#wad did so much maybe exactly because it's fucked all over

[goldenpinof]

How after all those years they are still interested in eachothers this way does dan going on tour did wonders because they missed eachothers?

i don't think it did wonders, because they were always like this to some extent. but wad definitely did something, secured their relationship for starters.

[whoahoney]

Hello sweet Honey!! Congratulations on hitting 2000 followers! You deserve it and so much more! 💛💛💛

Here’s my request for the celebration:

Eddie Munson 🖤

Smutty prompt #9

Modern au

#9. “You take me so well.”

Modern!Eddie Munson x shy!reader

A/N: This took longer than it should’ve to write but I hope at the least my girl likes it 😩🫶🏻 thank you for sending this in and being so freakin supportive of everything I do!! I like to call this one… Birthday Girl

CW: Mature!!! (Tumbly won’t let me mark it) fem/afab!reader, alcohol consumption, slight jealousy/angst, smut minors DNI, protected p in v, oral f & m receiving, fingering, nipple play, pet names, readers drunk but everything is consented and Eddie checks in multiple times

Join the Celebration

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When your friend Robin told you her friend Eddie was currently single, you couldn’t have been more surprised. As long as you’d known him, he always had someone under his arm—his flavor of the month, as Steve liked to say.

“All you have to do is talk to him, I’m sure he’ll ask you out in a heartbeat!” She urges and you sigh from your place at the counter.

“I dunno, I just—I don’t think I’m his type.” You shrug.

Robin groans, “Oh, c’mon, you can’t tell me he doesn’t give you fuck me eyes every time you speak!”

“I dunno what fuck me eyes are! He has eyes! They’re… really pretty.” You almost whine and Robin groans again.

“Jesus Christ, I won’t sit by and allow you to dawn over someone you won’t even let yourself have a chance with!” She gets a sudden look of an idea behind her eyes before she speaks again, “So maybe you just need a little tryst to jumpstart your confidence!”

“I dunno, Rob, I’m not exactly good at talking to people I don’t know…”

“C’mon, you’ll have some drinks, meet a guy that wants to treat the birthday girl—one night stands can be so fun!” She said.

“I dunno, I’m gonna be drunk, what if I choose someone I regret??” You asked at her kitchen counter.

Robin rolled her eyes, “That’s why I’m the witness, I’m going to witness you—“

“Absolutely not, you’re not watching—“

“No! Gross! Hetero sex isn’t my thing, you know that!” She opens up her notebook and plops it on the countertop before clicking a pen a few times. “I’m going to sign off on who you take home!” She said as if it were that simple.

“A permission slip?” You ask through a scoff.

“If you hate it, don’t sign!” She says as she finishes writing up the agreement and signing her name on the witness line.

You bite your lip for a moment before you take the pen and sign away.

“And if you decide to use it on Eddie…”

“‘M not using it on Eddie!” You insist and shove the paper wad into your pocket, “Besides, I’m willing to bet he shows up with ‘Boobs McGee’ on his arm.

You’d met Eddie when Robin invited you along last year at the start of classes, instantly hitting it off much to his date’s displeasure. Eddie had complimented your ear piercings and in return you complimented his, then his date tugged him by the hand to the dance floor with a warning look thrown over her shoulder.

“Ooh! Rrrowrrr” Robin giggled behind her straw as the girl began running her hands down her body and grinding against Eddie’s front to a song with no substance whatsoever.

You chuckle and turn to Robin, “Is that his… girlfriend, or something?”

She scoffs and shakes her head, “Or something. Eddie doesn’t really do girlfriends.” She shrugs and you match it with your own. “He brings a new girl along all the time, I bet she’ll be gone in the next couple weeks.” She chuckled and you did too.

Of course he didn’t keep a girlfriend, he was too pretty! Why would he?? Anyway, it didn’t matter at the time because you were still trying long distance with your boyfriend, Dylan, back home.

It never failed, week after week, he’d come to the bar with a girl in tow. The times he’d brought the same girl more than once were small—the most you’d seen of one of them was twice.

Though there were plenty of nights he found the time to talk to you, whether it was when you were out and about with friends or messaging outside of the group chat—whispering as Eddie liked to put it.

Eddie: Waitwaitwait, it’s your birthday on Friday?!

You giggle and curl up under your blanket at the notification. You were currently watching the group chat pop off as Robin, Steve, Nancy, and Argyle made suggestions for the bar crawl.

You: it is! Are you gonna be able to make it?

Before you can respond to Robin’s gif with one of your own, Eddie’s already replied.

Eddie: Uh, duh! Wouldn’t miss it for anything! Your drinks are on me. 🤘🏻

You bite your lip and the butterflies surge like they always do when it comes to him. Your cheeks are flushed and he isn’t even in the room.

But he is buying your drinks on your birthday.

He’d bought you a couple drinks before but only when he’d bought rounds for the whole group—and his dates.

You: Aw, thanks! I really appreciate it! I hope your pockets are prepared 😮‍💨🫶🏻

He responded with a laugh react, his bubbles bouncing and disappearing a few times before there was nothing at all. You set your phone on your chest and sigh at the ceiling. You’d spent two birthdays with your boyfriend and he never did anything thoughtful for you. You’d never really asked for much, but buying you a drink just once would’ve been nice. One of the many reasons you broke it off with him at the end of last year.

You’d kept it quiet, only mentioning it to Robin when she asked about Dylan a month after.

Since then it’s been aimless attempts at getting you laid, always ending with her trying to download dating apps on your phone and make a profile despite your protests. You weren’t really interested in anyone, though you couldn’t deny how lonely it could get.

The icon on your Home Screen tempted you every once in a while when you had too much wine, but for the most part you stayed off it.

The thought tempted you tonight though, only at the idea of Eddie bringing some other nameless broad along to your birthday celebration.

You close your phone and look at the ceiling, silently counting the days til your birthday, when you could drink yourself into oblivion on Eddie’s dime.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you arrived at the bar, Robin and Steve were already present, giving you approving looks when noticing your birthday outfit, a dress and heels complete with a sweet little cardigan.

“Look at youuu!” Robin chirped and spun you around before Steve handed you a shot.

“Happy Birthday!” Nancy shouts before wrapping her arms around you in a big hug, and Argyle blows a noise maker right next to your ear. You giggle and your heart fills with the joy of being known as someone, probably Steve, places a birthday crown on your head.

“Thank you!” You say as she pulls away, and someone hands you another shot.

“Are you ready to dance??” Robin asks over the thumping music, to which you nod eagerly and follow her out. “Take this off, what is this a library??” She unbuttons your sweater and helps you out of it before tossing it over Steve’s head and pulling you further into the crowd.

Its not long after your third shot and second dance of the evening that Eddie shows up to the bar—alone for once. Steve notes it as they shake hands and hug, “Where’s your date?”

Eddie only shrugs in return, “What date?”

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Oh, c’mon, don’t tell me you got stood up.”

Eddie shakes his head, “Nah, just thought I’d hang with my friends tonight. Is Y/n here yet?”

Steve nods and sips his drink while Eddie scans the floor for any sight of her—and her boyfriend.

“Why doesn’t he ever come to stuff?” Eddie asks Steve, who sends him a questioning look before answering, “Who??”

“Her boyfriend, dingus.” Eddie rolled his eyes and went back to his search. Steve chuckles and nudges Eddie’s shoulder, “What boyfriend??”

“Derek? Dayton? Whatever his name is.”

“Oh! Dylan—“

Before he can fill Eddie in any further, you spot him from across the dance floor, and your drunken self couldn’t be more excited, “Eddie!!!” You stumble over to him, too busy keeping your eyes on the floor to notice his blooming smile.

“Hey, birthday girl!” He greets before pulling you into a hug. You breathe in his scent and exhale, letting a soft moan slip from your careless lips before you step back and let him go.

“I’m so glad you could make it!” You smiled up at him, and he smiles at your crooked birthday crown before fixing it.

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything.” He chuckles and trails his hands down your arms as you unravel yourself from the embrace. “Should I ask if I can buy you a drink? Looks like someone else already beat me to it.” He appraises your face again, analyzing every detail.

You chuckle and pull him to the bar, “I’d love another! Besides, you need to catch up!” You say as you plop onto a stool and he follows soon after.

“Two waters please.” He tells the barkeep and you push his knee playfully, “Buzzkill.” You mutter and he laughs yet again. You put your little purse on the counter as Steve and Jonathon approach and order more drinks. You check your phone and scroll check your apps, reading all the happy birthdays from old friends and estranged family on social media.

“Isn’t that right, birthday girl?” Jonathon asked with a mischievous smile. You set your phone down on the bar and look up without a clue in the world, “Hmm?”

The boys chuckle and Eddie sips a beer he didn’t have five minutes ago, “Your permission slip!”

‘Sober you’ would’ve balked, but ‘drunk you’ dug around in your purse to procure the wrinkled piece of notebook paper shoved inside. You take your time smoothing its creases by using the edge of the counter and then held it out.

“Good for one drunk fuck on my birthday!”

Signed and dated by you and witnessed by Robin Buckley herself, a few days ago when she had the bright idea to write it all up. In Robin’s opinion it had been ‘high time for you to find some dick to ride’. as she’d written it across the bottom of the page.

They guffaw while you tuck it away and a blush overtakes your cheeks as you see Eddie’s jaw feather before he took another drink of his beer. He cranes his neck to glance at the patrons approaching you and wants to spit out the bitter beer as Steve and Jonathon grab their drinks and walk away.

Since when were you looking?? When did this happen??

“You okay?” You ask before sipping your water.

“Yeah! I just—uh, didn’t know—“

“Hey, pretty girl! Is it your birthday?” A gorgeous man purred next to your ear. You blush madly and nod, turning to him as he wishes you a happy birthday and offers to buy you a drink. You’re polite in the interaction, and slow to turn him away with the way he was looking at you—it felt good.

Not to mention it being in front of Eddie may have fueled your main character complex a bit.

“—Are you sure? I’d be happy to put yours on my tab.” He points over his shoulder at the bartender.

“Oh, that’s—“

“I got ‘em, thanks, man.” Eddie rushed and put his hand on your shoulder almost territorially before pulling you closer. “Have a nice night.” He says in a way that makes you believe he wishes the opposite for the pretty boy trying to chat you up.

The guy backs away with raised hands before turning to his friends without another word. You look to Eddie with an arched brow and he has the audacity to ask, “What?”

“What was that?” You ask with a smirk. “You totally just cock blocked me!”

He shrugs, “What do you mean? Didn’t you get like, total creeper vibes from him?” He looks over your shoulder and puts a hand on the back of your chair, “Y’know you should’ve told me you weren’t with your boyfriend anymore.”

You nod, “Oh! Yeah, long distance wasn’t working out.” You shrug carelessly, one that said ‘I’m totally over him and ready to be under you’

Eddie nods, his shoulders feeling lighter, “Oh! Well, uh, I’m-I’m sorry to hear that, sweetheart.”

“—That’s okay! I broke it off, actually.” You shrug again and he nods.

“Right, well—“

Ping!

You both glance at your phone and see a new notification from the dating app appear. Eddie looks at you with a lupine grin and you blush and retreat inside of yourself, “What??” You giggle and drink again.

Eddie smirks and leans closer, “So you’re telling me, you’ve been single this whole time, and you haven’t even hit on me?? C’mon I’m like the resident single guy.” He takes a drink, himself.

You have at him in surprise and feel your cheeks heat deeper. “I dunno what you mean—you’re never single.” You shrug.

He rolls his eyes and chuckles, “Do me a favor and rip up that permission slip, none of these losers deserve to take you home.” He cocks a brow at you and you shy away as he leans forward on his knees.

Your lips open and close a couple times with the will to answer but no words to speak.

“Don’t be shy, birthday girl.” He almost purrs.

“I’m not.” You smile bashfully and bite the inside of your lip.

He tsks at you and says, “If you need a good drunk fuck, you can always come to me, okay? Don’t let some rando do it, let me.” He urges quietly as he pushes a lock of hair away from your face and behind your ear.

You turn to him with wide eyes, unsure if you were just drunk or if he was actually offering to fuck you.

“Are you-Are you serious? What about—where’s your date???” You scan the room quickly for any angry hot girls stomping your way, but you find none.

Eddie laughs and shakes his head, “I decided to fly solo tonight.”

You scoff, “That’s a first.” You take a drink and he looks at you in surprise before he answers with a shrug. “Would’ve been sooner if I knew you were single this whole time.”

“What do you mean??” You turn to him in shock.

“I mean, I just found out you aren’t with Dalton anymore—“

“—Dylan.”

“It’s doesn’t matter, he’s history now—” He shrugged and looked between your eyes. “So, uh, what do you think huh? am I misreading things? Do you… not.. find me..” he presses a hand to his chest and pulls a sad face, “.. attractive???” He whimpers and makes you laugh harder than normal.

“No! No—I mean of course I do!!!”

His sad facade melts away and his smile comes shining through again. He leans forward and gets close to your ear and he whispers, “Then let me take you into the bathroom, give you the most mind blowing birthday present of your life, take you back to mine, fuck you senseless, and then we’ll do breakfast in the morning and maybe you’ll see how serious I am about you.”

“What?” Your mouth gapes and you look him over as if he’ll say, ‘haha, just kidding!’

“Or we can act like this never happened, up to you.” He shrugs cooly, looking away incase you reject him.

You gather your bearings and take a breath. This is exactly what you’ve been wanting, this very opportunity. You find your hand sliding up his thigh and his gaze snaps to your hand and then up to your eyes in shock. You can only nod as that feral smile creeps up his cheeks.

He traces your lip with his thumb, “you’re cute, you know that? I remember the first time I saw you and the first thing I thought was, ‘damn I chose the wrong night to bring a date.’“ he chuckles as you do, blushing at his blatant affection.

“I don’t believe you.” You giggle and his hand makes its home at your cheek, rubbing light circles in your hair.

“I told Steve I was gonna ask you out but he’s the one that filled me in on your boyfriend situation…” he blew out a puff of air, “…and then never updated me again, the asshole!” He grumbled and leaned closer to talk directly in your ear, “I should kick his ass, don’t you think?” He pressed a kiss to your temple and you had the audacity to shudder. It was all too much for his ego. “Keepin us apart like that?”

He begins rubbing circles on your thigh with his other hand. “What do you wanna do, Princess? Feel like sneakin off with me?”

Your breath hitches and you nod eagerly. In answer, he gulps the remainder of his drink down and stands with a waiting hand. You take it in yours and you try to contain your smile as you follow him through the hoard of dancing bodies.

When you arrive at the bathrooms, there’s no line. Your heart pounds at the idea, that just beyond those doors you’d have one of the most memorable fucks of your life. Eddie looks back at you with an easy smile, a hand on the knob before he says, “Are you sure about this? You wanna let me see your permission slip one last time?” He pulls you close and speaks in your ear before pressing a kiss on your jaw just below it.

You nod again, “Yeah, I want this—wanted it for so long…” you let it slip and he makes a note to revisit that later. Instead of questioning you further he pulls you into the bathroom and presses you up against the door. He locks it without taking his eyes off you, looming over you predatorily and stripping off his jacket.

“You look so pretty tonight.” He smiles and pushes your hair over your shoulder, swiftly leaning in and pressing open mouthed kisses on your exposed neck. You lean your head to the side and revel in his affection, a breathy moan sliding from your lips.

He smiles and brings his mouth back up to your ear for a nibble before speaking, “I’m gonna keep this short and sweet, but if I do this, you’re gonna let me play boyfriend tonight and take you home—with me, okay? I was serious about that breakfast.”

You giggle and nod, “Yeah, that’s what I want, that’s exactly what I wished for.”

“Wait, they already did cake?” He questioned before you laugh and kiss him on the lips gently. It was a soft peck, evoking a spark in your chest, and then another, and then it sizzled and simmered into something decadent.

“You taste like pineapple.” He chuckled without pulling away from you. He swipes his tongue across your bottom lip and you whine for him as he moans at the taste of you. “I bet you’re just as sweet down here, aren’t you?” He mumbled and shoved his knee between your thighs, his hand following soon after to rub you through your dress.

You give a sharp inhale at the sensation and the sight of him above you. His curls framed his face and shifted with every move he made on your body. You saw the perspiration gathered at his hairline and could smell the combination of his cologne with his shampoo and his musk that sent your throat tingling whenever you got too close.

“Gonna be good for me and lift this up?” He pushes it up your thighs and makes a move to kneel before you and you oblige him by gathering it in your hands.

He smiles, “Thank you, sweet girl.” He says from the ground before he levels his gaze at your panties and the smugness falls from his face at the sight. “These are nice.” He runs his thumb over the lace that clothed your cunt and your body flinches. He chuckles to himself and rubs you right at the top of that crease for a minute, watching you unwind and relax into his touch.

“That’s it, that’s what I wanna see…” he smiles and leans in faster than you can question it and suddenly his mouth is working over your panties, tasting you through the purple lace before he pulled them to the side and slipped two fingers into your sopping cunt.

“Oh my god, Eddie—“

“Just wait til it’s my dick in you, sweetheart, you won’t even remember my name—“ He says only a couple inches from your heat as he pulls your panties down properly and manually spreads your legs with firm hands, “But for now, just let me eat.” He says before licking a stripe up your center.

You cry out and grow pliant beneath his touch, your head falling back against the door as he pulls your legs over his shoulders.

He ate and ate and hummed and nibbled away at your core, as if he hadn’t seen pussy in years, which you well knew was not the case. Was he this eager with everyone?

Right as you felt the familiar high building in your belly, someone was pounding their first against the door. “Come ON!!!” The stranger’s voice rang out.

Eddie doesn’t hear it at first thanks to your thighs snug around his ears. He nodded his head against your core and licked your entrance like ice cream on a hot day.

“Eddie! Eddie…” you tap his head and open your legs wider until his attention is on you and he’s helping you down, concern in his eyes until the next set of banging knocks on the door had him flinching like the cops showed up.

He tugs your panties back up and fixes your skirt before wiping his face on his jacket and holding his hand out for you, “I’m sorry, sweetness.” He says dejectedly before unlocking the door and pulling you out without a glance in the angry patrons direction.

He doesn’t stop til you run into Steve, who was very concerned about your whereabouts, “Everyone’s ready to do cake! Where the hell have you been??” He looked between you two and before Eddie can answer you say, “The line for the bathroom was killer!”

Eddie looks over at you with amusement and laughs heartily while Steve cocks his head but doesn’t question it. “Well c’mon!” He waves you to follow him, and with Eddie’s hand sliding into yours, you do.

He sat next to you while everyone sang happy birthday, a hand on your thigh and starry eyes focused on you. The cake was white with chocolate drizzled over the top and five sparkler candles blazing on top, your name written across in red icing. With the conclusion of the song, you took a deep breath, and blew out the candles, wishing for Eddie Munson to make you his.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After you shared a slice of cake, Eddie was back in your ear purring like a jungle cat, “How you feelin, huh?”

“Like you should tell Robin and Steve you’re taking me home.” You giggle and press a kiss to his jaw just as he has done earlier.

He let out a seething sigh and clenched his jaw despite his smile, “I like how you think.” He nods and gets up from the booth, waiting for you to follow his lead. His eyes search for anyone in the party, finding Nancy first. “I’m gonna take her home okay?” Is all you heard before Nancy’s concerned look found your eyes around Eddie’s shoulder, but then also found your hand in his. A smile spread on her face and she nods at him before patting his shoulder and waving at you.

“Happy birthday! Stay safe!” She calls, and the both of you laugh as Eddie says, “No promises!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Eddie sped the whole way home, keeping a hand on you the entire drive. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t eager to have you in his bed, to have you at all. He snuck glances and licked his lips at your cleavage on display in that dress and now that he knows what he knows about your little crush on him he can’t help but wonder if you chose it with him in mind.

Now, he’s got you back against a door, just like at the club. Your ears are ringing and your eyes are heavy but all you can think about is the way Eddie was looking at you. The way he was touching you.

“Got you all to myself, now, birthday girl.” He trails a finger down your neck and sternum, til it hit that beautiful crease he wanted to bury his nose in. You nod at him and smile before tilting your chin up to meet his lips.

He deepens the kiss, trapping you against him with his hands on your face, delicately clinging to you as if you’d leave. “I’m gonna take such good care of you.” He whispered as if you were now his to take care of.

You sigh and nod again, letting your eyes fall closed as his kisses trail down your neck. Before you know it he’s slipping off the straps of your dress and kissing at your cleavage. “Can I take this off?” He asks softly.

You don’t answer, only reach back and unzip it before peeling it off your body, with a little difficulty that had Eddie chuckling in adoration before helping you out of it.

“Look at you…” he whispered as he appraised your body. He was aching almost as badly as you were to get rid of that bra. And no matter how much he loved the way your panties clung to your curves, he wanted you bare and beneath him.

“I promise I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You giggle, “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

He grins, “Why is that?”

You shrug, “Do I need to go over the list of girls you’ve brought around since I’ve known you?”

He scoffs through a smile, “Yeah, well, I had to keep myself busy waiting around on you, didn’t I?”

You scoff this time, looping your arms over his shoulders, oddly comfortable being so exposed in front of him. “That’s a lie.”

“I never met anyone I was interested in dating until I met you. But you had a boyfriend!”

“Yeah, well, you always had a girlfriend.”

He tsks, “Looks like it’s now or never.”

You smile widely and he leans down to kiss you, sweeping his tongue over your lip to pull an open mouthed moan from you, and licking into your mouth like he had your pussy earlier.

“Come lay down with me,” He said between kisses, “Let’s get you all comfy.”

Sparks erupted in your stomach and you nod as he takes you in his arms and swiftly steers you towards his room in hurried steps.

He pushes open his door so harshly it hits the wall, opening in time for you to step through before he’s knocking it shut with his foot. He gently nudges you down onto the bed, urging your shoulders to lay all the way down as he worked his knee between your thighs again.

“There we go,” His hands trail over your tits and stomach, pausing at the cups and tugging lightly as if he were going to pull it down but he left it up to you.

You unhook it and toss it off the bed, laying back down in your tipsy haze, your body buzzing and warm—drunk on booze and Eddie’s hungry gaze.

“Your turn.” You say breathily as you get comfortable against his soft blankets. His mouth is gaping as he pours over you, his hands poised to reach out and squeeze before you cover your chest with your arms and giggle for him.

He unfolds to his full height, revealing the thick imprint in the front of this jeans, showing you just how badly he needs to free himself. “A demand from the birthday girl?” He chuckles lowly and strips off his shirt, the swift movement sending his sweet and heady scent washing over your face.

His taught torso and arms were swirled with different art pieces, some were patchworks and others so dark and solid you can’t imagine how long they took. You’d always wanted to know how many he had, and maybe tonight you’d find out.

He’s pleased with the way you’re gazing up at him, as if he were the art and not his tattoos. “You like ‘em?” He asks before putting his hands on the pillow on either side of your head, hiding any shred of self doubt away as you nod.

If he got to have you for just tonight, he could be happy.

He waited a year before he found out he could’ve had you sooner, so tonight he’d take his sweet time and pull the most earth shattering orgasm from your body in order to help his chances of doing it again and again.

And maybe you’ll delete that stupid app.

Your hips writhe in search of his, your hands slipping away, dissolving the last thread of modesty you were trying to keep. He returns his attention to your chest and suddenly he’s lost half his power.

“What?” You giggle and before he decides to answer he drops his lips to the middle of them to press a lingering kiss.

“I love your boobies…” he whispers reverently before you throw your head backwards and laugh heartily, your hands draping comfortably on his shoulder and head as he smiles and presses wet kisses around the bottom curve of your breasts.

“Don’t call them boobies, you’re a grown man!” You softly scold and try to ignore the warm buzzing he was shrouding your body in with each kiss.

“They’re the best boobies.” He mumbles against your skin before the kisses intensify and he starts finding places to sweep his tongue over and suck, pulling an open mouthed whine from your unsuspecting lips. “I knew you’d like that.” He chuckles again, and leans over to delicately lick your pebbled nipple and suck it into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck!” Your hold on him tightens, much to his satisfaction, and he begins rutting himself against your naked center. “Take—take these off—“ you manage as you feel his hand on your other tit and your brain starts melting when he massages it tenderly.

Without a word, he releases your nipple with a sonorous pop, and gets up from the bed to strip off his pants and boxers. The jingling of his chain and belt excites you, but not as much as the sight of his hard and leaking cock springing up against his stomach as he did so. You didn’t hear yourself gasp but you knew he did with the look he sent you as he stroked himself at the end of his bed.

“I dunno about you, but it feels more like my birthday, tonight.” He says as he steps around to the nightstand and procures a condom, keeping one hand on his manhood as if he were shy.

You smirk as he releases his hold on his member to open the package, to which you roll over on your stomach and crawl over to him. He looks at you with confused amusement and then he freezes when he feels your tongue on the head of his dick. “Oh, shit!”

“Happy birthday.” You giggle before taking his whole tip in your mouth and sucking it rhythmically to drive him mad. You gently caress his hips and in the next moment his hands are on your head, barely and pressure behind his touch.

“Oh, baby, you don’t—you don’t have to do this—“ he sighs out as the euphoria builds inside of him.

“I know—been wanting to.” You mumble before pushing his shaft up against his stomach and licking a wet stripe from sack to tip, but before you could pull it back into your mouth, he was flipping you onto your back again and rolling on the condom.

“You can do that any time you want,” he cuts himself off with a tender kiss to your lips, “Right now I just need to be in you.” He says in a whisper against your lips as he swipes the head of his cock through your wetness.

“Wanna feel you too, Eddie.” You sigh as he kisses down your chest again, “Please, please, please, don’t make me wait anymore.” You whine as he thrusts his shaft between your folds teasingly, “—It’s my birthday!!”

He laughs as he reaches your stomach and plants one last kiss above your belly button. “Since you asked so nicely.” He looks down between you, the ends of his hair tickling your chest as he notches himself right where you need him the most.

“God, you feel so fucking good.” He mumbles before pushing the rest of the way inside, his lips connecting with yours in a needy kiss.

“Oh my go—you do too.” You’re quick to assure him. “Fuck me, Eddie, c’mon,” you urge him with your hips, desperate for his friction. He looses a breath, a moan threatening to escape along with it as he starts his slow movements in and out with tender care.

He’d always admired your gentleness, your soft spoken nature. He was sure if he fucked you too hard you’d break, whether it be physically or emotionally he wasn’t sure. So when you wrapped your legs around his waist and opened your mouth to say, “Harder, fuck me harder!” —He was shocked.

He gently pushes your legs back towards you, finding purchase on the back of your thighs and squeezing appreciatively. “You sure?” He asks with a playful lip between his teeth and a gleam in his eye you wanted to see again and again.

“Mhm..” you nod pathetically and he grins wider than the Cheshire Cat. He leans down, pressing himself into you as far as he can, and kisses you on the lips, “We have plenty of time for me to fuck you slowly, yeah?” He asks before withdrawing himself and slamming inside again,

“Oh, fuck, you take me so well.” He says into your neck and sets a brutal pace that renders you thoughtless. “You’re so—you’re so good—shit!” He pants against your skin. The feeling of his weight on top of yours makes you feel so small in his grasp, folded up at his will like a plaything.

His plaything.

“You—ugh! You’re so good..” is all you can think to say, but it’s enough to make him nuzzle against your breast before sealing his mouth against your skin and kissing and nibbling and sucking his way over to your nipple, his thumb working your clit as he pounds you mercilessly, “Cum f’me—“ he mumbles against you.

And at his command, you come undone all over his cock and fingers. The humming, all consuming pleasure washed over you, and your body nearly goes limp.

Your unbridled cries of ecstasy were almost enough to send him over the edge of pleasure, though it sped up the steep climb right before he’d free-fall to the sound of your orgasm and hurtle into his. He speeds up his thrusts, eagerly chasing his high and enhancing yours as he groans roughly into your chest, “Christ!”

“Oh, yes, Eddie!” You whine as your body lurches back into that white hot urge to fuck and feel, just knowing you’re the reason he’s getting off making you clench around him as he spills into the condom and fucks you through his high.

You feel his cock throb inside of you as he collapses on top of you, getting a face full of titties and groaning in satisfaction.

You fall limp against the bed and pillows, his large frame making no move to release you. You can’t help the giggle slipping from your lips, and his head perks up at the sound, his round brown eyes on yours as his own smile builds. “What?” He asks with a kiss to your sternum.

You shake your head and run your fingers through his hair and fix his bangs, “I just… can’t believe this just happened.” You chuckle.

He chuckles too and gives you three more kisses leading up to your neck. He pauses at your lips with a smile, “Me either.” He pecks your lips sweetly before he pulls out of you and strips off the condom to toss in the nearby wastebasket.

He flops down next to you, pulling the sheets over you both as he catches his breath—his chest rising and falling with deep breaths beneath his necklace. He looks over at you and smiles again, his hair tousled from where your hands had played with it as he uncovers a leg and uses the linen to fan himself, “Jesus Christ it got hot—“ he chuckles again and looks back to you.

Your cheeks flush and you pull the sheet over your chest before you turn to face him, “Yeah, it was.” You chuckle nervously.

He turns on his side and looks at you intently, gathering words he’d been keeping at the back of his mind for as long as he’d known you. “I wanna do it again sometime.” He whispered and reached a hand over to cradle your cheek and caress your shoulder down to tangle his fingers into yours.

You smile softly and can’t help your heart sinking in your chest at the idea of being one of the girls he entertained for a few weeks before he never spoke of them again. You’d rather go back to normal than end up that way.

He senses your hesitance and squeezes your hand, “We don’t have to—I didn’t mean—this can totally be a on off, you know?”

You nod dejectedly and squeeze his hand, “If that’s what you want, yeah, for sure.” You say only half convincingly.

He scoots closer and wraps his arms around you, “That’s not what I want—not even close.” He whispers, lightly trailing his fingers down your exposed spine. Your eyes widen and you can’t help but arch into his touch.

“What do you want?” You whisper, finding your hands sliding up his smooth chest.

A smirk pulls at his lips before he kisses your nose, “I want… you.” He chuckles easily at your surprise, “I want to… delete the stupid app off your phone and I want your permission slip framed on my wall.” He giggles as your blush stains your cheeks.

“Is that all?” You chuckle as he kisses your neck, getting progressively more excessive just to make you laugh more, “Are you gonna delete the app off your phone??” You question.

Without an answer Eddie lurches up from the bed, stark naked, and searches through his pants and jacket til he procures his phone and flops back down next to you.

He hopes you watch as he unlocks it and deletes all the hookup apps from his screen. He puts it on the table and rolls over to you again, taking you in his arms as if you belong there now. “I’ll delete allll the unnecessary numbers at breakfast in the morning, yeah?” He kisses your cheek and you smile madly before wrapping your arms around him and pulling his lips to yours. You can’t help but smile into the kiss as he deepens it. “Wanna fuck you like this every birthday.” His voice is muffled by your skin as he continues his kisses down your neck, the fire between you igniting again.

“So when’s your birthday, huh?” You ask in a sultry tone as his cock hardens and he rocks against you with a frustrated groan. He sighs as your hand closes around it and tugs at it playfully a couple times before he’s devouring your neck again.

-

-

[zmediaoutlet]

“I’m starving. You think they’ll let me sell your ass for a Slim Jim?”

“You made that joke last time we were arrested.”

“What, you think a good bit is only good once? I get no respect, no respect.” The last part not much of an impression because Sam presses harder on the bullet wound with the wad of toilet paper and Dean’s voice goes thin and crackly. A clean-ish hole, in through the meaty part of his shoulder and out by his armpit. Could’ve got his heart or a lung but it doesn’t even feel like it cracked the collarbone. Apparently demons are terrible shots. Lucky, Dean had said, swallowing hard and making his voice harder after. Sam didn’t dignify it with a response.

Dean’s trying to get blood off his hand with more TP. It’s thin, awful stuff, shreds against the tacky stain. The chain between the bracelets clinking. “In those Norwegian prisons I bet they get wet wipes, huh?” he says. Sam takes a deep breath through his nose. “Pampered, or whatever. Could go for some pampering.”

“I’m not killing you,” Sam says, “does that count,” and Dean laughs breathy and weird. It must really hurt. He’d be throwing Sam off already, otherwise.

They dragged the body of Henriksen’s old boss out into the main part of the jail. There’s been shouting. A boom that shook the building but no one has told them what it was, exactly. They aren’t currently top priority, despite being such world-class criminals. A break but not much of one, with Dean still bleeding over Sam’s hands. With what’s coming.

“Demons, huh,” Dean says. On the same train of thought when blood’s on the line, as always. He shifts on the shitty jailhouse mattress, gets his bootheels square on the ground. Sam shifts along with him, keeping the slack easy between their manacled ankles. “Better or worse than cops?”

Henriksen’s vicious little grin, telling them they’d never see each other again. Not quite yellow eyes but Sam’s stomach flips. Dean’s fingers slide over his, in the enveloping shadow of Dean’s jacket. Sam’s let his grip go slack.

“Can’t exorcise a cop,” Dean says, answering his own question because Sam feels like he’s going to puke. Taking point, as always. “Gotta be a point in the demons’ favor.”

“How are we gonna get him to believe us,” Sam says.

It’s all he can think. There are demons and there’s this asshole, do-gooder cop, who thinks he’s saving the day from monsters when he doesn’t know what monsters really are. If they had iron and salt and silver and a chance they might make it out. Maybe. Not like this.

“He thinks we’re psycho graverobbing murdering cannibals, Sammy, I’m not sure we’re in the circle of trust,” Dean says. He jostles his shoulder against Sam’s chest, even though that must hurt. “But hey, at least he didn’t guess about—”

“Jesus,” Sam says. Dean grins white in the emergency lights. No, Henriksen didn’t say that, did he. Although he did—about Dad—

“You think if we start making out in here, they’d open the door?” Dean’s fingers slip against his, pressing both their hands harder against his shoulder. He flinches. Still grinning. “Just to pull us apart, anyway. Worth a shot.”

“Shut up,” Sam says. Dean bites his lip, turning his face away. His chin trembles and Sam wants to—lay full length over him, take the next bullet if it comes. Go back in time and exorcise the demon before it could pull its gun, get Henriksen against the bars and get his hands around Henriksen’s neck and force him to hear the truth. That the dark was swarming up around them and if Henriksen didn’t let them go then it was going to take everyone in this station and, worse, it was going to take Dean and there was no chance, not one in the fucking world, that Sam was going to let his brother go without a fight. That it was impossible for that to happen again. Everything in him was solid on that part. That just—there’s no way that was going to happen.

Dean’s knee sags and presses against Sam’s. “Okay, so,” Dean says, chin tipping down. “We’ll take out the demons, save the day. Guess even cops beat demons. And save the making out part for later, huh? Though I could go for some of that surf and turf.”

Sam breathes out. He puts his forehead down to Dean’s shoulder for two seconds, and then sits up straight. There’s more shouting, somewhere past the hall to the holding cells. Sam squeezes his wrist, lets him drop his hand, presses the compress hard and solid against the wound. Dean’s looking straight ahead, steady. A well, somewhere in him, that always seems to have one last drop of relief.

[samwpmarleau]

fic: clippers

aka 1,500 words of me continuing to not accept bucky’s tfatws hair

Dr. Raynor had recommended it, though Bucky suspects she wasn’t the only person involved. These days, there’s a whole pack of people with say-so over his life, getting their jollies by hanging freedom over his head. She said it might help with people’s perception of him if he looked less like he did as an assassin. If he looked more like the young war hero who fought Nazis.

(Saving the universe counts for nothing, does it? he’d wanted to say but didn’t.)

It had irked him, the suggestion. Perhaps because it wasn’t really a suggestion. Raynor had thought he was resisting just to be contrary. He hadn’t had an issue with dressing like a twenty-first century civilian, after all, nor concealing his metal arm beneath jackets and gloves, so what’s the problem, James?

(That’s different, he’d wanted to say but didn’t. That’s so I don’t frighten anyone. So I don’t get stared at and invite questions people don’t want the answers to.)

All right, maybe part of him was just being contrary, because he’s already at his wits’ fucking end with how many conditions and surrendering of liberties this goddamn pardon has. But as he stands at the mirror, sharpened scissors in hand, it is not contrariness that makes him hesitate.

Nor is it the unfamiliarity of cutting his own hair, for he’s done that many times before, both before the war and since. He’s even got a picture to reference of some duck-lipped model showing off what Bucky can only describe as Generic Modern Man Haircut. He’d be Just Some Guy walking down the street with it, which is exactly what the government wants.

So, he does it both because he must and because any reason he can think of to not do it sounds pathetic, and although it’s not the fresh sort of cut he’d get from a proper barber, it’s serviceable. A few strategic passes of gel to disguise any unevenness and he’d be good to go.

(He’d tried that once, in Romania, having a professional touch up the ends, had even managed to tamp down his discomfort through the shampooing and smalltalk. The minute the man brandished the scissors and approached Bucky’s head with them, however, it was all he could do to not take those scissors and stab the man in the carotid out of pure reflex. He’d made it to the alleyway outside before expelling the street mici he’d had only an hour earlier, overcome by how easy the murder would have been. How natural. How he could have eliminated the entire shop of innocents before anyone knew what hit them. Erase the security tape, if there was one, and slip back into the ghost he was for seventy years. He’d returned in the dead of night to leave an envelope with a note of apology and a wad of lei and, needless to say, from then on the only blades that touched his hair were his own.)

He doesn’t recognize the man staring back at him in the mirror, once all is said and done. Which is a bit ludicrous; it’s a haircut, not plastic surgery, and for most of his conscious life he’d had short hair. This shouldn’t be any different. Yet, still he stands there in the bathroom with scissors in his hand and a sink full of brunette strands, for far longer than is reasonable.

He sucks it up, eventually, adjusts to the new length — or lack thereof. In fairness, some of it is easier. Showers are shorter, his hair tie budget is nonexistent, the drain clogs with less frequency, and he doesn’t look quite so much like a drowned rat when it rains.

Dr. Raynor is pleased when he shows up. She says it suits him, that it makes him look normal, that folks will have a harder time recognizing him as the Winter Soldier.

(They already don’t recognize me, he wants to say but doesn’t. I could be standing in front of a newscast about myself and no one would notice. I spent the better part of a century in the shadows — you think I don’t know how to hide?)

“James,” she says in that self-righteous way she does so well, “this is progress.”

She must be right, for she’s got that fancy, framed degree up on her wall that says she’s right, and there’s the goddamn pardon thing that means he cannot step one foot over the line no matter how ridiculous that line is. He utters a thank-you to her, white-knuckles his way through the session, and continues trying to cobble together a life.

Sam brings it up one day, after Walker, the Flag Smashers, and Bucky’s tentative integration into the Wilsons’ orbit. “Meant to say, looks good, man.”

It’s an innocuous statement, really. Well, it should be. Sam regards him a little too long, a little too probingly, for Bucky to believe that it is, in fact, innocuous. Sam’s gauging his reaction is what he’s doing, so Bucky denies a reaction that permits any gauging at all. The slight frown that appears between Sam’s brows tells him he succeeded.

Sam keeps up the ruse nonetheless, following it up with a playful insult as to Bucky’s cutting skills. He texts him the address of someone who is, allegedly, the best barber in Louisiana, tells him he made an appointment for tomorrow afternoon. Bucky goes. It’s not like he’s got anything better to do these days.

He’s the only white guy in the place, which elicits both stares from the other patrons and a hearty laugh from the barber resetting his station. “Sergeant Barnes?”

“How’d you guess?” Bucky deadpans, earning himself another laugh.

He’s gotten better at controlling his fears, his impulses, so the barber’s array of scissors and razors does not send him straight into the alleyway like it did years ago. The soul food from around the corner stays firmly in his stomach. The barber himself — Marcus — is jovial, considerate, and does his best to counter the uneasiness Bucky knows must be rolling off him in waves. Some good-natured shit-talking to cap things off.

Despite it all, when Marcus asks, “Just maintenance, sarge? Or you lookin’ for something new?” Bucky pauses.

And pauses some more, prompting Marcus to ask again, “Mr. Barnes?”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, realizing he’s a few more seconds of silence away from making Marcus genuinely concerned. “I just, uh …”

“I got a few suggestions, if you need,” Marcus offers. “Bit of fade on the sides, or —”

“No,” Bucky blurts out.

Marcus holds his hands up. “All right, no fade then.”

“That’s not — I didn’t mean —” Bucky takes a deep breath through his nose, exhales through his mouth. “I’m not trying to be rude, it’s …”

Bucky looks in the mirror again. Takes in the same face he’s seen for the past seven months, ever since Dr. Raynor gave him the suggestion-that-wasn’t-a-suggestion. He trusts in Marcus’s talents, that even Sam would find it worthy of a compliment.

(He can’t say he’d turn down a compliment from Sarah either, flirting ban be damned. It’d be Sam’s own fault, anyway.)

“I’m growing it out,” Bucky declares, as much to himself as to Marcus.

“Okay, cool. I can see it.” Then Marcus adds, almost pleads, “I gotta at least clean it up. No disrespect, but did you use a hacksaw?”

Bucky lets his mind drift as Marcus’s twang launches into another story. Half an hour later, he comes away with a list of must-watches and must-eats, plus a full pamphlet on how to not fuck up Marcus’s handiwork. After a generous tip and firm handshake, Bucky emerges from the shop feeling … not strange, exactly, but something.

The unspoken change, once it’s noticed in the months afterwards, garners him a variety of responses from the Wilson clan. When Bucky’s birthday rolls around, Sam and the giggling boys go in on a smorgasbord of scrunchies and clips that Bucky’s fairly certain were designed for a six-year-old girl. More seriously, a tin of pomade that Bucky knows is damn expensive.

For Sarah’s part, several hours later, the pain-pleasure of her knotting her fingers in his hair as she gasps out his name like a prayer is, he thinks, a resounding endorsement.

(Dr. Raynor would — possibly literally — smack him in the face with disappointment if she saw. Walker’d taken care of that, though, of her say-so having any bearing on his choices. Not that Bucky plans on sending the man a thank-you note or anything.)

As it nears his shoulders, Bucky supposes it does make him resemble the Winter Soldier. More than the bright-eyed draftee who gave his life for god and country, anyway, or the subject of the post-Snap government’s rebranding campaign.

Except, in his reflection he also sees the fugitive who’d been coaxed by his elderly neighbor into Sunday dinners of enough sarmale and mămăligă and papanași to give even his metabolism a run for its money. The man who’d been gifted new life, goats, and an affectionate nickname by Wakandans who never once looked at him with fear. The reluctant soldier who stood side-by-side with a talking raccoon and Asgardian god against an alien onslaught.

And maybe it’s silly to put so much stock in something as simple as hair. Maybe Bucky’s value system is in worse shape than his ability to tell fact from fiction when he wakes from a dream (a memory?).

But when he stares into the mirror with the Louisiana heat sticking hair and clothes alike to his skin, a house full of scampering feet, bickering, and hot breakfast just outside the door, it is not the Winter Soldier or James Barnes The Upstanding Member of Society that he sees. He sees himself. Just himself.

“You good, Buck?” Sarah asks when he comes downstairs, worry in her eyes. “You were in there awhile.”

“Yeah,” he wants to say — and does, because he can, because it’s the truth. A smile creeps onto his face. “I’m good.”

[daisyvisions]

what if bf!haknyeon for 50, 77, 80, 82, and 128 on gn!reader's birthday simply because reader wished for it...

Make a Wish

Member: Ju Hakyneon (TBZ)

Prompts: 50 - “How about we put that pretty mouth of yours into good use, hm?”, 77 - “You wanna take control?”, “F-Fuck, I don’t think I’m gonna last long if you keep doing that.”, 82 - “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”, & 128 - “Eyes on me at all times, sweetheart.”

Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), gender neutral reader x Rich!bf Hakyneon, blowjob, deep throating, ball massaging, cum eating, pet names (sweetheart)

A/N: Last request finally done! I’m sorry to the anon who was waiting for this for AGES 😭 also, I was heavily driven by the idea that Hak is a pleasure dom and now I think it should be filed as head cannon at this point 😮‍💨

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆.

Haknyeon always went above and beyond for you. Flying you out of the country over the weekend, lavishing you with all the items you were just looking at in the store, and especially giving you the best orgasms in your life.

You were his beloved, and whatever you wished for he would grant it in a heartbeat.

Littering his hot kisses all over your almost naked body, it’s like you could never get used to him treating you like the most precious belonging he owns. Haknyeon was incredibly head over heels with you. You were too perfect and all he ever wanted was to spoil you rotten.

Your back was pressed against his bed, his warm rough hands gently caressing your skin and touching you in all the right places. Everything he did for you tonight for your birthday was more than you could ever ask for.

You were always so grateful for the way he treated you… so maybe it was about time you showed him exactly that.

A surge of confidence suddenly rushed inside you, flipping you both over and quickly straddling his lap as you grind your core against his. Sucking on the spot below his earlobe making him groan in pleasure.

Just as Hakyneon was about to reach for your waist, you immediately grab his wrists and pin them above his head.

“Oh, sweetheart. You wanna take control?” he chuckles. You cheekily nod in response.

“But it's your birthday. I should be the one spoiling you.” he responds. ”You always spoil me Hak… Please? As my wish?” you pout and look at him with doe eyes (the one that gets him on his knees). He gently lifts his head up to kiss your lips,

“How about… we put that pretty mouth of yours into good use, hm?”

And without any hesitation, you start to kiss all over his neck and travel down to kiss his clothed erection. Mouthing and palming it as you take your sweet time. You hear nothing but deep groans from Hakyneon, feeling the vibrations coursing through his body.

He looks down at you, seeing your pretty face near his aching cock. He’s been dying to be inside you this whole night and give you nothing but pleasure. As much as he loves it when you take your time, he starts to grow impatient. He wants to see your pretty mouth deliciously wrapped around his member.

As he tries to unzip his pants, you immediately swat his hands out of there way and he laughs.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Mhm. Patience Hak. This is my wish remember?” you grin in response.

You continue to mouth and palm his bulge for a bit then start to unbutton his slacks. Unzipping them using your teeth and pulling down both his slacks and underwear til his cock springs free.

Your mouth waters at the sight, pretty veins protruding at the sides of his member, his tip blushing pink with pre cum ready to drip down.

And almost instinctively, you give the tip of his cock a kiss and little licks too before swirling it around with your tongue. You drop a wad of spit on top before slowly sinking your mouth down on his member, making sure the tip brushes lightly at the back of your throat.

Haknyeon hisses at the feeling. Your hot, wet mouth taking his whole length at one go. Before he knows it you’re already hollowing your cheeks and moving your mouth up and down, sucking on his cock like you’ve been deprived of it for so long.

Suddenly you take him all him, pushing his length so far down your mouth you gag at the sensation. Repeating the motion over and over again as you feel the tip of his cock hitting the back your throat.

Hak curses under his breath. You’ve never taken him like this before. It was definitely something he’d remember to do with you in the future.

The moment you see his eyes fluttering shut from how far he can feel his cock going inside your mouth, you release his member completely, making him whine at the sudden loss of contact.

“Eyes on me at all times, sweetheart.” you mimic the phrase he constantly uses on you and Hak quickly chuckles before pleasurably groaning when you take his whole length inside your mouth again.

You continue to deep throat him as you start delicately massaging his balls with your hand, earning you a very whiny moan from him that almost convinces you he’s not the dominant one in bed.

“F-Fuck, I don’t think I’m gonna last long if you keep doing that.” He moans as you hum in response, continuing with what you’re doing as bubbles of spit and precum start trickling down to the base of his cock. Your eyes starting to water from the overwhelming feeling of sticking his cock so far down your throat.

His moans become more wanton, signaling his nearing orgasm. “I-I can’t, I- I’m gonna cu- oh fuck-” he stutters as he instantly grabs your hair and presses your head down, shooting his hot white fluid straight down your throat as tears start falling from your face.

Hak lets go of your hair and you pull away trying to catch your breath and swallow everything you can. The way you look right now- tears in your eyes, saliva falling from your mouth and messy hair… The more he keeps on staring he might pop another boner right then and there.

“Wow… now I know why they say you need to blow out candles before getting your wish.” Hak says. You swat his arm as he laughs at his own joke.

He pulls you up for a kiss, not giving a fuck about tasting himself in your mouth. And before you know it, he suddenly flips you over with your body caged under his catching you completely off guard.

“Hak…” you mewl as he grinds his cock against your core.

“I think it’s my turn to give you my gift, hm?”

[heavenlyhandscribbles]

Why do I keep thinking (of you)?

Eddie Munson x Male Reader Warnings: Mutual masturbation, drug usage, cursing, poorly written crush confessions because I'm lazy.

Summary: Y/N cliche gay denier + Eddie Munson high and horny = Mutual Masturbation

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Hi this is technically a kinktober prompt fulfillment, but let's ignore that i'm late and just enjoy.

The bitter smell of green filled the air in Eddie’s room as he and Y/N passed the bong, his eyes hazy and half-lidded as he looked at Eddie lighting the lighter, lifting the bowl as the smoke fluttered up the chamber. Watching as his chapped lips tucked into the bong to inhale, his eyes closed and soft and he imagined waking up to the same closed eyes and then he realized this weed was making him think shit he shouldn’t be thinking so he sat back and hummed to the music Eddie has put on. Eddie started humming too, exhaling as he did before muttering, “What else do you wanna do?”

All Y/N could think over and over was ‘You, You, You, You.’ And he realized maybe that was not a good answer so he responded instead with, “I don’t know, I’m kinda wanting to get off.”

Eddie shrugged, “Wanna just fucking get off here then? I got a nudey magazine.” He murmured, reaching under the bed and tossing it at him, “This strand’s meant to get ya horny anyways.”

He nodded. Shuddered. This felt like it was okay, but it still felt wrong. Felt bizarre. Like maybe he shouldn’t be saying yes and the reasonable answer, something he heard his father say, “Fucking a man will just make you a fucking sissy.” 

He looked at him softly, “Uh sure, can I use your bathroom?”

“Nah just do it here, I kinda want to anyway.”

Y/N vividly remembers Tommy Hagan telling him something he and Steve used to do. Mutual masturbation was what he called it. He turned, “there’s this thing maybe we could do?”

Eddie glanced up at him, not judging. That didn’t feel right. He should be uncomfortable too, right? Eddie told him most of the rumors about him in the town were true, but he assumed that negated the rumor that he was a poof. He sat back, muttering slowly, “It’s called mutual masturbation, we uhm- get each other off.” 

Eddie nodded, not put off. He almost looked.. Giddy. It didn’t exactly put Y/N off either. He sat back, his hands shifting as he looked at him with an almost confused gaze. First steps. Eddie was quick to shift the sweats he’d worn usually when Y/N came over to smoke, and on instinct Y/N looked away; shame.

Eddie reached out, glancing at him as he asked softly, “Can I?” His hand hovered over his belt, waiting for him to give a go ahead. His chest.. Felt warm- almost tight at that. He nodded, “Yeah.” He shifted, providing access just for him. Eddie undid his belt with shocking ease, tugging on it to get it loosened and nimbly undoing the buttons on his jeans. Y/N remembers- somewhere in the back of his mind- that some fantasy of his played out too much like this. Nimble, thin fingers, calloused thumb pad, shiny rings, tugging at the button of his jeans, but he figures he can investigate that later, after this, after he goes home. Eddie was quick to tug his jeans down a bit, muttering lowly, “Uhm- do you want to do it ourselves or..”

“We can do each other.” Blurted, stupid stupid stupid. Looks needy now, like he is too eager, shouldn’t be acting like this because it will only hurt them both. 

Eddie nodded, muttering teasingly, “Alright sailor, don’t get your panties in a wad.” He referenced his outfit from when he worked with Steve at scoops ahoy, flustering a bit, “Yeah well don’t cream your pants at the sight of my panties okay?”

Eddie shudders, and for one moment Y/N thinks he’s gone against his request and creamed his pants at the sight of Y/N’s thoroughly soaked boxers. His hands are deft to tug down his boxers, freeing him as he let out a low groan at the sudden cool air hitting his tip. He thinks maybe this is it. If he dies here he’s okay with that- because he’s finally gotten what he wanted and- oh.. He wanted this. He’s wanted this for months. He’s wanted this since he and Steve dragged a limp Eddie through the portal from hell. And he thinks maybe this was stupid because he might fall in love. But he realizes he probably already has. He shook his head out a bit, thoughts empty and going a little bit stupid and big eyed as Eddie began to tug at his cock, suddenly remembering what he was doing there. He was quick to deftly tug off Eddie’s boxers, the return of the favor. His hands weren’t comfortable so he held his palm up, muttering lightly, softly even, “Spit.”

Eddie’s eyes widened a bit, before he nodded, spitting into his palm as asked as Y/N shifted his hand down, using the saliva to lube up his cock as he pumped it eagerly, eliciting a groan from Eddie beside him. He could swear he tasted the airy breath of heaven on his tongue at the sound. It was lewd, and filthy, and fucking pleasuring, the sight of his throat bobbing up… he wanted to lick a stripe up that throat. So he did. A stripe, all the way up Eddie’s throat, his teeth digging into his jaw as he ended the sloppy trail up his pale flesh. Eddie paused, his body twitching as he bucked into his hand, his own quickening to help give him the pleasure he wanted to give Y/N. Y/N’s eyes softened, his other hand reaching up and across his body, gripping Eddie’s chin and… kissing him. Kissing him with fever, passion and adoration, and something else all together. And Eddie- Eddie kissed back. He kissed him back without any sort of readable doubt. And Y/N thinks that maybe this is it. This is what he wanted, forever. He wanted this late night, high and happy and a little bit tired. He let out a shallow groan, his cock twitching in Eddie’s hand and he’s pretty close to cumming. He quickened his own hand pausing when he heard Eddie’s soft voice, “Hey- fuck- I’m really close.”

Y/N nodded, agreement, as he murmured out, “I am too.” He groaned, his cock pushing up as he looked at him with a softened gaze. Eddie looked so good- almost happy as he continued pumping him, murmuring lowly against the air between Y/N and him, “gonna cum?” A quick nod and a low groan and that was it, his hips rolling as he came against Eddie’s tight fist and his own quickened hand filled with the same sticky mess that was in Eddie’s. A breath, a sigh and Eddie, reaching over for a tissue for them both before they settled back. Y/N sighed, his eyes closing as he murmured, “I- I think I like you?”

Eddie stiffened, glancing at him, “What?”

Shit. “I think I like you.”

“Oh. That’s convenient, I like you too.” He looked at him, smiling fondly as he leaned forward again, kissing him, and with a pass of breath, muttering out, “Wanna finish up with the bong?”

Eddie nods, and leaned into him, passing it over with a hazy hum, content and a softer feeling filling the room. Y/N turned to him fully, his eyes serious despite the puff of smoke spilling out from his nose, “Wait so uhm- what does this mean.”

“Do you want to be together?” Eddie asked and almost looked scared to hear the answer.

“Yes.” Y/N nodded, surely, “But I don’t think I know what to do or how this works.”

Eddie let out a barking laugh, his hair bouncing and framing his face as he chuckled, “I figured, that’s okay, I’m willing to help?”

Y/N offered a gentle nod and a soft spoken murmur, “Yeah- yeah I’d like that.”

Eddie grumbled, grabbing the bong from him with a scoff, “quit hogging just cause you’re all lovesick alright?”

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS MEAN THE WORLD

[butchviking]

prime numbers

thats a lot of fucking questions anon jesus christ

2. what would you name your future kids?

answered

5. is there anyone who can always make you smile?

this photo of ray toro it's my emergency ray and even when literally suicidal it has never filed to rouse a smile out of me

7. what was your life like last year?

amazing. last year was the best year of my life so far. i did so much cool shit i never imagined i would do i felt so free and full of life i felt like the whole world was at my fingertips

11. are you listening to music right now?

yes! this morning we're doing please catch for us the foxes mewithoutyou. i'm on tie me up! untie me! rn on my second repeat of the album. thinking about maybe throwing in an rtl or even a bullets after this playthru tho 🤔

13. how do you feel right now?

pretty good! well mostly neutral i suppose but i'm up early for work i'm already showered i don't have much to do and i've still got over an hour before i gotta go so this is a rare W for me im pleased w myself. i'm usually always up late and in a mad rush

17. opinion on insecurities.

bizarre question. um they're not good and when they're overwhelming in someone they're off-putting but we all have them and i am in many ways a simpering wad of insecurity so im hardly gonna throw stones about it. i think what is very frustrating tho is when ppl can't admit to them.

19. have you ever been to New York?

nope!

23. fear(s)

needles, unexpected spiders

29. favourite film(s)

the crow!!!

31. 3 random facts

about me or in general? umm 1. you can dissolve ping-pong balls in acetone to make a very strong glue 2. im allergic to the cold but no-one ever believes me until they see it for themselves because that sounds absolutely ridiculous 3. many viking houses were built in the shape of an inverted ship, with curved roofs and sometimes curved walls.

37. favourite actor/actress

huh. i don't think i really have one. i mean i have actors and actresses who are in things i like and who i think are good but i don't think i could point to one as a favourite. maybe david tennant but that's just sort of because he's everywhere in everything and he was(/is) doctor who

41. relationship status

single who want me

43. favourite song ever

no. we're not doing that. that doesn't exist

47. turn ons

um. nothing good. well, love. but mostly mean weird stuff. shhhhhh its fine im normal i am normal

53. 5 things that make me happy

music/concerts/moshpits

images of whoever my latest Guy (gender-neutral) is

exactly 3 glasses of wine. no more no less

talking 2 friends hanging out with friends having positive social interaction

the sense of achievement when i actually get some shit done i needed to do

59. why i joined tumblr

when i was 14 all my friends were into the whole Tumblr Aesthetic and kept referring to ppls outfits as 'so tumblr' and i wanted 2 figure out what that meant. i bet they're all long gone i bet they don't even think about this website anymore

[wolfsclothing6]

Things have been weird since I sucked off that big brute of a guy a couple weeks ago. All I can think about is sex. Not that I didn’t think about sex a lot before then. But it consumes my mind now.

But that’s not all… When the big bear of a man pulled me into the back room I was a bit disgusted by him. A sweaty, hairy, lunk of a man that I’d never seen before at the bar. Yet here I was, getting face fucked by this ape. I have to admit he had a huge cock, but I was hoping to get more than a little back room fun.

He wasn’t exactly gentle either. He held my head firmly with his thick-fingered hands. Using my mouth as a receptacle. I was literally a cum dump for him. When he finally shot his wad, I could’ve sworn he started mumbling the words I’m sorry over and over again. What the hell?

A couple days later I woke up with some raging morning wood. I jerked off a couple times that morning. Finally getting it to ease up I was able to get dressed and get to work. Every guy that walked by my cubical had my attention. Short. Tall. Thick. Twinkish like me. All of them. I found myself day dreaming of their cocks. At one point I caught myself rubbing my own cock through my pants.

I went to the executive restroom and beating off in there. I was so horny. What I also noticed was how dark the hair around my dick seemed. I presumed it was the lighting but it definitely looked darker than my normal blonde pubes.

A couple days later, after waking up rock hard and jacking off, I noticed my twinkish body was a bit hairier. Normally I would’ve taken great care to manscape, but running my hands across all this new hair made my cock hard again.

It was a little over a week, and I was sitting at my desk, day dreaming of my officemates, when my ‘work wife’ commented on liking my new hair color. Adding that I must’ve stepped up my game at the gym because I was finally putting on some muscle weight. What the fuck? I was proud of my lean body. But sure enough my biceps did fill out my sleeves and then some. My pecs felt like two massive slabs of meat under the fabric of my shirt. I could also feel copious amounts of hair there as well.

I left work saying I was sick. Really I just couldn’t wait to get home and strip naked to explore my body. Something was happening. Maybe that bear at the bar knew what was going on.

I never made it to the bar though. I got home and once I saw my body in the mirror I immediately started to rub my cock. Before long I shot a huge volley of ropey cum on to the mirror. I told myself I’d go look for the man, but feel asleep and didn’t want up til the next morning.

I didn’t even have to think about work, I called out sick. The secretary barely recognized my voice. I didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about. This has always been my voice.

I reeked. I smelled of BO and sex. My chest was a matter mess of hair from where it was apparent I’d shot another load. Was I masturbating in my sleep now. It did feel good when I stroked my cock. It wouldn’t surprise me if I did. My cock has a mind of its own some days. Clearly today was gonna be one of those days.

I got in the shower and started to lather up. So much hair. I was certain I didn’t used to look like this, but it seemed like a distant memory. As I sudsed up my cock I knew that this bear dick needed attention. I grunted with each stroke. Pretty soon I was thrusting hard in the air. My hand was a poor substitute for an ass or mouth.

I stood in front of the mirror admiring my stocky, hirsute form. I’d do me. Hell, I kind of did in the shower. I needed to fuck. Getting fucked might have been fine in the past. But what I was craving wasn’t going happen from having a dick up my ass. I need to feel my cock in someone.

I didn’t want to put on clothes. I just stared at my form. Looking at the clothes in my closet then seemed different in a way that was like a foggy almost forgotten reason.

I put on a pair of well worn jeans, sleeveless shirt, because who doesn’t want to see these beastly arms? I headed out. It wasn’t until I got into my Jeep that I realized I wasn’t sure where I was headed. I was just driving. I drove around for a while before decided to head to the lake. There was always one or two pervs a looking for dick to suck.

I had no problem getting my rocks off by face fucking a guy. He started to tell me he was married and about his wife not knowing. I didn’t give two shits. He wanted to suck a dick and I needed my dick sucked. For someone who claimed he was straight he had a pretty talented tongue.

Heading back to my place my clothes felt tight. Like I could hulk out of them at any moment. I got home and unbuttoned my shirt and pants and laid back in the couch. Stroking my cock was all I could do anymore. My dick had my attention all the time it seemed. I let out a deep roar as I shot a load on to my chest and almost over my head. I basked in the afterglow for a bit before my hand slid up to me chest and rubbed my seed in to my thick black fur.

I knew that would draw some attention at the bar later. Some pig would smell the sex on me and would follow me home. Speaking of the bar. It was a bit early but I could use a cold one.

I saddled up ik my new Harley. I remember how proud I was when I traded in my Jeep and bought my bike. It seems like only yesterday. Again that foggy feeling came over me. Probably just because it’d been so long since I had a beer. I was jonesing.

At the bar there were a few guys who might turn out to be good prospects. There was one guy in particular, a big burly bear like me. He kept eyeing me from across the room. Did we fuck at some point. I don’t remember him, but that doesn’t mean anything lately. My memory has been shit. He made his way across the bar and stepped up next to me.

He was a handsome guy. Big arms. Hairy chest. He was packing too. His bulge was obscenely large. Did I suck him off? He seems so familiar. Nah. Couldn’t be. I’m more likely to get sucked. Unless I was feeling unusual and he was just that charming.

The guy nudged me, and gestured to a couple of twinks just walking in. He told me they look like fun and that we should give them some attention. I agreed. We bought a couple drinks for them. Chatted them up for a bit. Mack was a good wingman. Not hat I needed it. These two boys were all over us. I knew that leaving my cum in my chest would do the trick. Speaking of doing tricks. Mack said it was time. It was coming back to me now. This is what Mack did to me. Taking me to the back room. Feeding me his cock, rathe forcefully if I recall. He apologized. I don’t know what the fuck for. He has always been a great friend. We love finding guys together. Divide and conquer he would always say.

As I fucked this skinny boys face it came over it me what I was doing. This man would never be the same again. Just like I was never the same again. But I felt great. Who wouldn’t want to feel like Mack and I do? After Mack and i finished up we headed back to our home. My husband was a sexy fucker. Oddly enough sex just made him hornier. He was insatiable. We were barely home and he grabbed a couple cigars from the humidor. Lit them and gave one to me. We sat there on the couch watch porn, puffing away on our cigars, and jacking our cocks.

When we were both good and wound up I offered up my ass to Mack. He was the one hairy fucker that would tuck this hairy fucker. The reverse was true too. Sure we’d have the occasional playmate, but they always got fucked.

Maybe those two cubs in the making would be over later next week for round two.

[duhragonball]

Neon Genesis Evangelion 25

It... really isn't though.

Last episode, Shinji killed the last Angel, albeit reluctantly, and that pretty much wraps up the main conflict of the series. So now we just need to wrap up all the loose ends. You know, answer the lingering questions such as:

What is an Eva?

Where did the Angels come from?

When did the Second Angel show up? Did I miss that somewhere?

What's the deal with Rei?

What was SEELE up to?

What was Gendo Ikari up to?

No, really, what's the deal with Rei?

What actually caused Second Impact?

Where did the Dead Sea Scrolls come from, and why did SEELE and Gendo believe the apparent predictions that it made?

Why did they need fourteen-year-old children to pilot the Evas?

What is the Human Instrumentality Project, exactly?

I'm not kidding, what the fuck is the deal with Rei? You can't just dodge the question; she's one of the principal characters. You put her on all the merchandise for crying out loud.

Did Pen-Pen get reunited with Misato after she sent him away to live with friends just before the final battle?

Wow, that's a longer list than I realized. Anyway, Episode 25 takes a long hard look at those unanswered questions and then wads it up and throws it in the trash, then sets the trash can on fire and burns down the entire house. Then Episode 25 goes back in time and erases the very concept of information from the fundamental design of the universe, so that no coherent answers can possibly exist.

If you enjoyed Neon Genesis Evangelion, and are curious to know what happens after Episode 24, Episode 25 wants you to know that it hates you. When you watch Episode 25, you know less about this show than you did before you watched it.

Now, I expected something kind of abstract and surreal. I've heard about this. Fans were dissatisfied with the way the series ended, which eventually led to the release of "End of Evangelion", which promised to deliver a more satisfying conclusion to the series.

I never quite understood, until today, just how dissatisfied the fans really were at the time. I feel like I heard once, long ago, someone complaining that NGE was simply unfinished. Like it got cancelled or something or the writers gave up without writing the rest of it. But that appears to be untrue, so I'm left to assume that whoever said that was just being sarcastic. It's like that xkcd cartoon about the Matrix movie, and the characters lament the fact that they never made a sequel. The joke is that they know there were sequels, but they prefer to pretend that they didn't exist.

And I think at some point I found out that End of Evangelion was like a retelling of the story, but I assumed it was just because you see that a lot in anime. Adolescence of Utena basically does a whole other version of the story in the Utena TV series, basically.

But no, I eventually found out that fans just really, really hated Episodes 25 and 26, and EoE was a make-good. Like, it literally functions as a new Episode 25 and 26 for the TV show, from what I understand. I was looking over an episode list on Wikipedia, and that's how it's listed. There's Episodes 1-26, and then 25A and 26A.

That's wild. I've been curious about this the whole time, and now I'm here and man, Episode 25 is some serious bullshit. I kind of expected it to be weird, and maybe inconclusive, but still in a good kind of way. Like... well, Revolutionary Girl Utena is probably a good example. I watched that show a few years ago and I'm still baffled by most of it, but it had a charm and beauty to it that kept me engaged. I would have preferred a more coherent narrative, but I still found enjoyment from it.

But NGE 25 just sucks. There's no other way to say it. It doesn't advance the plot, it doesn't reveal any secrets or solve any mysteries. It doesn't really do much of anything. I'll try to explain this mess, but fair warning: I don't think there's much to unpack here.

So we start with Shinji agonizing over the way he killed Kaworu, the 17th Angel, at the end of the last episode. This might be promising, except he already agonized over this at the end of Episode 24. I mean, he could continue where he left off. That would be fine, except this episode even repeats the same scene where he talks to Misato about it and she assures him that he did the right thing. No new insights are introduced here.

Shinji imagines himself in the grasp of Eva Unit 01, and laments that he still has to pilot the Eva, even after all that's happened. Uh, who said you have to keep piloting the Eva, sport? I'm not saying this is true or untrue, but why does Shinji assume this when he has no more enemies to fight, and his dad hasn't assigned him to a new mission?

This is what pisses me off. In a good episode, the story would just move forward in linear time. The battle with Kaworu would be over, and everyone would dust themselves off and ask what's next. Gendo would either tell everyone what to do, or they'd defy Gendo and try to stop him. Or something. Someone would have to tell Shinji that he will have to continue piloting the Eva, or that he never has to pilot it again, and he could react to that information.

Instead, we have him whining about facts that aren't even in evidence. Does he have to keep piloting the Eva or not? We don't know! Neither does he! And we can't find out because this stupid episode is some sort of dream sequence/acid trip instead of being set in the "real" world!

And again, I kind of knew it would be like this, that NGE ended with Shinji having some weird introspection instead of a proper finale. But what drives me nuts is that we really don't learn anything new about him. He hates his dad for abandoning him! He does what he's told because he's desperate for the approval of others! He's afraid of people hating him! He hates piloting the Eva but he does it because people appreciate him for it! We already know this! Dammit, we've been hearing about it for the entire run of the show.

Hey, did you know Asuka's bio-mom hanged herself when she was little? Yes, you did, because we found out in Episode 24. Episode 25 just... shows us all over again like it's new information. It doesn't do anything new with it. It just rehashes the same observation that Asuka craves attention and glory and praise because she fears losing her identity without it. Nothing is added nor resolved.

I think the one new tidbit we get from this episode is that Rei has longed for the day when she would no longer be of any use to Gendo Ikari, and he would discard her. She waits for death, but now she fears it, which is pretty dark. Assuming that this is even the "real" Rei making that statement. We'll come back to that.

Oh, hey, Ritsuko Akagi is dead. When did that happen?

And so is Misato. Okay, maybe we're getting back to the real world, and seeing events play out. Gendo has triumphed over the Angels, and now he's liquidating his allies as he moves on to the next phase of his plan...

Wait, no, they're alive again, and arguing over the merits of the Human Instrumentality Project, which Ritsuko claims is designed to merge all human consciousness together into one big collective mind. Except... I don't believe that explanation, because it's being presented in a surreal fantasy. Ritsuko had a bullet hole in her a second ago and now she's fine. How can I accept any information presented in this scene?

Episode 25 then examines Misato's character for a while, under the pretense of proving some sort of oblique thesis, but in reality it just slut shames her for having casual sex with Kaji. The episode accuses her of giving in to base, carnal desires, and she screams denial after denial. I kept waiting for some deep dark secret to be at the heart of all of this. Like Misato only drinks and fucks to hide some secret shame, but no. She just drinks and fucks, because she's a grown-ass woman who can do whatever she wants when she's off-duty. This isn't catharsis, it's just filler disguised as drama. Who is she even arguing with?

Finally, Shinji finds himself in an empty theater, surrounded by other characters from the show. Like a Greek chorus, they inform him that this is but one of many realities, and what he's experiencing now is the reality he chose, a world cut off from everything that could possibly cause him discomfort. Also, he can't escape this fate, because he chose it, even though he repeatedly denies doing so.

And this is where I wrote off the episode as trash, because the like "This is real, but only one of the many realities" is the biggest cop out ever. So we're saying everything in this episode both happened and didn't happen? Then why does any of it matter?

This is why I question the point of Rei admitting she longs for death. If the real Rei thought this way, then it would be powerful. We know Rei. We've come to care about her over the course of the series. But the Rei we see in this episode may only be a figment of Shinji's imagination. Or she may not even be that. What she admits or denies in this episode is meaningless.

Anyway, yeah, fuck this episode. The only takeaway here is that Shinji has somehow gotten lost in his own head. He created a private haven for himself, but it's nothing more than a prison. Whooptee-shit.

Yeah, yeah, the next episode preview has deteriorated to mere script drafts instead of visuals. It's not cute anymore.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Training Wheels  -  One

Pairing: Dark!Step-Brother!Steve Rogers X Innocent!Reader

Summary: Your stepbrother would do anything for you. And he’s more than happy to prove that over and over and over again until you believe him. No matter what it takes. 

Warnings: Language, Sexual Harassment, Smut, Manipulation, Loss of Virginity, Sex between Step-siblings, bit of a size kink, 

Word Count: 3.7K

A/n: I have many parts of this planned but not written, and the taglist is open. Also, incase y’all forgot: I don’t talk politics on my blog. I’ve made it clear where I stand on certain things already and I want to keep my blog as an escape from reality for myself and others. 

A/n 2: I’m fucking tired so I’ll reply to asks and stuff probably tomorrow

!!!!THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT! 18+ READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!

~*~

“Hey, did (Y/n) get a new skirt?” At the sound of your name being mentioned, Steve snaps his head up, following his best friend’s gaze until it finally lands on you.

You’re walking across the campus courtyard towards the two of them, a smile on your face as you talk animatedly with Natasha and Wanda.

Sure enough, a new mini skirt is decorating your pretty legs. It flows with the breeze, almost getting blown up enough to see your panties.

“Jesus, that kid’s got some legs,” Bucky says, eyes roaming over your figure. Steve shoves his friend’s shoulder, giving him a hard glare.

“That’s my fucking sister you’re talking about. What would Nat think if she heard that?” Bucky rolls his eyes, grinning as his favourite redhead blows him a kiss.

“God, what I wouldn’t do to have those legs wrapped around my head.” You shudder in disgust, yelping as a hard hand comes down on your ass.

“Hey!” You exclaim, turning around and covering your butt while looking at the man.

“C’mon sweetheart. What’d you expect when you’re dressed like that?”

Steve’s on his feet, rushing over to you as you glare at your assailant.

“Maybe some fucking decency?! Leave me alone! I’m not a fucking object, dick-wad.”

“Rumlow!” Upon hearing your step-brother’s voice, Rumlow takes a step back.

“C’mon Rogers! There’s no harm in playful flirting. You of all people should know that.” Steve glares at him, his arm coming protectively over your shoulders, pulling you against his side and further away from the man.

“Yeah, but there’s shit wrong with touching people when they don’t want to be fucking touched.” Brock rolls his eyes and saunters away, shooting you a wink over his shoulder.

“I had it handled,” you grumble, walking with Steve’s arm over your shoulders towards the tree where he and Bucky were sitting.

“Yeah, really looked like it. A ‘thank you’ would be nice.” You roll your eyes and glare up at your step-brother.

“How do you expect me to defend myself if you jump in all the time?”

He shakes his head, a soft look on his face that has you dropping your guard for a moment.

“As long as I’m around, you shouldn’t have to defend yourself. That’s what I’m here for. I’m always gonna have your back, bunny. No matter what.” You smile at him, your heart warming at his words before Nat gets your attention.

You sit down next to her, Steve next to you with his arm still over your shoulders.

You and Wanda are quickly engaged in another conversation and Steve finds himself staring at you, a small smile on your face.

“You’re drooling, Steve,” Nat whispers, toes nudging his thigh. He glances over at the redhead and flips her off.

“C’mon. We should get going. I wanna beat the rush.” You nod at Steve, grabbing your bag and bidding your friends goodbye.

Bucky gives Steve a knowing look and the blond glares at his friend.

The two of you make your way to the parking lot together, him asking you about your day and you launching into a detailed description of everything you did.

As you’re heading to his car you pass by Brock and his group of friends. You quiet down immediately, slouching in on yourself.

Steve glares at the guys, his arm coming protectively around your waist as they ogle you.

You let out a big breath when you’re sitting in Steve’s car, groaning at the fact that you were harassed today.

“Why are guys stupid?” You ask, looking over at your step-brother as he starts driving.

“I wish I knew. You just gotta get lucky and find someone who’s mature and has respect for women, not a douchebag like Rumlow.” You nod, kicking your shoes off and putting your feet up on the dashboard.

“Hey, feet down.” You look over at him and stick your tongue out, keeping your feet up and wiggling your toes.

“What are you gonna do? You gonna make me?” He glances at you out of the corner of his eye and then one of his hands is on your thigh, squeezing the flesh hard and making you squirm, laughter bubbling out of you.

“Stop!” He doesn’t. If anything, it spurs him on and he tickles your thigh more.

“Feet down!” He shouts playfully, loving the sound of your laughter.

“Okay fine!” You finally pull your feet down and he smiles, fingers splaying on your bare thigh. He keeps his hand there for the rest of the drive, blood slowly moving south as he realizes what he's doing and the fact that you haven’t said anything about it.

It feels nice to have his hand on you. You hate that you like it but you do.

When you finally get home, your mom and his dad are pulling out of the driveway.

Steve rolls down his window and you unbuckle your seatbelt, climbing over his lap to stick your head out the window. Steve hits the brakes harder than intended and you fall forward, one hand bracing yourself on his thigh while your skirt flies up, your ass on full display.

“Jesus, Steve. You trying to kill me?” You ask before turning to the window.

“Where are you guys going?” You ask, confused. Your mom raises her eyebrows. “We’ve only been talking about our trip to Vegas for the past four months! We talked about it this morning too!” Realization hits you and you giggle. “Sorry! I hope you guys have fun! But not too much fun. One step-sibling is enough, I don’t need any more.” Steve’s dad laughs, shaking his head at you.

“You kids behave. Don’t throw any parties or anything. The neighbours know we’re gone so if you do anything we’ll know.”

“I don’t have enough friends to throw a party anyway. And Steve is a social outcast so you don’t need to worry about him.” Your mother gives you a look and you raise your eyebrows innocently.

“Be nice to your brother. We’ve gotta get going before we miss our flight. But I’ll talk to you when we land."

They start pulling away again and you stick your head further out the window, kneeling between Steve’s legs as he grabs your waist.

“He’s my Stepbrother!”

They drive off, your mom waving until they’re out of sight, and you sigh, climbing back into the car and looking at Steve.

His hands are still on your waist and he’s got a soft look in his eyes.

“Steve?” He hums, clenching his jaw as you shift on his lap to get comfortable, your thighs spreading as you straddle him.

“Do you think your dad’s gonna get my mom pregnant?” He groans, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

“God no. I don’t even wanna think about that but even if they... you know... my dad got a vasectomy a while ago.” You nod, hands on his shoulders as you purse your lips.

His eyes are focused so intently on them that he doesn’t notice when you open the door.

“First person inside picks dinner! Loser has to pay!” You jump out of the car and sprint inside, leaving Steve stunned and horny in his car.

~*~

The two of you sit on the couch watching movies, Steve with his arm thrown over the back of the couch.

“Hey Steve... can I ask you something?” He looks over at you, nodding and waiting for you to ask whatever’s on your mind.

“Is... do... does...” You groan, shaking your head, beyond embarrassed with yourself.

“C’mon bunny. You can ask me anything and I won’t judge you. You know that.” One of his hands comes to your knee, rubbing gently.

You nod, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“Do guys actually prefer when a girl is experienced? Does it... does it matter to them?” Whatever he thought you were going to ask... it certainly wasn’t this.

He raises his eyebrows and blows a breath out through his mouth.

“Some guys, yeah. I mean, it puts a lot of pressure on them to make sure your first time is good. Which is hard cause each girl cums differently and finds different things good so it’s hard to tell. Some guys like virgins but I think a lot like it if they aren’t a girl’s first just so they don’t have to live up to whatever expectations she may have.” He’s being honest with you and you value that, but it doesn’t exactly make you feel better about your situation.

You sit up and turn to him fully, a frown on your face.

“How do I find someone who’s willing to be my first so I can get it out of the way?” He inhales deeply, trying to take advantage of the situation in a way that won’t clue you into his true intentions. He wants you, but he wants you to think that he’s just helping you.

“You’ve gotta find someone you trust to do something like that, bunny. Someone who’s gonna be gentle with you because it’s gonna hurt a bit.” You frown, scooting closer and leaning your head against his shoulder.

“Where am I supposed to find someone who’s gonna be gentle with me like that? The only guys who even look at me are gross guys like Brock and I don't want someone like him to touch me.”

He brings one hand up to your head, smoothing your hair away from your face.

“I mean... I think I could find someone who would be willing to help you out. Show you the ropes just so you’re not totally inexperienced,” he murmurs, eyes focused on you as you look up at him slowly.

“Who?” His eyes flash down to your lips then back up to your eyes and you inhale sharply, realizing what he’s implying.

He doesn’t give you a second to object before he leans down and presses his lips against yours, making you gasp. He takes advantage of your parted lips and lets his tongue explore your mouth.

It takes a moment but you give in, kissing him back. One of your hands finds his hair, fingers tangling in the blond strands.

He shifts onto his side for a moment, hand grabbing your waist and pulling you forward until you’re straddling his lap.

The ball is in your court and you know you should stop but it feels so right. It’s something so unlike anything you’ve ever felt before and you wanna see where it will go. How it’ll feel to be touched by a man.

You finally pull away, panting hard with your eyes closed.

His hands grip your hips tightly and rock you forward, making you gasp as his hard length rubs against you through the material of your sweatpants.

“Steve wait,” you murmur, head falling back as he attacks your neck with kisses.

“Lemme teach you, Bunny. I’ll take good care of you, show you how it feels to be fucked properly. Please. I don’t wanna see you getting hurt by a guy who doesn’t care about your feelings. I’ll treat you so nice, Bunny, I swear.” His sweet words and the way he feels underneath you is enough to have you nodding.

He grins, one hand wrapping around your back as he quickly flips you onto your back. You gasp, arms wrapping around his shoulders to pull you tight against him.

He grinds against you for a moment longer before slowly pressing kisses down your neck and chest. He pulls away for a moment, just long enough to tear your shirt clean off your body, your bra following soon after.

His mouth kisses your breasts, giving each nipple far more attention than you thought he would. Your fingers are tangled in his hair, lips parted and heavy breaths falling from your mouth as a new type of pleasure builds inside of you.

“You like that?” He asks, eyes dark as he gazes up at you. You nod, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as he uses his thumb and index finger to tweak at your other nipple.

“Steve,” you whisper, arching your back and pushing your chest against his face. His kisses slowly move further down your body, lips leaving a wet trail over your stomach and past your navel.

His eyes are locked on yours as his fingers tug at the waistband of your sweatpants.

You raise your hips without hesitation, nervous but excited.

He’s your step-brother, and it’s wrong, but he’s so sweet to you. If there was one person on the planet who you trust to take your virginity and teach you about sex it’s him.

Your eyes fall closed, partly out of embarrassment as he lays between your naked legs, eyes on your centre.

He hoists your legs over his shoulders and, after making sure you’re eyes are closed, grabs your discarded panties and presses them to his nose. He takes a long inhale and groans, intoxicated by the scent of you.

He tucks them into his pocket then reaches over your hips.

His thumbs spread your folds and you want to close your legs, but he makes it impossible. His tongue darts out and licks a thick stripe from your entrance to your clit.

The sensation makes you jolt and Steve chuckles softly.

“Tell me what you like, Bunny. It won’t offend me. I wanna make you feel good.” You nod, grinding your teeth together and trying to clear the thoughts from your mind and focus on what he’s doing.

He finds your clit surprisingly easily, and you moan when he focuses his tongue on it.

“J-just like that... please...” He complies, working his tongue over the little bundle of nerves while two of his fingers slowly press into your heat.

You groan at the feeling, it being unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. His fingers fill you up more than ever, and he works them inside of you until he hits a spot that has you jolting up, right hand grabbing a handful of his hair.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, eyes screwed shut as he massages that spot inside of you.

It’s all too much, and in a few moments, you’re cumming all over his face and his fingers.

“Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Oh my god.” Steve’s eyes find your face and he nearly cums in his pants.

The look of pure pleasure on your features is something he wishes he could take a picture of.

You look so fucking pretty when you cum.

He gently works you through your orgasm, pulling away only when your thighs start trembling. You open your eyes after a few more moments only to find him seated between your legs, pink lips glistening as he sucks your nectar off of his fingers.

“Holy fuck,” you repeat, one hand coming to your chest as you slowly catch your breath.

He chuckles softly, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

“C’mon. M’gonna fuck you on a bed, not on a couch.” He scoops you up in his arms and you wrap your legs around his waist, arms tightly wound around his neck as he carries you up the stairs to his bedroom.

It’s wrong. So fucking wrong, but it feels so good and you trust him so much.

You’re carefully laid on your back on his bed, the blankets cool against your hot skin. Steve kneels between your legs, hands resting on your hips while his eyes devour this image.

You bring your hands up to cover your chest, feeling nervous about being naked beneath him, but he shakes his head and gently takes your hands.

“Don’t hide from me, Bunny. You’re beautiful. Any man who gets to see you like this... is a fucking lucky one.” His eyes trace over your body, his words having lit a fire in his gut.

No other man is ever going to see you like this. He’ll make sure of that.

“C-can you take your clothes off? Please? I feel...” you trail off, embarrassed of both your nudity and your request.

“Of course, Bunny.” He leans back on his haunches and pulls his shirt over his head, giving you a glorious view of his rippling muscles.

Your stepbrother has an amazing body. That much you learned the very first time he took his shirt off to go swimming with you.

He climbs off the bed for a moment, just long enough to kick off his sweatpants and his boxers, and then he’s between your legs again.

You inhale sharply when your eyes find his cock, fear and arousal filling you.

“A-am I... do you want me to...” Your eyes don’t leave his length and he chuckles, one of his hands moving down to slowly stroke himself.

“I just want you to lay back and feel good, okay? It’s gonna hurt a bit, but you gotta relax. I’ll go slow.” You nod, hands instinctively coming to his shoulders as he scoots closer.

“If you’re really curious, I’ll teach you how to give head another day. But today is all about this.” The hot tip presses against your folds and you jump, wide eyes staring up at your step-brother.

“Now, when anyone else ever fucks you, make sure they wear a condom. But for your first time, I want you to get the full experience. It’ll feel better for you this way.” You nod, gripping his strong shoulders tightly as he leans down, hands pressing into the mattress on either side of your torso.

He slides his cock through your folds, watching intently as your eyelids drop and your mouth falls open.

“Feels nice, Bunny? Nice and warm?” You nod, a whimper falling from your lips as his cock rubs against your swollen clit.

He pulls back after a moment more to align himself, then slowly pushes his cock into you.

Your face scrunches up in pain and he stops immediately, pulling back and leaning down until his face is above your heat.

You hear him spit a moment before you feel the liquid splatter against you. He does it a few times and you feel slightly mortified.

“Don’t be shy, Bunny. I just gotta make sure you’re nice and wet. It’ll stop it from hurting as much.” You nod, keeping your eyes closed as he hovers over you again.

This time when he pushes in it doesn’t hurt nearly as much.

He pushes in slowly, his eyes focused on your face as he meets the band of resistance he was waiting for. He slowly pushes further, frowning when you wince and inhale sharply.

He doesn’t want to hurt you, but he has to.

When he’s finally bottomed out inside of you, you let out a big breath.

“Look, Bunny.” You open your eyes and follow his gaze down to where the two of you are connected, your pussy fluttering around him at the sight.

He’s fully sheathed inside of you, and your lower abdomen bulges slightly because of it.

“You’ve got all of my big cock in you. Your pretty pussy is taking me like a champ.” You stare down at where his cock disappears inside of you, a gasp falling from your lips when he pulls out a few inches, only to push it right back in.

“Once I start moving it’ll feel better. Whenever you’re ready, let me know.” You nod, closing your eyes and basking in the feeling of fulness. It’s like you’re finally getting something you didn’t know you needed.

He feels so hot and heavy inside of you, you want to keep him exactly where he is forever.

After a few more moments of adjusting to the intrusion, you open your eyes and lift one hand to cup his jaw.

His eyes snap to yours, a soft admiration clouding his beautiful blues.

You pucker your lips and he smiles, dropping his head and pressing a soft kiss to your lips while slowly starting to thrust.

His pace is slow and steady, pulling out nearly all the way then slowly pushing back in, each thrust stretching your walls further than the last.

“Fuck... you’re so fucking tight... feel so good, bunny.” Your nails dig into his shoulders as he gradually speeds up, each drag against your walls bringing you a type of pleasure you’ve only dreamed of.

“S-steve... feels... feels nice... so big...” You’re hardly making any sense but you speak anyway, toes curling as he speeds up even more.

His lips find your throat and you whine loudly, nails raking down his back.

“M’gonna go harder and faster, okay Bunny? You ready?” You nod, mouth dropping open as he hammers his hips forward, cock hitting places inside of you that make you see stars.

The noises coming from you nearly have him cumming hard, but he grinds his teeth together. He’s determined to make you cum first.

One of his hands darts between your legs, finding your clit and rubbing circles on it.

Your back arches hard, chest pressed tight against his as your eyes roll back into your head, an orgasm racing down your spine and exploding in your stomach.

Every nerve in your body is on fire, stars dance behind your eyes, and your cunt clamps down hard on Steve's cock.

The blond groans lowly, eyes squeezed shut as he falls into his own climax.

He fills you, white painting your walls and warming you from the inside.

The two of you stay like that, you trembling on the bed and Steve slowly starting to shake above you as his muscles threaten to give out.

After a moment he rolls onto his side, pulling you close to him to keep his cock locked inside of you.

His fingers trace along your spine, rubbing up and down so gently that it nearly lulls you to sleep.

“Fucking hell, bunny.” He presses his lips against your forehead, beyond satisfied with what just happened. You hum softly, nuzzling deeper against his chest.

He kicks the blankets up until they’re around his knees then pulls them up to cover the two of you.

You’re snuggled up against him, one of your legs tossed over his hip as his cock sits nice and snug inside of you.

“Thank you, Steve.” He’s quiet for a moment before hugging you tightly.

“Anything for you, Bunny.”

[rae-gar-targaryen]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read part one here.

---

It doesn't snow in Santo Padre.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That had gone famously. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I care, Frida.”

“... and if I wanted you back?”

“Please, querida.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he fucking serious? 

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

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

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

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

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

You weren’t about to cave so easily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. And you were doing so well. 

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel was silent for a moment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are something, Frida.” 

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded toward Angel’s arm once more.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How could something about you not be beautiful?"

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had outdone herself. You felt gorgeous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If he only knew. 

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

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

And he saw you, too.

Oh fuck. 

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

He fucking wouldn’t. 

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

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

Fuck, you were hot when you were mad.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he … drunk? 

Fuck this. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel flinched. 

“I deserve that,” he said. 

Strike two. Too little, too late. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strike. Fucking. Three. 

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

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

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

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

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

Ice cold. 

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus fuck!” Angel yelped. 

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

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

Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head. 

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

Well, shit. 

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

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

Not much got past Johnny “Coco” Cruz.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel ignored his question. 

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

“No hug for me, jaina?” 

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

You recovered quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coco snorted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who says I want anything,” EZ asked?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel sighed before he spoke again, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know that,” Angel snapped. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

Huh. Unexpected  Should you open it? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. 

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

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

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

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

There. Short, sweet, and to the point.

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

"Gracias, Frida."

"Don't thank me yet."

You put your phone down flat on the counter. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If Angel noticed, he hadn't said anything.

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

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

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

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

You shrugged. "Suit yourself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You decided to take conversational mercy on him, 

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I really ain’t,” he said. “And you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At Angel’s puzzled look, you carried on,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what a question it was. 

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

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

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

"Ever the poet, Frida."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 But this moment? This was about you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, querida?” 

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say something, Frida.” 

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

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

"I don't know, dulce."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

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

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

You hadn’t thought to return it.

---

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

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

Your one o'clock was right on time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You patted his arm gently, resuming your work. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Made to be admired in perpetuity. 

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

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

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

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

You shrugged again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

[theepisceswriter]

JJK men based off songs in my sex playlist (Nanami, Gojo, Toji, Ijichi)

A/N: my poundtown post just hit 1K today, so I had to come through and deliver my JJK besties with some new content since I haven’t posted anything for them in a while. I hope you guys enjoy ! 💜

Synopsis: Sex songs I think go with the men of JJK + specific lyrics + a small Drabble based off of those lyrics, not using the lyrics as words, but scenarios kinda

TW: mature things obviously, long post bc each Drabble is 300 words+, roughness and degrading & public sex for Toji, mommy kink and teasing for Ijichi, 18+, MINORS DNI!

NANAMI: Dance For You by Beyoncé

Loving you is really all that's on my mind

And I can't help but to think about it day and night

I wanna make that body rock

Sit back and watch

Tonight I'm gonna dance for you

“Think of our bedroom as a strip club tonight.” Your hands traveled up the length of Nanami’s arms until you got up to his collar bones, using the elevated height the heels gave you to your advantage as you pushed him back into the clothed chair you had stolen from the living room, having thought this whole night out in advance to make sure Nanami left the bedroom the next morning for work beyond satisfied and rushing back home to you for round two. It’s what the man deserved after working as hard as he did all the time; a little stress reliever to make him forget about paperwork and the confinements of a work desk for once. 

“No touching. I can touch you, but you can’t touch me.” You ordered, earning no sign of protest from the blonde, as you made your way over to the speaker where the soft sensual melodies were ready to go and infiltrating the room as soon as you pressed play. With your face turned to the wall, you could only wish to see his initial reaction when you dropped your robe to reveal your lingerie clad body, the red of the lacy garments and matching garter complimenting your skin beautifully which was only accentuated by the dim lighting of the candles you had placed around the room.

You turned around just in time for you to catch Nanami shifting in the confines of the chair so he could manspread his legs out and it didn’t take long for your eyes to find out that the erection pressing against his work slacks was the reason why. Getting down on your knees, you crawled over to where he was situated in slow movements mimicking that of a lion or panther with your back arched as far as it could to give him a nice view of your ass. A thousand blinding suns couldn’t take his attention away from you. His glaring gaze you could feel on you despite his signature glasses covering his pupils. 

Your hands slid from his ankles up to his thighs, teasingly grazing at his erection with your breast making a small grunt fall from his lips, up until they were at his shoulders. Which you then used to prop yourself up on his lap with, testing the sorcerer's patience with each languid movement of your hips against his laps. It was barely a swirl and more of a ghosting feeling than an actual one, but my god was it still driving him crazy. And as if that wasn’t enough, your hands moved behind your back to unclip the decorative bra you had on and allow it to fall down your chest until your hardened nipples were exposed to his gazing eyes, discarding of it somewhere in the room as you threw it over his head.

“Come here.” He finally spoke up, broad hands grabbing ahold of your waist and moving you so your crotch was directly over his. He had enough of the teasing and dancing, he needed you right here right now. His hands roamed all over your body, even pausing at the meat of your ass to grope it momentarily, before his hands were trailing up your chest and stopping right at the hilt of your breast. Taking each of them into his large hands as he leaned forward in one swift movement to take one of your hard nubs into his mouth, gently biting down on it before soothing the burning sensation with his warm tongue. 

“Daddy hasn’t been taking care of you like he should of been lately, hm? I’m going to make up for the whole week tonight, babygirl. Fuck you soo good until you’re begging me to stop.”

GOJO: On the Way by Jhene Aiko

Got me squirtin', take off the sheets

I want you to see it

You're what this pussy needed

“Come on, I know that pretty pussy of yours has more to give to me.”

You could hear the teasing smirk in Gojo’s mocking words from above and if the tears pooling in your eyes with each painful overstimulating thrust of his fingers into your sore pussy mixed with the override of your senses from nearing your 3rd, possibly 4th, back to back orgasm, didn’t have your eyes so blurry then you would’ve looked up and saw the exact same image of the blue-eyed man you were envisioning. 

“I-I can’t Gojo, it’s too much,” But despite the whimpering and protests that left your lips the fast fucking of his slender fingers in your cunt don’t stop at all. At least not like you had hoped, the white haired individual pausing only to discharge a wad of spit on your clit to massage in with his rough thumb. Your poor pussy is too weak at this point to even clench at his fingers, but the picking up of your breathing and flushing of your cheeks is enough for him to know that you’re nearing the edge. 

His fingers covered and slippery with your slick curve up inside of you warranting a sob to rip from your lips. His three fingers that work the inside of you as good as his cock mixed with the gentle massaging of your clit is all too good to the point where it's mind-numbingly good. You don’t even have time to warn him of the warm feeling in the pits of your uterus getting really to flood out before your eyes are rolling to the back of your head and you’re choking on any words that are trying to escape your lips. 

You can feel the warm clear liquid gushing out of you, the insides of your thighs soaking wet with the substance and the spongy noises that infiltrate your ears as Gojo works you down from your high and milk you of every last drop of your squirt. 

“Good fucking girl,” He praises you with a low growl, fingers finally slipping out of you for the first time in the last 30 minutes. “Are you finally ready for my cock now?”

IJICHI: Yeah, I Said It by Rihanna

Yeah, I said it, 

I want you to fuck me tied up 

The trace of your taste on the panties you had stuffed into Ijichi’s mouth has him salivating until it’s dripping down the sides of his mouth, wanting and eager to taste you and hoping that you’ll take some mercy on him and finally give in to what he wanted. His cock is red and sore from the cockring you placed around his balls, making sure he wouldn’t get any release even if you were generous enough to gift him with the warmth of your folds, but most importantly it was standing straight up at your attention; aching and waiting to see what your next move would be. It’s not like he had even an inch of dominance in his body to grab you and just take you, but even if he did he wouldn’t be able to because of the restraints you had placed around his wrists and ankles to tie him to the bed. The flesh around them red and sore from trying to do their best to wiggle out of their grip. 

He wanted you so bad to the point where it hurt him, but he also wanted to stay tied up waiting until you were ready to use him.

A quiet gasp tore itself from his lips when he felt the ghosting fingers of your soft fingertips dance upwards on his thighs and gently rub up against the ache that was his erection, allowing it to jerk in your direction as a reflex.

“My poor baby.” You finally spoke up with a hint of remorse, your words cooing softly. 

The dewy flushness of his cheeks from crying finally getting to you. Not to mention that you had finally reached your wits end and wanted him just as bad as he wanted you in this moment. Removing the underwear from his mouth you replaced them with your tongue and lips only for a couple of seconds before you were pulling away to say, “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” Your lips trailed from the side of his mouth down to his chest until you were at his nipples, toying with the sensitive flesh with your tongue to fluster him even more.

“I need your pussy.” His voice is hoarse and choked up from finally being allowed to speak after so long. Words that he would usually find dirty and too embarrassing to speak out loud flying out of his lips like its nothing, cheeks flushed with pink after the realization. “I need you, mommy. I need you so bad.”

“Good boy.” You praise him as you take your straddling position on his lap. The simple task of you taking his cock in his hand to remove the cockring already having him ready to cum. Rubbing his red swollen tip along your folds to collect some of your wetness until you’re satisfied with the pleading whines that leave his lips and sink down on him until you’re at his hilt. 

“Mommy is going to give you exactly what you want like promised.”

TOJI: Anytime, Any Place by Janet Jackson

I don't wanna stop just because

People walking by are watching us

I don't give a damn what they think

I want you now

“Turn around.” Toji’s words were practically growled out at you as he grabbed ahold of your wrists and turned you around on his own accord against the grimy cold brick wall of the alley before you could even comply with his words. Too wanting and needing for the warm hug of your walls around his cock to wait for you on his own accord. It wasn’t his fault he was feening for you so badly to the point where he pulled you out of the hole in the wall club and had you pressed up against the rough brick wall adorning an alley that led to it. If it wasn’t for that tight skirt you knew he liked, the one that adorned your curves beautifully and showed off enough thigh that had his cock painfully hard the moment he saw you, then maybe the two of you could’ve had a normal night out as a couple, but alas you weren’t.

You could hear the rustling of the fabric holding Toji’s pants up come undone from behind you, the sound only making your thighs press together from excitement having been conditioned by that sound to know exactly what was coming next. His thick erection was pressing against the backside of your skirt in an instant, his warm breath fanning over your neck as he positioned himself directly behind you as close as close would let him. You teasingly wiggled your ass up against his throbbing cock which only egged him on more, the girth of his length slipping inside of you with ese before he could even fully crinkle your skirt up around your waist. The sudden intrusion had you biting your lip to hold back your moans, but that only warranted Toji to wedge his fingers between your jaws to force your mouth to stay open.

“I want them to hear every single moan and whine that comes from between those pretty lips of yours. Let them know that you’re getting fucked out in the public like the slut you are.” One hand came to your waist to press you back against him and give you no choice but to take every inch of his cock as he pounded into you ruthlessly like the two of you were in the confinement of your bedroom and not indeed in some random alley that anyone could come into any minute like the two of you had done. 

With his other free hand he grabbed at a large chunk of your hair and forcefully tugged your hair back until your eyes were met with his feral ones, tears brimming in your eyes from a mixture of pain and pleasure that always came with his actions and soon saliva began to drip down your chin from the way he was forcefully holding it open. You couldn’t talk and warn him of the two strangers looking at you two from further down in the alley even if you wanted too, but your eyes moving to their direction instead of him gave him a big enough hint.

“Let them stare,” He growled as the force of his thrusts made your hips hit against the wall, sure to leave a bruise, “Let them see how you let me fuck the shit out of you until you’re a blabbering fucking mess.”

[mizunetzu]

YOURE DOPE ASS SHIT HOMIE <3333 can i get uuHHHhh mutha fuckin tanaka x femboy reader ?

HAHAHA SAY LESS I NEVER EXPECTED TO GET A TANAKA REQUEST IM-

——————

Tanaka x reader - one date wonder

⚠️ warnings - reader is referred to as a girl unintentionally, by Nishinoya in the beginning. Don’t worry, I assure you this is a Male Fic. Ta-ho.

Pronouns - male, he/him

——————

If there was one thing Tanaka hated, it was pretty boys.

They were so over hyped. Just because they have a handsome face, all of a sudden they’re the talk of the town. Especially if they had a skirt on and whatnot. What happened to personality?

“Oi oi Ryu!”

Tanaka didn’t notice Nishinoya shoving a phone towards his face. He continued skimming through the Miyagi volleyball weekly magazine. “If I see one more article about that prick Oikawa I’m gonna-“

“Ryu!” Nishinoya practically slapped Tanaka’s head with his phone. Tanaka yelped.

“Hell was that for?!”

Nishinoya wordlessly held up his phone uncomfortably close to Tanaka’s face.

A girl with (h/l), boyish hair and a pretty pink skirt stood tall on Nishinoya’s small phone screen. The girl had cute (h/c) hair, framing her face as she posed with her hand flexed into a peace sign.

She was totally his type.

“Apparently she goes to our school.” Noya giddily scrolled through the girls feed, careful not to accidentally like anything as to not be caught stalking her page. Tanaka exhaled.

“Dude...if I ever see her I think I’m boutta simp.”

“Riiiight?” Nishinoya held down his phone screen to let Tanaka in on the girls social media page.

———

Walking into class the next day, he ran into a horde of girls surrounding someone in the middle of the room. There seemed to be someone in the center, awkwardly chuckling and trying to say something, but it was drowned out but the vociferous squeals or questions thrown at them. Tanaka couldn’t quite make out the person’s face.

Stalking closer, trying to subtly peek from over the heads of the girls, the person’s eyes slowly panned over to him. They locked eyes. Something seemed oddly familiar about that person. He couldn’t quite place it, though.

The person’s eyes lit up and they wadded their way out of the horde and made their way to him. Upon closer inspection, the person was handsome, and wearing the boy’s gakuran. It made sense, he was being crowded around a bunch of girls gawking at his pretty face. He immediately puffed out his chest and scowled.

“Oi oi! Got a problem, pretty boy?”

“P-pre...” The person, who he now knew was a boy, flushed and shook his head. “A-anyways! Tanaka-kun, can...”

“C-Can you meet me in the school courtyard after class!”

The boy bowed suddenly, making Tanaka falter and step back. He awkwardly coughed. “Uh-sorry man, do I know you?”

Of course he knew him. He was that one popular second year in class 2-4 that every girl was throwing their panties at. He found it weird that he wanted to talk to him out of everyone.

“My name is (L/n) (Y/n)! I’m-im in class 4 but I...don’t think we‘ve ever spoken before...”

“Then why do you wanna meet up later? Do you needa tell me sumthin’? Can’t you just tell me now?”

“No!” (Y/n) puffed out his cheeks. For such a high strung popular pretty boy, he was acting pretty fumbly and flustered. “I can’t say it here-!”

“Uh...ok...see you there...?”

“Thank you!” (Y/n) smiled, walking through the eavesdropping girls and out the door.

Tanaka wondered why he looked so familiar. Oh well, it’s probably nothing.

———

Tanaka picked at his unbuttoned school uniform, standing under a cherry tree in the school courtyard. It took him every single ounce of his body not to just up and leave.

His ears perked up at the sound of rapid footsteps approaching him. There stood this boy from before, doubled over and heaving in front of him. Tanaka shoved his hands in his pockets.

“So-what’ja need, dude?” Tanaka tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. (Y/n’s) head snapped up, and he stiffly straightened upright.

“This is for you-!” He averted his gaze as he outstretched a pristine white envelope to Tanaka with both hands, a cute little heart sticker sealing the opening flap shut. Tanaka blinked once. Twice.

Did a girl ask him to give this to him? Wait, why would this pretty boy who probably thought he was some ruffian scum randomly be giving him this love letter? Was he trying to make fun of him? Did he think that he didn’t get love confessions because he wasn’t a popular pretty boy like him?

“Oi, you tryna mock me or something? Tryna make fun of me pretending a girl wanted you to give this to me?” Tanaka puffed out his chest, tilting his chin up. (Y/n) paled.

“No! No! This-“ (Y/n’s) grip on the letter tightened, crumpling the smooth paper ever so slightly at the corners. “This i-is a real letter...f-from me to you, Tanaka-kun...!”

Tanaka blinked again. Huh? Huh?!

“I like you, Tanaka-kun! I know it’s weird because you don’t know me and I’m really popular and ‘wow why is this popular dude talking to me haha and why is he so awkward’ but I really wanted to tell you and-“

(Y/n’s) phone buzzed. He stopped in his tracks, and fished his phone out of his black school pants. Tanaka, even though he knew he shouldn’t, peeked over his head a bit, trying to see what was on his phone.

Powering it on, a picture of a girl with boyish hair and pink overall-skirt popped up on screen, holding up a peace sign near her eyes. That girl looked familiar.

Oh! That was the girl that him and Noya were fawning over the other day! Now that he thought about it, the girl and (Y/n) looked very similar. Like, very, very, similar. Same hair, same eyes, same everything...

That’s when something clicked in Tanaka’s head.

(Y/n) clicked out of his Home Screen and shot a quick text to someone on his phone. He pocketed it once more.

“A-anyways, sorry Ta-“

“Are you a crossdresser?!”

“Cr...” (Y/n) sputtered. Tanaka pointed bluntly at (Y/n), eyes widened in disbelief.

“No! No I’m not! I...why can’t I wear feminine clothes without being called a crossdresser...”

(Y/n’s) shoulders slumped over. Stagnant air surrounded them as (Y/n’s) nimble fingers dropped the letter carelessly, letting it flutter towards the ground gracefully.

‘Fuck. Fuuuuck. Me and my big mouth...’

Tanaka awkwardly cleared his throat. “I-I didn’t mean it like that! I’m sorry, man! There’s no harm in um...wearing that-! Shit, uh. How can I make it up to you?”

(Y/n) smirked. He slowly raised his head up. He held out his pointer finger.

“You can make it up to me by going out on a date with me.”

Tanaka deadpanned. Treacherous pretty boy snake. “Wh-“

(Y/n) clasped his hands together. “Please! Just one! And we don’t even have to hold hands or anything! After that it’s done! It’s just-“

“F-fine.”

(Y/n) looked up. “Really...?”

“I mean, it wasn’t cool of me to call you a crossdresser, so if it’s just one...”

“All right!”

———

The date went by like a dream. Even if Tanaka didn’t harbor much feelings for (Y/n), he still enjoyed eating free food.

Though, he couldn’t help himself from occasionally staring at (Y/n). Not because he had something on his face of anything,

But because he was wearing a a high-waisted black plaid skirt with a belt secured snuggly on his waist, with a slightly baggy baby pink sweater that looked comfortable enough to sleep in. And to top it all off, a small kitty hair clip pinning some loose strands of hair behind his ear.

He looked exactly like he did on his social media. Tanaka gulped.

Even if he was a guy, he couldn’t help but notice how his skin seemed to glow off the fabric of his sweater, or how his skirt complimented his body perfectly.

“U-uh, (L/n)-san?” Tanaka was trying to be as respectable as he could. (Y/n) stopped eating mid bite and waiting for him to go on.

“Why do you uh, pose as a girl on social media if you don’t want people thinking your a girl..? No offense, I mean? Just wonderin’, y’know.” Tanaka took a huge bite out of his food to occupy his running mouth.

“Oh.” (Y/n) pulled up his phone and booted up his profile on social media. “It says in my bio that I’m a dude. So, it’s kind of the persons fault if they mistook me as a girl, but I don’t mind if they do...! I think I look pretty...”

Tanaka flushed. Yeah, he definitely wouldn’t deny it. He was kinda cute when he tried hiding his blushing face behind his chopsticks. But he wouldn’t say it out loud. It’s like he liked him or anything, no. Definitely not!

———

Next day at school, Tanaka felt a strange sort of emptiness in his chest. It felt hollow, like he was coming off a high and dealing with the consequences. And he had no fucking clue why.

“Dude...I feel so depressed...” Tanaka slumped over a box in the club room, sighing dramatically. Nishinoya hummed while scrolling through (Y/n’s) profile, once again.

There was a sour taste in his mouth. Tanaka glared holes into Noya’s side, until Noya finally looked up from his phone.

“Dude, why’re you glaring at me-“

“Help me with my baggage I’m feelin’ depressed and I don’t know why!” Nishinoya sighed, before smiling widely and standing up with his chest out.

“Ok. Doctor Nishinoya here. What seems to be the problem, good sir.”

Tanaka snickered. It was Nishinoya’s turn to glare at him.

“So, I went on a date with this gu-, um, girl, and I only went because I promised, so now I don’t know why I’m feeling so sad.”

“Liaaar. Siiiiimp.”

“Shut up!” Tanaka barked at Nishinoya. “I’m tellin’ the truth here!”

“Well,” Tanaka gave Nishinoya a look to go on. Noya clicked a pen he found on the club room floor and adjusted his non-existent glasses. “Sounds like you caught feelings, dude.”

Tanaka sputtered. “I-I couldn’t have!”

“You totally could.”

“Could not!”

“You could”

“Not!”

“Why not, then?” Nishinoya crossed his arms.

“Because the person I went on a date with is a dude!”

Nishinoya choked on air. Tanaka covered his mouth. Noya sighed.

“Well, maybe you’re just a lil’ gay then.”

“I’M NOT!”

——

Ok, maybe he was. Just a little bit. A teeny weeny bit.

Tanaka found himself standing outside the 2-4 classroom, and he frankly didn’t know why. He didn’t know why he was so nervous too. He was really, really scared to go inside. But he wouldn’t show it.

Which is why he was leaning on the wall across from the door, with a scowl on his face and a suffocating, intimidating aura around him. Ennoshita walked out of the 2-4 classroom, before immediately being drowned in Tanaka’s scary presence.

“Jesus Christ Tanaka-kun, you scared the hell out of me!” Ennoshita rubbed his eyes. “Anyways, did you need something? Were you waiting for me or something?”

Tanaka’s face relaxed. “Uh! Actually I-I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here, so I’m just gonna-“

“Tanaka-kun?”

Shit.

Tanaka slowly turned around. Standing in the classroom door frame was (Y/n), holding a bento and looking directly at Tanaka.

“Oh-! Sorry, sorry, please give me a second-ah-!” (Y/n) excused himself from his growing horde of female classmates, worming his way out of the classroom.

“What are you doing here?”

Tanaka’s mouth ran dry. Nishinoya’s voice rang in his ear.

‘Well, maybe you’re just a lil’ gay then.’

Fuck! Maybe he was. But fuck.

“U-uh...” A million thought went through Tanaka’s head, and went blank at the same time. It was the same feeling he gets whenever he looked at Kiyoko. The same tingly, warm, simp-y feeling.

Ennoshita looked between the two, before gasping in realization. “Oh. Oh! So-uh, I’m gonna...head to practice-Daichi said he needed me for something bye-!”

Ennoshita whispered a “Tell him.” in Tanaka’s ear as he walked by, then promptly disappeared behind a wall. Tanaka looked back at (Y/n).

“Um...h-hi...”

‘Fuck! Stop stuttering!’

Tanaka leaned against the wall, trying to seem as cool and suave as he could. (Y/n) put his hands in his pockets.

“Did’ya need something from me?”

‘Tell him. Tell him. Tell him.’

Shut up, Ennoshita! Tell him what, exactly? He didn’t know if he was even sure about his feelings or not.

“So...about our um...date a few days ago..” Tanaka also shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Ah! You’re here to tell me it was weird going out with a guy! Or that it was weird going out with a guy in a skirt! I’m-“

“No! No! Not at all!” Tanaka blurted out. (Y/n) let his mouth fall shut.

“I just...” Tanaka pursed his lips. “...Maybe we could, I dunno, go out on...another date.”

“Really?!”

Tanaka flushed and furrowed his brows. “Y-Yeah! You got a problem with that-!”

“Yeah! I mean no! I mean I’d love to go!” (Y/n) grasped onto Tanaka’s hands, squeezing them tightly. “Are you free this Friday at around 8?”

“‘Course I am!”

“It’s a date, then, Tanaka-kun.”

——————

Epilogue:

“No way your going out with her.”

“Him.” Tanaka corrected, pointing at Nishinoya’s phone. An image of (Y/n) holding up a cat he found on the street in an oversized sweater was on screen. “It’s a dude. And he’s my boyfriend.”

Nishinoya stopped walking. Tanaka raised his eyebrows.

“You’re such a liar, dude-“

“Tanaka-kun!”

A voice rang out, with growing footsteps approaching behind them. Both Tanaka and Nishinoya turned around, though with the dark moonlight it was hard to see who it was.

Someone wearing a skirt, tucked in shirt, and Karasuno jacket stopped behind the two. Tanaka smirked triumphantly what Nishinoya gawked, looking between his phone and the person.

(Y/n) smiled. “Are we still on for our date today? I know it’s kinda late...”

“Course we are, babe.” Tanaka smugly wrapped his arm around (Y/n), making sure Nishinoya saw. Noya’s mouth fell open.

“HOLY-WHAT THE FUCK! RYU, HOW’D YOU-“

“To be honest I don’t really know either.”

——————

[hes-writer]

deja vu

Summary: part two of drivers license!

Warning: angst

Word Count: 1643 words

let me know if you liked it!

_____

If this was a movie, Y/N would’ve collapsed on the floor, knees hitting the ground as her legs lost the ability to keep her weight up. The corners of her lips would tilt downwards as a fusion of sadness and nostalgia bombarded her at every corner. Tears would collect at her waterline, waiting for the remarkable blink that would send each drop of salty liquid down the apples of her cheeks. Y/N imagined she would call Harry on her phone and scream at him as soon as the click sounded, signalling that he had picked up the call.

Yet as seconds passed by, none of those theatrical episodes happened.  Unlike in the movies, Y/N’s physical reactions were minuscule. Her heart ached in her chest. Her throat scrunched like a wad of tissue papers in her hand, drying up with shock and the shallow inhales she let out.  The swirling of her stomach increased tenfold as she teetered between feelings of anger and indifference.  This should not affect her anymore--or should it? It had barely been a few months since she last saw him and a little bit after when the first photos of Harry and his girlfriend went viral on the internet.

Everyone, especially him, seemed to move on from the relationship that they had shared.  Y/N felt like she needed to catch up to him, racing to throw away the feelings she still held for him and to pretend as though nothing happened.  But it was easier said than done.  There were still endless memories that replayed through her head every time she passed by an ice cream shop.  It was a hidden gem, past the popular hot spots.  Not a lot of people knew about it because of its distanced location.  And as much as Harry was a certified health nut; his guilty pleasure was a scoop of strawberry ice cream--in a cup instead of a waffle cone, of course.

Y/N still remembered those drives-turned-beach-trips.  It was mostly during his days off.  She and Harry would spend the whole day together, sharing one spoon amongst each other while they passed the cup of ice cream back and forth. The sound of the ocean encompassed them as they lay hidden around an alcove of rocks. It was a secluded area of the beach that Y/N had found way before.  The sand was grainy beneath the layer of a checkered picnic blanket that Harry kept at the trunk of his car, their bodies laying on top of it.  Eventually, Harry would proceed to just spoon-feed her, ‘accidentally’ nudging her nose with the cold treat.

.

.

.

.

Y/N could feel her shoulders slump at the flashback, body sagging as she sighed at what her phone screen was reflecting back to her.  It was her Instagram feed showcasing Harry’s profile. A picture of a haunting landscape was captured by his phone lens; it was the very same beach spot that she had taken him to.  Deja vu.

She bit her lip, wanting to smile about how he still visited it even without her.  It showed that Harry still kept a memory of her at the back of his mind.  Y/N’s heart fluttered at the thought, a sliver of hope shining through the dimness of her days. But it was impossible to keep an optimistic stance when she saw the caption.  A simple tag of his new girlfriend’s Instagram handle puckered her lips into a sour expression, brows pinching together in curiosity as Y/N continuously denied the obvious constituent of events.

“There’s no way,” She muttered, breath hitching as Y/N’s thumb hesitated on tapping the bolded font.

There was absolutely no way that Harry would bring someone else in such a coveted spot.  It was hers; she found it first and now he was acting as though it did not hold any meaning to her.  Not like Y/N didn’t spend the last few days laying on his lap, watching the sunset over the horizon. Harry’s fingers would comb through her tendrils, tucking his jacket tighter around her chin to ensure that she was warm despite him being covered in goosebumps himself. Y/N would look up to see the beginning stubbles of his facial hair as Harry looked ahead, his green eyes mirroring the artistic hues of orange, pink and purple.

“What’s up, Y/N?” Jenny asked, returning from her short trek to Y/N’s small kitchen. One hand was carrying a large bowl of chips while the other held two cans of soda.

Y/N stared at her friend with hesitance.  Was it worth bringing it up? She must be sick of her talking about him all the time.

“He brought her to our place,”

It was harder to hear it out loud.  She didn’t even recognize her own voice; void of emotion except for a strained sound of pain.

Jenny tilted her head to the side, “Who did?”

“Harry. . .” Y/N cleared her throat before continuing, “There was this place I found in Malibu. At a beach.  It’s pretty hidden and I used to go there by myself whenever I needed to think. I took him there.  It was our place, you know? Somewhere only the two of us knew and I don’t know,” She trailed off.

“You thought he would keep it between you guys,” Jenny finished off, nodding her head in empathic comprehension.

“Yeah, it just sucks,” Y/N furrowed her brows, staring at the space in front of her as she took in the gravity of the situation. “He even took her to D’Campos,”

“The ice-cream shop?”

She nodded, “It was on her Instagram story today,”

“Forget about him, Y/N. He doesn’t deserve your tears,”

“I’m not even crying,” She chuckled, slapping Jenny’s arm jokingly.

“You look like you’re about to,”

Y/N sighed, “It hurts.  Feels like he’s everywhere.  Just when I thought I was moving on, he pulls shit like this and I’m forced to remember how good it was between us, you know? I haven’t driven past D’Campos or anywhere else that I might see him because it hurts too much to reminisce what I don’t have anymore.”

It was ridiculous how much Y/N has had to change her routine in order not to feel any more pain.  She actively avoided places where Harry frequented in fear of confrontation and also because he might be with his girlfriend.  She didn’t know how she could stay stoic seeing their hands clasped together, gazing at each other lovingly when Y/N wanted that from him for herself.

“You’re doing just fine, honey.  Do you know who can’t move on? Him.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s doing fine,” Y/N said sarcastically, resting her back on the couch. “Better, even.”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Jenny argued, “Out of the two of you, who’s the one always going to the places you shared?”

Y/N opened her mouth to answer but a swift hand in the air caused her to halt.

“It’s him, right?” Jenny answered rhetorically.  “I do not care what you say; that man misses you and it shows.  Harry’s going to where he expects you to be, probably in hopes of running into you. Maybe even because he wants to relive the moments you shared together with her in hopes of him feeling the same way he felt like when he did with you,”

“T-that’s insane. He’s fine without me,” Y/N stuttered out, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.

“First of all, you are in denial. Secondly, you cannot tell me that he doesn’t. He’s practically doing everything you guys used to do with this new girl.  Why? Because he fucking misses you, Y/N.  Hell, you’ve even got the same name.”

“It’s just a coincidence,”

“My ass,” Jenny scoffs, “Answer me something, do you still remember how it felt being there with him?”

Y/N nodded, “Always,”

“Describe it to me,”

Y/N squinted her eyes in suspicion. Where was Jenny going with this?

“Uh, as cheesy as it sounds, I felt happy and free. I could talk about anything without being judged.  He had a way of making me feel comfortable without even saying anything.  When we were together--wherever we were--I could be vulnerable about myself in front of him,”

“Would you do whatever it takes to feel that same way again?”

In a heartbeat, Y/N stated, “Without a doubt.”

“Tell me, if Harry asked you to meet him there right now, would you go?”

Y/N’s breath hitched as she took a moment to process the question. She had just said that she would do whatever it takes to feel the same unconfined emotion again.  So why was she saying ‘no’?

“I-I wouldn’t,”

“Exactly,” Jenny concluded with a quirk of her brow.

“You’re gonna have to explain,”

“Gladly,” Her friend quipped. “You want to feel liberated, vulnerable, and honest again but not necessarily with Harry.  That place meant a lot to you--sure.  But it doesn’t matter.  What counts is who you are with.  Who’s giving you that type of comfortability that you’re able to be just yourself around them. Do you understand?”

Y/N leaned forward in interest.

“You are well aware of that but you won’t accept it. You won’t go with him because you know that it won’t be the same anymore. That’s the first step of moving on.  Once you acknowledge that as much as you miss him, as much as you think you want him to be around, you know better than that. He’s changed and so have you.  He’s searching for that same feeling by going back to the places that you used to go to.  Thinks he will find it there but--,”

“He won’t.” Y/N finished off. “Because she is not me,”

___

[lubdubsworld]

Cold Hearted ( But I still want it)

Taehyung x Oc

Organized Crime AU !

Violence, Sexually Explicit Content, abusive undertones.

Unhealthy relationships. 

“I’m meeting Jimin at that club in Itaewon for lunch. The new one. Keep the Aston Martin ready. I’ll drive myself.” Taehyung’s deep voice echoed through the room and his deputy hastened to acknowledge the order, a curt nod and quick phone call soon after. 

I glanced at my husband, expectant. 

“Take me with you.” I whispered, soft because he hated it when I raised my voice. 

He didn’t reply. 

At least not to me. 

“Just me. My lovely wife will be dining by herself in her room .  Maybe then, she’ll remember what happens when she blatantly disobeys me. ” He barely spared me a glance and i clenched my fists. 

I hadn’t gotten out of this god forsaken place in a month. I felt stir-crazy and trapped. It was a punishment, a way he controlled me and i hated it but I also hated myself for giving him a reason to punish me. 

It had been a reckless act of rebellion, done in a moment of frustrated anger and i had regretted it almost at once.

  I’d been upset because Taehyung had been ignoring me for work. i had missed him. Missed being in his arms, missed lounging around his office. Sitting on his lap while he held meetings in the large conference rooms. 

A quick kiss with some stranger in a pub was all it was supposed to be. Just to remind my husband what he was missing out on. 

But the idiot hadn’t taken no for an answer, had tried to push me into a bathroom stall and Taehyung had found me like that, screaming my head off with some drunk off his ass idiot trying to yank my dress up.

It hadn’t ended prettily.

The man had begged for forgiveness and so had I. 

But Taehyung wasn’t one to forgive and now, thanks to my impulsive act, a man lay dead at the bottom of the Han and i was locked in this house for a month. 

The bruises from that night, when he’d tied me up to the bed and fucked me so hard I cried, still decorated my thighs and hips. 

But apparently, it wasn’t enough. 

He wasn’t done punishing me yet. 

The resentment was all consuming. 

The simmering hurt, that feeling of being considered worthless, of being seen as a fucking toy... of being looked at like I didn’t deserve his attention..it always swelled and swelled till I snapped. 

And then he would  punish me for doing exactly what he had wanted me to do.....right until I snapped again . it was a vicious cycle. 

 how dare he. How fucking dare he. 

I stared down at the man  kneeling  in front of me, his gaze dripping with lust as he carefully rubbed liniment on my feet, fingers soft and gentle as he massaged the balls of my feet. His touches were reverent and worshipful almost, like he’s touching something valuable.

He also looked like he wanted to stick my toes inside his mouth. 

The pig. 

I’d wanted to go out to get my hair done , a manicure and a pedicure. But Taehyung had shut that down. Apparently the lecherous fool on his knees before me owned some expensive salon in the city. 

Taehyung was still angry, and apparently he had meant it when he said he wasn’t letting me out of the house till i learned a lesson.

 I hated him. But I had only acted out because I loved him and missed him and it was confusing. Infuriating.  

I grabbed the soft fur throw on the back of the couch and wrapped it around me. 

I exhaled sharply, looking away to the side, where my husband sat behind his desk, long legs propped up and  stretched out like a jaguar on one of the lavishly crafted tables, dressed in a white shirt and a black jacket. 

The shirt was snow-white unlike the blood that stained his fingers. The same fingers that were wrapped around a gun, the bullets out, the safety on as he carefully ran the muzzle up and down his torso. The gun was pretty much a prop with him.

Kim Taehyung did not use guns.

He used his knife.

I was broken out of my thoughts when a finger traced up my ankle and up my shin, right to the inside of my knee. And then further up to my thigh .

The touch foreign and unwelcome made me jump.

“Leave. Get the fuck away from me.” I snarled as I  pulled my leg away, no longer stomaching the man’s touch. He was being blatantly lewd in his touches and i didn’t want it.

Taehyung gave me a lazy look, clearly startled by my voice, breaking the stillness of  early morning.

“That better not be directed at me, princess.”

I swallowed.

“No..I...he...” I pointed at the man on the floor who seemed to have suddenly realized what he had just done. He held his hands up, eyes blown wide with fear.

My husband looked to us, eyes landing on the man giving me a pedicure.

Taehyung smelled fear like a shark sensed blood in the water and I saw him straighten, eyes narrowed, body thrumming.

“Is something wrong?” His gaze shifted to mine and I didn’t miss the way his fingers fluttered to his waist, where his trusty dagger stayed holstered to his hip.

I swallowed.

It was seven in the fucking morning.

Way too early to see some poor bastard lose his entire hand for groping the wife of the biggest mob boss in South Korea.

“Nothing. I’m just tired of your sick little games! ” I snapped , syllables coated with anger and that’s bold even for me. Bold and reckless and possibly a little suicidal.  

Lashing out at Taehyung in front of his sub-ordinates, acting out in front of his men. Its a big no no and I hate myself because surely, surely I’ve made things worse for myself.

Taehyung’s brow rose.

“Leave us. “ He said harshly.

The men in the room didn’t need to be told twice. I watched as they scurried out with a speed that was impressive. Icy dread washed over me as I drew my knees up to my chest, wrapped both arms around my legs and crawled back into the couch as he stood up so fast , the chair he was in went crashing to the wall. 

Tongue sandpaper dry and eyes wide, I leaned back fully, staring at him as he slowly walked over, face still and serene and perfectly beautiful and altogether terrifying.

“I think... I’ve been going too easy on you, little one..” He said gently, tone softly lilting and I closed my eyes when he reached out, fingers closing around my jaw, squeezing hard. 

“I’m sorry....” I blurted out , because futile though it was , apologizing, I couldn’t imagine how much worse it would be if I didn’t. 

He hummed.

“Your father’s dead. “ He said casually. 

My heart leapt up into my throat and I scrambled to get up but he held me down , pressing me into the couch with his weight as he began yanking on the buttons of my blouse. 

“Taehyung!! Why?! “ I whimpered. “ You promised...you promised you wouldn’t kill him!” I sobbed when yanked the silk fabric off my body, leaving me naked from the waist up. He grabbed my arms, turning me over till I was face down over the armrest , breasts pressed into the rough fabric of the couch as he made quick work of the rest of my clothes. 

Taehyung loved fucking me naked when he was fully clothed. It was his way of reminding just how different the two of us were. 

“And i didn’t! “ He grunted, yanking my skirt and panties down with ease.” Jimin did, when your father tried to plant a mole in his drug team.” 

I flinch when he gripped my thighs hard, spreading my legs. 

And then it all happened too fast : the clink of his belt buckle , the pull of his zipper and then the hard length of him, pushing in, splitting me open as he bottomed out inside me. 

Taehyung draped himself over me, every inch of him covering every inch of mine, the fabric of his silk shirt soft against my bare back and I flinched when he took the end of his tie, still knotted around his neck and stuffed it into my mouth, gagging me. 

The harsh pull of his fingers in my hair left me reeling and I screamed, sound muffled by the thick wad of the fabric in my mouth .

He kept his grip on my hair taut, yanking my head back just enough to sink his teeth into the curve of my neck, knees braced on the couch as he fucked into me in controlled thrusts, each push of his hips rubbing my body raw. 

“Know who’s taking over after your father?” He hissed, hand leaving my hair to wrap around my neck and squeeze. 

I whimpered when he pressed in just a little harder, hips jerking forward with a vengeance, enough force to move the hardwood oak couch we were on. The same couch that had taken four people to carry in. 

“Jeon Jungkook.” He snarled and I whimpered when his hands fumbled with his waist, my eyes going wide as I tilted my head, watched him grab the dagger out of its leather sheath. 

 Oh god...oh god no...

Was he going to kill me? Slit my throat?

Fear rendered me witless and I buked wildly, trying to throw him off but it was impossible . He was too damn heavy and too damn strong. 

“Remember him? Your precious boyfriend? “ He sneered , licking the skin behind my ear, lewd and disgusting as he sucked a hickey on the sensitive skin. “ The wonderful young man you were supposed to marry? Kind, generous  Jungkookie who was going to become a surgeon and rescue you from this cruel world of crime you were born into?? ” 

I sobbed out at the sharp pang of hurt that lanced my heart. Long buried memories surfaced and I had to bite my lips to keep them down , to stop my mind from splintering into tiny broken pieces. 

“Guess the lure of the darkness was too much for your little bunny after all.... He’s going to be a gangster. He’s going to be a murderer and a monster and the best thing...he’s going to be just ....like...me...” He hissed, and I shrieked, when brought the dagger down, slowly carefully, till the sharp edge of it rested right over the skin , just behind my ear. 

I felt the touch of the knife edge on my skin and closed my eyes. The sting was sharp and excruciating and i closed my eyes in agony and although I couldn’t see it, I knew exactly what he was carving into my skin. The slanting lines, one and then another. 

V.

I felt the sharp pain of the cut on my neck, just as he pulled the dagger away, my head throbbing as I felt wetness bead over my neck and spill, staining scarlet the couch beneath my head. 

“There. Now you wear my mark.” He whispered, kissing the back of my neck. “ And now you’ll wear  me.” 

He lifted himself up off me and before I could process what was happening he flipped me over, grabbing my leg and throwing it over his shoulder before fucking into me, hard and fast. 

“He’s going to start a war, i hear. A war over  you.  He wants you back , my love and I find myself hating the thought of losing you...” He hissed, fingers playing with my nipples, tugging and pinching till my eyes watered. 

I felt my eyes rolling into the back of my head, pleasure blooming against my will and I whimpered when he pulled the tie out of my mouth, replacing it with his tongue. 

Taehyung kissed me gently, a contrast to how he fucked into me and I felt myself unravel in his arms, body spasming as he pressed his thumb against the bundle of nerves at my entrance,. 

“You’re mine little one ...” He whispered against my lips as I came , clenching down around his hardness, my breath loud and raspy and ruined. “ You’re mine and he can’t have you!!!”

I found myself breathless and choking as he chased his own pleasure, hips ruthless as he rammed into me and I dug my fingers into the couch, as he gripped my waist, hard enough to bruise . 

He shuddered as he came, spilling into me in a sticky wet mess that made my thighs damp and I could only tremble like a leaf caught in a storm. 

It took me  a second to realize that he was fully clothed and I was naked. 

I shook as he pulled up and away from me. Grabbing my clothes, I made to move but his fingers caught my wrists. 

“No.” He said sharply, glaring at me .

I swallowed. 

“Tae...”

“Drop that and come sit on me cock.” 

I felt my eyes tear up in protest.

“Please, don’t...”

“Didn’t you fucking hear me.” He sat back on the couch and I watched as he casually stroked his dick again, still half hard. 

Shaking, I moved to stand in front of him, letting him maneuver me till I was sitting on his lap, straddling his hips, the warm thickness of his cock slipping into my wetness with ease. 

“Stay that way, “ He whispered, pulling me closer till I lay on his chest, cheeks pressed against the fabric of his shirt. 

I gripped his shirt on the sides, fingers and legs trembling. He threw the fur throw on the both of us, covering my body from just below my shoulder blades. 

“Is he here?” He called out suddenly and I stiffened. 

Who?

“He’s here sir.”

“Send him up.”

I felt my entire body go stiff.

 No. No.

“If you fucking move, the love of your life will leave this room in a body bag.” Taehyung whispered softly. 

I sobbed. 

After a three whole years , this wasn’t how i wanted to see  him.

Footsteps behind me and then the sharp , sharp intake of breath. 

“Taehyung.” 

Jungkook’s voice rang through the room and I closed my eyes. 

“Jungkook-ah..... Such a pleasure. Please excuse my wife, she’s still a little exhausted from.... stuff.” He chuckled. “ Sit down . What can I do for you?” 

“She’s bleeding.” Jungkook’s voice was shaking. 

I startled. 

Taehyung hummed, thoughtful.

He ran his fingers over the cut behind my ear, gently and i winced . 

“This? Just a way to remind her ....and everyone else...that she’s mine.” Taehyung smiled. 

Jungkook’s chuckle was so familiar and so soft and I fought the urge to turn around and look at him. I couldn’t If I did. If I saw his face I would break down entirely. 

“Nothing is permanent hyung. Not in our world. What’s yours today can be mine tomorrow. Isn’t that how it works? .” 

Taehyung stiffened, gripping me harder around the waist. 

“You’re being rude, jagiya . Greet our guests.” Taehyung hissed, grabbing my jaw and forcing me to turn around and I sobbed out in shock, scrambling for the fur throw as it fell off my body, clutching it to my breasts as I stared at Jungkook. 

He looked devastated , eyes pained and brimming with hurt for one second before going obsidian with rage. 

“I’m going to fucking destroy you for this, Taehyung. " Jungkook swore. “  I’m going to tear you limb from limb, bury you six feet under and piss on your fucking grave, you son of a whoring bitch,.” 

Taehyung merely chuckled. 

“I look forward to it , Jungkookie.” He said carelessly, hugging me closer. “ Now leave. I intend to enjoy the company of my wife. You should get one for yourself, doctor. They make perfect playthings. “ 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s note : Well... its a one shot but I hope you guys liked it !! 

[neonponders]

Based on @lovebillyhargrove ‘s This Steve with This Billy. (original concept credit to @youfuckingdonut)

I’m having more success with mafia drabbles than my on-going mafia fics orz

• • • • • • •

Steve didn’t know what Billy’s job actually was.

He knew the guy wore nice shirts and nicer blazers, suit jackets, and tuxedo pieces. He knew Billy had to be either the boss or close to it, because he only wore the pieces of a full suit or tuxedo. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he burned every tie he saw. Always had too many buttons undone.

But he looked good. And he knew he looked good. He walked right up to Steve waiting in line with Robin at a cafe before it closed. They’d gone to a nightclub at the absurd time of 8 o’clock. Hey, no door charge because they showed up so early. They were drunk off their ass and sweaty by 11pm. He called it an efficient night out.

“I’ve never been so happy to have a box of stale croissants in my life,” Robin mused as the tired barista used the tongs in the glass display case.

Steve bounced from foot to foot, still dancing to the bad radio pop overhead. He cracked open his juice from the chilled shelves, since asking for a coffee five minutes shy of closing might get a wad of spit mixed in - 

“You’re light on your feet.”

Steve didn’t think too heavily on it when he was drunk. Everyone was prettier when the brain behind the eyes was in some cups, just like all food tasted better. Maybe he should’ve devoted more brain cells to the moment. But that was a lost cause now.

He and Robin chatted and Steve apologized for his hand being wet with condensation and sweat when the guy offered a handshake. Even through the sparkly haze of alcohol, Steve could tell he gave Steve the time of day more than Robin, but they were on their way out anyway.

Steve might’ve said, “Well that was a great nightcap. He’s tasty,” a bit loud before the cafe door shut behind them. Robin coughed on her croissant and Steve guffawed and swiped it for himself before taking off down the street with her chasing after him.

But then Steve just kept running into him.

The guy from the cafe.

Walking into the park as Steve was leaving it. Strolling by the bank before Steve went inside.

With his designer clothes and his clean shoes and smooth, clean shaven jaw made ever so slightly tacky from skincare and lotion when it touched Steve’s face. Because he leaned too far forward over the table he was serving at his upscale restaurant job and

Time froze in a vacuum

Because Steve could’ve sworn he - Billy - lifted his face into the shadow of Steve’s neck. Inhaled.

It was a miracle he didn’t drop a plate or spill a glass. He dared the briefest glance but blue eyes pierced him regardless of the emotion behind them. Steve felt like a dagger tied on a string hung through his belly, lazily stirring his nerves and threatening to land dangerously in his groin.

He left the table before he made a fool of himself and all the company present. Large tables guaranteed large tips. He’d be set for the next month if he just didn’t fuck this up. He strode past the open-air kitchen and the ‘butler’s pantry’ area to hallway with the staff bathrooms -

Hands turned him around by his hips, surprisingly warm despite the thick poly-cotton of his white apron and the black slacks underneath.

The dagger fell.

The kiss was soft despite how ravenously Billy plundered his mouth. It was all Steve could do, to hold onto his nape and then wrap his arms behind Billy’s neck. He tasted like steak and amaretto and neutral sweet, like a man. Mewls and moans left Steve’s throat like he couldn’t stop them. Didn’t want to. Just wanted to drown in whatever this was.

Billy pivoted them so Steve pressed into the wallpaper. He hummed again as his hand found the clean shaven fade on the back of Billy’s head, his blunt fingertips petting and scratching there like he hadn’t known this man for more than an hour of collective encounters.

A sound left Billy’s chest. It hit Steve’s core like a pebble on a bell before he broke the kiss enough to meet Steve’s gaze. Clear blue eyes far more sober than Steve felt and probably looked. Wrecked with lust for this stranger who had money and means to always find him.

“A car’s going to pick you up later.”

Steve blinked with reticence, not wanting to leave this haze but already out of it.

“Get into the car.” The pad of Billy’s thumb touched Steve’s lip, light but insistent. He breathed, “Steve,” before leaving the hallway. Pleading. At least, Steve wanted it to be a plea.

But he was gone when Steve checked back at the table to top up waters and drinks. In singles and pairs, the group left until Steve was left to collect dishes and wonder who the hell managed their tabs. His manager answered that question for him moments later, by shoving a thick fold of cash into his apron pocket.

“Your tip from table twenty-three.”

“I didn’t see you get the bills,” he commented, intending to reach in and see what the high rollers tipped - 

She shoved his hands away from his pocket. “You don’t take money out in the open, silly. Get back to your locker for that.”

Steve knew he never saw her with a pile of receipt folders with credit cards sticking out of them. But he went back to work and didn’t take inventory of his tips until closing.

That table might’ve spent $1200 on dinner and drinks.

Steve got $1100 in tips. What kind of math that was, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t fixate on it too much, because inside the fold of money was a piece of paper with a phone number. No name. Steve could assume it to be Billy’s but he didn’t know...

Get into the car.

Steve zipped up his coat as he stepped out of the employees’ entrance. He emerged out of the service alleyway to...a regular city street. No cars more or less than normal, and none of them stood out...

Did he even want to get in?

He almost shook his head, just to jostle his thoughts around. “Don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid,” he whispered to himself as he turned and marched his ass home. He didn’t know this guy: a person with a scary amount of recon on his life to be able to find him at any ol’ time. His dinner friends weren’t exactly a college reunion, either.

But he kissed like a god and tasted like one too.

He held Steve like he wanted him, and Christ, Steve wanted to be wanted.

The privilege of being craved.

He was wrist deep in shampoo with his eyes closed when he realized someone pounded on his apartment door. The panic of rinsing suds off his body as fast as possible, the terror of someone at his door at 2am, and the fury of pissing off his neighbors at 2am spurred him out of the shower and into a t-shirt on top of the towel around his waist.

God sure as hell could’ve been at his door and Steve would’ve answered it the same way.

“It’s 3am! Shut the hell up!” he hissed.

Billy looked equal measures of pissed and concerned, but he blinked and amusement crept in. He wore a long, swanky pea coat that looked soft to the touch. Steve was more preoccupied with moving out of his way when the guy strode right into his apartment.

“Why didn’t you let the car pick you up?” Billy’s gaze moved around the Spartan yet cluttered living room.

“Uh, I didn’t see one?” Steve sassed before he admitted, “Or...it’s a street? Lots of cars.”

Billy’s attention landed on him like he didn’t quite believe it. Steve stood in a towel with dripping hair, for god sake. Billy’s eyes raked over him as if he were putting together some pieces of a puzzle that Steve didn’t understand. Or was mundane life so difficult if you could just drop $1100?

Billy took his hands from his pockets and started removing buttery leather gloves. “Do you have a roommate?”

Steve felt like another dagger was about to fall, but where, he couldn’t tell. He inhaled and sighed, “No.”

“Who is that woman to you?”

Steve’s brows reached for his hairline. “You mean my best friend?” he challenged.

Billy laughed. Derisive and amused and...impressed? Relieved?

He threw his coat, jacket, and gloves on the IKEA couch and those hands found Steve’s waist again. “Billy?” he managed before he had those lips again. Before Billy’s hand found the base of his skull and encouraged him to tilt for better access.

Then Billy let a moan seep into his sigh. Their lips parted audibly and he breathed, “No one talks to me like you do. About me. To me. You-mmh.”

He took Steve’s lips again like he craved. Steve shivered against his erection brushing against the fibers of his towel.

“Can I finish my shower?”

“No,” he purred darkly, arm locking behind Steve’s waist as the other pressed a rolling hand to Steve’s front.

He trembled through a broken shout, panting against Billy’s lips and jaw, gripping his silk shirt at the risk of scratching the threads. Billy licked over Steve’s lips, and Steve was dangerously close to cumming right there.

“Billy...” he whined. He warned.

Bright eyes gazed steadily at him through hooded, dark lashes. “Keep saying my name like that. I’ll give you everything.”