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twstowo · 4 months

Note

Hi person who asked about part 2 of 'True loves kiss' just though of something else to it where true loves kiss wasn't the cure.

Sorry that I sent 2 ask, I literally just thought of this after I sent it. Sorry again mate.

♡︎I loved writing this so much! This is really long because I got excited and couldn’t stop typing.

♡︎Includes: Housewardens and Jamil

♡︎Warning: Angst

♡︎First part

⋆⋅☆Riddle

For days, he had been consumed by the task of brewing a potion to break the sleeping spell that had befallen you. Despite the absence of romantic feelings reciprocated, he considered you a dear friend and couldn't leave you in such a state. However, the process took its toll on his mood, turning him less tolerant of those around him in Heartslabyul. Collaring people became an automatic response to his heightened stress, a reflection of the turmoil brewing within him as he fought with studying and contemplating your unreciprocated feelings.

His efforts took an unexpected turn when Ace rushed towards him, delivering the news that the spell binding you couldn't be broken with a love kiss. The revelation sent Riddle into a state of emotional disarray. Could this mean there was still a chance that you harboured feelings for him? He clung to that glimmer of hope, even if small.

As your eyes gradually opened, he tried to maintain a calm demeanour in your presence. However, any uncertainty about your feelings evaporated at that moment, for the enamoured gaze you directed at him, as the first thing you saw after a prolonged slumber, provided all the answers he ever needed. In that moment, he bends down and hugs you, catching you off guard with the sudden show of affection.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Leona

Ruggie had had enough of Leona, and it seemed everyone else felt the same way. Leona's glare was enough to send people running. He locked himself in his room, skipping classes, and ignoring Ruggie's attempts to snap him out of it. Every time Ruggie told him to move on from you, Leona just got angrier, as if it hadn't crossed his mind before. But erasing your face, your voice, and the moments you spent together turned out to be tougher than he thought.

When Ruggie shared the news that the sleeping spell on you couldn't be broken with a true love's kiss, Leona didn't react. He told Ruggie once again to leave him alone, burying himself even deeper in uncertainty about your feelings.

After you woke up, Ruggie briefed you on everything, and you decided to visit Leona and get him out of his room. As you walked in, you heard his annoyed voice, thinking you were Ruggie coming to annoy him. But when you told him you loved him and took a seat on his bed, he quickly pulled you into his arms. The two of you spent the rest of the day there, finding comfort in each other's company.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Azul

Days had passed since you woke up, and Azul, dealing with the aftermath of unrequited love, tried making a potion to wake you up. He promised himself to cut ties with you, but it was hard to forget, especially when Floyd and Jade kept stopping your attempts to talk with him. This left him alone to think about how desperate you seemed when the kiss he had given you proved all he needed to know. He struggled with the idea that maybe, like others, you were only interested in his favours and wealth.

However, one day a teacher mentioned casually that the sleeping spell on you couldn't be broken with a kiss. This hit Azul hard, making him reconsider the possibility that you might have loved him all along, remembering all the times you had tried to tell him your feelings, only for Floyd and Jade to push you away from him.

Without wasting time, Azul ran to find you. Anyone watching would hardly recognize the composed Azul Ashengrotto in the frantic figure racing through the corridors. When he saw you, he was left speechless. You looked hurt, and he understood why, by the Seven, you had all the right to be even mad with him. Tears welled up in his eyes as he held onto your shoulders, asking for forgiveness over and over, making a mess out of himself in front of you, and when you hugged him and said it was okay, it brought a rush of happiness he hadn't expected.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Kalim

After waking up with a potion, Kalim continues treating you the same way as always. He invites you to parties and talks with you every day, and the two of you become inseparable again. It's only when you decide to express your love for Kalim, in which he immediately reciprocates, that Jamil intervenes wanting to speak with you in private.

Jamil, who had never seen you as a threat to Kalim before, now seems to think that your confession and the failed kiss might indicate ulterior motives, possibly tied to Kalim's wealth. This misunderstanding creates confusion, as you genuinely hold feelings for Kalim, and you're left perplexed as to why the kiss didn't work.

The situation gets untangled when you and Jamil discover that a true love kiss could have never awakened you. Despite this revelation, when Kalim learns of it he remains unfazed and continues to treat you with the same kindness and warmth. You're torn between being thankful for his understanding and worried about how nonchalant he is about the whole situation.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Jamil

Every moment after you woke up turned into torture for him. He knew that every act of kindness you directed at him was purely platonic, and he despised it because he had fallen hard for those gestures before, mistaking them for romantic interactions. Whether you clung to his side while talking, helped him with cooking preparations, or focused your attention on him in the presence of Kalim, it tore him apart. The desire to tell you to go away and leave him alone overwhelmed him, but he also knew that if he did, Kalim would eventually invite you to hang out, forcing him to witness the two of you being friendly. It was especially painful because he wished it were him with you instead of Kalim.

One day, he overhears you talking to Kalim about him, and to his surprise, you express your intention to confess your feelings to him. Anger bubbles up in him – does he look like a fool to you? He's well aware that you don't see him in that way. When you gather the courage to confess your love, he quickly calls you out, leaving you with his cold words echoing in your head. Your heart shatters, and you swear to never see him again.

However, everything changes when he learns that the spell you were under could never be broken with a kiss. This revelation means that you did love him when you confessed, and he's left conflicted. Though you occasionally cross paths in school hallways or during Kalim's invitations, you avoid making eye contact with him. It takes Kalim's insistence to push him to approach you in Ramshackles and fully explain himself. As he deeply apologizes for everything, you find it hard to stay mad, understanding the depth of his feelings. Eventually, you let him in, allowing the two of you to spend some time alone and clear the air.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Vil

After you wake up, Vil decides to make you fall for him. Just because he wasn't your true love before the sleeping spell doesn't mean he can't become that with time. You notice him becoming nicer, always kissing your hand when you meet, inviting you over more frequently, and Rook occasionally delivering bouquets of your favourite flowers, claiming they were ordered by Vil. It leaves you in an embarrassed mess, as it becomes evident that Vil has feelings for you.

Over time, Rook overhears that the sleeping spell could never be broken with a kiss. He hastily informs Vil, who sees it as an incentive to make things official with you.

The next time you meet is at Pomefiore, in a dimly lit room with only a table and two chairs. Vil has arranged what he intends to be the most romantic dinner of your life. When he expresses his love for you, he wants the moment to be etched into your memory forever.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Idia

He finds himself confined to his room for the next few weeks, and not even Ortho can pull him out of the depressive episode he's plunged into. When he finally gathers the strength to leave his bed, he meticulously packs away all the little gifts you gave him in a plastic bag. Deleting your conversations on every platform, blocking you, erasing your character in The Sims 4 (whom he had married to his own), and moving his Minecraft bed away from yours, he goes to great lengths to sever all ties. He can't believe he allowed himself to believe that you truly loved him. Having opened up to you and shared his personal lore, he feels played and betrayed.

Ortho reaches a point where he has to break down his door, informing him about the spell not being broken with a kiss, just to get him to stop sulking in the corner. However, now that he's aware of the truth, he doesn't know how to proceed. Ignoring you for so long, he assumes you must hate him.

It takes Ortho's intervention once again to call you and explain Idia's situation for you to visit him. You had noticed being blocked and the removal of his Minecraft bed, but the sudden distance was a mystery. Upon finding him lying on the floor, you talk to him about everything. You also take the opportunity to express your love, leaving Idia frozen in place. A pink hue surrounds the two of you as his hair becomes the only source of light in the room.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Malleus

He decides to wake you up with his magic after Lilia suggests it as the best course of action, even if his love remains unrequited. He attempts to distance himself from you, finding it challenging and painful when you approach, casually chatting with Silver, Sebek, and even Lilia, greeting him with the soft smile he adores. Unable to contain his emotions, he finally confronts you, questioning why you don't love him. You're taken aback, attempting to explain your genuine feelings for him, but he dismisses you as a liar, teleporting away with a thunderous echo.

Weeks pass without any communication, until Silver enlightens him about the sleeping spell, explaining that a kiss wouldn't break it and that was the reason you didn't wake up with his kiss.

Upon hearing this revelation, he rushes to find you near Ramshackles. He pleads for your attention, kneeling in front of you, asking for forgiveness and professing his deep love. Watching the heartfelt scene unfold, you eventually take him into a hug, and the two of you remain locked in that embrace, reluctant to let go.

#twst #disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jamil viper x reader #kalim al asim x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader

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midastouch013 · 1 month

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Exes And Stomach Flus

Based on this request

Summary: You just came back from a horrible date, so what happens when you hear your ex throwing up on you way back.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort. Self-loathing (N). Break ups. Throwing up. Sick Nat

---

The echoes of a disastrous date reverberated in your mind as you trudged through the walls of the avengers compound. The evening had been a train wreck, courtesy of a pick-me chick whose incessant need for validation grated on your last nerve.

The terrible evening was a stark reminder of why you had distanced yourself from the dating scene in the first place. But even as you tried to push the memories aside, thoughts of Natasha flooded your mind, bringing with them the pain of your breakup.

It had been months since Natasha ended things, leaving you with more questions than answers. There were no explanations, no closure—just a void where your relationship had once thrived. In the aftermath, you had retreated from the avengers, fearing having to see her, seeking solace in solitude as you tried to heal the wounds she left on you.

And so when you reached Natasha's door, yours just 3 more down, you hesitated. Sighing heavily, ready to go to your room and drown your sorrows with a bottle of wine.

You, however, stopped when a muffled sound caught your attention—a retching, guttural sound that sent a pang of concern through you and before you knew it, against your better judgment, your hand was knocking softly on her door.

"Natasha?" you called out, pushing the door open cautiously. The bed had been abandoned but the bathroom lights glowed, and the sight that greeted you was unexpected, yet strangely familiar. There she was, Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow herself, hunched over the toilet, a ghost of her usual composed self. The sound of her sickness echoed in the room, stark against the backdrop of her vulnerability.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. "Hey," you murmured softly, approaching her side. "Are you okay?"

"I'll survive," she said cold and abrupt, although the weakness showed clearly

And that made you falter, feeling like an intruder in her space. The pain of being near her, yet so far from the intimacy you once shared, threatened to overwhelm you. You considered leaving, seeking solace in the company of someone—anyone—but the sight of Natasha's vulnerability rooted you to the spot.

"Nat," you murmured softly, torn between your desire to help and the ache in your heart. "Do you want me to get Clint or someone else?"

You were sure she'd ask for Clint, Wanda at the least, but Natasha's response was immediate, a desperate plea that cut through the air like a knife, a stark contrast to the previous response. "Please, don't leave me," she whispered, her voice barely above a hoarse whisper.

"Nat-asha, I don't know if this is a good idea," you protested weakly, your heart torn between conflicting emotions.

And for the first time in the last few months, her eyes look up at yours with a silent plea in her eyes. A look you knew all too well—a silent request for comfort, for you to be there in her time of need.

Despite the turmoil within, your heart couldn't ignore the silent plea in Natasha's eyes, nor the desperation in her weakened voice as she begged you to stay.

“Please”

For what felt like an eternity, you battled with your own emotions, protesting weakly against the overwhelming urge to leave. But with each passing moment, Natasha's grip on your hand tightened, her silent plea resonating within you, until finally, with a heavy sigh, you relented.

"I'll stay," you whispered softly, the words barely above a breath, yet weighted with the depth of your emotions.

Natasha's relief was palpable, a flicker of gratitude shining in her eyes as she leaned into your touch. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the quiet of the room, the silence, not for long though, as she hunched over the toilet again.

As Natasha retched again, you winced in sympathy, a pang of sorrow tightening your chest. Without hesitation, you moved closer, your hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as she endured another wave of sickness.

"It's okay, Nat," you whispered softly, your voice a gentle reassurance in the midst of her distress. "I'm here. You're going to be okay."

Natasha's only response was a weak nod, her grip on your hand tightening as she struggled to regain her composure. Despite the pain etched on her features, there was a quiet determination in her eyes—a silent acknowledgment of your presence and the strength it brought her.

As the waves of nausea subsided, you helped Natasha to her feet, her body trembling with weakness. With careful movements, you guided her to the bathroom sink, supporting her as she rinsed her mouth and splashed water on her face.

"Can you stand?" you asked softly, concern lacing your voice, when you realised she had finished throwing up.

With a determined nod, Natasha attempted to rise, but her legs wobbled beneath her, threatening to give way. Without hesitation, you stepped forward, your arms wrapping around her waist to steady her.

"I've got you," you murmured reassuringly, your voice a gentle anchor in the sea of uncertainty.

Together, you guided Natasha to the sink, supporting her as she leaned against the counter. With trembling hands, you picked up the toothbrush, applying toothpaste with careful precision.

"Here, let me help," you offered, your touch gentle as you guided the brush along Natasha's teeth. With each stroke, you could feel the tension in her body easing, her breaths coming easier as the discomfort began to fade.

As you helped her rinse her mouth and splash water on her face, you couldn't help but marvel at the vulnerability she displayed—the quiet strength that lay beneath her fragile exterior. She'd only ever shown you this few months after you started dating, and that was after you had admitted that you loved her.

With Natasha leaning against you for support, you guided her to the bedroom, your movements slow and deliberate. You helped her change into fresh clothes, your touch a silent reassurance of your presence.

You settled Natasha into bed, ensuring she was comfortable before taking your place on the opposite side, leaving a significant space between you.Then, in the stillness, you heard what seemed to be a small sniffle, followed by another. And another. And soon enough the sound of Natasha's silent tears filled the room.

As Natasha's tears fell and she let out her first sob, something she never does, only ever silently crying, your concern intensified, your heart pounding with worry. "Nat, what's wrong?" you asked, your voice soft but urgent, reaching out to touch her trembling shoulder that faced away from you.

She recoiled slightly, as if your touch startled her, before finally turning around and meeting your gaze with eyes brimming with pain. "You… you'll hate me," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own cries.

Your brow furrowed in confusion, your own heartache mixing with concern for her. "Tasha, whatever it is, you can tell me," you urged gently, your voice tinged with worry.

“The reason-” she cracked, unsure of what to say, “The reason we broke up-”

With a shaky breath, Natasha hesitated, her lips parting as if she struggled to find the right words. "It wasn’t you, it was me," she finally managed, her voice thick with emotion.

A surge of frustration and anger rose within you, the pain of her abrupt departure still fresh in your mind. "What do you mean, it's not me? You ended things without a word, Natasha!" you exclaimed, your voice trembling with emotion. "You left me without any explanation, and now you expect me to believe it's just you?"

As the words spilled from your lips, a torrent of hurt and betrayal and partially confused with why she was bringing it up in the first place, Natasha flinched, as if your words were a physical blow.

She let out a shaky breath.

"I felt unworthy… like all I could offer you was pain and darkness," she confessed, her voice trembling with self-condemnation. "I'm a monster, and you deserve so much more than that."

Natasha's confession struck you like a dagger, each syllable driving a wedge deeper into your heart. Your throat tightened with unshed tears as you listened to her unravel before you, her voice trembling with pain and anguish.

"I'm broken, Y/n," she choked out, her words a broken whisper against your chest. "I don't deserve your love... I don't deserve anyone's love."

Natasha's words hung heavy in the air, her words a painful echo of her inner turmoil, and you felt your heart shatter into a million pieces. The weight of her self-loathing bore down on you like a crushing weight, threatening to break you more than you were by the breakup. And as she broke down before you, her sobs echoing in the darkness, you knew that you couldn't let her face this pain alone.

With sure hands, you quickly gathered her into your arms, pulling her into your chest despite the resistance in her movements. She pushed against you with all her strength, her cries of anguish muffled against your shoulder as she tried to push you away. But you held on, refusing to let go, your grip firm and unwavering as she struggled against you.

With each push, each desperate attempt to break free, your heart broke a little more, the pain of her rejection cutting deep into your soul. But you refused to give up, your love for her outweighing the ache in your heart. And so you held her close, whispering soothing words into her ear as she fought against you, her cries growing louder with each passing moment.

But slowly, oh so slowly, the resistance began to fade, her struggles growing weaker as the tears continued to fall. And as she finally collapsed against you, her body trembling with exhaustion, you held her close, your arms a silent refuge in the midst of the storm.

Gently, you brushed the tears from her cheeks, your touch tender as you cradled her close.

"Nat," you began softly, your voice a soothing balm in the darkness. "You're not everything you claim to be."

With a shaky breath, you launched into a heartfelt monologue, your words pouring forth much like the contents of her breakfast, lunch and dinner, a few moments prior

"You're not a monster, Nat," you asserted, your voice unwavering. "You're one of the bravest people I know. You escaped the Red Room, survived it. When Clint and I gave you a chance, you took it, you took it and never looked back. You're not broken—you're a survivor."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you continued, recounting the countless moments of humor and warmth that Natasha brought into your life. From her dry wit to her fierce loyalty, each trait painted a picture of a woman far far far away from the despicable figure she saw herself as.

"And let's not forget how you save millions of people, on a weekly basis" you added, a note of pride in your voice. "You risk your life all the time, from stopping bombs from detonating to fighting aliens conjured by gods, and because of you, countless lives were spared. That's not the mark of a monster—that's the mark of a hero."

"And don't even get me started on the cute things you do," you teased gently, a playful twinkle in your eye. "Like the way you scrunch up your nose when you're concentrating, or the way you pretend to hate it when I steal the last slice of pizza. Those quirks, they make you who you are. They make you human."

Leaning in, you pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "Tasha, you deserve the world," you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity.

"You in the months we were together made me the luckiest and happiest person in the world, just by being next to me. And no matter what lies in your past, no matter what mistakes you think you've made, I'll always see you for the incredible person you are."

Despite the tears still lingering in her eyes, Natasha couldn't help but chuckle at your words, a faint glimmer of light returning to her gaze.

Natasha's tear-stained eyes searched yours, a glimmer of hope flickering within them. "You really think so?" she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," you replied, your own voice filled with conviction. "As a matter of fact, I know so"

She gave you a small smile which didn't last long as her stomach lurched again and she was scrambling out, from under the covers.

As Natasha rushed up from the bed, the urgency in her movements palpable, you couldn't help but spring into action once more. Hurrying after her, you offered your support, holding back her hair as she retched into the toilet once more. The sound tore at your heart, a stark reminder of her vulnerability in this moment of weakness.

Once she had finished, you helped her back to bed, guiding her gently until she was settled against the pillows. As she leaned back against you, her breathing labored, a moment of vulnerability passed between you, her words hanging heavy in the air.

"I still love you," Natasha whispered softly, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the room.

You froze, her admission catching you off guard. "I… I just got back from a date," you stammered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

The hurt flickered in Natasha's eyes, a guardedness settling over her features once more. With a determined look, she tried to sit up, as if preparing to distance herself once more.

But you couldn't let her, you wouldn't. Without hesitation, you reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder to stop her. "Nat, wait," you urged, your voice filled with urgency. "I'm… I'm still in love with you too."

And that seemed to click in her head as she relaxed in your arms again but a small tension lingered in the air, the weight of your admissions still hanging heavy between you. And, just as the silence threatened to become suffocating, you felt a spark of mischief flicker within you.

"Well, I suppose that's one way to get back with your ex," you quipped, a playful grin tugging at the corners of your lips.

Natasha's chuckle was music to your ears, a soft melody that chased away the lingering tension in the room. "I guess you're right," she replied, her voice laced with amusement, before adding. "I'd kiss you right now if my mouth didn't taste of puke."

The humor in her words caught you off guard, a burst of laughter bubbling up from deep within you. "Well, that's a mood killer if I ever heard one," you joked, the laughter easing the weight from your shoulders.

And so, a toothbrush and paste later, you finally got to kiss the ruby red lips of the love of your life again. Knowing that it only got better from this.

------------------

#avengers #black widow #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov #natasha x reader #natasha x you #anon ask #natalia alianovna romanova #natasha marvel #natasha romanoff hurt/comfort #natasha x y/n #natalia romanova #natalia vodianova #black widow x y/n #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #black widow x you

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lecsainz · 6 months

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Hii can you maybe write one about max falling in love with you but hes with kelly (maybe smut👀) not trying to be weird i swear😔

FOOLISH

parings: max verstappen + ricciardo!reader | charles leclerc + ricciardo!reader

summary: where max has feelings for you but he's with kelly, and when he finally acts on it, it's already too late.

an: I switched up your request a bit, but I can do another if you'd like. not writing smut at the moment because I've got a creative block for it, hope y'all understand.

type: angst ✶

masterlist

Max couldn't remember when he had fallen in love with you. He just knew it was wrong. After all, he had been with Kelly for years, and it was all kinds of wrong to constantly have someone else on his mind. But God, he couldn't tear his eyes away from you.

He had always been fond of Daniel's younger sister, but he couldn't decide whether to thank or curse the day when Daniel had come to him, grinning from ear to ear, to reveal that you would be the nutritionist for his team during the season. This meant that Max would see you every day, but in a different garage, with a different team, and, most painfully, with other drivers – the very thought made him sick to his stomach.

As the season went on, Max found himself craving every fleeting moment he could spend around you. He had a feeling it was inevitable, that his heart was already too far gone. But he couldn't bring himself to act on his feelings; he had his commitment to Kelly, and he was not the kind of man to betray his girlfriend, no matter how deep his feelings ran.

One evening, Max found himself wandering the paddock aimlessly, lost in thought about the impossible situation he had found himself in. He didn't realize he had ended up in the same lounge area as you until you looked up and gave him a warm smile.

"Max, right?" you said, and the sound of your voice sent shivers down his spine.

Max nodded, trying to hide his internal turmoil behind a smile. "Yeah, that's me. Y/N, isn't it?"

You nodded, and a friendly conversation began. Over time, Max couldn't help but be drawn to you, to the way you listened intently and laughed genuinely. It was so different from the way he felt around Kelly, with whom he had been together for a long time, but things had grown stagnant over the years.

Days turned into weeks, and Max's feelings for you only grew stronger. He couldn't control the way his heart skipped a beat when he saw your name pop up on his phone, or the rush of excitement when he knew he'd be able to chat with you between practices. The guilt gnawed at him, but he couldn't help but cherish those stolen moments.

As the season reached its midpoint, Max found himself confiding in Daniel, sharing his inner turmoil and revealing the truth about his feelings for you. The elder Ricciardo listened, offering support and advice, but ultimately respecting Max's decisions.

"I get it, mate," Daniel said, clapping Max on the back. "It's a messy situation, but you've got to figure out what's best for you."

Max nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of his feelings and the knowledge that he couldn't act on them.

One day, as the season drew closer to the end, Max sat in the quiet of his hotel room, looking at a photo of you on his phone. He couldn't help but smile as he remembered a particularly amusing conversation the two of you had shared earlier in the day. But the smile quickly faded as he thought about the reality of his situation.

He had a loving, committed girlfriend in Kelly, and he couldn't simply throw that away for something that might never be. It wasn't fair to her, and it wasn't fair to himself either. Max knew he had to make a decision, even if it tore him apart.

Max decided to take a walk to clear his head, wandering the quiet streets of the city where the race was taking place. He replayed his conversations with you in his mind and thought about the love he had for Kelly. It was a painful and agonizing decision, but he knew what he had to do.

Later that night, Max sat down with Kelly in their hotel room. The conversation was filled with tears and broken hearts, but he knew he had to be honest with her. He explained his feelings for you and the unbearable guilt he felt for allowing those feelings to grow.

Kelly was devastated, but she understood. She had felt the distance between them and knew that something was amiss. They both agreed that it was best to end their relationship, even though it was painful for both of them.

Max knew that he couldn't immediately pursue a relationship with you, and he wasn't even sure if you felt the same way about him. But he needed to be honest with himself and find his own path, even if it meant enduring a period of heartache.

In the aftermath of his breakup with Kelly, Max decided to give himself some time to heal and find his own path. He knew he couldn't immediately pursue a relationship with you, and he wasn't sure if you felt the same way about him. But he also knew that he couldn't keep his feelings buried forever.

As the days turned into weeks, Max focused on his career, throwing himself into his racing with even more determination. The tracks became his sanctuary, the roar of the engines helping to drown out the ache in his heart.

However, the memory of you still lingered in his thoughts, refusing to fade. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about your passion for motorsports, your laughter, and the warmth in your voice—all of it was etched into his memory.

One day, during a race weekend in a picturesque European city, Max decided that he couldn't keep his feelings bottled up any longer. He needed to tell you how he felt. The only question was how and when.

That night, he gathered the courage to call you. Your voice was as welcoming as ever, and as the conversation flowed, Max felt his heart pounding in his chest. He had intended to tell you his feelings, to admit the truth about his emotions, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words.

"Y/N," he began, hesitating as he sought the right words. "I've been thinking a lot lately. About us."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Max could hear the curiosity in your voice. "What about us, Max?"

He took a deep breath and finally said, "I think there's something I need to tell you. Something I should have said a long time ago."

Just as he was about to confess his feelings, you interrupted. "Max, there's something I need to tell you too."

Max's heart sank, but he couldn't stop now. He had to be honest. "Okay, you first."

There was a heavy sigh on your end, and you spoke slowly. "I'm with Charles now, Max. We've been dating for a while, and things have gotten quite serious between us."

Max's world seemed to crumble around him as he processed your words. It was a bitter twist of fate. He had waited too long to confess his feelings, and now you had moved on with someone else. He tried to hide the pain in his voice as he responded, "I see. I'm happy for you, Y/N. Charles is a great guy."

You thanked him for his understanding, but Max couldn't bring himself to say anything more. The conversation felt like a blur, and he hung up the phone, feeling a sense of loss he hadn't anticipated.

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a-small-safe-place · 6 months

Text

Yandere Severus Snape x Potter!Reader

Severus didn't think much of you, even though you were friends with Lily. He actively tried to avoid you, considering you a Potter, and he harbored strong resentment towards your brother James and his group of friends. His infatuation with Lily left him entirely disinterested in your presence, as if your last name and older brother did nothing to change his opinion of you.

It was common knowledge that you and James were close; he played the role of a protective older brother, ensuring that nobody messed with his younger sibling. Anyone who dared to do so faced the wrath of James and the other Marauders. This was another significant reason why Severus chose to avoid you, fearing that getting close to you would make him an even bigger target for James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter.

Now, all of that feels like a distant memory. Lily and James are both gone, and you run a successful potions shop in Diagon Alley. Your shop boasts the best ingredients for purchase, and Severus has admired your work in potions. You do an excellent job, better than most, although Severus still considers himself a superior potion-maker.

While Severus once went out of his way to avoid you, circumstances have now led to consistent contact between the two of you. Every time he enters your shop, you greet him with a warm smile and inquire about how he's doing. He's surprised that someone so closely related to James Potter could be kind, but Severus understands that one's family doesn't determine their character.

On January 9th, you discreetly included a small cake in a protective case with a "Happy Birthday" message in the bag of items Severus was purchasing. Severus rarely enjoyed sweets, but it had been a long time since someone had made something for his birthday. He felt a flutter of excitement as he decided to taste the cake, finding it delicious. It was a simple, unadorned cake, something that might be served at a Muggle birthday party. Did you have feelings for Severus? Is that why you went out of your way to make him a cake? If it had been from anyone else Severus would be skeptical, but you two had a sound relationship even if it was strictly business.

As he pondered the implications and struggled with his own emotions. Severus couldn't possibly have feelings for you, he loved Lily. The cake, though, was so sweet, and it made him realize that Lily had never done something like that for him. The shameful blush on his cheeks revealed his inner turmoil. He couldn't betray Lily by developing feelings for you, especially after her passing.

Despite his reservations, you were undeniably kind, and Lily knew that. In fact, she had always wanted Severus to meet you, believing that you would become good friends. With James no longer a threat, there was no obligation for Severus to avoid you. Perhaps you could simply be friends.

As Severus spent more time with you, he found himself restlessly thinking about you. Lily's prediction proved true; you and Severus became good friends. He began to notice details about you that he had never cared to consider before. He diligently documented the information you shared with him in a dedicated journal. It may have seemed unusual to have an entire journal dedicated to one person, but Severus was never one to do things halfway. Your attentiveness motivated him to reciprocate in kind, though he aimed to do it even better.

However, the situation took a turn when you revealed that you had a partner. Severus felt his heart shatter at the news. He couldn't understand how you could betray him in this way, or more importantly, how you could betray Lily, who had sent you to him to ensure that neither of you would be alone anymore. There was only one option. Severus had to ensure that your partner would fall in love with someone else and he would have you to himself.

#yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere harry potter #yandere harry potter x reader #severus snape #severus x reader #snape x reader #yandere severus snape #yandere snape #severus snape x reader #professor snape #I think I could have done more with this prompt #this feels rushed

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darlingofvalyria · 8 months

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❝I never asked you to, you bumbling oaf.❞

[ Between advices and jealous-fraught fights, nestles your heart in red satin and ivory touch. Or, your marriage so far with the firstborn son of the King. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 3,901 ] | Aegon Targaryen II x Wife!Reader

contains— fluff & smutty - nsfw: oral (f receiving), p & v sex, creampie, breeding kink(?), - soft shit if aegon got to at least have a bit more agency lmao - jealousy - sorta angsty in the beginning but eh - your house is unnamed but you're a bad bitch - no use of y/n - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— it wasn't going to be a full smut, but aegon happened so here we are. comment, reblog & like at will, mwa!

Fraught might be a marriage arranged— cost and effect, weighed by titles and expectations of such matches made, emotion of either future spouse the least they weigh when they make their decisions — but you had grown to adore your husband.

You had been warned, of course. Gossip and small-minded chatter followed the firstborn son of the King. That despite the regality of Targaryen roots and colouring, he was a whoremonger, an addled-drunk, a monstrous caveat shrouded in dark green silk and iron.

You were called a victim, a damsel in distress meant to be saved before you had even met him. And yet not a single one of them batted an eye, much less offered a hand to rescue you from such turmoil. More than prepared to send you off. Others, of course, wishing for a prince to be married to their house, spit their scorn and irony.

The day you met him was a hot day. The sun basked the Crownlands with an almost venomous hatred, and it did not help your anticipation. Nor the long and arduous travel that turned the carriage into a hotbox meant to cook.

Your rear had ached in pain, almost as painful as your pinched cheeks that your grandmother had twisted unto your skin before you got out to meet the Queen, the Hand, and your betrothed, reminding you that a Princess Consort must always look her best, must appeal to her husband at all times "but must not be whorish! And sit straight, by the Seven, girl! Remember to exit gracefully! Like a swan, not a duck! Yes, there is a difference! Scamper your sarcasm!"— your gown was heavy, cinched tight and thick in beautiful fabric and small pearls and sapphires.

You had smiled prettily, bowed perfectly, and when you finally faced your betrothed, he was barely able to stand, pale as a sheet, and suffering from his cups the night before, sweat weeping on his brow.

It had sent a strike down your spine, irritation and anger spinning beneath pearly teeth. You bite down any word before they escape, forcing you to a perfect posture and a sharpened edge to your smile.

Aegon Targaryen, Second of his Name, had taken a step back, almost subconsciously, as fear flashed in his darling blue eyes.

Your good brother, having found out of this first interaction, had not stopped teasing your husband for the next few moons. Your good sister, you were told much later, had hummed wistfully, fingers dancing between rings as if she knew much more than anyone else, a small smile playing on the corners of her lips.

The memory makes you laugh now, warming your cold fingers against your first winter storm in Kings Landing. Snow torrents in whirlwinds and spikes, filling the Godswood in flurries and icicles.

Your Lady In Waiting, Emma Redwyne with her pretty Tully red hair and curled lashes that you had always found envy in, bows in greeting. You don't acknowledge her, which you recognise as nothing but pettiness, but you can't bring yourself to stop. You continue to stare forward, hand outstretched in the flurry of snow, when she awkwardly speaks.

"The prince is in your bedchambers, my princess."

You hum in acknowledgement, but no more. She shifts.

"He says he will not leave lest it is you who tells him so."

You turn to her, churlish in your expression of irritation and she winces, tucking her chin once more in false reverence before you sigh. The Lady Redwyne had been a friend once, an acquaintance really. Your grandmother had warned you that though you should have a good relationship with your ladies, it was best to keep them at an arm's length.

"Vipers and greed make stock in the centrefold of power, my dearest," she murmured, gnarled hands twinning your hair, a colour close to her own when she had been your age. You had been told you looked just like her, a gem in her era, her hand sought after by lords and princes alike before your grandsire made a weighty proposal to her house. "No matter what friendship you can build, all of it is but fat clouds and sandcastles. Pretty as they are, easily destructible by the next gust of wind."

"But they would be my ladies." The idea that the women closest to you should be kept with a good eye brought a weight to your chest. Trust is a hard thing to grasp in this place, you were fast learning.

You grandmother tutted, her hands cupping your chin, tilting upward until the same eyes met. One aged and knowing, another young and soon will understand the weight of life. Of the coat she bore with her husband's house in front of the Sept.

"Just watch and see, my sweet. Your future husband is a prince. They will try their damnedest. But you should not lose, for you are his wedded consort."

Now, your eyes linger on the cut of Lady Redwyne's gown. Far too revealing for the coldest touch of the year. The rogue in her cheeks, in her lips. There is a new necklace nestled on her bosom, no doubt an insistent gift from her father.

You wonder if your husband had stirred at the sight of her full visage. That if you had not been upset with him as it it, and have not abandoned your marriage quarters for three moons now, his fingers would have danced across her pale collarbones, fingering the dropped ruby at the centre of her throat. Pressing a light kiss on the gem.

The fornicated memory brings nausea and anger, but you are not new to your role, much less the greed of others, even those closest to you, so you strangled it with will.

If Aegon had dared to mock you anew while you were both in cold waters, he has been too aware now of your anger and what it means for him.

You look back at the peek of red leaves still attached to the tree, almost a stubborn refusal to move with the order of the gods, and you smile despite yourself.

"... My princess?"

Your annoyance spikes.

"And if I tell you to tell him that I will sleep in another chamber, mayhaps upturn a chamber meant for guests, will he then rot forever in my bedchamber?" You turn to her, eyebrow arched. "Will he not be accosted for leaving his duties undone? Must I treat him as a babe throwing a tantrum? Soothe him?" You step toward her. She flinches, a bird wanting to take flight but knows better than to move without her mistress' orders. "Or have you already tried so, to soothe the prince, and have been told to scram, to fetch me, for you are not his wife?"

Her eyes flutter, chest heaving. "My Princess, please—"

"Enough," you say primly, gathering your skirts. "Come to my chambers before dinner but no earlier. The only reason I haven't sent you back to the Reach is by grace and no more."

"My princess." She bows again and you don't miss the clenched jaw as you leave in a flutter of your bloodred gown and arched chin.

You have only just turned a corner when you hear a voice, soft and silky, familiar for many moons now.

"That was harsh of you, good sister."

You pause and spin, letting out a small laugh at the appearance of your good brother. Tall and princely in visage, he inclines his head in greeting while you bow.

"You are mistaken, my prince."

"Hm?"

You smirk. "That was kindness on my part."

He hums, fighting off a smile. Or what you think is a smile. Prince Aemond is still a mystery to you, but he is polite and you find yourself in good ease with your good brother. Unlike your husband, he wears his duty like armour and wield it like a sword. More than once, you are made to imagine what it would be like to have been married to him instead of your husband, and you blanche at the thought.

Though there is complications and evergreen misunderstanding with your husband at most turns, you cannot find yourself happy to the idea of being married to the One-Eyed Prince. There is nothing to say of his scarred appearance— as it does nothing but exemplify his gifted wielding of the sword, but being so honour and duty bound as you, it would be a cool, crisp marriage wheeled on routine and silent understandings.

A monotonous life might be a mercy to most, a dream to some even, but it brings hives to your skin at the mere idea.

Silent dinners and polite conversations are one thing. A marriage built on everything but... it would unsettle and madden your soul.

He offers his arm. "May I escort you to your chambers and my sad sack of a brother?"

You temper your giggle, taking his elbow. "I would be delighted."

Quiet pinches both of your measured footsteps, but you revel in its serenity. Maegor's Holdfast is stone and steel in the winters, fewer bodies lingering in corridors and corners to stave off into rooms with heat, but the rest that do are about, bow at your persons.

"I see you are adjusting well," he finally says. You turn, eyebrow arched. "As a princess consort of the realm."

"Was I so unprepared in my earlier moons?"

"In a way. Helaena says you are still comely and kind, despite being married to my brother."

"I am satisfied in my marriage, Prince Aemond," you say, unable to stop your raised hackles and need to defend your husband. "My duty to the realm is not strained in the least, and I... care for him."

He gives you a long look but you refuse his stare. He hums again, and whatever topic is breached is dropped. The quiet follows up until the doors of your chambers where he stops.

"Thank you for escorting me, my prince. I know your duties occupy your time."

"A duty of mine is to ensure my good sister is in safe hands." He gives a beckoning bow, notching an eyebrow at the door. "And I wish you ever happiness with your marriage to my brother, the Seven knows your duty is harder than mine."

Before you can retort, he is gone, and you are left with a sigh before you push through.

Though a prince, there is nothing princely of Aegon's sprawl on your bed. His gold, silver spun hair like a halo akimbo his face. Warmth emanates from the fire while he plays with his fingers atop his stomach.

"I thought you will ignore me once more, my wife," he speaks to the air, face still straight to the ceiling.

As you close the doors, a nod to your sworn shield, your straightened shoulders hunch as you relax. An unladylike snort breaking through the quiet. You don't see it, but Aegon smiles at the sound, a pang hitting his chest at the sound of comfort that he misses so.

"These are my chambers, husband," you say. "Unless you are meaning to kick me out of the Keep in total, I think my appearance in my own is not a totally shocking thought."

You sit beside him but do not lay down, giving him a good look as he stares up at you with a vacant expression. He is sober, in a way that there is a glassy sheen to his mullish blue eyes the colour of lightning and thunderstorms. His pallour is pale and his clothes are rumpled, but there is no near stench of wine or woman.

In fact he smells like Aegon on his good days; dragon and grime at the edges, soot and wind.

"I have not been to the Silk Street since we have been married," he says as if reading your thoughts. "I have not, and will refuse, to stray from our marital chambers." He gives you a poke. Like a child. "Unlike you."

You know he is telling the truth. He made the vow to you on your marriage bed, hands intertwined, fresh purple blooms appearing on your throat as he bore crescent shaped moons on his back.

You had to wear high-necked collars for two weeks. In the summers. It was impossibly awful, but the memory of your first night is one you cherish. What you go back to when tempers flare and sadness beckons in corners.

He had spent that first night worshipping you, ensuring you are more than sated before he had taken his own pleasure.

"But women who want you need not be whores to tempt you to their beds," you finish softly, unable to stop yourself as you take one of his hands to your lap, spinning the silver ring he keeps on his last finger.

"My wife, dearest to my heart." Your eyes flutter close at the endearments. It was a running joke to both of you, a joke that evolved with sincerity and... well, you hoped was love.

"I had tea with your grandmother, wife."

You looked up from your lunch, lips thinning at the joke and excitement nestled in giggles he was holding back. "Oh no. I knew I should have sent her back home the minute our vows were over."

He laughed then, taking the unoccupied seat across from you as he pressed his lips to your head. It made your heart flutter, even more so as he plucked a berry from your tart and offered it to your lips. He looked with insistence so you ate it. He pressed a thumb to your bottom lip before pressing a soft kiss to his own lips. You tried not to furiously blush.

"What has she told you?"

"Many a topic." He laughed again at your groan. Aegon had found himself enamoured with you as days past. Learning how you act less primly and more comfortable in his presence had brought him a good sense of happiness. Something he thought he lost forever. And he found, the happier he made you, the stronger the happiness in himself grew. It was an addicting feeling.

"But the prime idea were endearments."

"Endearments?"

"That a husband and wife with a pretty marriage such as ours, as we are royals, must show hope and perpetual peace for the people."

You frowned. "And... endearments give perpetual peace to the people how?"

"A show of the stability of our marriage. Of fondness. So now, I shall call you my dearly beloved heart."

You made a strange, strangling sound that had your husband giggling in surprise. "Pardon me, my prince. I—"

"Your precious honey bee."

"... Excuse me?"

"Babycakes?"

"Are you ill?"

"The darling of your eye, then."

You blinked. "Pardon?"

"What you call me," he teased.

"I refuse."

"You refuse?"

"Yes." You fought your own smile. "You are not the darling of my eye, and calling you thus, will make me a liar."

The pinched expression of jealousy made you bite your lip. "And who is, pray tell, the darling of your eye?"

"My grandmother."

You pressed your lips together. Aegon blinked in shocked. Then the both of you burst out in hard laughters, holding your chests and stomachs.

"We shall find an endearment for your beloved husband then," he announced after he had gasped for breath, dabbing the tears collected from his eyes. His smile enchanted you, wide and beautiful, upturned with a gaze as if he was beheld by the most darling of creatures. The urge to skip over him, drape yourself on his lap, and kiss him silly was an urge you pushed down.

"The... babe to my wondrous bosom?"

"Aegon!"

"So in counsel? That is not a definite no."

"My love?" he calls now, bringing your shared hands to his lips. "Lay down with me."

Before you can retort, he pulls you down to him until your warmth is shared, burning in a single flame. A sigh leaves your mouth, and the sound urges him to pull you impossibly closer.

"Women may find themselves in our bed, but unless they are you, they are nothing," he says after a minute. You tense up and he rubs your back. "I have made a vow."

"I will not hate you if you do. Anger is sordid, but I know my role. I know that is common practice for husbands, and as Princess Consort—"

He pulls you to him, your chest pressed against his as he held your face in his hands. His eyes are sad but his gaze is firm. "Your role as my wife does not mean you stay silent in your anger. Fight me. Make as much ruckus as you want. Tell Sunfyre to burn me to a crisp. You know as much High Valyiran as I at this point."

You laugh, forehead falling on his chest as you feel the burn in your eyes as tears escaped you. "I am no dragonrider."

A laughter rumbles his chest. "Could have fooled me," he teased.

"What?"

When you look up, he is smirking. "You've ridden me before."

"Aegon!"

He noses your jaw, kissing the edge of your chin. "The lemon of your tart, you mean."

"No, I do not." A sigh leaves you as his kisses turn into suckles, his hands holding you steady, rubbing circles against your skin.

"I think... I am fully forgiven now? For you have slept far away from me—" You yelp as he bites your ear, "— for too long a time. And for spending more time with my brother than you have of me in a while. Truly unfair punishment."

"He has only escorted me."

He flips you both, unlacing the front of your bodice with adept fingers while he leaves a trail of bites at every exposed skin. "While I wait by your chambers like a lovesick fool?"

"I never asked you too, you bumbling oaf."

He huffs a laugh, ripping down the front of your dress as you shriek, eyes meeting your own with a dark glint, before his hot mouth envelops your pert nipple. You keen.

"I am still a-angry with you," you sigh, running your fingers through his silver locks. When your body adjusts, seeking to pleasure the warmth between your thighs, he moves lower as if he can read your mind, read your wants, and when you make a roll of your hips right against his tenting manhood, his groan vibrates against your breast to your ribcages.

"I understand." He leans back on his hunches, smile sweet, before he shuffles around and underneath your dress, past your small clothes, and takes a slow swipe of his finger against your warm, wet folds. Your hips buck, a gasp leaving your throat, and he breathlessly laughs.

"Your beloved honey bee would like to taste the nectar between your thighs that you have so graciously held against me for so long."

You groan, suppressing a shiver as he holds your thighs steady with his own laughter. "The urge to kick you is strong, my husband. Enough to risk the Lord Hand's ire. And your mother's."

He groans, stilling in the midst of pushing your skirts up, he pops his head back toward you. "Please, owner my beating heart. The fire to my dragon. The lemon cake to my tea—

"— that one is your least creative one so far —"

"— Let us not speak of my mother, gods forbid, my grandsire, while I am between your legs. For the good of the realm."

"The good of the realm?" You scoff. Then yelp as he bites your thigh, soothing it with a lap of his tongue.

"Yes, my sweet, the good of the realm." He pops back to you, hair askew, eyes devilish, as he grins. "It is common knowledge that heirs are for the good of the realm. And I cannot bring you pleasure if you keep mentioning people I'd rather not imagine while doing so. And your pleasure, from what your grandmother had told me from our many afternoon teas, my sweetest, golden love, is important for my heirs."

Your giggles turn breathless when he disappears beneath your skirts once more. "I surrender then... apple of my tarts."

The sound of his giggles underneath your skirts soon grow muted against the sound of your pleasure. The thing about Aegon, is that pleasure is meant to be savoured. So as he slowly tears through your own clothes while he makes you reach your peak once, twice, thrice— your skin drenched in sweat, rose blush bloomed your face and neck, arms weakened and thighs unable to hold steady — you turn to your husband, the haze of your orgasm clouding any rational thought as you beheld him, still fully clothed with your juices on his face, a proud smirk twisted on his lips.

"Are you okay, beloved?" He rests a hand on your face and you nuzzle against him. "Shall I call for a bath now?"

"Later," you pronounce breathlessly. "If you do not find yourself inside me in the next second, I shall curse you for evermore."

He laughs, giving you a languid kiss before he steps back and strips.

He does not make a show of it, as harried and hard for you (no catching of his pleasure against the bed could ever compare to thrusting inside of you), and you watch his weeping cock with an unbashed hunger of your own, as he pumps it a few times, eyes staring at your visage as you widen your legs, holding your thighs to give him a sweet view.

He groans. "What Silken Street whore could be compared to my wife so willing? What lady would be enough?"

"I swear to the Seven, if you do not end your blasted soliloquy—"

His laughter rings, body covering your own before he slides in your warm, wet cunny. Blasphemy spills his tongue as a softened sigh leaves you. Though he is not lengthy, his girth stretches, thrilling the nerves up to your throat. The ease is given by your wetness, but he is slow, making sure you felt every ridge and vein until you cry softly at your abused pearl rubbing against his body.

"I will not last," he half spits, jaw clenched. "I will have to- I'm sorry but—"

"Do it," you whisper, locking your ankles on his ass as much strength as your legs can allow. "Pound me into the matress."

"Fuck," is the last thing he says before he follows your orders, each hit against your cervix building your own peak. "Pretty wife, darling pearl, the sexiest— fucking—" spills and spits between groans and cries, chasing his high brings your own.

"A-aeg, I—"

He kisses your mouth, effectively shutting you up as he slides a hand between your sweaty bodies, finding your pearl and circling hard. As soon as you're cumming to the high heavens, tightening and twitching, a garbled scream out of your throat— he slams once, twice, as his own high entangles your own, a punctuated moan breaking out of his throat.

His seed spurts, floods, before his cock turns flaccid inside you, and you feel warm and full underneath him.

He presses his forehead against your collarbone. "Maybe we should fight more oft, nectar of my obsession."

"Sure," you say. "I will spend more time with Aemond then."

He punctures a groan as you giggle.

#aegon ii fanfiction #aegon ii fluff #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon targaryen ii x you #hotd fluff #hotd fanfiction #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#aegon targaryen ii fluff #aegon targaryen ii

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americaswritings · 6 months

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Voices of Roses and Ruin | Part IV

Warnings: Violence, murder, Coriolanus being himself, his thoughts

Summary: Coriolanus is looking for you- but he is not the only one.

Words: 2k

Pairing: Young Coriolanus Snow x reader

A/N: And we have reached the last part! Thank you so much for reading and I hope you like this miniseries. Also I finished the book and watched the movie again (and it was so freaking goood aaah)!!

If you have ideas for Coriolanus oneshots I would love to hear from you (or if you just feel like ranting about the movie, the world of Panem, the characters, Tom Blyth...lol)

There will be more Coriolanus Snow x reader COMING SOON!

Can be read as Lucy Gray x Coriolanus Snow here

Part I | Part II | Part III | Masterlist

Add yourself to my taglist! (so you don't miss anything) :)

Coriolanus stared at the bird, watching as it opened its mouth and your paniced voice came out.

“Coriolanus! Tell me where you are!”

Behind him he heard movement, but he was too shellshocked to turn around. He didn‘t need to, he would have recognised that voice anywhere.

"The downfall of a Snow. If that isn‘t something I always wanted to-"

Before the commander could finish his sentence Coriolanus had turned and shot him in the head.

The loud noise startled the bird in its cage and it spread its wings, trying to lift in the air but failing in the closeted space. At least it was quiet now.

Good. If it would have made another sound, used your voice again, he would have wasted a bullet on it.

All of this had been a set-up. A test, to prove his loyality to the capitol. And he had failed. Spectacularly so.

He had chosen you. Your future. And in the same breath he had decided against his own.

Coriolanus was certain in no time more peacekeepers would show up. Perhaps he would know some of them. Maybe he even shared a room and his meals with them and he didn't want to kill him, if he could prevent it.

But if it came down to it, he wouldn't hesitate.

Even though he had never been in the arena, except the time when he had been sent to get Sejanus out, the capitol's games had turned him into a killer too. Or had that always been a part of him, one he had never known existed before?

A violent one, that didn't hesitate to do what needed to be done to save himself. It was scary, but to know his own power felt thrilling too. That if it came down to it he wouldn't just stand around and whine, but act and do what needed to be done, even if it involved getting his hands dirty.

It was true that a desperate man was a dangerous one, because what else did he have to lose? No, there was only you and he would do everything now to save the one thing he had left.

With one last dismissive glance at the dead commander Coriolanus turned and hurried through the corridors. He needed to find you.

Even if you weren't here and he was convinced they had used a recording of you from the arena, he wasn't naive enough to believe it meant you were safe. Unharmed.

What if the capitol had gotten to you?

Maybe you weren't in the district anymore.

Or worse, they had executed you at the hanging tree while they had ordered him here as a distraction.

Both thoughts scared him.

He needed a plan. He couldn't just walk around the district looking for you. Soon they would know what he had done and everyone in the district would be looking for his face.

Then he would end up at the hanging tree and die an undignified death.

But Coriolanus didn't have a better idea. He lacked ressources and power out here and with no ally in his corner he was left to his own.

Keeping his gaze straight ahead and his strides fast and purposeful, he immerged into the bustling streets of the district. He still had no idea where to find you and with each corner he rounded his hope to find you before the capitol did sank.

A turmoil at the market caught his attention and he hurried past the shops until the found a spot that allowed him a good view. A group of peacemakers pushed through the crowd of people, their faces grim and their weapons drawn.

They were searching, no, hunting. For him or for you Coriolanus didn't know.

He pressed himself against the wall when they neared him, lowering his head so they didn't get a glance of his face. "Hey!"

Damn it!

One of the men had noticed him and marched right towards him. Coriolanus was torn between waiting for what was about to happen and ending the man before he got the chance to out him to anyone, but he only had the gun and it would draw too much attention.

"We've got the order to look for the girl that won the games. Come on!"

Coriolanus let out a breath. The man didn't recongize him, not as her mentor and not as a traitor. Word about what he had done hadn't gotten around yet it seemed.

Or this was just another trap.

"What are we supposed to do when we find her?", he asked sternly as he followed the peacekeeper and joined the troop. It was dangerous, being so close to his enemies. If they turned on him now he would stand no chance against them. They outnumbered him.

But it was his best chance to keep an eye on them and it was not like he had a choice.

"For now arrest her. But I suppose she'll have a date with the hanging tree soon." The bastard laughed and Coriolanus wanted to punch him for it until the only sound coming out of his mouth were pleas for forgiveness.

He didn't bother to ask what crime they believed you were guilty of. It didn't matter and too many questions would raise suspicions.

So he followed them raiding the streets and asking shopkeepers and tradesmen about you, relieved about their lack of information regarding your whereabouts, but growing more uneasy with each.

Because with night beginning to set it became clear that they wouldn't stop their search until they had found you and with each minute that ticked by the chance of his actions staying undiscovered slimmed.

"We should seperate", he suggested after another unsuccessful house search. "We stick to the commander's order", the man next to him said and Coriolanus squinted at him in the darkness.

"When did he gave the order?", he asked warily and earned an impatient look. "At dinner time", he said with a shake of his head that openly questioned Corioanus' intelligence, who ignored it.

He was feeling dizzy and the world seemed strangely disorted as he grasped for composure. He had missed dinner time, because he had been ordered to speak to the commander. But if that hadn't been the commander, who had he killed?

"The hell", the man next to him whispered, pushing him roughly forward, "what's going on with you, man?!" Coriolanus had no time to answer.

There was a lump in his throat and a tightness in his chest as control was slipping from his fingers and he felt himself spirraling.

"I got her!"

A loud voice pulled him from his trance and his head snapped into the direction it came from, all air leaving him when he saw you in the grip of a peacemaker.

He had locked his hand around your upper arm and was yanking you roughly towards them. "Thought she could hide", he roared with a laugh and the others joined in.

Coriolanus couldn't bring himself to join. Not even for show.

He was staring at your fearful face, the uncertainity behind your eyes mixing with defiance. "I don't know what you're accusing me of, but I didn't do anything", you stated and he noted with a hint of pride that your voice didn't waver.

That was his girl.

"Shut up or I'll make you!", the man growled and tightened his grip around you. Coriolanus could see the pain reflected on your face, but it gave way to shock and then disbelief as your gaze fell on him.

He couldn't do anything than stare at you, relieved to find you alive and unharmed after he had been witness to your desperate screams, but overwhelmed by his own powerlessness now.

Your eyes travelled his face and he saw a flicker of concern before it turned to an expression of betrayal and hurt.

He half expected an outlash, accusations or insults thrown his way, but you pressed your lips into a thin line, turning away your face. How easily you coud have hurt him now, but had chosen not to.

Interesting...

"Let's go!"

You were thrusted forward and he watched you stumble before you caught yourself again.

"I'll take her!" His own voice sounded far away and he was surprised that he had finally found it again. "We spend almost all night looking for her, I'll hande the rest."

The men exchanged glances. They were all tired, but bound by orders. Temptation fought hesitation and he prayed they would just let him have his way. He didn't want to kill them. It would be messy.

"Nice try, but I won't let you earn yourself all the praise."

With that they continued their way, but Coriolanus hadn't missed your attentive gaze on him. Maybe you finally understood the depths of his feelings.

That he would not let you walk to your own execution, even if all odds spoke against him. But what had he to loose?

Coriolanus waited until they passed another corner. It was late and the streets were empty, the people had gone to bed.

The poor electricty supply finally held an advantage, because there were no streetlamps to provide light and so not one of the other peacekepers noticed when he let his hand wander to his weapon, cautiously closing his fingers around it.

He had given them a chance, but they hadn't taken it.

The first two fell before the others had even noticed something was off. The shots were disturbingly loud in the quiet of the night and he knew he needed to act fast or he would be facing off against far more than just a troop of peacekeepers.

Would the men and women of the district be on his side? But what little could they do to help?

They stood no chance against their weapons, which could be fired more than a hundred times before they needed reloading.

It would be a bloodbath.

And he wasn't sure, if they wouldn't turn against him. In their eyes he was just a peacekeeper. It was all they would see when they looked at him.

As the other men turned he took out another one, but the man who held you in his grip swung you around, using your body as his shield before Coriolanus got the chance to aim his way.

"Lay down your weapon or I'll shoot her!", he yelled and raised his own weapon to press it against your temple.

You flinched, your eyes locked on Coriolanus. There was no fear in your eyes, only defeat and acceptance.

That only made it worse.

"The commander wants her alive. Now give her to me!", Coriolanus demanded, not even thinking about lowering his gun, but the man only narrowed his eyes in response.

"Traitor", he hissed, pressing your body closer to his, when your body suddenly went limp in his arms.

The moment the peacekeeper was distracted Coriolanus placed a bullet right between his eyebrows.

The shooting training had been useful at last.

Your eyes snapped open, confirming his assumption that you had faked the moment of weakness, and you staggered forward and away from the man who fell liveless to the ground.

Your gaze drifted over the dead peacekeepers and then to Coriolanus, shock and dread written all over your face.

"You killed them", you breathed, wavering once more. "You killed all of them."

Coriolanus stepped forward, his hands reaching out for yours. They were cold. Icy.

"I did what needed to be done", he said matter of factly, hiding his pride, because he knew you wouldn't appreicate it. But he had just taken out a number of well-trained men just by himself. Even you would have to admit it had been impressive.

In a shoot-out he wouldn't have stand a chance against them all, but they had underestimated him. Trusted him blindly. And they had paid for it.

You found his gaze, horror slowing fading into understanding. You nodded once, swallowing and straightening.

"I know", you whispered, "you saved my life."

All he wanted was to hold you and relish your skin on his. That he finally had you. That you were save. But there was no time for sentiment now.

"We need to leave."

You caught his gaze, your own questioning. "Where should we go? They will search the whole district for us and-", understanding crossed your face, "you mean you will run away with me?"

He took a breath and nodded. "It's the only choice."

You looked at him, your eyes searching for something he didn't know he could give you. But he could give you his love and devotion. It seemed enough for you, because you squeezed his hands and straightened your shoulders.

"Then it's my pleasure Coriolanus Snow."

"And it's mine."

You didn't let go of his hand as you turned and ran through the streets of the district and towards the line of trees.

Never would he have imagined this to be his fate as he had seen your face on the capitol's tv during the reaping. But he knew you would find a way, together.

Some day you might even tell your children about this. About a love that had ruined his life and rebuild it, stripped him bare and led him to his innermost, darkest parts.

And the birds lining the branches of the trees would be witness to it.

To your every word.

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undiscovered-horizon · 6 months

Text

"Ultimatum" - Zoro x Reader

prompt sent in by the wonderful @maybe-a-bi-witch | Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

When you were a child, your parents took you to a circus. Among clowns, lions and contortionists, the one thing that stuck in your mind was a tightrope artist. She danced and tumbled 40 feet above the ground, a smile on her face. When she flew in the air, you kept wondering whether this time she would fall but your fear never came true - she didn't lose her footing, didn't lose her balance even once.

You find yourself thinking about the circus artist more often lately as you keep questioning your relationship with Zoro. On one hand, there are the lingering touches, stolen kisses and words filled with undeniable desire. But there's also his coldness and distance, the unwillingness to speak about his feelings. Whenever you're about to give up and cut your losses, accept that your little maybe-romance is purely opportunistic, Zoro pulls you right back in with seemingly no effort. He has you wrapped around his finger, no sense in denying that.

And just like that girl 40 feet in the air, you're also walking the tightrope. But contrary to the performer, you're not sure you can do it as skillfully as she did. As days turned into weeks and your relationship with the swordsman only became more confusing, you felt yourself losing balance. It feels like soon enough you'll be falling off the tightrope. And a 40-foot drop is enough to break, whether it's a bone or a heart.

The night fits your mood: cold, rain hanging in the air, wind tugging and nipping at exposed skin. The ocean and sky are in turmoil, giving you a sense of comfort - tonight, it's not only you who's fighting against themself. Does the sea also question her relationship with the shore? Does she also wonder if their fleeting, chaste kisses as waves wash the sandy beach are something more than opportunistic tenderness?

Your heart is beating out of your chest as you knock on the door to Zoro's bedroom. Shortly after, a welcoming grunt resounds on the other side.

The swordsman is lying in a hammock, staring at the ceiling above. With one hand underneath his head, he looks really comfortable. He bends his neck slightly to look at you but doesn't get up for now.

"I'm done, Zoro," you spit out a little faster than you planned. There's no point in pretending that you're not about to choke on your emotions.

The tightrope artist tumbles on the highwire.

He furrows his eyebrows. "With what?"

"With whatever it is we've got going on." It feels like a dam has broken and you find yourself unable to control the flood of words coming out of your mouth. Tears sting your eyes. "You clearly don't want anything serious and I've grown into accepting that I can't change your mind. I also can't just wait around to see if you maybe decide to settle for a relationship. I love you, Zoro, but I have too much self-respect to let myself remain just a convenience to you."

Only when you finish your monologue do you realize you're crying. Weeks of pent-up emotions, anxiety and pure, unrequited adoration you hold for that man have burst inside your chest. The sense of relief you're suddenly feeling is something of a silver lining.

She loses her balance. The audience falls silent.

But Zoro doesn't share your emotional turmoil. He returns to staring at the fascinatingly bland ceiling. "Fine, I'll do it. I'll be your boyfriend," he says in a disinterested voice.

Only static fills your mind. "What?" A question escapes you as you try to make sense of his words. "Zoro, you-"

"That's what you want, isn't it?" he cuts you off. Suddenly he sits up, legs hanging over the side of the hammock. The movement makes the cot swing slightly.

You stare at his face in search of the truth that hides behind his words. Does he really think superficially succumbing to you will fix everything? Or maybe there's something else on his mind - maybe he just doesn't care what you call him.

"What I want is something authentic, not just a fling to pass the time because we're both lonely," you continue. "I have feelings for you and I can't keep pretending that I'm casual about this," you point between him and you, "thing."

The performer waves her hands around, desperately trying to find her footing.

Zoro gets up from the hammock. In a few strides, he finds himself in front of you, closer than within an arm's reach. "You're not a fling," he says decisively. You almost believe him.

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. "I'm not a relationship either, it seems."

He lets out an exasperated sigh. This conversation is tiring him. Maybe you're tiring him.

Zoro's dark eyes are drilling into yours. You can't help but think that he's holding back from something.

"I don't care what you name it." His voice is stern. Suddenly, the air is too thick to breathe comfortably. "All I want is you. I'll do whatever it takes. If that means being a 'boyfriend'," the mocking tone is obvious, "then so be it. I'll gladly be your boyfriend."

Truthfully, you didn't know what you were expecting when you decided to confess your feelings to Zoro but it definitely wasn't this. Then, your previous anxiety blossoms into something unbearably sweet and tender. He doesn't care what you have as long as it's with you.

"Are you serious?" you whisper. This reality seems almost too good to be true.

"Dead," he murmurs back.

Zoro presses his lips against yours. The kiss is slow and heartfelt, unlike the kisses you're used to sharing with him. Strong, desperate hands grab at your waist and hips, forcing you to follow him as Zoro walks backwards. With a creak and a thud, the two of you fall on the hammock.

The crowd cheers loudly. The dancer has regained her balance and continues the routine with even more grace and glamour in her movements.

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muchosbesitos · 7 months

Text

falling behind part 2

pairing: college miguel o’hara x spanish speaking fem reader (translation provided 🫡)

warnings: oral (f and m receiving), fingering (p and anal 🫣), some angst (?), and implied cheating (not from reader)

author’s note: so while i was gonna make this fluffy and cute, frank ocean made me cry so here’s this 🤗 (if you sent a request, i’ll be working on those 👩🏻‍🍳)

word count: 4.1k

falling behind part one

You looked up at Miguel dumbfounded as he finished speaking, unsure if you'd heard him correctly. You'd spent the last weeks using Miguel as your fantasy when you buried your fingers to the hilt in your wet cunt and imagining him snapping to the realization that he wanted you, but you weren't expecting him to go right out and say he wanted you. You'd conformed to the idea of not being able to experience being in love soon that you didn't know what to do with this information. So, you decided to jump to the next possible conclusion which was that he didn't want anyone else to clutter their space in the apartment.

"If you're worried about me bringing them back home, you don't have to. I'll keep my dating life outside of the apartment," you assured him, his brows furrowed as he looked down at you. He brought his hand up to your chin, holding your gaze as a storm brewed behind his eyes. He was telling you so much with that look but not nearly enough to satisfy your desires. "You're not understanding me. I don't want you to see anyone else because I've developed a liking towards you. I want to be more than friends with you," he told you, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he spoke.

The idea that he wanted you in the same way that you wanted him didn't process in your mind just yet so you blurted out, "Like best friends?"

Miguel let out a laugh as you spoke, his eyes crinkling up with amusement. "You're so smart when it comes to school and so clueless when it comes to feelings, chaparra. I don't want to be just your best friend. I want us to start going on real dates and be able to kiss without the reassurance that it's only because we're in public," he told you, his eyes holding that same intensity as before. You were about to tell him about everything that could go wrong between the two of you, that it wouldn't work because you two were roommates, but he held your hand with the one that wasn't on your cheek like he knew the internal turmoil you were going through.

"We don't have to jump in and go into a relationship, we can take it slow. Tell me that you didn't enjoy those dates we had and I'll leave it alone," he spoke to you softly, not making any sudden movements like you were a frightened kitten. The truth was, you didn't admit it to yourself how much you liked those dates because of the lingering reminder that it was all just a façade, an act. You greatly appreciated the fact that he was willing to take things slow just for you, a stark comparison of his hot and cold relationship with Dana. "Okay, we can take things slow," you told him, his face breaking out into a smile as you did.

Which is how you found yourself getting ready with Miguel for a quinceañera that your aunts were hosting. You were surprised that they still wanted anything to do with you after what happened with the last party, but you figured it was probably your mom's doing since she'd been the one to send you the invitation. While you weren't exactly too eager to go, you couldn't turn down the opportunity of getting leftovers to bring back. Miguel was zipping up your dress from behind, struggling a bit with the zipper given the size comparison with his hands. He finished up a couple seconds later before he retreated back to his room and you could hear some shuffling around in there. You didn't pay too much attention to it as you put a headband on, pushing your hair away from your face before you started with your makeup.

Miguel came back into your room and tapped your shoulder before you had the chance to get started. "Hey Miguel, what's up?" You asked him, not noticing the box he was holding in his hands. He gestured towards the box and you grabbed it from him, opening it slowly. The box contained a couple high-end makeup products along with a couple of brushes and a step by step tutorial book. You looked up at him, completely bewildered that he remembered how much you struggled with your makeup last time. "Before you worry about the cost or anything, I'm getting promoted at Alchemax soon to an actual job. and I went off with the shades you had right now, but if there's anything that you don't like, i can give you the receipt so you can exchange it," he told you, his hands moving along as he talked like he was nervous you wouldn't like it.

You got up from the chair you were sitting at and wrapped your arms tightly around him, thankful that he'd even taken the effort to go to these lengths. "You didn't have to do that, thank you," you whispered as he returned the embrace, his hand rubbing small circles on your back. "Well, we can't have you crying over your eyeliner again," he remarked, giving you a small kiss on the cheek before he left the room, presumably to get dressed. You felt like a giddy little kid as you took out the products from the box, noticing the little details that Miguel had put towards making this. Not only had he adorned the box with some cute little hearts, he'd also made sure that the shades matched and that they were good for your skin type.

You followed the steps from the book he’d gotten you, and found that it was surprisingly easy to follow along. "How do I look?" You asked Miguel, and his eyes widened as he saw you come out your room. "You look gorgeous. I mean, that word's not really powerful to really bask in what you look like, but you fried all the vocabulary in my brain," he rambled and you let out a laugh as you walked over to him. "Well, you look pretty handsome too," you remarked given that he'd taken some effort into cleaning up, putting on a black button down shirt and dress pants. He extended his hand and led you out the apartment to his car, rushing to open the door before your fingertips even had a chance to touch the handle.

"So I basically know everything about you, but one thing I don't know about you is your favorite song," he spoke up in the middle of the ride, completely taking you by surprise. You didn't play that much music around him since he was always in control of the aux, not that you minded. You grabbed the aux cord that was dangling from his fingers and scrolled through your playlist, trying to find the song. You instantly found it and soon, the atmosphere was filled with the music playing. His hand was tracing small circles on your thigh as he drove, maneuvering the wheel with one hand. Once the song ended, he turned to look at you with a small smile. "Should let you have the aux more often, that was pretty good."

You wanted the ground to swallow you as soon as you walked into the party hall, the stares of your aunts practically turning into daggers. "Wow, they really don't like me, huh?" Miguel whispered in your ear and you couldn't help but let out a small laugh as you held his hand. "I don't know, they're probably staring at you because you're a respectful handsome man," you teased, stopping in your tracks when your mom came up to you. "¡Mija!" she exclaimed, holding you tightly for a hug. "Hola mami, ¿cómo estás?" you greeted her, trying to hide how uncomfortable you really were here. (hi mommy, how are you) She went to go talk to Miguel after greeting you and you were left alone to deal with your aunts.

You stayed quiet for a couple seconds as you worked out the best way to apologize to them, their stares practically daring you to say something. "Yo sé que la manera en que lo dijo no estaba bien y les falto al respeto, pero es que ustedes lo unico que hacen es juzgarme por todo," you told them as you set down your glass of Coke, watching their gazes soften up a bit at the realization. (i know that the way he said it was wrong and he was disrespectful, but all you guys do is judge me for everything) "No te queríamos hacer sentir mal, mija. Ya entedemos que todo es a su debido tiempo, y lo sentimos que te molestabamos tanto por lo de no tener novio," one of your aunts spoke up and the other ones quickly nodded along, pursing their lips together. (we didn't want to make you feel bad. we understand that everything is at it's time, and we're sorry for bothering you so much about not having a boyfriend) You nodded and noticed that their gazes quickly went behind you, their faces souring a bit. "Les quería dar una disculpa por faltarles al respeto. No era mi lugar," Miguel spoke up behind you and you could tell that you aunts appreciated that he put his pride aside. (i wanted to apologize to you all for disrespecting you. it wasn't my place)

The tensions in the air dissipated as soon as your aunts got some alcohol in their system, practically giggling over every word that Miguel was telling them. Miguel got along quite well with your family and you saw a glimpse of something that'd he been missing. He didn't have the best relationship with his family, only his brother, so you got a chance to see him get involved with yours. The quinceañera had even asked him to dance with her, pulling you to the side after and whispering, "Damn girl, he's hot!"

"Think they like you more than they like me," you told him once you two got in the car and his eyes crinkled up again as he laughed. "I think the damas were staring at me the whole time. Too bad I only have eyes for you, chula," he whispered, kissing your cheek as he pulled out of the parking spot. The drive back home was mostly quiet but you couldn't help but feel a sense of joy that things with your family had been resolved and that they ended up liking Miguel.

Your relationship after that continued to grow strong and it felt like a breath of fresh air when you compared it to your past experiences. While you had some experience talking with men in this generation, you were afraid to get too committed to them after what your friends had divulged with you. Miguel was the opposite of everything that they'd described, he was kind and patient, he treated you with respect, and most importantly he never made you second guess his feelings towards you.

A couple of months pass by and soon enough it was time for you to study for your finals, since physics wasn't exactly your strongest subject. You came back home after two hours with your tutor, slumping on the couch as you turned on some random Hallmark movie that was playing. You were starting to drift off when you heard the door open and Miguel call out, "Hey, are you ready for our date tonight? I just need a couple minutes to get dressed!"

With the amount of velocity equations that were running through your head, you had forgotten about the date night that you and Miguel had planned out. You got up from the couch, looking at him apologetically since you were still in your pajamas. "Sorry, I just got back from tutoring and i forgot about our date. I can go and change if you still wanna go though," you told him, rubbing the side of your neck awkwardly. You were pretty sure the exhaustion on your face was evident since he said, "How about we cancel that and just stay home? Just us, takeout, and whatever corny Hallmark movie you're watching." "I'd like that, thank you."

Miguel changed into his pajamas after and went to sit down with you on the sofa, slowly drawing circles on your thigh as you leaned your head against his shoulder. He'd only gotten up to receive the takeout and get some plates for the two of you, setting them down on the coffee table. "Thank you, I know this isn't what you had planned for us today," you told him and he looked up from what he was doing. "Hey, don't worry about it. I get that you're tired," he responded, going back to sitting down on the couch with you.

After the two of you had finished eating, Miguel turned to look at you, his hand still drawing lazy circles on your thigh. "How was your tutoring?" he asked, setting down his cup of Coke on the table. "It was good, my brain's all fried from all these variables though," you muttered, rubbing your temples as you tried to relax. You'd been stressing out over your physics final over the last few days, but you'd been careful not to let that seep in too much in your relationship. He got on his knees in front of you, resting his head against your thigh as he looked at you. "How about I help you de-stress?"

Your fingers wound up in his hair as his tongue slurped and sucked your pussy, collecting all the juices that had leaked out. The thoughts of your exam began to drift away, replaced by the euphoria you felt at having Miguel eat you out like this. He planted his hands on your thighs and spread you out like you were his meal, his mouth solely working to provide you with the pleasure that you desperately needed. He looked up at you as his tongue went into your weeping hole, using it to fuck your pussy and you couldn't help but let out desperate moans. "Mmph, right there!" You moaned out, your hips thrusting against his mouth eagerly.

His mouth connected itself to your clit and his thumb gently probed at your puckered hole while his index finger went inside of your pussy. You had him everywhere and it was starting to feel like it was too much, yet somehow not enough. Your walls engulfed his finger as he thrust inside your pussy, curling to hit your g-spot despite how much you were clenching up against him. He thrust the two fingers at the same pace, slowly opening you up to him so as to not cause you any discomfort. His mouth pulled at your clit gently before he went to drawing small circles with his tongue. "Too much, Miguel!" You cried out, your fingers tightly wound up in his hair. You'd never been filled up like this before and you felt an orgasm building up rather quickly.

Your whines came to a crescendo as you came, your fingers practically digging into Miguel’s roots. He pulled both fingers out, careful not to hurt you as he did. You took a moment to catch your breath, glancing over to see that Miguel’s cock was tenting up in those sweatpants that he'd chosen to wear. You got down on your knees, looking up at him as you took off his pants. "Tell me what to do, okay?" You asked him, given the fact that the only experience you had was from reading smut. He nodded, lifting up his legs so you'd slide the pants out easier.

Your eyes widened as you took in the sheer size of his cock, quickly realizing why Dana often yelled when Miguel had her over. You wrapped your mouth around his cock, struggling to just take the head in and you looked up at him for some kind of reassurance that you were doing it okay. "You're taking it so well for me, beautiful. Keep your tongue on the tip, that's the sensitive part," he spoke softly to you despite the fact that his eyes were glossed over in complete lust. You nodded and focused on just swirling your tongue around his tip, occasionally running it against the slit as his hands wound up on the back of your head. “Yeah, that’s it. Good girl, baby.”

You hollowed your cheeks and you were able to take more of his cock in your mouth, your hands working at the base. You tightened up the grip, matching the tightness that your mouth was providing as you stroked him. He let out soft moans as you did, his hips bucking into you by accident. You gagged as you struggled to keep him that far in your mouth, tears forming in your eyes but you didn't want to give up. You started to bob your head up and down, sucking on the sides like you'd seen some women in porn do, and swirling your tongue around the tip once more.

Miguel’s grip on your hair intensified as you started to play with his balls, gently squeezing and pulling them in your hand while the other one focused on stroking him. "You were made for this cock, mi reina. Keep going, i'm about to cum," he spoke, his voice breaking at the last part as he let out a moan. He came with a guttural grunt, his cum filling your mouth up. You looked up at him innocently as you swallowed the somewhat salty cum and he couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. You looked so pretty with tears in your eyes and your tongue coated white with his cum.

You weren't sure if it was the night you spent with Miguel or if your studying had paid off, but you found that the physics final wasn't as hard as you were making out to be. You walked out of your lecture hall, excited to go back home and see Miguel before he had to go to class that you almost missed the person tapping your shoulder. You turned around to face them, your eyes immediately brightening up as you realized that it was Miguel.

"What are you doing here, baby?" You asked him, his hand instinctively finding yours as he held it. "I came here to take you out for coffee, you've been working pretty hard and I'm sure it's paid off," he responded, starting the walk to the local coffee shop near campus. "Y'know, you don't have to do all these things," you told him, though you felt your love for him grow more and more with every single one of these gestures. "Well, no one has to do things but I want to show you how much I really appreciate you."

The two of you sat at a booth at the coffee shop, mainly just talking about your physics final and he was relieved to find out that you didn't find it too difficult. "Have you heard back from the job at Alchemax?" You asked him, taking a sip from your drink. "I haven't, they're still interviewing some candidates but I'm hoping that I'll get the job. Either way, the man's job I'm supposed to be getting hasn't retired just yet," he responded, a relaxed tone to his voice as he spoke. "I’m sure you'll get it, they'd be stupid not to hire you," you reassured him and he let out a small smile.

The two of you spent most of the afternoon at the coffee shop before he had to head back to campus for his classes. He was about to walk out of the door with you when someone stopped him, tapping his shoulder. You both turned around to see Dana standing there with a cheeky grin on her face. "Sorry to bother you two, but I just had something really important to discuss with Miguel. Alone," she told the two of you and he turned to look at you, his brows slightly furrowed. You nodded and he walked away with her, mouthing 'help me' as he did. You let out a small little giggle before you folded your arms, feeling a bit insecure now that they were talking.

You wanted to go and eavesdrop on their conversation but quickly decided against it. You didn't want to project your own insecurities onto the relationship and you figured that he needed a bit of privacy. You couldn't help but feel nervous though as the conversation went on, noticing that Dana was giggling after she finished speaking. Miguel came back with a sullen look on his face, walking next to you. "Hey, is everything okay?" you asked him once you were far from the coffee shop and he nodded, bending down to kiss your cheek before he headed to class.

You'd gotten invited to a end of the year party and you were looking forward to going mostly because of the free booze and a chance to finally release some much needed steam. You looked up at Miguel as he got back home from your spot on the couch, giving him a small smile. "How'd class go?" You asked him and he shrugged, retreating to his room. You couldn't help but feel like maybe you'd done something wrong, but you realized that he'd been acting that way since he left the coffee shop. You decided to leave the subject alone since you didn't want to intrude on his conversation with Dana.

You finished up getting ready for the party a couple hours later and you decided to knock on Miguel’s door to see if he wanted to join you. He opened the door, looking down at you with his brows furrowed. "What do you want?" he asked, rather coldly and you couldn't help but frown a bit at his tone. "I just wanted to know if you wanted to come to the party with me," you told him, keeping your gaze on him as you spoke. "I can't. I'm actually going out tonight with some of my friends, so don't wait up for me," he told you before shutting the door in your face.

You tried to loosen up at the party but your mind kept going back to the way that Miguel had acted towards you, like you didn't matter. Even when you were just friends, he didn't treat you that way ever. You ended up just taking a couple shots of tequila before calling a night, heading back to an empty apartment. Even though he'd told you not to wait up for him, a part of you couldn't resist and you settled on the sofa with a romance novel.

You were half asleep when you heard the door click, Miguel coming in to see you laying down on the couch. "I thought I told you not to wait up for me," he told you, letting out a small scoff. You frowned when you smelled some woman's perfume lingering on his clothes, but you decided to not say anything. He'd never given you a reason to make you think that he was being unfaithful to you, so you just trusted that it was one of the friends that he was out with. "Sorry, I was just hoping that maybe we could have a talk," you told him, playing with your fingers as you spoke. "I'm kinda tired right now, can we do that later? Thanks," he responded, leaving you completely disappointed in the living room as he walked away.

A couple days later, you decided to get some takeout since you knew that you and Miguel were fairly busy lately. You hoped that you could be able to have a conversation with Miguel before he shut you out again, but those thoughts were quickly darkened when you heard moaning coming out of Miguel’s room. You figured that he was just watching porn since two hadn't gone all the way yet, but you realized that the song you'd shown him in the car was playing in the background. "OH MIGUEL!" You heard a feminine voice squeal and you almost dropped the fork you were holding.

Dana's moans bled through the walls as you sat in your bed, struggling to grasp the situation, that your best friend and the man you'd trusted to be your first boyfriend had just betrayed you like that. You were replaying the events from your relationship, trying to figure out what you'd done wrong or what you could've done better before getting up. You wiped away the tears out of your eyes as your favorite song faintly played in the background, Dana's moans drowning out the music. Bile built up in the back of your throat as you got up from the bed, the smell of the takeout now making you nauseous. You walked over to Miguel’s room and knocked on the door, unable to take this any longer and waited for a response.

@ayamaiis @innercreationflower

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ohtobeleah · 5 months

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Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Three: [V For Vendetta]

Summary: When your stomach can’t handle the Chemo medication, you empty the content of your stomach. While doing so, you and Jake come to a crossroads about your relationship going forward.

Warnings: Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/SMUT 18+ content. Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil.

Word Count: 4:5k

Author Note: EEEPPPP! It’s like watching a car wreck happen right before your very eyes. You want to but you can’t look away!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Shhh—I don’t want the kids to hear.” The palm of your hand came down softly on top of Jake's lips as you straddled his waist, you couldn't help but to rock your hips back and forth as the very tip of his hardened length kissed your cervix. Jake's entire length throbbed inside your sex at the slightly mean but even hotter act. “Stop being so loud, we aren’t in some navy issued apartment where you and your STD riddled conquests can be as loud as you wanna be.”

As soon as the kids were in bed and sleeping, you and Jake were running back to your bedroom like giddy teenagers. You led him down the hall hand in hand and even before you had your bedroom door open, Jake had his hands all over you pushed up against the hallway wall that hung family photos. Including but not limited to a few of your wedding pictures.

“Mmm.” Jake licked a long strip up the palm of your hand before he took control of the situation and flipped the two of you over. Now he was the one on top but his perfect view hadn’t changed, you were still the star of the show whether you were riding him or under him.

“Ew! Jake, don't be disgusting!”

“It was not even five minutes ago that I was down between your thighs using the same tongue I just liked your hand with to make you moan.” Jake teased as he leaned in to kiss the sweet spot on the junction of your next. Your back arched at the sensation of your ex’s slow but steady thrusts. The small but audible whimper that escaped your lips had Jake smiling against your skin. “You needy girl.” He’d missed you, missed your touch, your taste, your beautiful orgasmic sounds.

“Some of us haven’t been whoring around—“ You sighed as Jake's hands roamed your exposed body, the feeling of roughed palms against your hips sent shivers down your spine.

“No, no some of us just use their husbands credit card to buy new sex toys—“ What else was a girl supposed to do? You still had needs, needs that weren’t gonna be met with fingers alone.

“Ex husband.” You felt the need to reiterate. Jake's thrusts sped up slightly, giving you a little more as your nails dug deeper into the muscles that littered his back. “Ahh fuck! and you left it here for me to use.”

“Can those toys of yours make you feel this way?” Jake groaned as his thrusts began more intent filled, he was a man with a plan, an end goal—to get you off. “Use your words Honey, be a good girl for me.”

It had been too long, far too long since you’d felt the touch of a man. Especially your man. The pad of Jake's thumb pressed softly into the bundle of exposed nerves that were perfectly swollen and throbbing just for him. He felt you tense at the overwhelming sensation, the feeling of utter euphoria mixed with the light hearted banter that was you and Jake. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you, but not until you say please.”

“I—“ It was getting harder to formulate sentences as the wave of impending pleasures rolled in, you were right on the cusp. “Jake I—“

“You want me to make you cum don’t you?” All you could do was nod desperately. “Ohh baby girl look at you all fucked out, so far gone.”

“Please!” Jakes hand came down the press itself against your mouth as he fucked you into the mattress. His hips slammed against your with so much need and lust he swore the both of you would have matching wounds to lick in the morning, when regret set in the the haze cleared.

“Shhh—that’s my girl, cum for me, we don’t want the kids hearing how much of a needy little thing you are for me.” Oh this mother fucker.

“Ahhhh fuck fuck fuck I’m cu-coming!” It was barely a sentence but from behind his palm Jake could understand what you were saying. He watched as your eyes rolled and your body tensed and your velvet walls clamped down around him. “Jake!”

“I’ve got you Honeybee, I’ve got you.” Jake groaned as he followed right behind you, his length twitch as the all too familiar sensation of that pool forming at the base of his shaft overwhelmed him. “I’m with you—ohhhh fuckk Y/n, yesss!”

Jake landed right on top of you as he came down from his high, completely spent. His sweaty locks tickled your nose as you peppered kisses to the very top of his head.

“We should shower.” You broke the silence that had filled your dimly lit bedroom.

“Is that an invitation?” Jake queried as he lifted his head from your bare chest.

“If you’re up for it.” You replied through a loving smirk. Jake couldn’t help but to capture your lips in a headed but loving kiss. He missed you so much.

“Oh I’m up for it.” He cooed against your lips, just trying to savour every fleeting moment he knew this was. This moment of weakness. “I'm so up for it.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

“I wanna marry you.” You could still remember the words Jake spoke in the library the day you tried to break off whatever it was the two of you had become in college. It was early on in your blooming relationship, but you had your doubts. You had heard rumours he was no good, trouble if you will. That Jake was just this gloating self assured, arrogant guy who liked to throw a football around and take girls back to his dorm room to fuck and forget.

“I wanna have kids with you.” You’d tried to let him down gently by telling him that it wasn't him, but you. And by all accounts the break up, if that's what you could even call it, went rather well. Until Jake Seresin showed up at your dorm rooms two days later after he’d practically stalked you around campus like some lost, love sick puppy you'd dumped in the rain.

“I wanna build us a house, settle down, and grow old with you.” Jake's words were still there inside your mind as your eyelids flickered from the early morning light that threatened to consume your bedroom. The bedroom you shared with your ex husband last night.

“I wanna die when I'm one hundred and ten years old, in your arms.” Jake held you close and pressed up against his exposed chest as he slept soundly beside you. Strong arms encapsulated your torso as you woke, threatening to keep you hostage for the foreseeable future because if there was one thing about Jake you could never forget, it was his ability to press snooze over and over and over again until he had about five minutes to shit shower and shave.

“I don't want this to just be a fling, I want a lifetime with you.” It was ironic really that you were remembering that moment as bile rose in the back of your throat because with your odds? You didn't have a lifetime to give him anymore. Regardless of your current separation. Your life was slipping through the metaphorical hands of time every day that passed.

“Oh god–” You couldn't stop it once the feeling started, the overwhelming urge to expel whatever reminisce remained in your stomach from dinner. You didn't have time to worry if you woke Jake up, you didn't have time to sneak out of his warm embrace, all you had time to do was rush to your ensuite and drop to your knees at your toilet before it was too late.

“Y/n?” You heard Jake grumbled as he stirred at the sudden loss of your presence, he hadn’t slept so soundly in months. Having you tucked up against him still brought a solace that was unparalleled to anything Jake could ever dream of. “Honey? You alright?” All Jake was met with was the sound of violent coughing accompanied soon after by the gut wrenching sound of vomit hitting the porcelain bowl of your ensuite toilet. “Oh my god—“

Jake was up within seconds, the covers that barely covered his body were thrown to the side as he jumped out of your bed in just a pair of boxer briefs he’d thrown on after your sexcapades last night. They did very little to prevent your imagination from running wild with delight and lust as he came into your ensuite, you may have been feeling unwell but Jake had an adonis like body he wasn’t shy about.

“I’m fine—“ Was all you managed out before you were heaving again, your hands gripped either side of the toilet bowl like your life depended on it.

“Here,” Jake cooed as he kneeled down behind you only to hold your hair with one hand so it wouldn’t get caught in the trajectory of your sick and rubbed small soothing circles against your back. “Maybe Lucy was right, you have been sick?” Jake couldn’t help but to frown as he watched you empty the content of your stomach into the toilet for another five minutes. Jake's mind wandered back to all the times he’d done the same thing as he was now when you were pregnant with the twins, with Sammy.

“I’m fine—“ You sighed as you reached up to flush the toilet and wipe your mouth with some toilet paper. “Totally fine, I just—I don’t even know what it is, but I feel better now.” You couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough for your body's sudden urge to throw up. You knew exactly what it was through, the oral chemo. Those nasty little fuckers had you throwing up all day most days. “I’ll see a doctor when I get back, before the kids come home.”

“Are you sure you still wanna go?” Jake asked as you sat back against the wall with him. “I mean, you could always come with us? Spend it with family, especially if you’re not feeling one hundred percent.” It was an enticing offer, especially since you weren’t actually going on a holiday, but rather into hospital for possible life saving surgery.

“The trips paid for, I have to go.” You sighed miserably into Jake's shoulder as he comforted you. “Besides, I’m pretty sure your mums still holding a grudge against me for wanting to separate.”

“I’m still holding a grudge against you for that.” You reacted quickly to Jake’s witt and slapped his chest. “Ow!” He groaned playfully as you chuckled softly and shook your head. “I’m kidding, I'm kidding—“ Jake cooed as he watched you bring your knees up to your chest. “But can I ask you something?”

“Depends on the question.” You mumbled as you pressed your forehead against Jake's shoulder. Still trying to find some comfort as lightheadedness threatened to consume you.

Jake didn’t reply right away, he simply looked to his left a little and caught the sight of the pair of you sitting side by side on the bathroom floor. He’d spent so many nights trying to think of ways to fix things, to fix what he accidentally and unintentionally broke. But right now, after spending the night with you, being back with the kids he loved so dearly and remembering what it was he truly needed in order to be the man he wanted to be? Jake knew he needed to ask.

“If there’s a guy—“

“Oh god Jake—“ You groaned at the idea. He was the one who’d slept with other people, not you. At least you had the decency to keep your nights out of sight. The only rumours Jake would have known were the ones he concocted on his own accord about your hips and thighs and your whispered sighs. Oh god you couldn’t even begin to imagine what his wildest dreams had been imagining about what you’d been up to during your separation.

Because there were no other men. It was simply Jake.

There had been far too many nights where you thought about jumping off of very tall somethings, just to see him come running and say the one thing you’d been wanting. But no. Jake never came, not since March when Coyote told you about Jake’s first air to air kill. The kill he still hadn’t told you about yet.

“I need you to know that I’m trying here, to fix my mistakes.”

“There’s nothing to fix Jake—“ You knew that this was a bad idea, that last night was a bad idea. That ever letting Jake believe there was any chance of reconciliation to be achieved in your marriage was a mistake. “We separated because our marriage wasn’t working, we’re no good together.”

“That’s ass and you know it.” Jake replied rather sharply as you raised your head from his shoulder. “We were good together, we are good together, you just don’t wanna admit that this whole separation was a mistake because you still love me just as much as I love you.”

“You just aren’t a good husband Jake!” The tone you chose to use had Jake shutting up rather quickly. Perhaps you were a little too harsh, but the hope you saw in his eyes was killing you. “I left because you didn’t love me enough to put me first.” You frowned as you tried to read Jake's facial expression.

Surely this wasn’t a new revelation to him, he knew, right? He knew that although he loved you in his own way, Jake stopped putting you first when he figured out how high he could really climb in his career. Jake stopped putting you first when he saw his potential, his ability to be the best and nothing but. He stopped putting you first when Lenny and Lulu were born, and again when Sammy accidentally came along. He stopped putting you second and third and fourth until you weren’t ever the priority in any situation.

“I need one more chance to show you how good of a husband I can be.” Jake nearly begged. “Just one—“

“You had ten whole years to get it right and you couldn’t do it, what makes you think one more chance is gonna miraculously solve the fact that you’re just not the type of person who should have a wife?” Part of you wanted to walk away till he really listened, you needed to be able to look into Jake's eyes and know that the two of you were feeling different.

Jake Seresin had been told he was a lot of things. A bad friend, a good pilot, the family disappointment. He’d been told once by a supervising officer that if he didn’t have a family, maybe he’d fly less conservative, be better, take more risks. That same officer sent him to Miramar for the Dagger mission that same year when he heard through the grapevine of your separation.

Jake had been told he was a catch, sex on legs, the life of the party and the guy any girl would be lucky to go home with. But he already had his girl, the meek library dweller who tried to break up with him in college. The woman who birthed his three children, his best friend, you.

So the worst thing Jake Seresin had ever been told he was? Was that he was without a doubt a shitty husband. And the worst part about being told that was it came from you, the woman he loved, his wife.

“So divorce me if I’m such a crap fucking husband Y/n!” Jake hissed. “It’s almost been an entire year and I don’t know where I stand with you?” He argued as you tried to fight off the urge to throw up again. “I can’t stay separated from you anymore, I can’t keep acting like the love of my life didn’t leave me, I can’t keep telling myself that you’ll come back, I can’t keep telling myself that you won’t find someone else who deserves you more than I do, I need you to tell me it’s over so I can move on!”

“I—“ You wanted to blurt it out then and there as you tried to stand from the tiled bathroom floor. Jake, even in his fit or very understandable rage, reached out to help you. Even if he was a shitty husband he was still a pretty good friend. “I have—“ You wanted to tell him, tell Jake you were dying. Tell him that this time around it actually wasn’t him, but you. Hell maybe if you weren’t riddled with cancer you might even consider that one more chance he wanted so desperately. But as you stood to your feet and Jake stood to his, you saw the half packed suitcase of yours on the floor next to your bed. The suitcase you were taking to the hospital right after you watched Jake and your kids leave for the holidays. The Christmas holidays you were missing:

Because you were fighting Cancer and Jake didn’t know.

“I have to finish packing.” You sighed and settled with that. As you looked into Jake's eyes you could physically see the heartbreak mixing in with the emerald green. “Maybe we can organise divorce lawyers after the holidays, keep it civil, for the kids.”

Jake remained silent as he just looked at you, his wife, telling him that yes, divorce was on the horizon after all. He just stood there in utter defeat knowing that what had become of your marriage was his own fault. You tried all you could for as long as you could before you had to let him go.

“Just tell me his name at least.” Jake gritted his teeth. “When you find him.” You could tell Jake was holding back tears as he reached out to cup your cheek. “The guy who doesn’t fuck it up.”

“There’s not gonna be another guy.” You quietly replied as you leaned into Jake's touch. “I just need to put myself first for once and be happy with my own company.” Jake nodded like he understood but you knew deep down he didn’t believe you. The kiss he left on your forehead told you that.

“I’m gonna go get the kids up.” He explained as he cleaned his throat. “I’ll let you finish packing for your trip.” You let Jake turn on his heels and watched as he pulled those same grey sweatpants up his legs before you called his name quietly.

“Jake?”

“Yeah?” He replied sadly, like he had no fight left to give. There was an understanding between the two of you in that moment that this was truly the end, that whatever the two of you still were or were holding onto, that it had come to an end.

“I’m sorry.” You pressed your lips together in an attempt not to cry, but Jakes saw your tears. He saw them looking in your lower lash line.

“Me too.” Was all Jake replied before he left your room, leaving you alone with your own emotions and thoughts to try and calm yourself down knowing that whatever was to come would never hurt as much as officially losing the love of your life.

***~***~***~***~***~

“Here you go baby, Jam toast.” For what’s it worth, you and Jake tried hard to keep things as normal as they could be for the kids, so when you finally made your way downstairs after showering and getting yourself ready, he was waiting with a coffee made for you like you didn’t just rip his heart from his chest and gutter stomp it into the carpet.

“Hi mama.” Sam cooed as you walked over to where he sat on Jake’s lap being fed fingers of soggy jam toast.

“Hi baby boy!” You smiled bright at your youngest and touched his nose with the tip of your finger. “Did you sleep okay? Are you so excited to go to grandmas today?” All little Sammy did was nod and eat his toast, Jake bounced him gently on his knee at the dining table, enjoying the moment with his son. “Where’s thing one and thing two?” You asked as you noticed the quiet lull that filled the kitchen and dining room. Lucy and Lennox were nowhere to be seen.

“They’re still getting ready.” Jake shrugged your concern off. He didn’t even bother to look at you as you took the coffee he’d made for you and took a sip. “Said they’d be down soon.”

“Well we can’t let them mess around for too much longer, we need to get you guys off to the airport.” It was meant to be a simple statement, a conversation between adults about the appropriate time to arrive at the domestic terminal for Jake’s flight to Huston. But it wasn’t that.

“Yeah—“ Jake rolled his eyes as Sammy asked for more soggy jam toast. “Like you said last night right, you just can’t wait to get me out of the house.”

“Jake—don’t be this way.” You couldn’t say you were surprised that Jake had changed up his attitude so quickly, but you were a little shocked he was acting this way in front of Sam. Sure he was only two but it still felt wrong.

“I’m not being a way.” Jake still didn’t look at you, he couldn’t. If he looked at you he was gonna lose his mind.

“You’re acting like we’ve already signed divorce papers!” You hissed through gritted teeth and under your breath just in case your two other children came running down the stairs.

��Well, I can't keep acting like you’re my wife now can I?” Jake could be petty if he wanted to, he once went four days without speaking to Phoenix purely because she said she reckons he can’t fuck for shit. Truth was he hadn’t had a fuck since January, truth was he took someone home that same night. Truth was he called out your name when he came and turns out Vanessa could throw a pretty hard punch.

“Doesn’t mean you have to revert back to being Hangman, Hangman.” You mumbled under your breath but knew Jake heard you. You knew because for the first time since you came downstairs he finally looked at you.

“What did you just call me?” Jake hissed as he stood up, he held Sam on his hip as he stepped towards you with a stern look on his face. “What the hell did you just call me?”

“You, heard, me, want me to say it again?” You remembered the day your husband came home and told you he got his callsign. Some jerkoff by the name of Bradley Bradshaw had been assigned to be his wingman. Jake had given him his callsign, Rooster, because he thought the guy was full of chicken shit.

But Bradley had landed Hangman after a particularly rough training session where Jake had left Bradley behind, in a real situation he would have died. And thus the Hangman was born. It was needless to say the two didn’t see eye to eye most of the time.

“Kids!!” Jake shouted loud enough for you to jump as his voice echoed off the walls. He saw the look in your eye, the uncertainty of what the two of you were doing. So Jake stepped back, offered you a soft lipped silent apology and waited for you to silently tell you that you were good. “Get down here now! we’re leaving!”

***~***~***~****~***~***

The airport was just as busy as it had been yesterday, only this time instead of waiting for Jake to join you and the kids, he was taking them with him, back to his mum's house for Christmas.

You’d never spent Christmas away from your kids before so it was understandable that you were a little upset, but Jake saw the way your hands shook as you kneeled down before Lenny to fix his jumper.

“You be so good for your dad, alright?” You cooed as you rubbed your nose against his. “And make sure you keep an eye on your sister and brother on the farm.”

“I wish you were coming with us mum.” Lucy added as she jumped on your back and clung to you with her arms around your shoulders.

“I know baby I know, but I packed a few presents in your bags from me and dad and Santa will know where you are too.” Jake had an extra duffel full of all the toys your kids would be receiving this year, plus any extra they received from Jake’s side of the family. You knew Janeen and Rodney would go overboard as always.

“Enjoy your holiday mum!” Lucy giggled in your ear as you hugged her arms.

“I will baby I will, and I’ll miss you all so much!”

“We better head off.” Jake hesitantly interrupted. He didn’t want to come across as if he was trying to hurry the goodbye along. Knew how important it was for you to say goodbye, even if he thought it was an unnecessary one. You should have been spending Christmas with them.

“No—No you’re right, you guys better hurry along now or else you’ll miss your flight.” You tried to hide your sadness as you rose to your feet. “Bye my little guy.” You cooed to Sammy as he sucked his thumb and let his head rest against Jake's shoulder. “Seeya Daddio, take care of them will you?”

“Don’t stress, I’ve got them Honey.” Jake reminded you softly as he brought you in for your own goodbye. He had no idea how much that one act of kindness meant to you. The last touch of a man who would never know what you were about to go through and already going through. “Alright kiddos, let’s roll out!” He smiled as you let go and watched your family head further into the airport. Lucy was the only one who looked back at you to see you waving as they disappeared into the crowd.

It was only when you lost sight of your little family did you finally allow yourself to break. With a hand over your mouth you sobbed quietly to yourself before you turned to head back to the car.

“You’re on your own now.” In a 2009 research paper titled Gender disparity in the rate of partner abandonment in patients with serious medical illness, a study was conducted out of a pool of five hundred and fifteen married people suffering a vast array of serious medical illnesses.

Out of those five hundred and fifteen participants, fifty three percent were female and the other forty seven percent were men. What researchers found over the course of this particular study was that the gender disparity when dealing with divorce was that twenty one percent of women diagnosed with chronic or serious illnesses were being divorced by their husbands, while men were only around the three percent mark.

You were handed that pamphlet in the same doctor's appointment where you were told you had stage three A, triple positive grade three invasive doctoral carcinoma. It was something oncologists had started adopting rather recently as those rates had risen rather rapidly since 2009.

Good thing you had already separated from your husband prior to your diagnosis huh?

“You’re all on your own.”

***~***~***~***~***~***

Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @mamachasesmayhem @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream @maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional @jessicab1991 91 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @lafrone @fanficfandomlove ve @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog @goldenseresinretriever @a-reader-and-a-writer @sunlightmurdock @shelbycillian @memoriesat30 @accioprocrastination @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer

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luvelylaconic · 2 days

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Jealous? Nah. (Yes.)

Gojo x Fem Reader: Part 3. MINORS DNI

<< Prev

In which, you befriend Suguru and it doesn't sit well with Satoru. He's sure it's just because he doesn't want to lose his best friend, right?

Content: Possessiveness, Jealousy, Eventual smut, Jujutsu College AU, Slight Toxic Relationship, Sexual Themes

What did he mean he will do something about it?

Satoru's inner turmoil got the best of him as he sat on his friend's bed, still attempting to grasp the earlier conversation;

Did he mean it as a competition?

He wasn't one to back down on a competition- he always wins. So he will have you- not Suguru.

But that doesn't means he likes you in any means past a simple attraction, right?

He's nearly positive that once he gets it out of his system and gets the satisfaction that he's won you over Suguru, everything will return to normalcy.

But until then, he had to find a way to get close to you to begin with- enough for you to even talk to him at the very least.

He admits, he hasn't been the most friendliest to you. But that was the case for most people; he didn't bother to form relationships or make small talk with people. He found it mundane, pointless- due to the sheer fact he was the strongest, and everyone else was below him. He had no need to satisfy other people's inner need for these useless bonds that they craved so desperately from him. He had Suguru as a friend, and that was all he needed.

Or so he thought.

Because now he was facing a dilemma he never once thought he would face.

Sure, he's talked to girls before. But it was nothing more than some entertainment; having someone to take with to the club when Suguru had a date, or someone who had connections to parties that he could tag along with. And with the occasional, but very seldom time, where he did go further with them- it was nothing more than to satisfy the needs he even admit he has.

But he never once had a label on any of these arrangements, nor has he kept in contact with one girl for more than two weeks.

He could also count on one hand the amount of girls he's slept with- or actually,with only three fingers... or two...?

Satoru starts to think if one even counted. He either tends to forget girls from being under the influence (which he now realizes he doesn't enjoy doing), or simply does not care to remember.

Because the times he did do anything beyond having them as company, it was with a simple need in mind. He didn't particularly enjoy anything from it and found himself with regret instead the following day. So at some point, he just stopped seeing girls all together.

And no one dared to judge him for it, which he was content with him.

But now he was at a complete loss on what to do with you.

He's sure it will come naturally. But the thought of you not being interested has him uneasy, he's never faced rejection. And the possibility of being rejected by specifically you felt even worse.

Because, even though he would like to deny it, there was that part of him that wanted you to genuinely like him.

But he chose to ignore that thought as he sent a text to you,

Hey, thanks for the notes. What's your coffee order?

When the next day followed, Satoru made sure to get ready a bit earlier than usual to stop by the coffee stand before class- making sure the order was exactly what you requested.

Even sending a quick picture to Suguru of the coffee with a text that follows,

Don't worry about making her coffee today ;)

He now waited at the same seat from yesterday, leaving your drink sitting beside him on the desk as he sipped on his very sweet and sugary drink, that perhaps didn't even count as a coffee anymore.

But when he saw you walk in a little later than usual, he made a mental note on how slowly you moved and how your eyes didn't leave your feet as you made your way up the stairs of the lecture room. Your bag barely in your grasp as you tugged it along.

It wasn't until you sat down did he notice how absolutely drained you looked; your complexion dimmed, your eyelids looked heavy while the area under eyes began to darken slightly, and when you smiled at him while thanking him for the coffee- the smile didn't reach your bright eyes like they usually did.

"What happened to you?", he murmured as he set his coffee down, adverting all his attention to you.

You only sighed, rubbing your eyes from exhaust, "Yaga set me out on a high priority mission last night. I got back an hour ago."

Before he could ask anymore details, the professor began talking and you were quick to start your notes like you usually did.

But he kept on thinking about Yaga. Why did he send you out? Alone at that it seems. Why couldn't he had sent him instead- it would have been taken care of faster that way.

He also didn't like the thought of you possibly struggling on your own in the middle of the night, with nobody there to protect you. The thought of it irked him, only adding another thing to the list of reasons he doesn't particularly like the higher ups.

But it's whatever, he finally concluded. You were a first grade after all, and you didn't seem physically hurt by any means. Just... exhausted.

He then brought his attention back to class, noticing in his peripheral the way you were struggling to keep up with the lecture. Your notes didn't have your personalized details, and you often left information out- your main focus being to keep yourself awake more than anything.

So he took it upon himself to slide the notebook away from you, then grabbing his much neglected pen from his pocket,

"I'll take notes for you.", was all he said before he began jotting down the notes where you left off, not giving a second glance as he did.

And you nodded in appreciation, not in a place to contend- as you now leaned into your arms, allowing yourself to close your eyes for a little. All while Satoru made sure to add every detail he possibly could to your notes, making sure they were as pretty as yours. And as pretty as he thought you looked while you napped.

"I think he took it the wrong way when I said I would do something about it."

Shoko groaned in frustration as she flicked her lighter that now ran dead, only igniting small flames that weren't enough to light her cigarette. But Suguru was quick to grab his out his pocket, lighting it for her. She sighed a thanks before inhaling in,

She then exhaled out after a few seconds, letting the smoke fan out around her as the cigarette sat on the side of her mouth, "Leave it to Satoru to take it that way."

The raven hair man shrugged, "I was only trying to help. Be a wingman, I suppose.", he then took a few steps away from Shoko, settling behind her against a wall, hoping the smoke smell didn't linger on him.

He knew you didn't like the smell of smoke. It was obvious every time Shoko lit a cigarette near you. But you were always nice about it, typical of you.

"But why go through all the trouble?", she once again took a hit from the lit stick, a longer one this time, "I thought you liked her."

Smoke once again puffed out, a big cloud now surrounding the two.

"I do."

Shoko finally turned her face towards him, looking at him through the corners of her eyes,

"Then, why?"

Suguru thought for a moment,

"Because I care for Satoru too, and i've been worried about him.", he began as he started walking away, knowing she would follow suit, "I know being the strongest sorcerer gets to him, it would to anyone. But he has it so warped that he thinks he doesn't need anyone else. But he does. He needs someone that isn't me- someone that can help him and be there for him in a way I can't."

The trailing girl took the cigarette out of her mouth, stomping on it,

"And that someone is Y/N?"

"Yeah, I think so."

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk x reader #geto suguru #geto x reader #gojo fluff #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk satoru #satoru x you

142 notes · View notes

whatsnewalycat · 2 months

Text

Designated Person | 9

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 9: Where The Wild Things Are

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 8.6k+

Tags / Warnings: alternating pov, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship, angst, food mention, jealousy, alcohol & alcoholism, lying, conflict avoidance, crying, internal conflict, birthday party, a low-key dudes rule moment (bros! bros! bros!), tried my hardest hardest with Spanish but I am a white girl I’m sorry if its wrong pls let me know, a lot of dialogue like so much dialogue fuck, children, toxic relationships just bad all around

Notes: WELL HI, long time no see! I know it’s been over 6 months since I’ve updated. I went on a warpath with another series (Psychomanteum—it’s finished if you wanna check it out). But I’m back to force these two dummies to walk through hellfire 💘

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———————————————————————————

Nothing seems right.

For what has to be the hundredth time, you sift through the sparse collection of t-shirts and dresses hanging in your closet. Each time you push a hanger aside to consider a potential outfit, your brain falls into the same pattern.

First, you wonder if Frankie would like it. Granted, if you showed up wearing a cardboard box he’d still want to fuck you.

You want him to like it more than that, though.

You want him to see you and get all weak in the knees. You want him to look at you in that way he does sometimes. That soft, magnetic look that tugs at every part of you. The one that argues against logic and speaks to intuition instead. That can't-eat, can't-sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over-the-fence, World Series kind of look.

After considering this entirely reasonable and attainable goal, you picture yourself wearing the clothes through Angie’s eyes.

You dissect each potential outfit as she would. This dress too low cut, that one too frumpy, the other too short. A critical chorus of slut slut slut plays in the back of your head, accented by the memory of her manicured hands wrapped around your throat, the growl she let out when she squeezed around your windpipe.

“You little slut, I will fucking kill you.”

Throughout this whirlwind of turmoil, snippets from this morning rise to the surface and drown out everything else.

Frankie’s lips on yours, hungry and certain. His strong hands on your body, digging into your skin. The way he talked to you, voice low and strained—Whose pussy is this?

Every time these words repeat, your heart hammers in your chest. Tingles trickle out from between your legs and work up your spine.

The time before this, right after he moved in, when you fucked on the couch… you felt dirty afterwards. It sent you into a spiral of self-guilt that gnawed away at you for days. It reminded you of how sex was towards the end last time. Like you could have been anyone. Like he needed something to make him feel alive, and you were just the most ready and willing participant.

But it felt different this time.

Intimate in a way it hasn’t been in so long. It felt like an act of something bigger and stronger, like he needed you specifically. Not the rush of endorphins. Not just the heat of another person. Not a substitute for the love his wife wouldn’t give him. It felt like he needed you and nothing else would sate him.

“I won’t do that to you again, mariposa, I promise. I’ll fix it, I promise I’ll fix it, ok?”

Right about here is when indecision ties your brain off in a knot that seizes the production of valuable output.

Then you return to yourself, staring into the closet like it’s fucking Narnia, and slide the hanger aside to do it all over again.

—

Frankie collapses into a patio chair with a groan, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair before replacing his cap, then tilts his head up towards the blazing sun and closes his eyes.

When he trekked through the Andes with his team, there were nights where he felt the cold so deep in his bones, he wondered if he would ever be able to get warm again.

Right now is the opposite of that.

Right now he would give up fistfuls of cash to feel that bone-deep freeze.

He casts a longing glance at the cooler and fantasizes about drinking a cold beer. That psssch-ahsound it would make when he opened the tab. He imagines the condensation cooling his heated skin and the alcohol calming his fried nerves.

Fuck, that sounds perfect.

Through the open window to the dining room, he can hear Angie and her sister Marta gossiping to each other, talking about how so-and-so is dating what’s his face again and blah blah blah. His ears perk up when Marta segues into their personal life.

“Speaking of people getting back together… How are things with you and Frankie?”

Angie doesn’t say anything, but must make a face at her sister because she follows the question up by giggling, “What, can I not ask?”

“Ay, Marta. No seas metiche.”

A beat of silence passes. Marta must non-verbally pry, because Angie speaks again, quieter this time.

“We’ll see.” Then quickly, almost defensively, she adds, “He’s getting his act together, you know. He quit drinking, and he’s doing this parole program. It seems like… it seems like he’s trying.”

“Mmm. Is he still living with that girl? Su amante?”

Frankie knows Angie well enough to know she rolls her eyes in response.

Marta tsks, but any further conversation is cut off by a sudden commotion of squealing and bickering.

He looks down at his watch, reading 1240, and guesses that Angie’s friend Carmen arrived with her five children.

His eyes clamp shut and he fantasizes about drinking a beer. Maybe three. Hell, make it ten. Ten would do just fine. Ten would anesthetize him just enough to let him clear his head and make this whole ordeal manageable.

“Just get through today,” he tells himself, “Just one more goddamn day, then you can be done with this fucking charade.”

The backdoor opens, releasing a burst of chaotic noise. Angie and Carmen step out, and he stands at attention.

“Oh wow, look at all this,” Carmen tells Angie, “Damn girl, you really went all out, didn’t you?”

“We don’t really know what the situation will be next year, with Frankie and everything,” Angie’s eyes flick to him, and she shrugs, “So I figured, make it memorable. For all of us.”

“Sure,” Carmen nods, concern creasing her brow, then she acknowledges Frankie with a quick head-to-toe scan, “Francisco, how’re you doing?”

“Better than I deserve,” he smirks, and gestures to the gift bag hanging off her wrist, “Let me take that for you. Want anything to drink?”

She hands off the present and glances at Angie, then back to Frankie, “Can I get a beer?”

“Sure,” he nods to Angie, “How about you, amor?”

“I’ll take a beer, too.”

“Two beers coming up,” Frankie calls behind him while descending the stairs.

As he walks to the 10’ x 20’ white canopy tent, he tries to eavesdrop, but the two women talk to each other in hushed tones. He has no doubt it’s about him, though, because he hears Carmen exclaim, “Oh shit, really?” then, quieter but still distinguishable, “Good for you, mamá.”

After dropping the gift bag on the designated table, Frankie goes to the cooler to grab two cans of beer and a bottle of water, then returns to the deck, where Angie and Carmen both lean against the railing. They both murmur a thanks when he hands them their drinks.

He rubs between her shoulder blades, “Need anything else?”

“A fucking Xanax,” she jokes while cracking her beer open. He watches foam bubble up from the mouth of the can and his pulse surges green with envy. She takes a long sip, then sighs, “Mmm let’s see. Food is done, Mamá and Marta are bringing everything out. Your mom should be here with the cake any minute. You got everything set up in the tent?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Alright, well,” she takes another swig and shrugs, “Wanna get the slip ‘n’ slide going? We can get the kiddos changed into their suits.”

“You got it.”

He starts away, but she grabs his shirt to stop him.

When he turns back to her, eyebrows raised in question, her golden brown eyes meet his, then drop to his lips, “Thank you.”

His hand finds her waist and he nods, “Not a problem.”

She kisses him, and he kisses her back, thinking of you—always fucking thinking of you— as he tells himself: One more day.

—

Leah picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Tell me I shouldn’t go to this party.”

She releases a big sigh that makes you grimace, then says, “Tell me you’re not actually thinking of going.”

You glance up at the Morales residence through your windshield, sinking down into your seat when you spot Benny, Will, and Dani making their way up the driveway.

“I’m outside in my car.”

Leah is quiet for a moment before she asks, “Do you want to go?”

“Yes and no,” you watch the Millers open the door and go inside the house, “I want to see Sarah, and I wanna be there for Frankie, just because… I don’t know, everything, but…”

“But Angie?”

You nod, casting your eyes down to your hands to pick at the frayed cuticles, “I’m afraid she’s going to say something or do something to retaliate against me.”

“You did have an affair with her husband—”

“I’m well aware,” you snip.

The silence that follows wrings guilt from your stomach. A burning sensation works up your throat behind your eyes, so you pinch them shut and hang your head.

“Fuck, sorry. You’re right. She has every right to despise me. I deserve it. I shouldn’t go, it’s stupid.”

Your words come out all pathetic and warbled by tears, but you continue anyway.

“I feel so torn. I care about them a lot and I wanna be there. I want it to be better so that… fuck. I don’t know. Nevermind.”

“Why do you want it to be better?”

“It’s stupid.”

“No, I want you to tell me.”

You take a deep, shaky breath, tilting your head up towards the drooping ceiling of your car. The answer pulses through your body and tingles on the tip of your tongue. If you speak it you might shatter to dust.

Instead, you offer up a consolation prize to distract her.

“I did something I shouldn’t have,” you whisper, then swing your head down to stare at your steering wheel, “I… had sex with him.”

Leah snorts, “I fucking knew it.”

“Shut up, you did not,” you scoff, “It just happened this morning.”

“Rach owes me $10.”

“You bet that—God, you are the worst.”

You hang up on her, then stare at your phone for a few seconds before sending a text to Frankie.

< ME: < Are you sure I should come? I feel nervous

A few unresponsive seconds go by before you flip the visor down to inspect your reflection in the mirror. Not terrible. Some black smudges around your eyes. Could use some lipstick.

You remedy these problems while trying not to think too hard about what you’re about to do, lying to yourself in hopes that you can somehow warp the truth.

This will be fine.

—

By the time Frankie gets the hose hooked up to the slip ‘n’ slide, his mother- and sister-in-law are setting the last few food items out on the long folding table under the tent.

Two of Carmen’s sons dash across the deck in their swimsuits. As he passes them on the stairs, he ruffles the older one’s scraggly dark brown hair, calling after them, “Soda and water in the cooler if you boys are thirsty.”

They holler an acknowledgment as Frankie makes his way inside.

The relief of stepping into cool, conditioned air quickly dissipates as the commotion hits him.

At least a dozen conversations meld together in this wall of indistinguishable sound. He can’t quite focus on any of the vaguely familiar faces or isolate one single voice from the warble of people talking.

A heavy, frantic pounding starts in his chest. His hands start to tingle. Noises disappear completely for a second, replaced by a high-pitched ringing in his ears.

Jesus fucking Christ, I’m losing it.

He pulls a chair out from the dining room table and sits down, praying nobody notices him clench his eyes closed to inhale a deep, wide breath.

Then another.

Everything starts to come back into focus, and he tunes into someone asking, “Fish, you ok?”

He startles when a broad palm settles between his shoulder blades. Looking towards the source, he finds Will’s dusty blue eyes studying him with concern.

“Shit,” Frankie mutters, running a hand over his face before he clearing his throat and standing, “Sorry, yeah. Think I got too much heat or something.” He gives his friend a quick, one-armed hug, “Good to see you, man.”

When Will parts ways with Frankie, he gives him a look that says he doesn’t buy it for a second, but doesn’t push the subject.

His wife, Dani, approaches with a cautious smile, “Frankie, good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too” Frankie gives her a hug, “Thanks for coming.” They separate and he asks Will, “Benny here yet?”

“Yeah,” he smirks, jerking his head towards the living room, “Shooting the shit with your mom.”

“Figures,” Frankie chuckles and shakes his head, “I gotta go make my rounds, but, uhh,” he gestures from the gift box in the crook of Will’s arm to the back door, “There’s a gift table outside. Food and drinks and all that, help yourselves.”

“Catch up later, yeah?” Will nods.

Frankie mirrors the action as a few waist-high kids race past, budging in front of them when Will opens the door.

He notices a cluster of aimless partygoers lingering between the dining and living room, and starts directing the halted human traffic out to the backyard. It prods them into action, thinning out the crowded common area as he makes his way to the couch, where he finds his mom sitting with Sarah in her lap and Benny at her side. Benny says something to Sarah that makes her and her grandmother giggle.

“Is this guy bothering you?” Frankie asks, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face.

“Francisco!”

She passes Sarah to Benny and struggles to get to her feet.

“Christ, mamá, let me help you” he mutters while taking her well-worn hands in his to pull her upright.

She’s always been a woman of small stature, barely measuring up to his shoulders once the growth spurts petered out and left him as tall as he’d always be. But each time he sees her, she seems to have shrunk a little bit more.

As soon as she steadies herself, she kisses his cheek, then pulls him down into a surprisingly tight embrace, telling him, “I missed you so much, mijo.”

“Missed you too, Ma.”

She pulls back from the hug, but holds onto his arms to look him over, “How have you been?”

“Fine,” he nods, looking away when her keen dark eyes narrow, “What about you, hmm? How was the drive?”

“Bien bien,” she waves off his questions and takes a step back to smile at the birthday girl, “She’s getting so big, Pancho. Such a pretty dress.”

Sarah grabs at the puffy hem of her skirt and giggles at the attention.

Frankie snorts in admiration at his daughter, then asks her, “You wanna go see your party, princesa?”

“Yes!”

He looks at Benny, “I gotta see if Ang needs me to do anything, do you wanna…?”

“Escort these lovey ladies?” Benny winks at Julieta, “Shit, I’d love to.”

“Jesus Christ,” Frankie mutters, then tells Sarah, “Go with Uncle Benny, I’ll be there in a minute, ok?”

She jumps off Benny’s lap and runs to the back door, leveraging her weight against the knob. It swings open and she escapes, sending Benny chasing after her, laughing, “Hey, wait up!”

Julieta starts after them just as Sarah’s bedroom door opens, and two little girls come charging towards the back door. Carmen and Angie trail behind, the former carrying a baby tucked into her side, the latter looking around with a puzzled expression pasted to her face.

“Everyone outside?” Angie asks her husband, slowing to a stop a few feet away from him while Carmen continues outside.

“Yeah. I, uhh, got the slip ‘n’ slide set up, all the food is out—anything else you need me to do?”

“Is your girl here?”

She smirks and tilts her head at him, like she’s joking or teasing, but the humor doesn’t reach her eyes.

His skittish heart skips in his chest.

Sensing a trap, Frankie searches her face and shakes his head like he doesn’t understand.

Angie raises an eyebrow at him, “Don’t act like you don’t know who I’m talking about.”

So fucking sick of this.

“Whatever,” he blinks, “No. I haven’t seen her yet. Anything else?”

The forced amusement immediately drops from her face and she stomps outside, slamming the door closed behind her.

He takes a deep breath, pulling his hat up to run a hand through his hair, then glances at his watch.

1308

He shakes some of the nervous energy from his fingertips and starts to pace the living room.

What if you decided not to come?

Honestly, it would make today much easier. He could just go out there and play his role. Put on his mask and blame his disposition on the ongoing legal battle. His mother, wife, and friends, they’d be none the wiser.

Something inside him lurches at the thought.

Suddenly and very clearly, he understands that if you don’t show, nothing will change. He will drive this ship into the ground.

As if on cue, the doorbell rings.

He jogs down the steps, swings the door open, and there you are, wearing a pretty floral sundress and a nervous smile.

“Hey,” he backs up to allow you entry.

“Hi,” your smile grows wider, and you step past him as you enter the house, “Long time no see.”At the foot of the stairs, you turn to face him, “Where’s the party?”

“Backyard.”

“Oh.”

When you glance down at his mouth, one hundred butterflies start chittering away at his stomach. He licks his lips and notices himself gravitating towards you. It doesn’t help that you’re doing it, too. The subtle way your body bows in his direction, inching so close he can smell the bright burst of your perfume and the damp musk of your sweat.

“Is everyone out there?”

“Pretty sure,” his eyes flick to the vacant upstairs, then back to you, “Why?”

Just an inch away, you clamp a grin closed and shrug, “No reason.”

“Uh huh,” he raises an eyebrow, daring to rest his hand on your waist. The contact floods his body with a hot, thudding pulse he can taste.

Searching his face, you slide your palm over his heart. Beneath your touch, the muscle pounds at its seams.

Against his better judgment, he leans in to capture your lips in his. Warmth spreads out from his chest through his limbs. You hook a hand behind his neck and pull him closer, your body curving flush against his.

Only hours have gone by since he last saw you, but it feels like months. It’s like that with you. Timeless when you’re together and an eternity when you’re apart.

Pulling back, you look at the floor and shake your head, “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“We shouldn’t, umm,” you swallow hard, shaking your head again as you glance upstairs, “Here, now, you know…”

He glances at the back door, “You’re right. We should get to the party.“

“Yeah,” you take a big step back and clear your lungs with a deep breath, then hold up your gift bag, “Where should I put this?”

“Right this way—”

“Wait, look at me,” you chuckle, tugging at his hand.

He faces you, asking, “What?”

You cup his cheek and lick the pad of your thumb, bringing it to his bottom lip, “Lipstick.”

Your brow furrows in concentration, tongue poking out the corner of your mouth as you scrub off the evidence.

It’s kind of adorable, the way in which you do this. Doting, almost. Reminds him of the times Mamá would catch him with a dirty face in public and try to make him more presentable.

Briefly, he pictures you as the matriarch of a rowdy crew of children. Driving a minivan to school drop-offs and extracurricular activities and family outings. It suits you.

He can’t stop his lips from curving into a smile.

“What?” you grin, eyes flicking to his.

“Nothing,” he murmurs as you tilt his face around and inspect him. “Better?”

“Better,” you nod, “How about me?”

He pinches your chin and looks you over, correcting a smudge before telling you, “All clear. You ready?”

You give a half-hearted shrug, looking around at the ground, then ask, “Your wife isn’t gonna like… yell at me in front of everyone or pelt me with produce, right? This isn’t an elaborate revenge prank?”

“Is that what all the tomatoes are for? Shit,” he teases, earning a chuckle and an eye roll from you. “No, but really. She agreed to be nice.”

“Ok,” you nod, “So I’m like allowed to talk to you and everything without worrying she’ll try to murder me?”

Frankie snorts, “She wouldn’t murder you—”

“She has literally told me ‘I will fucking kill you.’”

“That was—” he shakes his head, then brings his hands to your shoulders and stares into your eyes, “It’s gonna be fine, mariposa. We’re gonna go bullshit with people and eat some food, and then we’re gonna home and watch a stupid fucking movie. Ok?”

You laugh, dropping your gaze for a moment before returning with a bashful smile, “Ok.”

—

As you make your way down the food table, piling tamales and Spanish rice and fresh fruit on a flimsy paper plate, you feel eyes on the back of your head. Whether it’s just one set or ten, you don’t care to know, but the feeling sends a shiver up your spine.

When you reach the end of the line, you take a deep breath before turning to find a place to sit.

Like every other party, the crowd is mostly separated into cliques.

Parents from around the neighborhood stick together at a few long tables, bribing their children to eat and drink water before returning to the slip-n-slide. At another table sits Angie’s family, including the queen herself, whose pointed stare you gloss over, ignoring her and Frankie at her side. You find some familiar faces at a table near the edge of the big party tent: Benny, Will, and Dani. With them is a small, elderly woman who must be Frankie’s mom or an aunt or something, due to the striking resemblance.

The whole thing reminds you of choosing a place to sit in your high school cafeteria. Much like you did in those days, you gravitate towards an empty table nearby, but halt when some calls your name.

Frowning, you look around to find Benny waving at you.

“Over here,” he pulls out the chair beside him.

You approach with a smile, the tension held in your shoulders dissolving just a little as you take the open seat and greet everyone.

“Thanks. I didn’t know if, umm… it was ok,” you chuckle nervously and drop your eyes to your plate, shaking your head.

“Oh, come on now, you’re always welcome with us,” Benny grins, leaning back in his chair to reveal the tiny graying woman on the other side of him, “Have you met Frankie’s mom, Julieta?”

“I have not,” you reach across Benny to shake her hand, “Good to meet you, I’m—”

She waves you off and pushes her chair out behind her. You half-expect her to furiously walk away at your presence, but instead she wobbles over to you and holds her arms open.

“I know who you are. Come here, mija.”

You stand to accept the invitation, stammering out, “Oh—ok—”

Emotion wells up in your chest when her bony arms squeeze tight around you and she tells you, “Thank you for taking care of my boy.”

Not sure what to say, you just hug her back for a few long seconds. The embrace says it all. It feels maternal and earnest and brings a few tears to your eyes. When she pulls away and smiles at you, you notice she’s a little misty-eyed, too, and you smile back at her. She gives your cheek a few pats before you both return to your seats.

“How’ve you been?” Dani asks.

You contemplate the question long enough for Benny to interject.

“Well, she’s keeping Fish out of trouble so I’m sure she’s having a hell of a time.”

You shrug, “It’s nothing compared to some of the toddlers I’ve had to deal with.”

Your audience chuckles, then awaits a follow up.

“No, I, umm… I’m doing ok. Going through a breakup, so that’s tough, but… mostly I’m good.”

Why did I say that?

“A breakup?” Benny leans back and drapes an arm over the back of your chair, “What happened?”

“Oh, we don’t have to—” you laugh at your plate, stabbing a chunk of watermelon.

“Come on, give us the dirt,” Benny prods.

You shove the watermelon in your mouth and wrinkle your nose at him, shaking your head.

“Let the girl have some privacy,” Dani scolds, “If she doesn’t wanna talk about it, she doesn’t wanna talk about it.”

“If she didn’t wanna talk about it she wouldn’t’ve mentioned it,” he counters.

“It’s fine, it wasn’t even a big deal. We were only dating for a few weeks and it wasn’t a good match,” you explain, glancing around the table, “I don’t know why I said it, sorry, I’m just, umm… nervous.”

You notice Will studying you and hold his meticulous gaze for a moment before dropping your eyes to your plate. He speaks up then, drawing the fire away from you.

“Hey, that’s alright. Not like Benny has room to criticize,” he gives his brother a lopsided grin, “Remember that girl that tried to stab you?”

“Not this again,” Benny groans.

“Ok well now you have to tell me,” you say, flashing a grateful smile to Will before nudging Benny, “Come on, give me the dirt.”

“Well, if you’re gonna twist my arm about it.” He visibly shifts into storytelling mode, sitting up straighter as a glint of mischief sparks in his eyes, “First of all, I had no business dating her to begin with. She had a PT Cruiser with whiskey plates. If that’s not a red flag, I don’t know what is.”

—

Trying to be a halfway decent host, Frankie makes his way around the party checking in with people, introducing himself to all the unfamiliar faces and making small talk, recycling the same lines.

Drinks are in the cooler if you’re thirsty. Thanks for coming. I’m doing great, how about you?

Meanwhile, Ang seems to have taken on his former role as the champion beer drinker of the party. Every time he glances at her she’s either guzzling it down or popping open a new aluminum can.

When she and Carmen start directing slip ‘n’ slide traffic and seem sufficiently distracted, he walks up to the table where some of his favorite people are seated and takes the open chair next to Will.

“Look who it is,” Will smirks at him, “We were just talking about you.”

“Christ, do I wanna know?” he leans forward to rest his elbows on the table.

“Probably not, I was talking mad shit about you,” you tease, looking at him with a grin that makes his heart swell.

“Figures you would be,” he shoots back.

You chuckle and shake your head, “No, actually I was just telling them about how I’m teaching you to cook.”

“Oh yeah,” he looks around the table, “Did you tell them about the stir-fry?”

“Ok, you tried with the stir-fry and it was almost edible—”

“Almost edible?” Benny laughs

“Somehow the rice was both undercooked and burnt, and the veggies were mush,” you share, sitting up taller when you meet his eyes, “But it could’ve been worse. You’re learning!”

“I’m just impressed you could get him in the kitchen in the first place,” Benny says, then turns his attention to Julieta, “Mamá, you didn’t make him cook anything growing up?”

She tsks and waves him off, then explains, “His father wouldn’t let me. He was very traditional, you know, said it was women’s work.“

“It’s ok, Ma,” Frankie assures her.

“I am glad you’re learning now.” A smile stretches across her face, “You must be grateful to have such a good teacher.”

“I am, really,” he nods and glances at you before admitting, “I’d be a fucking mess without her.”

Everyone at the table seems to sit with this information in silence for a moment before Will clears his throat and asks, “Are you still working on that car?”

Frankie leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, “Here and there. Lately it’s just been collecting dust.”

“Mind if I check it out?” Will inquires, “It’s been, what, a year and a half since I’ve seen it?”

“Sure,” he frowns, looking over at you and your creased brow as if seeking permission, at which point you give a shrug, then he squints up across the yard and spots Angie talking to her mom and dad. “Let me just tell Ang so she doesn’t lose her shit if she can’t find me.”

The three men stand from the table. Frankie gives you one more glance before starting off towards his wife. With each step he takes across the grass, he wishes more and more that he could kiss you again. Give you reassurance that you’re doing great in this precarious situation.

Angie’s father glares at him as he approaches, which isn’t abnormal. Angie follows his line of sight, wobbling a bit as she lays eyes on him. Surprisingly, she smiles, “Hey!”

“Hey—”

She throws her arms around his neck and kisses him, the action so unexpected he stumbles back a step. Her lips taste of beer and poor judgment. When he pulls away, he plasters on a fake grin and says, “The guys wanna look at the car, is it ok if I slip away for a few?”

“You boys and your toys,” she rolls her eyes, “Fine, just be back for presents in a couple minutes, yeah?”

“Alright,” he searches over her shoulder, “How’s Sarah doing?”

“Good, good,” she nods, “She’s playing with Carm’s kids in the sandbox.”

“Make sure she gets some water, I don’t think she drank any with—”

“She’s fine, Francisco. I’ve got it,” she insists, patting his chest.

He studies her for a moment, then says, “Ok, I’ll be back in a minute. We’ll be in the garage if you need me.”

“Give me a kiss,” Angie demands, her long nails scraping at the nape of his neck. He leans in and presses his lips to hers, feeling nothing but irritation and disgust.

—

When Frankie and the Miller brothers disappear into the house, so does your social armor, leaving you exposed.

For a while you make scattered small talk with Julieta and Dani, discussing Sarah and the party and the weather. You watch Sarah play with her friends from a distance, not wanting to disrupt their sand castle building by approaching. Every once in a while, your eyes cheat to Angie.

A vile, familiar sensation sits heavy in your stomach.

He warned you that it might be difficult seeing them together, but you forgot how bad it hurts to witness.

The way she kissed him doesn’t help. Hanging off him, looking at him with bedroom eyes.

It’s not the same this time. He’s different now.

The foul thing in your belly goes dead weight, making you lurch.

What if he’s not?

Before you can spiral too much, you hear, “Chacha!” and realize Sarah is running towards you

“Hi, pumpkin!” you smile and outstretch your arms to catch her as she slams into you.

“I’m not a pumpkin, I’m just a girl,” she giggles.

“Are you having fun at your party?”

She grunts out an “mhmm” while you pull her up onto your lap. Her face is flushed, skin all heated and damp with sweat.

“You look like you’re hot, do you want some water?”

“Um. Ok!” she smiles.

“Ok let me get you—”

“I got it,” Dani stands and starts towards the cooler.

You murmur a thanks and return your attention to Sarah, “Thank you for letting me come to your party. I’m having so much fun.”

She giggles in response, leaning into you.

“How are you liking daycare? Do you get to play with your friends?”

She nods.

Dani returns with a cold water bottle, twisting the cap open before handing it to you.

“Here you go, sweetie,” you bring the bottle to her lips and slowly tip it back as she takes big gulps of water. Periodically, you pull it away and let her catch her breath, then start again until she pushes it away.

“Better?”

“Much better,” she nods.

“Maybe she should go inside and cool down for a minute?” Dani suggests.

Julieta leans over to feel her forehead, “Too much sun, hija.”

“Do you wanna go inside for a minute?” You ask, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Chacha will you go with me?”

“You want me to—oh, um… should we ask your mom…?” You frown at Dani, who grimaces, then Julieta.

“Just take her,” Julieta insists, “I’ll tell Angelica if she comes looking.”

“Ok. Ok sure. Let’s go, sweetie.”

You rise from the chair, sliding Sarah to your hip, then carry her up the stairs into the house. Once inside, you sit on the couch with her for a few seconds before she wriggles away and scampers off down the hallway.

“Chacha come see my room!”

“Oh my fucking god,” you whisper under your breath, glancing nervously up at the back door before following her, “Ok, but just for a minute, then we should go back out to the party.”

—

“Are you seriously calling him?” Frankie blinks, leaning back against the workbench.

Will shoots him a look while raising the phone to his ear.

“Unbelievable. It’s like six o’clock in the morning there, you’re gonna wake—”

“Hey Pope, I’m gonna put you on speaker.” Will presses a button and sets the phone down next to Frankie, “Now I want Fish to tell you what he just told me and Benny.”

Gnashing his jaw back and forth, he stares at Will, then Benny. They both watch him expectantly while Santi speaks up, his voice groggy from sleep.

“Alright, let’s hear it.”

Frankie clears his throat and rubs his mouth before saying, “I’m gonna ask Ang for a divorce.”

“Oh shit, ok.”

Will prods Frankie further, “Tell him the other part.”

“Will you just—Fuck, ok. I’m… seeing someone.”

On the other line, Santi chuckles a little, “Uh-huh.“

“Any guesses on who that might be?” Benny asks.

“Oh, I have one—”

“Wait wait wait, let me give you a hint,” Benny grins while scrolling through his phone, pushing off the hood of the car to grandstand, “On June 10–only seven weeks ago, mind you—Fish said about her, and I quote: It’s not like that, we’re only friends. To which you said—”

“—I said bull-fucking-shit!” Santi finishes, then howls, “That is fucking delicious, thank you.”

Frankie crosses his arms and shakes his head at Will, “See, this is why I didn’t wanna tell him.”

“How long?” Santi asks.

“How long what?”

“How long have you been sleeping with her?”

“It’s… complicated, ok?”

Benny giggles and repeats, “Oh, it’s complicated.”

Santi questions further, “Sure, well, let me ask you this: How long have you been in love with her?”

“Why does it matter?”

“You do, though, right? You love her?”

Frankie crosses his arms and glares at the phone, “Yeah.”

“When did that happen?”

Heat flares through his veins. He wrings his neck and mutters, “That’s a stupid question.”

“Why’s it stupid?”

“Cuz, Pope, that’s like… that’s like asking how long ago mankind came to exist. Or asking what point a chrysalis becomes a butterfly. I don’t fucking know, man, it just does. I just know that I do, I love her, and I have for… a while.”

The two men before him are silent, along with the voice on the phone. Frankie, on the other hand, finds momentum in his confession. He continues.

“And Ang… Jesus Christ, I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve felt like this with her. And the longer I think about it, the more I convince myself I never did. Not this way, like I can’t live without her, you know?” He taps his fingers against his lips, then shrugs, “Maybe I could have at one point, if I tried. But even then… I don’t like who I am when I’m with her. It doesn’t feel right. It’s like I’m wearing someone else’s skin and it doesn’t fit me.”

He glances up at Benny, then Will. Their faces are somber, but understanding. Benny approaches, leaning on the workbench beside him to rope an arm around his shoulders and give him a supportive squeeze.

“When are you gonna tell her?” Will asks.

“Soon. Not today, but this week probably.“

Benny withdraws his touch and crosses his arms in front of his chest, “She’ll go right for the jugular. You know that, right?”

“I know.” Frankie takes off his cap to run a hand through his hair, then puts it back, “She’s gonna try to take Sarah. Fuck, I’m gonna need another goddamn lawyer, aren’t I?”

“Can you afford that right now?” Will furrows his brow, studying him, “Be honest.”

“Probably. Well, maybe. I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but is now the right time? You’re on parole and looking to add felony charges to your wrap sheet. Not to mention the infidelity. On paper, your custody case is shit.”

Frankie shakes his head, “If I have to keep living like this… all this lying and pretending… I don’t know, man. I can’t do it anymore. Something inside me is about to break. I can feel it.”

The Millers exchange a look.

“I don’t think I’m speaking out of line by saying we all just want what’s best for you, Fish,” the voice over the phone tells him, “We want you to be happy. If you need to get out, get out.”

Frankie glances up at Will, who nods in confirmation.

“Thanks. It-it means a lot to me,” he shifts his weight to one leg, looking down at his wristwatch, “We better get back to the party. Talk soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Santi says, “Hang in there, buddy.”

After hanging up the phone, Will gives Frankie a pat on the shoulder, “We’ve got your back.”

As they file out of the garage into the entryway, Angie walks out from the bathroom. When she notices them climbing the steps, she calls, “Hi boys.”

To his credit, Benny puts on a convincing smile and greets her with a high five, “What’s up, Angie?”

She steps aside to let him pass, then fixes her glassy eyes on Will, “How’s the carcocha looking?”

“Better than the last time we saw it,” Will shrugs, glancing over his shoulder at Frankie, “Just needs a little TLC.”

“Needs to go to the scrapyard if you ask me,” she snorts and tilts her head at her husband as he reaches the top of the stairs, “Hey handsome.”

He gives her a half-hearted smirk, then frowns, “Where’s Sarah?”

“She’s fine, still playing. Francisco,” she tugs on his shirt, so he comes to a stop.

Jesus Christ, her breath smells like a brewery.

His eyes flick to the Millers stalled at the back door. After waving at them to clear out, he raises his eyebrows at Angie, “What?”

“I need your help with something.”

“Sure, what?”

Instead of answering him outright, she takes his hand and leads him down the hallway. His stomach twists with understanding when she pulls him through the doorway towards the bed.

“If you wanna lay down for a bit, I can take care of every—”

She turns to face him, placing her palms on his chest and sliding them up to his shoulders, “I want you to fuck me, Francisco.”

“Ang,” he chuckles with exasperation, shaking his head, “We have a backyard full of guests here, come on.”

“They’re all having fun, no one will notice.” She takes his hand and guides it to her face, gently folding down all his finger but the index and pouts, “Please, Frankie.”

He swallows a groan when she wraps her full lips around his digit and sucks. The wet hot plush of her mouth makes his eyelids flutter and weakens his resolve.

“I don’t think—”

She pulls his finger from her mouth like a lollipop and bats her eyelashes at him, cooing, “Don’t you wanna fuck me like you did the other night? Didn’t that feel good?”

“Well, yeah—”

“We can be quick.”

As she reaches for his belt, something moves at the edge of his vision.

“Mommy, Daddy!”

He looks at the doorway to find Sarah in the hall, holding one penguin toy in each of her pudgy toddler fists. A big, toothy grin spreads across her face and she giggles, galloping into the room.

Thankful for the diversion, Frankie smiles and takes a big step away from his wife, crouching down to ask Sarah, “Hey sweetheart, what’re you doing in here?”

“Showing Chacha my penguins,” she tells him, holding up her toys, “This one is an emperor penguin, and this one is a macaroni penguin!”

“Chacha?”

Something inside him drops to the floor. He looks up and sees you emerge from Sarah’s room. You pause briefly in the hallway, glancing at Angie before meeting his gaze. The pained look on your face rips his heart in two.

“I, umm…” you stammer, dropping your eyes to the floor and shaking your head, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I was just—leaving. There’s a thing and-and I have to go.”

With this, you flee down the hall, then the stairs, your footsteps still echoing heavy in his head while the front door slams shut.

—

“Whiskey coke?”

You look up from the bar top’s glossy wood finish to give Bubba a nod.

“Ain’t seen you around here in a while,” he comments while scooping ice into a glass.

“Yeah.”

It surprises you a little, how hoarse your voice sounds. A self-awareness passes over you and you straighten your spine, glancing around the bar before digging a compact mirror from your purse. By the time you finish rubbing the bleeding mascara from your swollen eyes, Bubba is placing your drink in front of you.

You exchange the mirror for your wallet, but when you fish out your card and hold it out to Bubba, he shakes his head.

“On the house.”

“What, do I get the sad sap discount?”

He chuckles a little at this, then shrugs, “If that’s what you wanna call it.”

“Thanks.”

Leaning forward onto the bar, you pull the glass closer, then stab the ice with your straw a few times. Little bubbles of carbonation fizzle up to the surface and release the gassy scent of rail whiskey. Nostalgia sours your stomach.

“Everything alright?”

A deep ache branches out from the weight beneath your sternum and curls around your shoulders. Every cell in your body feels heavy and burdensome.

Staring at the glass, you shake your head.

“I’m all ears if you wanna talk about it.”

“It’s a long, messy story.”

“I got time.”

You glance up at him, studying his concerned expression, and sigh, “You know that guy who meets me here sometimes? Brown hair, usually wearing a hat? Started a fight that one time?”

“The vet?”

“Yeah,” you nod and swallow down the thickness in your throat, then tell him, “We’ve been off and on for years. He’s, umm… he’s married. I was their nanny when it started. I fell in love with him. He made it clear he didn’t feel the same and he wouldn’t leave his wife, but I kept seeing him because I’m an idiot.”

“Sounds like you kept seeing him because you loved him, not because you’re an idiot,” Bubba observes.

“Same difference,” you shrug and tilt your head at your drink, “He’s an alcoholic. After his wife caught us fucking, he went off the rails completely. Still kept seeing him even though he kept me at an arm’s length and drank himself dumb every night. The thing is… I never believed him when he said he couldn’t love me like I loved him. I felt it, and I thought…”

Tingles work up your throat behind your eyes, and everything becomes blurry as you choke out a sob.

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s ok.”

You shake your head and wipe away your tears, but they keep coming.

“I thought if I kept loving him he would see how good it could be and come around. I thought he would admit to himself that he does love me like I love him. I wanted that with him so bad, I just couldn’t fucking let go. Then, umm…”

You clear your throat and take a deep, shaky breath.

“I had to give him an ultimatum. Her or me. He picked her. I cut it off and tried to move on with my life. He called me a few months ago from jail and asked me to bail him out. I got roped into being his custodian while he’s on parole, so he’s been living with me. We agreed not to get involved in, umm, that way again.

“He’s been sober and opening up emotionally while working through this shit. It’s been really hard. But it’s also been good, you know, because we’ve had to hash out all these problems that we’ve ignored for years. I’ve been able to see the real him, and… I love him more than I ever have.”

“Uh-huh,” Bubba raises an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms above his beer belly, “So what happened that’s got you in a fuss? He still doesn’t love you back?”

The question pierces your heart.

Your voice balances a tightrope as you confess, “I thought he did. I really did this time, I was so fucking certain. He promised he would fix it, that we could be together—and I fucking believed him—”

Waves of emotion swell in your chest and flood your eyes with hot tears. You fold forward, burying your face in your hands, releasing sob after sob as you replay the last two months in your head and wonder how you could be so fucking stupid to think it was real.

The world around you melts away until it’s just you and that dense, pulsing pain. Like it’s always been. Like it always will be.

It doesn’t matter how hard you try to help him. It doesn’t matter that you love him more than anything else in this world. It doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters, because he doesn’t love you and he never will.

A hand rests on your shoulder blades and pulls you back to reality. So lost in your self-pity, you didn’t notice Bubba come around the bar to console you. You sit up and wipe your eyes, mumbling out an apology.

“It’s fine, darlin’. Can I do anything to help?”

Sniffling, you shake your head, “I’ll be ok.”

“You sure?”

You inhale a shattered breath and give him a weak smile, “Fifty-fifty.”

He furrows his brow and studies you for a moment before nodding, then taking a step back.

As he makes his way back to his side of the bar, you stare at your drink. A fat droplet of moisture rolls down the thick condensation lining the glass and gets swallowed up by the cardboard coaster beneath.

You wish you could forget about him.

You wish you could feel nothing.

You wish you could hurt him the way he’s hurt you.

So, you pluck out the straw, raise the cup to your lips, and start drinking.

—

The setting sun paints the wispy clouded sky above a brilliant shade of orange. Beneath his feet, the soles of Frankie’s shoes scuff against the driveway. He glances down at his mom, with her arm hooked in his, and says, “Thanks for coming out, Mamá. I hope you had a good time.”

“It was a very nice party, mijo.”

She gives him this stifled polite smile like she’s holding something back. So he prods her.

“What?”

She waves him off, “Nada nada.”

“Come on, Ma.”

They come to a stop at the driver’s side door of her car and turn to face each other. She studies him a moment, then gives in with a huff, “You have been like this all afternoon. Why?”

“Like what?”

“So stormy.”

He deflates, “Don’t worry about it.”

Her lips purse as she tilts her head at him. The ‘don’t make me smack you’ look.

“It’s messy, mom. How I’m feeling,” he wrings a hand behind his neck and shrugs, “I don’t know. Everything is a mess and it’s all my fault.”

“All your fault how? Did something happen?”

“No—well,” he catches himself, swallows, then corrects, “Yeah. I did something bad. And I lied about it. Then I got caught in the lie, and, you know…”

She nods slowly, waiting for more.

“I think I might be a bad person.”

Her expression softens when Frankie says it. She cups his cheeks and stares straight into his soul. Suddenly, he’s five years old all over again, Mamá comforting his bruised heart.

“There is a good man inside you. I know him well because he’s my son. Let him be brave.”

He absorbs this for a moment, then croaks, “Ok.”

“Give me a hug.”

He hunches over to hug her, burying his face in her neck, “Quiero mucho, mamá.”

“Yo a ti,” she squeezes him, then pulls back and asks, “Will you call me tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

He waits for her to get in her car and drive away before returning to the house. Inside, he finds Sarah and Benny reading a book on the couch, while the siren song of the party still roaring out back rubs at his nerves.

Frankie pulls out his phone to confirm you, predictably and rightfully, did not respond to his messages or calls. Reconciling with you will be a fucking nightmare. Going home to face the consequences seems less appealing with each passing second.

He starts to consider other options.

He could stay and drink. Join the party. Doubtful that Angie or any of her people would give a shit. Hell, they would probably encourage him.

Better yet, he could stay and drink by himself in the garage. There’s enough booze laying around, nobody would notice if he drained a bottle or two in order to reach that blissful numb.

He plops down on the couch next to Sarah and brings his attention to Benny’s reading.

“—‘Now stop!’ Max said and sent the wild things off to bed without their supper. And Max the king of all wild things was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all. Then all around from far away across the world he smelled good things to eat so he gave up being king of where the wild things are.

But the wild things cried, ‘Oh please don’t go—we’ll eat you up—we love you so!’ And Max said, ‘No!’ The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws but Max stepped into his private boat and waved goodbye… and sailed back over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day… and into the night of his very own room where he found his supper waiting for him… and it was still hot.”

Benny flips the paperback closed and looks down at Sarah, who yawns and rubs her eyes, then to her father.

“Still want that ride home?”

Frankie considers this for a moment before nodding, “Yeah. Let me put her to bed and talk to Ang, then we can take off.”

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