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itsdanii · 4 years

Note

Because I’m an angst-addicted ball of misery, is it okay if I request drabbles of Fuckboy!Atsumu and Fuckboy!Oikawa being the crush of the reader but she knows of how they treat other girls and doesn’t want to end up heart broken and since she’s shy and introverted, the boys barely know her aside from her being a classmate?

She tries to keep a simple distance away from them until said boys randomly show an interest in her and they start showing her attention, love, and treating her better than the girls they messed with until after a few weeks she overhears from them or their teammates that it’s out of pity/they were bored because Y/N seemed easy to mess with.

Y/N doesn’t let them know she overheard them, instead a switch is flipped and she’s emotionless around them and avoids them. When they ask why she’s like that, she simply says “I won’t let you hurt me like the others.” She basically treats them like they don’t exist (she’s friendly to everyone but them) and said f!boys regret it and bust their asses to fix everything between them (I read how you felt about full angst, so the reader just blocked their number, social media’s, and treat them like the plague until they prove that they truly love her or regret messing with her :) )

Hey, bub. Sorry for the slight delay! I hope you don't mind me making slight adjustments about the plot for my comfort 🥺 And uh... this drabble turned out to be a oneshot because I got carried away. I only did Atsumu's part which went over 3k+ works 👁️👄👁️ Anyway, I hope that you still like it. Have a good day, stay safe and hydrated! ♥️

Karma's a b*tch

genre: angst to fluff

warning/s: rude behavior (resolved), cursing, self doubt and insecurity(?), do message me if I missed any

a/n: please do read the warnings before you proceed. warnings have been put there for a reason

ft. fboy!atsumu miya, f!reader

never play with a girl's feelings. wanna know why? just read the title.

You stared at the back of Atsumu's head dreamily, your elbows propped on your desk as you basically ignored the world around you.

Contrary to the belief that noisy students always sat on the back, Atsumu and his twin were actually seated in front. Despite being in the middle of a class discussion, the two kept on chattering as if the teacher didn't exist. The teacher basically gave up already trying to shut them up since they never listened anyway.

You knew that she could've just sent them to detention but of course, who would do that to the miya twins? People almost worshipped them and your teacher wasn't excluded. Everytime she entered the room, you noticed how she would always cast a glance at the Miya twins and smile "politely."

The two, of course, took advantage of it. If it meant being able to get away with their noise by just simply smirking at the teacher in front of them, they'd do it. They already did anyways. They never did anything more than that though, and for some reason you were thankful that they never crossed that line.

You jolted up slightly when the bell suddenly rang, a loud yelp slipping past your lips out of shock. With your eyes widening like saucers, you felt your cheeks heating up when majority of your classmates turned their head towards your direction, some having a grin on their faces while the others having a look of displease.

However, their stare didn't matter as much as a specific person's did. A pair of brownish eyes stared at you intensely, his gaze so intense it was enough to make you almost squirm in your seat.

Feeling your heart rate picking up along with the shiver running down your spine, you looked down at your lap, successfully cutting your eye contact with Miya Atsumu - the guy you secretly liked despite being hailed as your school's certified f!ckboy.

"Make sure to finish all your requirements this upcoming weekend. You're all seniors so I have high expectations on your outputs, understood?"

With a series of "Yes, ma'am," the class was dismissed.

The room was filled with different noises - subgroups gossiping with each other, the footsteps of students hurrying their way out, the rustling of papers, clanking of chairs and the voices of the class representatives reminding the assigned people to clean properly.

It was lively, for them at least.

As for you, you preferred being alone. No, you weren't some weird nerd kid who acted as if they hated the world. Instead, you preferred categorizing yourself as one of those people who were naturally shy and introverted.

You don't really like crowds nor socializing. You've always opted on sitting by the corner, just enjoying the calmness silence brings you.

Grabbing your books from your desk, you stood up and made your way to the door, head casted a little downwards to avoid making eye contact with people, knowing that doing so will result to interactions, and who has time for interactions anyway? Certainly not you.

With the lack of paying attention, you failed to notice someone who was rushing their way out. Like a cliche movie, your body collided with them, the impact causing you to stumble backwards, loosening your grip on your books as they fell on the floor.

Luckily, the person behind you managed to catch you on time, their hand gripping the small of your back to keep your bum from meeting the floor.

"Whoa, there. Ya alright, princess?" spoke the familiar voice just behind your ear, his breath against your skin giving you small goosebumps.

Instantly, you jerked away. Turning around to face him, you bowed down while muttering continuous apologies. "Miya! I didn't mean to bump into you, I.. I swear. I was just walking out and then somebody j-"

Chuckling, Atsumu placed a hand on top of your head, giving your hair a small ruffle which eventually made you look up at him. "Calm down, I ain't mad at ya. No need to be so flustered."

With a stiff nod, you mumbled a small "Okay," before bending down to pick your books off the floor. You didn't fail to notice how your hands were trembling and you silently prayed to whoever diety was watching over you that Atsumu won't notice it.

"Yer y/n, right?" Atsumu asked as he bent down as well, one hand clutching your book as he let his finger trace over the name written on it. "A pretty name fer a pretty face like yers."

You wouldn't be surprised if he'd ask if you were doing okay because by now, you were a hundred percent sure that your face must be looking like a red tomato. "Thanks I guess," you said, giving him a shy smile before taking the book from his hand.

The small encounter was cut off by someone calling for Atsumu's name. Turning your head to the direction of the noise, you noticed Osamu walking towards you with a small frown on his face, one hand gripping the strap of his bag as he went on how they're going to have to run extra laps again if they ever got late for practice.

Atsumu only chuckled at Osamu before turning his focus back on you. With a cheeky smile, he booped the tip of your noise fondly. "Guess I'll see ya around, pretty thing. Careful not to stumble again, alright? Don't want another man catchin' ya."

With that, Atsumu went on his merry way, turning around one more time to send you a wink, chuckling as you gave him a slow wave before his figure disappeared from your vision as a mere dot.

"See ya later..." you whispered on thin air, lips unconsciously curling up as you stared at the direction he went off to. Once you snapped out of your daze, you bit your lip to stop yourself from squealing like a school girl in love.

Well, technically, you were a school girl in love, right?

That night, as you laid on your bed staring at your ceiling full of glow in the dark stars, you thought that maybe it wasn't so bad making conversations with people every once in a while.

The days went by pretty quickly.

At first, you thought that everything will be back to normal. After all, you never tried associating yourself with people. Your high school life was basically nothing but waking up early for school then going back home after class and then repeat.

However, something was strange. In fact, it was very strange. Not only were people trying to befriend you but the one and only Atsumu Miya was actually making an effort to talk to you, and to say that you were confused would be an understatement.

He basically didn't pay attention nor spared you a glance before, until that day you bumped into him.

You knew that it wasn't a good practice to judge someone based on what other people say but he wouldn't be called as your school's f!ckboy for nothing. He'd change his girlfriend almost every week as if he's only changing clothes, cruelly dump those who did not meet his certain standards and doesn't care even if a girl cries infront of him. Those are exactly why you tried not associating yourself with him nor his twin.

But there was something about Atsumu Miya that kept on drawing you in. You didn't know if it was his annoying piss colored hair, intense gaze, or the aura surrounding him. You couldn't help but wonder how someone like him, the exact type of person you swore you hated, managed to keep you attracted like a moth on to a flame.

It was weird.

And yet you loved it.

"Ya know y/n, ya kinda wound me," Atsumu said, plopping himself down beside you on the cafeteria.

With your hand clutching the chopsticks mid-air, you surveyed your area, noting how some heads, specifically the Inrizaki VBC's, turned to your direction. "Sorry, what do you mean?" you muttered as soon as your eyes met Atsumu's.

"I literally thought we're already friends when I saved yer ass from falling backwards," Atsumu answered before stuffing his mouth with an Onigiri, no doubt made by Osamu.

Placing your chopsticks down, you wiped your lips with some napkin before speaking up. "I'm sorry for asking this but... what's with the sudden interest, Miya?"

You were aware of how snappy you sounded, but in reality, it was your own defense mechanism acting up. Just how were you supposed to ignore him when it's he himself who kept on clinging to you?

"Hm, what do ya mean? Is it so hard to believe that I'm trying to befriend ya?" Atsumu tilted his head a bit to the side, his lips curling up into a smirk. "Why not try givin' me a chance, princess? That isn't so much to ask for."

You organized your now empty bento, placing it on the side before focusing your whole attention to the man in front of you. "I've seen how you treated girls before," you said with a low voice, averting your gaze from him to avoid melting into a puddle.

Damn stupid feelings.

"I see..." Atsumu said with a slow nod. "Then I guess that makes it more of a challenge."

Your eyebrows immediately furrowed upon hearing that, your curiosity spiking up at what his words meant. "Challenge? What do you mean?"

Instead of answering you, Atsumu just stood up, his bento in hand with the side of his lips curled up. "I'll see ya around, princess."

With that, you were left alone in your table, eyes still trained on Atsumu as he made his way back to the Inarizaki VBC's table. You watched as most of his friends chuckled while patting his back, some even sending a glance towards your direction.

Deciding that pondering over it would only be a waste of time, you stood up and made your way back to your classroom, failing to notice a grey haired Miya watching you.

You let out a small squeak as someone behind you reached for the same book you've been trying to get for almost 5 minutes now. Tilting your head back a little, you were met with an upside down vision of Miya Atsumu's face.

With your arms still raised in the air, you spun around to face him, your back flush against the bookshelf keeping you basically trapped. "Miya," you mumbled while looking up at him, one hand fisting the side of your skirt to release some pressure.

"Here," he simply said while handing you the book, obviously holding back from laughing at your flustered expression. "Don't worry, I ain't gonna try anythin' that would make ya uncomfortable. I was just passin' by and saw you strugglin'."

"And he even tucked my hair behind my ear!"

"He did that?" your cousin spoke from beside you.

Both of you were seated on top of your bed, legs crissed crossed as you gossiped about your interactions with Miya Atsumu.

For the past few weeks, you've been having encounters with Atsumu - in the cafeteria, in the library and even outside of school where he claimed that he was out to buy some ingredients for Osamu and only managed to bump into you "coincidentally". Name it and he'll be there.

With these constant encounters stirring up your feelings, you had to resort on calling your cousin for some girl time in order to save your sanity. Luckily, your parents had no objection. They were even happy that you were actually trying to open up to other people. It was only your cousin but according to your parents, "A small step is still a step."

Plopping your back on your bed, you grunted as you placed both of your hands on your cheeks. "Mhm. I just don't get it you know? He's basically this popular guy that plays volleyball, has a group of girls swarming over him and has the face and body that looks like it's been sculpted by God himself, and yet he's wasting his time on me."

You looked at your cousin with a small pout, one hand reaching out to poke her thigh. "Am I just overthinking things?"

With a breathy chuckle, your cousin laid down beside you. "Maybe? I can't really say for sure since I don't know this Miya guy except your description of him, but what I think is that you should give him a chance."

Hearing that, you laid on your side to face her, elbows propped up against the mattress as you rested your cheek on your palm. "Aila, have you been listening to me? He is a f! ckboy. Dangerous, treats girls like shit, and undeniably sexy. What if his sudden interest is only a one time thing? What if he's just messing with me?"

"And what if he isn't?" Upon hearing no reply, your cousin took your silence as her cue to continue. "What if people just labeled him as this so called 'f!ckboy' because that's what they perceive him to be? What if inside him is just someone who's vulnerable, trying to protect themselves from getting hurt by people so they end up hurting others first to save themselves from the pain? What if he's just waiting for someone who wanted to really know him, the real him? Would you really deprive him of that opportunity just because of what you hear from other people?"

"I... I don't know.."

"Miya isn't here to defend himself and I'm not trying to defend him, but don't you think you should at least give him the benefit of the doubt?" Aila smiled as she settled herself on a comfortable position. "Give him a chance, y/n. Everyone deserves to get one. It's up to him to prove whether he's worth the chance he was given."

You sighed deeply, letting her words sink in as you also shifted yourself on a comfortable position, raising your comforter up until it reaches just below your chin. "Then what happens if he isn't worth the chance he's given?"

With a hum, your cousin just shrugged. "Then you either forgive him and let it go or... give him the finger and tell him 'f!ck you' for messing with your feelings," she said with a short giggle.

"It's something only you in the future can decide. Goodnight, y/n."

With a thankful smile, you turned the lamp off as you whispered, "Mh, goodnight, Aila."

"Let's be friends," you said as you slammed a box of onigiri in front of Atsumu, a smacking sound resonating in the air making the rest of the boys look at your direction.

Even the sound of balls whooshing in the air stopped, replaced by the sound of them dropping suddenly on the gym's floor.

With his lips parted, Atsumu shifted his gaze from the onigiri, Osamu, Suna and you. "Ah..." he muttered as if he was just as shocked as you for having the guts to come inside the gym in the middle of their training.

Feeling your cheeks heating up out of embarrassment due to his lack of response, you looked down and started to fiddle with you fingers. "You said you wanted to be my friend and I kept on keeping my distance from you so I thought you might appreciate those onigiri as my peace offering." You scratched the back of your head before giving him an awkward smile. "A-anyway, that's all! I'll see you around, Miya!"

Atsumi could only watch you as you dashed out of the gym. Snapping out of his daze, he looked down at the box of Onigiri, smiling unconsciously as he noticed the sticky note posted on top with "Good luck on your practice, Miya! :))" written on it.

"Interestin'," Atsumu whispered before standing up, Kita's voice filling the air as he called the team back for practice.

It's safe to say that after that embarrassing moment, you became friends with Atsumu. You even became close with his twin because they were always with each other. It wasn't long then when the usual duo became three - Atsumu, Osamu, and you.

It was hard to adjust at first. Your female classmates would always glare at you and spout out some nasty remarks but the twins were always there to defend you. In fact, you even met the whole team and hanged out with them when you didn't have some academic tasks to finish.

It was fun, and you were thankful for your cousin who gave you the advise of giving Atsumu a chance.

But there was a downside on the situation.

Your feelings which you kept hidden for a long time was only growing day by day, and you were afraid that it was slowly showing signs.

How?

Everytime Atsumu was near, your heart would beat so fast that you felt like you just finished a 4 kilometer run. Your hands would become clammy, breath would hitch, and face would heat up whenever he teases you, and don't even forget to add that one time you literally froze when you spun around, only to come face to face with him - nose almost touching, lips ghosting against each other with only an inch keeping you apart.

You were playing a dangerous game and yet you had no intention of stopping, not knowing that it wasn't only you who had a secret.

Because Atsumu Miya was also playing a game - something much more dangerous than yours.

"Where's 'Tsumu?" you asked as you peeked your head inside the gym.

Kita, who was about to walk out, gave you a smile before opening the door wider for you to come in. "Atsumu's in the storage room. The twins made a mess again so I told them to go clean up before we start practice."

"Typical," you said with a short giggle. "Anyway, I'm just going to drop off Atsumu's hoodie that I borrowed last week. I'll watch over them while you do your business."

"That would be great. Thank you so much, y/n-san. Call me if something happens," Kita said, giving you a small nod before leaving.

As you entered the empty gym, you grimaced upon seeing something that looks like spilled milk on the floor. With a shake of your head, you made your way near the storage room sneakily in attempts of scaring Atsumu.

However, as you got closer, you heard two familiar voices. It was Atsumu's and Osamu's voice, and basing from the way they were speaking, it seemed as if they were in the middle of an argument.

"The fuck did ya say?" It was Osamu.

"I said I was only playin' with her. I mean, she's so easy, don't ya think? It basically only took me a couple of weeks and she came runnin' to me with that box of Onigiri, claimin' she wanted to be friends," Atsumu said, followed by a chuckle. "As if I didn't notice the way she acted around me. I'm telling ya, that girl is in love with me."

"And so, what if she is? That's not an excuse for ya to play with her feelings, dipshit."

Hearing Atsumu huff, you slightly backed away from the door, only to freeze when you heard his next words.

"Y/n is nothin' but a toy to me, somethin' I can dispose of when I got bored."

Biting your lower lip, you clenched the handle of the paperbag you were holding before running out with tears streaming down your face.

You ran as fast as you could, ignoring the worried looks you're getting from the people you were passing by. Even Kita was shocked to see you yet he didn't bother calling out, thinking that you might be needing some alone time for yourself.

You skipped class.

Throughout your whole Highschool life, this was the first time you skipped your class and it was a bummer that the reason was Atsumu Miya.

Stirring your strawberry milkshake from a nearby cafe, you thought about Atsumu's words, another batch of tears streaming down your face as you realized how pathetic you were for believing that he isn't what others say.

Maybe your cousin was wrong.

Atsumu Miya wasn't worth the chance he was given, because he only proved that once a f!ckboy, always a f!ckboy.

You blocked Atsumu's social media accounts.

In fact, you even blocked and deleted his number to stop getting in contact with him.

Even in person, you didn't bother paying him any attention unlike before. You stopped coming to their practices, stopped giving him food and stopped talking to him.

You basically acted as if he didn't exist.

It was hard because you knew that your heart belonged to him, but you had to endure it. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction for playing with you. You know your worth and there's no way you're going to let some f*ckboy ruin you.

"Y/n, would ya stop?!" Atsumu said as he grabbed your wrist, effectively stopping you from walking away from him any further.

"Get your hands off me, Miya. I don't wanna talk to you." You struggled against his hold, trying to take your hand back, only to fail when he tightened his grip.

"The hell's yer problem? What's with the sudden attitude? Yer basically ignorin' me and I don't have any idea what I did. Just tell me what I did wrong instead of actin' like a little brat." Letting go of your wrist, Atsumu groaned as he ran his fingers through his hair out of frustration. "I.. I don't like this."

You laughed, eyes squinting as you let out a fit of giggles before pointing at him. "You don't like this? Why not, Miya? I'm just a toy for you, right? So, I don't really get why you don't like this. Is it because you're not bored of me yet so you're not willing to dispose of me?" Crossing your arms over your chest, you looked at him with a serious expression. "Well, I'm sorry to say this but I'm not going to let you hurt me like the others. I'm not a plaything nor am I desperate like those girls pining over you. Have fun looking for a new toy. You're not worth playing with anyway."

That being said, you turned your back on Atsumu, ignoring the whispers that suddenly filled the hallway as the students parted some space for you, leaving Atsumu with his lips parted and feet frozen on the ground.

Serves you right, Miya.

Atsumu felt hollow.

With every passing day that you're ignoring him, conversing with people whom you never bothered associating yourself with before, the more he regret taking advantage of your feelings.

It was only supposed to be a game, nothing but a pass time and yet why did it felt like something was missing?

"I wasn't supposed to care," Atsumu said desperately while clutching his head in his hands, elbows propped on the table as he opened up to his twin. "F!ck...I think I like her, 'Samu."

"No shit, idiot," Osamu answered without taking his eyes off the stove. "I told ya several times to stop messin' with people's feelings and did ya ever listen? No. That's what ya get for bein' stupid."

Groaning, Atsumu rested his cheek against the table, facing Osamu's back. "Help me."

Slowing down from stirring the pot, Osamu looked at Atsumu through his shoulder. "Why would I do that?"

"Well, I'm yer twin. Aren't ya supposed to help me? Plus... y/n acts fine around ya." Atsumu sighed before sitting up properly. "I won't bother ya fer a week if ya help me out. I already did everythin' I could. Flowers, chocolates, even payin' attention in class just to impress them! Nothin' worked."

Osamu chuckled at the desperation and frustration in Atsumu's voice. "Deal." He turned the stove off, covering the pot before making his way to Atsumu. Sitting down, he crossed his arms over his chest while staring at the brokenhearted Miya. "Y/n is actually kind. Well, not until that moment she found out about yer stupidity. Have ya tried showin' her that yer willin' to change?"

Atsumu nodded. "I did. I even gave her the usual things girls like."

"I asked if ya showed her that yer willin' to change, not tried winnin' over her through bribery." When Atsumu didn't respond, Osamu let out a 'tsk' before continuing, "Just stop botherin' her and prove that ya regret what ya did."

"Easier said than done," Atsumu grumbled which earned him a smack on the head.

"Will ya stop bein' a sad boy already? I have a plan."

Its been two weeks.

Two weeks of no Miya Atsumu trying to apologize. Two weeks of no Miya Atsumu following you like a lost puppy while holding either chocolates or flowers.

Instead, what you were getting were these random post it notes on your locker, your desk, everywhere. Wherever you go, there would be random post it notes with various messages. Some contained cheesy quotations, the others short apology letters.

And despite how mad you were at Atsumu, you wouldn't be able to deny how cute the act was. Not only did he gave you space but also exerted an effort of silently letting you know that he'd be willing to wait for you.

You noticed how he stopped acting like a boss in class, opting to jot down notes instead of chattering with Osamu like usual. You also noticed how he stopped having a random girl beside him during breaks. Everytime you would pass by, no longer would he try to block your way and flick your forehead, but instead give you a hopeful smile before proceeding on his way wordlessly.

But what made you realize that he indeed regret what he did was that one time.

You were walking back to your classroom after forgetting your umbrella. The sound of the heavy rain tapping on the ground resonated on the empty hallways, the cold wind making you shiver as it whooshed in the air.

Wrapping your arms tightly around you, you entered your classroom, eyes widening as you saw Atsumu trying to fit something on the space below your desk while mumbling something.

Clearing your throat, you noticed Atsumu jolting up slightly before turning around to face your direction.

He smiled sheepily before scratching his nape. "I know it's yer birthday tomorrow so I was tryin' to fit this here. I guess there's no point hidin' it already since ya caught me anyway." Sighing, Atsumu picked up the fox stuffie and handed it to you. "Happy Birthday, y/n. I know yer still mad at me and ya probably hate me but I still wanted to give ya a present."

You stared at the fox in your hand, your fingers poking the fluffiness of the material as you fought back the urge to smile. "Thanks," you answered with a dismissive tone.

For a split second, it was silent, and you were aware of the intensity of Atsumu's gaze burning on your forehead, yet you refused to look up, knowing that once you did, you won't be able to hold yourself back and might just forgive him there and then.

"I like ya, I really do. I know I messed up big time fer taking advantage of ya and I'm sorry fer that. It was stupid and childish of me to think that the people around me are nothing but mere toys fer me to play with. I regret hurtin' yer feelings and I'll be willin' to wait until ya forgive me. Just know that I won't stop until ya do."

Hearing something rustling, you looked up and noticed Atsumu taking off his jacket. Within a few steps, he was already infront of you, draping his jacket over your figure. "I'll see ya around, princess. Don't get sick, alright?" Smiling, Atsumu gave your cheek a small pinch before heading out.

You were left in the empty classroom with nothing but the fox stuffie serving as your company. Atsumu's scent was swirling around you from the jacket you were given and at that moment, you haven't notice the single tear sliding down your cheek.

Because of all people, you never expected for Atsumu Miya to be the first one to greet you without having to remind them.

He was the first person you knew outside of your household to ever remember your birthday.

You hugged the stuffie close to your chest, burrying your face on top of its head as you let the comfort it brings envelope you.

You stared at the empty space infront, your head swirling as you thought of the possible reasons why Atsumu haven't been in class for three days now.

It's currently your last subject and throughout the whole day, you've been doing nothing but wonder where he was. You haven't asked Osamu about it yet since he was excused from the class due to the preparations for the upcoming match.

And so, the moment your class was dismissed, you rushed your way out, making your trip to the gym. You were thankful that they were in the middle of a water break so you had the chance to call out Osamu's name without having to worry about Kita.

"Y/n?" Osamu's eyebrow shot up upon seeing you. Suddenly, a knowing smile made its way to his lips. Standing up, he walked over to you. "He's sick," he said without even waiting for you to say something.

"Oh.." you muttered, shifting from one foot to another nervously before tugging at the hem of Osamu's jersey. "Do you... uhm, do you think it would be alright if I visit him after your practice? I wanna see if he's doin' alright."

"Alright. I think 'Tsumu would appreciate that. Why don't ya sit on the bench and wait a little for us to finish practice then ya can visit our house after?"

Upon hearing that, your face instantly lit up. You smiled at Osamu as you nodded.

Osamu only chuckled at you and fondly ruffled your hair, a habit he and Atsumu shared.

You waited patiently, and it wasn't long then when their practice finally finished. After Osamu took a shower, you both went on your way to their residence.

As you entered their house, Atsumu's voice immediately met your ears.

"'Samu! Cook me somethin', I'm starvin!"

You looked at Osamu who only shrugged as if he was already used to it. You took your shoes off and wore the slippers you were given before placing your bag on the couch.

"Our room is on the right. Go ahead and talk to him." Osamu said as he pointed on the door at the end of the hallway.

With a nod, you slowly made your way to their room, knocking softly before sliding your way in.

The first thing that greeted you were the mess of opened junk foods on the floor. Roaming your eyes around, you grimaced at the sight of empty water bottles littered around along with the volleyball laying on the ground.

Averting your eyes away from the trash, you looked at Atsumu whose back was facing you, his shoulder raising up and down evenly, indicating that he must be asleep.

Carefully, you walked claser and sat on the edge of his bed, your hand immediately feeling his forehead. "You're burning up," you mumbled, brushing his hair away from his face.

Suddenly, Atsumu's hand gripped your wrist, his eyebrows furrowed as he squinted his eyes. "Am I dreamin' or are ya a ghost?" he asked with a raspy voice.

"I'm not a ghost, 'Tsumu. I'm really here."

You watched as Atsumu slowly nodded before letting go of your wrist. "What're ya doin' here? I thought ya were still mad at me." Sitting up, Atsumu held the comforter close to him as he shivered.

"I heard you were sick. I'm no longer mad at you. I guess I'm still upset but I just can't hold a grudge against you forever, can I? That's not something I can do," you said with a shake of your head. "I really like you, you know? Despite your title of being a f!ckboy, I still fell for you. You were the first person I tried opening up to aside from my cousin. It's just a bummer that you ended up taking advantage of that vulnerability."

You felt Atsumu reaching out for you, his hand enveloping yours as he gave it a small squeeze. "I know, and I'm sorry. I really am."

"And if I give you another chance, will you prove me that you deserve it?" you asked as you looked at him, "I'm still hurt about what happened so I hope that if I give you this chance, you won't waste it."

"Yes. God, yes," Atsumu answered breathlessly, "I promise it won't happen again and I'll try to be better."

Suddenly, Atsumu wrapped his arms around your figure, pulling you on his lap as he settled his head on the side of your neck. "Thank you," he mumbled repeatedly against your skin, his arms tightening around you as if he was afraid of letting go.

And he never did.

Indeed, there was something about Miya Atsumu that kept drawing you in, and despite the bumps and dangers that came along your way, you didn't withraw.

Because as you closed the last page of your photo album eight years from then, you realized how right your cousin was alll along.

Atsumu Miya was worth the chance he was given, and he proved it to you every single day, sealing it with the diamond ring now resting on your left hand.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated ♥️

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harrysgoldenline · 3 years

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can you pls write an angst where y/n went to her and harry's house that they bought or something like that in Italy to try to move on and go on with her life after harry broke up with her but then she never expected that harry will be there as well with his new gf.... you can end it whatever you like!! thank you

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: idk, sad I guess? also not proof read oops sorry lol

When In Italy

It has been three months since you’ve last seen or spoken to Harry. A very abrupt change after being together for four years, with constant talk of marriage and starting a family, the break up was something either of you really expected. It started as a break of sorts, eventually turning into a complete break up after only a couple weeks in a somewhat mutual way. With Harry's career taking off in so many different ways, with acting, the new tour and more, his life had changed completely and has left him very little time for anything else.

It went from daily phone and FaceTime calls, constant text messages and flowers being delivered to nothing.

“You really think that’s a good idea?” Your best friend asked you, concern plastered all over her face, “that won’t bring up too much?”

She had been sitting with you as you finished packing up your suitcase, trying her best to give you her support as you were going to be going on a spur of the moment trip to Italy and staying at the home of you and Harry, needing the much needed getaway and disconnecting completely. Seeing different things online about him all the time didn’t make it any easier and no matter how hard you tried to avoid it, he always found his way to pop up.

“I just need a break, everything here is a reminder to.” You sigh, “I just want a change of scenery. I think it’ll be good for me.”

“I hope so…” she frowned, looking up at you with a sad smile, “please don’t just sit there in the house all alone. Go out, meet some local Italian men!”

“I’m definitely not ready for that.” You say, forcing a laugh as you close your suitcase, zipping it up and placing it on the floor by your door, “but I will really try, I promise. I will call you if I need you and you can come out?”

“Hell yeah I can.” She laughs, standing up and giving you a hug, “and you’re really going right now?”

You bite your bottom lip as your eyes fill up with tears, nodding quickly as you look at her and she quickly pulled you in a tight hug.

“You can do this.”

***

You pulled your suitcase through the front door, waving goodbye to the driver as you turned around to close the door behind you as they left you alone in the house that has so many memories inside. You pause at the door, taking a couple deep breaths as you look around and try and keep your mind at bay before walking to the guest bedroom, deciding the main bedroom was too much and the guest bedroom was already way nicer than your apartment.

After taking the time to unpack, knowing you would stay awhile, you put away your things into the various drawers and closet in the room. You keep out a swimsuit and change into it quickly, sliding a simple dress overtop before walking out onto the balcony attached to the bedroom, taking in the smell of the ocean and beautiful view, memories overwhelming your senses.

“Well don’t you look absolutely stunning.” You can practically hear him say all over again, reliving the memory as if it was actually happening, “ ‘m the luckiest man in the world.”

You remember him coming up behind you, arms tight around your waist as his head rested on your shoulder, soft kisses being pressed along your shoulder as you leaned back into him, a large smile covering both of your faces before you leaned your head back, connecting your lips before he pulled back.

“I can’t decide…” He had whispered, connecting your lips again.

“Decide what?” You had giggled, turning around to face him, arms resting around his shoulders as his came around your waist.

“If I want to get married here or have our honeymoon here.”

You shuddered slightly as the memory came back, letting out a deep breath before packing a beach bag quickly and leaving the house just as fast, taking a walk down to the private beach and settling yourself in a lounge chair. Applying your sunscreen you could almost convince yourself it was him applying it on you like he always would do, large hands massaging it into your skin.

You push the thought away as you grab your phone, playing music softly to try and distract your mind. Your fingers hovered over your different social media apps, wanting desperately to just give it a quick click, wondering if you could get any update on where he could be from his fans, posts always finding their way on your feed. Instead, you hold it down, deleting all of the various apps and throwing your phone down on your bag, grabbing your book and letting the music play, opening to the first page to try and escape into the new world.

***

After a few hours been spent peacefully on the beach, you decided to head back to the house to take a nice bubblebath and order yourself some dinner, deciding that you would go to town the next morning in order to cook some of your own meals. The walk back to the house was more enjoyable this time and you began to feel a sense of hope as you approached the house, your heart not clenching in as much pain as it originally had done when you first pulled up to the house earlier that day.

Using your keys, you unlocked the back door, locking it behind you again as soon as you got inside, making your way to the bathroom right away and letting the water fill up the bathtub, pouring in some of the fancy bubblebath that you remember buying once from your favorite boutique in town, making a mental note to stop there again tomorrow.

Discarding your clothes, you hung them up, deciding you could use it once more as a cover up after not even going into the water, and you honestly didn’t even have the energy to even think about doing laundry right now, even simply showering was too much most days so you were happy to submerge yourself simply into the warm water, eyes fluttering closed as it embraced you with it’s comfort.

You began preparing yourself a mental list of things you could do tomorrow, forcing yourself to get out of the house and keep yourself occupied after locking yourself away in your apartment the past few months, planning on taking baby steps but knowing that even starting will be more like a push off a cliff.

Pulling yourself out of the bath once finishing cleansing your body, deciding to save washing your hair for the next day, you pulled yourself out of the bath, honestly just wanting to curl up into bed and go to sleep but knowing you needed to force yourself to eat something. So, you dry off, applying some matching lotion to your body, which made you feel a sense of pride of yourself as you made small steps to take care of yourself again, thanking the air of Italy as self motivation and threw on the robe that you swear was the softest one in the world.

A sudden sound coming from the house made you jump, a hand coming over your chest to try and calm your racing heart as your mind tried to think of all of the possibilities of who could be there, or maybe it was coming outside? Or honestly at this point you thought it could be your imagination as the memories that have been flashing into your mind have been so vivid it felt like it was actually happening. Your feet softly padded on the wood flooring, making your way to what you thought was the site of the sound, feeling bile rise in your throat at the sight before you.

It was Harry there, with one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen in your life, laughing together.

You weren’t sure if they saw you, both of their hair wet as towels wrapped around them and it seemed like they had just got back from the beach, making you think that you must have just missed each other as you swapped positions. You slowly walk backwards, thinking of running out the back towards the beach and calling a car, leaving all of your clothes there.

You could see slightly into the master bedroom, seeing their suitcases sprawled and things laid on the couch as they chatted together, knowing they must have arrived when you were down at the beach, your presence unknown as all of your things sat seemingly hidden in the guest room which you were now desperately trying to go and hide in, but after it being too log since you been here, you accidentally ran into the wall, a photo that was hanging there crashing to the floor, glass shattering.

Two heads quickly snapped their way towards you, both pairs of eyes meeting yours as gasps left both of their lips, Harry’s face going pale as he saw you. You opened your mouth to speak, but with this being your first time seeing your partner since the breakup, no words were able to come out.

Spinning on your heel your ran back into the guest bedroom, pulling the suitcase out of the closet and messily shoving all of your clothes into it, tears stinging your eyes and unable to hold them in as they silently spilling on you cheeks, more coming as you heard the familiar steps coming your way, feeling the presence behind you and hearing the door shut softly behind you.

“Y/N?”

—————————————————————————

Part 2 anyone???

ALSO PLEASE READ THIS!!

I was wondering what people would think about me doing personalized little blurbs/imagines for people who donate to my tip jar? you could give me your name, prompt, pronouns, etc and i will write it just for you!! :) i’m trying to write more and it’s hard bc i’m a broke college student who needs to work but if people who WANT a personalized little fic with bucky or harry or something with their own name and such maybe I could do something like that? of course I will still be doing all normal requests and such but this way it’s kinda like a one time patreon for people who want to do something like that? idk please comment/send me a message/ask and let me know what you think!!!! let’s talk!

#harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles imagines #harry styles headcannon #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #harry styles writing #harry styles request #fic rec #harry styles #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles one shot

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rae-gar-targaryen · 3 years

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read part one here.

---

It doesn't snow in Santo Padre.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That had gone famously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I care, Frida.”

“... and if I wanted you back?”

“Please, querida.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he fucking serious?

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

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

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

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

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

You weren’t about to cave so easily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. And you were doing so well.

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel was silent for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are something, Frida.”

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded toward Angel’s arm once more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How could something about you not be beautiful?"

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had outdone herself. You felt gorgeous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If he only knew.

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

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

And he saw you, too.

Oh fuck.

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

He fucking wouldn’t.

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

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

Fuck, you were hot when you were mad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he … drunk?

Fuck this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel flinched.

“I deserve that,” he said.

Strike two. Too little, too late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strike. Fucking. Three.

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

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

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

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

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

Ice cold.

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus fuck!” Angel yelped.

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head.

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

Well, shit.

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

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

Not much got past Johnny “Coco” Cruz.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel ignored his question.

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

“No hug for me, jaina?”

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

You recovered quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coco snorted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who says I want anything,” EZ asked?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel sighed before he spoke again,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know that,” Angel snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

Huh. Unexpected Should you open it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well.

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

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

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

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

There. Short, sweet, and to the point.

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

"Gracias, Frida."

"Don't thank me yet."

You put your phone down flat on the counter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If Angel noticed, he hadn't said anything.

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

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

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

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

You shrugged. "Suit yourself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You decided to take conversational mercy on him,

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I really ain’t,” he said. “And you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At Angel’s puzzled look, you carried on,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what a question it was.

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

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

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

"Ever the poet, Frida."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this moment? This was about you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, querida?”

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say something, Frida.”

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

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

"I don't know, dulce."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

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

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

You hadn’t thought to return it.

---

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

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

Your one o'clock was right on time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You patted his arm gently, resuming your work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Made to be admired in perpetuity.

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

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

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

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

You shrugged again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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cedarstudy · 7 years

Photo

8-9-2017 . crayola supertips swatch . ♫ astro’s discography ♪ today i: ????

yeah i’m just lowkey panicking all day now so not sure how i’m gonna get anything done :))) today was Bad and i didn’t get anything done but i did this swatch yesterday and i’m matching it with my fineliners and trying not to think about moving and panicking

#studyblr #studyspo #supplies #rainbow #multicolored #small studyblr network #studypride #sunshine #apollostudies #studyblr2019 #heyaly #amsterdamstudies #im ! im not doing okay #i think i had a panic attack at 2 am and i only slept for 5 hours and next weekend is my last full weekend #and i havent sent that important email about a job and i cant be certain that im capable of it anymore #and it's not good !!#im so fucking scared and anxious and i dont know what to do about it!#if you read this please send self care tips ! or comforting messages or something #im terrified that i might dissociate my way through my last two weeks at home and then itll get worse and im not fucking okay !

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mielesis · 4 years

Note

Hiya! Uhm so I believe Apollo is reaching out to me however he is the first ever deity to really reach out with me and I’m not sure where I should start or do and I was wondering if you had any tips or ideas?

[English is not my first language, I am a self-taught person, please understand this goes with my greatest effort from the bottom of my heart and will probably spend hours writing this very carefully for you, thank you <3]

Hi dear, of course, I will be pleased to help you

“I believe Apollo is reaching out to me”

I am deeply happy to hear that, I bet he is -for sure- trying to reach out to you and -I must say- it is truly wonderful to start recieving signs from deities, specially from Apollo as the first deity since he’s really sweet and caring for his children.

“I’m not sure where I should start or do and I was wondering if you had any tips or ideas?” Of course, it is always a pleasure to help.

So let’s start with the basics:

Research ! I recommend you to research about him as much as you can (e.g stories, domains, symbols, offerings, etc.) with that done, it will be easier for you to spot more signs. Research sometimes is the best way to connect with a deity and also that allows you to let them know you are interested in them as well.

Whenever you feel ready for the next step, I suggest you to tell him properly that you accept him in your life, this can be done by making a playlist, writing, playing an instrument, drawing, etc in his honor (e.g if you chose a playlist, set the intention that the playlist itself is going to be in Apollo’s honor, made with particular songs that reminded you of him or his energy only), I consider that it is important to present yourself as well ! he presented himself to you but you haven´t yet so you can talk to him mentally or out loud (or even when doing something in his honor) and tell him your name and about what you like to do, how you felt with the signs, etc. In my opinion that is a wonderful activity to do.

Again, only when you feel ready and sure about it, you can begin to create his altar (it can be physical or digital, don´t worry) and it is not necessary to be aesthetically pleasing or buy super expensive things because your altar will be the place where you will leave offerings to Apollo, sincere offerings coming from the bottom of your heart (e.g play a song from spotify that reminded you of him, a flower you picked up from the park, a drawing you made thinking of him, etc.) Therefore every altar is unique, we all make the devotional acts we feel good with and we know that will connect us with Apollo in some way or another. In the case you don’t know where to start with the physical altar, I suggest you to choose a place you feel good with and clean it physically and spiritually, I always tend to choose the north but you can choose any other direction. After you have that done, you can place a table or use a desk, a box, whatever you want or already have that you can use. Choose the things you would like to fill your altar with, (e.g a yellow candle, statue/pictures of Apollo, an offering bowl or anything that could complete the same function, sun/lyre/sunflower imagery, etc.) and then you will be filling it with more offerings such as poetry, drawings, music pieces, medicinal plants, etc. because Apollo usually make his children re-connect with art, joy and self-care, medicine principally.

About the devotional acts you can do for him, I will leave you a list:

- Say goodmorning/goodnight to him

- Sunflowers

- Bay leaves

- Humming/ singing a song you like (it doesn´t matter if you don´t sing on tune, he will be happy with you performing in his honor)

- Writing poetry or spoken word

- Playing an instrument

- Reading his myths to him

- Take care of yourself !! he loves when his children take their medicines or care about their health in general

- Take a walk under the sun

- Talk about him

- Make him a playlist

- Bake some lemon/orange/honey cookies

- Apples

- Honey

- Sun water

- Olive oil

- Lyre/archery imagery

- A swan decoration

- Donate to local artists

- Take a mini first aid kit with you

- Listen music you love next to his altar

- Dance in his honor !! (again, it doesn´t matter if you don´t know how to dance, just move, jump, move your hands, whatever you feel comfortable with but - feel the music, free your body- he will love that !!

- Leave him some sunstones and crystals related to him

- Read about him, research about him, talk about him, he loves when his children give him attention hehe

- Give him chocolate (other devotees agree he likes it)

- Hydratate yourself !!

- Always treat yourself with kindness

Now it´s time to list the ways deities can use to communicate with us:

- Thoughts, sometimes deities will reply to you through your own mind as crazy as it sounds !! you only have to trust your intuition as well

- Dreams, if you dream about Apollo or any symbol related to him, a message or something you feel it was from him, believe in it !!

- Meditations, some deities use meditation to communicate with us, as well as in dreams, they send us images, symbols, words, etc.

- Pendulum (I personally don´t practice it yet) but you can search here on tumblr

- Tarot, same as the pendulum, sorry I can´t provide you properly information about this one

- Candles flames, this was the second connection I had with him and how he told me to take care about my lungs, it is really easy to learn but also have to believe in your own intuition !!

- Animals/symbols/songs/etc, sometimes Apollo connects with his children through animals or songs, he usually sends crows

- Emotions, in my personal experience I had something called “emotional numbness”, I couldn´t feel any joy nor sadness, I was like a robot but since I connected with Apollo (and also did my shadow work !!) I feel happiness in everything, I go out and feel deeply happy under the sun, I re-connected with art and even overcomed my major depressive episode, so yes, Apollo is really caring and sweet with his children

- People, sometimes deities connect with us through other people, specially healing people, happy people, etc or even a stranger who feels the necessity to give or tell us something that can be considered as a message from Apollo

I think I wrote everything I wanted you to know !!

I hope this was helpful to you and as a final advice: do as you feel like it, everyone is unique and will recieve unique signs, at unique times. I wish you the best in this new journey !! and I’d for sure love to have an update from you !

With lots of love,

Miel <3

#apollo devotee #apollo devotion #apollo worship #apollo #apollo deity #deity worship #deity #hellenic worship #hellenic pantheon #hellenic devotion

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dabisweatyballs · 2 years

Text

♡Rules♡

Hello everyone! This is Dalia! |she/her|, I have four blogs. If you want a different charaters go to my main account!

Main: fertilize-my-eggs - mha-bnha blog

Second: shigacocki - tomura shigaraki *only*

Third: flamephoenix - hawks *only*

( I don't support any of it in IRL or don't do it in IRL, this is where I just write nasty fanfics for fun, please get help if you're thinking or planning to hurt someone or something IRL. Be care on online and making everyone feel safe. There a link if you're feels like you wanted to hurt someone or something get help ♡ )

Anyway on to the rules!!

✭Rules✭

♡ this is dabi blog only, It's mostly dabi x reader or ships fanfics. I also don't mind poly ships as well.

♡ I don't feel comfortable with irl incest, racism and zoo/pedos etc. I enjoy fictional content and it'll stay fictional only, I don't support it IRL!!

♡ this is a dark theme content meaning dabi is yandere or reader is one as well!! I can also do it with them as teacher x student relationship too. There gonna be warings to most of my nsfw or dark theme fanfics if you get uncomfortable please just block my account.

♡ 🐜-minors-ageless blogs DO NOT interact with my blogs or fanfics if you see nsfw or dark theme fanfics don't read it just block my content.

♡ all of the charaters are 18+ or age gap ship. For reader, I can write them as man, woman, non-binary, trans or an ocs of mine or my self-insert. But for now I mostly write chubby fem! Reader. Reader can be poc or non-poc as well.

♡ please don't copy my work, send hatemail, unwanted criticism unless I ask for criticism but I don't mind some helpful tips just don't be rude or act like a dick please.

♡ I don't mind you like or reblog my posts but don't claim it as yours or post it on other website unless you ask me in the messages.

♡ don't heavy trama drump in my messages, I don't mind being friends with or just rants/vents.

♡ I can write nsfw, sfw or dark theme fanfics, I can also write dabi into anything if you're into monster Dabi? Yes I can write that! Can I make dabi as trans? Yes!

♡ I can also take breaks if it's gets overwhelming for me, I can always turn the answer button off please respect my boundaries.💙

I think that's everything hope y'all enjoy reading my fanfics, I can't wait to write more of Dabi♡

#boko no hero academia #dabi x reader smut #dabi #my hero academia #my writing #masterlist

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flamephoenix · 2 years

Text

Welcome to the rules, I'm Dalia! She/her.

This is just simple old rules that's everyone has to follow, I'll be checking everyone's bio and I'll block people if you're underage or ageless blog, if you want a different characters go to my main blog thanks you! ♡

Main: fertilize-my-eggs - mha-bnha blog

Second: Shigacocki - tomura shigaraki ♡only♡

Third: DabiSweatyBalls - dabi ♡only♡

♡Rules♡

✧ this is keigo blog only, It's mostly hawks x reader and ships fanfics. I also don't mind poly ships as well. If y'all think it's fanon or canon hawks I don't care this is how I think this is how he's act lol I'm sorry if he come out ooc for you.

✧ I can write keigo as bottom, top or a switch same goes with reader😏

✧ I don't feel comfortable with IRL incest, racism and zoo/pedos. I love fictional content and it'll stay fictional only, I don't support it IRL.

✧ this is a dark theme content meaning keigo is yandere or reader is one as well!! I can also make them as teacher x student relationship. There gonna be warings to most of my nsfw or non-con fanfics if you get uncomfortable please just block my blogs.

✧ 🐜/minors/ageless blogs DO NOT interact with my blogs or fanfics if you see nsfw or dark theme fanfics don't read it just block my content.

✧ all of the charaters are 18+ age gap is okay. For reader, I can write them as a man, woman, non-binary, trans or an ocs of mine or my self-insert. But for now I mostly write chubby fem! Reader. Reader can be poc or non-poc as well.

✧ please don't copy my work, send hatemail, unwanted criticism unless I ask for criticism but I don't mind some helpful tips just don't be rude or act like a asshole please.

✧ I don't mind you like or reblog my posts but don't claim it as yours or post it on other website unless you ask me in the messages.

✧ don't heavy trama drump in my messages, I don't mind being friends with or just rants/vents.

✧ I can write nsfw, sfw or dark theme fanfics, I can also write hawks into anything if you're into monster keigo? Yes I can write that! Can I make keigo as trans? Yes!

✧ I can also take breaks if it's gets overwhelming for me, I can always turn the answer button off please respect my boundaries.💛

#rules #boko no hero academia #boku no hero #my hero academia hawks #Hawks #Masterlist #Minors & ageless blogs DNI #Dark theme content #Hawks x reader #Fanfics #Fanarts

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felanndaris · 4 years

Text

Be Careful What You Wish For

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles Pairing: Ava du Mortain x f!Detective (Kira Langford) Rating: E - Explicit (NSFW) Word Count: 1962 Tags: established relationship, smut, teasing Description: Kira gets topped lol

Rebecca was late.

It wasn't the first time she got held up at the Agency and didn't manage to make it on time for the team meetings, but waiting for her arrival never failed to bring a kind of sense of anxiety to the warehouse’s occupants, who were currently settled about the room, each of them in their unofficially claimed spot. Morgan was perched on a side table in the corner of the room while Kira and Farah shared the couch, the latter sprawled on it with her legs thrown across the armrest, her head all but in Kira's lap. Nat was seated in one of the two armchairs by the fireplace, opposite to Ava, who could be easily mistaken for a statue had it not been for the tension radiating from her.

Kira's eyes subconsciously drifted towards Ava, assessing the vampire. Even though Ava has become more relaxed around her since the beginning of their relationship, she could still appear stiff and unapproachable when she was in her professional mode. Kira understood that part of Ava’s personality and would never even think of changing it, but she still worried for her whenever she seemed more tense than usual.

When the vampire's gaze finally met hers, Kira gave her a small, comforting smile. It did not get the response the detective was hoping for, even if it did soften Ava's eyes a little. Persistent as she was, she wouldn’t rest until she got a different reaction out of Ava. Just then, an idea popped up into her head and she took her phone out of the pocket of her jeans, typing in a message.

Kira Langford [1:14PM]: You look tense

Kira Langford [1:14PM]: I could help you with that ;)

Kira bit her lip and looked at Ava expectantly as the other woman reached into the pocket of her pants to retrieve her phone.

Ava read the messages, her brow furrowing just a little, before she put her phone face-down in her lap, staring at the opposite side of the room, clearly avoiding Kira's questioning stare.

Kira Langford [1:16PM]: No response? :(

The vampire's curiosity must have gotten the best of her as she turned her phone over to read the next message, which she — once again — promptly ignored.

Still, Kira persisted; she was nothing if a patient woman — she wouldn't be involved with Ava in the first place if she wasn't.

Kira Langford [1:18PM]: You keep reading my messages so I’m guessing they’re not entirely unwelcome...

Kira Langford [1:19PM]: Aren’t you just a little curious to find out how I’d help you relax?

Having sent the last message, Kira looked at Ava, waiting for any kind of response. The vampire read the messages, her jaw set tense as she finally looked up to meet the Detective's gaze, her icy green eyes set on Kira's in a wordless consent, challenging her.

That was all the encouragement Kira needed.

She returned her attention to her phone after smirking at the vampire in triumph.

Kira Langford [1:22PM]: Well, for starters, I’d get you out of that shirt

Kira Langford [1:22PM]: I’d tell you to lay on your stomach while I’d straddle your hips

Kira Langford [1:22PM]: Then I’d trace my fingers over the muscles of your back

Kira Langford [1:23PM]: Lightly, just so

Her typing was suddenly interrupted by Farah, who Kira only just realized was talking to her about something for a while now. The vampire propped herself up on her elbows, craning her neck to, unsuccessfully, try to catch a glimpse of the detective’s phone as Kira locked it quickly.

“Who you texting?” The question sounded almost accusatory as a small pout graced Farah’s lips.

“Tina,” she lied without a pause.

A loud scoff could be heard from the corner Morgan was sitting in. Kira looked to the side to meet the vampire’s eyes just to find Morgan already looking at her, a knowing smirk on her face. Kira lifted one brow in mock innocence before returning her focus back to her phone.

Kira Langford [1:25PM]: Maybe I’d let my fingernails drag slowly over your skin, from the base of your neck 'til the small of your back

Kira Langford [1:25PM]: It would be so easy to lean forward and lay a small kiss at the back of your neck

Kira Langford [1:26PM]: Or I could just nip at the side of your neck instead, leaving kisses all the way to your shoulder

Before she managed to continue, she heard a rustling sound in front of her, followed by a creek made by the armchair Ava was sat on. She looked up just in time to see the vampire stride over to the window, her shoulders tense and her hands balling into fists as she glared through the glass.

It took all of Kira's strength to stop the self-satisfied smile from appearing on her face.

She didn't have much time to enjoy her victory, though, as the door opened with a click and Agent Langford stepped into the room. Her eyes scanned the room quickly as if checking the attendance, before shrugging off her jacket and hanging it on the coat rack next to the entrance.

“I’m sorry for the delay. We can start now,” she declared as she strode over to the armchair Ava had abandoned just a few moments ago.

---

The door shut behind Kira with a click.

She was just reaching towards the light switch when she felt the heat of Ava's body greet her as the other woman pressed her into the door. Her hand dropped to her side limply as Ava's arms pressed into the door on both sides of her head, trapping Kira in between.

The detective looked up at just to find Ava's gaze trained on her own, her eyes hooded and dangerously dark.

"Just what exactly were you trying to accomplish earlier?" Ava almost demanded.

Kira swallowed hard, overwhelmed with Ava's sudden proximity and the intense look the vampire was giving her.

"I think you know very well since you're doing just what I expected you to," said Kira, her lips twisting into a smirk.

Ava narrowed her eyes in response, her gaze moving down Kira's body, appraising her, before returning to her eyes. Slowly, she inched forward, her lips close to Kira's face, not close enough to touch but just enough for the Detective to feel the warmth of her breath on her skin. The tip of her nose grazed Kira's jaw as the vampire's face stopped right before her ear.

"Will you still be so bold after I'm done with you, I wonder," she whispered, her breath against the shell of Kira's ear sending a shiver of anticipation through Kira's body as heat blossomed in her lower abdomen.

Instead of feeling Ava's lips on her neck, as Kira had expected, she felt cool air hit her skin as the vampire pulled away. She couldn't mask the surprise as her eyes met Ava's. The vampire's only response was the hint of a smirk in the corner of her mouth as she stared the other woman down with her piercing gaze.

"Get on the bed," she ordered.

Kira lifted one eyebrow as she tried to squash her budding excitement. Not having to be told twice, she took a step forward and around Ava, not breaking eye contact as she walked backwards and sat on the edge of the bed. She scooted backwards until she was settled on the middle of the bed, leaning back on her arms, her feet dangling off the edge, as she patiently waited for the vampire's next move.

Ava moved towards the bed, resting one of her knees in between Kira's legs — not yet touching but close enough for Kira to feel the warmth seeping through the fabric of their clothes. The vampire looked down on the woman, her chin held high as eyes travelled over Kira's form hungrily.

"Take off your shirt."

For just a moment, Kira considered not heeding the vampire's command, but the look in her eyes made her abandon that thought. Slowly, she reached to the hem of her shit and took it off, throwing it to the side without looking.

Seemingly pleased with Kira's compliance and the sight in front of her, Ava leaned forward to cover the detective's body with hers, leaving a few inches of empty space between them as she supported her weight on her arms resting on the sides of Kira's head. She brought her face closer to Kira's neck, her breath ghosting over her skin, as her face moved lower and lower. She reached behind Kira's back with one of her hands to unclasp her bra and take it off.

As she reached the human's sternum, still avoiding touch, she heard Kira stifle a whine as she arched her body up, trying to make contact. In a swift motion, the vampire grabbed Kira's wrist and secured them over her head with one arm, as her other hand took a hold of her hip to stop her from moving.

Ava pulled back to look the detective in the eye.

"Patience."

She returned her ministrations to the Detective's neck as the hand holding her hip slid towards the button of Kira's pants, opening it and sliding the zipper open. Ava slipped her hand into Kira's pants, sliding her palm over her core, feeling the heat radiate through the fabric of her panties. The human buckled her hips up, looking for friction as she sucked a breath in through her teeth.

"Please," Kira begged on a heavy breath.

"And why would I oblige you?"

Kira's only response was a low whine as Ava put more pressure onto her sex.

"Oh, but you beg so sweetly."

She gave in and slid her hand into Kira's underwear, her fingers meeting the hot wetness of the other woman's arousal. Ava moved her fingers in circles, covering them with Kira's moisture and avoiding the spot Kira wanted her to touch the most, as she saw Kira's head tilt back and press further into the mattress as her eyes fluttered shut. Finally, she decided to take mercy on the woman and slid her fingers upwards to the bundle of nerves Kira so desperately wanted her to touch. She moved her fingers in slow circles, varying in pressure as she observed Kira's face intently, watching her unravel before her. Ava would never bore of seeing Kira like this, knowing it's her who gets the privilege of bringing the detective to such a state. It wasn't just lust, either. What Ava felt for Kira was much deeper and meaningful and it only made her chest feel tighter with emotion.

Kira's strained breaths were beginning to sound more frequently, making Ava quicken the pace of her fingers and applying more pressure as Kira's muscles began growing taut under her ministrations. With a final press of her fingers, she saw the detective's body tense, her back arching off the bed as her mouth opened in a silent cry. Ava kept her hand firmly in place, letting Kira ride the last moments of her climax, before withdrawing it and letting go of the detective's wrists as she finally opened her eyes, her gaze dark and wanting.

The detective reached up, grabbing the back of Ava's head before pulling her in for a hungry kiss.

Their mouths busy, they began peeling the remaining clothing off each other in haste. Ava pulled Kira’s jeans down her hips as Kira tugged at the hem of the vampire’s shirt, pulling it up and over her head. It wasn’t long before all their clothes lay discarded on the floor as sighs and moans filled the otherwise quiet room.

#the wayhaven chronicles #ava du mortain #a du mortain #twc ava #twc #ava x detective #kira langford #fel writes

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mangolover · 4 years

Note

Hi! Your writing about Bennett was awesome!!! And I was wondering maybe I could request Bennett x reader headcanons (maybe modern AU) comforting reader who is stressed about school/upcoming tests? Gender neutral. If it's too complicated then I'm so sorry! You absolutely can decide to not do this request! But please let me know if you decide so I will know if I should expect it!

Hey!

I’m really glad you liked it! I honestly adore Bennett so I’ll write for him whenever I get the chance, hehe. And I lowkey didn’t know how much I need this until I wrote it and read it.🥰

I really like this idea and I hope you’ll like this headcanons. Also I’m sorry if you only wanted hcs, but I just can’t manage to write them without having a little drabbles/scenarios in between.😅

But without further ado, here is Benny comforting us! (I think he may be my comfort character at this point👀)

Bennett comforting his s/o that’s stressed about upcoming exams

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Warnings: mentions of dehydration, (lowkey) starvation, exhaustion, slight mentions of blood and injury

Spoilers: none I believe

Modern AU

Please drink some water, get some rest and eat something. It will all be okay.

Also this is based on the school sytem in my country in Europe. I’m not as lucky as some of you that don’t have much subjects. I have 18 subjects lol. :’D

Bennett

You had to cancel yet another one of your dates because you had to study for the upcoming oral exam that was next week. You had to learn all the materials you learned this year so far and refresh your memory of the last year’s.

But that was only one subject, you had 12 other classes that had upcoming exams and all of that got you on the edge. You would study 24/7, sometimes even forgetting to eat until you had a feeling like your stomach acid was eating away the stomach itself. And not to mention low-key dehydration, exhaustion and stress leaving you with severe headaches.

You felt really bad because you just didn’t feel like you know everything that you needed to know to get a good grade. This year was important to you since the next year is your last year and if you wanted to get in good college, you needed to ace those two years.

And so, your overthinking and stressing has once again left you no choice but to pull an all-nighter and take a raincheck on your movie date.

You pulled out your phone and opened the texting app, sending Benny a text.

‘Hey Benny, I’m sorry but I’ll have to take a raincheck on our movie date tonight. I don’t think I’m ready for the upcoming oral exam and I’ll probably just stress during the whole movie so I’ll study the whole night and we can have this date soon then.’

You felt guilty as you hit sent and waited for Benny’s reply. Soon he was online and he opened your text. You saw him start typing and your mind went into overthinking mode once again. What if he gets upset? Maybe I could study during the movie so I can spend some time with him!

‘Hey y/n.’

‘Don’t worry it’s fine! I know how important this is to you, don’t worry about it okay? Just please don’t overwork yourself and don’t stress so much, I believe you will do amazing! 👍’

How can he be so fricking adorable?

In reality, Bennett was really worried about you. He put away his text book and stared at your message. You canceled so many dates lately and when you did see him, you looked so tired, your eyebags visible from a mile away. You probably didn’t sleep enough. Not to mention hydrate.

He really considered going to your house to comfort you, but as he got up from bed to start getting ready and making his way to you, he fell on the floor and had a breakthrough. Eureka!

He instead decided to go visit you tomorrow and bring you your favorite food and some fruit flavored water. And then, he will bring some rom-com movie you two can enjoy and cuddle you to sleep. And as a cherry on top, he decided to bake you your favorite dessert!

If only our Bennett wasn’t so unlucky and clumsy.

Not only did he mess up the dessert, letting it stay in the oven for a tad bit too long, he grabbed the wrong movie, instead picking up a copy of the cartoon Ice Age. And he fell and scratched his knee on his way to your home. So, when he finally got to you, he only teeny-tiny bit looked like a mess.

But fear not because he will comfort you even if that’s the last thing he do!

After you recovered from the first shock of seeing him show up with some delicious, hot and fresh food (that has not been affected by any elements) you took care of his little bloody scratch.

After that you two ate the food, even eating some of the dessert that has not been burnt, at least you didn’t eat the burnt ones, Bennett probably ate them and gave you only the best ones. He made sure you drink plenty of water and went to pharmacy to buy you some painkillers for your aching head.

And then, finally, movie time.

“Uh… y/n, I-I made a mistake. I accidentally grabbed the copy of Ice Age… I’m sorry.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s exactly what I need right now, I love that movie!”

You two got comfortable in your bed, you laid your head on Bennett’s chest, hugging his torso. One of his hands was around your waist, keeping you close and the other was rubbing your arm in soothing motion. Your legs were intertwined and Benny made sure you were extra comfortable.

The movie started and about half way in he could feel your even breathing and hear little snores coming from your slightly opened mouth. That’s what he wanted. He wanted you to get some sleep so he decided to carefully turn off the TV so you two could get some rest. But in his clumsy attempt to not wake you up that’s exactly what he did.

“Uhm, what’s wrong?” your voice was hoarse and with thick layer of sleep.

“I’m sorry,” he gave you his dazzling smile, “nothing’s wrong. Let’s rest for a bit.”

You hummed in approval and snuggled closer into his chest, letting his rapid heartbeat lull you to sleep as he watched you with flushed cheeks.

Man, he’s really happy he managed to help you relax for a bit, he loves you and he can’t bear the thought of you stressing so much to the point of risking getting sick.

He kept you close and warm while you slept. His affection giving you the much-needed comfort.

When you wake up be sure he will make sure you have a proper meal and drink a lot of water. Then he will study with you, making you laugh a bit by being his goofy, positive self. And then he’ll try asking you questions about the stuff you’re learning to prove to you that you do know enough for a good grade.

Expect a lot of compliments like “You’re so smart y/n!” and “Good job, y/n! I knew you could learn this!” and a lot of words of encouragement.

And for every correct answer you get a hug, kiss on the cheek and a smile or laugh from Bennett, to help you motivate.

If you actually get the answer wrong, don’t worry! Benny’s here to make you laugh! He would say stuff like “Don’t worry y/n, I’m sure you’ll get the next one! You’ll still ace this exam, I believe in you!” AND his adorable smile. If you however still feel down, you’ll get a tight embrace and a peck on the tip of your nose.

And don’t be afraid to ask him to do this “study dates” more often because he loves seeing you being happy and relaxed while also helping you, and he’s also having a lot of fun giving you your rewards.

Also is it obvious I prefer cartoons over rom-coms?

#i love benny and i will keep maining him #genshin impact #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact bennett #genshin imapct x reader #genshin bennett x reader #modern au #genshin impact headcanons #genshin bennett hcs #genshin bennett #comfort hcs #🥭

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freakie-deakie · 4 years

Text

Lucas // How To: Hurt My Feelings

tumblr only allows 10 images per post so i had to use my transition images sparingly, i hope it doesn’t make the scene changes too awkward. hope you’re all doing well, sending lots of love!

Warnings: there’s nothing too serious, but there’s a mention of toxic family relations and insecurities about friendships

Masterlist

Read Part 2 Here: How To: Kill an Idea

Lucas x Reader (angst // 9.6k words); ft. stepbrother!Johnny

You were a being made up of words. You lived to think words, to write words, to read words, and to speak words. You were jack of all things debate and a master of sounding like a charming smartass. Your words were always chosen carefully, and because of this, your persuasive skills were deadly.

Lucas was a being of action. He moved as his spirit listed, and was often caught indulging in whatever sins his internal chaos prompted him that day. He built the world around him with his own two hands and lived for the sake of creating his own experiences within his own days. He hadn't an interest in the events of the world, nor the stories in it. You don't think he'd ever read a story in his life. Actually, you don't think he'd ever read.

Perhaps that was why the two of you fit together oh-so-well. He was the Yang to your Yin, the left to your right. Your relationship was a perfectly balanced chemical equation. He made a mess, and you cleaned up after him. You were a mess, and he cleaned you up.

Oh, but you can always get messier, can't you?

"Seriously, Y/N? When was the last time you ate?" Lucas folded his arms over his chest and leaned against your doorframe.

"I ate breakfast," you quipped softly, folding your legs up into your rolly chair. You'd been there for almost two days straight, but your project was finally starting to take shape.

"Oh yeah? And what did you eat?" You bit the inside of your cheek, giving him a guilty smile as you twidled your thumbs. "You can't live off of those damn health bars. Christ- Put your shoes on, we're going out."

"Wait, Yukhei, it's okay, I can just-"

"You have ten minutes to get ready before I carry you out of here on my shoulder," he warned before excusing himself to sit in your living room and wait for you.

Groaning, you moved the blanket from your lap and threw on a pair of sweats. You washed your face and brushed out your hair, and with two minutes to spare, you were slipping into your jogging shoes. "Lucas, are you ready?" you asked, stepping out of your bedroom. Oddly enough, he wasn't on that ugly black couch that he loved so much, nor was he in the kitchenette that fit so snuggly in the corner of the room. He wasn't by the window, nor with the plants on your fire escape. You stepped back to check the bathroom. Empty. "Yukhei?" you called out for him again.

Your heart jumped out of your chest at the sudden jolt of your door, followed by three sharp knocks.

"Y/N? I locked myself out..." Breathing out a steadying breath, you placed a hand over your heart. "Y/N?"

"Hang on a second, you big baby." You rolled your eyes and opened the door for him. "I thought you'd been abducted."

"Sorry babe, I had a call. But don't worry, nobody can abduct me when I carry around guns like these," he grinned, flexing his arms.

"I think I liked you better when you were missing." He scoffed. "But you have to promise me to never leave me without any answers. I'd have to hunt you down if you did."

"I'll never leave you, ever," he gleams, throwing an arm over your shoulder and guiding you out the door. You hummed, wrapping an arm around his waist and syncing your steps with his. "Besides, if I ever tried, you'd lock me in your apartment building's basement and I don't really wanna know what else is down there."

"You'd better not try to escape then," you snorted.

You weren't quite sure how you always managed to end up in such ungodly positions, but as long as you were both comfortable, you couldn't complain. However, at the moment, you were very uncomfortable, and the boy laying on top of you was getting an ear-full.

He'd simply barged into your bedroom, saw you laying on your stomach, and decided that you were the most comfortable matress around.

"Lucas, I have to pee."

"Do it, I dare you."

"Lucas, I can't breathe!"

"Then die."

"You are the-"

"Most wonderful person you ever could have hoped to even end up dating? I know. What do you want for dinner tonight? I'm thinking chicken. Thoughts?"

"I'll buy if you get off me," you groaned.

He perked up at that, finally rolling off of you and bouncing over to your closet. "We're gonna match," he said certainly, plucking a black T-shirt and skinny jeans off of their respective hangers and throwing them at you before going back to fish out the jean jacket and belt he'd bought you specifically for occasions such as these.

He rushed you along, ushering you out of your building quickly, excited to go to his favorite marketplace restaurant. Boarding the transit, he took your hand in his much larger one and turned to you to quietly ask if he could spend the night at your place to watch movies and "get frisky," earning a light slap on the wrist which only made him laugh.

You and Lucas were puzzle pieces that fit together. So for the life of you, you couldn't begin to understand why everything seemed to be falling apart.

"I just can't win against you, can I? You have too many debate trophies shoved up your ass!"

"I just-"

"Stop, Y/N. If you won't try to understand my side, we're done here."

"Lucas, I do understand, I just don't agree. And that's okay because we don't have to agree on everything."

"Yeah?" he huffed. "Well on this, we do."

"What do you want me to do? Fly home to (country) and tell my family that their daughter who managed to escape their victimized mindsets and emotional neglect and finally cut ties with them has a boyfriend who wants to meet them? I don't want you to meet them! I don't want you anywhere around them," your composure finally snapped, letting a tear roll down your cheek. You roughly wiped it away with the back of your sleeve.

"Oh, cut the shit, Y/N. You didn't want to introduce me to your 'toxic' best friend either, or your 'overly protective' brother; they turned out to be completely fucking normal. Maybe it's you that's the problem."

"You mean the beautiful best friend, Soomin, that cut me off after I wouldn't give you her number? Oh, and my brother, Johnny, who slept on my couch for a week after meeting you to make sure you weren't staying the night?"

"So I'm the one causing problems? Maybe if you were less insecure-"

"Insecure? Fine, I'll call Soomin and give her your number. And while I'm at it, I'll just ask Johnny to give my number out to all your frat brothers, since that's no big deal."

Lucas slammed his hand down on your island countertop. "Like hell you will. Look, I just want to meet your family. I'm not gonna ask them to move to Korea."

"Lucas, I'm thrilled that your family likes me so much because you're very close with them and that's important to you, but please don't make me contact my family. I don't want them in my life."

He stepped out that night without another word and remained silent for the rest of the week.

You felt like a vase that held flowers but had no water to give them; you were, on your own, too much of some things and not enough of others. Lucas's silent treatment felt like he tipped the scale by hopping off of his side and leaving you to fall.

"Y/N, listen to me," you whispered to yourself as you opened the refrigerator door. "You are a strong, independent woman and your life does not revolve around a boy." You reached for the fruit drawer and pulled out a peach. Fruit was a large part of your diet when you were sad; it was convenient because there was no meal prep. Uni-students like you didn't have time to cook anyways.

A buzzing sound from your counter pulled you from your thoughts. You wiped the peach juice off your chin with your sleeve and put the phone to your ear.

"Y/N? Do you have a minute?"

"Johnny? What's up tree-child?" You hear a soft chuckle over the line.

"Your overgrown boyfriend hasn't left his room since your little fight-"

"Johnny, you know what it was like for me back home. Your mom and my dad- you don't want to go back either, right? You know how bad it was. I shouldn't have to apologise for not wanting to go back."

Johnny sighed loudly over the line. "I'm not saying you have to apologise to him. I'm on your side, but neither of you are trying to fix the situation. So come to our frat, talk, make out, have angry make-up sex; I don't care what floats your boat, just come see him. You're the only person who I know has the ability to convince him to shower."

"See, dearest Johnny, that would mean I would have to shower. And right now, I'm not really feeling up to the task. So if that's all, then I'll be going-"

"Y/N, please? I'll make you dinner, and I'll pay for two- no, three of your textbooks next semester!"

"What do you get out of this, Seo? What bidding of yours will I be doing if I agree?"

"Can't I just reunite one of my best friends with my sister for the- yeah okay, I can't do this. There's a party next week and he's my wingman."

"Goodbye, Johnny."

You didn't know what to expect if you were to text Lucas first. Perhaps he was waiting on you to, or perhaps not, instead opting not to talk to you. However, you were a being of words, and you were desperately trying to sort through all of the Korean vocabulary that you knew in order to find the best words to give to him. You knew he deserved that, the best of you.

Y/N: Hey, can we talk?

You waited and waited, and thought yourself into hours of self torment. Was that text a mistake? Should you not have sent it? Could you have said something better?

After about an hour of stressing over the message and his lack of reply, you manage to pull yourself off of your couch, take yourself into the shower and sulk in its hot, suffocating water and steam.

And then you, naturally, went crawling back to your phone.

"Johnny, is your offer still up? Dinner and textbooks and shit?" Damn your unusually shaky voice, underused in the time you'd spent away from your significant other.

"Y/N? You sound distressed, is everything okay?"

"I don't know how to take care of myself," you admitted without an ounce of emotion in your tone, only growing your stepbrother's concerns. "You know, you're the only person that has checked in on me since our fight? I'm the one in the wrong, and everyone knows it... I need him, I need to apologise."

You hear something clatter over the line. "Now, hold on Y/N. You don't sound like you're thinking straight. I'm all for you guys patching things up, but not to get back into our good graces."

"Johnny, I'm alone. He's the only person that's ever made an effort to distract me from that."

"Hey, wait, you aren't alone. You have all of us. We're all here whenever you need us, not just him."

"John, I'm either your sister or his girlfriend. The guys in your frat don't want to be friends with me, and that's okay. But I want to hang on to what I've got so I'm coming over to fix-"

Your brother cuts you off with a groan. You don't see it, but he sets his afternoon bowl of cereal to the side and runs his hand through his hair. "Hang on a damn minute. I'll be to your apartment in ten minutes. Please, stay there."

"But John-"

"Stay there."

He cursed as soon as he hung up the call, finally noticing the stares he'd been receiving from the others in the kitchen. They'd watched you slowly unravel his composure until he was rushing to pour the rest of his precious Captain Crunch down the garbage disposal. All for his endearing concern for his stepsister.

"Who was that?" his closest friend, a broad shouldered boy by the name of Jaehyun asked.

Johnny paused, looking back at his friends. "My sister doesn't sound like she's feeling very well. She's pretty torn up about- well, you know."

"Can we help? I haven't seen Y/N in ages," Haechan commented, thinking back to the last time he'd had a chance to hang out with you. It must've been the night you joined them for a Smash competition. He remembered that you were really bad at it- or rather, not as experienced as his fraternity brothers who maybe spent a little too much time practicing.

"I honestly don't really know what's going on, so maybe it's best if I go alone."

Haechan and Jaehyun share a look. "Can you tell her to drop by to see us sometime?"

"Sure will," he agrees before slipping into his shoes and heading out the door. He was quick to get to the bus stop, knowing it'd be leaving within minutes.

When the doors to the bus opened, he took note of only one person stepping off. A pretty little girl with features that told any onlooker that she was Japanese. Her hair was lighter than his by a few shades, locks of caramel resting gently on her shoulders, the top layers collected in a little white bow and the back of her head which matched the flowy white v-neck she was dressed in; jeans and white tennis shoes paired to match.

She was a figure of beauty and grace. She offered him a small smile which would haunt him in his dreams that night. Had he not had prior engagements, he would have spent more time drinking her in as she walked down the sidewalk in the direction from which he had come. The gleam off of her pearl earrings blinded him momentarily, and suddenly he remembered that he was on a mission: a mission to get to you and remind you of your self worth.

When you cracked your door, an arm poked through, attached to a bag of goodies.

"When's the last time you ate?" Johnny asked, still not pushing his way into your space. "I brought ramen and cookie dough. I figured we could do with a night in."

You opened the door wider and lead him into the living room. It was a mess, to say the least. A nice collage of wrappers and tissues lay across the floor, the occasional soda can making things interesting. The dishes in your sink were stacked as high as they could go, and unopened letters lay strewn across your coffee table. Your home had become a perfect embodiment of how you felt.

"Y/N..." he said, looking around at the state of things.

"I know, I'll clean up later," you answered, tucking yourself back in to your spot on the couch.

"I'll help you tonight," he reassures you, setting the plastic bag on your counter and taking out two styrofoam cups filled with dry noodles.

"You didn't need to come, Johnny." The look in your eyes told him otherwise. Maybe he wasn't the best older brother in the world, but he could tell that you needed someone right now and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to do his best to help you.

"I know," he soothes. "I came for me. You were scaring me with some of the things you said and I needed to make sure that you were okay for my own sanity. Do you want beef or chicken?"

Episodes of Sword Gai play lowly in the background, a low hum of a language that neither of you understood. He helped you pick up around your house and clean up your living space. He helped you make cookies, and he ate his fair share of them. Your brother, your closest companion since you were young, sat with you all night and talked. The weight of your words though, it was heavy on his chest.

"Y/N, we've always only had each other. We practically fled a country together. You know that you and I are the first and last people on this planet, right? I took care of you back in (country) and I'll take care of you here."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I was your scared little sister who came chasing after you. You deserved to have your own life and live it the way that you wanted. I followed you to Korea, and once again I'm your burden."

"Y/N, you're not a burden. I'm glad you came to my University. The closer you are, the easier I can protect you."

"You shouldn't have to protect me though. You introduced me to your friends because I couldn't make any on my own. Then I met Lucas, and you helped him get into NCT and now everyone there has to deal with me-"

"Y/N, they aren't 'dealing' with you. They actually like you. Not because they have to, but because you're fun to be around."

"I don't know..." You didn't want to outright complain that you hadn't even received a text from any of the members of NCT since your fight with the Chinese boy. You didn't want to admit how badly if hurt to realize that they were his friends before they were yours. Now, not only was there a hole in your heart from your boyfriend ripping himself away, but also the growing cavity from the quiet abandonment of your friends. And now, your brother who'd done so much for you your whole life had to take care of you once again.

"What're you thinking about?" He watches your gaze flicker from the TV to his eyes and back.

"I'm willing to admit that Lucas was right-"

"I don't think he was. And neither do you. He has to respect that family is a taboo subject for some of us. Hell, he knows that I don't like it whenever he brings it up. You can work things out without taking all the blame for this, which would be outright unjust."

"I shouldn't have been so sensitive though," you respond honestly.

"You know I hate taking sides-"

"You do not, Seo," you giggle. His face visibly brightens at the sound.

"Yeah, your right, I love taking sides. I'm definitely on your side about the argument. But maybe he's thought about it too. Maybe you should let him explain how he feels about it now. And of course, I'll be sure to give you my opinions afterwards."

"I guess," you offer him an unsure smile. "I want him back in my life. I want everyone else back in my life too. I guess losing him and then losing touch with my- your friends made me realize that maybe I'm rather expendable." Your chuckle was dry, barely making it out of your throat.

In Johnny's eyes, not only Lucas, but his friends as well had been the ones lacking; yet somehow, you thought it was your own lacking that had let them slip away. How dare they hurt you like this? How dare they make you feel unworthy of them?

"I've always known," you continued, "that they were his friends- and yours. I guess I should start trying to make friends in class if we don't get this worked out, huh?"

"Maybe you should talk to them about that before you go trying to replace your friend group. But you're gonna work it out. No one's leaving you. You should see how desperate he looks right now, waiting for you to come marching into our house and demand to see him. He's got too much love in that big heart of his and now that he can't shower you in it, he looks like his purpose in life has been taken away."

Johnny was always there to take care of you, and you felt you could never repay him for that. His advice and soothing words were invaluable to you. Your brother's compassion was the most precious thing in the world to you, especially in your moments of need.

Of course you made an attempt to call Lucas before you showed up on the fraternity doorstep, but if you wanted something to change, for once you were going to have to do something yourself. You had to be able to move your own two feet without him.

Your three sharp knocks were answered by the only Thai resident in the household, a slender boy with cropped bangs and sharp features. Ten was quick to pull you inside, wrapping his arms around your torso and resting his head on your shoulder.

"Buddha has sent us an Angel; we're saved!"

"That bad, huh?"

Ten let you out of his bear hug and looked you in the eye with a look of (semi-) mock disgust. "Y/N, it's been fourteen days since he came home crying and he's showered like twice since then. Mark and I have been trying to coax him out of his room for days. Please, you've got to do something!"

"Challenge accepted," you said, smiling at the boy in front of you. He always knew how to make your day a little bit brighter.

Your heart grew heavy when you remembered that his concerns weren't for you. They were for his real friend, and you could appreciate that.

You tried to shove those thoughts down in your chest as you stepped around him and started on the long trek to your boyfriend's room.

The couch at the end of his bed was a sacred place for videogames and movie nights, a large flat screen just in front of it. His desk was often messy and usually your problem to clean. His chair was a space for studying and the occasional newcomer into his room, a comfortable space to be welcomed. The carpet was a place you liked to lay when you began to think that mattresses were just a little bit too mundane; then suddenly, you'd think the most interesting thing in the world was the orange peel texture on the white ceiling. On the nightstand was an alarm clock, a charger, and a picture of you - and in it was a bottle of lotion and a stash of jewelry you'd given him over time. Even his dresser meant something to you. You'd picked it out with him at a flea market and agreed to split the cost because it was just too beautiful to pass up. The bottom drawer was full of your clothes and he always reminded you that the dresser would one day live in a space with the two of you, together.

His room was a box of memories, and his bed held the most prized of them all. It's where you laid and let yourself be vulnerable with Lucas. It's where your lives came together, and your stories intertwined, slipping from your lips and knotting together like your limbs under the ceiling fan. Promises of the future, swears of the past, and a comforting and cozy present.

You didn't think before you opened the door; it was practically an instinct now. It wasn't necessarily a shared space, but it's a space that's always been offered to you. You'd never imagined that there would be a time when you weren't welcomed there.

It caught you off guard, the body underneath his. A petite girl with Carmel colored hair that was stuck to her damp skin. Your boyfriend moved on top of her, rocking back and forth against her body, eyes trained on hers.

You quietly shut the door and slipped back down the hallway. Doyoung, exiting his room, stopped your frantic attempt at escape from the house, taking in your wide eyes and seemingly disorganized composition.

"Y/N? What's wrong? Wh-"

"I'm okay," you swore, stepping around him. "I'm just not feeling well, I'm gonna step out for a bit."

"Oh," he says, watching you scamper down the steps. "We have medicine if you need it."

You didn't answer. Your priority was to get out of the front door as quickly and as quietly as possible, not even sparing a glance at the boys in the living room who had greeted you earlier.

You walked like a woman with a purpose, fast and in a straight line, away from the house. You didn't bother waiting on the bus, instead you walked right past the bus stop and started towards your home where you would let your composure fall.

Lucas moved one of the light colored strands of hair from Yuri's face. He was propped up on an elbow, admiring the beautiful girl in front of him. She was someone he'd know for a while, having been in his Sociology class the year prior. He'd seen her every now and again, met with her, fucked her, and left her in the morning. The girl with almost orange hair who always wore white was illusive to all but him. Wanted was the girl who always wore her graduation gift from her grandmother proudly, a pair of pearl earrings.

Normally, he wouldn't have allowed the sweet Japanese girl to stay with him after sex, cuddled to his chest, her bare skin against his. It hurt him too much to think that she wasn't the one who was supposed to be in his arms, and as a constant reminder he was always burned by the temperature of her skin. She was hot, a fire that lit in his stomach and yet left his heart cold.

Yuri blinked up at him, stirring from her soft slumber. "Is it nighttime?" she yawned out. He nodded and shushed her, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of her cheek. He brought their lips together for a kiss that felt so wrong yet so right. Part of him didn't want to pull away and crash back down to reality, the other part of him knew that the girl needed to leave while no one was awake, lest his relationship with you be damaged.

He pulled away first, standing to dress himself in the sweats and Tee that he'd discarded some time ago. He helped Yuri sit up then dress herself. He placed a chaste kiss her forehead and lead her to his bedroom door, expecting her to find her own way out of the house. But before the door closed, he locked eyes with the last person he wanted to see him sending off his rendezvous into the night.

Johnny did not hesitate to put his hands on the door (rather loudly) to prevent it from closing.

"What's a girl doing in your room so late, Lucas?"

Lucas tried to meet Johnny's eyes, but he couldn't hold your brother's fierce gaze. "Studying?"

"Oh yeah? How'd you two get so sweaty while you were studying. You must've been cramming pretty hard." Johnny fold his arms over his chest just as the color of pink on Lucas's bed catches his attention. He stared at it for a moment before the shape registered in his mind. "And how did leaving her thong with you help either of you read a fucking textbook?"

At this point, Johnny has a fist full of Lucas's shirt and is backing him against a wall. Lucas tries to remove Johnny's hand, but only gets shoved harder into the hard surface, pictures rattling on both sides of his head, the picture of your joint trip to the fair the year prior falls to the ground and shatters.

Taeyong comes rushing in from his room, roughly awoken by his neighbor's commotion.

"Johnny? Yukhei? It's one in the morning, what the hell is going on?"

The intense gaze between the two doesn't falter for a moment. "Yeah, Yukhei, what the hell is going on?" When he doesn't receive an answer, he lifts him off the wall and pushes him back against in with one harsh movement. "Don't ever talk to my sister again." Johnny releases his shirt and Lucas's eyes widen.

"Y/N-" Lucas breathes out, grabbing for your brother's arm and stumbling over his words. "Please don't tell Y/N."

"Ya know, Lucas, she just recently told me that she felt like no one cared about her. Her friends were yours, and while you were out of her reach, so we're they. How could you leave her with nobody?"

Taeyong gasped at that. He considered you a rather close friend and cherished the bond he had with you. He understood where you were coming from but it still hurt that you would misread his intentions as befriending a friend of a friend.

Lucas pulled harder at Johnny's arm, keeping him in place as he tried to turn away. Taeyong took this as his que to step between the two and separate them.

"Please don't tell her," Lucas tried. "Please, let me be the one to tell her. She deserves that much."

Your phone had been dead for two days and you hadn't bothered to even look for a charger. You focus your energy on your Korean history essays and devote your time to working on your computer.

Little did you know, this was sparking panic at the NCT dorms. No one, not even your brother, had been able to contact you. Finally, Johnny decided that he had to check on you (along with the ever persistent presence of his younger friend, Haechan, who demanded that he be taken to see you), taking the public transit to your apartment on the northwest border of the campus.

His knocking earned a prompt "fuck off" from your living room, so at the very least they were sure you were still alive.

"Y/N, open the damn door." You didn't even bother moving from your cozy place on the couch. "For fuck's sake- do you know how long we've all been trying to contact you. Let me fucking in or I'll break the door down."

"I'd like to see you try," you mumbled before a solid 'thud' sounded from your entrance. "John, what the fuck?"

"I said let me in. I gotta make sure you're okay so don't make this difficult."

"For the love of fuck, I'm fine, go away."

Thud.

"Let me in."

Thud.

"Okay, okay stop! You're gonna make my neighbors hate me."

You threw your door open to be greeted by, not one, but two friendly faces with murderous intentions in their eyes.

"You can't just drop off the fucking radar, you had everyone scared shitless that something had happened to you," Haechan snapped before bringing you into a warm embrace.

"I'm sorry," you sighed, wrapping your arms back around him. It felt nice to be in someone's arms again, even if it wasn't the touch you longed for. "I've just had a hard few days."

Johnny, who had already pushed his way past you, was beginning to calm himself down like a passing storm.

"What happened, Princess?" Haechan tried. You cringed and he shrugged, still holding you to his chest.

"Lucas and a girl-" Your eyes teared up and the words lodged themselves in your throat. "He's cheating on me."

Haechan's eyes widen and he presses your head to his chest rather forcefully so that he could discreetly pass Johnny a look of sheer confusion. It'd been the hot topic as the frat, but as no one had been able to contact you since they'd made the discovery themselves, he assumed no one had been able to tell you yet. "Y/N, Princess, what do you mean?" he spoke slowly, unsure of how he wanted to frame his question.

"I went to," you hiccupped, "went to see him and there," you hiccupped again, "there was a girl," and again, "underneath him." Haechan's grip tightens around you. The look he's giving Johnny now is one that would've scared armies away from battle. The look on his face was nothing in comparison to the emotion written on Johnny's own features. The storm had returned, the haze of anger clouding both his eyes and his judgements.

Johnny moved towards the door much slower than he'd come barging through it. Like a man marching off to war, he kept his eyes straight ahead and left the same way he'd came. "Both of you, stay here." The door slams shut behind him, mimicking the sound of a gunshot.

Haechan keeps you in his embrace for a few minutes, rocking you back and forth after the tensions in his muscles began to dissipate. He shushed you until you stopped crying, urging you to get your breathing back under control.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that," the silver haired boy mumbled into your hair before sperating himself from you. "Come sit down. Let's talk about this for a minute."

"That's okay, Haechan. I appreciate it but-" you sniffle.

"Y/N, this is an important talk we're about to have, okay? Listen to me very carefully, and after we talk this out, I'm going to order food from any place in this district that you want." You shook your head but did nothing to interrupt him. "We all just found out a couple of days ago. That's part of the reason everyone has been trying to reach you. Johnny caught him, but he agreed to let Lucas tell you. But because no one has been able to get to you, those two have been raising hell at the frat. That's why it is very important that we can get in contact with you, do you understand? If we have things we really need to tell you, your phone needs to be on so we can get to you. We were all worried that something really, really bad had happened to you."

"So it's true? I'm not being dramatic? Lucas really..."

Haechan nodded, pulling you down to sit with him on the couch and tuck you under his arm. "But listen, I know it's aweful. Johnny is probably going to put Lucas in his place right now. So you and I are going to stay here for now, and talk and eat dinner, and get out everything that you're feeling right now. And soon, that boy isn't going to mean anything to you because he doesn't deserve to take up your precious time or energy. Okay? Now what do you want to eat?" He rubbed your back, patiently waiting for your answer. He would move at your pace for the rest of the night.

"Where is he?" Mark and Taeyong are quick to intercept Johnny's trail, desperately trying to avoid whatever chaos was sure to ensue this hour.

"Don't you think it's a little early to start throwing punches this evening?" Taeyong tries.

Ten enters from the kitchen, a bowl of cheap ramen in his hands, Lucas trailing behind him, rocking the college boy couture: no shirt and sweatpants. Ten had by no means forgiven him within the short span of two days, especially not when he picked plenty of the recent fights with Johnny which promised a rather annoying thrill of excitement every night, but Ten knew that in the depths of his heart he felt sympathy and compassion for Lucas. As frustrated as he was with the younger boys, he couldn't abandon him when he had so few people left on his side anymore. Who else would take care of him if not Ten?

Lucas stopped in his tracks when he saw Johnny, slowly handing off his bowl to Ten to be sat on the coffee table. There was a feral beast inside Johnny that Lucas could see right now, and he was afraid that any sudden movements would invoke a violent response.

"I thought you'd be gone longer," Lucas admits. He had avoided the living room recently, especially when he knew Johnny would be home.

"I felt suddenly compelled to come right back and have a nice long chat with you."

Lucas tensed, subconsciously preparing to be thrown into a fight at any second.

"Wait, where's Haechan?" Mark ask, noting that the younger boy did not come in with him.

"He's comforting my sister. He's doing what I should be doing. But I trust him to handle her with care. I trust him to take care of her tonight while you and I have that little chat." He eyes Lucas, reading every sign that Lucas's body is posting, watching as he takes in those words and deflates a bit.

"You guys told her?"

"Didn't have to. She walked in on you screwing another girl." The room falls silent until Ten begins to choke on his ramen. Everyone looks at him as he turns away to hide his wide-eyed expression.

"Ten?" Taeyong asks. "Do you know something?"

Ten slowly turns around to face the group. "Do you remember that night when we were sitting here when she came over, and then she went running out the door a few minutes later?"

Taeyong's face falls. "Oh my God. Is that really the last time any of us saw her?"

"Fuck, and we didn't even know she needed help."

"Doyoung said she wasn't feeling well; he tried to stop her."

"That was almost a week ago, though," Ten thinks aloud. Everyone's eyes fall on Lucas, the boy they'd momentarily forgotten. His eyes are glassy, his composure fallen. There's a beat before anyone dares to ask about the elephant in the room. "How many times did it happen?"

Lucas opens and closes his mouth like a fish. "Did she really see? She saw me with Yuri?"

"Lucas, how many times did it happen?" Johnny's shoulders are squared. He steps towards the boy but is stopped my Taeyong's firm grasp on his arm.

"A lot," he admits as the first tear makes its dash for his chin. "A lot more than I should have. A lot more than I ever wanted to." As wet as his entire face was becoming, he dare not move to wipe away the shame. "I love her. Oh my God, I love her and she'll never want to see me again."

Mark looks between his two best friends seeing nothing but desperation and fury - two ample types of passion for you. "Why'd you do it then?" His words were soft. He didn't want to stir the pot anymore, but he wanted to know.

"I don't know. I love her. Why would I do that to her?" Johnny's composure cracks but doesn't break. He doesn't take off his armor. He was still there, at his own frat, in his own living room to challenge his former mate.

"She was the reason you got into this house in the first place. If she didn't care about you, I would have never helped you get in."

"Johnny stop." Taeyong pulls back on Johnny's arm, reigning him in and telling him to stand down.

"Why? That's how she feels. She feels like she's less than you. I think it should be the other way around. She think everyone only cares about her because they care about you. I think she should realize that you wouldn't even be here without her. How do you even have the balls to cheat on her after what she's done for you?"

"I didn't want to!" Lucas defends.

"Then why did you do it?"

"I don't know! I don't know! I don't know if it was because I was bored, or if I was mad at her one day. I don't know how it started. When I started to see Yuri, it just felt like a small break but then we started to mess around more often. I don't know how it started, but I wish it never had. I never wanted Y/N to have to see that."

In one swift movement, Johnny yanked himself out of Taeyong's grasp and nailed one shot right below Lucas's eye before the other three men in the room jumped in to separate the two as much as the could.

"You wish you hadn't done it because you got caught?"

Lucas holds on to his face but managed to stand up straight. "I wish I hadn't done it because I regret hurting her. It would break my heart to see her with anyone else - I can't imagine how it must've felt for her to see that. So yes, I regret her finding out."

Johnny struggles against the restraint of his friends. "Do you regret doing it? Did you ever question yourself while you were screwing around behind her back?"

Lucas didn't answer, instead he walked away. He gather up the few shards of his dignity that he had left, and locked himself in the first story bathroom for the rest of the night.

Haechan made you put your phone on the charger. He warned you that there would be messages from just about everyone in his frat but that you didn't have to open them all immediately. He stayed up with you that night to help you with both your assignments and your heartache, sending you to bed at a decent time (before two in the morning). He sat in your living room, waiting for any news from the dorms before he went back. He ended up falling asleep on your couch.

When morning came, he was abruptly awoke from a sweet dream by the rattle of the door and three sharp knocks. Annoyed, he pushed himself up and went to check who could possibly be so irritating this early in the morning.

He cracked the door to find a not-so-hot Wong Lucas on the doorstep.

"Haechan?" Lucas asked, sniffling quietly. Haechan shut the door, ready to turn back and resume his slumber on the couch before three more knocks stopped him.

He cracked the door again. "She's sleeping, knock it off."

"Haechanie?" You ask yawning as you wonder to his side. You didn't know that he'd been there all night and came to check the door, not expecting anyone to beat you to it. "Who's at the door?"

"No one, Princess. Go back to sleep."

"Princess?" Lucas questioned, clearly uncomfortable with the younger boy calling you by a pet name.

"Lucas?" Your mind wakes up a bit when you register his voice.

"Y/N," he sighs in relief.

"Haechan," Haechan blurts before shutting the door and promptly turning to you. "Y/N, don't let him in. He's probably here to convince you to take him back and you need to remember what we talked about last night. He made you feel like a small person, don't go crawling back to him-"

"I'm not letting him in, don't worry." You wrap your blanket tighter around yourself. "Why are you still here anyways?"

"I never got the all clear to go home," he mumbled, pulling you back into your bedroom. Three sharp knocks sounded once again at your door. Neither of you moved to answer it, instead you let Haechan lay you down in your bed and tuck you into your comforter before he crawled on top of your covers and dozed back off at the foot of your bed.

Lucas left the flowers and food in front of your door, sending Haechan a text to let him know that they were there (just in case you'd already blocked his number). Pulling his jacked tighter around him, he left the building in search of something to make himself feel better after a night of high emotions.

He found himself at the coffee house down the street from your residence. As he waited on his order, he sat at a booth and pondered ways to get you to, if nothing else, accept his apology. With everything in him, he wanted you back. He wanted to forget the stupid fight, he wanted to forget the other girl - he wanted you. That wasn't fair though, and he knew it. It especially wasn't fair that while you were with him, you felt small compared to him. It wasn't fair that he made you feel like nobody cared about you more than they did him. It wasn't fair that your stepbrother had to be the one to voice your concerns for you; you had never felt comfortable telling Lucas about your deepest insecurities when he was supposed to be the one to get you past them. He was only beginning to realize that he hadn't been there for you the way that you needed him to be - the way that you had been for him.

"Johnny is it true that Y/N thinks we don't like her?" Jungwoo asks, placing himself between both Johnny and Jaehyun on the couch.

Johnny sighed. "She thinks that you guys don't like her, but that you're all too nice to say anything. She thinks that because she's my sister, you guys are forced to spend time with her."

"But I like spending time with her," the younger whines.

"I know," Johnny answers simply. "She just," he inhales through his teeth, "doesn't have a lot of super close relationships. Actually, it was really only me and..." He eyes the staircase. "Can you blame her for having trust issues, though?" he asks rhetorically, more towards himself than anybody else.

"How can we show her we care about her? Like, genuinely?" Jungwoo asks, his simple yet quick thought process spitting out one debacle after another.

"I dunno, Woo. I really don't know. Maybe try to text her more? Maybe check on her every now and again?" Johnny thinks to a moment how much of his private conversation with you he wants to share. He determines that no true friendship deals in lies. "She wanted to apologise to Lucas for the fight they had a few weeks ago. She was willing to be wrong in her principles if it meant she could have that one deep connection back. She said no one had really contacted her since they'd started fighting. She said she felt alone."

Jungwoo's eyes swelled up to the size of saucers. Had he really been so neglectful? Had they all?

"I'm not telling you this to make you feel guilty. She'll never be honest about her emotions, though. She told me that if things didn't work out with Lucas, she would have to start trying to make new friends in class."

"Would she really replace us like that?"

"To her, it's not replacing something if you never really had it."

"She wouldn't even try to talk to us?"

Johnny shook his head. "That's what I'm saying. I wasn't going to tell you that, I don't want you guys to feel bad about it. But if I didn't say something, you'd never know how she felt."

Jaehyun, who'd kept his quiet so far, finally spoke up. "Well I hope she's accepting visitors. We've clearly left her to deal with her problems alone for too long."

"Let's go after breakfast," Johnny suggests, nearly being cut off by the ring of his phone. He excuses himself from the living room to answer it. "Hello? Y/N? What's up? We were just talking about you."

He doesn't see it, but you cringe a little at that. "Uh, hey, are you busy right now? Should I call you back another time?"

As off put as Johnny is by your tone, he doesn't question it. "For my adoring sister? I'm never to busy for you."

You wonder if he was genuinely not doing anything or not. "Really, we can talk later if-"

"Y/N, I'm not doing anything, what's going on?" The line is quiet for a moment. A sickening moment.

"I think I'm gonna transfer back home." Your brother feels his stomach drop. "I've been thinking about it for a while now. I just think it might be the better option for me. I don't know many people here on campus, I struggle to keep up with my Korean classes. I just think it's time I stop following you around like a lost puppy, ya know?" The line goes silent as you wait for his response. "Hello?" You wait. "John?"

"No." His answer is simple and definite.

"What do you mean 'no?'"

"I mean you're not leaving just because you're insecure. You and I both know you're doing wonderfully in your classes this semester. Why would you leave that behind? Because a boy cheated on you? Because you think no one wants to care about you? You're not leaving Korea."

"I wasn't asking. I was just letting you know." Johnny feels his heart break for you.

"On purpose! I care about you on purpose. We all care about you on purpose. Why do you keep trying to take yourself away from us?"

"You shouldn't have to care-"

"You think it's up to you if I care about you or not? That's not your decision. And it's not your decision whether or not the rest of NCT cares for you either. Why are you so hard headed?" Johnny groans loudly into the mic.

"I'm not enough of anything to be cared about."

"Shut up." He promptly hung up and grabbed his jacket.

Your tiny apartment wasn't really made to accommodate many people at once, but the five overgrown boys standing on your doorstep pushed their way into your apartment and made it work.

"Let's take a vote," is the first thing out of your stepbrother's mouth as soon as he crosses the threshold. "All in favor of Y/N transferring say 'aye.'" A silence falls over the boys. "All opposed say no."

"No," Jungwoo is the first to speak.

"No," Jaehyun is quick to follow.

"No," Ten says sternly.

"No," Taeyong adds.

"You have been unanimously voted to keep your ass in Korea and the court rules in favor of putting a bounty on you if you try to escape."

"Wait, wait, wait," you finally get out. "This isn't a democracy; your vote is irrelevant."

"Y/N, why do you want to leave so badly?" Ten asks, crossing his arms and leaning against your island.

"I have to learn to take care of myself. I can't depend on Johnny or Lucas to do that for me anymore."

"Is this really what you think is best for you?" Jaehyun asks, a tinge of guilt in his words.

"I don't know, I guess we'll find out in five weeks when the semester ends in December."

Lucas pressed his palms into his eyes, temporarily making himself see stars. It was cold, a thin layer of snow covering the ground and buildings outside. There was a blanket thrown over his shoulders but it did nothing for the morbid freeze that so deeply effected his mood.

It was midnight when he woke up. Really, he no longer had a desire to eat, and he couldn't make himself sleep anymore lest he grow physically sick. He was left to wallow in his thoughts as he stared out his window, watching the snow fall so peacefully.

"Did I do this?" He asks himself. "She's leaving because of me? Was it me who made her feel so small compared to everyone else? Was it me who made her feel so small compared to Yuri?"

He'd stopped seeing her, his fling. He came to realize that there was a hole in his heart that she could never fill. When he had you, perhaps Yuri was a fun toy to play with on the side. When you were stripped away from him and his sense of comfort was taken from him, he no longer wanted to play with her.

He tried not to contact you. He didn't deserve your time - but he wanted it.

He found himself standing outside of your apartment at one in the morning on a freezing December night. Public transport, if it even ran in this weather, had been closed for the night. There were no students wondering the campus either. He braved the elements alone.

Three sharp knocks. They weren't particularly loud. If you were asleep, he wanted you to remain asleep. But if you weren't, he needed to see you. He wanted to hold you, and kiss you, and love you; he needed to see you. You weren't his toy, you weren't his game - you were his survival, his comfort, his energy, his breath.

"Lucas? What are you wearing? It's snowing out there, are you crazy?"

"Please don't leave."

"Isn't it a little late in the night to be talking about college transfers?"

"Please don't leave me."

You'd seen Lucas cry about a lot of things. For such a physically built man, he was very emotional. He cries when he stubs his toe. He cries when he sees a dead animal on the road. He cries when he laughs to hard. He cries when he's drunk and misses you, no matter how close you might be. He cries over a plethora of movies from sad romcoms to cheesey action movies. Never have you ever seen Lucas sob. He was hysterical and unfiltered, and still in the middle of the hallway.

"Come in, Lucas. It's okay, come in." He steps inside, wiping his runny nose of his sleeve.

"Please don't leave me," he repeats. "I'll be better, I'll do better. I know you deserve so much more than me but please let me be selfish and keep you."

"You'll be better without me," you reassure.

Lucas out himself on his knees in front of you, his hand reaching out unsteadily to hold yours. "Please, Y/N. Please. I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. If I could take it all back, I would. I swear I would. I hate myself for ruining what we had."

"It's okay, Lucas." You cradled his head to your waist and shushed him, letting his arms wrap around your legs. "It's okay. I wasn't enough and that's okay. You needed something else, that's okay. I wish I would have know, sure. I wish maybe you would have told me that I wasn't enough, but I understand why you did it."

"No, no, Y/N. No, that's not right at all. You were perfect - too perfect, and I wasn't enough of a man to cherish that. I'm not a man without you. I'm a scared little boy. Y/N, please, I love you."

You shush him and run your fingers through his hair until he calms down a bit.

"Lucas?" You ask softly. He hums in response. "Did we ever break up?" You feel his entire body tighten around you as he tensed. He pressed his face harder against your abdomen and cries harder."I'm not going to end it with you," you sigh, "I can't live on my own, you know that better than anyone. I'm so tired of being alone. I need you too."

"I don't have the words to describe you. I'm trying, but I don't know how to tell you what I feel right now."

"Then don't tell me in words."

"You know, I have really hated your life decisions lately." Johnny quips from the driver's seat. "I hate that you're studying abroad for an entire semester. I detest that you got back with your ex, and I am repulsed by the fact that you're wearing sandals in December. Your decisions just suck."

"But I'm making them," you smile at him. "It's only a few months, I'll be back from Bordeaux before you know it."

"I'm glad you're going to France instead of going home. For a minute there, I thought you'd really gone off the deep end."

"Thank you for talking me down from that."

"I really wouldn't have let you go, you know. I would not be driving you to the airport if I wasn't one hundred percent sure that you're going to France."

"Thank you."

"We're going to miss you, Y/N. All of us, we really are." You thank him and offer a warm smile.

"Are you sure you can take care of Lucas while I'm gone? Without killing him?"

Something serious flashes in Johnny's eyes for a second. "I will never see him the same. I hate that you forgave him. But it's your life, and I support you."

"He and I both had to change a lot over the last couple of months. He had to learn to cherish someone that he so often took for granted. He knows now what he did to me, he's made effort to change and I've forgiven him. I had to learn to cherish the people in my life too. I had to learn how to accept that I'm cared for. No body is perfect, but both of us are trying to be good."

"If you've both changed so much, are you still both the perfect opposites?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. I don't think I'm the same person I was before the fight."

"Oh yeah? What about him?"

"Hardly." Johnny hummed in acknowledgement. "I think maybe, he's the word now. He's an idea, an emotion. It's my turn to be the action. I get to live my life for me, now."

"You've always been strong," Johnny adds, pulling into the airport parking garage. "I'm glad you finally realized it."

"I'll be back in June," you remind. "I'll come back stronger than I've ever been before. I'll be able to do things for myself."

"We'll all be waiting for you. Six months?"

"Six months."

"I can't wait to meet you again in six months."

#lucas #wong yukhei #nct #taeyong #johnny #mark #ten #lee #angst #smut #fluff #oneshot #series #x reader #imagine #reaction #jungwoo #kim #kpop

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real-fanta-sea · 3 years

Note

Cutscene after mission in Kortz, but its 52/66 👀👌

First of all, thank you for the prompt, dear! Second of all - I'm sorry it took me 5 months to get my ass to write it 👉👈 but, I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. TW: profanities, lots of horny (because the internet is for porn, duh), and overall NSFW (that's why it's hidden under "keep reading") Without much further ado, here's your fic 😊

********************* "Well, that was fun..."

Michael's been itching to light a Redwood ever since he's shot down the damn Merryweather chopper. His whole body was screaming for a hit and amplified the need by sending adrenalin-induced shivers down his spine.

Who was he to fight with his vice? He took the packet out of his jacket's inner pocket with a precise, smooth move and pressed it firmly with cold fingers, trembling with need. He earned a first-class ticket to hell many years ago, so who the fuck cares if he gets there sooner than later?

Despite his loud self-loathing telling him otherwise, there was someone who cared after all. "What are you doing smoking, huh?" Michael's eyebrows raised slightly in disbelief as he watched Trevor bounce off the wall he was leaning on, latch the Redwoods from his grip, crumble them and toss them aside. The eyebrows raised to his hairline when Trevor overstep all the boundaries they had and lightly slapped his cheek in an almost motherly manner. "No, no, no, that's bad for ya, don't you know?"

Michael's heart started racing again upon the uninvited touch, and he felt the pang of something he hoped to have killed and buried years ago, and that particular something stunned him for a couple of seconds. The mere eye contact was unbearable, and Michael quickly turned his gaze to the remains of his cigarettes and let the rage weight him down to earth again.

"Yeah, well, maybe it's got a little something to do with being caught in the middle of a three-way fire fight between two government agencies and a private militia. You know it gets me a little stressed out..."

As soon as he finished the sentence, he regretted the snarky tone he chose and turned away from Trevor's hurt expression. Fuck, he felt as if he kicked a puppy. His head twitched sideways as it usually did when he was overwhelmed, and he couldn't help but bounce on his feet a little.

"Okay, but we still need you alive, Mikey boy." The remorse was gone, replaced with dread. What the hell did that even mean? "I mean, ya know, at least for now." That didn't help Michael to ease at all. He shot a mild menacing glare Trevor's way and squared his shoulders, awaiting the worst. "Unless, of course, you have another surprise for me, huh? Maybe somethin' to do with another inappropriate friendship?"

Okay, the exchange was getting ridiculous at this point, and Trevor got back to his annoying, suspicious self he knew too well. "Yeah, that wasn't exactly Dave's fault..." Trevor mirrored his gesture as if he tried to show Michael how futile his effort to explain the connection to Dave really was and slowly came closer to Michael, who just tried to look calm and smirked. "No, no, he's just a friendly face of a corrupt government agency, looking to further his career by dealing with an equally corrupt and full to the fucking brim with bullshit low rent hood!" Great, the last thing he needed was an angry Trevor slitting his throat open in a nameless back alley in Morningwood.

"Listen, Trevor, I've been meaning to thank..." but it was too late for friendly gestures. Trevor's eyes already spew fire as he started pacing back and forth, eyes glued on Michael. "Oh y'know, I've been meaning..., Yeah, I've been meaning to tell ya, y'know..." he mocked, and caught Michael off-guard. "What, homie? What have you been meaning to tell me?" Trevor turned around and stepped closer again, but this time, his eyes gave away a different kind of fire - the kind Michael remembered to have kindled heat during cold North Yankton nights.

Without any warning, Trevor grabbed him by both shoulders and threw him against the wall so hard Michael's face cringed for a split second before he remembered to collect himself and glare at Trevor. But it was too late to appear menacing, now that Trevor held both of Michael's wrists in his rough hands and pushed them above Michael's head, grating them against the facade. "What have you been meaning to tell me, Mikey?" Michael gulped and looked back into Trevor's eyes and fought with the sudden idea to reach out and kiss the lips hovering above his own. Trevor's deep growl sent shivers down his spine, and he allowed his head to fall back onto the wall, closing his eyes and easing into the sensation of Trevor's breath on his neck.

"That you stabbed me in the back?" Michael bit his lip hard to stop himself from moaning when Trevor gently pressed his lips against the pulse point on his neck and nibbed on the tender skin, lingering there, breathing Michael in. "Or that you were... and always will be... a worthless wretch who deserves to be put under?". Michael's eyes shot open as his heart skipped a beat, and instead of aroused anticipation, he woke into beast mode. The rage rush put him back on his feet as he sent Trevor stumbling back into the alley, where Michael tackled him against the wall on the other side, and while pinning him down with his whole weight, his hand shot up instinctively and wrapped itself firmly around Trevor's throat.

If he were honest with himself, he would say he felt betrayed, helpless and dangerously aroused by the thought of Trevor's lips and fingers touching him and didn't quite know how to process it all at once. Trevor's grin drove him crazy, and not only because of the plump lips curling up. Michael growled and squeezed harder against the soft, pulsing skin.

"THEN WHY THE FUCK DID YOU COME BACK FOR?"

Trevor gasped as he fought for breath, but that didn't stop him from grabbing Michael by hips and yanking him closer. "Oh, you know why..." Puzzled, Michael let go for a second, but it was enough for Trevor to take advantage and roll Michael against the wall and rest his thumbs comfortably against his jaw. Trevor's sight lingered on Michael's lips for a moment before he met his eyes again, this time conveying a whole different message. "Shut the fuck up and kiss me..." Trevor's whisper was still hoarse from being choked, and as he leant closer to Michael, the latter found himself easing up into the heat of Trevor's body, tuning out everything else but a beat of his racing heart.

It wasn't exactly like in the movies - there were no fireworks, no oblivious clip montage, no orchestra in the background. It was just the feeling of surprisingly soft lips nibbling on Michael's own, the heat, the sweet buzzing of excitement and sparks setting his skin on fire where Trevor's fingers have wandered under his shirt. Trevor pulled back for a second to slide down Michael's jaw and tease M where he knew was his weak spot - and got the muffled moan out in answer to brushing the tip of his tongue all the way down his neck.

"Fuck, T!"

Michael's whole body was on fire, and all he wanted at this point was to fuck Trevor through the wall if he wasn't pinned down by his friend, who showed no intention to stop kissing him. The least he could do was to grab Trevor's hips, pulling him closer and thrusting forward while holding onto handsful of T's ass. "Be careful what you wish for, Mikey..." was the only answer, followed by a low moan as T pushed back and brushed his hard-on against Michael's. Trevor took advantage of Michael's parted lips to seize them again, but he was awaiting an invitation to deepen the kiss this time. He was not prepared for Michael clinking their teeth and brushing his tongue against his with such hunger and greed. He could not wait any longer.

Michael's fingers yanked impatiently on Trevor's grimy jeans, almost tearing them apart, to get hold of what was throbbing inside, and laced around the girth of Trevor's cock. A gentle stroke was all it took to make the tough guy tremble and moan - and Michael enjoyed the power he now held as well as grieved the broken kiss. Slowly, he built up the pace while rolling Trevor over against the wall again, but this time, it was Michael who kissed Trevor's neck and playfully bit his tanned skin with every stroke. Somehow, in between the moans and curses, Trevor could still unzip the fly of Micheal's jeans and free his cock out of the tight pants with shaking hands. He has always been skilled in pleasing him the way no one else could, Michael thought as the other hand unbuttoned his pants and sent them falling down to his knees. Gently, Trevor slid one finger along his balls to his perineum and pressed it up while brushing up and down.

The pressure building up inside Michael was barely bearable - Trevor's lips, Trevor's smell ("what the fuck, has he showered or what?"), his hands working him up slowly; all of it was suddenly too much and too little at the same time. Aroused, Michael broke the kiss and let go of Trevor's cock to look back at him with a predatory glare - and T immediately understood what was about to happen. All it took for Michael to set off was the tip of Trevor's tongue darting out of his mouth and a cocky nod of his head. Michael grabbed Trevor, turned him around and pressed him back against the wall face first, with such hunger it made Trevor moan upon impact. With one hand pushing Trevor against the wall by the scruff of his neck, Michael kicked his legs apart to make the entering easier for him.

"Fuck me already, Mikey!" Trevor trembled under his touch and wiggled his ass against Michael's erection. "Oh, look who's a cheeky bitch now!" Michael spat onto his fingers, not even bothering to check if it was enough. He just couldn't wait any longer. "Be careful what you wish for, T..." and slid himself inside of Trevor, his knees turning into jelly upon the tightness and heat of his lover. "M...Mikey! Jesus, you're bigger than I remember..."

Instead of answering Trevor, Michael pushed his lover's head harder into the wall, grabbing a fist full of hair and rocked his hips faster while holding onto Trevor's side, gripping hard. With every move, every cry of pleasure, he felt more at home, and all the frustration and fear melt away to make place for Trevor. "God, Mikey, harder!"

Fuck, he almost tripped over the edge right there with Trevor's needy moan. Michael instead pushed deeper and leant forward to bury teeth into Trevor's shoulders, as well as used both hands to keep Trevor steady in place and thrust forward as hard as he could, getting crossed, rolled back eyes and flushed cheeks in return.

Michael felt sweat pearling on the small of his back as he pumped in harder, desperate to enjoy what T had to offer, feeling the pressure building up within. He didn't want to come so soon, but anytime he attempted to slow down, Trevor pushed back and made him keep up the pace. Slowly, the world around them dissolved into a smear of colours. With each move, he felt he was getting closer to the edge: just one more move, just one more moan - Michael pushed as deep as he could and clawed his nails into Trevor's soft belly, looking for support as the whole world shivered and trembled with him, and somewhere far away there was Trevor saying something about loving him and his voice moaning out the same response over and over again.

When he came down from the high, Michael was happy to collapse onto Trevor's back and let his breath even out while still stuck inside his lover. "Fuck, T... that was..." but words have failed him. Instead, he decided to latch on the exposed skin of Trevor's neck and shoulders and plant kisses there when a slight shiver of muscles around his cock reminded him of painful truth - T hasn't cum yet. Michael smirked for himself when he slid his hands down from Trevor's hips to find him rock hard and ready. Without being reminded about Trevor's preferences, Michael gripped his cock firmly and squeezed just right to get a hiss of pleasure in response. He didn't bother with starting slowly and just pumped his fist up and down fast, with teeth planted into Trevor's shoulder. "Mmmikey!"

The shaky breath escaping him and his whole body vibrating in the rhythm of Michael's fist gave Michael signs Trevor is near the point of no return. He slid out of him and let Trevor lean onto him for support instead - he remembered too well the leg shaking orgasms of the past when T could barely stand. "M.. Mikey! Mikey!"

"Cum for me, baby..."

"Tell me... fuck! Tell me you love me, please, Mikey! I need to hear it, please, M!"

Michael squeezed Trevor harder and, leaning closer to T's ear, almost touching it with lips, M let out a hoarse whisper, "I love you, T."

************

Lester sat back in his wheelchair, trying to even out his breath, and brushed sweat off his forehead with his left hand. Fuck it, he thought, I'll have to clean under the table for the third time this week, and threw and an oblivious couple of crumpled paper tissues into a black plastic bin next to his desk. With a sigh, Lester proceeded to clean himself up and wipe his right hand into yet another tissue and input a command to stop recording and download the video onto his hard drive. With a happy little huff, he turned the wheelchair around and decided to take a piss and then crack a cold one open to even out the liquid levels. As he steered away, whistling, a window with a flickering low-quality image from a security camera showed two familiar men kissing and fleeing out of sight in separate directions to disappear back into the depths of their denial and misery.

#fanfic prompt #kissing prompts #real_fanta_sea.txt #birthday fic yay!#am I actually getting shit done here? it's more likely than you think.#am I going to update my first fic? probably

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stressedspidergirlsfandomblog · 4 years

Text

Title: Monster

SHIP (if applicable): Geraskefer PROMPT DAY: 6 MEDIUM: Books WARNINGS: Self-loathing, more accidental self-harm than deliberate, canon typical suicidal ideation SUMMARY:

“What a hideous smile I have, Geralt thought, reaching for his sword. What a hideous face I have. And how hideously I squint. So is that what I look like? Damn.” -Andrzej Sapkowski, Sword of Destiny

“Do you know, Visenna, what is done to witchers’ eyes to improve them? Do you know it doesn’t always work?”

“Stop it,” she said softly. “Stop it, Geralt.” -Andrzej Sapkowski, Sword of Destiny

WORD COUNT: 11891 AUTHOR’S NOTES: Read on Ao3

@geraltwhumpweek

Geralt hated sorcerers. They were never good company, with the except of Yennefer who still had her moments, and they were usually unnaturally cruel whenever given the chance. He had, of course managed to run afoul of this one, he always did. If there was a sorcerer involved, he was going to suffer. That was simply the life of a witcher, or any other poor soul who happened to cross paths with them.

“Geralt of Rivia, Geralt of Nowhere. Geralt of Kaer Morhen, Geralt of No Parentage. Geralt the Witcher, Geralt the Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt the Monster.”

Yes, that was all true, as far as Geralt was concerned. Nothing new, no worse than anything anyone else had said to him.

“I curse you.”

Fuck.

“I curse you so that you will look on the outside as you are on the inside. You will be the hideous monster you truly are. The monster you know yourself to be.”

Pain racked him so hard he thought he might die. His bones shifted like they had during the changes, his face stretching, cheekbones raising and flattening, jaw jutting forward and expanding as his mouth filled with sharp teeth, his lips pulling back and tearing as they failed to keep up with the changes to his skill. He screamed with the pain of it, and horror swamped him when an alien sound came from his mouth.

“Kill me, and it’s permanent,” the mage informed him.

The changes continued, his hands stretching into claws as his nails thickened and turned black like a wolf’s, his silvery hair spreading across more of his body. Geralt’s eyes turned true yellow, and he cried out again, the hoarse howl of a monster as his legs lengthened and thickened, making him taller even as his spine curled forcing him to hunch forward.

“However, true love, the purest kind can break the spell. Someone will have to love you as you are, seeing you as you truly are, for the spell to break.”

As his nose changed, growing sharper and hooking slightly he felt more shifts in his bones and tears in his skin where it failed to keep up and he moaned low in his throat. His voice had been unpleasant before, but now? Now it was the guttural sounds of a monster utterly incapable of speech. He tried. He tried to curse the mage before him, tears and snot running down his mutated face. When he tried to run his forearm across his face, he noticed the sinew and muscle standing out and the once fine dusting of milk white hair was now thick like pelt over his arm. He screamed again, hardly able to think. Geralt tore at it, the thick claws digging into flesh as he tried to pull some of the hair free.

He accidentally raked his own face in horror at the damage his claws had done, lifting them to try and cover his eyes and feeling them pierce the skin around his eyes and howled again.

“I suppose you should get used to your knew form, enjoy it, Geralt. After all, who could learn to love a beast?” The sorcerer opened a portal and stepped through it, smiling. Geralt lunged but was too late.

While his figure was mostly human, he felt, he couldn’t be too sure. His neck had changed and he had more trouble looking down at himself than he had before. Stay calm, focus, breathe, control your heart rate, control yourself. He looked down and saw his clothes mostly hanging in tatters. Something moved behind him and he twisted in panic raising his hands to defend himself with a cry of surprise. But nothing was there. But he could see something from the corner of his vision, and he twisted painfully to look down at himself and saw that he now had a tail.

The shock of it dropped him to his knees, cracking them painfully on the stone floor of the mage’s tower. He gripped it and thought about simply cutting it off. All that stopped him was that when Yennefer reversed the spell, it might hurt him in some other way. All of this had come from his body and to remove some of it might mean he would be less whole when returned to his natural state.

He tried to speak again and again but all that came out of his throat were horrible hoarse sounds. Wasn’t Dandelion always telling him all he did was grunt and grizzle? Now that was true. Perhaps a letter. He could send her a letter.

When he tried to pick up a writing implement from the desk his hands… claws, his hands were very nearly paws, and blackness edged around his vision again. He couldn’t hold the quill. Could barely pick it up, it was too fine, too delicate. Then he realized, who would mail the letter for him? How would he pay? A horrible chuffing sound came out of him and he realized that was his laugh. He screamed again, unable to help it.

It was daylight. He was effectively trapped in the tower until nightfall. If people saw him they would hunt him down and kill him and he couldn’t even speak to them to explain. Couldn’t write them a message… or perhaps… perhaps he could.

It didn’t occur to him to use the inkwell, which would have been smarter. Instead, he dug his claws into his flesh tipping them in his own blood as he carefully wrote a message to Yennefer on the parchment. He had no idea if she’d ever find it. It said very little, and he had no way to mail it… no coins… but perhaps somehow it would make its way to her.

Yennefer- Mage. Curse. Help. -Geralt.

When he wiped at his eyes again, the fur on his forearm was streaked with blood. Bloodied tears? His heart squeezed. Was no part of him left human? He had to get out of there. He paced around the tower room and stopped when he saw a mirror. It was slightly warped, the silver bent and twisted, not good quality. But it was enough to make him sink to his knees in horror.

His clothing had torn around him, in some places digging into his skin and cutting him. He pulled it off where string and thread still tore into his flesh and looked at himself. While he had never been especially hairy fur had mostly replaced natural body hair and he uncomfortably touched his cheeks. He never even wore a beard, and now he had an odd coating of fur that started an inch or so away from his eyes and ran halfway down his neck. It picked up again at his sternum in a large circular shape before continuing over his abdomen and down to his groin.

“I envy you this, you know. It looks so low maintenance. I’ve never seen you trim or shave any of it,” Dandelion told him softly, stroking along his sides and hips. “Does it truly just grow this way? Nice and neat?”

“I don’t know if it’s neat,” Geralt protested lightly. “But it’s true, I don’t alter it.” Who did?

The poet gently stroked up the insides of his legs and over his hips, circling his groin with gentle touches. Geralt would have given anything for those delicate fingers to never stop. Being comfortable and safe like this was far better than sex. “I do, I spend quite a bit of time on it, maintaining it.”

“Why?” Geralt asked, he hadn’t particularly cared one way or the other about Dandelion’s body hair.

“Oh Geralt,” the bard teased, eyes twinkling. “As much hair grows here, if I didn’t keep it trimmed,” his fingers gently ran through the hair above Geralt’s cock, “people would think me much smaller than I am. Too much hair and you hide too much and even if there’s plenty no one will believe it.”

Geralt snorted in shock and laughed. Dandelion grinned at him, pleased to have made him smile. The bard gently leaned over to press a kiss to Geralt’s hip, and the witcher knew he was being given a choice. They could just continue to lie like this, or they could make love. He found both options tempting, but he didn’t feel like the amount of movement the latter would require. He gently cupped Dandelion’s cheek, guiding him up to kiss him on the mouth.

“Just sit with me,” Geralt asked, voice husky.

“Of course, love,” Dandelion agreed easily, continuing to let his fingers trail over and explore his lover. Every so often Geralt twitched a little, and the bard knew he’d found a new place to touch and tease during their lovemaking, but for now just being together was enough.

Thankfully his genitals were barely visible under the hanging fur, since pants weren’t going to be an option for him. Ashamed in ways he hadn’t thought possible, he tried to pick up his cloak from the chair and drape it around himself. All that happened was his claws caught and shredded the fabric. He laughed bitterly and startled when it came out as the chuffing bark noise from before. Tears ran over his cheeks again, the blood dyeing the fur on his face pink.

How was he going to wash himself? Or dress himself? Keep himself warm? His entire body wasn’t furred.

The mirror allowed him to see his jaw elongated and widened, new teeth full of sharp points that prevented him from closing his mouth entirely, which meant drool was starting to form at the corners of his lips. Hatred for himself sang in his heart. Even his ears had moved slightly, higher on his head and more pointed and leathery like a bat’s, perhaps. Barely recognizable as human other than the color.

His skin had turned even whiter, even less human, more like alabaster than the usual sallow paleness he was used to and his eyes…. Oh, they were so yellow and the slitted pupils- nothing he did would round them again like a normal man’s. The could widen and thin them but not enough. He would have thrown up if he could have.

Mostly his bone structure appeared to be the same, outside of his face, just longer and thicker. His hips pushed against his skin the way they did in lean months where he had little to eat, but he had a feeling this was permanent. Just as his ribs pulled the skin tight between them and his hips, leaving him with a small waist that exemplified several drawings of famine he’d seen.

Unable to bear the sight of himself he slammed a hand against the mirror without thinking and cried out when the silver burned. The glass shattered and bits of it stuck into his knuckles and flew at him, leaving red marks as if he’d been scalded. His claws were too brutish to pull the glass out and he found himself shredding skin attempting to pull the burning embers of silver from his body. Once they were out, he was left with mutilated knuckles and red welts all over himself where the mirror had exploded with the force of his strike.

Unsure of where to walk, his feet were mostly bare, his boots shredded and useless. He glanced at his medallion, he had torn it off along with his shirt. How would he wear it? How would people know it was him? He couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell them, couldn’t write… Moaning, he covered his face with his hands and wept, he had never felt so helpless in his life.

“Yen this is humiliating.”

“Your leg was broken and so was your skull. Get up and walk around with me.”

“I’m wobbling like a fawn, Yen, I don’t want to.”

“And how will you get better if you refuse to use your muscles?”

“My head aches.”

“And I shall rub your neck after, and perhaps your shoulders too, if you stop trying to delay the inevitable and get up and walk with me.”

“Perhaps you could rub something else?”

She snorted. “Are you done whining?”

“I wasn’t whining,” he argued, getting out of the bed shakily. The linen pants moved across the bandages on his shin and he took her hand, allowing her to help him up. Then slid his arm around her shoulders, leaning on her as they walked out of the room. She made him pace the length of the hall and back before allowing him to rest, and he was happy to hold her in his arms as he waited for his muscles to stop shaking.

He loved the feel of her hair over his skin, and the coolness of her touch on his body. She gently ran fingers through his hair, pressing gently as she massaged away the worst of his headache. He loved when they were close together like this, when there was no expectation, no pressure. They could just be.

Walking carefully through the splinters of mirror he knew whenever he failed because the pain burned him. Welts and blisters rose up, but thankfully no more glass made its way into his flesh. Not sure what to do with his old clothes, or his medallion, he did his best to work around his claws and bundle the silver without touching it. His medallion. His mark, who he was. He had no pockets, no pack, nothing.

Pawing through the mage’s things, he did manage to find a satchel with a long strap which he tucked the medallion in, the leather barely touch enough to withstand his claws as he shoved it in. It took some doing but he also managed to get the strap over his shoulder without destroying it or the bag. He couldn’t leave yet, and his body still ached.

There was no food to take, nothing to do but wait. So he crouched down in a corner away from the debris, running a claw over the shaggy rough hair sprouting from his scalp. His sensitive fingers had been covered in thick callous that made it hard to feel, but he could still tell his hair was no longer the fine silky texture his partners had loved. Ciri had loved it, too. His hair was smoother than hers, no curl, and so she had loved brushing it out. She had often put it into braids. Now, the rough strands would be not only unpleasant to touch but near impossible to groom. It was going to mat so easily, he knew.

“Your hair is so soft,” Ciri marveled, running fingers through it as he sat with her by the fire. They had spread out a few blankets and pillows on the hearthstones to wait out the storm. While she wasn’t afraid of the weather, after the Wild Hunt had near taken her, she was a little jumpier about the noise. He didn’t fault her.

He closed the book in his lap, leaving his index finger between the pages to mark their spot. He had chosen a bestiary at her request and was teaching her more of what she would know to be a witcher. Initially, he had wanted to read history or philosophy or something else, anything else. But it was what she had asked him for.

She gently combed out his hair again, having used a little bit of unscented oil to make the strands gleam. Since she had decided to take an interest in grooming him like a beloved feist his hair always shone in the light. It was always neatly brushed. He looked healthier. Of course, taking her into his life he had had to start taking better care of himself simply because he was taking care of her. If she needed food, he found food rather than go hungry. If she felt filthy, he found a place for them to bathe. It was just what he did now.

While he was well able to keep himself clean and his hair free of tangles without assistance, they both found the routine soothing. So many ugly things happened around them day in and day out that it was nice to end the day by the fire together, doing something peaceful. Not to mention both Yennefer and Dandelion had commented on the change in texture of his hair, enjoying the silkiness Ciri’s ministrations had brought out.

He fell asleep somehow, curled into the corner. The stones on his skin were cold enough to leech away some of his body heat and leave him to wake shivering and miserable. So much for the new layer of fur keeping him warm or being useful in any way.

The sky was dark, and most of the village around the tower asleep. Humiliated by his nakedness, he knew he didn’t have a choice about it, or about having to leave. If the mage sent someone back to clear him out, or alert the villagers, he would be killed in a small space unless he was willing to let his actions match his appearance. Perhaps he should just let them kill him.

But he had hope, small hope, that Yennefer would somehow find his message. Would somehow find him and save him. She loved him, didn’t she? So did Dandelion. One of them should work, or perhaps she could just reverse the spell without anything. In case her love wasn’t even… he loved them both so much. Surely, surely one of them could break it. Would it take a kiss? Just some blood? He tried to remember how Nivellen’s curse had been broken with the bruxa, but he didn’t want to have to kill one of his lovers. He wouldn’t. He would kill himself first if that was the only solution.

The doorknob was difficult to grip and slippery against his skin and he barely managed to get it open. Only the terror of acting like the beast he was kept him from smashing through it. He was bigger, and bulkier, and going through the doorway and down the twisting steps made him aware of how much he had changed. It was difficult to navigate where before he would have run quickly.

He paused at the bottom, smelling food. A bit old, perhaps, but not turned. He listened for a while, didn’t smell any signs of human life or hear anything, and the thought of food made his mouth water. Ropes of drool slid over his chin and hung down and he shut his eyes. Nothing he did would take away the feeling. Ashamed, he almost didn’t open the door to the kitchen. He should perhaps just starve to death. But, never seeing Ciri again, never seeing Yennefer or Dandelion… not if there was a chance he could be saved… even if he didn’t deserve it…

Tthe hunger pressed on him and he pushed through the door and raided the stores of food he found. The vegetables were hard to chew, since all of his teeth had apparently been replaced with fangs leaving him with very little molar. He ended up gulping down chunks of carrot and potato raw. The meat he found was dried, and even more difficult to manage. His claws allowed him to tear it easily enough and he swallowed strips whole. He ate until his stomach ached and bulged, knowing he had no way to carry any of it with him.

While he was sure he could hunt, and while he could process raw meat if forced, he had no taste for it. Perhaps his new monster’s body and tongue would. Ripping into raw flesh and still beating hearts… that had always been his destiny hadn’t it? Shunned by society living like an animal? Looking around for anything that might help him, anything that might keep him human, there was nothing.

At the door to the tower he listened, and when he heard no one moving around he ran.

“Madam Yennefer, a message for you.”

“Odd, a letter coming from my banker.”

“It’s an odd situation, if you don’t mind me saying,” the dwarf twisted his hands.

“Please, explain.” She took the missive in her hand, looking at the odd parchment. When she opened it, it bore five words written in blood. The implement used to write had scratched the fibers of the page, making it hard to read and the blood had trailed along the disrupted grooves. It was hardly legible, but she know how Geralt made his runes. Even if he was clearly badly injured and writing her in blood. Although the marks were like no quill she had ever seen. It was too thick, and far too coarse. Disturbed, she looked up at the dwarf.

“Well. There was a contract for your witcher, and he took it. Went up to meet a sorcerer who said they had information and would also pay for parts of the beast. I don’t know all the details, mind. But Geralt went in, and he never came out. One of my fellows heard that he hadn’t come to pay his inn bill, or the fee for keeping his horse stabled. I had someone go take care of it. The horse is on her way to your home in Vengerberg, where she and his bags will be safe. I also had the money owed settled.”

“And you’ll have it taken from my accounts?”

“I was simply waiting on approval.”

“That’s neatly done then. I’ll need to withdraw some coin, then. To take with me. If you hear anything of Geralt, have it passed along to me as quickly as possible. Here, I’ll leave a kestrel, send it with any news.”

“Done.”

“Giancardi?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He tried to keep track of the days, scratching a mark into the bark of a tree. But after the first week time became meaningless. He knew it might take a full month before Yennefer got his note, assuming she ever did. He had told her the contact might take him weeks. She wouldn’t think to check for ages yet. He was on his own for much longer.

He had dug up various roots he had found, keeping himself alive as best he could, and much to his disgust he had managed to fell a deer and the carcass had fed him for days. Geralt was doing his best to behave as a human might. He tried to keep himself clean. Bathing in the cold stream was even worse with the added fur to soak in and hold the icy water against his skin.

A bear had chased him out of the first cave he found, and then a pack of wolves another. Finally, he had given in and dug himself a sort of shelter, doing his best to create more space by breaking branches and aligning them to create a sort of roof and wall. With his hands thick and unwieldy he could barely manage. Using vines to tie anything was out of the question. The crude lean-to kept the worst of the wind and damp away but he would have given anything for a fire.

When hunters came through and found his shelter, they almost found him. He hadn’t remembered to hide his tracks and they chased him for days. He could endure more, suffer more, but some part of him hoped they would catch him. Kill him and make all of this end.

The longer he was alone in the wild, the more terrifying he became. He caught glimpses of himself in the streams and rivers and puddles… his appearance continued to change and his body never stopped aching.

“Ciri, pack your things. I’ve found a place to hide you and I’ll need you to stay there.”

“Yennefer, I’m hardly in need of that kind of care anymore. I’m capable in my own right.”

“Geralt would never forgive me.”

“If he was taken as part of a contract, I’m your best bet at luring out whoever it was. If they want a witcher, let’s give them a witcher.”

“I don’t intend to use you as bait.”

“Please, Mamma, please. Don’t make me wait here twiddling my thumbs when I’m just as good with a sword as he is. Let me help.”

“One promise or I will use magic to keep you here.”

“What is it?”

“You obey. Something both you and Geralt are terrible at. But this time, you do as I tell you. Or I will send you through a portal to somewhere only I can find you and take you back out.”

“I promise.”

When his knees had reversed to match those of the predators whose forest he shared, the agony was so bad he couldn’t move for days. He laid there in the dirt and leaves, bugs crawling over him and didn’t move, and wished for death.

He fought and killed the giant cat that wanted his territory, and the pelt that grew over his body kept him far warmer than his clothes ever had. This time, he had chosen a place far from humans and higher in the mountains where not many bothered to travel to. Hunting was scarce but he had found a cave that was his and had dragged plenty of dried leaves in it to act as a bed. There was a hollow in the back that collected rain that dripped from a crack in the roof and it kept him from having to leave for fresh water too often.

He had no idea how many days had passed. Time had no meaning for an animal. He woke, he hunted, sometimes he ate, and then he slept.

“There’s some sort of silvery-haired werewolf living in our woods, you know, Master Dandelion.”

“Oh pish, I know what werewolves look like. The things your villagers have been saying are lies. Some sort of primal man-ape creature living in the woods.”

“We chased him out,” a man interjected. “We caught sight of him and chased him out. Silver haired and yellow eyed, monstrous. Huge claws, sharp teeth, found his dwelling and razed it so he’d never return. Thought about calling ourselves a witcher but we handled it just fine on our own, we did.”

“Silver hair and yellow eyes?”

“Fangs as big as my arm, ‘e jus’ ran though,” another man called out, this one older and missing some teeth. “Big cowar’ly cretchur,” he explained.

Dandelion looked around the tavern. He had planned to meet Geralt a few days ride from here and they had intended to travel together back to Vengerberg to meet with Yennefer and Ciri. Only Geralt hadn’t been in the area that anyone knew of. Not recently. He had come a month or more ago, had met with the sorcerer and disappeared. All heads were nodding in agreement and he felt a moment of concern.

“What tower did you say the sorcerer lived in?”

“Look outside, Master Poet, and see for yourself.”

He finished his beer, gathered up his things, and did exactly that. Gathering up the reins of his horse, he unhitched Pegasus from the post and mounted up, kicking the fat grey gelding into a slow trot.

When he reached the tower he found the door slightly ajar. Fear mounting in his chest he fairly ran up the steps, and was horrified to find blood all over the floor of the tower, shattered glass all over, and … Geralt’s clothes, shredded to pieces. There was no sign of him. The bard looked over the tower, seeing torn paper, broken quills, a shredded cloak, and Geralt’s things. His sword belt had snapped, and he had left his swords. Or was eaten, Dandelion supposed, tears welling up in his eyes and streaming down his cheeks.

Further inspection revealed silvery-white fur littering the room and the heaviest coating was reserved for a bloody corner. “Did it kill you Geralt?” Dandelion asked the swords softly. As if there would be answers there. He lifted them up and gathered up whatever he could of Geralt’s clothes and boots. Some spells required the essence of a person.

He needed to contact Yennefer. And perhaps, with what he’d found, she could do something to track Geralt, or the monster that killed him.

He quickly used the parchment and half a quill to pen a letter, noticing the untouched inkwell. Then he folded it, sealed it after relighting a candle and ran down the steps again, Geralt’s swords crushed to his chest. Dandelion quickly found the messenger service in the town and paid the fee to have his letter sent to Yennefer.

Geralt barely knew himself anymore. He knew he was waiting for something. He knew the pouch on his body meant something, but his paws wouldn’t allow him to open it. He couldn’t get it off over his head, it was stuck in matted fur and dried blood. Eventually it snagged on something, choking him and he tore it free, not caring that the strap shredded. He gathered it up in his teeth, the sharp fangs snagging on the leather and brought it back to his cave and left it there among the leaves he used as a bed.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t get to it.

“Yennefer!”

“Dandelion!” They hugged briefly. Their affections for each other were largely glued together by Geralt. While they were fond of each other, he was what brought them together.

“I found his things, or what was left of them, I see you got my letter?”

“I got this from him, too, about a day or two before your letter found me.”

“Is… is that blood?”

“It is, his, I think. You’ve been staying in the area?”

“I got the locals to show me the direction they had chased the supposed monster in. I found signs of the habitation, I don’t know… if it’s the thing that killed Geralt, or something he was trying to kill, or what happened to him.”

“I stopped by the tower on the way here, all the blood was his. It called out to the blood on the paper. You’d best show me around the area the monster was in, if it killed him his blood will sing out wherever it was left.”

“And if it didn’t? How will we find him?”

“If he’s injured by it, or kept tracking it, it’ll lead us to wherever his blood was last spilled. We’ll find him. If we can.”

“Ciri?”

“With the horses, waiting. She promised to obey me in all things or I would portal her into a dungeon on a mountain where no one could get to her. At least not without a portal. I’ve promised her that she will help us track down the beast. Or mage. Geralt wrote ‘cursed.’ I don’t… I don’t know what to think. Was he cursed and killed by the monster? Was he cursed… in another way? Was all that fur in the tower his?” her voice shook.

“I don’t know,” the poet said grimly. “I don’t know. But if he’s alive we’ll find him. In whatever condition, and we’ll break the curse, and we’ll take him with us and we’ll put him to rights. It’s what he’d do for us, and what we’ve done for him before, and we’ll do it again. As often as it takes.”

“I miss him, Dandelion. I hadn’t expected to see him for another few weeks, our plan was to meet later, as you well know. But I miss him and it terrifies me there’s no sign of him. I’ll get Ciri, and you can show me the woods.”

The monster pawed loosely at the leather in his bed. The hard object inside had hurt him when he’d slept on it, digging into the flesh of his side. Arrows had broken off in his body after an attack he hardly remembered, and whatever it was in his bed had pressed into it, making it hurt worse. He pawed feebly at the wounds, knowing they were infected, but his clawed paws couldn’t pull out the arrowhead. He had scratched himself raw and bloody, creating a further mess in his side. His body didn’t bend to allow him to lick it clean or care for it, he moved half upright and half on all fours, but he hadn’t gone to hunt in a few days.

Food had passed by his cave, but he had stayed, trying to regain his strength and heal. Some part of him remembered cool hands touching him, easing the pains and hurts in his body. Something had cramped his gut and made him ill and he had fallen a long ways, and those hands had nursed him back to health. But it made no sense, his only clear memories of humans were violent and painful. If they saw him, they chased him screaming and firing arrows and waving swords.

They were right to fear him, his slavering jaws and cruel claws were to be hated and feared.

Continued attempts to discover the source of his discomfort in the leather pouch allowed him to open it, claws tearing and shredding, and a round metal object fell out, skittering across the cave floor to land near his water supply.

When he reached out to touch it, nudging it with his muzzle, he roared in pain, feeling his face burn and welts raise up on his sensitive nose. Whimpering and howling, he leaves it alone, afraid to touch it again and curls back on his uninjured side in the leaves.

“He bled heavily here, look. Someone shot arrows into him,” Ciri lifted up the fletched half of an arrow. “Broke off, or he broke it off and pulled it through. Don’t see the other half anywhere, though. He was alive when he left here.”

“The question is, was he chasing the beast that the townsfolk were, or is he the beast?”

“Yennefer, don’t say that. Witchers aren’t that strange.”

“Dandelion, he said he was cursed. His blood is all over. He’s still alive, as far as we know, but there’s been no sign of him. The footprints we found are far too large to belong to a normal man, with evidence of clawed feet. So if this is Geralt’s blood, where are his footprints?”

“Yennefer, look, by the shelter, there’s notches in the tree. Keeping track of time. If it was Geralt, he was here a little over a week. Hunting, or waiting for help.”

“Then we press on.”

The monster went out hunting, the pain in its side making it gasp and wheeze with each breath. But it had to eat. Food was survival. It got lucky and stumbled across an injured rabbit. The creature hardly lasted a second once the monster had it, ripping it open with stubby claws and sharp teeth. It wasn’t enough, but the rabbit would keep it alive a bit longer.

A little stronger from the meal, it snuffled around, bloody drool hanging off its jaw as it rooted around for tubers in the dirt, digging them out with its paws and eating them straight from the ground. Some part of it knew things weren’t right, but it assumed it was the festering open sores in its side, and not the meal.

After it had dug up what it could, it moved on, looking for something else to eat.

“Look, bones.” Ciri kicked over a bundle of them, chunks of fur still clinging in some places.

“He’s out here somewhere,” Yennefer says slowly, hands held out, the letter tucked into her belt. She had opted to wear men’s clothing and a cap over her hair to make travel easier. The woods were not easy to traverse in her usual gowns. “More of his blood here than anywhere we’ve been other than the tower.”

“Something with white hair rubbed up against a tree here, and it’s soaked in blood,” Dandelion calls softly. He looks around the woods, feeling lost. The sun is high in the sky, they weren’t sleeping much. They rested once it was too dark to make the horses go on, and pressed on the minute the sky turned grey with predawn light. He touched the scratched bark and noted the blood was old. There were signs of a creature living in the area, something large. The fur and blood was around shoulder height. “It’s large, whatever it is. Do we think he’s hunting it and got hurt, or do we think he is it?”

“I don’t know,” Yennefer rubbed at her temples. “He would have left us a trail sign, if he was able. I can’t help but think perhaps it is him. But I haven’t seen any time markers, or evidence of him hiding his tracks, but I never saw him doing that before either. But the ‘beast’ the villagers chased, when we looked around that area… it was sentient. Smart enough to brush away tracks, and build a shelter. There’s none of this here. I don’t know, Dandelion. I don’t know. I won’t know until we find one of them. Or if it’s both in one, him.”

“I found some evidence of marking, look, just like a bear does.”

“Good, Ciri, any blood?”

“Some, the blood doesn’t look healthy. Infection. Geralt’s injured.” There was plenty of it splattering the leaves around the tree marked with deep gouges. She found bits of broken claw just like she might have a cat would leave on a rug. Lifting up a chipped piece, the marks had to have been caused by a claw longer than her fingers.

The monster pricked up its ears when it heard voices. It hadn’t heard humans in ages. It swiveled its ears and prepared to run. The injury in its side was exhausting it, and it gathered itself slowly. It would wait until they were too close to avoid, but it hoped they would go and it could stay. It would hate to give up its warm cave and safe watering hole.

It didn’t understand the speech, or the words they were calling out. It just knew the cry was sad, and lonely, and it lay there in the detritus, knowing somewhere in its monster’s heart, the cry hurt.

“Geralt! Geralt are you out there? Geralt! We’ve come to find you, please call out if you can hear me us!” Dandelion shouted at the top of his voice. He was able to be far louder than either Ciri or Yennefer.

Ciri continued to look for tracks, and finally realized she was seeing them. Five deep even punctures, long claws that couldn’t be retracted. It would be painful to walk on anything but loose dirt, where the claws would provide traction. She followed them to a cave and to her shock saw something glinting in the back.

Drawing her sword, she cautiously swept forward. “I see something!” she called back behind her, hoping that she was about to find one of Geralt’s daggers, or something that would indicate he was alive and well.

The leaves littering the cave floor were covered in white hair and blood and reeked of infection. The creature was sick. Badly injured. Or… Geralt was badly injured. She carefully sifted through the leaves and came across a torn leather pouch. It wasn’t Geralt’s, but it meant a human had been here. The pouch was shredded and the strap broken. In the mess of the pouch she found scraps of black cloth. “Geralt.” She sheathed her sword and stepped closer to the small pool of water and almost fainted in a mix of relief and horror when she saw his medallion lying there on the ground. “Yennefer! Dandelion!” Her voice was not as loud as the bard’s, but she could still scream.

The monster’s ears twitched. The humans had invaded its home. A low growl rumbled through it and it snuffled miserably. It was in no shape to fight them out. Its home was lost, again. But it was sick of being forced out of its home by other animals, and it had found a good spot and it didn’t want to leave. Aching and pained, it heard the continued howling and babbling of the humans and dragged itself up, prowling around the edges of the clearing around its cave. It didn’t want to be seen early, but humans were weak prey, perhaps it could scare them off or win the fight. If they didn’t have the things that would stick in him and hurt him so badly.

“His medallion, look!” Ciri held it up with trembling hands.

“Oh, he never takes that off, not ever,” Dandelion moans softly. “Oh, the thing ate him! It isn’t him, he was here hunting it, and he got eaten!”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Yennefer snapped. “It isn’t bloodied. It was kept in a bag wrapped in the scraps of his shirt, look.” She lifted up the black fabric scraps and the remains of the leather satchel. “This cave is filled with his blood all over the leaves,” she lifted up a few. “He’s been camping here.”

Ciri edged towards the front of the cave and froze. “Yennefer,” her voice was tight.

A smallish human, female. Another small human female, and a small male. Nothing that should be too troubling. It didn’t see any of the sharp implements that hurt it so much earlier.

“What?”

“Come here, please, look, do you see it, too?”

“See what?” the sorceress snapped impatiently, holding her hands out to try and sense more blood. There was more, something near the cave mouth. She got up and went over to Ciri and peered out over her shoulder, hands held up in front of her. “I….” she croaked. “I see… Geralt? Geralt is that you? Step into the light, come here, I can’t undo the curse if you won’t come over….”

The beast in the woods growled at her and slunk forward, teeth bared. Saliva ran over its jaws in thick ropey strands. White fur covered its body and it walked with an odd mix of all legs and just the back two, giving it an odd lolling gate.

“He’s injured… its? Mamma… is… is that Geralt?”

“Dandelion, get out of the cave, we’ll corner him in there. Or it. We’ll find out in a moment but be out of the way. Ciri, can you circle back behind it, keep it from running?”

“His eyes…. That’s… that’s got to be him….” her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. But she gathered herself. “Yes, I’ll flank him, he’s hurt badly.”

Dandelion stepped out of the cave and swore. The creature in front of him flinched and growled, peeling its lips back from bloody pink gums to bare sharp white fangs. “Geralt?” his voice came out as a whimper. “Oh, Geralt. Fuck. Yennefer it’s Geralt.”

The monster wasn’t sure what the noises meant, but they still sounded sad. A wolf with no pack. It rested a front paw on the ground, leaning heavily. Its breaths came out short and sharp, side aching. It flared its nostrils wide, taking in their scent. One smelled like ice and something else it didn’t understand. The other smelled like flowers in the meadow, and the smallest of them smelled like the sea and something it couldn’t place. Something familiar. They all smelled familiar but the monster didn’t know humans. It had always been this way, always alone, and always terrifying to behold.

When the dark haired one lifted its hands he flinched and snarled, gnashing his teeth at her. He could remember curls on his fingers. Other than he’d never had fingers. The other one, the one breathing hard and whimpering made noise. Beautiful noise with his hands and mouth. But the small one, the small one was his. He rushed the first one, he would chase them out and the odd feelings would stop. So would the odd images in his head.

Yennefer stepped aside when he charged, she had seen the muscles in his body tense. Dandelion was right, she could feel the magic, the curse was active and changing constantly. When his first charge didn’t work, he tried to circle back but Ciri had closed in on him and shouted, waving her arms widely behind him and Dandelion joined her, cutting off his other avenue of escape. Between the three of them blocking his way he roared in frustration and then ran into the cave, trying to defend the entryway.

Ciri brought out his medallion, holding it out to him, and he backed away, whimpering from them, the silver burned. The monster remembered the silver burned. It wanted nothing to do with them. When he made to charge them again the small one drew a blade and slapped at him with the flat of it.

He cowered low, confused, and terrified, pain glazing his eyes. It was so hard to breathe and all the exertion the humans were causing was making it even harder to get enough air. He hadn’t been eating well, barely able to hunt, and while he had done his best to pull the arrowheads from his side or to rub them against a tree and force them out, he couldn’t. The infection kept his skin hot and rotted the fur around the wound.

“Geralt, it’s me,” Ciri told him quietly.

Geralt meant nothing to him. Neither did the sounds. But the voice was kind, and he hoped that perhaps they would simply kill him quickly.

Yennefer pressed in on his other side, “this is badly infected, and has been. If he was gone at least a month before we started looking, and it’s taken us at least another one to find him… they shot at him near two months ago, it’s a miracle he’s alive.”

Fear and pain dropped him to his side, and he whimpered once, letting his head drop to the leaves, feeling them tickle against his muzzle. Drool slowly began to cover the ground under his head and he waited for them to kill him.

“Let me see, Geralt, let me see it, I can help,” she said in her best attempt at a soothing voice. “Ciri, I don’t think he’s lost all the fight in him yet. Help me. Dandelion? Get our packs, we’ll need them. Also, firewood.”

Yennefer jumped back just in time as he lunged and snapped at her, and he would have taken off her arm if she hadn’t been waiting for him to attack her.

Dandelion came back in to see Geralt lying on his side, wheezing, tongue lolling with his eyes rolling in panic in his head. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing, he tried to attack me and he keeled over,” Yennefer said brusquely.

“Yen, he’s starving,” Ciri said softly. She tried approaching him, hands out, and he lifted his muzzle and snapped at her, growling savagely.

“There’s food in the packs, Dandelion, get out all of it.”

“Will that work?” he asked quietly, dropping the packs to the ground immediately and starting to dig out their travel rations. They had dried meat, hardtack, hard cheese, and they had stopped by a small settlement at the edge of the woods and had some root vegetables and a large loaf of slightly stale bread. They had eaten the other loaves already.

Ciri wasn’t listening, she grabbed up the cheese, meat, and bread, watching Geralt as his nostrils flared and pupils dilated slightly at the sight of food. He licked his chops and continued to pant, lying there and staring at the food. He watched her, watched her hands, and when she lightly tossed a bit of meat he opened his jaws and snapped it up, gulping it down before it could be taken.

He startled when he looked at her next and she was closer, the fur rising up along his back and shoulders and he growled again, a low warning growl. Then the small one held up another piece of meat and lightly tossed it to him, and he snapped that up, as well. There wasn’t enough to fill his belly, not by a long shot, but the girl had more. The blonde girl. The one who smelled familiar. She threw him another piece and then stepped closer. He kept his hackles up, teeth bared after he ate the next piece.

Before he knew it, she was within biting distance, and held up a piece of cheese. He couldn’t recall the taste of it, but the sight and smell made him drool.

“Ciri, be careful,” Yennefer whispered, worried. “Dandelion, get us firewood, and we’ll try and set some snares, he needs to eat more. Although if we could shrink him back down to his usual size, we won’t need as much food… the… the little settlement, they were… a few hours out? Can you make it there for more food and back? Take my palfrey to carry the food, and ride Roach down, don’t take Pegasus. I know you don’t want to leave him, but I can create a spell to keep him from leaving the cave… and it won’t stick if I’m not here to hold it. Can you go?”

“Already leaving, but firewood first?”

“Please,” she said, watching those yellow eyes in the dim light of the cave. They had an odd sheen and she imagined if he’d been human, he would have burned with fever. She could smell the rot in his side. He was near the size of a horse, and she wasn’t sure how much it would take to feed him, but she could feel the edges of the curse, but not the conditions.

The bard stepped out quickly, rushing about to gather up wood. The sooner he left the sooner he could come back. And perhaps they would have made some progress with Geralt in his absence. They had healing supplies with them, they had anticipated he would be hurt. Just, not like this. They had never anticipated this.

Ciri got a little closer, holding out the rest of the cheese. He tipped his head up and his tongue flicked out to grab it, and he swallowed the chunk whole. She was close enough to rest a hand on his muzzle, but she didn’t. She could see the way he kept trying to watch both her and Yennefer, fear making his rib cage flutter as he fought to breathe. “Oh, Geralt,” she said softly. “We’re here now, we’ll fix it.” She tore the loaf of bread into chunks and sat, letting the pieces rest in her lap. She held out another one and he took it from her.

After the last chunk was devoured, she slowly reached out to touch his muzzle. “This isn’t right you know,” she told him quietly, watching as Yennefer held her hands out, brow furrowed in concentration. He flinched away from her, but she ignored it, gently stroking the damp white fur.

The noises she made almost made sense, like a forgotten memory. The food in his belly wasn’t enough, but it was different than the raw meat and whatever he could dig up and scarf down.

“Mamma, please bring me the rest of the food,” she said quietly, idly stroking the fur between his eyes. “He’s still hungry.” Ciri watched some of the fight go out of his body, paws curling as he lay there. His ears swiveled around tracking Yennefer as she moved around the cave. The panting got worse as Yennefer moved, but eased when she was back in his line of sight.

“I can’t imagine he’ll enjoy hardtack.”

“No one enjoys it, that isn’t the point,” Ciri sniffed, and then carefully fed Geralt the rest of their food supplies. He was exhausted, she could tell. He reminded her of her grandfather’s hounds after too long of a hunt. Too tired to rest. She kept up the gently stroking and leaned forward to touch his leathery ears. They were soft and warm, and his eyes closed when she started gently stroking them. Yennefer moved again, shoes scraping on the floor and his eyes opened, and he snarled again, wheezing after. “It’s alright, you’re alright,” Ciri promised him, scratching the top of his muzzle and then the rough hair of his cheeks before moving under his chin. The fur was soaked in spittle but she didn’t mind. It was Geralt. The yellow eyes closed in pleasure and she kept it up as his body slowly relaxed and eased.

Yennefer put her hands over his wound, and he opened one eye to stare, dragging his lip back over his teeth to show her their sharpness.

“Geralt, it’s alright,” Ciri said softly, and the words almost had meaning. His ears flicked forward to her and she smiled at him. “Do you want me to keep talking to you?”

Yennefer watched carefully, and then gently laid her hands on his side, feeling the heat and swelling radiating from the wound. The initial injury had to be somewhere in the middle of his ribs, but it had radiated from shoulder to flank and her heart dropped. He was very ill. Dangerously ill. Half starved, he didn’t have what he needed to fight off the infection that was killing him.

His skin twitched and rippled under her palms, and she felt tears slide over her cheeks. They could save him, it would be even easier to do it if they could turn him back. “True love often breaks curses,” she tells Ciri quietly. “Can you keep him calm while I come around to his head?”

“You plan to kiss him on the mouth?”

“No, the forehead,” Yennefer told her dryly.

Ciri stuck out her tongue impudently and continued to let her hands smooth the thick white fur under her palms. “I imagine you’re exhausted. You’ve been running a while, and you’re hurting badly. I’m sorry Geralt. I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner. You can understand me, can’t you? I want you to understand me.”

Yennefer knelt down at his head and gently started stroking his fur. “I love you,” she told him gently. “Even when we’re fighting, or I’m angry, I always love you. I always will. We always love each other.” She leaned over him and ignored the way his lips peeled back from his gums and kissed him gently on the top of his head, feeling the coarse fur brush her lips. She pulled away, tears dripping down her cheeks to soak into his fur. “Oh Geralt, what kind of curse weas this? Can you talk to me? Can you understand us?” There was a catch in her voice and she hated it.

Both she and Ciri waited with bated breath, and Ciri sighed when nothing happened. Tears ran down her cheeks when she realized Geralt wasn’t miraculously changing back. They sat with him, stroking and comforting him until it started to get cool.

Yennefer gathered up leaves and the firewood and started a fire. Geralt had started to tremble and she knew he was going to need help staying warm. The fur didn’t seem to be doing him much good. Not with the illness such as it was. It was obvious he had tried to get the arrowheads out, but she could see part of the shaft of one still sticking out. He had probably driven them deeper in, dangerously close to his lungs.

She planned to wait until Dandelion got back before she attempted to pull the arrows out and start any of the healing process. They would need to boil water and prepare bandages and two sets of hands wouldn’t be enough.

Ciri kept up a steady stream of chatter, and Yennefer gasped in surprise when Geralt nodded his head to something she said. Ciri looked up at her in shock, and then kept talking, her words speeding up with an almost frantic edge. He didn’t seem to know what she wanted from him when she tried asking him questions.

“Let him rest, Ciri, let him sleep, he’s exhausted.”

They kept vigil together, hands gently smoothing the matted white fur on his head and chest. Dandelion came back before full dark, laden with bags of food and more bandaging.

Geralt woke up at the sound and with raised hackles, snarling and growling, he staggered up on all fours, backing himself into the wall of the cave.

“Stop!” Ciri said quietly, holding her hands up. “Geralt, it’s me, you know me, it’s Ciri. I’m your destiny. Geralt, do you remember? I’m your destiny. Tell me, nod, something, but tell me you understand. Do it!”

“Ciri,” Yennefer said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder, not expecting Geralt to respond. But instead he whined low in his throat and ducked his head, ears flattening and tail curling up between his legs. He bobbed his head lightly and stepped closer to her, snuffling her shirt and allowing her to pet him and scratch him around his neck and under his chin.

“He understands,” Dandelion said softly, voice awed.

“Feed him,” Yennefer told him immediately. “We need to feed him,” she added. Perhaps the bard was his true love, perhaps the bard would break the spell.

Dandelion pulled a roast chicken he’d purchased specifically for Geralt. He unwrapped it from the linen it had been wrapped in. Carefully, he edged in until he could hand Geralt the food. Dandelion jumped when Geralt carefully took it from him, mindful not to bite his hands. “Oh sweet Melitele, is that really him? Is that really you? Oh, Geralt. You’re so large, how can we possibly keep you full?” He bravely put out a hand and let Geralt snuffle his palm, smiling when he received a lick for his troubles. “I love you so much,” he smiled. It was easy to step in closer and he wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, kissing his cheek.

“Fuck,” Yennefer said softly, she had hoped. She had hoped so much that if it wasn’t her it would be Dandelion. They could worry about the curse once they cleaned out his wounds, at least. She would figure out how to undo it, since true love wasn’t going to do it, or he hadn’t met his yet.

“What?”

“I had hoped that would break the spell.”

“Geralt,” Ciri smiled. “Come lie down, let us see your side, it hurts right?”

Dropping his head, he let the words wash over him. He could mostly understand now. ‘Geralt’ still didn’t mean anything to him, but ‘hurt’ was a word he knew. He laid down where he was, unwilling to get too close to the flames.

“You’re so big,” Ciri mumbled, smoothing hands over his skull. “I wish you were smaller, like you were. Do you remember? Geralt? Do you remember being human?” she asked gently. “You were a good size, the proper size for a witcher. The perfect height for hugging,” she added.

“Ciri, whatever you do, keep talking, don’t stop,” Yennefer told her quietly. “Don’t stop.”

“When I was younger I barely came up to your waist, and you put me up on your shoulders in Broklin, do you remember? You called me a brat and threatened to belt me if I wouldn’t behave. Your shoulders are a little broader than Dandelion’s, do you remember? But strong. You’re so strong. And we can take care of you better if you were back to your usual size.” She felt his head start to shrink under her hands, and her breath caught in her throat only for tears to pour over her cheeks when she saw he wasn’t changing, just shrinking some. When he finished, he still looked the same, he was still covered in fur, and still barely resembled a human in the loosest sense possible.

“That’s better,” Yennefer told her.

“How do we change him back?”

“I don’t know, Ciri, but first we have to make sure he doesn’t die.”

It took them half the night to cut away the putrid flesh to allow Yennefer to pull the arrowheads out of the festering wounds they’d created. Geralt had snarled, snapped, and made pitiful attempts to attack them the pain was so bad. It was clearly he didn’t quite know them and didn’t understand all the words they said to him. When they tried to return his medallion, he whined and whimpered, drawing back with his hackles up and tail between his legs.

They stayed with him a week in the cave before they gained any more ground. Keeping the wounds clean and clear of infection had been near impossible, and he had gotten sicker and sicker with each day that passed. It was terrifying, wondering if they would lose him without him ever knowing who they were or who he was. They would have tried his elixirs but since he was nothing like himself, they didn’t know how they would react with his body chemistry and they might kill him immediately.

Dandelion made routine trips down the mountain and back to bring up more food and supplies. They kept Geralt fed, and as comfortable as they could. The next bit of progress was made when he curled up between his lovers’ bedrolls. After that, he started to respond to his name, and would nod or shake his head.

Yennefer made little to no progress on the curse other than to say it was still active and adapting and she wasn’t sure how to break it yet, it was too flexible. Geralt was also still incredibly weak and sick, and prone to pacing until he was panting too hard to breathe and would simply lay on the cave floor, wheezing until he fell asleep again. They were all miserable.

Ciri woke up, unsurprised to feel Geralt’s bulk pressed against her back. She rolled over and wrapped an arm around his neck. “You were human like us, you know,” she told him softly. She tickled his ear, watching it twitch away from her touch. “You had ears like mine. And hands I could hold. Hands that could hold me. I miss that. You weren’t covered in fur either. I used to brush your hair, do you remember? I would brush it and oil it and keep it clean. You won’t let us bathe you,” she wrinkled her nose. “Even though you need it. You make a very smelly whatever you are. I think if you had less fur it would help.” When she reached up to tease his ear again, it wasn’t there, and she sat up to look and saw a human ear nestled in all the fur, hairless and pale, just like it had been before.

When Yennefer and Dandelion woke next, they immediately noticed the change and monitored him for others, but saw nothing other than perhaps less fur, but they couldn’t be sure. He was docile at almost all times, even when having his wounds poked at.

“Geralt,” Ciri started one night, tickling the pads of his paws, pushing her fingertips against the blunt claws at the ends. “Do you ever miss holding hands? I think I would. I miss training with you, so even if you don’t miss holding hands, do you think you miss holding a sword?”

She gasped when the claws against her fingertips melted away and the pads of his paws followed after, fingers elongating as his hands became human. He flexed them in wonder, he couldn’t recall what he had looked like or felt like before. He barely knew himself, but hands made it far easier to eat. Exhausted, he fell asleep and didn’t wake until the next morning.

When he felt tapping against his teeth he woke up and tried not to snarl. It was just Ciri.

“These are ridiculously large, you know, they don’t even fit in your mouth, Geralt. What kind of idiot mage cursed you with these? It makes no sense, you can’t close your mouth, you drool all over your fur… you’re very messy.” She opened her mouth and pointed, “These are what your teeth should look like,” she informed him. “Your whole head should look more like mine,” she added. “I don’t see what the fur adds, either, if I’m being honest.”

She wasn’t surprised this time when magic crackled and swirled around him as his teeth and jaw shrank, his muzzle flattening into his skull to form an almost human jawline.

More days passed and none of her suggestions took. His memory seemed to be coming back and while he couldn’t speak, he could write, fingers in the dirt. They communicated well enough, until one day he just stopped.

When they went to bed he was there, and when they woke up, he was gone.

They split up to find him, he had remembered to hide his tracks. Ciri found him some time well after midnight.

“Geralt? Don’t run, please don’t go.”

“Ciri,” his voice grated from his throat. “Go, just go. Please…”

“Why?”

He had pressed himself against a hollow log, seeking some small shelter from the cold. No fire, nothing. No clothes. He still mostly moved hunched over, rather than upright. He was so ashamed. “I don’t want you to see me like this,” his voice broke.

“I love you,” she said simply. “How you look doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a monster,” his voice broke. He could remember now, all of it. How he had failed them. “The curse didn’t change me, it revealed me,” he told her hoarsely. “The curse was to show my true self,” he whispered, bloody tears trailing over his cheeks. “Go away, Ciri,” he told her more firmly, baring his teeth and lunging at her.

She didn’t move. “No. No, I will not. You can’t make me. You told me once you would always be there for me. We would never be apart. You haven’t done the best of jobs keeping that promise. I’m going to hold you to it, now.”

“Please,” he moaned. “Ciri, you don’t deserve the horror of having someone like me in your life.”

“Horror? The horror?” She slapped him before she could stop herself. “You idiot!” He didn’t make a move to stop her, or to cower away from another strike when she raised her hand again and she stared in shock at what she’d done. “I’m sorry!” She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and sobbing. “I love you, Geralt, I love you, there’s nothing horrible about you!”

He hesitated before holding her, thinking of the things he had done with his hands recently. Digging around like a boar, ripping rabbits open to eat them raw and bloody. He shouldn’t touch her. “Ciri, I’m a monster,” he told her softly. “Inside and out, I’m… let me go. I… it would be better if I just disappeared.”

“No!” she clung even more tightly to him, tangling her fingers in his fur and hanging on tightly, her tears and snot soaking the fur on his shoulder. His own bloody tears dripped into her hair, staining the strands pinkish red. “You aren’t a monster! You’re Geralt! You’re a witcher, and a mutant, but not a monster! Even if you never change back, even if you look like this forever, you aren’t a monster. Your outside has nothing to do with your inside! You taught me that! You, and Eskel, and Lambert, and Coën. I was so afraid at first, but I know now. I know witchers are just men, Geralt.” She couldn’t keep talking when another sob choked her and she fell silent.

Her sobs shook her entire body and she clung to him so tightly he had no hope of dislodging her. He shifted as best he could to hold her, and stroke her hair, and soothe her. He didn’t notice when her tears fell on his bare skin, didn’t notice the crackle of magic around him as he worked to hold her better, closer. He wanted to be the man she wanted him to be. He loved her. She was his child surprise.

“Ciri, I… I’m not what you think I am, I can’t be who you want me to be.”

She screamed in rage, shaking her head against his chest, slamming her fists weakly against him as she battered his chest, sobbing harshly. “Don’t leave me!”

He didn’t try to stop her from hitting him, the blows didn’t hurt. And even if they had, he deserved them. He let her vent her rage and fear against him, and ran his forearm across his nose and eyes, trying to clear them. Geralt didn’t notice he wiped tears against his skin, the fur covering his arm gone.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, rocking her back and forth on the forest floor, ignoring the unpleasant sensation of detritus poking into his legs and backside. “I love you, Ciri, I love you. I’ll stay. I’ll stay.”

Yennefer and Dandelion came upon them some time later, the sky grey with the coming dawn.

“Geralt!” Yennefer cried out in shock, rushing forward to drop to her knees beside them, wrapping her arms around them and kissing him hard. He looked at her in shock. He could feel her palms on his cheeks. Feel the scrape of stubble, not fur, on her hands. Her skin was cool against his, like it always was.

Before he could process it, Dandelion was at his other side, holding him tightly and swearing vehemently at him and the whole world. The bard rocked them all back and forth slightly, kissing Geralt’s face, neck, shoulder, and any part of him he could reach without pushing Ciri out of his way.

The bandaging had come loose as his body shifted and changed, and the impact and hugging along with everything else had aggravated his wounds.

“Ciri, Ciri, look, Ciri,” Yennefer stroked her hair, gently pulling her away from Geralt’s chest. “Look, look at him.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Ciri said softly, her voice full of wonder as she stoked his hair, and then his face. “You’re you again,” she hiccupped and sobbed. She ran her hands over his face and hair and shoulders over and over, kissing his cheeks and forehead as she did, frequently bumping heads with either Yennefer or Dandelion who kept touching and kissing him, too.

When he started to shiver, they pulled away in concern. Dandelion dragged off his cloak and wrapped it around Geralt’s shoulders, as Yennefer and Ciri went to get the horses. Dandelion helped him to his feet, tucking the cloak around him tightly. He held Geralt as the sun rose, glad to have him back.

Geralt had near forgotten how to walk like a man, much less ride, in the months he’d spent living as a beast. With a little help from the poet, he was able to mount up when Yennefer returned with Ciri and their mounts. They would get near the edge of the settlement and find him something to wear until they could go home.

He had agreed in spite of his deep fear, to allow Yennefer to portal them to Vengerberg after, and to begin his recovery in earnest there. His wounds would need further care, and he needed time to rest. He was exhausted. But he was home. And returned to the people who loved him.

#geraltwhumpweek #geraskefer

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