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chvnnie · 1 year

Text

Deserving

han jisung x reader

word count: 3k

genre: smut — MINORS DNI

warnings: switch!jisung, switch!reader, mentions of alcohol, smoking (cigarettes — jisung), mentions of weed, jisung gets slapped, kinda enemies to lovers to kinda friends to lovers???, jisung refers to reader as his “property”, dirty talk, unprotected sex, mutual orgasms, rough but ✨sweet✨ and really i think that’s it? if i missed anything, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.

summary: is there really much of a difference between hate and love?

a/n: if y’all have any issues, take it up with @j14sung!!! it’s all her fault!!! also no breath play? in one of MY fics? what is happening

this is a work of fiction. this fic in no way represents han jisung as a person or stray kids as a whole. you are responsible for the media you consume. please read responsibly.

taglist: @lix-ables, @rachalixie, @agustd-essert, @gibbysupremeacyisreal, @katieraven, @miamormi, @woahfruity, @hugs4chan, @stranger-thighs, @beautifulcolorgarden, @scottmcallisdaddy, @whatudowhennooneseesyou, @humayraaaa, @americanokisses, @djeniryuu, @epiphanynaffit

The back patio’s railing really needs to be replaced. White paint falling off in mid sized chips, shudders in even the lightest breeze. This has to be a safety hazard; it’s shocking the fraternity hasn’t been fined for this.

So when Jisung leans against it, the creak of the wood can be heard over the heavy bass of the music. He flinches slightly, praying that tonight is not the night it decides to crumble. Once he realizes that he is stable, his shoulders relax, digging in his jacket pocket for the half empty pack of cigarettes.

He’s really not much of a smoker; the smell lingers, making all of his clothes smell like the mistakes he continues to make. Still, when he’s a little drunk, he can’t help but reach for the crutch. Placing the stick between his lips, cupping the flame so the wind doesn’t blow it out. One click, two click, three — god, he needs a new lighter. Can you tell how often he smokes?

It’s necessary for tonight. Jisung can’t face the idea of going back inside that party without a little buzz. Something to distract him from the fact that you showed up.

You were expected to show up. The circles you run in are so similar. If Jisung is invited, chances are, you are too. That’s not really the issue.

The issue is the goddamn mini skirt you walked in wearing. The issue is the thin strapped crop top that’s so tight, he can tell you’re not wearing a bra. The issue is that fucking silver waist chain, decorated with pretty metal hearts. Hugging your hips perfectly.

The issue is that you didn’t come to the party alone.

From the back patio, Jisung looks through the kitchen window. All of these people, most friends of his or at least friendly to him, careless. Happy. Not worried about a single thing, dancing and drinking like the night isn’t going to end.

Like he’s not shivering outside. A scowl fixed on his face as he watches you and this guy pass the window, in search of the bottle of vodka you like.

Fuck. This cigarette isn’t enough to numb this shit.

Stubbing it out with his boot, Jisung decides to go back inside. Maybe he’ll play pong with Lix, or smoke with Changbin. There has to be something inside to distract him. Navigating the crowd, he barely gets into the packed living room before there’s a hand on his arm, halting him from going any further.

“There you are.” A sickening sweet voice says, and he has to close his eyes so she doesn’t see him roll his eyes. “I’ve been looking for you!”

Someone from his chem class. Not very notable; she’s pretty, sure. Smart, though she always seems to be asking him for help with the easiest assignments. He doesn’t really care for her. Voice grating, her interest overwhelming. But that made her easy. All he had to mention was the fact that he was going to be driving past her place, and she was begging for a ride on his bike.

It was timed perfectly; Jisung’s motorcycle “conveniently” parked outside of the lit building. Right where you have class on Thursdays, ending at noon. The same time his chem class gets out. There was no way you could miss him putting an extra helmet on the girl.

Especially considering the way he wet his lips. Smiled. Waved at you. Making sure that you saw the girl get on his bike. The look of annoyance and distaste was so satisfying. Jealousy. God, it looked so good on you.

Was it worth it, though? Jisung was sure that move would be the end of this back and forth game the two of you have been playing — that you would reach your limit, lash out. How dare he take another girl on his motorcycle? What kind of fucking player flirts with you nonstop just to turn around and get another girl wrapped around his finger?

Or, at least, that’s how he expected you to react. He never thought you would retaliate.

Pulling his arm out of the girl’s hold, he glances down at her. Bored expression on his face. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I thought we could dance a little.” She moves in front of him, inching closer and closer until her body is practically pressed against hers. “Maybe you could take me for another ride—“

Over her shoulder, he sees you. Leaning against the wall in the corner, sparkly eyes staring at the guy who stole you. He has a hand resting by your head, leaned down. Whispering something to you that makes you laugh.

Oh, come on. That guy? You can’t seriously think he’s funny.

He barely hears the girl continue to go on, telling him all the things they could do when they get back to his place.

“Look.” Finally, he makes eye contact. “I’m not interested.”

She looks almost shocked, as if he hasn’t been fully checked out of the conversation the entire time. “What? But—“

“All I did was give you a ride. I don’t want to fuck you; don’t you think you would have seen my sheets sooner if I had?”

A hand strikes his face, hard. The rings making his cheek sting. Head turned to the side, he hisses in pain, temper rising like the color of his cheeks.

“Fuck you, Han Jisung.”

Fine. Maybe he earned it. He did use her. But what he thinks is really unnecessary?

The fact that you saw the whole thing. Smile on your face as you huff a laugh. Lips parting, mouthing something to him.

Deserved.

It’s like rubbing salt in a wound, the way you grip this guy’s jacket. Pulling his body into yours before you tilt your head back slightly, and bring your lips to his.

All the hard work he did to numb himself, the jealousy, the possession, the anger, fades in less than a second. A dull warmth climbs up his body rapidly, the blood vibrating beneath the skin. The entire party fades, silence replacing the joy. The fast, steady sound of his heartbeat the only thing Jisung can hear.

That, and the sound of his footsteps.

Just like you, Jisung grabs the guy’s jacket. Expect from the back, and not to kiss him. With an unnecessary amount of force, he pulls him off of you, shoving the taller man to the side.

Before you can even say anything, he glares at you. “Enough.”

The sounds of that fucking asshole’s protest are nothing more than an annoying buzz. Like the sound of a fly, something easily drowned out as Jisung grabs you by your wrist. Pulling you out of the party and onto the back patio.

It still smells like cigarettes outside. When the backdoor slams shut, your body is pressed against it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Jisung—“

“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice has dropped a few octaves, a foreign sound to the both of you. “Who was that?”

God, you’re so annoying. Giving him the exact the same he gave you when he put that girl on his bike. You’re so fucking pretty. “What, you can give desperate girls a ride but I can’t bring another guy to the party?”

“Oh, you can.” Jisung agrees, nodding his head though his face is still cold. “But to let him touch you?”

“You don’t—“

“He’s lucky I didn’t fucking break his jaw.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “I’m not your property, Jisung.”

It’s his turn to laugh. Low, chilling. Tongue in cheek as he smiles at you. “Yes, you fucking are.”

He waits. Bracing himself for another slap to his already sore, possibly bruising cheek. After all, it is what you think he deserves. Instead your eyes drop to his lips, lingering only for a brief second before they flicker back up.

“Take me back inside.”

The two of you barely get upstairs before your bodies are twisting together; Jisung’s hands in your hair as you let your head fall back. Tongue rubbing against your own, sweet moans filling his mouth.

Neither of you know who’s room you’ve stumbled into. Does it even matter? Your body is against his, the smell of your perfume giving him the buzz he’s been chasing all fucking night. The world around Jisung doesn’t exist when you’re his entirety.

“I’m so sick of you.” You gasp, pulling your lips from his. Hands eagerly slipping under his jacket, you shove it off from the shoulders. “You’re so arrogant—“

“Yeah?” He huffs out, smirking when you shiver from his touch. Chilled hands under your pathetic excuse for a top, pushing the fabric up. “What else?”

“You’re an ass.” His shirt is next, buttons hardly hanging by a thread as you yank it open. “So fucking entitled—“

“Mm, I am.” Teeth nipping at your jaw, thumbs flicking over your nipples. Under his touch, he can feel your goosebumps rising. His touch driving you just as insane as you drive him constantly.

“Y-you—“ it’s getting harder to speak; his touch making you melt despite your best efforts not to. “You are such—“

When he looks up at you, you’re rendered speechless. Every strong opinion you’ve ever had of him fizzling away, extinguished by his gaze. Brown eyes blown out, darkened with lust and loss of control. But something. Something about the way he’s looking at you.

Jisung first met you in algebra. The first day of freshman year, in that class that started before the sun even fully rose. Three days a week, ninety minutes. Far too much time spent in a prerequisite class.

You were the last student to arrive, forced into the remaining empty seat at the back of the class. Right next to Jisung. Your hair was still wet, a pimple patch stuck on your left cheek.

Ever since, he was helplessly in awe of you.

Almost four years have passed, and he still looks at you the way he did when you first met. When he pretended to lose his pencil just to talk to you. When he would wake up earlier than necessary just so he would be the first face you would see when you arrived. All this time, and he’s always looked at you the same as he did when he fell for you.

It’s just taken you this long to realize it.

“I hate you.” You whisper, though the taste those words leave are disgustingly bitter.

Jisung gives you a lazy smile, not convinced even in the slightest. “Take off your fucking skirt.”

He makes you keep the waist chain on. The second your skirt falls to the ground, he’s yanking off your panties, sitting down on the end of the bed before making you straddle his lap. Lips catching yours, he keeps one hand on your hip, twisting the chain around his fingers, while the other slides down your back. Grazing over your ass, riding up the side of your thigh. Memorizing your body with his fingertips as a path is drawn to your core.

He moans louder than you when he starts to trace your folds. The slick makes it easy to feel you, taking his time rubbing from your clit to your entrance. Your fingers are tangled in his hair, tugging lightly when he starts to circle your hole.

“So wet.” Jisung mumbles against your lips. “Is this what I do to you, pretty?”

If time has taught you anything, it’s that he’s nothing but a tease. The circles are slow, hardly pressing down. Giving you just enough pleasure to make you whimper without actually entering you. Over and over he traces the shapes, not satisfied until you’re whining his name.

And then, he takes it all away from you. Moving his hand before you can grind down on it, chuckling when you yank at his strands in protest. He was so close, you fucking asshole. Why would you—

Jisung shushes you, bringing the pretty whines to an end as he pushes the wet fingers into your mouth. “Stop fussing. Let me play.”

You should bite his fingers. Take the control that rightly belongs to you. You’re not to be toyed with like this — but there’s a reason why you never fully pushed him away. Why you dealt with the torment, the push and pull, why you never told him no.

When he looks at you like he is now, starry eyed in wonder, there’s a feeling that only he gives you. One that’s been sought out, but never replicated. Only Jisung can make you fall hopelessly with just a look.

With a nod, your tongue works around his fingers. Lapping them clean, letting the weight on your tongue soothe you. Bringing you a peace you’ve been longing for since the day you met him.

“That’s my girl.” He mumbles, pushing his fingers back a little further. Stopping only when you gag around them, twitching in his lap. “So good for me.”

He lets go of your chain, working on the button of his jeans while you’re occupied. Once satisfied, he eases the fingers out of your mouth, entranced with the way drool clings from them to your lips. He takes the hand to his now freed cock, working the spit and slick mixture over his length.

Your eyes followed each movement, watching the slow motion of his fist. It’s almost shameful for you to admit how long you’ve been thinking about this moment — what he would look like. Taste like. Bigger than you expected, a girth that makes the breath catch in your throat.

Jisung catches your staring. “What, baby?” He coos in almost a condescending way. “Want my cock?”

God, there’s only so much more you can take of his incessant teasing. Rolling your eyes, you place your hands on his chest and push him, forcing him onto his back. Jisung tries to sit back up, but you keep one hand firm between his ribs while the other grabs his cock. Tugging with a firmer grip that he was allowing himself, causing his head to roll back and Adam’s apple to bob.

“Stop fussing.” You mock his earlier words, positioning yourself over his length. “Let me play.”

It’s almost too fast. Sinking down fully without giving yourself a proper chance to stretch. The sting runs up your legs, making your lower stomach ache where the tip hits. Your lips are parted, a breathy gasp overshadowing Jisung’s deep moans. His hands come to your hips, nails digging into your skin and fingers lacing through the waist chain.

“Fuck.” His voice could be a growl, head heavy as he looks up. Staring at where you’re sat on his cock. “Goddamn, baby, you feel so good.”

Dizzy from the pain, room spinning from the need, you use the hand planted on his chest to lift yourself up. Almost allowing yourself to get to the tip before slamming back down, skin slapping against skin. It’s not enough — falling into a pattern of slow upwards, but quick downwards. Teasing and chasing at the same time.

Jisung helps by lifting your hips, taking the exhaustion off your shoulders so you both can enjoy.

“I like the way you look underneath me.” You chuckle, words broken by pants. “It’s cute.”

He bites his lip and smiles, pinching your hips hard enough to make you yelp. “Don’t get used to it.”

Walls fluttering around his cock, heart bursting from your chest at the implication. Knowing this won’t be the last makes it even better, driving you to move faster and faster.

Moans have to be heard on the first floor, both of your throats turning raw as you cry into the unfamiliar bedroom. Jisung has started to us his hips, tongue between his teeth as he fucks into you roughly.

Stars are starting to dance in your field of vision, an ache in your core spreading through your body. It tingles your toes, shakes your thighs. Body almost falling limp at the yet to come.

“T-tell me.” You say, gasping when Jisung hits the perfect spot.

His brows furrow, sitting up on his elbows. He’s close, too — the tremble of his lip is a dead give away. “What? Tell you what—“

“Who—“ your nails dig into his chest, eyes squinting shut as tears start to sting them. Everything. Everything is fuzzy, and he is solid ground. “Who you belong to—“

“Fuck. I’m all yours.” He groans, barely letting you finish your request before he responds. It’s so easy for him to say, giving into your every wish. “I’ve a-always been, baby.”

With his words, you crumble. The ache overbearing, making your body start to fall slack. Jisung is quick to pull you into his arms, chest to chest as the rhythm of his hips slow. Working you through your orgasm and bringing him to the apex of his.

He smells like sweat, cigarettes, and oaky cologne. His hands are soft as they rub soothing circles on your back, lips feather light against your shoulders. When your name leaves his lips it’s like a hymn; your praises filling the heavens and earth.

“Okay?” You ask Jisung breathlessly.

His laugh could outshine the sun. “More than.” Having grown used to his cold, teasing demeanor, it’s almost as if you’re with a different person completely. The soft, gentle side of him blooming for the first time. Only because you were there to help it flourish. “You?”

“‘kay.” You mumble, nuzzling into his neck. “Better than, actually.”

A hum in response, more kisses to you shoulder. The party carries on beneath your feet, buzzing with excitement. Not a care for the world around them, no attention paid to what’s happening beyond their little bubbles.

Like Jisung isn’t in a perfect state of peace, the heat of your body helping ground him to reality. You’re here. You’re his. What does he need to numb?

When you turn your head, you accidentally bump into him. Tip of your head hitting his swollen cheek, the pain making him groan. You apologize profusely, cupping his face and kissing the now bluish marks left by rings.

That. That could use some numbing.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #han jisung smut #han smut #jisung smut

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epicspheal · 2 years

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Do you think Red and Blue's fallout was one-sided or a bit on both sides? I feel like their age, rivalry, and the people around them all played a part in it, but in writing the apology chapter between them I don't want to be the person who only makes one side apologize (Blue) because in most other media, leaving the other to be totally innocent can be a point of ire, esp when Red is involved cause he's kinda the games "overrated poster boy" at times? But what if I put the wrong blame on him?

Hi there anon! So in canon all we know is that Blue stopped playing with Red sometime just before they headed out on their journey. But we're not really given anything as to why there was a fallout in gameverse. At least in the anime we see that Ash and Gary had a bit of a falling out over a Pokeball they both fished up that kind of really kickstarted the bitterness we see between them during the OS saga.

As someone who has read quite a bit of Reguri/Namelessshipping fics from what I've seen it's generally accepted that Blue was the one at fault for the split but there's usually more emphasis on outside circumstances such as bringing up how Pokemon Zensho manga has it that Blue and Daisy's parents are dead. It's also not uncommon to reference the FRLG dialogue that shows off more of how Oak is rather blatantly favoritism of Red over Blue with the "How disappointing" line if Blue wins the first battle at the lab or this line when the players receives the National Pokedex: "Hey, I heard that! Gramps, what's with favoring <player> over me all the time? I went and collected more Pokémon and faster, too. You should just let me handle everything." So usually when it comes to the initial fallout I don't think there's anything wrong with making Blue solely to blame because there's no evidence to really suggest otherwise. If you want to include things like the death of his parents or Oak's favoritism as reasons why he turned so sour so suddenly I think that definitely helps add context as to why he had a sudden change up in personality.

Personally (at least in my canon) Red, nor Leaf saw that fallout coming and were equally blindsided by Blue's sudden change in behavior. His change in behavior at least in my canon is due to a combo of parents dying and Oak not being the most emotionally intelligent parental substitute given the fact that A) he's grieving the loss of his own child and B) Blue is a more emotional kid than he was used to raising which caused him to compare Red (who was more like his now-deceased son in being more quiet and less outwardly emotional). So Oak is in no way abusive in my own canon (as much as I despise game!Oak’s actions I really dislike the whole he was abusive/homophobic to Blue subplot). But his inability to meet Blue where he was at during a really critical time made Blue feel as if he was unloved and that he preferred Red which caused his 11-year old mind to think “well if I’m not friends with Red anymore my life will improve” which is of course flawed thinking...but he was eleven and I’m not expecting a kid his age who just lost his patients to have the most rational mindset.

I think if anything where there's a mutual apology it usually comes during the events of HGSS where Red had disappeared to Mt. Silver without telling anyone, not even his mom. In Blue's dialogue when you call him in HGSS he sounds rather shaken up when mentioning Red showing that he is worried and misses him. Even his own sister mentions that he is lonely. So typically apologies if any come from Red usually involve the abrupt departure after taking the title of Kanto Champion from Blue rather than the initial fallout because he hurt a bunch of people, not just Blue, in leaving like that. Like again for my own specific canon, Red apologizing comes solely for disappearing without a trace and again leaving both Blue and Leaf blindsided (poor Leaf here having to deal with both of her childhood friends having such drastic actions)

#trainer red #trainer blue #blue oak #trainer leaf #professor oak #cactusverse #ask epic spheal

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m-a-salter · 1 year

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PLEASE provide us your playlist/lore/moodboard for Love Is A River. I'll take anything ya got. :-D

THANK YOU for asking. For anyone reading this other than the asker, she is referring to this fic:

Which, after a bit of a hiatus due to Life Events™, has just been updated with a new chapter!

I don't have an actual moodboard, but you can get the equivalent experience by looking at any stills or GIFs from The Husbands of River Song. I have also commissioned an illustration for the story from the incomparable @illustoryart, and have accordingly also been inspired by their many illustrations of cute cottages and nighttime coziness.

The two most important songs for me in planning and writing have been Now or Never by Alan Doyle, and Anchor by Fortunate Ones.

"Now or Never" has this bit that always makes me think of the end of THORS: "For tonight we are the chosen few/The least that we can do/Is lay our hearts on the line/Oh we're running, we're running/We're running out of time/And I can see the truth/It's coming for me and you/My Love, the moment's here/It's now or never, my dear."

The title of the story comes from "Anchor," and this little piece of that chorus--"Love is a river/It’s gonna run/Time is a sea that drowns everyone"--has been stuck in my head for six months. Not long after I became obsessed with that song, and had firmly established in my mind the water-cycle metaphors of the story, I heard Éilís Kennedy's song Row On, and that also seemed to fit.

Of course, when you are in the middle of writing a story, everything you listen to seems to fit, so the full playlist is mostly just a list of songs I have been listening to, which because I am in my head about this pair, seem to me to be about them. I make no claims to the objective fit of the lyrics of any of these. And the actual playlist I write to also has a bunch of Murray Gold from the Capaldi years, especially, of course, "The Woman He Loves" and "The Singing Towers." The list includes a good number of songs cherry-picked from the many Doctor/River playlists on 8tracks.

Here is the playlist (I don't do Spotify, so sorry for the extra steps):

1 Now or Never/Alan Doyle 2 Anchor/Fortunate Ones 3 Row On/Éilís Kennedy 4 Basket Case/Sara Bareilles 5 A Drop In the Ocean/Ron Pope 6 River/Emeli Sandé 7 Good Company (From "Oliver and Company")/Pianomation 8 Heartbeat/Scouting for Girls 9 Next to Me/Emeli Sandé 10 Start of Time/Gabrielle Aplin 11 Love is All/The Tallest Man On Earth 12 Gravity/Sara Bareilles 13 Stay/Hurts 14 Cherry Wine (Live)/Hozier 15 Home/Vanessa Carlton 16 North/Sleeping At Last 17 The Night We Met/Lord Huron 18 White Flag/Dido 19 Swing Low Sail High/The Wailin' Jennys 20 Work Song/Hozier 21 Poison & Wine/The Civil Wars 22 All I Ask/Adele 23 Boston And St. John's/Great Big Sea

The story has its origins in my own confusion, upon first watching The Husbands of River Song, over why the Doctor doesn't assert his identity more forcefully. It was clear what the Doylist answer is: the continued mistaken identity allows for lots of fun comic moments in the episode.

But to come up with a Watsonian answer I found myself doing a re-watch of River Song's entire run (in the order of her timestream), and developing this head canon about their mutual belief/fear that the other person thought it was a marriage of convenience. And I love nothing more than mutual pining, so I thought I'd write it up, and here we are.

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hyperfixated-gvf · 2 years

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Déjà Vu

On the eighth day of Tropemas, hyperfixated-gvf gave to me:

A fake-dating Josh fic that’s got a bit of everything.

Christmas Song Pairing: “Fall in Love at Christmas” by Mariah Carey, Khalid, and Kirk Franklin

~~~

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x Reader

Warnings: Language, angst, masturbation and references to sex

Words: 9.3k

Josh: I need help.

Josh: Please.

The text came through late one night, and it terrified you. You woke up from the semi-conscious state you’d drifted off to and dialed a number you hadn’t really interacted with much over the past three months.

“Hello? Hello? Josh – Josh are you okay?”

“What? What do you mean? Y/N? Are you okay?”

You frowned. He didn’t sound like he needed help. “Josh. You just texted me ‘I need help’ with no context – what the fuck did that mean?”

Josh made a noise of understanding across the phone. “Oh shit, I didn’t mean I was in – yeah, no, it wasn’t that kind of help. Sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

You collapsed back against your pillows with an audible sigh of relief. “I thought you’d finally found yourself drunk and in a ditch.” He laughed quietly. “Are you drunk?”

There was a shuffle and the dissonant twang of something hitting the strings of a guitar, and you weren’t surprised that he happened to be around one instrument or another.

“No, not drunk. Just…a little guilty. Angry at myself.”

“Mmmm,” you hummed, the spike of adrenaline that had appeared with Josh’s cryptic text message settling back into your bloodstream, “why?”

“I – fuck. I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I – fuck.”

You frowned again. “Josh, you’re worrying me. What happened?”

He sighed, his mouth right by the phone, so you heard him muttering more curses. “I never told my family that we broke up.”

“Oh…kay?”

“And tomorrow, I’m leaving for Michigan to stay until Christmas. My mom texted me just now. She thinks you’re coming with.”

You didn’t see the problem. “So…tell her that I won’t be there. If you haven’t told them, now would be a good time.”

Even after the months you’d been broken up, you could still see his expression – chewing on his lip, fiddling his fingers, bouncing his leg.

“I would have. But then she said she’s had your gift since June and that she’s so excited to finally give it to you and – and I just went along with it. I don’t know why,” he admitted. “So, since we, you know, since we’re still on relatively good terms, I thought – maybe if you were free, you could come with – just for the hell of it –”

“Josh,” you started.

“—just to not make a big deal out it. I know –”

“Josh,” you said again, and he sighed.

“I know. Sorry for bothering you. Happy Holidays,” he said, voice dripping with humiliation and something reminiscent of regret, but it couldn’t be.

He had been the one to break up with you. Well – you liked to consider it a mutual thing, but he’d been the one to initiate it.

You weren’t over it. But your pride still stung and your sense of self-preservation still tried to make you hate him, and while the very notion of admitting it made you reel – in all truth, you missed him.

“Josh,” you said quietly, hoping he hadn’t hung up.

“Yeah?” He sounded tired. Down.

“Will this be easier for you?”

He was silent for a second. “Not if it would be harder for you.”

His words struck a chord of indignancy in you. Harder for you? As if you were over here, wilting away like a flower without water?

You were no one’s to ruin. He didn’t have that sort of power over you.

(At least, you didn’t want him to know that he did.)

“You know I love your family, Josh. And…yeah, we’re still on good terms. I wouldn’t be talking to you right now if we weren’t. If you really don’t want to deal with – with breaking up a second time right before Christmas, I understand. And I’ll do it, if that’s what you really want.”

You heard a few chords being played softly on a keyboard from his end, and knew that if he started playing now, he wouldn’t get to sleep for a few hours.

“You’ll really do it?”

You turned over in your bed, heart clenching dangerously, whether in a misplaced hope or a preemptive grief, you weren’t sure. “Sure. I’d like to see your family.”

One last time.

“That’s great, because they’ve been bugging me about you visiting since we left the last time.”

His words struck up memories of the 4th of July, watching the boys set off fireworks in the unsafest manner they possibly could, drinking yourself silly, and playing card games until the wee hours of the morning.

You really did love his family, but you knew that the real reason you said yes with so little convincing was that deep down, you recognized the flimsy reasoning Josh had presented and hoped that maybe he felt the way you did. That maybe he’d been presented with the opportunity to rekindle your relationship and was offering you an olive branch.

“So are we…we’ll be pretending that we’re still dating? Or that we’re just friends?”

“I mean…yeah, yeah, we’re still dating. Like we were last time.”

Stolen kisses around corners. Secret glances at the table, cuddling on the couch as his family told stories. It wouldn’t be like last time, but you looked passed that detail.

“Like we were last time,” you repeated softly, “okay. Um - well, when are you leaving tomorrow, then?”

“Probably around 11 am.”

Your mind raced through things you’d need to pack and potential gifts you could bring for everyone, and then looked at the time.

“Could you swing by and pick me up when you leave? I’m gonna have to pack, so…”

“Oh yeah, of course.”

You didn’t know what else to say after that. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Yes,” Josh said, voice sounding considerably more upbeat, but still rough with exhaustion. “Yes, I’ll see you then. Thank you so much, Y/N, I know that you didn’t have to do this, and – and I just hope you know how much I appreciate you doing this.”

You smiled. “I know. Now get some sleep, Josh, you sound exhausted, and we have a long drive tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “We do.”

…

You wanted to say that you were composed and waiting for Josh when he inevitably showed up an hour late, but you’d be lying if you did. Except, who could really blame you when you’d had less than 12 hours to pack for a week-long winter vacation and Christmas shop for an entire family you hadn’t been planning on shopping for.

Which is why you were still scrambling to wrap presents when the knock came at 12:06 pm.

“Just a second!” you yelled, securing the piece of tape on the seam the wrapping paper made against the box. You jumped up and unlocked the door, pushing any wayward emotions down before you opened it up.

You smiled and tried your best to not let your gaze wander, instead meeting his eyes and taking in what you could from there.

His hair was a little fluffier, his eyes the same kind brown, his smile still wide and toothy. But the dark bags under his eyes had gotten deeper, and there was a stiffness in his stature that was inconsistent with his easy-going attitude.

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted softly. “It’s been a while.”

You shrugged, trying to disperse the rush of unconscious affection that rushed through you at his gentle tone. “It’s no longer than you’ve had to be gone for tours and promotions before. Come on in,” you said, turning back to your wrapping station, “I’ve just got to finish wrapping Jake’s and Ronnie’s gifts.”

“Oh.” Josh sounded surprised. “Were you sending them gifts?”

“No,” you said, refocusing on pressing corners in and folding sides over. “I ran to the mall this morning to do some frantic, last-minute shopping. I found something for everyone, though – it’s not a big deal. I figured if your mom got me a present, it would be rude of me to show up empty-handed.”

Josh immediately started protesting. “You know they wouldn’t have cared –”

“Yes, yes, I know, but I – if we were still dating, I would have gotten them gifts,” you said, not looking up from your work. “And we’re supposed to be dating still.”

“Right.”

You finished the wrapping job on Jake’s present and then setting Ronnie’s in a spare gift bag you had, fluffing some tissue paper on top of it and calling it a day.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

Josh took some of the gifts in his arms. “I’ll get the gifts, you get your bags?”

You nodded, picking up a tall gift bag. “I’ll take Sam’s gift, though. I’m not sure I trust you with an armful of gifts not to drop it, and it’s definitely not something we want to drop.”

Josh took one glance at the bag and smirked. “I wonder what could possibly be in the bag.”

“Yeah, big surprise, I’m sure,” you deadpanned back, rolling your eyes.

Josh maneuvered the door open and tossed a quick, “I’ll meet you in the car,” behind his shoulder, and then he was gone.

You licked your lips and went to retrieve your bag from your bedroom, slinging it across your shoulder and doing one last check around your apartment for anything you missed.

Everything was alright.

So…normal. Of course it was a little bit stilted, but all in all, everything really did seem just as it had been. Except you were quietly drowning in the knowledge that it wasn’t real.

You made you way down to Josh’s car, where the trunk was already popped open and waiting for your stuff. You arranged it so that the bottle of alcohol was nestled between the back seats and your bag and went to the passenger’s side door, peeking in the window and frowning when you saw Josh with his eyes closed, leaning against his hands which were braced on the top of the wheel.

He lifted his head and smiled when you opened the door, but it morphed into confusion when you didn’t get in. “Did you forget something?”

You twisted your lips. “You don’t have to drive, you know. I’ve got a GPS and my feet reach the pedals. Why don’t I take first shift?”

“No, no – I wouldn’t make you –”

“Stop it, Josh,” you said heatedly. “You’re not making me do anything. I agreed to this trip and I offered to drive – stop trying to make a martyr out of me.” You didn’t mean for it to come out as harshly as it did, and Josh looked taken aback, but you were tired of this weird tiptoeing that was passing for normal but devoid of the natural comfort and give and take that your relationship had subsisted on before.

It wasn’t that you expected it to be the same; of course it wouldn’t be. But that didn’t mean it had to be like this.

You sighed. “Look, Josh. If you’re going to act like I’m gonna snap at any moment and – and catch an uber from Michigan to Nashville and leave you to explain to your family that we’ve been broken up for a few months now, I might as well not go. They’ll know something it up and it’ll be much more awkward trying to explain why you didn’t just tell them in the first place while I’m there, too. So please – stop treating me like a time bomb.”

“Sorry,” he apologized, looking more nervous than you’d seen him in a while. “Sorry. I’m not meaning to, I’m just – I’m just tired. Maybe it would be better if you drove for the first few hours; I’ll drive after we stop to get gas.”

You nodded in satisfaction at his complicity, and as you passed by each other at the front of the car, you grabbed his wrist, causing him to stop in his tracks and turn towards you, only to be pulled into a hug.

He was stiff at first, but then he returned it, and as much as you had meant for it to be quick – just a reintroduction to casual touches – you found yourself without a desire to let go, and Josh’s tight hold told you he didn’t mind either.

The bubble of hope in your chest grew.

“It’s good to see you again,” you said against his shoulder.

“You too,” he said back, and you released him shortly after, smiling and then getting into the driver’s seat, readjusting the position as Josh buckled himself in, leaning his seat back.

“Ready?”

He met your gaze. “Ready.”

…

Josh didn’t take the second shift.

In fact, he snored right through getting gas and food, and only woke up once you were only a couple of hours away from his parent’s house.

“Shit, Y/N, I didn’t mean to sleep that long,” he murmured sleepily, inhaling deeply and looking out the window. “Where the are we?”

“About to enter Michigan. You just had about a full night’s worth of sleep,” you teased. “Haven’t been getting many of those, lately?”

He rubbed his forehead, stretching up and twisting his back. “Unsurprisingly, no. You could have woken me up.”

You shrugged. “I was fine. Stretched my legs when we got gas. I also ran into the Subway to get some food – there’s a sandwich there for you, by the way.” Josh was quiet, and when he opened his mouth to speak, you beat him to his thought. “And if you tell me, ‘Y/N, you didn’t have to’ – yes, I know. But I did. Thank you will be just fine.”

He laughed – a real laugh. “Thank you,” he said, unwrapping his sandwich. “You remembered my favorite!”

You snorted. “It’s not hard when it’s what you ordered from every single sandwich shop we ever visited.”

“I’ll pay you back for gas and food.”

“Do, don’t – it’s no skin off my nose. I’d have paid for half, anyways.”

Josh spoke through a mouthful of sandwich. “No you wouldn’t have, I wouldn’t have let you.” He swallowed his food. “You’re doing this for me – it’s the least I can do for you. And I am not trying to make a martyr out of you, it’s just common decency.”

It kinda amazed you how well you knew each other still; how you knew what he was gonna say before he got the words out and vice versa.

The observation caused a pang in your chest, and you refocused on the road. “So what have you been doing the past couple of months?”

Josh flicked the edge of the sandwich paper. “Oh, you know. Writing. Playing. Recuperating. Drinking,” he chuckled. You didn’t return his laugh – you hoped he didn’t mean more than usual. He must have caught your expression. “Not, like, heavily or anything. Just the normal – you know, beers with my brothers.”

You nodded. “Yeah, of course. Not my business, really,” you said lightly.

He cleared his throat. “What about you?” he asked, and then took a too-big bite out his sandwich.

“Oh, you know,” you said, unintentionally imitating him. “Working. Writing. I did start taking a yoga class at the gym a couple blocks over – I think you’d really like it, actually.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It is. A nice way to pass the time.” There was a stretch of silence where you let Josh eat his food in peace and you navigated the car from one interstate to another. “We’ll have to stop and get gas one more time before we get to your parents,” you said, glancing at the meter.

Josh nodded. “We should…talk, you know, before we get there.”

“About?” You were feigning confusion. You knew exactly what you needed to talk about, but just the thought of it made your stomach squirm and skin itch with possibilities.

“Once we get there, I don’t want to overstep any boundaries you might have.”

You sighed, and despite everything in your being resistant, or perhaps looking forward to, the reinstitution of intimacy between the two of you, you wanted to get it out and over with. “Josh, let’s just – let’s just act like a couple. This doesn’t have to be difficult.” You swallowed the bitter taste of a lie on the tip of your tongue. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

You’d wanted to say ‘this doesn’t have to mean anything’ more than you wanted air, but you didn’t.

You’d gotten the impression that Josh wasn’t totally over your relationship either, but it was the principle of the concept. It was the lingering hurt and wounded pride and perhaps a little bit of masochistic, self-defacing vindication that you wanted to prove to yourself that you weren’t under this man’s thumb anymore.

“Right,” he said quietly. “You’re right. This doesn’t mean anything.”

Your heart broke a little bit.

…

You arrived at the Kiszka household late that night, trying not to shiver at the colder Michigan weather as you both grabbed your bags and as many gifts as you could manage so that you could make it in one trip. You knew someone would still be awake – it was before midnight, after all. But you didn’t expect everyone to be awake.

Karen popped her head around the corner when you closed the door and smiled so brightly that you would have come just to see her. But then Josh dropped everything with a, “Hey, Mama,” and you knew your expression went soft.

Shit.

“Josh and Y/N are here!” she yelled into the living room, where you heard a chorus of hellos from different voices – you could pick out Sam, Ronnie, and Kelly, and you assumed the other two were Jake and Jita, but you weren’t sure.

“Look what Santa brought to town,” Jake said, rounding the corner. He gave Josh a quick hug and then moved on to you, quickly letting you go and looking at the present in your arms. “Something for me?”

You rolled your eyes and started to continue to the living room to drop them off under the tree. “Maybe. Here I was thinking that I was the present this year.”

Jake wrinkled his nose and took some of the gifts from you. “You’re a given, not a gift.”

All the breath whooshed out of your lungs, and your eyes met Josh’s, who had come up next to you. Jake hadn’t intended to disorient you, but the level of ignorance really hit you out of nowhere. You’d thought Josh had at least told Jake – there wasn’t much they didn’t tell each other, and the fact that Jake had called you a given at Christmas pushed the ache and longing that you had been squirreling away to the forefront of your mind.

Karen took the rest of your gifts with a hug and a kiss to your cheek, leaving you and Josh to take your bags to his room. As you unpacked a few necessary toiletries, you inhaled deeply and cleared your throat on the exhale. “You didn’t tell Jake?”

The soft sounds of clutter being moved around paused for a second and then resumed. “No. No, I never did.”

“What did he think when – I mean, didn’t he wonder why I wasn’t around?”

You turned just as Josh shrugged. “We’ve been busy. I just told him that you were too. And he believed me, so, you know, that was that.”

“Oh.”

You weren’t sure if you believed him. Jake was more observant than that, and both twins were stubborn as hell when it came to each other, but you didn’t say anything more on the matter.

You pulled your pajamas out of your bag and took your toothpaste and toothbrush in hand. “I’m gonna go do my bedtime thing – I’ll see you out there?”

Josh sent an affirmation your way and you headed to the bathroom, feeling a little bit detached. What were you doing here? Why did you go along with these flimsy-ass plans based on a flimsy-ass excuse if not for the hope that Josh would get over himself and maybe – maybe fall back in love.

Two and a half months hadn’t been nearly enough time for you to have fallen out of love with him, and some part of you wanted to believe that that was the case for him too.

You poked your head into the living room where everyone was still congregated once you’d finished and were met with smiles all around. The only seat left was an armchair settled near the fire, even though it was the best seat in the house.

You settled into it happily, though.

“So where have you been, Y/N? Josh said you’ve been really busy with a new project these past few months,” Jake said casually, arm draped across Jita’s shoulders.

You chuckled. “Oh, just a personal thing that’s been a work in progress for a while now. I just happened to have gotten inspired one day and kinda got lost in my own little writing world, I guess. Sorry I stopped coming by.” You could play this off – lying wasn’t something you liked to do, but you were pretty darn good at it.

Jake laughed. “Well, Josh spent enough time at your place to have made up for it.”

Your blood turned to ice at the prospect of Josh not spending his nights at his apartment, because you could only guess where he was and what he was doing otherwise, but you forced another smile onto you face. “Exactly. Still, it’s nice seeing you again, finally. I’m glad Josh talked me into taking a break and spending some time out of my apartment.”

“You were thinking of not coming?” Ronnie asked, acting offended. “How dare you.”

“How dare she what? Are you causing problems, already, Y/N?” Josh said, walking into the living room, and you saw his eyes searching around the room for a free spot.

“Me? Problems? The only problem I’m gonna cause is a ruckus if you don’t come here.” He smiled, but it didn’t meet his eyes.

“I would never keep a lady waiting,” he said, moving over to where you were seated and holding out his hand. You took it and let him tug you up, knowing that he preferred holding you on his lap than sitting on yours.

You curled into him once you got settled in and pressed a kiss to his temple.

Just like last time.

His fingertips flexed against your thigh, drawing you towards him.

Just like last time.

You sat there and laughed and conversed like everything was fine and ignored that insistent, deep ache that was exaggerated by all the ‘just like last time’ little things until eventually, you yawned and kissed Josh on the cheek.

“Well, I’m going to head to bed. It was nice seeing everyone tonight, I didn’t think you’d all still be up when we got here.”

Kelly waved his hand. “Had to show you we could still hang with the youngsters. Looks like the youngsters can’t hang with us,” he teased, nudging Karen.

You grinned and ruffled Josh’s hair. “Well, I had a long day of driving with Sleeping Beauty over here.”

“—I offered to drive, don’t even,” he protested.

“I know, I know. I’m just glad you got some sleep,” you said affectionately. “But now its my turn. Good night everyone!”

They each bombarded you with good nights and you walked the hallway to the bedroom, about to push the door closed until only a crack remained, and almost jumped when Josh put his hand on the wood to keep that from happening.

“Shit – you scared me. I don’t remember you moving so quietly,” you chuckled. “You can stay out there with everybody, you know; you don’t have to babysit me.”

He shut the door behind him as he entered the room. “I think everyone else was about ready to call it a night, and I know I don’t need to babysit you, but a good boyfriend would never let his woman go to bed alone,” he said, and you caught the double entendre that laced his words and rolled your eyes, smiling, your underlying bond of friendship bubbling to the surface with the warmth of family and friendship still flowing through your veins, making you happier than you’d been in a while.

“Is that so?” you hummed, walking to your side of the bed and plugging your phone in. You pulled the covers back and stared at the ceiling. “Well then, you’d better get here before I conk out.”

You didn’t watch as he climbed into bed as well, instead feeling his weight dip the full-sized mattress in his direction and hearing his breaths.

“Good-night, Y/N. Thanks again for doing this.”

“Good-night, Josh. You’re welcome.”

It wasn’t just for you.

…

“Up and at ‘em, already!”

The loud voice was followed by a louder pounding on the door, and then you heard Kelly sharply say Sam’s name and a few other mumbles, and the jarring presence outside the door left.

“Little brat,” Josh slurred from the other side of the bed. You were rolled over, not facing Josh, but hummed in agreement.

“It’s supposed to be Christmas break – I thought he would be the last one up. What – hang on, what time is it?” You fumbled with your phone and squinted, laughing once your brain actually comprehended the time on the screen.

“What? Did we sleep in?” Josh asked, and you felt him roll over to face you. You turned your head as well and nodded, getting caught up in his gaze.

“Yeah, we’re a couple of late risers today. It’s already 1 pm,” you said, closing your eyes for a second. “It’s been a while since I’ve slept in this late.”

Josh shifted the blankets. “You always were the first one up out of the two of us.”

You blinked your eyes open to see him smiling, so of course you smiled back. “You just can’t ever get that head of yours to stop working early enough at night to get up at a reasonable time.”

Josh’s eyes softened, and he smiled. “You always made the late nights bearable.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you glanced away, the intimacy of the moment weighing heavy on you.

You rolled over and unplugged your phone, sitting up to stretch. “Well, I’m sure there’s plans for today, so I’m gonna get out there.”

Josh groaned and threw the blanket over his head. “Will you tell them I’ll be out in a minute?”

“Of course, Sleepy the Dwarf.”

“Hey!”

You laughed as you shut the door behind you, wandering first to the bathroom to brush your teeth and then to the kitchen, where Josh’s parents, Ronnie, and Sam were.

“Good…afternoon, I guess,” you greeted with a smile. “Sorry we were lazy this morning. I was just telling Josh, I can’t remember the last time I slept in like that.”

“It’s Christmas, everyone deserves a little extra rest this time of year,” said Kelly. “Would you like some coffee?”

You accepted their offer, and then on a last-second decision, grabbed another mug for Josh. His mom looked from the pair of mugs to you and gave you a soft smile.

You pretended not to see it.

Instead, you made up your coffee first, then Josh’s, hoping his taste hadn’t changed in the past two months. “Where’s Jake and Jita?”

“They ran to the store to get some candy for the Gingerbread house competition tomorrow.”

Your eyes lit up. “Gingerbread competition? That sounds like fun.”

Ronnie laughed. “It used to be a tradition until they got all famous and couldn’t come back for Christmas, and we don’t do it if someone’s missing.” She shot a glare at Sam, and he stuck his tongue out at her.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I win every year, anyways.”

All three other Kiszkas protested at that, and Ronnie started listing off previous winners. Josh rounded the corner and smiled at the scene, then caught sight of the mug beside you, coming up behind you and placing a soft hand on your lower back.

His lips at your ear sent goosebumps racing up your arms, even underneath your sweatshirt. “Is that for me?”

“Of course it is,” you said softly, leaning back into him. He accepted your weight willingly and even pecked you on the cheek.

Karen was the first to notice Josh had come into the room. “Oh, good afternoon, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?”

“Better than I have in months,” he said. “Must be that childhood bed charm.”

Sam coughed, but it sounded suspiciously like ‘sex,’ and Kelly backhanded him lightly on the head while Ronnie hid her smile in her mug.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Sam said, flinching away from his father, but not expelling the shit-eating grin from his face. “I know what they sound like having sex, and there was nothing going on last night!”

He had to raise his voice after the first part of the sentence to be heard over you, Josh, and Karen all throwing various phrases of disgust at him, batting at Kelly’s returning backhand. You tried not to let your face heat, but you could have fried an egg on your cheek – you knew every single other member of the band had most likely heard you and Josh going at it at one point or another in the time you dated, but you didn’t want it to be acknowledged, much less in front of his parents.

You leaned back and turned your face into Josh’s neck. “Were we really ever that loud?” you asked quietly.

Josh chuckled, hand sliding to loop around your waist. “I mean…” He left it at that and you groaned in embarrassment, but Josh just chuckled.

“I never minded.”

You felt the vibration of his words in his throat and shifted on your feet, pulling your face away, your stomach tightening at his admission. “Of course you didn’t.”

His thumb stroked across your lower belly once before it stilled and Josh stepped back, putting a few inches of space between you two.

You missed his warmth.

…

You had never loved anyone more than you loved Karen and Kelly Kiszka for keeping extra snow suits and thick gloves and scarves at their place and Ronnie for being roughly the same size boot as you.

Because trekking up this steep-as-hell hill would not have worked out in your favor had you been stuck with only the clothes you had brought. But the payoff would be worth it, you were assured. You and Josh had been dating this time last year, but you had friends coming into town, so you hadn’t been able to go with Josh, and were therefore quite unprepared for his family’s Christmas activities.

“So doesn’t having double the weight on one sled give you an advantage with increased momentum?” you huffed, any exercise you may have been doing previously not seeming to help in your climb. “Wouldn’t that be unfair to any single people?”

Josh laughed. “Oh, couple races are only one part of the event. We have singles, sibling, backwards, tied together, and then non-competitive runs. That’s why you had to bring a sled, too.”

You looked behind you in defeat. “I have to climb this hill again? Multiple times?”

“Only on the races you participate in. So,” he paused to calculate, “like, four or five times minimum, yeah.” He turned a smug gaze on you. “What, not up to the Kiszka challenge?”

You wanted to snark back about the things you did for him, but no one was really in earshot to hear, so it would take on different meaning if you did. “There’d better be more of that hot chocolate when we get back to the house,” you grouched good-naturedly instead.

“Papa K’s special. I’m sure we even have some liquor to add into it, if you need.”

“Fuck yes, I need,” you scoffed, your fingers having already gone numb.

There was a thump and a laugh from behind you, and both you and Josh turned to see Jake facedown in the snow, shaking his head while Ronnie and Jita giggled and ran as fast as they could toward you

“Hey Jake,” Josh called with a grin, “you, uh, got a little snow there.” He gestured around his face and Jake didn’t look amused, swiping his face across his sleeve, which was also snowy from the fall.

“Fuck you,” he called, starting up again.

You finally reached the top of the hill and felt a swirl of excitement when you realized that the sled down probably would be worth it.

“Okay!” Sam called out. “Individual round first, then?”

There was a call of agreement and you settled your sled next to Josh’s, still a safe distance away, Jita on your other side.

“Three, two, one, go!”

Kelly gave the countdown and as soon as the last word was out, you kicked off, trailing behind most of them since you hadn’t gone sledding in a hot minute.

You grinned as you picked up speed, attempting to drive the sled, but ultimately just letting it go where it pleased. You passed by Jita and then Josh, laughing all the way down the hill you’d just spent the last seven minutes hiking up and feeling the sting of snowflakes that sprayed up from the front of your sled.

You and Josh were neck and neck, but at the last second, you pulled out in front of him, flattening yourself to the sled to give you more aerodynamic speed. The slope finally flattened out and you slowed down, coming to rest right behind Sam in a respectable fourth place, Kelly taking first and Ronnie taking second.

As you crawled off your sled, you grinned back at Josh, red-cheeked and laughing. “You know, for a Michigan native, you sure know how to lose,” you joked, and Josh started forming a snowball. “No!” you screeched, grabbing your sled and running as well as you could up the hill again.

You heard the snow crunching behind you and Josh’s maniacal laugh, and your heart kicked up a notch, the feeling of being chased sending adrenaline through your veins.

You were leaned so far forward in an attempt to combat the snow pulling at your boots and the incline of the hill that the impact of the oddly-shaped snowball was all it took to bring you down. You tried to twist your torso so that you wouldn’t eat snow in the split second you realized that you weren’t going to be able to keep your balance, but it was so deep it didn’t matter – half of your face disappeared into the ice anyways.

You recoiled from the chill immediately, and Josh tried not to kick more snow at you as he approached you, offering a hand.

The sky was white-gray and bright, so you had to squint to look at his face, boisterous and happy against the dreary background. You took his extended hand and let him pull you up just as Ronnie, Jake, and Jita passed by.

Ronnie gave you a secret smile and then smashed a snowball over Josh’s hat, the snow falling down to settle in the crevices between his scarf and neck. He yelled out in surprise, spinning to find the culprit, and Ronnie laughed. “Justice for Y/N!” she said, giving you a gloved high-five.

You laughed. “You see where allegiances lie.”

Josh shot you a loaded look, and that alone made you regret voicing the quip.

Because it was the last time.

Your mood dipped, but you quickly dispelled the feeling and smiled again. “What race is next?” you asked, stomping up behind Ronnie and Jita.

“I think Mom and Dad were saying couples next,” said Ronnie. “I just want to be up here for the race afterwards. Sam’s staying down there to judge.”

You nodded and glanced back towards Josh. “Are we using your sled or mine?” you asked.

“Well, obviously you slicked yours up before we came, so yours,” he said, still pouting from his loss.

“Uh-huh, that’s definitely the reason I beat you on your home turf.”

He stuck his tongue out at you and then poked you with his sled. You were all too busy huffing and puffing to say much after that, reaching the top of the hill and settling your sled in the same place you’d been before.

Josh immediately picked it back up, settling it to the side of the hill you trekked up, which had a treeline bordering it. “We can’t set it in the same place, or else the paths get all wonky, so we have to pick fresh spots until there aren’t any left.” He shrugged. “Family rules.”

“Well then, who am I to argue.” You stared at the sled for a second. “So how’s this going to work?”

Josh hummed. “It’s also been established that there can be no horizontal stacking – couples must be in a sitting position.” You smirked and Josh raised his eyebrow. “For safety reasons, Y/N.” He couldn’t hide his smile, either though, so you didn’t feel attacked.

“You want back or front, then?”

He sat down on the front of the sled. “Front. I’ll try to steer.”

You sat down behind him, letting a couple of inches of space exist between your bodies. The other couples – Kelly and Karen and Jake and Jita – all got situated, and then from behind you, Ronnie yelled out the countdown.

“Go, go, go!” Josh said, furiously pushing his heels into the snow to get you going. You tied to help, but one boot got caught in the snow, throwing your sled sideways right as it tipped down, gathering speed. “Oh, shit!”

Josh tried to get it back on track, wrestling with the wet, flimsy cord attached to the front, but the damage was done, and the sled started to veer off towards the trees halfway down the hill. As it crossed the hiking path, Josh let go of the string, grabbing your leg instead.

“Abandon ship! Abandon ship!” he shouted, rolling you both off the sled and into the snow while the sled skidded across the path and into the trees.

You didn’t realize you were laughing until breath became hard to come by – except that might have been Josh, who had landed on top of you and was cackling right along with you.

“That was totally your fault,” he wheezed, face within inches of yours.

You didn’t care.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you said you could steer!”

“Not when you’re sabotaging me!”

Your giggles trailed into heavy breathing, and you blinked into the brightness, once again only seeing Josh’s face. He was heaving, but not laughing anymore either. His eyes dipped to your lips, and you could have sworn he moved in infinitesimally.

Your lungs were stuck – frozen like the snow beneath you until Sam’s voice broke into your little bubble.

“Hey! No horizontal sledding!”

…

“Aw, shit.”

The words falling out of Josh’s mouth made your blood run cold. “What? What happened? Is everything okay?”

“Uhh…”

Well, that wasn’t promising at all. You were three sides and three and half hours into the gingerbread house competition, and supplies had been relegated to couples instead of individuals, so you and Josh were tasked with building a house together – and you knew from experience that Josh didn’t do well with delicate things.

“What did you do?” you moaned, thinking about all the time you spent painstakingly putting details into the design. The house was not professionally decorated by any means – you didn’t bake and decorate all that often, but you were still proud of the relatively neat and pretty design you had managed this time, and if all your hard work was for nothing, well, you might end up calling that Uber after all.

Jita broke out in giggles from across the table as a roof piece that Sam had been trying to stick to his walls slid off, prompting a panicked yelp from the other man. “My roof!”

There was icing all over the table – drizzled and dropped and smeared and spilled – and mounds of miscellaneous candies scattered between houses.

You had been arranging one of the last candy wreaths to stick to the front of the house when Josh had let out his curse.

“It’s nothing bad, I swear! I’m trying to get this icing out, and a dried piece of it fell into the roof design – I’m trying to get it out without messing it all up.”

A wave of relief swept through you. “Oh. Okay, well, I’ll get the piece out, and you keep trying to unclog that tube.”

Josh made a noise of disgust. “’Unclog’ is such an unattractive word.”

“You’re an icing-plumber,” you joked, grabbing a toothpick and trying to push the dried crumb of gluey royal icing out of your nice, neat rows of green and red icing patterns. “Try rolling the tube a little more,” you suggested.

In your peripheral, you saw Josh put the tube on the table and begin to roll up the remaining contents until the top was stiff again. He pressed down and shifted his hand up, the pressure pointing the open tip up, and tried flushing the dried stuff out.

“I got it!” you said in satisfaction, brushing the errant icing piece away from your work and turning back towards Josh just as he picked the tube up and tried squeezing it as hard as he could. “Josh, the second the dried icing comes out, you’re going to make a huge—”

Josh’s hand was jerked up the tube with a sudden release of pressure from the tip, and with the position Josh had it in, the resulting explosive shot of white icing was shot straight across your face, landing first in the hair at your hairline and then draping diagonally across your nose, touching the corner of your still-open mouth.

You pursed your lips and nodded your head. “—mess.”

Everyone at the table burst out in laughter, and you couldn’t help but join them, thumbing as much icing from your skin as you could and licking it off – grateful that it at least tasted good.

The sexual innuendos that could be taken in the situation weren’t lost on you, and you couldn’t help but glance at Josh, who was laughing along with everyone else, but whose eyes also never left your face, watching the icing disappear with your finger between your lips in ill-contained rapture, pupils dilated.

You took no small amount of joy knowing you still had that effect on him.

“I bet that’s not the first time Jo–” Sam started, but you turned to him with a glare, finger pointed at him across the table.

“Don’t. Even.”

His comment the other morning was one too many on your sex life, and you didn’t need another joke at the expense of your (secret) lack now thereof.

“Or what? You’ll sabotage my house?”

You watched as the newly-repaired roof started sliding again since Sam had gotten distracted. “You’re doing just fine on your own, actually.”

Sam glanced to his forgotten house. “My roof!”

You returned your attention to Josh, who was still smirking in your direction – at least he was until you swiped a fingerful of icing that had dropped onto the table from the explosion and darted your hand to swipe it across his cheek. He tried to avoid it, but you grappled with him until he had the sticky sugar smeared from cheekbone to jawline. “Just a little bit of retribution before we continue.”

He pouted, wiping it off. “Menace.” You grinned as you turned back to your workstation.

Falling back into that casual intimacy during the past couple of days was easier than you thought it would be – you’d had your doubts that you wouldn’t be able to fully get past the knowledge that everything was fake, that you’d be too rooted in reality to be able to commit to believable interactions.

Except despite having the knowledge that it was, it sure didn’t feel fake.

And that was exactly what would make it so much more difficult to settle back into reality – the tumultuous hope that maybe it could have been real if not for the fact that neither of you had the courage to confront the ambiguity.

…

You woke up silently – disoriented and blinking into the darkness and feeling your breath even out from the abrupt change of conscious state.

You were tempted to grab your phone and see what time it was had you not already taken in the fact that there was no light peeking in from the spaces between the slats of the blinds on the window. You were also entirely too tired to want to squint into an LED screen when you were almost certain that it was before 5 am.

In fact, you weren’t quite sure what woke you up. The night was still and quiet and for once, Josh wasn’t even snoring.

Snuggling back into the mattress, you sighed quietly and relaxed again, drifting off again when you heard exactly what it was that woke you up.

A quiet, yet violent exhale of breath. The shift of the blankets came next, and then you felt the mattress dip near your feet where Josh must have dug his heels in, ever so slightly, so that he – so that he could –

You knew those sounds. Josh was jerking off, right next to you.

He’d always been vocal in bed, so you knew it was a respectable task for him to be as silent as he was being. You were turned away from him, and fought to keep your breathing even and body relaxed – you were certain he’d been listening for any telltale signs you’d woken up, so when you had, he’d stopped until he was convinced you were asleep again.

You kept listening, a voyeuristic streak flaring to life at his sounds and making you wet. The room was filled with harsh breathing and the soft scrape of skin on skin and the slightest grunt you’d ever heard from him; the minute shifts of his body that you wouldn’t have paid any attention in a normal situation took on new meaning.

He worked himself – you could only assume slowly, or his movements would be more detectable – and as much as you would have liked to claim to have fought the images that came to mind, you welcomed them like an old friend.

His thumb brushing over his tip, putting a pressured slide to the underside of the head, right where that vein was most prominent, lightly callused fingers scraping against skin. The twist of his wrist on the way up. The caress of his fingers against his balls once he’d reached the base of his cock.

You knew his preferences intimately and he, yours - during the course of your relationship, you had each witnessed the other pleasuring themselves – both by accident and by request.

A vicious jerk of his body was the only way you knew he’d come, and his body relaxing afterwards made you want to clench your thighs together.

What you’d have given to watch.

He sighed into the room, and you wanted to kiss the air out of his lungs and drink in all his noises, wanted to swallow down all his sounds so that he wouldn’t have to work so hard to stay quiet.

You hadn’t felt this kind of arousal since the last time you slept together, and it was intense.

So intense that your pride and hurt were battling tooth and nail against the idea of rolling over and having your way with him, consequences be damned.

But the longer you laid there, pros and cons racing indecisively through your mind, you couldn’t help but think back to all the loaded looks he’d given you over the past three days. Of the way he’d almost kissed you in the snow yesterday. Of his flimsy excuse for you to come with him to his family’s Christmas and the very little convincing that you’d needed.

You were still in love with him. You knew that. And you were almost certain he still held feelings for you, too.

Your heart kicked up a notch as you made a decision, and let out a measured breath.

“Josh?”

He wasn’t asleep – his whole body stiffened at the sound of your voice, but the room remained quiet for a second.

“Yeah?” His voice was tight – he knew he’d been caught.

There were some things you needed to know, first, though, before you acknowledged his getting off. “Why didn’t tell your family? Not even Jake? I want the truth.” You rolled over to face him, but he kept his gaze on the ceiling, letting the soft buzz of the night stretch between you.

“I was hoping you’d continue to let me…I thought maybe you wouldn’t ask me. Hoped you wouldn’t,” was what he finally whispered.

“Why?” Time seemed slowed down in this moment – words lazy and quiet and the desire for a response faint, the pace of conversation sluggish.

Josh sighed. “Because I don’t have a reason.”

But there was more to it – you just knew it. He was keeping something back, and you were pretty sure you knew what it was, and emotion built up in your chest at the prospect. “Josh.”

“I was wrong.”

His voice was quiet, and for all his stubbornness, he’d always been able to apologize to you – always except for that last time. So now, with his words of admission, it almost seemed as if the past few months hadn’t happened – like you were laying in bed after a round of make-up sex and the two of you could finally reach past your pride and into the love you held for each other to find the words of apology.

“I am too,” you offered back, but he disagreed, finally turning on his side to face you.

“No. No. You – it takes two to argue, but I was the one who – it was my fault, Y/N, that everything happened and that I’ve been...that I’ve been so damn miserable ever since we – fuck, I can’t say it even now.”

Broke up.

“I didn’t tell my family because not even a week after you left, I thought – I hoped that maybe things would resolve themselves. It was stupid, and I should have just apologized, and maybe things would be different.”

You nodded. “I’ve been miserable, too.”

Josh’s intake of breath and harsh swallow were magnified by the silence, and your chest almost hurt when he reached out to take your hand in his, but didn’t say anything, so you continued.

“I was hurt. And that was the only thing that kept me from knocking on your door to apologize. I…I wanted – want – things to be different than they are now. Want them to be the same as they were before.”

“Just like last time,” Josh said, voice impossibly lower.

He started to lean in closer, but there was still something that Jake had said on your mind. “Josh?”

He stopped immediately, cocking his head. “Yeah?”

Your hand made it’s way to his face, and he leaned into the touch. You felt bad bringing this up now, not wanting to throw the time you were apart back in his face. Because you had been broken up, miserable or not. Regrets or no regrets. But still, the words were seared into your brain.

“Jake said you didn’t sleep in your own bed some nights. And I know that it isn’t my business—”

“It is your business, though.” Josh kissed the palm of your hand. “Jake did notice something was going on. About two weeks out, he mentioned you and I – I obviously hadn’t come to terms with it yet, so I lied. I went and drove around. Almost wound up at your door. I went to the studio and played around. I’ve become more acquainted with that couch in the past few months than I have since we moved to Nashville.”

You let the relief sweep through you and closed your eyes, shifting closer to him and curling your hand around his neck. “I won’t say that I’m not relieved,” you chuckled softly.

“I felt like I was still cheating any time someone even looked at me, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to—”

You cut him off with a peck. “Do that?”

He answered with his lips and hands, dragging you over by the waist so that you were draped half on-top of him. “Not with anybody else but you, darling.” He pulled you down for another kiss, a deeper kiss, the kind that you’d been longing to give and to get from him.

You hummed in contentment, making the final move and shifting to hover over him, opening your mouth to him and beginning to breath his air, to breathe him.

His hands began to wander and you were shed of your clothes within the space of a few minutes, making quick work of his flannel pants, too.

“Y/N,” he breathed. “I love you. I hope you know that I never stopped.”

You smiled against his lips and snuck your hand down to where he was growing against your thigh, but you thumbed his hip instead of wrapping your hand around him, not wanting to take the moment away from your words. “I love you too. Perhaps in the future, we both let go of our pride – to save us from our own self-inflicted misery.”

Josh grinned. “What are we without our choice of the seven deadly sins?”

You decided the moment was over, and took him in hand, basking in the lovely gasp that escaped him.

“Well, right now, I choose lust.”

Josh nodded vigorously. “My hand’s just not the same, baby. Lust has been the sin of choice for the past few days – fuck – every time the urge struck, it was you and your face –”

“—let me guess, covered in white icing?”

Josh’s fingertips gripped into your ass and he buried his face in your neck, trying to stifle his laugh – too loud for the hour.

“You were a menace for that, by the way. Do you know how difficult it was trying not to fuck up a sprinkle dusting trying to hide a hard-on from hell?”

You ground down into him, cutting off his giggles. “About as difficult as it was for me not to give myself any friction knowing you were jerking off right next to me.”

He groaned quietly. “Well, feel free to now.”

The temptation was there, and this time with no reservations, so you reached over to fumble at his bedside table. “Are there condoms in here that didn’t expire when you were still in high school?” you laughed.

“Probably not. Let me up and I can see if I can sneak one from the bathroom. I know my parents usually keep a box here for when the girlfriends visit – they don’t want a conception in their house and they know what goes on – it is sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll, after all.”

You rolled your eyes and then flopped down next to him, trailing your fingertips down your body to the wetness between your legs. “Well, then, I’ll be waiting.”

Josh groaned again and made a mad dash, naked, to the bathroom.

…

“Merry Christmas Eve!”

You went around the room exchanging the informal greeting, tired eyes accompanied by a yawn.

“Did you not sleep well last night, sweetheart?” Karen asked from by the stove.

Josh appeared behind you with a hand wrapped around your waist and a kiss rather inappropriate for polite company, taking the handles of two mugs in his hand and setting them on the counter.

“I woke up to a weird noise around 1 am, actually, and couldn’t fall back to sleep for a few hours,” you said, faux-confused, and felt Josh’s fingertips rake down to your hip from your waist, the quiet huff of a laugh escaping his lips.

Karen frowned. “Huh. I didn’t hear anything – did you guys?” She turned to the table where everyone was hanging around, and Sam’s eyes lit up in mischief, bringing his elbow up to his mouth. You knew what was coming, and you would have said something to stop him—

Except you didn’t like to lie.

“Sex,” he coughed.

Kelly backhanded him on the head.

~~~

NOTE: Hey guys! A new publishing schedule will be implemented for the final four fics - every other day instead of every day (I bit off a little more than I could chew during one of the busiest times of the year...whoops).

Also, given the chance, I may come back and edit this fic to turn it into a multiple-part series, since the fake dating trope tends to feel rushed if the slow burn aspect of it is smushed into a one-shot. If that happens, it won’t be until I can finish a couple other projects and requests that have been put off.

~~~

Taglist: @fleetsonfire @theweightofstardust @theatrekidjosh

#12 days of trope-mas #josh kiszka x reader #fake dating #josh kiszka fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #greta van fleet fics #gvf smut #gvf angst #gvf fluff

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rae-gar-targaryen · 3 years

Text

loved you once [angel reyes x fem!reader]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so you didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was it.

No "I'm sorry, querida."

No "I hope we can stay friends."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To you? It was perfection. It was remembrance.

‘Cause I loved you, once…

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oliver here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But?" He pressed.

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you think of that one?”

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

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

Um, wow.

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

All you could do was nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel nodded.

“Do your worst, Vince.”

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

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

You rolled your eyes.

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

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

“You gotta earn ‘Frida,’ dulcita.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He seemed puzzled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The heat had returned to your cheeks, standing quickly.

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

You spun back toward him before he could get up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

Cheeky.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. So she knew who you were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was a hard no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He took mercy on you nevertheless.

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

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

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

You felt EZ stiffen from your other side.

Great.

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

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

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

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

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

You really were doing great, weren’t you?

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

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

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

What the fuck.

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

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

That stung.

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

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

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

That was you, ever the professional.

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

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

“You got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

“Vince?” The text read.

You bit back a smirk before responding,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You chewed the end of your fingernail thoughtfully before responding.

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

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

“Boy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your phone dinged once more.

“See you then, mi reina.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel chuckled a little at that.

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

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

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

"Really?"

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

Angel held up one hand, defensively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I maaaay have scrolled your Instagram?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boys.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coco's voice broke your train of thought,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Angelito, everything okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His breath was shuddering now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sucked in a shuddering breath before whispering to you,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, querida," Angel gasped.

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

"Please… use your pretty mouth?"

You nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come on then, baby."

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of fucking course.

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

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

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

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

"What'd he say to you?"

You remained silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like he would, you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tagging:

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

#angel reyes fic #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x fem!reader #angel reyes x you #angel reyes x oc #angel reyes angst #angel reyes smut #angel reyes #clayton cardenas #mayans mc #mayans fx #mayans #mayans mc fic #my writing #rachel writes #holy shittttt this boy is long #it just got away from me #sorry #loved you once

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insufferablelust · 3 years

Text

Little Butterfly I (Sugar Daddy Mob Boss!Spencer Reid x Reader AU)

Warnings: Part 1 of an ongoing series (that i hopefully won’t abandon), Upcoming heavy violence, Mafia and Crime related fic, Spencer is a soft dom but is dangerous, HEAVY SMUT, upcoming dark kinks (Gun,Knife,Bondage etc), daddy kink for sure, Manipulation kink, Degradation, Humiliation (yknow the drill with me) spoiling kink?, upcoming murders etc, heavy topic regarding mental illness, College legal age!Reader, Age gap, older!Spencer, Mean!Spencer, BDSM themed, Indication of Subspace, Just heavily dark smutty series (yet again lmao)

Hello, my wonderful readers, i want to thank you all for the patience you all have for this series, hopefully i can stick to schedule an update this once a week like Thrilled. This will be a new territory for me since all i know about mafia and such are from the movies and countless books my father has inherited me with, so i deeply apologize if there’re some mistakes, this is an AU that means its only a story and fantasy. If you are uncomfortable to violence and sex then PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS. Thank you, and Happy Reading.

This series will set around the 80′s New York.

MASTERLIST HERE

There is no hiding from the absolute luxury you indulge in, in fact you love showing it to whoever might want to pry deep enough into your life. You caused no harm by it, and it certainly isn’t anybody’s business but yours and his.

The pair of arms around your waist is a certain remainder of who you belong to, and you loved it. He looked good tonight, almost too good with the suit adorning his perfection like an absolute genius adonis— your genius adonis. You feel your cheeks heats up slightly as he glanced at you, knowing just how shy you get around so many people— his little girl is sensitive after all.

Spencer Reid knows every little thing about you, what makes you tick, what makes you snap, what makes you bow in submission to him, and what makes you feel heavenly. He knows it all, he knows the way you trembled slightly whenever he wrapped his arms around your neck as he leaned down to kiss you, or how squirmy you get whenever he tug your hair, said your name calmly whilst shoving his fingers into your mouth— he knows everything.

—

It was a mutual agreement at first, living on 80’s New York has never been so stressful during your 20’s, all the student loans, the bartending you do sometimes, even the couple of scandalous photoshoots you sacrificed yourself doing to keep your bank account afloat. Your family never really cared much, and the only person that you truly have is Emily, your roommate.The whole ordeal was strange when you found out Emily’s ties to the mafia, being the daughter of one of the strongest mafia’s capo on America during that time. You wondered how on earth she has managed to doesn’t want to get on her father’s good side, and just except the riches that comes along with being a mob, but then again you were a stranger to it too...or so you thought.

The night she asked you to accompany her to meet her father and his boss, you shrugged and said yes, having nothing to do in the apartment other than wallowing in your own debts and sadness— you immediately agrees which put a smile on her cute face.

“I thought you didn’t want nothing to do with your father.” You asked as you raked through the closet to find something... ‘elegant’ but not too much, it’s going to be in a lavish restaurant after all. Your eyes darted to Emily’s who has been staring at her phone, smiling to whoever is texting her— you could only assumed it was one of her secret girlfriend-hookup for the week.

“Well i didn’t but money is tight, fucking inflation.” She looked up for once, lips hanging open at the sight of you standing there in a black dress, short with a slit on the thigh area— looking absolutely ravenous. “Holy fucking shit.” Emily whispered.

“What? is this enough? god i feel like such a prude.” You bit your lip as you await her comments, “You look fucking gorgeous you idiot, i mean are you sure you aren’t gay by any chance?” She laughed, which caused you to giggle, “I never said i’m not gay.. just that i’m not—

“Interested in dating, yeah yeah but we can at least fuck or something.” She jokingly raised her eyebrows as you throw your bra her way and laughed, “I just don’t want to get distracted em, especially that we live together.” You pouted before giving her a kiss on the cheek, which made her roll her eyes and smile.

Only if you knew what this meeting will entails.

—

The wine tasted exquisite on your tongue, the sweet burn of merlot was pleasant on the base of your throat which shocked you at first— maybe you should stop buying cheap wines, because the real ones are heavenly. You looked around nervously, it has been a long time since you’ve gone out to have dinner, let alone one as expensive as this.

“Stop looking like you’re about to die.” Emily whispers as she took the seat next to you, which you humorously giggle and swat her shoulder, “I’m not. It’s just.. new to me is all.” You nervously chuckled, before sipping on your wine some more. It was clear that her dad and his so called mob boss were late— which you rolled your eyes since Emily was basically rushing your make up, you just hoped that you looked decent enough, not that you want to impress anyone, its just good to feel like you’ve fit yourself to the occasion.

“Oh, you’ll get used to it.” Emily chuckled, before you could even process what she meant by that the sound of a soft elderly timbre rang through your ears, “Cara mia! Jesus, you’ve grown!” Emily slapped your thigh softly, gesturing for you to stand up.

Dear heaven, lord save your knees from buckling.

You watched as Emily greeted her father as you stood by her side, she kisses him on both cheeks as they made a small conversation that you pay no mind to since you were distracted, distracted by the pair of eyes that caught yours from the moment he walked in.

A soft yet stern eyes that held yours captive at this very moment, a presence that demands every single person for its attention, and intimidating like no other. A man, a finely sculpted man, standing in front of you in an attire that you were sure was more expensive than your whole closet, His soft looking curls marvelously falls fo his side, his plump lips were begging to be kissed— to be listened, to be heard, his tall lean figure towers over you which has you gulping down nervously— so much so that you failed to acknowledged the presence of Emily’s father calling your name.

“Y/N!” You let out a gasp before turning to shake Emily’s father’s hand, trying your best to smile as you glanced over the towering man, “So this is the Y/N i’ve heard so much about huh?” The old man snickered, looking gentle whilst maintaining a facade still. You giggled softly, “I hope there are all good things, nice to meet you Mr.Prentiss.”

“Oh please, Robert is fine. Oh Emily, Y/N this is don Reid.” He stepped back in.. what looks like an utter fear, you gasped as you realized that this is.. the mob boss Emily talked about, the masochistically handsome man you’ve been staring at— you thought a mafia boss would be someone older, but this is certainly not the case.

“Pleased to meet you both, Spencer Reid.” He extended his hand which Emily gladly took before she nudges your side whilst you were still gawking at the man, the soft yet deep timbre of his voice soothes and intimidate you at the same time, not to mention how he carries himself— practically saying he’s a god.

“Oh— um yes hello, pleased to meet you, i’m Y/N.” You bit your lip as you feel your cheeks hurt from the embarrassment, shaking his hand quickly— before you could even imagine pulling away, he gives you an amused chuckle and squeeze your hand tightly before releasing you.

“Well, let’s take a seat shall we?”

You are so fucking fucked.

“So, Y/N, Emily told me you’re majoring in art department, how’re you liking it?” Robert spoke as you eat your pasta slowly, trying not to show how you were trembling under the very same gaze that held you captive from the moment it arrives here. You gulped down a delicious bite of pancetta, before answering, “Oh i love it, always been my passion— well painting is, but i do love everything about art and literature.” You chuckled.

“I would love to see your art sometimes.” The voice could strangle you and you’d die happily, it really could— you glanced at the man whose been looking at you like a wolf to its prey, fingers skimming over the feet of the wine glass as a soft yet eloquent smile strikes over his face.

“Oh um, it’s not— it’s not that good, i wouldn’t want to waste your time.” You choked on your wine, feeling the burn on your throat as he let out a humorous-less laugh, shaking his head, before bringing his lean fingers to his lips. “Nothing is wasteful, not if it comes to such art like you.”

What?

“Huh?” You felt small, your cheeks heated at the reference as you tried so hard not to squirm and praised yourself by hearing what you thought you heard. Your eyes darted to his in a shy manner as he kept his composure well, licking the rim of his glass before sipping his wine gently.

“Anyways! dad, shall we talk a bit more private? i’m sure Y/N can keep the don company.” You gasped at Emily’s words, still barely grasping the previous encounter— the bottom of your heel jab at her left foot, as you glared at her, “Of course of course, don?” Robert spoke up, eyes lowering as his body turned to look at the smirking masterpiece that still stares at you with the same intensity.

“Go. We’ll be fine, won’t we angel?” You gulped down as much wine as you could without burning your throat before smiling nervously, eyes glancing back and forth to The Don and Emily.

“Y-Yes um sure.” You offered a gentle smile, even though your heels jabbed Emily’s which yet again resulted in her tiny laugh before she walks away to the back area of the restaurant.

The area was thick with intensity and glamorous lights, adding to the headache that already starts due to you being a lightweight around alcohol. Suddenly you realized, that you’re practically alone— with the don of the biggest mafia ring in America. “Go ahead and ask me the question.” He murmured sternly, causing your ears to perk at the sudden thrill that made your goosebumps rose and thrived under the shimmering lights.

“Pardon?” Your fingers fiddled with the hem of your dress as you tried so hard not to stare at the huge man, feeling as if you’re being cornered by a lion, and you his prey.

“Your cheeks are warm aren’t they? you keep biting your lips every time i muttered a word, you can’t even look at me because you know that the second you do, you wouldn’t be able to stop. Emily is right, you’re a pure little thing, its fucking cute really. If this table weren’t here separating us, you’d be across my lap already— for wearing something so slutty like that.” By the time he finishes taunting you, you stopped breathing, thigh squeezing against each other so tightly that you could feel how damp your panties are getting.

“Go ahead and ask, doll. Surely you can’t be dumb enough to think i would just allow anyone to meet me let alone a little college student like you.” His eyebrow lifted, as you nervous squirmed on your seat and breathed out.

“Why did you asked her to bring me?”

“Nicely. You know better, Y/N.”

“Sir...”

—

And the rest was history, the pair of arms around your waist tighten as the owner’s lips caress and nip at the very sensitive part of your neck, causing you to shudder and mewls. “mmh.. t-too early.” You complained, fully knowing that would only amuse him even more.

He chuckled as you had predicted, nimble fingers grazing up and down your front like feathers, delicately worshipping every inch of your skin. The blaring sound of New York’s traffic was prominent, but somehow that adds a thrilling aspect for you, months ago— you were picking up morning shifts by now, working your ass off just to gain enough cash to pay this month’s rent. But now, here you are, in the arms of the most feared yet young powerful don in the entirety of the mob community, Heck if everyone knows who he is and how much power he holds— they’d all fear him, but not you, not his fiery little butterfly.

“Shh, let me love on you a little.” Your heart warmed, familiar feeling of a thousand butterflies swarming on your belly caused your cheeks to warmed at the gesture. He said things like those often, though he made it perfectly clear that you were, you are only here for business arrangements, you knew he likes to toy over affection like this— one you aren’t supposed to get attached to. But how couldn’t you? when his hand so softly glides down the curve of your godly features, warm breath fanning across your skin from behind, whispering sweet words.

“Look so pretty for me, butterfly.” He whispered, causing you to yet again whimpers, hand clutching the sheets tightly as he moves down down down until he turned you over and settle between your legs, smiling at you. “If heaven is real, you’re definitely it.” He nipped and bit the exposed skin of your thighs, last night and the night before and before still there but like he said,

“If you agree to the terms, i’ll give you every damn thing you fucking want. Your bills, rents, loans, plus each and every single thing you wished to buy.”

“And in retur—“

“In return, you will be mine, mine to have whenever wherever i want, you won’t be my chained slave or nothing, but you’ll be mine.”

So marked you again and again he did, tearing your satin panties he did, panties that cost more than a week worth of luxury meal that he only grunted with “I’ll buy the whole fucking store, now shut up and let daddy eat his breakfast.”

You swore you’re in god’s heaven then and there, even if you aren’t sure that you believe in one, you can’t help but to think that this is some kind of miracle, your life is, here you have a perfect adonis, suckling on your clit as his fingers pump your delectable cunt in and out with such a fast pace that made you feel all floaty and flustered. The same man that commands the room whenever he walks in, the same man who pay all your bills, the same man who bought you a new lavish apartment and hands you gifts every damn day.

“Oh! oh please daddy right there..” You moaned out loud as your fingers latched onto his hair, softly tug on them as he moaned against your drippy cunt and suck your clit even harder,earning a particularly loud and lewd moan from you. “mmh! a-ah! i’m gonna—“ He held his finger up then, eyes finding yours as his mouth continues to work on your now sensitive clit. Spencer wasn’t too strict or nothing about your rules but if there’s two that he’s strict about is for you to cum only if he gives you permission— no matter the place or time, if he wants you to cum, you’ll cum— not that it’s hard, with someone as skilled as him.

When you begged and begged, he slapped your thigh only to grunt darkly, “If you can’t shut up and let daddy enjoys this, i’ll fucking take you on the balcony and fuck you for all Manhattan to see. Do you want that, Butterfly? want everyone to see what a filthy college girl you are getting fucked by someone as dangerous as me?” He slapped your cunt then, over and over again as you pant, and mewls.. Body jolts and pulsed at his ministration.

“You’re going to cum like this—“ He paused to spit directly onto your swollen clit, watching it wet the sensitive nub, “Going to cum with daddy slapping your greedy little cunt. Or you are not getting an orgasm.”

“Yes, daddy— oh!” True to his words, he spank you, over and over again, leaving you quivering and brokenly cried at the burning pleasure, “Cum princess, come on, you surely know how to thank daddy don’t you?” Your hole clenched around nothing as you arch your back and sobbed,

“Can’t— daddy please i-“

“You were so fucking desperate to cum, why not now huh? your sensitive cunt surely looks wrecked enough.” He scoffed before he spank your clit so hard you jumped at the sensation before he licked his fingers and caress your clit in fast fanning motion, not giving you enough time to even breathe as your cunt pulses and throb with overwhelming need of release, building up up up, up until you finally trembled and cum all over the bed— an orgasm so intense that you blacked out for few seconds straight.

“Shh.. shh good girl, that’s it— fuck you look so ethereal like this, butterfly.” He muses as he settle his head on your lap and admire your pulsing body, “T-Thank- y-you.. daddy.” You gathered all the strength you have left as he smiled proudly.

Your head laid on his chest as you both cuddle in silence, trying to enjoy the serenity and calm environment around you as the city below you buzzed all round. It was calming for awhile before his phone rang and you involuntarily sighs, “I know pretty girl, i know.” He muttered, before smiling apologetically- Not that he needs to.. Business arrangements, not like you’re his girlfriend or nothing.

love on you,

let me love on you,

You forced your fuzzy subby mind to get the thoughts out, as you watched his figure put on his robe, and leaned down, “I’ll be back later okay, don’t forget to check your phone.” He kissed your forehead for a bit, letting it linger as you held back your tears, wishing he could stay with you, you need your daddy, you really really do need him now. Feeling all small and fuzzy like this. But with the blaring noise of his ringtone, you knew the don has business to take care of and of course you’re not important enough to held such important task to be left.

So you smiled all nicely and kissed all the rings finger on his fingers before bidding a tiny whimper of, “Best of luck, don.” Your head bowed a little in respect as he noticed the true and true sadness flashed across your eyes, but paid it no mind as his other burner phone blared.

“Thank you, Butterfly. Get dressed soon, and i’ll have Morgan bringing you that sandwich from the deli you love so much. I’ll see you soon.”

Oh how nice would it be if this is your life, but life doesn’t always have a happy ending after all.

——

Comment or send me a message if you want to be added to this series taglist!

#spencer reid smut #littlebutterfly #mob!spencer #daddy!spencer #matthew gray gubler smut #mgg smut #insufferableblurb

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gale-gentlepenguin · 4 years

Text

ML Fic: Soulmate Survey Part 32

Happy Halloween to everyone! I hope that you enjoy this treat. Sorry this took so long to write out. This one took a few rewrites to get it where I wanted it to be.

Plus, Real life stuff got in the way So hopefully this will be a nice little treat for you all.

(Master Post)

__________________________________________________________________

Marinette watched in horror as she watched her best friend struggle on the floor.

She dashed to her side, and tried to help Alya get that weird mask off her face.

“By all means go right ahead. Its already too late.” Masquerade laughed as she watched Marinette struggle. “Soon enough she will be helping me take you down.”

The designer pushed the words of the psychotic akuma out of her mind. She refused to let her friend get turned into a mindless drone like before.

“It wont come off!” Marinette grunted as she tried so hard to remove it.

Masquerade watched her bracelet, waiting for a change to occur.

Alya’s muffled screams and frantic movements stopped.

“Alya?”

Marinette jumped up as she watched her friend transform, her casual clothes transformed into a familiar black and white costume. The Wi-Fi symbol on her chest. Lady Wifi has returned.

Masquerade’s bracelet gained a new charm, one looking reminiscent of a cell phone.

“And now she is my friend.” The villain stated as she watched Marinette start stepping away from the enslaved akuma.

“Alya… you need to fight it. You can’t let her control you.”

“Sorry Marinette, but Alya is unable to answer.” Masquerade mocked. “But I can take a message for you.”

Lady wifi stood silent, like an inactive robot, awaiting orders from its master. The inner machinations of the mind are not shown with the emotionless white mask covering her face.

Marinette turned her eyes toward the mask themed akuma, anger burning in her pupils.

“Let her go Lila. Let them all go before things get serious. Your plan will fail, Ladybug and Chat noir will arrive and beat the akuma out of you. Then you will have to answer for this too.”

Masquerade’s smile faded when she saw the fierce look. Marinette was not a sniveling mess, she actually looked even more defiant then before!

“Acting all high and mighty. I think I will enjoy turning you into my helpless puppet next.”

Masquerade lifted her hand towards Marinette, waiting to unmask her deepest secrets, and break her down.

“When I get a peek at what is hiding behind all of that fake courage, it will all come crashing down. Now let’s see your greatest secrets.”

Marinette looked around, trying to think of something. If Lila figured out her big secret, it was over. Ladybug would be exposed. She needed a way out, until she noticed something. Masquerade wasn’t doing anything.

“Huh?”

Marinette was perplexed by the akuma simply standing there.

“Ummm... are you going to do it now or...”

“Why can’t I see your secrets? My powers should allow me to see what you’re hiding and allow me to exploit it. It worked on everyone else I used it on, why not you?”

“Maybe I just don’t have any secrets to hide.” Marinette commented, watching with a bit of satisfaction as the akuma’s smug look shift.

Masquerade felt her frustration and anger boil at the comment. Something wasn’t adding up.

“Hawkmoth!” She cried out in rage.

A purple butterfly outline popped out.

“What is it?” The dark voice connected in her head.

“Why can’t I read Marinette’s secrets?” Masquerade angrily questioned.

“What?”

“Her secrets! I was able to zero in on everyone else I’ve used the ability on. Why does it not work on her!? Of all people I want this power to work on!”

Marinette felt both concerned and a bit flattered that she was the one Lila wanted to defeat the most. It was sort of mutual.

“Your power works on anyone I’ve akumatized, regardless of who it is.” The butterfly villain communicated.

“So… your saying you didn’t akumatize her before? How is that possible?”

“I haven’t gotten to every single person in Paris.”

“You’ve akumatized that stupid pigeon man 26 times! How have you not gotten everyone!?”

“Paris is a big city, even if I akumatized someone every day, I doubt I would have hit 1/10th of the population. Besides, it takes strong negative emotions for me to send out an akuma. And that man seems to just be the easiest target for it. “ Hawkmoth defended himself. “Its not like I WANT to akumatize him every other day.”

“Unbelievable!”

“Just get the miraculous. That is your focus, the girl can wait for later.”

Masquerade’s butterfly outline dispelled as hawkmoth was finished with that conversation.

“Well that sucks. I guess I can just go back to plan A. Having you watch as I turn everyone against you... aren't here. What!”

Masquerade frantically looked around for the teen she had been antagonizing and found that she was no longer in the same spot. In fact, she was no longer in the office!

Marinette had decided to slip away from the akuma while she was having her little tantrum to the evil butterfly man.

“Why didn't you do something!” She shouted at Lady Wifi.

“You did not give me an order.” Lady Wifi answered robotically.

Masquerade glared at the akuma servant. She would almost think it was rebelling against her.

“Even as a mindless servant you still find a way to ruin things.”

She looked around and noticed the other akuma in the room that was still on the floor.

“Dark Owl get up!”

The owl themed akuma got up from the floor. Removing parts of the broken pot from his costume.

Masquerade snapped her fingers. Catching the attention of Dark Owl and Lady Wifi.

“Both of you, I want Marinette brought back to me right now! I want to make sure she stays quiet and sees everything we have set up. I don’t need her causing trouble.”

______________________________________________________________________

“…and that is everything.” A young woman said with a mixture of relief and excitement. She had finally finished setting everything up in the school infirmary. She had organized the files, restocked the bandages, changed the sheets on the resting cots, and put her personal decals on the desk. She was starting her first day as the school nurse, and things have been going up.

She put herself back out there and started dating Curtis, the sweet guy she met last week despite what would’ve normally been a deal breaking misunderstanding, she got into the med school program she wanted to get into and will be attending part time, and she managed to get a job at the school she went to when she went to Lycee.

She heard a ding from the front of the nurse’s office just as she was about to sit down.

“First student of the day. I better see what they need.”

She exited the small office area in the infirmary to see a blonde student who was clearly impatient

“What is taking so long!?” The teen shouted.

“Hello there. How can I help you?”

The blonde looked up a bit to see the nurses smile, she rolled her eyes.

“Who the hell are you? Isnt there supposed to be a different woman here?”

“If you are referring to the previous school nurse, she retired officially last week. I am the new school nurse. You can call me Nurse Angela.”

Angela never really liked using her last name, it made her sound old. So, she would be fine with the kids calling by her first name. It also helps with psychology, allowing more for a social dynamic based on mutual respect rather than authority.

“Whatever.”

Angela felt a twinge of frustration at the girl’s dismissal. But she kept her smile.

“And you are?”

The teen smirked.

“Chloé Bourgeous. And before you ask, yes, the daughter of the mayor.”

Angela felt a shiver go down her spine. She remembered from what the previous nurse told her. That Chloé was the mayor’s bratty daughter who would use her father’s influence to get anyone fired if she got angry enough.

‘That at least explains her rude attitude. She is a spoiled Brat.’

Angela was not going to let this bother her. She was going to take it in stride. She would be kind and courteous as she planned to be with any student at the Dupont.

“So, Chloé. What brings you here?”

Chloé walks in.

“My chair broke because someone sabotaged my chair. I ended up bruising my… anyway I need some ice, and anything to numb the pain.”

“My goodness! That sounds terrible. Who would do such a thing?”

“It was probably Marinette, that nasty little rat. Adding insult to injury now that she is dating Adrien.”

Nurse Angela moved to get some ice from the freezer for the bruised bottom of the Mayor’s daughter, listening to the girl vent. She was sure that whoever this Marinette girl was, probably didn’t do it. And if somehow, she did, it was likely because the annoying blonde deserved it. But that was not something Angela felt was worth mentioning. She kept that bit to herself.

“She is probably blackmailing my adrikins with something. There is no way he would be dating her without some sort of reason.”

“Is it possible that maybe he just likes her?” Angela inquired as she presented the bag of ice to Chloé.

Chloé looked at the nurse as if she had just told her that she had 3 eyes and a scorpion tail.

“Adrien liking Marinette?! That is ridiculous, Utterly ridiculous! There is no way that Adrien would…”

Chloé felt her mind flash through moments. Adrien and Marinette about to kiss for that movie, Adrien and Marinette dancing at her party? The photos she found of them running from fans, that kiss at the picnic during heroes’ day. Adrien taking Marinette to that interview instead of her… The stubborn blonde felt as if everything clicked into place.

“Chloé? Is everything okay?” The nurse called out, trying to get the spaced-out teen’s attention.

“He might actually LIKE her!”

Chloé felt her own skin crawl as she made her realization.

Angela didn’t know how to respond to this situation.

“I am going to straighten Adrien out right now! I am not going to let him make such a foolish mistake!”

The nurse could tell this could be bad if the mayor’s daughter was so heated, what if she got this innocent girl expelled? If she stood by and did nothing then her time at the school would be internally marked with the regret of not stopping such a potential disaster.

“Wait, Miss Bourgeois.”

Chloé stopped.

“What is it?”

“I… I just noticed that you’re limping. The injury might be more serious than you think. Let me have a look at it closer before you leave.”

The mayor’s daughter would simply have left without a second thought. But having a limp would make her walk much less dignified and lacking the power she needs to intimidate, but mainly that she would look lame with a limp.

“Alright, just make it quick.”

______________________________________________________________________________

“I don’t get why you felt the need to leave.” The cat kwami rolled his eyes. “If you want to be rebellious Adrien, we could leave the school and head to the movies. Though if we do, you should invite your girlfriend.”

“Plagg, this isn’t about rebellion or future date ideas. Something isn’t right with this whole situation. I just want to sneak a peek in the office, make sure Marinette and Alya get their story out, and then I am headed right back to class. No problem.” Adrien summarized as they kept walking.

Plagg noticed someone headed their way and went to hide in Adrien’s pocket.

Adrien took notice that it was his homeroom teacher. Perhaps he could ask her.

“Hey Ms.Bustier. Can I ask you a quick question?”

The red headed teacher walked past the teen without acknowledging his question. Her eyes focused on what was ahead.

“That’s weird… She would always stop to help a student.”

Adrien could feel that his favorite teacher may have been affected by something sinister.

“Ms.Bustier, can you hear me out for a second?” He asked as he touched her shoulder to try and get her attention.

The mirage of her appearance shifted from the homeroom teacher to the stylized patchwork costume of a familiar akuma enemy.

Adrien was surprised to see the true form of the imposter. The kiss zombie maker, Zombizou.

The akuma turned to show the face mask that hid her face. Her attention was now firmly on the boy, whether he wanted it or not.

Adrien backed away, nervously keeping his eyes on the teacher as he carefully backed up.

“You know, I think I will just ask someone else.”

Adrien took down the next hall running.

______________________________________________________________________

Masquerade reclined in her chair, her frustration was growing as she wondered what was taking those two minions she sent out to capture Marinette so long.

“They shouldn’t be having that much difficulty. She is just one person!”

She heard a ring, and knew her sentimonster was trying to contact her.

“What is it Simulare?”

“The illusion I had on Zombizou was broken. Someone is on to us, and the minion is in pursuit.”

Masquerade felt a headache forming. She didn’t have time for a wild goose chase. She needed to move on to phase two of her plan, making her army of akuma.

“Track down Marinette and this other person that found out about Zombizou, keep them busy as long as possible. I am going to move on to phase two. Make sure no one is on to us.”

“Understood. I’ll get them back in the office and make sure neither of them escape.”

“Good”

Masquerade ended the call and felt her head ease a bit. The sentimonster she was given was obedient and competent. It was based on her mindset, so it would make sense that it would be capable of handling this problem.

“Now, let’s get that army.”

______________________________________________________________________________

“Give me a break.” Marinette muttered to herself.

She thought she would have time to transform once she escaped the office, but the two akuma were right out of the office before she had time to make sure everything was clear.

In her rush she cut a corner down a hallway and ended up colliding with another person.

“Ouch.” They cry out in unison, both looking to realize who they bumped into. Their faces turned to relief.

“Marinette!” “Adrien!”

The two called out in unison.

“Why are you running?” “Why are you running?”

“An akuma!” “An akuma!”

“An akuma?” “An akuma?”

They both look behind the other to notice the incoming akumas approaching them.

“As cute as this is, we need to go.”

Adrien Grabs Marinette’s Hand and they both head to the open area and try to get to the main entrance.

‘I need to get Adrien somewhere safe, then I can go transform into Ladybug.’ Marinette thought to herself, unaware that Adrien was thinking the same thing.

They make quick movements down hallway, moving up and down staircases to confuse their pursuers. They managed to give them the slip as the controlled akuma seemed to not be able of basic reasoning and quick fake outs and movements.

The two make their way down to what appeared to be the front of the school.

“The entrance!” Marinette called out. “Okay, we split up at the entrance and try to get help. They can’t catch us both.”

The run to the entrance only for them to stop short, colliding with some invisible wall.

It was only after making contact did the front entrance of the school shift back into a wall. The layout of the entire school seemed to shift instantly. The school had been put under an illusion to trick them into thinking they were escaping.

“It’s an illusion. Which means Lila must be involved with that group of akumas.” Adrien exclaimed.

“More like she is the cause. She is the one controlling the akumatized mask wearers. She got the Principal and Alya.”

“Wait, does this mean that Lila’s power is to make akuma!?”

“From what I saw, she can only akumatize people that have been akumatized before using her face masks. You haven’t been akumatized right?” Marinette questioned.

“No, and since she didn't get you, you haven't either right?”

“Yea, though I have had a few close calls.”

“So, if Lila’s power is akumatizing people, what akuma made this illusion on the school?”

“That would be me.” A third voice calls out.

The two turned to look and see a familiar fox themed villain smiling confidently.

“Volpina!”

“Not exactly.”

The Volpina impersonator looked around to see if the other akumatized servents were going to arrive.

“Seems you both are quite clever when it comes to annoying Mistress Masquerade.”

“Masquerade?”

“That’s what Lila’s calling herself.”

“Oh... cause of the masks.”

The villain rolls her eyes, encapsulating the personality of the arrogant volpina that it was pretending to be.

“Masquerade realizes that you two are both quite difficult to snag with mindless servants, so she requested I handle this.”

“No, you won’t.” Marinette grabs Adrien’s Hand and tries to run away only for the Faux Fox to flip in front of them

“Yea, I am not letting you out of my sight. Now be good and come along peacefully.”

Adrien moves in front of Marinette.

“Go, I’ll hold her off.”

“But…”

“Go. I trust you.” Adrien smiles as he looks to her for a moment.

Marinette wanted to stay and fight with him, but she knew that she needed to go and transform. Ladybug will be needed before this blows up.

“I’ll get help.”

Marinette runs away from the two as fast as she can. Adrien making sure to block the way should their foe get any ideas.

“She won’t get far, she will get captured before she even gets a chance.”

Adrien shook his head.

“You would be surprised with how just how amazing Marinette is.”

Marinette rushed out of sight and into the closest bathroom, quickly making sure it was a safe place to transform.

“Coast is clear. Time for Ladybug to step in.”

“Let’s hope we can get to Adrien in time before things get worse.” Tikki commented.

“Don't worry, I trust he’ll be okay. Tikki! Spots on!”

______________________________________________________________________________

“Can you believe it Juleka?” The peppy perfume enthusiast squealed. “Marinette and Adrien are finally an item.”

“Yes, I was there rose.” Juleka commented with an eye roll and a smile.

“I know! I am just so happy for them both.” Rose calms herself a bit. “Though… how will your brother take it?”

The purple haired teen reflected on the comment.

“It will be an adjustment, but I am sure Lulu will be fine once he gets a couple songs out of it.”

“I’ll be sure to be supportive.”

Juleka patted Rose’s head, smiling sweetly at the blonde’s caring attitude. She decided now would be a good time to spring that surprise on her. She was planning on showing her during lunch, but since Ms.Bustier wasn’t in class. Now would be the perfect time to show Rose the earrings she got her.

She casually reached into her bag, sliding her hand into her lunch bag, trying to find the earring box, only to notice it not there. Her hand moved frantically searching.

“Is something wrong?” Rose inquired, a bit of concern on her face.

“No, nothing. Nothing is wrong, just…” Juleka dismissed as she kept searching only to know for certain that her gift was not in there.

“Are you sure?”

“I just need do something really quick.”

She quickly grabbed her phone and calmly while hoping that her brother would see her text.

In her quick movement, she failed to notice the door of the classroom opening.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Psst, Luka. Luka!” A dark-haired teen whispered, trying to get the attention of the teal-tipped hair guitarist that was hiding his sleeping face with an open science book.”

“Hmm?” The tired teen responded with his eyes still closed. He was barely awake. He had been up all night working on that new song that was stuck in his head. He could still hear it playing in his thoughts as he tried to shake himself awake.

“Your phone vibrated, seemed important.��

“Oh, thanks Theo.” He moved his hand to take a look at his phone.

The science teacher was rambling on about molecules or something, clearly unaware of how disinterested everyone in the class was with his boring lecture.

Luka looked through to see a few text messages from his sister.

‘Hey, can you check your lunch to see if there is a jewelry box in there? Rose’s gift is in there.’

‘If you find it, can you swing by around your free period to bring it to me?’

Luka quickly snuck his hand into his backpack and sure enough he felt the small box. He was about to text a response. But stopped when he read the last two texts.

‘Sh*t there is an akuma in the class!’

Luka’s eyes shot open, his sister was in danger. Which also meant his band was also in danger. He needed to get there.

He shot up from his chair. And started making his way to the door.

“Mr.Couffaine, where do you think you’re going?”

“Family emergency.”

The science teacher was about to tell the young boy to wait until his parent calls, but he remembered who is mother was and what she did the last time he held up her kid when Anarke wanted to pick him up early. The teacher proceeded to held back his response.

“Proceed. Just be sure to get the notes from today’s lesson.”

Luka was out the door before the teacher could finish.

______________________________________________________________________

A car speeds down the road, the driver cursing to herself as she tries to move faster.

‘Get in, get Adrien, and get out before everything hits the fan.’

Nathalie mentally repeated to herself. She knows that pushing herself too hard was also dangerous. She couldn't risk feeling weak right now.

The driver slammed the break as she arrived at the school. She needed to hurry. She parked the car and opened the door.

“Lets hope that this akuma hasn't gotten to Adrien yet.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Ms. Bustier’s class had diverted all their attention to the costumed individual in the front of the classroom. The eerie masks that adorned her costume seemed to unsettle everyone.

Juleka put her phone away and joined in on what everyone was staring at

Alix was the one to say what was on everyone’s mind.

“Who the f*** are you?”

The akuma smirked.

“Excellent, a volunteer.”

Raising her hand and pointing towards Alix, her charm bracelet began to glow.

“Interesting, seems that you have quite a soft spot for cute things.”

The class turned to look at Alix with confusion.

Alix kept her cool.

“And? Is there a point?” Alix rolled her eyes, ignoring the akuma’s attempt to get under her skin. It would take more than that to actually do anything to her.

“You pretend you have this ‘Devil may care’ attitude, that you are too cool to care about what people think, but really you are more obsessed with how people perceive you than anyone else in here.”

Alix felt her smirk falter for a second.

“You are really sensitive about your height and anytime someone brings it up you are in a bad mood for the rest of the day. But what really gets to you is your ‘Family’. You hate how your brother is a laughing stock because of his crackpot theories and your greatest fear is that no matter how much you try to be this punk rebel, you will always be cast as ‘The Conspiracy nut’s sister’.”

“Shut up! You don’t know my life!” Alix yelled.

“Not so fun getting exposed, is it?”

The class realized immediately who this mysterious akuma was.

Masquerade smiled as she flung a mask right at the pink haired teen. Causing her to fall down. And struggle to get the mask off, but before anyone could help her. It was too late.

The class could only watch in horror as their classmate transformed into their Akuma persona. Before standing up.

The class tried to make a break for it. They knew full well the dangers of this new akuma.

“Timebreaker, guard the door.”

The akuma skated to the door and everyone jumped back. They knew that touching Timebreaker was not a good idea.

“Lila, this isn’t cool. Let Alix go.” Nino called out.

The Mask akuma shook her head.

“Lila is not a thing anymore. She was unmasked and dismissed. But now I have a new mask, I’m Masquerade. Soon enough, you will all be unmasked and given a new mask that better suits you. Alya knows that very well.”

Nino’s his eyes flared at the statement.

“What did you do to my girl?”

Masquerade pointed her hand at him just as her charm bracelet glowed, now with a rollerblade charm added to it.

“The same thing I am about to do to all of you.”

______________________________________________________________________

Will the rest of the class fall victim to Masquerade’s evil plan? Will Ladybug be able to save Adrien from the Sentimonster? Will Nathalie get to Adrien before its too late? Will I ever update consistently?

Fine out all these questions and more in the next part.

Thank you all for reading the most recent addition to Soulmate Survey.

Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter and if you really liked it. Reblog it. (Sharing is the only way my story actually gets out.) Plus, tagging has been kind of glitchy for me, so until that gets straightened out, I can't tag people for the story at the moment.

#ml #soulmate survey #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanficiton #ml au #ss #miraculous #masquerade akuma #masquerade #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #lady wifi #lila rossi #ladybug #tikki #plagg #adrinette #lovesquare

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lululawrence · 3 years

Photo

lululawrence’s May 2021 Fic List

Previous Fic Lists / Fic List Podcast Masterpost

May somehow managed to escape my grasp and here we are again! I got a weekend away from the kids this month, which allowed me the chance to finally read for hours on end, and I therefore have quite a few fics to talk about! They were truly amazing, I loved every single one, and I hope you appreciate them too!

If you’d like to hear me share my excitement about these fics verbally and in more detail, you can listen to this month’s podcast here.

As always, be sure to show your love and appreciation for all of the hard work our fandom authors have put into their fics with kudos, nice comments, and (when applicable) reblogging their fic posts!

Just for Tonight (I can be yours) by @sadaveniren / SadaVeniren (42k, E, Harry/Louis, Big Bang fic, A/B/O, Royalty AU, Alpha Louis, Omega Harry, Innocent Harry, Sheltered Harry, Arranged Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, but HOW DO THEY GET THERE?? lol, Mpreg, Heat/Rut, Poor as shit sex education lmao, Okay but for real the world building in this was incredible, I can still see the pictures in my mind that I conjured up for certain parts of this fic, It is incredible and the PINING AND ANGST OMG)

reckless serenade by @thepolourryexpress / thepolourryexpress (4k, E, Harry/Louis, Girl Direction, This one is a bit hard to explain lmao, ....Non-Established Relationship.... relationship, it makes sense in the fic lol, clueless idiots in love, there we go, friends to lovers, humor, fluff, This is beyond sweet and fucking sexy)

a little tenderness by @disgruntledkittenface / disgruntledkittenface (11k, NR, Harry/Niall, 1D A/B/O Fest fic, Alpha Harry, Omega Niall, Touch Deprivation, Nesting, Cuddling, Scenting, Ace Harry, Fluff, Okay listen this fic was so fucking soft I cannot express to you, It was HEALING, I cryyyyyy it was just so beautiful)

What if I'm someone you won't talk about? by @louloubabys1992 / louloubaby92 (58k, M, Harry/Louis, Fine Line Fest fic, Song Fic, Based on Falling, Famous/Non-Famous, Childhood Sweethearts, Exes to Lovers, Kind of but not really at the same time?, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending but there’s fucking angst okay? lol, Hurt/Comfort, Sex Work, Exploitation, References to Rape, PTSD, There’s a lot of dark shit in here, please please please read the tags and keep yourself safe, But if you can handle it then fuck it was an fascinating story for sure!)

When Least Expected by @all-these-larrythings / Rearviewdreamer (22k, M, Harry/Louis, Quarantine Fic, Single Parent Louis, Teacher Harry, Mentions of Depression, Online Dating? Kind of?, Maybe it’s more like Long Distance dating, except they’re in the same city, anyway, Pining, Flirting, Oblivious boys, Soft, This fic was the epitome of soft, It was so incredibly healing to read it, So cathartic and beautiful and lovely, It just made me so happy and at peace reading this fic, and I really didn’t expect that from a quarantine fic tbh)

so c'mon c'mon (and dance with me baby) by @rockstarlouis / theweightofmywords (3k, NR, Harry/Louis, New Year’s Fic, Meet Cute, Louke are together at the beginning but it doesn’t last long, Work Party, but neither Louis or Harry work there lololol, Humor, Drinking, Dancing, This fic was just so short and sweet and fun I loved it)

Pound Cake by @kingsofeverything / kingsofeverything (2k, NR, Harry/Louis, Butthole Series fic, Hurt Louis, Sad Louis, Harry’s birthday, Friends to Lovers, Crack fic lmao, Misunderstandings, This fic was so funny but also somehow sweet, while still being about buttholes, Lauren is a magician what can I say lol)

Get Burned By the Fire by Anonymous (13k, NR, Shawn/Niall, Heartbreak Weather Fest fic, Song Fic, based on Small Talk, Bartender Niall, Mysterious Shawn, Casual Sex, I think that’s how you’d define their arrangement? lol, Pining, Harry and Louis are together and Niall’s besties and coworkers, They’re hilarious through all of this, Even though it’s casual sex or meant to be anyway, It defo is also like... a Breakup Fic, and also Exes to Lovers, Supernatural Elements, It’s all complicated and sooooo fucking gooooood)

The Shooting Star Of Promises And Fears by darkpoets (2k, NR, Harry/Louis, Soulmates, Wishes, This fic is incredibly hard to explain or describe, because the style and feel of it is incredibly unique, It feels almost floaty while you read it, if that makes sense)

Getting a Room by bluespring864 (2k, G, Lewis/Niall, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Banter, Listen this fic is short but packed to the brim with feels, omgggggg SO MANY FEELS, and so so lovely the way it comes together, but also hilarious too?, it’s just very THEM, I could also hear all the lines Lewis says in this fic in his accent, I heard his voice speaking them in my head, and I was trying so hard not to laugh out loud as I sat reading, surrounded by strangers lmao, It was so awkward but worth it)

Caves End by @jacaranda-bloom / jacaranda_bloom (40k, E, Harry/Louis, Big Bang fic, Famous/Non-Famous, Farmer Louis, Rancher Louis is maybe better?, I’ll put both cause Dee said farmer lmao, Footballer Harry, Australia fic, Horseback Riding, Angst, Miscommunication, Dee’s tags about that are hilarious please read them, Hurt/Comfort, This fic is just EVERYTHING, okay, It was so incredibly good)

and all I think about is you and safer by your side (parts 4 and 5 of where the lights are beautiful) by @polkadotlou / twoshipsdrifting (1k each, T, Harry/Louis, Alternate Universe, A/B/O, Alpha Harry, Omega Louis, Established Relationship, Mentions of Heat, Drabbles, Listen this whole series is amazing, and if you haven’t read it then these drabbles won’t have the same power they do otherwise, but they are SO DAMN GOOD OKAY)

Counterculture by @sadaveniren / SadaVeniren (6k, E, Harry/Louis, Omega Harry Fest, A/B/O, Omega Harry, Alpha Louis, Famous/Non-Famous, Underground Clubs, Pack Dynamics, Scenting, Public Sex, Orgies, Pregnancy and Lactation Kink, Like... this fic is FILTHY while still having super cool worldbuilding elements in it, and it’s kinky as shit cause Sada, In other words this is fantastic)

Say Something by @kingsofeverything / kingsofeverything (105k, E, Harry/Louis, Alternate Universe, A/B/O, Alpha Louis, Omega Harry, Older Harry, Age Difference, Heat/Rut Partners, Friends to Lovers, Kind of?, It’s Complicated lol, MPreg, Divorced Harry, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Harry has a lot of shit to work through, It all works out and it’s so fucking good)

The Until Series by @allwaswell16 / allwaswell16 (62k total, Harry/Louis (parts 1 and 3), Niall/Shawn (Part 2), Big Bang fic and Heartbreak Weather Fest fic, Song Fic, Seriously the whole albums is basically the inspiration lol, Cowboy Harry, Child Actor Harry, Cowboy Shawn, Songwriter Louis, Singer Niall, Farm Fic, Enemies to Lovers, Misunderstanding, So good just all of it, Dumb boys in love lol)

That Smile and That Midnight Laugh by @uhoh-but-yeah-alright / yeah_alright (50k, T, Harry/Louis, but also Harry/Nick at the beginning, Big Bang fic, Girl Direction, Based on Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, It’s like an extension and starts where the movie ended, So cool in that way I loved it, Grimmy and Louis are step-siblings, Friends to Lovers, No Cheating if that’s a concern, Sexuality Crisis but it’s more of like a Gay Awakening, Coming of Age story in that way, So freaking soft like omg, I just really freaking loved this fic)

#mine #fic rec #my fic rec #28th appreciation #fic writer appreciation #fic list #may 2021 fic list

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fiendishpal · 3 years

Note

I feel like I come here for Osaaka fix and to find some SWMAGP support group!I think a bunch of people haven’t read it yet because it’s incomplete.I am quite surprised for myself too because it’s incomplete and it’s slow-burn and it makes it more enjoyable?! Idk. I love how Osa/Aka would definitely do what they did.

It’s how they’re both honest people, both characters that are not afraid of being heard but when it comes to going around on what they feel��they’re just not forward about it.

And the characterization is so them even as Volleyball players—we have Akaashi who is a setter that thinks, that would only give what he can or what he was asked for. Then we have Osamu a part of a duo who recklessly play around a very crucial match. That’s how they are on chapter 7, Akaashi goes for rationality, lays down what’s expected of him, and Osamu who just vacuumed his apartment because hey, why would he missed an opportunity of not bringing Akaashi home?!

I went crazy on this but there’s only a few people who actually reads this, I’m glad I can go over this with you even in anon! Thanks and sorry for going crazy! Have great day/night!!!

i love stay with me go places because i can tell how much care the author puts in their characterizations.

like how they refer dialogue from canon material and how akaashi and osamu speak, that really drew me in!

in all their core, they're both supports to their main characters. bokuto couldnt have grown the way he did without akaashi and atsumu couldnt have grown the way he did without osamu.

akaashi and osamu's experiences with their vaguely same experiences in high school is such a huge part of what they have in common. they play as how their counterparts play.

bokuto expects akaashi's 120% bc bokuto gives his 120% and osamu plays recklessy because atsumu plays recklessly so he has to be there where atsumu is bc he's not gonna lose against his brother.

they're supports. narrative foils to the big picture.

these experiences are things they can relate to with each other, that sort of thing.

so with that in mind, it would makes sense that they'd end up waiting on each other. volleying the ball from their side of the court to the other so it ends up with them dancing around each other.

but i've said this once and i'll say it again, if osamu and akaashi did not have any mutual friends or friends of friends, osamu would be much more forward but again that's just me

SO, they now know their feelings are mutual, they've already reached that point but now at match point, they suddenly dont see things eye to eye.

and as you said anon, in his good ol' fashioned akaashi way, he overthinks. and his "rational" conclusion is to not start the relationship to avoid the eventual fallout bc of the distance. i love the line he said, i think it was, we dont need anymore people to wait for in our lives or something like that????? idk but it was good

and with osamu, his answer to that is, why not try it out first? WHICH MAKES SENSE AKAASHI YOU FOOL. he presents his case on "why end it before even starting it?" which to osamu's line of thinking makes the most sense to him BC HE'S RIGHT, AKAASHI YOU DESERVE EACH OTHER LET HIM BEAT SOME SENSE INTO YOUR OVERTHINKING and when akaashi's "firm" on his decision he backs away. he's not pushy, that's atsumu's forte lmao

but what i love in this chapter was the kiss they had there. when osamu asked if he could kiss akaashi. i mean he wanted one from the very start of their "date" and he's gonna get one even tho it was a sad one cries and when akaashi kissed him, osamu ended it before it could get into something more bc he knooooows that would be it. if the kiss grew any deeper. if their lips touched a second longer he'd be FAR gone AT LEAST THAT'S WHAT I THINK HAHAHA. so he steps back. getting on akaashi's level.

AND I AM AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

to those who haven't read it yet bc it's incomplete, look, i GET IT, i dont even know why I started it with the fic being inc BUT IM GLAD I DID!!!!!!!!!!!!

I FEEL MANY EMOTIONS WHILE READING IT IT'S GREAT LOOK AT THIS WALL OF TEXT I AM OBSESSED WITH THEM BC OF THIS FIC

ps. these are all my thoughts on overdrive and this is how I perceive them. you might see them differently and that's a-okay!

#how they were raised greatly affects how they express their emotions so we have straight forward and thinks out loud osamu #and akaashi overthinking his responses before he picks the best one for a particular situation #both different in how they express themselves but how they apply it is almost the same #wherein they think of the other person and their well-being bc well #that's how i see them handle situations with their counterparts #MAN LOOK AT THIS #AND I HAVENT EVEN GONE FULL ON META YET LMAO #i might be way off too i need to refer to the manga again #but yep this is how i see them and why i love them so much #fiend talks #anonymous #stay with me go places support group where ya'll at #let's think fluffy osaaka thoughts #long post

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gameofdrarry · 3 years

Text

Wizards Hearts Smut Recs: First Time

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here. Players could opt in to an additional suit of 13 cards, all themed around various popular smut tropes.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 Another Heart Whispers Back by slytherco Rated: Explicit Words: 53,693 Tags: Friends to Lovers, Auror Harry Potter, Potioneer Draco Malfoy, Pining Draco Malfoy, Oblivious Harry Potter, Virgin Harry Potter, Unrequited But Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Casual Intimacy, Humor, Comedy, Blind Date, First Dates, Bets & Wagers, Meddling, Love Confessions, Idiots in Love, Making Out, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Post-Coital Cudding, Shower Sex, Tattooed Harry Potter, Magical Tattoos, Taste of Smut 2020 Summary: At twenty-five, Harry Potter is still a virgin and sorely lacking in options to change that state anytime soon. To help him find a plus one for Ron and Hermione’s wedding, and maybe kill two birds with one stone, Harry’s friends set him up on a series of blind dates. The only problem is, there’s something not quite right with each of their candidates. “Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.” ― Plato In which Harry learns that some things are worth waiting for, that looking and seeing are two very different things, and that his heart’s song has been heard a long time ago. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Heart's Honest Truth by bixgirl1 & carpemermaid Rated: Explicit Words: 16,020 Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Awkward First Times, Truth Spells, Alternating POV, Magical Accidents, Getting Together, Magical Theory, 2017 Draco's Merry-Making Mini Fest See work for more tags Summary: "Don't you think I would have gone to Pomfrey if I thought she could help me?" "Then what can I do?" "I nee--" Malfoy broke off with a soft grunt and a pained expression. He took a shaky breath and tried again, his voice wobbling. "Will you touch me, Potter?" Draco is cursed to speak in questions. Well...Spelled, thanks to the stupidly improper archival practices of the fourth century. Harry Potter is there to save the day, but Draco isn't going to give in to his help so easily. Fortunately, the method of saving might be more satisfactory than Draco expected this time. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 When All Your Dreams Come True by Drarrelie Rated: Explicit Words: 9448 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Threesome - M/M/M, dubcon, Mistaken Identity, Pining, secret crushes, Plot Twist, virgins, Birthday, Draco Malfoy's Birthday, Birthday Presents, POV Draco Malfoy, Birthday Sex, Birthday Smut, Sexual Fantasy, First Time, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Don't copy to another site, Fanart Welcome, Podfic Welcome Summary: Six weeks ago, Draco gave his friend-with-benefits a most unexpected and precious gift for his birthday. It's only fair Blaise should reciprocate if given the chance, right? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Take a trip into my garden by Andithiel Rated: Explicit Words: 5974 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Porn with Feelings, Established Relationship, Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, First Time Bottoming, Draco in lingerie, Bisexual Harry Potter, Rimming, Anal Sex, Really there might be too much feeling for it to count as pwp, As usual when I write, Enthusiastic Consent Summary: Harry has only been dating Draco for about two months, but he’s already obsessed with the git. And he knows that today, Draco has something special planned, something that includes him being dressed in skimpy lingerie. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Inside Your Mind by lazywonderland Rated: Explicit Words: 36376 Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Top Harry, Bottom Draco, Harry Potter POV, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Bullying, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, FlirtingVirgin Draco Malfoy, Loss of Virginity, First Time, Anal Sex Anal Fingering, Smut, Angst, Overstimulation, Submissive Draco, Rimming, Multiple Orgasms, Protective Goyle, very very minor d/s elements, revolving mostly around subspace, Dominant Harry, Forced Orgasm, and lavender's alive bc i said so Summary: Goyle's taken it upon himself to act as Malfoy's personal, one-man guard and Harry can't help but feel like it's only making the bullying worse. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 By Your Hands by GiRa Rated: Explicit Words: 7625 Tags: Smut, Fluff and Smut, First Time, Virgin Draco Malfoy, Established Relationship, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter Summary: After being together for months, Draco wants to try going a step further with Harry. The only problem is that he actually has no idea what he's doing - but thankfully Harry is more than happy to guide him through it. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Sexplanations (Of the Horrible Sort) by bixgirl1 Rated: Explicit Words: 7048 Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Secret Sex, Secret Relationship, Humor, Snark, Confused Relationships, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, sex injuries, Semi-Public Sex, Embarrassing Situations, Bottom Draco Summary: Harry's willing to put up with a certain amount of injury, as long as he and Malfoy can keep doing... whatever it is they're doing. Maybe. Mostly. Especially if there might be more to it than sex. Based on a tumblr headcanon. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Gentlewizard Club by Sophie_French Rated: Explicit Words: 28129 Tags: Pining, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, First Time, Humor, Explicit Sexual Content Summary: Draco wants what Draco wants. And if he has to snuggle up to Harry to get it, well, surely, Draco can handle that. Problem is, not sure Harry can. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 You Set My Soul Alight by parkkate Rated: Explicit Words: 54075 Tags: Post-War, Auror Partners, Case Fic, Enemies to Lovers, Mystery, Adventure, Romance, Pining, Getting Together, Sharing a Bed, Banter, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Loss of Virginity, First Time, Mildly Dubious Consent, Consent Issues, Secrets, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Sleep talking, Frottage, Rimming, Face-Sitting, Intergluteal Sex, Anal Sex, Switching, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Angst, references to suicidal thoughts, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, References to Depression, Mental Health Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Arguing, Reconciliation, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: Students are going missing at Hogwarts, but that's not the only mystery Draco is determined to solve. Something’s going on with Potter. He can deny it all he wants. Draco is going to find out what it is. Unfortunately, trying to get to the bottom of it has some unexpected consequences and if Draco isn’t careful, he’s going to jeopardise their mission. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Sincere Gratitude from the (Heart) Hand by _Melodic_ (Sae) Rated: Explicit Words: 1325 Tags: Hand Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, First Time, POV Harry, Smut, Humor, Shameless Smut, Porn With Plot, Prostate Massage, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Students, Pining, Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Sexual Inexperience, Virgin Harry, Oblivious Ron, Awesome Hermione Granger, Seduction, Sneaking Around, Classroom Sex Summary: Two weeks later and Malfoy has yet to repay his debt to Harry. Does Harry even want him to? Oh Merlin, yes he does! ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 You Are Safe (I Know) by hephaestiions Rated: Explicit Words: 42568 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Hand Jobs, Voyeurism, Exile, Racism, Person of Color Harry Potter, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Past Abuse, Minor Character Death, Blood, Azkaban, Drinking, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Hyperventilation, Dissociation, H/D Erised 2020 Summary: Draco Malfoy is sentenced to one year of exile following his participation in the Second Wizarding War. Harry Potter tags along. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Spoiling of Sex From Enthusiastic Ignorance by Cibee (Cibeeeee) Rated: Explicit Words: 6087 Tags: Humor, Fluff, Mutual Piningm Friends to Lovers, Misunderstandings, First Kiss, Making Out, Loss of Virginity, Awkward First Times, Eventual Enthusiastic Fucking, Vulgar Language, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Premature Ejaculation, Post-Hogwarts, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, POV Draco Malfoy, Virgin Draco Malfoy, Flustered Harry Potter, Switch Draco Malfoy, Switch Harry Potter, Thirsty Draco Malfoy, Quidditch Player Harry Potter, Minor Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley, H/D Sex Fair 2020 Summary: Draco is going to lose his virginity, so help him god, and he's going to lose it to one Harry Potter. Why? Because of his big cock, his status as The Top Five Quidditch Players in England, and Witch Weekly's Most-Eligible Bachelor for eight years straight. At least that's what he tells himself. Too bad first times rarely go as one plans, and now Harry is looking miserable and Draco doesn’t understand why. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Lost Boys by Dahlia_Rose_83 Rated: Explicit Words: 32278 Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Party Games, Secret Relationship, Falling In Love, First Time, Smut, Clueless Harry, Insecure Draco, Helpful Luna, Oral Sex, Anal Sex,Top Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter Summary: On his way to meet Voldemort in the forbidden forest, Harry ran into Draco, who kissed him. Now they're both back at Hogwarts for their eighth year and he doesn't really know how to act towards the blond. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Wings on Fire by CapricornBookworm Rated: Explicit Words: 1938 Tags: Coming Out, Enemies to Lovers, Banter, Clubbing, Dancing, Semi-Public Sex, Kissing, Grinding, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Rimming, Bottom Harry Potter, Top Draco Malfoy, Morning After, Virgin Harry Potter, First Time, Wizarding Media, Idiots in Love Summary: Harry was sick of being everyone’s angel, the 'golden boy,' the Chosen One. And if he was going to go out of favor, he was going to go out flaming. ❤️ Read on AO3

#first time #smut #drarry #drarry recs #game of drarry #wizards hearts #wh masterlist

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i-am-bitterly-jittery · 3 years

Text

Simply Meant To Be (pt 2)

[Part 1]

You don’t need to read part 1 to read this one since that one is Roman backstory and this one is Janus backstory

Rating: teen

Word Count: 3456

Pairings: Remile, Moxiety kinda (they’re kids, but they’re soulmates so I guess it’s future moxiety), Roceit but only at the very end

Warnings: religion, religious cults, religious guilt, child abuse, internalized homophobia, childhood trauma, stalking, threats of kidnapping, throwing up, psychological warfare (?), paranoia, swearing

I think that’s everything

It’s worse than you’d expect after the first part, but not quite as bad as the warnings make it sound, but if any of the warnings make you uncomfortable then feel free to skip this part

I started with some religious stuff right off the bat, so I put the entire fic below the cut

~~~START~~~

When Janus was growing up, he was taught that the colorblindness that everyone was born with was a test from God. God created a beautiful world full of wonderful colors, then gave man the ability to view only a fraction of this beauty. The wicked ones searched selfishly for ways to see even more, but the humble ones were grateful for what little beauty they were given.

Soulmates were frowned upon in the Community. Janus was taught from a young age that soulmates were a trick, sent by Satan to lead people away from God. Even those who met their soulmates by accident were expelled from the Community.

As such, Janus never expected to see color — for a while he’d even dreaded the mere thought of it — so he taught himself to discern between shades of gray. He was very good at it, almost to the point that someone who could see color would be fooled into thinking Janus could too.

The Elders were not very pleased with this skill, and the Community as a whole was torn as to whether it was a sin or not. They said it was a reflection of his desire to see colors, of his desire to stray from God.

So Janus repented. He begged forgiveness and promised to abandon his skill. He was devoted to God and only God.

That was a lie of course, Janus prided himself on his ability to discern shades of gray, but he didn’t see why that had to be mutually exclusive to being devoted to God.

Pride was a sin, and so was lying, but they were lesser sins to the Community than soulmates and colors. God would forgive him.

He lived in the Community for twenty years, rarely leaving the town and when he did it was only for a few hours.

He carries a lot of baggage from those twenty years, but he’s doing his best to shoulder it, to not let it affect his relationships with those around him, to not let any of the Community’s teachings hurt his son.

Sometimes the little voice in the back of his head told him he was being selfish. Janus always silenced this voice with one thought: there’s nothing wrong with a little selfishness.

Janus started going to gay bars on Saturday nights to feed his selfishness. He was never looking for anything, he had a young son at home after all, but one time, he kissed a man — he threw up in the bathroom afterwards, but he still counted it as a victory.

There was a teenager that lived in the apartment next to Janus and Virgil’s first home outside the Community, and they were always willing to watch Virgil for a few hours, even if Janus couldn’t afford to pay them much. Elliot was Janus’ first friend outside of the Community, probably his first real friend ever.

Janus hit Virgil once. Virgil was about two and a half at the time, and he’d proudly told Janus that his favorite color was magenta — after the dog on Blue’s Clues — and Janus hadn’t even thought, he’d just slapped his own son across the face. In the Community, a slap on the face would be the least of a child’s concerns after saying such a thing, but this wasn’t the Community, and Janus was trying to be better than them. He’d been completely consumed by guilt before the tears even began forming in Virgil’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry baby!” Janus apologized, pulling Virgil in for a tight hug and rocking back and forth in a soothing motion. Virgil easily accepted the hug, and that only made Janus feel worse. Virgil trusted him completely, and he’d betrayed that trust. Janus was going to be better; he was going to do better. He was never going to hurt Virgil again. “I’m so sorry darling. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was all my fault; I shouldn’t have done that. I did a very bad thing, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay daddy. I forgive you.” Janus’ heart broke even more; he didn’t deserve forgiveness. He didn’t deserve this child.

After Virgil went to bed that night, Janus searched the internet for therapists. Doctor Emile Picani came highly recommended, and after a brief email exchange, they agreed to help Janus, even though he couldn’t afford their usual rate.

Picani was an… interesting character. They made several strange statements then told him that they were references to cartoons that Janus had never even heard of. TVs in the Community weren’t for children to use, and Virgil was only two, he mostly just watched Blue’s Clues, Dora the Explorer, and Sesame Street. After telling Picani that, they changed their references accordingly, telling Janus that they had their own two-year-old at home, and they were more than familiar with the kind of shows Virgil was watching.

Picani didn’t think Janus was a bad person, which was a foreign thought for Janus, who was certain that he was going straight to Hell. They were good at finding ways to make the little voice in Janus’ head shut up. It took Janus a while to believe him, but it got a little easier every week.

Over the years, Emile became his friend, and Janus was grateful to have them every day.

Emile was the one who insisted that Janus let them throw a birthday party for Virgil’s 5th birthday. Birthday parties hadn’t been a thing in the Community, and even after he left, Janus mostly just celebrated Virgil’s birthday by getting him new clothes, a whole party was a completely foreign idea.

But Janus had said yes and agreed to bring Virgil over to Emile’s place the following Saturday. The party, he’d been told, would just be Emile, Emile’s husband Remy, and their son Patton. That was good, neither Janus nor Virgil were very good in crowds.

Of course, whether there was a crowd or not hardly mattered when Virgil had met Patton and informed Janus that “everything is prettier now!”, Janus had a panic attack either way.

Virgil can see colors! That isn’t allowed, they’ll take him away! He’s only five he needs me! They won’t let me keep him! This is all wrong!

“-five, six, seven. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Good. Are you with me, Jan?”

“Yes,” Janus croaked. He was in a different room now, with only Emile. Virgil was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Virgil!?”

“Breath, Janus. Virgil is in the living room with Remy and Patton. Remy is teaching them all the different colors.”

“They’re going to take him away!”

“No one’s going to take him away. There is absolutely nothing wrong with him meeting his soulmate. Everything is going to be okay.”

“I don’t want to lose him.”

“You’re not going to lose him. You’re not in the Community, there’s no reason anyone will take him away.”

“I’m sorry,” Janus apologized, wiping at his tears. “I probably scared the kids.”

“Would you like a hug?” Janus nodded. That was one of the nice things about being friends with Emile, they gave great hugs and gave them freely. “Virgil was a little concerned about you, but Patton didn’t notice. Remy’s with them now, they’re okay. Do you want to go join them?”

“Not yet.”

“Alright.” Emile allowed them to sit in silence for a while before speaking up again. “I’m proud of you.”

“Why?” Janus asked miserably.

“Your son met his soulmate and you didn’t respond with anger, you didn’t repeat any of the Community’s teachings, it’s a big step for you.”

“It doesn't feel like a big step.”

“Well it is.” And that was that.

Ten minutes later Janus was feeling up to joining the others. Virgil climbed into Janus’s lap as soon as he sat down, and having his son in his arms did wonders as far as calming himself down went.

“This is my source material!” Virgil informed Patton and Remy happily. Patton accepted that information easily, but Remy shot Janus a bemused look.

Janus shrugged in return. As soon as Virgil had started getting anywhere near being able to speak, Elliot started teaching him weird phrases in the hope that Virgil’s first word would be strange, some of them stuck.

Virgil started babbling after that, telling Janus about how ‘Mr. Remy’ was teaching him about colors and soulmates. Internally, Janus was grateful that someone else had given Virgil the soulmate talk, someone who hadn’t grown up with a cynical and toxic view of soulmates.

Other than the hiccup at the beginning, Virgil’s birthday party went pretty well. Patton was a very nice boy — though he’d have to be considering he was Emile’s kid — and Janus truly couldn’t have picked a better soulmate for Virgil if he tried. Patton seemed to have an absurd amount of emotional intelligence for a not-yet five-year-old, and when Virgil starts fatiguing towards the end of the night, Patton’s energy level changes appropriately.

Janus headed home that night with a sleeping child, two new stuffed animals — one of Blue and one of Magenta — a box of Playdough, a Sesame Street coloring book with crayons — a last minute addition thrown in because of Virgil’s newfound colors — and newfound sense of peace. His son met his soulmate and nothing bad had happened.

Play dates became a regular thing, and Janus was glad his son would already have one friend going into kindergarten in the fall. One of the kids’ favorite things to do during play dates was painting, and as a result, Janus found himself using his skill to baffle Remy with his ability to paint everything the correct color, even when Remy tried to trick him. Painting, however, was not particularly fun to Janus in and of itself, and wasn’t something he partook in when he and Virgil were at home.

Remy was actually the one to suggest a different medium for Janus: makeup. Remy even allowed Janus to use him as a canvas, and Janus’ skills on a living canvas soon flourished. Often he would sit down to practice on Remy, and Virgil and Patton would do the same with Emile. Janus’ work would of course look a lot better in the end, but Emile vehemently claimed to love both looks equally.

Eventually Janus started a YouTube channel dedicated to makeup tutorials. He always used Remy or Emile as models, appearing himself with contacts and half his face painted to look like a snake, hoping that was enough to obscure his identity in case anyone in the Community ever came across his channel.

His channel became fairly popular, not enough for Janus to make a living from that alone, but he did make enough from the channel for it to pay for itself. He could afford better makeup brands, which meant he could make cooler designs, which made his channel more popular. It was going well.

Until his mother showed up on his doorstep one day, nearly a decade since he’d last seen her.

“Janus.”

“Mother.” He didn’t have anything to say to her. Not a thing. Ten years and he hadn’t once felt the need to reach out to her.

“When are you going to stop this silly game and come home, Janus? We miss you, and this is no environment to raise Virgil in.” She gestured to Janus’ apartment, and Janus’ blood began to boil.

“Well excuse me for not meeting your standards, mother, but as I recall, it wasn’t my choice to leave in the first place!”

“If this is about Emmaline-”

“It’s not just about Emmaline! Virgil and I are perfectly happy where we are, and I’m not about to go exposing him to your toxic-”

“TOXIC!? Janus Lysander Hadley you take that back this instant! I will not have you speaking about our faith that way!”

“It’s not my faith, mother, it’s yours, and it has no place in my home!”

He should have been expecting the slap, it was a common way for his mother to respond to anyone disagreeing with her, but it had been so long, the sharp sting on his cheek came as a complete surprise.

“Step aside, Janus, I’m taking Virgil home whether you’re coming or not. You’re clearly not fit to raise a child.”

Her trying to push past Janus and into his apartment shook Janus out of his shocked stupor and he blocked her advance.

“You’ve never been fit to raise a child in your life!” He hissed, pushing her away from the door. “Now kindly fuck off, mother, you aren’t welcome here!”

He slammed the door on her shocked face, and quickly locked the door, locked the deadbolt, and slid the door chain in place. As soon as the door was thoroughly locked, his mother started pounding on the door, the gravity of the situation sunk in, and his panic started mounting.

His mother found him. She knew where he lived. She wanted to take Virgil from him. He yelled at his mother. She knew where he lived. He made her angry. She wanted to take Virgil from him. She knew where he lived!

“Sperm donor?”

His son’s voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. Virgil was peeking out from behind the partition for the living room, where he wouldn’t have been visible from the door. He was clearly scared, because of course he was, his father had just had a screaming match with a woman he probably didn’t recognize outside their apartment, and said woman was proceeding to yelling abuse through the apartment door. It had to have more than a little unsettling for the ten-year-old.

“It’s okay, mini me, everything’s going to be fine.” Janus crossed the room to pull his son into a hug. Virgil latched on to him immediately, shaking from stress.

“I don’t want to go with her,” Virgil mumbled into Janus’s sweater. “She’s mean.”

“You don’t have to.” Janus tightened his arms around his son protectively. “You’re staying with me.”

Janus’ mother stopped pounding on the door eventually — presumably because one of the neighbors either threatened to call the police, or actually called the police — but Janus and Virgil’s nerves were both shot for the rest of the day, and they both ended up spending the night at the Picanis’.

Janus didn’t see hide nor hair of his mother for weeks after the incident, but his paranoia levels were through the roof. He wouldn’t let Virgil be home alone anymore, instead having him go home with Patton after school, staying at the Picanis’ until Janus could pick him up. Every day when he got home he would search their apartment for anything out of place that would suggest that someone broke in, he even went as far as constructing minor booby traps for anyone who tried to root around through their things.

“Janus — I’m saying this as your friend, and as a mental health professional — I’m concerned about you,” Emile told him one day when he came to pick up Virgil from their house. “You’ve been on edge for weeks, it’s not healthy, for you or for Virgil. He told me he’s been having nightmares, you know.”

“I know, I know! But I don’t know what to do!” Janus stressed, he was dangerously close to his breaking point, but he didn’t know how to stop it.

“Have you considered moving?” Emile asked gently. “It’s clear you don’t feel safe here, maybe putting some more distance between you and your parents will ease your distress.”

“I can’t move; you guys live here. I can’t just take Virgil away from Patton, he’d be devastated.”

“I’m not saying move to Antarctica and become a hermit, we can visit, and Patton and Virgil can Skype. Yeah, it’ll be hard and both of them, but this is hard on them too. Janus, I think it’s important for you to feel safe in your own home, and you obviously don’t.”

“I don’t know…”

But a week later, Janus would be pushed over the edge.

He came home from work — thankfully before picking Virgil up — to find his apartment door wide open. Cautiously, he searched the apartment for any intruders, but after twenty minutes he was confident that no one was around.

There were a few things missing, mostly all of Virgil’s crayons and colored pencils, as well as his coloring books and some of the drawings he’d made that Janus had put on the fridge. There were also a few photos of Janus and Virgil missing from their frames, and a tile with Virgil’s baby handprint missing from the kitchen. And three of Janus’ booby traps had been sprung telling him that whomever broke into his apartment — presumably his mother — had opened the hall closet, the cabinet next to the fridge, and the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.

As if that was bad enough, there, in plain sight on the dining room table was a copy of the Community’s version of the Bible.

“We have to move.” Janus wasn’t sure how he ended up at the Picanis’; everything after finding the bible had been a panicked blur. All he knew was that he couldn’t stay at that apartment anymore.

Moving was hard. Virgil didn’t like it, but he was afraid of their apartment too, and if Janus and Virgil just moved in with the Picanis — which Remy had suggested — then Janus’ parents would just start terrorizing them too, and Janus couldn’t have that. No, it was better that he and Virgil move away, not just to a new apartment, but to a new city, a new state even! Somewhere his parents wouldn’t find him or Virgil.

They ended up moving to Florida, halfway across the country. Remy had a cousin in Florida, one that he swore up and down that Janus would love, and moving somewhere where he sort of knew someone was better than starting over from scratch a second time.

Remy and Patton came with them to help them move and to allow Patton and Virgil to spend as much time together as they could. Emile stayed behind since they couldn’t reschedule all their appointments on such short notice. Emile did suggest a new therapist near Janus’ new home, and included a suggestion for Virgil too.

Having Remy around for the moving process was good because he was able to parcel things out in ways that didn’t make Janus feel overwhelmed with the amount of work that went into moving. Having Patton around for the moving process was good because when all Virgil could see were negatives, Patton pointed out the positives and had a way of making Virgil begrudgingly agree to them.

Part of the moving process was for Janus to change his and Virgil’s name in the hopes of throwing his parents off their scent. Since Virgil was taking the move so hard, Janus let him pick their new last name to make him feel better. Of course Virgil was beginning to enter his emo-pre-teen-angst phase, so he picked a name that was edgy and extra: Storm.

Janus Storm.

He sounded like a supervillain, but it made Virgil happy, and he could never resist anything that made Virgil happy.

Before Remy and Patton went home, Remy introduced Janus and Virgil to his cousin: Thomas Sanders. Thomas owned a theater in town, and offered to let Janus use him as a model for his YouTube videos. He was alright; Virgil seemed to like him well enough, and Janus trusted Virgil’s instincts on these kinds of things.

It was a teary goodbye when Remy and Patton went home, and Virgil refused to speak for the rest of the day, but once their plane touched down, Patton called on Remy’s phone, so maybe the distance wouldn’t be too bad.

The Picanis came to visit for Virgil’s eleventh birthday since it occurred during Patton’s winter break. They ended up staying for almost a week.

Almost a year after Janus and Virgil moved to Florida, Thomas called Janus to tell him that the makeup artist at his theater quit, and that the job was Janus’ if he wanted it.

Taking that job turned out to be the best decision of his life.

“I’m Roman.”

The moment Janus had been dreading since he was a child was finally happening. The moment Janus had learned to be cautiously optimistic about was finally happening.

Slowly, as though someone were carefully turning up the volume on a speaker, the monochrome world around Janus began to change, and he finally understood what Virgil meant by ‘everything is prettier’, because it was. It was wonderful and terrifying all at once.

“Janus.”

~~~END~~~

Janus’ backstory wasn’t supposed to be quite this angsty but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ here we are. It’s probably never going to get this heavy again

Let me know if I forgot to tag anything or put anything in the warnings

taglist:

@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple @northlight14 @mistythegenderqueermess @bluerosesbleedred @sevencrashing @awkwardjester @everythingisstardust

400 followers!! Thank you all 💜💜💜

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