boyle. He and Jake had entered the subway car after hearing about a fight taking place, and stepped on just in time to watch her client aim a closed-fist punch at the face of the man on top of him. It’s clear and convincing, but Amy knows that after the recess, it will be her time to shine. She loves these moments, when it’s obvious the other side thinks they have it in the bag but she knows something they don’t, and they have no idea what’s coming. She knows trials are about justice and not personal victories – but she’s only human. Winning is always a thrill.

 She’s thinking about how she’s going to be celebrating her win later this evening when Jake Peralta bumps into her at the coffee shop neighboring the courthouse. As in, literally bumps into her, with his elbow when he hurries forward to grab a plastic cup with whipped cream and so much caramel syrup on top of the coffee that Amy pities his dentist.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry… wait, it's you!” He shines up as if he’d just seen a past good friend, and Amy’s once more taken aback by how polite he is. A lot of cops she meets during trials either tend to make fun of her profession or glare bitterly at her from a distance, but Jake's doing neither. He even reaches out his free hand to shake hers, so she accepts. “Jake Peralta – wow, you have a very firm handshake.”

“I took a seminar. Amy Santiago.”

“Where?” He asks, but she ignores him and moves forward in line to order her coffee with milk.

“Nothing for your client? Wow. I’d expected you to have better manners than that, Santiago.”

“I offered, but he wanted to spend recess with his partner for moral support. See?” She raises a brow at him. “I do have manners.”

There's that smile again, up close this time, and Amy's relieved when the barista hands her the coffee so she can hide the involuntary blush in her cheeks. She never noticed he had dimples before.

“So, how are you feeling about the rest of the trial, then? Ready to go defend the guilty guy?”

“Innocent until proven guilty, Peralta. Famously one of the most sacred principles in the American justice system. And I was born ready.”

“And lose. The whole question was, are you ready to go defend the guilty guy and lose, and you said you were born that way.” Jake grins in a way that makes him look like an overgrown mischievous school kid. Maybe not that far off, Amy thinks.

“Twist my words all you want, I am winning this case.” She hesitates for a moment, noticing Jake's detective partner looking at the two of them from a table in the corner of the room. Not normally something she'd be that creeped out by, if it hadn't been for the fact that the man isn’t tearing his eyes away from them, and he looks weirdly overjoyed. “Uhm, is detective Boyle okay? He's staring at us pretty intensely.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, he has… an eye condition.” Jake turns around and mouths something that looks to be BOYLE, and the man rolls his eyes before stalking away. “Ignore him. Anyway… so what do you think about the judge?”

 Amy's about to launch into a description of her good experience with judge Myers when someone brushes past her with their iced coffee in a hurry, losing control of the plastic cup. The unsecured lid wobbles, and before Amy realizes what’s about to happen, cold coffee splashes onto her earlier pristine white blouse. “Fuck!” She reaches for a bunch of paper napkins and tries to dab the worst away with them, but the milky coffee is already seeping through the fabric and leaving an obvious stain that her blazer can’t hide.

“What a jerk,” Jake mutters, glaring in the direction of where the stranger disappeared.

“Never mind that! I don’t have another shirt! I can’t go into a courtroom looking like this! Unlike you, I actually care about whether my clothes have giant stains on them!”

“First of all, rude, and second of all, they’re not giant.”

“I don’t care. I’m screwed. Fuck, I don’t have time to run back home before the trial starts – I guess I could call Rosa –”

“Hey, hey.” Jake holds up his hands as if trying to calm her down, which only makes Amy more frustrated. “I know this is kind of crazy, but, I have a shirt in my car that I was planning to return to my ex. But emphasis on ex, so…” He shrugs. “You could borrow it?”

 Amy considers her options. On the one hand, she figures there’s about an eighty percent chance that whatever Jake has in his car also has some kind of mysterious stain on it, but on the other hand, she took the subway today and there's no way she’ll make it to her apartment and back before the court is back in session. Asking for a longer recess is an option, but making everyone wait simply because she needs a change of clothes makes her too uncomfortable to even consider.

“Fine,” she relents. “Where's your car?”

 Jake's car turns out to be an old Mustang, which Amy can tell even from her strictly limited car-knowledge is pretty impressive, but she doesn't understand how he can find anything in there. The backseat is a mess of empty orange soda bottles, a couple of frisbees, candy wrappers, what looks to be cartoons and old CDs, and the cup holders have shaving foam next to another can of orange soda. She's equally surprised and impressed when he pulls out a clean, dark blue charmeuse blouse. Whoever Jake's ex-girlfriend was, she seems to have both taste and money.

“You're totally saving my day today,” she says as he gives it to her. “You really didn't have to.”

“Prove that cops aren't all bad?” Amy rolls her eyes, and Jake laughs. “Just kidding. You have to give it back, though.”

“As soon as I’ve washed it. Wait, we have to be able to get in touch.” She digs in the inside pocket of her briefcase and pulls out two of her business cards. “I’m assuming you don't have any, so write your number on the back of that one.”

“Rude, but correct.” He scribbles down something on one of the cards before giving it back. “I’ll see you up there, then… Amy Santiago.”

Something about the way he says her name, slowly and with perfect pronunciation, makes her want to hear it again. She hurries back into the building and toward the bathrooms, hopefully before he can tell that she's blushing.

 “The defense may call the next witness.”

“The defense calls Elinor Simons.” Amy can feel everyone's eyes on her as well as the witness as a young girl, no more than eighteen, walks up to the stand. She's pale, but she looks determined, and Amy gives her a comforting smile as she swears the oath.

 Elinor’s voice trembles at her first words, but Amy keeps steady eye contact with her, and soon she’s speaking louder and less hesitant. She had been on her way to her friend’s house when she entered the same subway car as the two young men, and had overheard the two of them fighting over something. Sitting only a few seats away from them in the near-empty car, she’d noticed the defendant looking scared, and out of curiosity, had turned off her music. She’d heard the man who’d later gotten attacked – Mr. Lorentz – scream that the defendant was an asshole, and then she’d seen him push him to the floor, much unlike the way the prosecution had described a course of events in which both men had slipped. It had scared her, so she’d gotten up to walk away, but before she could move she’d seen Mr. Lorentz leaning down.

“It looked like he was about to hit the defendant,” she says without wavering, and Amy can see a few of the jury members nodding in understanding. “And even if they were about the same size, Mr. Lorentz looked really strong. The defendant tried, but it seemed to me like he was unable to get up. I remember thinking this wasn’t going to end well, so I headed for the end of the car before they noticed me.”

“And you’re sure of what you saw?”

“Completely sure. I only found out later that the defendant was a cousin of my sister’s boyfriend, which is how I learned about the trial.”

Amy nods and clasps her hands together, trying to assume a confident stance as she keeps her eyes focused on the witness stand. “Elinor, in the position he was in, do you believe that the defendant would have been scared?”

“I think anyone would have been.”

“So the punch witnesses watched the defendant throw, could it have been in self-defense?”

“Yes. Yes, I think so.”

Amy smiles. “Thank you. No further questions.”

 The prosecution’s closing arguments are short and precise, sticking entirely to the part of the events that took part after the police walked in. The district attorney, a balding man in his fifties, as good as overlooks Elinor’s testimony in favor of focusing in on detailed descriptions of the headaches Mr. Lorentz had experienced after the event, and that alone is enough to make Amy’s blood boil; but instead she just sits there, waiting with a polite smile on her lips.

 Finally, the other attorney sits down, and the judge nods at Amy to stand up. During her very first trials, this moment used to freak her out – everyone’s eyes on her and waiting expectantly – but with time she’s come to love this. It reminds her of the thrill of getting the last word in a heated fight with her siblings when she was younger, only now, she doesn’t have to shout to be heard. Everyone’s already listening.

 “Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury: it’s correct that the defendant hit Mr. Lorentz on that train. He admits to doing so himself.” Amy nods to the young man sitting next to her, fidgeting nervously with the cuffs on his shirt. “But there is one key aspect which the prosecution has so conveniently chosen to ignore, and that is the events which led up to Mr. Petersen’s actions. A background which he not only has explained clearly himself, but which is also backed up by Ms. Simmons’ testimony.” She gestures with her hand to Elinor.

“You see, Mr. Petersen wasn’t acting unprovoked. When the incident happened, he had been pushed to the floor, and like both my client and the witness described, he was unable to get up. Mr. Lorentz himself admits to practicing weightlifting; he’s not a weak man, and in the moment, he was clearly upset with the defendant. As Ms. Simmons put it… “ She takes a break to gather the attention of everyone in the room. “Anyone in that position would have been terrified.”

“Under New York Law, Penal Law paragraph thirty-five point fifteen, a person is justified in using physical force against another, when that person is under the reasonable belief that the physical force is necessary to defend the person from what they reasonably believe to be the illegal imminent use of force or the illegal use of force. Mr. Petersen was stuck, and under the reasonable belief that Mr. Lorentz could hurt him unless he managed to free himself. He acted in self-defense, which I remind you that the prosecution has not been able to disprove. In fact, the case against Mr. Petersen cannot be proved against reasonable doubt, which means that you must find him… not guilty.”

 From the other side of the room, she swears she can feel Jake’s eyes on her. When she looks up, she sees him mouthing nice job.

 ~

 “What did you say he looked like, now again? Except for crazy hot and adorable?” Kylie takes another sip of her mojito, spying over the crowded bar.

“Okay, I said neither of those things.”

Kylie shrugs. “Didn’t have to.”

“Ugh. Whatever. Brown hair, brown eyes, medium height, I guess kind of a bigger nose… and I don’t know what he wears outside of court, but there was a leather jacket in the front seat of his car, so maybe that?” She strains her neck to try and see through the Friday night crowd. She’s never been to this particular Brooklyn bar before, but Jake had suggested it when Amy asked about a good place to give him back the shirt, and she’d figured after a long week, she might as well treat herself to a couple of after-work drinks with a friend. After being asked about the so-called mystery hottie five times, though, she’s starting to regret bringing Kylie along.

“Mm, that’s like, all the guys in here… oh, wait, that one’s waving to you!” Kylie points to a figure near the door, elbowing Amy in the side and causing her to nearly choke on her wine. She’s still coughing when Jake walks up to them, trying to offer him a smile while drying her eyes. Jake looks politely confused, but shakes Kylie’s hand in the meantime.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” she says with a meaning wink to Amy before sliding off the leather barstool, leaving it for Jake. “Have a good night!”

“Ignore her.” Amy sighs. “Sorry, I…”

“No, no worries,” Jake says, and the honest care in his expression makes her feel oddly warm. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” She waves a dismissive hand and picks up the dry-cleaning bag hanging on the back of her chair. “Well, here’s the shirt. Thank you for the loan. Or thank your ex, I suppose.”

“Dry-cleaned, really? You truly are type A.”

“What about it?”

“Nothing, it makes sense.” He nods to the glass in her hand. “Celebrating Tuesday’s win?”

“Something like that. It was Monday, though,” she can’t stop herself from correcting him. “I don’t get a lot of time off. Gotta make the best out of it.”

“Yeah, me neither. Do you mind if I join you for another drink? Or maybe you should do water, in case you choke again?”

Something about the way he poses it like a challenge makes her take the glass, put it to her lips, and swallow the rest of the wine in one gulp. “I think I can handle it.”

 They pay for their own drinks, because whatever this meeting is, it’s definitely not a date, and it makes Amy relieved that Jake doesn’t seem to think so either.

“A toast,” he suggests. “To your win this week. I gotta give it to you, those closing statements were solid.”

“To justice,” Amy says, and they raise their beer bottles in unison. “And my win. Finally.”

“Yeah, what has it been, like, five wins for me?”

“Four, but dream on, Peralta.”

Jake laughs. The dimples in his cheeks become even more prominent when he laughs, Amy notes. “Have you always been this intense about winning cases, then? Or is it something that comes with law school? Like there’s a class in being petty about this stuff?”

You’re intense too, she thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud. “Maybe. I have seven brothers, and I was the only girl. I got pretty good at winning fights using other things than physical strength when I was a kid. Actually, sometimes physical strength, too.”

“I feel like you could beat someone up if you wanted to. You could surprise them.”

“Oh, I could most definitely beat someone up if I wanted to. But I stuck to arguing. I got good at it. And I always had good grades, so I ended up at Columbia, and I’ve never really regretted it.” She takes a swig of her beer. “Not even when cops call me the devil.”

“I wouldn’t call you the devil,” Jake says. “I mean, do I think you lack a bit of a moral compass? Probably. But each to their own.”

She leans her head a little bit to the side, eyeing him closely. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, you have to defend people that you know did awful things, right? Doesn’t that make you feel sick sometimes?”

“I don’t have to defend their actions. Most times, it’s not even about that. It’s about making sure the trial is fair, the evidence is sufficient and their rights are respected, so that if there’s a conviction, it’s actually beyond any reasonable doubt. I like to believe most people are better than their worst moments. I see it as my job to make sure they’re treated that way.”

“Huh.” Jake nods slowly. “Guess I never thought of it that way.”

“Plus,” she winks, “someone’s gotta hold you guys accountable, right?”

“Fine.” He shakes his head. “Hey, did you say you went to Columbia? My captain’s husband teaches law there. Did you ever have a Kevin Cozner?”

“No way! Your captain is Raymond Holt?” She’s speaking way too loudly, she can tell from the way other people are glancing at her, but Jake looks entertained. “Sorry, it’s just – Professor Cozner was my favorite constitutional law teacher. I still send him and Raymond Christmas cards every year!”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” Jake grins. “But, how weird is that? Almost like the universe is bringing us together or something.”

Amy thinks that it’s not that weird, since Kevin must teach hundreds of students every year that g on to become lawyers, but she kind of wants to keep seeing that smile on Jake’s face forever, so she nods. “So weird.”

 They order another drink, plus some chips and nuts when Jake realizes he forgot to eat dinner, and move to another table in the back of the room. Amy’s surprised how comfortable she feels in his presence. It’s like she can’t wipe the smile off her face but doesn’t want to, and with time and a little more alcohol, jokes that she barely would have noticed on any other day become laugh-out-loud funny. It feels natural, even though she’s not sure how, and she tries not to glance at the clock on the wall when he doesn’t either. She’s got work to do tomorrow and she can’t stay out forever, but she doesn’t want to be reminded that this evening has to end at some point.

 “So what made you become a cop, then?” She asks when she realizes she’s the only one who’s shared her origin story tonight. “Childhood superhero dreams?”

Jake shines up like he’s been waiting for the question all night. “Oh, that��s easy. Die Hard.”

“Really?”

“For sure. Actually, my mom said I was always good at protecting people, so I ended up doing it for a job. But I think that’s bullshit. It was definitely Die Hard.”

“I’ve never seen it,” Amy confesses, and Jake stares at her like she just insulted his entire being. “But if you want a cop movie, my top three’s Training Day, Lethal Weapon, and Fargo.”

“Wrong, wrong, and wrong! How can you not have seen Die Hard? It’s classic, man!”

“I just never did! How many lawyer movies have you seen, then?”

“Uhm…” Jake squints. “Charles made me watch Legally Blonde once? It was pretty good, honestly.”

“Well, duh, that movie is a cinematic masterpiece and a feminist work of art. How feminist is Die Hard, from a scale of one to ten?”

“Hey! Holly Gennaro does plenty of cool stuff throughout the movies! You’re just going to have to watch them yourself.”

“I can almost guarantee you I won’t.”

“Fine, but you’re missing out.” He grabs a couple of peanuts from the jar between them, throwing them in the air and catching them in his mouth. “Cool trick, right?”

Amy raises an eyebrow. “Is this what you do at work all day?”

“I did teach myself that during stakeouts, but no. Whatever. Throw me another one.” She does, and he catches it again, this time almost sliding off the barstool in the process. She laughs a bubbling laugh as he does it another time. “Now you.”

“Fine. Try me.” The peanut flies through the air between them, and she tries to dive for it, but it just ends up landing at her feet. “Okay, another one.” She misses that one too. “Okay, there must be something wrong with these nuts.”

“Title of your sextape.”

“Title of my what?”

“Nevermind.” Jake laughs. “You just need some practice. Maybe at work? It could liven up a trial.”

“Nuh-uh, don’t need practice. Just need a better tactic.” Without thinking, she grabs a handful of them this time, throwing them in the air. This time, she catches a few of them in her mouth, while the rest end up spread over the couch and floor. “The key is volume!”

“Yeah, and the bartender is looking at you like he wants to kill you, so maybe don’t do it again or we’ll get thrown out.”

“It’s fine, I’m a lawyer.”

“That phrase works well to get out of trouble?”

“If you know what you’re doing. We could order more drinks to keep him happy?”

“Shots?”

“I’m down if you’re down.”

 Jake orders a Kamikaze shot for each of them, and as she reaches forward to take the second glass, her hand brushes against the top of his for a moment longer than necessary, resting there. It’s warm, and it feels calloused but somehow soft at the same time. They look at each other, his light brown eyes staring into hers, and she feels instantly hyper-aware that they’re around far, far, too many people.

She lets go of his hand, taking the shot and swallowing it before anyone can notice what’s happening. It smells like sour hand sanitizer and burns going down, and she laughs at Jake’s grimace when he drinks his.

“God, every time.” He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “Hey, I know this is crazy, but… do you maybe want to get out of here? We could have another drink at my place… watch Die Hard… whatever.”

“Mm, yeah. Maybe I should check that the shirt gets back to your place properly?”

“Shirt? What shirt? Oh, right, fuck, the shirt!” Jake spins in place, rushing back to the table where they were just sat. “Shit, I probably spilled beer on it, Sophia’s going to be pissed now...”

“It’s still in the bag, smartass.” Amy shows him. “Ta-da. Shirt’s still clean. Comes in handy being type A sometimes, huh?”

Jake sighs. “I know you're making fun of me, but I could seriously kiss you right now.”

 Maybe it’s the four drinks, maybe it’s the thrill that comes with how rarely she does this, or maybe it’s just sheer and wild impulse, but Amy finds herself whispering,

“Maybe we should get out of here, then.”

 ~

 Amy learns a lot of things that night.

 She learns that Jake Peralta is a seriously good kisser, tasting faintly of orange soda beneath the alcohol and salt, and that being pressed against his front door with his hands protecting her head strikes the perfect balance between feeling adventurous and safe. She learns that he’s never really quiet, soft moans and sighs filling the room in the breaks between their kisses, but that the sound only makes her want more.

 She learns that he wears even more layers than her. Beneath the leather jacket and hoodie is a checkered blue flannel that has way too many buttons for her liking right now, and she curses her slight tipsiness while working at them one by one. When she's finally done, Jake pulls the grey t-shirt over his head, and she barely has time to pause to admire how he somehow can look fit despite that catastrophic diet, or the curls on his chest that are begging for her to run her fingers through them, before he's asking “my turn?”. She learns that Jake Peralta is impatient, that his hands work fast on the buttons of her cerise shirt, and that he gets adorably confused when he can't find the button on her suit pants.

“It's on the side,” she tells him and shows him the zipper, and then they're both giggling until she kisses him like that and it's back on again.

 She learns that his hands feel good, sliding slowly up the sides of her stomach and back and rubbing against her shoulder blades. She unclasps the white t-shirt bra for him, smiling to herself as he swallows quickly.

“God, you’re hot,” he whispers, and the soft bites he trails down her chest and stomach make her feel that way, too.

 They move to his bed, leaving a trail of clothes behind them, and then she’s underneath him and breathing hard as his mouth moves lower, closer. The anticipation of it all is driving her mad, but then he looks up at her and asks “okay?” with the most sincere and caring expression, and Amy’s had very, very few one-night-stands in her life, but she’s certainly never had one like this.

“Okay,” she nods, and there’s that familiar grin again, but this time it makes her feel warm in a very specific place.

 She learns that Jake Peralta can do a whole lot more with his mouth than talking people’s ears off. His breath ghosts over her through her underwear at first, warming her up even though it’s barely even necessary, and then he’s finally pulling down the black material and helping her kick them off. His tongue is careful at first, just tasting her as if to gauge her expression, but then she nods at him to continue and the next second, her head is thrown back as she lets out a gasp.

 She learns that he likes it when she pulls his hair. At first, her hands are just lightly tangling in it for practicality, but then she holds on tighter as a means of control when her legs begin to tense up and the familiar pressure is starting to rise. She’s raising her hips slightly only to lower them again, helping him get her there, and the curls of his hair are just begging to be pulled.

“Do that again,” he pauses to say, so she tugs his hair harder and he straight-up moans.

 She learns that he can make her scream, which she wasn’t expecting, and she rocks through the euphoric waves and pants and practically melts into the bed as she comes down from it.

“That good?” He winks, and she wants to roll her eyes, but he did just make her come harder than she remembers doing in a long time, so she kisses the smile off of him instead, tasting her arousal on his lips.

She learns that he's respectful and a gentleman, telling her that they can stop this here if she'd rather, but she doesn’t want to, and they don’t. He has to rifle through the drawer in his bedside table for a while before he finds a condom – maybe he doesn’t do this as often as she’d thought, maybe it’s another sign of his poor organization skills, but he finds one soon enough so she’s not sure she cares – and then it’s a little bit of a blur, but she rolls it on him with precise strokes and lowers herself on top of him and oh my god.

 She learns that when he looks at her, when he touches her, it makes her feel powerful and special all at once. He plays with her boobs as she sets the pace, his thumbs rolling against her nipples in a way she didn’t realize she liked, and she picks up her rhythm, clenching around him and leaning back on his raised thighs.

 She learns just how enjoyable it is to watch him fall apart underneath her. His pace stutters and he curses, groaning a confession of how close he is, and she could almost come again from watching him alone but she brings two fingers to her clit and touches herself anyway. He finishes before her, spilling out inside the condom with a moan that she can only imitate, collapsing against his chest as she brings herself to orgasm again right after him.

 When they're done learning, they collapse together in his bed. For a moment, Amy considers turning around and calling a cab home, because that would be the most responsible thing to do, but then Jake throws an arm around her to pull her closer, and after all, she's still a little tipsy.

What harm could it possibly do, anyway?

 ~

 Sharp, unforgiving morning light wakes Amy up before her alarm the next morning. She must have forgotten to close the blinds last night, she thinks, and rolls over on the other side so the light doesn't hurt her eyes. She expects the usual greeting of a sea of pillows, and has to stop herself from letting out a yelp of surprise when instead, she's hit with a wall of Jake sleeping with his back to her. A vague memory of them falling asleep like this hits her. He’d wanted to be the little spoon, she remembers.

 At first, knowing that intimate fact about him makes her feel proud. Then it makes her panic.

 She jumps out of bed, throwing off her part of the comforter in search of her clothes. She finds her underwear and bra together with her shirt, trying to dress as quietly as possible, quick before Jake wakes up and discovers that she's half-naked in his apartment and they have to have a very, very awkward talk –

“Amy? What are you doing?”

Too late.

 She freezes on the spot, chewing on her lip as she fumbles for an explanation. Jake’s eyes rake over her with curiosity, which somehow feels a lot more exposing today than it did last night, and it's making her lose track of her words. His bed head curls and disoriented smile is decidedly not helping her focus.

“We slept together last night,” she manages.

Jake’s smile grows wider and prouder as he sits up fully in bed. Amy blushes as she notices the shadow of two hickeys way too close to his neck to be professional.

“Yeah, I was there.”

“Very funny.” She sees her pants thrown across the back of a massage chair and quickly reaches for them. “But this… You know this can’t be a thing, right? Just so we're on the same page about it.”

Jake frowns. “What do you mean with a thing?”

“This – us – we can't date, Jake. I know that. You know that.”

He’s silent for a moment before he fakes a shudder. “Yeah, yeah, no. I’ve dated lawyers before. Never ends well.”

“You have?” The reveal surprises her. “It doesn't matter. This can’t happen.”

“I know.”

“Good,” she exhales. “I’m just going to find my clothes, then, and then I’m going to leave.”

“Hey, wait.” He twists his hands together, bringing them to his chin with a smile. “This is going to sound weird, but… even if nothing can happen between us, I’m still glad we had sex last night.”

 The confession takes her by surprise, and Amy wonders again if she just doesn't know anything about one-night-stands. Sleep together, have fun, sneak out in the morning before anything can go deeper – isn't that how it's supposed to go? If so, she's majorly failing, because she can't stop herself from giving him another shy smile in return.

“Me too. Just because, we were like… really good at it.”

“Stupid good!” Jake exclaims. “It makes no sense!”

“We still can't date, though,” she reminds him. “So how do we work this out?”

“Well, it sort of looked like you were planning to just leave, and I’m not going to stop you if that's your choice, but… there is one more option.”

“What are you thinking?”

“We could be friends with benefits,” he shrugs. “None of the commitment, none of the weird incompatibilities between a cop and a lawyer, just us and some stupid good sex.”

“Friends with benefits? Do the kids really say that, still?”

“I’m saying you could consider it.”

 Amy's first instinct is to protest, to say absolutely not and leave on the spot. Her relationship history may not contain that many names, but at least they’ve all been fairly straightforward and conventional. She's never done something like this before, and the mere idea of jumping into something so unknown with someone like Jake scares her shitless.

 Then again, she's also never been with someone like Jake. Yesterday hadn't been a date, but it had still been better than all the awkward dinners and half-hearted walks she's been at since she broke up with Teddy a year ago. And the sex – well, she'd be lying if she said she wasn't already thinking of doing that again.

 “There would need to be rules,” she says.

“Sure, we can come up with some.”

“I’ll write a contract.”

“We need a contract?”

“Yeah,” she decides. “If this is going to work, we need a comprehensive set of rules, and they need to be written down, because I don't trust you not to adjust them in your head last minute.”

“How am I attracted to you? But, fine.”

Amy shakes her head, closing the last button on the shirt that had been left unbuttoned until now. “So… I’ll put together a draft and bring it over tonight? Your place?”

Jake gapes at her for a moment like he can't believe what he hears, but then he nods. “I’m free.”

“Cool. I’ll see you tonight, then.” With that, she pulls on her socks and shoes, leaving before she can freak out again.

“Cool, cool,” she hears just before closing the door. “Friends with benefits. Cool, cool, cool, cool… cool.”

 ~

[kpopmalereader]

kiss ; jeon wonwoo, vernon choi

• summary: moments with your boyfriends, wonwoo and vernon • pairing: jeon wonwoo x male!reader x vernon choi • word count: 2292 • to do

Your manager talks endlessly at your side, discussing your song and choreographers and things you stopped listening to a long time before. You lean against the hallway’s wall, waiting for your name to be called.  Your bandmates are positioned on your other side. You hope at least one of them is listening to your manager in the vain chance it could be significant. Considering it’s your job to listen and speak to everyone, you know that hope is wasted.

Seventeen’s manager walks by you, and you resist the urge to smile, waiting for the two prettiest boys to walk by. You nod your head at Seungcheol when you see him, eyes not completely focused on them until you spot Wonwoo, with Vernon following right behind him. You begin to smirk and glance up at them. You openly check them out for a second, winking when they look at you like you’ve grown an extra head. You laugh at yourself and lean your head back, letting your manager’s monotonous tone fill your ears.

*

Wonwoo bows to you slightly when you look at him. You slide your card back into the vending machine you stand in front of and nod your head, letting him pick out some food. A faint smile is playing at his lips as he mulls over the selections. He takes much longer to make his decision than he needs to, moving inch-by-inch closer to you as the minutes pass.

“I saw your performance.” He speaks quietly, his low voice reverberating in your skull. “You did well.”

You decide to tease him a bit and raise an eyebrow. “What did you think of the others? Or were you only focused on me?”

You lean closer to him as you speak, eyes raking his body up and down. You can just see his ears turn red. His hand shakes slightly as he reaches for the buttons. His fingers hover over the F, and you push his hand, guiding it to pick the candy bar you know he’s craving. He smiles at you and looks around.

“Should you be so bold out in public like this?”

You hum and lean close, almost brushing your nose against his chin. “Why? Is it bothering you?”

He clears his throat and steps forward. He picks up his candy and pulls your card out of the machine. “No. Not at all.”

You smirk. You lean over him, draping your arm around his shoulder to pick your card out of his fingers. You quickly kiss his shoulder before walking away, leaving him to deal with the aftermath.

*

Vernon wears a mask, sunglasses, and a hood, covering every part of his face bar an inch or two. He sits a few blocks away from his dorm. He’s positioned to take up as little space on the bench as possible, waiting for you to show up. The cashier inside the corner store keeps an eye on him from inside, but his worries seem to subside slightly when you appear next to him. You lean in front of him, pulling his mask down just slightly to kiss his lips. Even with his face covered, you can feel the heat rising from his cheeks.

“Did you tell Wonwoo?” You open the door for him, placing your hand on his lower back. You whisper to him, keeping unwanted passersby from hearing your words.

He takes his sunglasses off once he’s inside. You relish the small amount of him you can see. 

“Would you have preferred he came?”

“I’m happy to see just you, but I don’t want him to feel left out.” 

You slowly make your way through the convenience store. Vernon hands you packets upon packets of ramen, chips, and ice cream as he walks.

“I told him I wanted to spend time with you alone, and I would spend alone time with him later.” 

You raise an eyebrow at his story. “You always get alone time with him.”

It doesn’t take long for him to relent the tale. “Okay, I didn’t tell him I was coming, but I wanted to see you alone.”

You sigh and stop him. If your hands were empty, you would be rubbing the bridge of your nose, but instead, you give him an exasperated look. He’s seen it before, in videos of you with your groupmates, leading practices, and trying not to argue with inappropriate interviewers. Vernon’s eyes crinkle slightly, and you can feel the smile he’s wearing illuminating the world around you.

“Next time you want to spend alone time with me,” You begin talking, and he turns his head, knowing what your lesson will sound like. “Hey,” With that warning, he looks back at you, big eyes aware of his mistake. “Next time you want to spend alone with one of us, tell the other one.” 

You nod your head towards the cashier after he acknowledges your words. He begins to walk forward, and you follow behind him. He waits for you to drop the food on the counter and picks through it, finalizing his decisions. You pay for the food and bring him over to the seats. He sits at the very end of the row, the only seat not in front of a wide window.

He pulls his mask and hood off. Your heart clenches when you finally see his face. He wishes you could take your hat off but likes it when you take your mask off regardless. You’re already compromising with him to be in public in general, thinking being recognized is too dangerous without someone from the company being aware you’re out, and he’s sure asking you to take off your beanie would be too much to ask.

You cook his hotpot for him and place a pair of chopsticks in his hand, cleaning up the counter as you go along. You open a bag of chips and begin to eat, watching him closely. He eats quickly, and you hold a finger out, tapping against the table with a mouth full of food, wanting him to slow down. He smiles and holds a bite of his food out for you. You shake your head and nod for him to eat it. He pouts at you. Your resolve melts immediately, and you open your mouth. He feeds you with a proud smile.

“Do you like it?” He takes another bite and speaks around it. “It’s a new flavor.”

You hum. “It’s good. I would eat more, but I’m on a diet.”

According to Vernon’s facial expression, that’s the most scandalous sentence you could ever say. He gasps and shakes his head. His face turns into a frown. “Why are you on a diet?”

You pat his head. “It’s okay, I’m being healthy about it.”

“But you don’t need to be on a diet!” He argues, speaking a little louder than you would like him to.

“None of us ever need to be on diets.” You pinch his cheek. “Some people in my company thought I needed to get some of my muscles back.”

He goes back to eating. He chews slowly and continues to talk with food in his mouth despite the scrunched up and disgusted look you get when he does. “Your muscles never went away. How bulky are they that they think-”

“Okay,” You cut him off with a laugh and rest your hand on his leg. “Calm down, killer.”

“You shouldn’t have to go on a diet.”

“That’s the same thing I tell you.” You mention. You watch him eat, despite not liking him talking with his mouth full.

He adores the attention and the small smile barely visible. Your eyes are soft where they would be intense and concentrated. You reserve the calm and admiring looks for him and Wonwoo, and they very much enjoy that fact. He finishes eating his hotpot and continues on to eat the snacks laid in front of him, offering you at least one bite of everything he tries. You take some of them without question, arguing against trying others before inevitably eating them anyway.

You drag out the amount of time you should spend at the convenience store. You place your mask on and buy just enough food every hour or so to keep the man at the front counter who doesn’t look too happy with you already from getting any more upset. Throughout the date, you get closer and closer to each other. You no longer sit comfortably on the chair, choosing to bridge the gap as much as you can. He sits forward, facing the wall as he tells story after story, and you sit backward, getting as good of a view of his face as possible. You’re leaning in front of him, captured by the way his lips move when he speaks.

“Let’s go back to the dorms.” He places his hand on your chest. “Wonwoo can enjoy you looking at him like this.”

You hum and lean forward, holding your hand over his. Your lips are a fingerbreadth away from his. His eyes follow them closely. It’s suddenly a lot harder for him to concentrate on the words you’re asking. 

“Are you sure we won’t get caught?”

His eyes are still drawing over the curve of your mouth when he answers. “I can be very sneaky when I want to.”

You find his lips quickly, moving one of your hands to hold the back of his neck. He leans in closer, crushing his hand between your chests. You smirk against his lips and pull back.

“I’ll join you if you think we won’t get caught.”

He smiles and nods, chasing your lips as you pull back. You wink at him. You can just see red pooling in his face as you stand, placing your mask back on. He puts his disguise on quicker than it would usually take. Even he isn’t sure if it’s because of his blush or wanting to be alone with you as soon as he can.

You adjust his mask and sunglasses, letting your fingers delicately trail across his face. “Hurry, I want to catch Wonwoo before he goes to sleep.”

*

You make it back to Seventeen’s door without any outward indication of being recognized. Vernon rushes through the door before you can fully open it, kicking off his shoes as he walks. You knock them to the side, collecting them a bit more than he did, and gently close the door behind you. Seungcheol walks into the entryway, eyeing you up before he recognizes it as you. You bow to him and take your hat off. You remove your shoes a lot gentler than Vernon did.

Seungcheol leans against the wall as Vernon moves past him. You hear his footsteps fade as he pushes further into the apartment.

“I assume you’re not here to see any of the rest of us.” Seungcheol smiles at you.

“Sorry, but you’re not quite as exciting as the other two.” You make your way through the apartment, stepping over halfway put up bags and clothes.

Wonwoo catches you at the entrance to his room. He smiles brightly and reaches up, delicate fingers unhooking your mask. You tilt your head slightly, and he leans in, kissing your lips. Vernon’s hand reaches forward to pull both of you in the room, and you kick the door behind you.

“You went on a date without me?” Wonwoo looks up at you. He’s not offended or upset in any way, but you can see his attempts at faking disappointment.

“It was Vernon’s idea.” You tell on the other boy without hesitation.

Wonwoo smiles. Any pretend distress is washed away as you lean back in, bumping noses as you kiss him.

He hums, barely pulling back to tell you. “This helps a little.”

The gets-jealous-much-easier Vernon sits on Wonwoo’s bed and watches. He squints his eyes slightly but understands both of you wanting the attention from each other. You can see him out of the corner of your eye and smirk, capturing Wonwoo’s lips in another kiss. You pull him closer, hands slipping down to his lower back. Wonwoo makes a gasping noise but doesn’t protest as you deepen the kiss. Just as he reaches his hands up to move through your hair, Vernon clears his throat.

You smile and pull back, leaving Wonwoo with one more kiss. “I wanted to see how much he could take.”

“He can take you on more secret dates if I get repaid with that.” 

*

Hours after you should have returned home, you and Wonwoo lay with your fingers intercrossed. Vernon is on your other side, fast asleep with his head on your shoulder. You rub your thumb against Wonwoo’s hand in small motions. He watches your hands closely, opening and closing his fingers to see how tightly you’re holding them together. You watch him. Eyes hooded as they look at your fingers, mouth pursed in a little grin.

You speak quietly, not wanting to wake Vernon or ruin the peaceful moment. “You are lovely, you know that?”

Wonwoo hums. He doesn’t look at you.

“Ethereal.” You let go of his hand. You ignore his protests and reach your hand up to caress his face. “I don’t tell you enough.”

“You tell me more than anyone.” He leans into the touch. His eyes flutter closed in a picturesque way you didn’t know was possible.

You pull him closer, stretching just enough to kiss his cheekbone. “You should get some sleep.”

His eyes don’t open as he asks. “Are you going to be gone when I wake up?”

You sigh and nod your head. “Yes.”

His eyes open, and he turns on his side, looking wide awake. “Then I’ll stay up.”

[chibicalzones]

what the characters of haikyuu smell like: 𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

aka my sister’s first impressions based on their wiki profile pictures ;)

DISCLAIMER: pls don’t take this seriously, this was all just for shits and giggles. she literally knows nothing about the show and this was all based on a single photo of each character so ahahaha pls, give her a break. 

warnings: does touch on gender and sexuality at some points

post made by: alex 🍒

read part two and three!

— daichi: spicy apples

no not apple spice, spicy apples... covered in cayenne 

so sweet but cayenne covered

means he’s nice but needs help breaking down his walls 

likes fall weather

puts max effort into everything he does bc he thinks every little thing affects his future

looks like the person that would slam your books on the floor on accident

straight but experimenting

— sugawara: vanilla sugar from bath and body works

regular, not too overpowering

a nice person

if daichi was the one to book slam you, he’s the one that helps you pick up your books 

wears a book satchel 

people think he’s gay but he’s actually bi

every girl likes him and even understand there’s more to him than just his looks

— asahi: fresh laundry

“it’s the man bun”

looks put together

wants to smell fresh

enjoys crisp things, needs to be tidy, very type A

a straightforward person

grew up really fast and now doesn’t look like his age

would be on the water polo team

comfy in his own skin

bi or gay

— nishinoya: deep musky forest

if he wasn’t hanging out with his friends, he would be out in the forest

nice person but hangs with the wrong people

takes himself too seriously

acts mysterious to other people but goofy with his friends

dyed that one piece of hair to get attention and feel special

asexual?

bi with a preference of men

— tanaka: cigarettes

that guy in your honors class but you’re not necessarily sure why he’s there... but he’s PASSING

mysterious 

hangs with bad kids but is actually nice and approachable in a way

has a bad family situation?

straight but when he’s older, he might experiment

— ennoshita: peonies

enjoys picnic dates

would date anyone with a cottage core aesthetic 

picks the handmade flower type arrangements 

gives good hugs

into neutral colors

likes to go to the library a couple times a week

wears glasses but prefers contacts

a soft bi

— kinoshita: smoky musk

acts manly but actually isn’t that manly

tries to hang with the popular kids 

wants to act like A MAN... but just... can’t (yet)

highlighter in middle school

dyed his hair because he had a panic at the disco phase

alternative rock

could be a mean kid? 

actually in the closet and is denying it

could be asexual

— narita: a runny sunny side up egg

not seasoned at all

plain

doesn’t like adventures

introvert

tries to take himself seriously but others just don’t and it makes things  harder

type of person that only half asses his part in group assignments

was bullied for his shaved head which is why he’s shy now

retired popular kid

— kageyama: chalkboard

old school

believes things will mend his way because he doesn’t believe in modern stuff

doesn’t want to get his hands dirty but he has to

very particular

lashes out a lot

he likes apples

“ oh yeah he’s gay”

— hinata: chocolate toffee

the kind of person that has a soft exterior but is hardcore on the inside 

tries really hard to showcase that he’s hardcore but due to his appearance, it just... doesn’t work out

in which he tries to change himself

elderly people like him :D

but no one else does

girls? guys? bis? he’s experimenting

— tsukishima: sharpie

people either really like him or really hate him

has an overwhelming presence

intimidating to other people due to straightforward-ness

had hard past because he was used by other people

spring is his favorite season

a theater kid but got overly bullied so he stopped

doesn’t like it when people raise his voice at him but also doesn’t like it when it’s too quiet 

is a good liar

straight... but experiments for fun

— yamaguchi: pine

straightforward man but he is bi

trying to get into alternative music but ends up going towards rock specifically in the 80s

“IM NOT LIKE OTHER GUYS” and tries to get dates like that

he enjoys math

takes himself too seriously

not very much liked by other people 

teachers see him because he has protentional but doesn’t put the effort

his room has a lot of posters in it

— kiyoko: a new (text)book

she’s the kind of person that has all honors, APs, AND she’s athletic 

got an athletic scholarship 

straightforward, straight of the book

really smart but wasn’t a teachers pet

not intimidating but she’s not a social person and doesn’t wanna be approached

so much more to her but no one cares to know

straight

— yachi: cotton candy

a romantic

really wants to eat cotton candy with her significant other on a ferris wheel

still rides the carousel

bi or pan

likes butterflies and is so glad that flower and butterfly clips are coming back and is now a trend 

quirky

first stop at disneyland is to always buy a lollipop

definitely wants to be a artist or have fame of some sort. but it comes from intense stanning of other people

knowledgeable for her age but people wouldn’t pin it on her

people used to call her pipsqueak

— yui: sage / incense

lesbian 

come out in high school

strong feminist

cut off her hair in middle school because she thought it was cool but turned out lesbian

probably vegan or vegetarian

proud of herself but doesn’t like how people think about her

likes english - enjoyed reading the great gatsby

— takeda: persimmon

looks like a nice dad

would give oranges to strangers

definitely old school but is interested and opened to the new frontier

works at best buy

gives good hugs

is a single dad - knows how to bake, fold clothes, etc.

really close with his kids

likes to go swimming

favorite season is autumn

— ukai: sunscreen

died his brunette hair to blond because he has a seniority complex

worked out a lot in high school to get buff

retired wrestler

thought a lot of girls liked him 

straight 

thought slamming a girl’s laptop down was flirting

rage quits board games

has bad social skills

think’s he’s “all that”

has a secret passion he doesn’t let anyone know about

[hikarus-shida]

PRESTON VANCE: Dating Preston Vance Headcanon

preston vance x dating preston! headcanon

genre: fluff

warnings: none

requested by: anon (hope you enjoy!)

tag list: @cutierocker202 @bec0m @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @elitehunter

headcanons masterlist

*i do not own this gif!*

Preston definitely is a great boyfriend! Flowers, chocolates and candies, anything you desired always given to you or sent to you unexpectedly. He would spoil you to no end, materialistically and with the little things. Preston would enjoy seeing the smile on your face and the blush that appeared on your face whenever he’d give you a gift.

Preston was kind of a shy guy when he first courted you, which was super out of the ordinary considering his confidence. He thought you were the one for him almost immediately and needed to know you. It took a bit of pushing from some friends from The Dark Order, as well as from Amanda and -1, for him to finally talk to you.

When he asked you out, Preston swore that he almost passed out when you said yes. Having you finally become his significant other was all he wanted and needed, when he finally got it, he couldn’t believe it.

As a boyfriend, not only is he the type to spoil you, but he’s also the type to be really big on cuddling. Preston’s a total softy and has no shame in it. He would reach for you when you were far away, pull you close to him, constantly ask for cuddles, and keep his hands on you. Even you kissing him on the cheek would make him blush and send him over the edge, his love for you made him feel so fuzzy inside.

Since you two were together, the two of you would binge tv shows. Preston tried very hard to get you into Friends and you’d watch episodes with him, but it was definitely something you wouldn’t watch if he wasn’t around. Preston, on the other hand, could watch anything.

Just like watching anything, Preston could and would eat anything. When neither of you felt like cooking, you would get take out and the variety was endless since Preston wasn’t a picky eater. Because of that, his taste in food would also influence you to try new things!

When Preston would be away, he couldn’t let you stay home alone, even if you had other obligations like work or school. He always wanted you around and hated when he wasn’t with you; you were like his good luck charm. He’d always pay for your flight and beg you to take time off, which you couldn’t resist because of his puppy dog eyes. If you couldn’t get time off, the two of you would have to resort to long distance communication and Preston would hate it, but knew he had to deal with it because seeing you in person would make everything better again.

Seeing him after a long time would sometimes feel like he never left. Every time Preston came back from being on the road, it was almost like regularly scheduled programming had never stopped. The touches and kisses were always so much more sweeter and full of passion though every single time.

[mochegato]

Hope on Board

Chapter 11 - Zombies and Vampires and Werewolves, Oh My

Chapter 1     Chapter 10

“Are we ready?” Dick asked, looking to Marinette instead of looking around because ultimately, it was more a matter of whether she was comfortable and felt prepared than what they had.  He really didn’t care about the movie or the snacks. He was just ecstatic to have Marinette in his arms and without worrying about making her feel like throwing up if he touched her wrong, or at all, or even looked at her.

Marinette looked around, taking stock of their supplies in the dark room.  They had their huge bowl of popcorn, some chips, cookies she had made for them to snack on, disgusting looking cheap candy that Dick liked pushed as far away from her as it could be, she mentally thanked God she was almost completely over her morning sickness, otherwise she’d already be throwing up due to the smell alone, water, sodas, and ginger ale in the refrigerator.  They had enough supplies to feed an entire group and she recognized that, but she couldn’t stop herself from going overboard for Dick.

“I think we’re ready.” She nodded firmly. “We’re ready for an entire movie marathon if we wanted,” she chuckled self-consciously.  

Dick smiled and pulled her closer against himself. “I’m okay with that.  As long as you’re cuddled up against me and I can sneak kisses from time to time, I’ll be happy.”

She grinned up at him.  “Who says you have to sneak them?”

Dick grinned at the invitation and leaned down to give her a slow, sweet kiss.  He pulled away, gazing into her eyes affectionately and rubbing her cheek gently with his thumb.  “Are you comfortable?  Do you need another pillow?”

Marinette giggled and looked around them.  “Dick, I think we’re good.  I think if we stacked up the pillows, they’d be taller than me.”

Dick pouted.  “I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”

She cupped his face and pulled him down for a sweet, chaste kiss.  “I know. Thank you.  It means a lot.  Now, what did you choose for the movie?”

Dick looked back to the television and started navigating to the show he wanted to watch.  “I thought we could maybe watch that zombie show everyone is talking about. I keep hearing how amazing it is. They just released the entire series so we could binge on it.”  Marinette tensed in his arms.  He looked back at her apprehensively.  “Or… we could watch something else.”

She looked up at him guiltily, a frown pulling the corner of her lips down.  She started fidgeting with her fingers.  “I’m sorry. I just… zombie stories… it just brings back some… um… flashbacks?”

Dick raised an eyebrow at her. “Flashbacks?  Flashbacks to what?”

“Paris.  Akuma. One of the most effective ones we had. She turned almost everyone in Paris into one of her zombies.”  She shuddered at the memory.

He nodded and ran his hands over her arms. “Millions of zombies wandering around wanting to get you… yeah, I can see how that would be terrifying,” he soothed in an understanding voice.

She shook her head.  “It wasn’t really the zombies that were so scary, it was… have you ever seen your friends give themselves up in order to give you a few extra seconds to get away?  That’s what I see.  Not the monster coming.  My friends falling.  The look in their eyes.  The blood. The…”  She stared at her hands for a few moments before glancing back up at him with a humorless smile.  “Sorry. I just brought down the tone of the night.”

He shook his head.  “No, not at all.  We’re supposed to be getting to know each other better, right?  This is a part of you I never knew about.  I want to know.  And, I have. Seen people give themselves up to save me, I mean.  Not a mindless monster, but… yeah, I’ve had friends and family put themselves in the path of a rogue or a henchman in order to give me time to escape.  It… it makes you feel unworthy.”

She nodded along with his words.  “Undeserving.”

He nodded in agreement.  “Even knowing I would make the same choice.  I’m sorry you had to go through that.”  He pulled her in for a hug and nuzzled into her hair to comfort her.  “Any other horror movie tropes we should stay away from?”  He tried to lighten the mood.

Marinette pulled away to think about it.  “Growing up in Paris is kind of like a double edged sword when it comes to horror movies.  They aren’t really scary anymore because we’ve seen them all in real life and the movies could never match how terrifying it is in real life, when your or your friends’ or family’s lives are actually at stake.  But on the other hand, it triggers flashbacks.  

“I mean we had zombies, obviously, werewolves, vampires, chainsaw wielders, ghosts, gremlins, invisible terrors, baby killers, like, babies that killed, literal nightmares come to life, apocalypses, firestarter, that one was particularly gruesome.  I couldn’t go near any kind of flames for months.  Mermaids, not the like, kid’s movie version.  The drag you under the water to drown you kind.  We’ve had shapeshifters, water monsters, dragons, dinosaurs… I think the only horror story creature we didn’t have is Frankenstein. But evil, deranged monster only concerned about his own desires, creating amalgamated creatures to enact his psychopathic will… yeah, almost daily.”

Dick stared at her blankly for a few moments, trying to process everything she just said. “… No horror movies, ever.  Got it.”  Dick nodded absentmindedly.  “I never knew it was that bad there.  Were you ever… did you ever… I mean… I don’t know what I mean.”  There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but he didn’t know if he was ready to hear any of the answers.  He wasn’t ready to hear the suffering Marinette had gone through. She shouldn’t have had to have gone through any.

“There are so many questions that could be.  I’m going to need a bit more direction,” she chuckled mirthlessly.  “Did I ever get hurt?  Yes. Did I ever become an akuma? No.  Did I ever kill someone as an akuma?  Also no.  What did it feel like?  I don’t know. Was I the mermaid?  I wasn’t.  Did I get eaten by the dinosaur?  Eh.” She made a more or less motion with her hand.  “Did I ever date any of the heroes?  Pass.  Did I ever date any of the akumas?  Once, to distract him so Chat could get him.  Didn’t work.  Did I ever have to watch my family get hurt or killed?  So much.  Did I have to watch my friends get hurt or killed?  So often.  Did I ever die?”  She paused for a few seconds before shrugging in what she hoped was a nonchalant way. “Which one?”

Dick froze.  His chest stopped rising and falling.  He slowly licked his lips as he prepared them to form the words he didn’t want to say.  “Let’s start with have you ever died?”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d miss that.  I wasn’t thinking when I said it and then couldn’t take it back.”  She looked away and took a deep breath.  “Depends on the timeline.  I don’t remember dying.  I’m pretty sure that was a different me?  Oh,” her face fell as if just remembering something.  “I guess this me died a few times too.  But I’m still here so that doesn’t count, right?”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times trying to formulate his reaction.  She had died. She was gone.  Why did everyone in his life die?  He would have never gotten the chance to meet her, to imagine their life together, their baby.  “… I’m pretty sure it does.  How… um… but…”  

“One of the ladybug miraculous’ powers is reversing the damage done by miraculous users, including deaths,” she explained calmly. “The Eifel Tower was destroyed and brought back sooo many times.”

Dick nodded at her words, not really registering them.  She had died and she was so calm about it.  He studied her more intently.  She was looking away, her body tense but trying to appear relaxed.  No, she wasn’t calm about it, she just wanted him to be calm. She didn’t want to scare him.  He took a deep breath and smiled for her, but still didn’t know what to say.  He hugged her closer instead.

She stared at the popcorn bowl for a moment and grabbed a handful, popping one of the kernels into her mouth.  “We even had a popcorn monster once.  That one was amazing though.  Like… have you ever seen the episode of Scooby Doo where the monster trapped them in a giant vat of Scooby Snacks or where the monster was a giant Cotton Candy glob?  It was like that.  Hilariously ineffective.  Everyone kind of enjoyed that one.  Alix set up a projector and put on an impromptu outside movie experience.”

She was making a joke.  She was trying to lighten the mood.  He could work with that.  “Well that,” he reached over and stole some popcorn from her, “sounds fun.  And that cure thing would be helpful.  It would certainly be useful to have here.”  She chuckled at his attempt.  “Okay, how about a comedy, or a romance, or a Disney movie?  Something happy.”

Marinette nodded.  “That sounds good.” She watched as he scrolled through the movie options. “Oooh, how about that one?  I love the Princess Bride.”

Dick smiled, “As you wish.”

She looked up at him with a curious expression, unsure if he understood the significance of the phrase.  She turned to the movie and snuggled further into his chest deciding he didn’t and that was okay.  It was still really early in their relationship.  There were things she loved about Dick and she loved being with him, but she didn’t know if she loved him.  She imagined he felt the same.  They were getting closer and she was positive they were going to get there.  Until then, she enjoyed all the time she got to spend with him.

He ran languid fingers over her arm as the movie started, enjoying the way her skin felt under his fingers, relishing that he could feel her.  That she was there warm in his arms, not laying cold and dead in a box.  He slowly moved his fingers to stroke her side and circle her hip, down along her thigh and back up, dipping across her lower back. She ran her fingers up and down his chest in response.  They slowly became firmer strokes, getting bolder and running along the hem of his shirt.

His touches slowly became more caressing and lingering, lengthening the path and getting brasher.  He grazed along her breast as his hand passed.  She swallowed heavily, pushing further into his chest and moved her leg over his, rubbing it up and down along his leg.  Their eyes were still focused on the movie, but neither was watching anymore.  They both waited for the other to be the first to break and move their supposedly innocent movie night into something more.

Dick was the first one to break when Marinette dipped her pinky just below the waistband of his pants as she traced his abs.  Not far enough to touch anything sensitive, but enough to send his mind racing and let him know she was interested in doing more than watching the movie.  He cupped her face, staring intently at her for a few seconds before diving in to kiss her. She melted into his kiss.  He moaned as her tongue slipped in to meet his. She pushed up to deepen the kiss and grant him more access to explore her body with his hands.

He pushed their stockpile of pillows out of the way and twisted them to lay her down on the couch.  Her hair splayed out on the remaining pillow and she looked up at him with half lidded eyes.  He traced the lines of her cheek and jaw, looking at her in amazement.  The light from the movie was reflecting off her hair and eyes.  She had pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she gazed up at him lustfully.  Her shirt was pulled down just enough to get a good view of her breasts and the top of her lacy bra.  Her hands were running up and down his sides and back causing shock waves of pleasure through him.  “God, you are so sexy,” he murmured almost subconsciously.  

Her lips formed a sultry smile as her hands found their way to his neck and brought him back down to her lips.  She whimpered as his lips caressed hers and his hands massaged her.  She reached down and started pulling on his shirt.  He caught her intention and ripped it off, throwing it away to the side. It landed over the television, obscuring their view of the movie neither had any intention of watching.

Chapter 12

Tags:

@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness @ichigorose @iloontjeboontje @ladybug-182 @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @golden-promises @trippingovermyfeet @emimar7 @laurcad123