#and the entire time i was gone too she wouldn’t stop texting me demanding to know when ill be back even though i told her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

subspencer · 3 years

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the to-do list

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is worried that she’s not adventurous enough in bed. So, she makes a secret checklist of things to try with Spencer. Based on this request.

Category: Smut, 18+ ONLY, minors dni

Warnings/Includes: switch!Spencer, (sort of?) corruption kink, exhibitionism, mile high club, brief description of oral, unprotected sex, creampie, brief mentions of other stuff but no descriptions

Word Count: 3k

Spencer’s girlfriend has a secret checklist. It could be called a bucket list, of some sort, but really all of the items on it pertain to sexual acts to perform with Spencer, on Spencer, or in front of Spencer. So checklist is a more appropriate term.

The list came into existence after a girl’s night game of Never Have I Ever, in which she discovered there was an embarrassing number of things she’d never done. Some of them seemed nearly impossible to have gone twenty-something years without doing, especially when in a committed relationship. That was made abundantly clear to her when the girls pointed it out, teasing her — and by association, Spencer — for being more than vanilla.

There was no real reason she hadn’t tried those certain things — she wasn’t adverse to the idea of most of them at all. Really, it was just that she never bothered to dip her toes beyond what was familiar.

When Emily, Penelope, and Tara had nearly all ten of their fingers down after a couple rounds, she finally realized she might’ve been coming up short in the sex department. She figured it was about time to find out what she’s missing, so she made a list of everything she needed to try. And one by one, she and Spencer checked the items off.

One of the more simple things on the list, and perhaps her favorite, was giving her first blowjob. It wasn’t something she felt compelled to try with any of the guys she’s been with before, and Spencer, though he was very curious about it, was too much of a gentleman to ask for one.

So when she asked him to sit on the edge of his bed and dropped to her knees in front of him, he didn’t stop to ask questions. His mind went blank the second her fingers undid his zipper. It was Spencer’s first, too, and his fingers knotted in her hair as she took him in as deep as she could, hollowing her cheeks around his cock and swirling her tongue as her head bobbed up and down. Spencer always made pretty sounds in bed, but in this instance she envied his memory because she wished she could replay his moans and gasps from that first blowjob all over again in her mind.

Another favorite was allowing the favor to be reciprocated until completion. She figured she might just be someone who couldn’t get off from oral, because though she always welcomed Spencer to go down, she got impatient every time and pulled his head up by his hair, demanding him to fuck her already. Spencer was one to oblige every request, but he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t overjoyed when one time she never stopped him short.

There were no interruptions, no hands shoving his face away from its rightful place against her, just increasing moans and shaking legs as Spencer was encouraged to give more. She can still remember the half-moon shapes his nails left on her thighs from where he had to grip them so tightly as she rode out her high. And she definitely remembers the almost feral look in his eyes after, because since that first time he insists on doing it again nearly every day.

There were more or less a dozen other items that slowly but surely got ticked off the list.

Handcuffs in the bedroom — fun, but perhaps better saved for special occasions. Or if Spencer was being extra good and deserved a treat.

Various new positions — a reminder to stretch more. And that sixty-nine is not as easy as it sounds on paper.

She let Spencer put a blindfold on her — it was decided they both prefer it more when the blindfold is on him. It keeps him guessing.

Spanking — both of them like this one, either giving or receiving. Surprisingly, she thinks she might like receiving it a little more, and Spencer is always excited to give.

Shower sex — a bit of a logistical nightmare, yet still a weekly staple. It’s slippery, yes, but it’s also relaxing and intimate. And Spencer just enjoys putting his hands on her wet, soapy body.

Sending dirty texts — great, but Spencer prefers taking nude polaroids of her instead. He keeps a few in his wallet for easy access. And because he knows Garcia can’t hack his wallet and find them.

And there were more items that went in the same tune until there was just one left. The one she was most nervous to attempt.

She wondered if joining the mile high club was better or worse if it was on the BAU jet. They’d have ample opportunities to do it, but they’d also be surrounded by their colleagues, and there is no coming back from getting caught.

But the main challenge was convincing Spencer to do it in the first place.

The initial plan of attack was to drop some “subtle” hints. She brought it up for the first time one night in their shared hotel room, right after Spencer fucked her against the bathroom counter, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“We could totally do that in the jet bathroom.”

“Yeah, I guess the basics are the same. Cramped space and a ledge to lean on.” Spencer was completely aloof as he picked up the scattered articles of clothing from the floor, rattling off about the size and dimensions of the airplane bathroom and missing the entire point of the comment.

She mentioned it again a little later, hoping the repetition may help him catch the drift.

“What’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?” she asked, completely catching him off guard as he ate a breakfast of frosted flakes in his kitchen.

“Um.. I don’t know? You tell me,” he shrugged, knowing that whatever the craziest place was, it was definitely with her.

“What about doing it on the jet?” It couldn’t get more obvious.

“We haven’t done that, silly. OH! I’m gonna say it was in my car,” he nodded with a wide grin, confident in his answer that unfortunately brushed past the proposition far too quickly.

It was time to change methods.

The new plan was to see if she could get him turned on enough on the jet to motivate him to do something about it right then and there. It seemed easy enough.

She sat next to him on the small couch, as she always did, and cuddled up to his side as he read his book.

Once everyone was distracted, she snaked a hand onto his thigh, allowing it to rest there long enough for Spencer to get over his initial shock and relax into her touch. As soon as he let his guard down, she moved her hand up another inch or two, watching him squirm again as he fought his mind from wandering. She repeated that cycle every five minutes until it drove him insane, his willpower diminishing in tandem with the proximity of her hand.

When everyone finally fell asleep, she craned her head to press small kisses on his neck, alternating between quick pecks and lingering ones, sucking warm and wet little flecks onto his skin that drew soft sighs without fail.

“What are you doing?” his breath was raspy and low as he muttered into her ear.

“Nothing.” She kept her tone innocent and sweet as she continued to sprinkle the teasing kisses across the column of his throat.

Her hand finally found its way directly on top of the bulge straining against his slacks and gave it a gentle squeeze. Spencer grinded himself into her palm, desperate to feel some friction, his jaw slacked and pupils wide. She dragged a thumb across his length, stopping to rub slow circles over the sensitive tip, drawing out a wet spot at the front of his trousers.

But even with his skin flushed red and his cock leaking and half-near orgasm, Spencer still found the restraint to stop her from jerking him off right on the jet and ripped her hand away, placing it in her lap as if the action could permanently force her to keep her hands to herself.

“I can’t go to the crime scene with cum in my pants,” he hissed, squeezing her wrist tighter.

She smirked at the opportunity, wrapping her warm lips around his ear lobe and tugging with her teeth before whispering with hot breath. “Then put it in me.”

For a second she saw him consider it. His eyes had a dark cast, gaze flickering between her eyes and lips as he swallowed the thick lump in his throat. But then Emily woke up and it was yet another failed attempt.

She resigned to the fact that it just wouldn’t happen, and that the item might remain unchecked on the secret list. So she cleared the idea from her mind, not wanting to keep pushing Spencer toward something he clearly didn’t have an interest in, or to keep embarrassing herself by trying.

And then a couple weeks later, as the team wrapped another case up, she came back to their hotel room to find Spencer sitting on the bed, facing away from the door.

“Hey, baby,” she greeted. When Spencer didn’t respond, she crawled onto the bed behind him, placing both hands on his shoulders and attacking the side of his face with kisses, giggling into his messy curls. “I said hey.”

Still nothing. Her eyes followed his line of sight down to his hands and went wide with realization.

“Spencer, where did you get that!?” She tried to snatch the crumpled piece of paper from him, but he was too quick to pull it away.

“I was looking for gum in your purse,” he explained, reading the sheet over again in complete amusement, “but I found something better.”

Spencer was much too excited about it, bordering on smug, and she rolled off the bed away from him in annoyance.

“Is this what I think it is?” She remained silent, suddenly feeling very insecure about the note. “Did you... did you make a list of things to do in bed?”

“You weren’t supposed to see that, it’s so stupid.”

“Hey, who said it’s stupid?” He tugged on her fingers, pulling her back onto the bed next to him. “I just wanna know where it came from.”

“Well... when I went out with the girls, we started talking about all the things we’ve done…” she paused to see if Spencer could guess where this was going, and of course he didn’t, “... in bed. And I hadn’t even done half of what they have, so I wrote some of them down. I — I wanted to try them with you.”

“So you… you’ve never done these with anyone else?” Spencer’s eyes widened as he pieced the puzzle together. He looked down again at the discarded sheet laying on pillows, his pride swelling at how long the list was. “I’m the first?”

She nodded in assent and no sooner was Spencer pushing her back flat against the mattress, settling his body on top of hers.

“God, that’s so hot,” he spoke into her neck as he sucked purple bruises into it, allowing his hands to roam freely under her shirt. His nimble fingers made quick work of her bra clasp, pulling the hem of the top up to attach his lips to her exposed nipple. He rolled the other in his fingers, tugging gently as she arched into his touch, rolling her hips up to grind against his. He groaned and pushed back, nestling himself perfectly between her legs.

Suddenly his motions halted and he popped his head up, looking at her with wide eyes and freshly ruffled hair. “We haven’t finished the list yet!”

“I — I didn’t think you were interested in the last one.”

“If my girlfriend makes a list of ways she wants to fuck me, I’m interested.”

A devilish grin took over her face. “Well, we fly home tomorrow.”

And true to the plan, they arrived on the jet the next day with at least a vague sense of strategy: wait until everyone is asleep then go at it in the bathroom. It wasn’t the most elaborate of plans, but there wasn’t much else to think of.

Except for the possibility that the others might not go to sleep.

The flight was already halfway through its journey and everyone was still wide awake, and Spencer was growing incredibly impatient. Perhaps even more than his girlfriend, now that he knew this would be part of a long list of things he got to be her first for.

That fact seemed to encourage him, the thrill of forever being her first at something. Never mind that she’d be his firsts, too.

Spencer’s not stupid, he knows that bending her over the bathroom counter while everyone is awake to hear it is a horrible idea. But his willpower doesn’t extend far enough to stop him from dropping his hand to her exposed knee, rubbing it softly just to be able to touch her. It seemed innocent enough in case anyone might see.

He kept his eyes on the open book he was pretending to read as his fingers traced the inside of her thigh, pushing up the hem of her skirt ever so slightly.

He inched his hand up and slowly spread his long fingers apart until they covered the length of her inner thigh. The tips stopping just below her cunt, delicately tracing lines back and forth parallel to the seam of her underwear.

And she quickly discovers there’s no taste worse than your own medicine. There was gentle brushes and concealed touches, all the things that she did to him. But where Spencer would’ve stopped her teasing before it got too far, she wouldn’t have done the same.

She covered up his hands by bringing her own down to her lap, silently encouraging him to continue unseen.

Spencer looked down at her through his thick lashes, bottom lip stuck between his teeth. Looking for more confirmation that she wanted this. The answer came in the form of her shifting subtly down the seat, pressing her clothed pussy firmly against his hand.

His cock twitched against the confines of his slacks when he felt the damp patch on the fabric. His knuckles brushed against her clit and her knees clamped shut, holding him in place as she brought her lips close to his ear to let him hear her soft whines.

He has to put his book over his lap to cover how hard he is, and it almost makes him regret starting this game. Almost.

Because just as she starts desperately grinding against his hand, squirming for more friction, he notices that everyone’s asleep. And then it’s a race to the bathroom, Spencer positioning her directly in front of him to cover his bulge as they stand up.

Their mouths are on each other before the door even closes, her hands wasting little time in going for his zipper. Both desperate to have each other after all the anticipation. She immediately perched herself on the countertop, spreading her legs wide so Spencer could fit in between them, just like in that hotel room. A confused whine fell from her mouth when he lifted her off from the ledge, interrupting her plan.

“No. Like this,” he growled, turning her around and pushing her hips against the edge of the counter, bending her over it. She muttered a “Fuck,” under her breath as he pressed his cock against her backside, knowing he preferred this angle because he could get deeper.

His lips trailed down her neck as he tugged the skirt up to her hips and pulled her panties to the side, running his cock along her folds to gather the wetness that had been pooling there.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet.”

He quickly inserted his thumb into her mouth to stop any sounds from escaping before lining himself up. Her moans vibrated against the digit as he slowly pushed in, stretching her out and letting her adjust before starting to move. Slowly and deliberately, at first, then quickly gaining speed.

She pushed her hips back to meet his thrusts until he pinned them against the ledge with his own, holding them still so he could set his pace faster.

The hand that was resting on her waist came up to her chest, groping at the flesh over her blouse. Her spine arched into his palm, bending forward to give him more leverage to get deeper to that spot inside her repeatedly.

He alternated between a few quick thrusts followed by a deep one, holding himself there for a moment before repeating.

Her cunt tightened around him as he held still against her, applying firm pressure to her spot with the head of his cock.

“Fuck, do that again, please,” he grunted against her neck, pushing his hips into her ass with bruising force to get impossibly closer. A loud whine nearly escaped her lips as he did so, the motion sending her over the edge.

She sucked harder around his thumb, using it to keep her cries at bay as she reached her climax. Her walls fluttered around him as she did, giving him exactly what he needed.

“Remember what you said before, baby?” he hummed in her ear, “Do you still want me to cum inside you?”

“Please.”

Immediately his thrusts became erratic, hips snapping forward a handful of times before he spilled into her in hot spurts, biting down on her shoulder to stifle his moan as he came.

Still heaving from the comedown, he pulled her panties back on, using the fabric to keep his cum from spilling out.

She turned to feverishly attach her lips to his, panting into the open mouthed kiss. When they finally broke apart, both looked completely wrecked with swollen lips, flushed skin, bruised necks. Still, they tried their best to fix themselves, straightening out their rustled clothes and smoothing knotted hair.

Before Spencer turned the door handle, he pulled her side into him, pressing a kiss onto her forehead. “We should make another list.”

taglist: @suburban--gothic @ssa-sarahsunshine @mercy-burning @reidspurple @mediocre-writer @honeyboysteezy @ssa-m-187 @calm-and-doctor @drayshadow @s1utformgg @you-sunshine @altsvu @reidtheprettyboy @goose-eats-god @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @muffin-cup @amoeebaa @reidingmelodies

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r0und3bitch · 2 years

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Twin Flames❤️‍🔥: Part 4.5 - Invisible String

Series Masterlist

Warnings: abuse, mentions of drinking, swearing, volatile short temper Rafe, LOTS OF CRYING

Word Count: 3k

Notes: So this one is a little bit VERYYYYY sentimental to share….This is the first piece of writing I ever wrote. Not all of it, but about 75/80% of what’s below has been written since August 🥺 Before Twin Flames was even a thought in my head. Before I even had an inkling what the fuck it was even about. Before I knew I even wanted to really start “writing” at all. Truly crazy that I’m even sharing this with you all. This is where it all began. This is what started it all and grew to an entire fucking story. Kind of tugging at my heartstrings. Life has thrown a lot of challenges the past several months but if there’s one thing I’m proud of it’s completely diving headfirst into something that’s let me feel as free as this has. Enough of my emotional bullshit, I present to you: the beginning, the spark that lit Twin Flames ❤️‍🔥

P.S - quite literally, this song (along with one other - I’m sure most of you can guess which one) is the inspiration for the entire plot line of TF 🖤🤍

That next morning was one of the most notorious hangovers ever - of a lifetime - as you all attempted to piece yourselves back together…

You’d spent most of the day at Tanneyhill, sobering up as Sarah came to terms with the events of the night prior, slowly at first before having a complete (and well deserved) breakdown.

For the first hour or two she wouldn’t even hear you, not a single word as her face remained glazed over, face puffy with tears. When she did finally start to talk, none of her words made sense, coming out yelling and jumbled until she totally lost it. You let her cry wrapped up in your arms, hearing her sobs slowly turn to snores as you both drifted off to sleep…

Meanwhile, Rafe barely had time to nurse his hangover before he received a text from his father, demanding he meet him at the Island Club immediately.

When he did show up, he could already tell from a mile away his father was in no mood.

Unfortunately for Rafe, in his lackadaisical hungover state, he’d completely forgotten about the open wounds on his knuckles, about the cuts and dried blood adorning his right hand.

The second Ward sees it, he’s thankful they’re down the deserted club hallway so that he can push his son violently against the wall as he grabs his wrist.

“Rough night?!”

“Dad, I–”

The sting on his cheek, while entirely too familiar, still takes Rafe by surprise, knocking the wind out of him as he feels the intense burn slowly take over his face.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” He screams in Rafe’s face as his stomach clenches.

Rafes definitely earned some of the past aggression from his father for his tendencies. But this….the swift quickness in which his father is now willing to lash out proves there’s more to the surface than he’s willing to tell his son.

The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Rafe knows there’s something his dads not telling him.

He goes to open his mouth and his father stops him.

“Not another fucking word.” Ward nods to his son's face and the red mark appearing there. “Oh don’t worry about it, people will just think it’s from your fight at a fucking party because you can’t –”

How does he know this already?!

“You fucking hate John B!” Rafe nearly yells at his father, only proving to be fatal for him.

“THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU GET TO ACT LIKE A PIECE OF TRASH. TO STOOP DOWN TO HIS LEVEL! Son, do you understand how embarrassing you make this family seem?! After all I’ve fucking gone through in the last year to get you back on track—”

“D-Dad…” Rafes voice chokes out.

“Enough. Go home. I don’t want to fucking look at you…”

A door slamming downstairs wakes you up with a jolt upright. Sarah is still sleeping soundlessly next to you as your curiosity gets the best of you.

You slowly creep out of Sarah’s room, quiet as to not make yourself known. As you peer down the hallway and take a few steps, you notice that Rafe’s bedroom door is cracked open by the tiniest sliver, almost as if the hinge didn’t click as it was closed.

Nervous he was behind the noise you’d heard, you slowly creep over until you’re standing right in front of his bedroom door.

“Rafe…?”

Silence.

You chew your lip for a second, unsure what to do before taking a deep breath and bringing your finger up to knock, the motion bringing the already ajar door nearly half open.

You panic, unsure what to do as you hear him on the other side. Slowly, you push the door fully open when you see him standing near his bed.

His room and the memories associated with it float to the surface before they completely disintegrate upon taking him in.

He’s throwing on a t-shirt as you register the puffiness in his face, his red eyes, his tear stained cheeks…. And finally, the faint red mark now adorning his cheekbone that surely wasn’t there when you were peeling yourselves off each other this morning in Topper's guest bed….

“Rafe….”

When he turns to you, his eyes are truly haunted, leaving an unsettling feeling in the pit on your stomach.

His normally inviting demeanor is so closed off that it truly shocks you, terrifies you to your core.

As scared as you are, you take a step forward.

“Rafe, what happened?”

“Nothing, just had to meet my dad at the club…” he turns away as he begins to throw his clothes down on the bed, almost dismissing you.

Your mouth is fully hanging open. His dad. His face….

Your voice is soft as it comes out, your hand reaching up to gently grab his arm.

“Rafe, I –”

The second your fingers wrap around his bicep, he snaps, flinching so hard you take nearly a full step back from him as he throws his hands up in the air almost defensively.

“Don’t! Okay, just fucking don’t! I don’t need your fucking help!”

Your stomach drops as recollections of the last few weeks in the Outer Banks flood your brain. Your whole face falters, hard - all of your features turning to fear - for a split second and when Rafe sees it happen, it literally rips his heart open.

Fuck.

He can’t mean that, you think. No, you KNOW he doesn’t mean that.

You take a deep breath, recovering quickly and as your face softens. This feeling, his words - It stings beyond belief but you know there’s some wicked battle raging in his head that’s making him lash out. Feeding that isn’t going to help either of you.

You think of the sweet boy you’ve finally discovered under that hard exterior he’s built up his whole life, of the soft side it has taken him so long to show anyone let alone you and the tremendous amount of trauma he’s likely had to sift through to allow his emotions to willingly do so. Rafe doesn’t need someone to match his energy right now and fight fire with fire. If anything his entire current state of existence is proof of its failure. His parents. His teachers. His friends. Ward. You won’t be another name on the list of people who’ve failed him time and time again. You won’t be.

Before you can even touch the surface of beginning to think of what Rafe truly deserves (and the realization in that moment that YOU want to be the one to show him) you snap yourself back to reality and the beautiful broken boy in front of you.

You know deep down this is one of those moments he needs someone to be strong for him and you absolutely refuse to let him down. You stand completely still looking dead on, eyes glued to him. Not an ounce of anger shown on your face.

His stomach drops. Is she almost….smiling?

He knows what you’re doing. Seeing you push past your hurt feelings (that HE just caused) for HIS benefit is too much for Rafes already fragile state. It's one of those genuine moments that only you are truly capable of showing him. There's already been probably dozens of similar moments between the two of you but this one blows him back the most by far. He truly doesn’t get how you can stand there so willingly because he’s more than aware he’s crossed a line. The realization of what you’re truly capable of giving him overwhelms his entire body until his insides feel hallowed out. It’s enough to nearly bring him to his knees.

Rafe, unable to handle a second more, snaps as he feels himself slowly lose it, breathing heavily as he begins pacing back and forth, his head shaking slightly.

He hears the cries come out of his mouth before he feels the tears coming down his face as he starts to break down, losing control over whatever ounce of strength was keeping him together. He puts his face in his hands, finally breaking his eyes away from your patient face. He bends back, melting down onto the couch that lines the wall with his head in his hands.

You walk over to him slowly, knowing how you handle these next few moments aren’t going to just be detrimental, they’re going to determine everything.

You can’t fail him. You can do this.

“Rafe...” You slowly reach out for him and the second your hand finally touches him he immediately melts into the front of your body.

You can see that battle in his head still raging, the hold it has on him clear as he grabs onto your sides so he can bury his face deeper into the front of you as your hands reach around his neck.

The guilt of his words and his obvious failure to deny his feelings for you is causing his head to spin, eventually consuming him. He’s not used to this feeling. There’s been dozens upon dozens of girls before this, the thought momentarily making him nauseous, as he weighs his options in his head.

His initial gut reaction with any other girl before now would’ve been to run. To just totally say fuck it and leave. Get the fuck out of there and don’t look back.

He can’t though. He can’t exactly formulate why but he knows he can’t.

Oh shit….can’t or won’t….?!

He presses his brain further, going to the deepest depths, the ugliest corners to find a way out.

Turn around out of the room and leave her. Run. What the fuck are you doing?

He wants to scream. He wants to lash out, to unleash this horrible familiar feeling bubbling up inside of him.

Deep down he knows there’s been some kind of invisible string tying you to him and it scares the shit out of him.

Part of him wants to scream so loud at you so that you’ll turn around and never look at him the same again. That’s what you SHOULD do. The words that are possible to get you to do so are already formulating in his mind, ready to deliver a harsh blow. They gather on the tip of his tongue but the second he takes one last glance up at you, the thought of speaking those harsh words into existence to your perfect face makes him nauseous.

A huge wave of guilt engulfs his entire body again causing shivers down his spine and he’s paralyzed by the intense feeling. Reality, that cruel bitch, is staring right at him. For the first time, he lets himself think the worst with you.

He can’t give you anything…. Absolutely Nothing. Nothing but exactly what this is….clipped words. Bad attitudes. A constant let down. That’s how it’s always been.

She deserves better than that.

He’s frozen in the same spot, hands still clenched to your sides, when he realizes there's also another intense emotion right under the surface of these raw feelings he can’t handle…..Hope.

There you are… standing there right in front of him.

Your hand is moving to the back of his neck and by the time he feels your fingers gently comb through his hair, the feeling consumes him. You consume him.

Hope fully erupts within him, overwhelming him far more than the twisted thoughts he was thinking seconds ago and he knows there’s absolutely no going back now. How did he ever doubt that he wouldn’t end up here, in this exact position with you from the beginning? From the very first night…

When he looks up at you again, he feels like he’s known you his whole life.

His voice cracks when he tries to speak and is more frantic than he intends but the words are just falling out of his mouth at this point, doing whatever he can in his power to take it all back.

“Y-You know that’s not fucking true. You know that, right, Y/N/N?! What I said….You have to fucking know….. Jesus Christ.”

He’s fully shaking by now, hands trembling as one of his fingers entwines in your belt loop. “I don’t want to be that person to you...”

Those words hurled back at you shake you to your core.

A few more tears involuntarily fall down his face and he’s worried he’s going to really start to lose it if he doesn’t get a grip.

He clamps his eyes shut and tightens his grip on you as he presses his forehead firmly against your stomach, shaking his head slightly. Whatever words he had previously reserved to hurl at you have all but vanished.

“I’m sorry…” the words taste odd coming out of his mouth but he can’t think of a time he’s ever meant them more in while life. “I-I didn’t mean that”. The panic in his voice still evident.

“I trust you more than anyone,Y/N.” He speaks the realization into existence for him as your name leaves his mouth, acknowledging the truth of that for the first time. “You have to know that….. by now…I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry—”

“I know. Shhh….” You say softly. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, Rafe.”

You stay like that for a minute as Rafe slowly calms down with each passing second. One of your hands is still around his neck, the other is now entwined with one of his as it rests on your hip. You didn’t even realize you had grabbed it…

As you stare down at your entwined hands a small chuckle leaves your lips as you feel that stupid smile inevitably creep up. Rafe looks up to see your smile twist into a quick smirk that makes his heart jolt.

“What?”

Your gaze is still shifted down thoughtfully at your entwined hands.

Is she…blushing?!

“We’ve never held hands…”

Rafe feels his own cheeks start to burn.

“Well…. That’s not entirely true…”

“What do you mean?”

It’s silent for a few seconds and he doesn’t look at you right away.

“Well…..” he wonders how much of his thoughts he should openly share before saying fuck it - before he can overthink. “There's the time last month when he took that day trip to Topper's family’s lake house. I had to help you jump from the dock onto the boat and you fumbled a bit…

You laugh remembering the memory he’s recalling. He’s being entirely too nice. In reality, you’d nearly fucking ate shit and gone tumbling into the water if Rafe hadn’t grabbed you at the last second.

He hesitates briefly but you can tell he wants to say more. You wait patiently and after another moment or two he continues, looking up at you.

“There’s also the time when we danced together after like 5 Mai Tais to that Al Green song at Zach’s charity dinner at the beginning of summer…”

You blush hard at that one, remembering the swiftness in which he whirled you around, how absolutely heavenly it felt to be flush against his back like that…

Your heart flutters both at the memory and at how easily he’s pulling his own recollections to the surface. You and Rafe had laughed so hard dancing, huge grins plastered on both your drunk faces, in your own little world.

The look on Rafes face the moment that song had stopped playing, that inevitable stray strand of hair falling into his beautiful sweat glistened face as the light hit him just perfectly, blue orbs locked into yours instantly putting you in a trance, had been permanently burned into your memory since.

Had he thought a lot about these simple, easily glanced over moments, too?

You realize the energy in the room and between the two of you has totally shifted again. The air around you is so calm but your heart is suddenly racing.

As he continues to give you these “hidden” memories, you act on pure instinct alone. Without putting any thought into it you slowly slide down over him still holding his hand so that you’re straddling him on the couch. He lets out a shaky breath as your eyes bore into his.

“And….if we’re counting it……” his voice is so low and thick with emotion while he mentally and physically adjusts to you sitting over him, his thoughts going wild as he moves his head ever so slightly towards you.

“A few weeks ago when you passed out after a whole bottle of champagne at Topper’s that Sunday afternoon…I carried you to the spare bedroom –”

Your heart all but stops when you realize it’s the same exact fucking room the two of you stumbled into last night.

“-and as I went to go leave…”

Oh god….he watches as your eyes go wide. You brace yourself, remembering how quickly the champagne had gotten to you that day.

“You grabbed my hand to pull me back towards you and begged me to stay with you until you fell back asleep…”

His eyes look so gentle as he says it and you feel a wave of heat burn through you again.

You know his words are the truth. You somehow KNOW he stayed in that ugly nautical themed guest room with you on that stupid twin size mattress until you fell back asleep.

A smile involuntarily forms on your lips and they’re naturally moving closer to his. Only inches apart, nearly pressed into his. He feels your breath tickle his lips as you speak the next words.

“…….oh, we’re counting it…..” you grin, closing the sliver of space between the two of you as you bring your lips crashing to his.

Later that night when you leave Tanneyhill, instead of heading home, you find yourself driving downtown, towards your fathers office.

As you pull up in front of the building, you tell yourself that you’re doing the right thing, that you’re doing this for Rafe.

You ignore that pull again, the one telling you that you’re going too far. The one screaming at you saying that there’s severe consequences to your actions, irrevocable ones that will leave you with consequences you’ll have to deal with forever.

You push all of that down as you reach for the door of the office suite, key in hand, knowing that whatever happens…whatever the outcome, no matter how fucked up it leaves you, he’s always going to be worth it.

...

Taglist: @lurkymurker @mackenzielovee @mor-bs @totallynotkaibiased @aaleksmorozova @onlygetaway @itsalexwin @tsnelf7 @starkeybae @kotzmagoatz @maybanks-cupcake @goldenjo @valentinearc

#twin flames ❤️‍🔥#rafe cameron #rafe #drew starkey #outerbanks #obx #outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #taylor swift

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mc-lukanette · 3 years

Text

It was the first day of the school year, and Marinette figured that nothing could surprise her. She'd dealt with just about everything she could think of on her first days, both good and bad (mostly bad), so she imagined that she at least wouldn't be caught off guard by anything.

Then, she opened her locker and found someone else's things inside. She blinked twice, just to make sure that she wasn't seeing things, then closed the locker door to check the number on it. Without a doubt, it was her locker, yet it was apparently being used by some mystery person.

Definitely something she hadn't experienced before, though she could think of worse things that could've happened. Still, what did it mean?

She inhaled, then let out a calm breath, not wanting to freak out over what could've just been a mistake. Keeping her things, she took them - along with her questions - off to the principal's office.

—————

"And you say that another person had already put their supplies in your locker?" Mister Damocles asked as he typed away on his computer, occasionally glancing at the sheet of paper Marinette had given him with her locker number on it.

"Yes," she replied, a little formally given that she was talking to the principal. Leaning forward in her seat, she added, "I don't want any trouble though. If they just put their stuff in the wrong locker, I'll take theirs. It's okay."

He nodded, but focused almost completely on the screen of his computer. Marinette couldn't help feeling anxious doing nothing at all, so she tried to occupy her time by looking around the room and swinging her legs back and forth.

She jumped when Mister Damocles abruptly cleared his throat, soon after his typing stopped. His expression was nervous even though he clearly tried to hide it.

"W-well, it wasn't an error exactly," he began, "you see, we... had an increase in students this year that we weren't prepared for."

"Really?" she asked, unsure but also not seeing what reason he'd have to lie to her.

"So there just weren't enough lockers for us to give one to each student. You and one of the students in Ms. Mendeleiev's class happened to be the odd ones out."

"Oh." She slumped, considering that. It seemed unnecessary to put up a fight about it, and although the idea was a little strange, the worst case scenario was the other student taking something of hers that could probably just be replaced anyway.

Satisfied enough, she stood up and approached the desk. "At least now I know. I guess I'll just have to work with it." She turned, waving as she went. "Have a nice day, Mister Damocles!"

Mister Damocles nodded and waved back at her, grinning far too wide to be genuine. It was only once the door closed and she was gone that he let himself fall onto the desk with an exhausted grunt. He hoped beyond reasonable expectation that neither student ever had a problem sharing a locker with the other and decided to bring it up with their parents.

He just had no idea how he was going to explain that Chloe Bourgeois had demanded so many lockers for herself that it caused the problem in the first place.

—————

Having returned to her locker, Marinette whispered an unheard apology to her mystery person, as she had no choice but to move their things so that she could put her own in. At the very least, she made sure things were organized so that their stuff didn't mingle.

That done, she reached into her bag, smiling as she pulled out a stack of oversized - courtesy of her tendency to ramble, even in text - sticky notes, brand new and ready for the school year. She hadn't expected to start using it so soon, but she knew from experience that classes didn't seem to go to their lockers at the same time, meaning that it'd have to be by note if she wanted to communicate.

Using her nails to tear into the protective plastic around the sticky notes, she then pulled off a single note to write on. She sat on her heels, placing her closed sketchbook on her legs and putting the sticky note on top. From her bag, she pulled out one of her fancier pens, not wanting to seem sloppy to the person sharing her locker since it wasn't like it was their fault they were sharing.

She tapped the blunt end of the pen against her chin, having to think for a moment before feeling mentally prepared enough to write.

Hey, so it seems there weren't enough lockers this year and we both have the same locker number because of it. I don't really mind, but I could maybe talk to Mr. Damocles again if it's a bother?

(by the way, I took the bottom shelf because I'd be surprised if you were shorter than me ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭, but you can have the two top ones, so I hope that makes up for it!)

Signed, 🌺

It wasn't very professional, but she hadn't intended it to be, as she wouldn't have been able to keep up such an aura for the entire school year if they ended up being okay sharing with her.

The decision to sign with a flower rather than her name was a matter of privacy; neither of them knew each other's faces yet, so it only seemed right to use something less identifying than a name. She couldn't help giggling, feeling as though it added an air of mystery to the whole thing and made her look cooler than she really was.

Putting her sketchbook and pen away, she stood up and stuck her note to the front of the top shelf, where the future recipient was sure to see it. She turned to pick up her bag, but realized belatedly that they might not have the supplies she had to write her back. Thinking quickly, she got another sticky note out, laying it along with a pencil on the middle shelf without specifically sticking them there, hoping the intent was obvious.

That done, she headed off to class, a little more bounce in her step than usual from the mixture of nerves and curiosity at the idea of getting a reply.

—————

It turned out that she hadn't had to worry at all.

Hey. I don't mind at all. You don't have to move anywhere.

(and thanks, but I feel bad for taking both shelves, so maybe we can swap every other day or something? (;´~`))

Signed, 🎵

Marinette grinned, amused by the fact that her locker buddy (as she now felt safe to call them) had signed in the same manner as her, yet their handwriting was very different. While she was more cutesy in her letters, theirs were more carefree, though she supposed that was cute in its own way.

Maybe sharing a locker would end up being fun after all.

[continuation]

#lukaneventte: No Context November #Flower Arrangement Shipping #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette #au: Locker Buddies #Locker Buddies: writing

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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.

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#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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mochegato · 3 years

Text

Even the Losers

Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

“We have a problem,” Tim grumbled as he stumbled into the dining room. He threw the morning newspaper down on the table, letting it slide the last few feet until it stopped millimeters short of Bruce’s coffee.

Bruce sputtered his eggs and grabbed the paper, staring at the picture of him speaking with Marinette and Adrien that took up the entire front page above the fold. He threw the paper back on the table. “Son of a b…”

“We’ve been getting calls from PR all morning,” Tim interrupted him before Alfred got upset with Bruce for his language. “Because they’ve been getting calls from every newspaper, news station, blog, and interested citizen in the world, calling to ask them about it.”

Tim poured himself a large cup of coffee, larger than usual. He’d had patrol last night and gotten woken up at the crack of dawn this morning with calls about the story. So he was running on all of three hours of sleep and just wanted to crawl back into bed, but with this story, there was no chance of him getting to bed until after tonight’s patrol had already left.

It didn’t help that he was beating himself up for not picking up on the cues she was giving that night. He’d run into her. He and Stephanie had talked to her. He saw her freeze up when she realized who he was. He knew she was acting off, he just hadn’t thought it was nefarious. If anything, it seemed hurt, not scared. He should have caught onto her body language. He should have noticed how she seemed to freeze when he mentioned the family. She must have thought he was fishing, letting her know he was onto her and her plan to do this.

“You’d think after all the false alarms they’ve reported in the past that they’d know better by now. Not every black haired, blue eyed child is a Wayne. I’ve had PR draft up a statement that while we appreciate her support for the orphans, she is not, in fact, a Wayne,” he finished, taking a bite of his muffin, missing Bruce’s grimace.

Damian grabbed the paper, wrinkling it in his clenched fists as he scanned the text. “She must have orchestrated the whole thing to put this out. How else would they know these details?”

“No,” Dick commented thoughtfully, prying the paper away from Damian to take a look at the picture. “If she was in on it she would have put on a better act. Look at the image. She isn’t playing into it. She looks scared, not excited to ‘introduce her fiancé to her family’.” Dick quoted. He briefly scanned the paper for more information.

All the evidence appeared to be the picture, her physical features, and some call logs to her parent’s business. Dick scrunched up his face with concern. While not damning, it was interesting. He didn’t know any reason Bruce would have to contact a bakery in Paris. “Not to mention the story would have gone out yesterday for a bigger circulation boost. Sundays are the big press days. They wouldn’t have waited until Monday. That suggests they researched, or rather stole the information. And no quotes from her in here.”

“Fine,” Damian growled, acquiescing to his logic. “Maybe she did it after the fact. She saw the opportunity and took it.”

“No,” Bruce admitted quietly. “She wouldn’t have had to do that.” The room seemed to become still as everyone turned to face him. “If she wanted this story to go out she could have put it out at any time. And she would have played up the dance, would have sought me out at the gala. But she didn’t.”

“What dance?” Duke asked cautiously, his focus entirely on Bruce now.

“I asked her to dance. She said no. Ran away as quickly as she could actually,” Bruce chuckled self-deprecatingly as he stared at the paper in Dick’s hands.

Damian blinked at him as though the longer he stared the clearer what was happening would become. But no matter how hard he stared, the image didn’t become clearer. If anything, things became hazier. “This could all be a clever ruse. She wants to appear innocent so when you confront her she can point out that she didn’t do those things. It says she’s an aspiring designer. This could all be for publicity.”

“She wouldn’t have to go through all that,” Bruce stated again, more finality in his voice. He finally looked up, but still didn’t make eye contact with any of them.

Dick stared at Bruce, taking in his response, letting the words and their broader meaning sink in. The words he wasn’t saying hung in the room like thick smoke, winding their way into everything they touched, stealing the air out of the room. “What are you saying Bruce?” Dick asked cautiously

“The story’s true, isn’t it,” Tim observed. It was a statement more than a question.

Bruce nodded with a sigh. “Except for the meeting her fiancé part.”

Tim knew it was true even before Bruce’s verbal acknowledgement. The pieces suddenly fit together. It was the only thing that made sense. That’s why her reactions were off. That matched. He saw her face when they told her the gala was to celebrate family. He saw her body language change sharply when Stephanie joked about Bruce taking in everyone he saw. He wasn’t sure what to make of it at the time and didn’t really even try because it didn’t seem relevant and they had more important issues to think about, namely celebrating Duke. After the story, he thought the reactions were a tell. But now… now that he knew, they were a tell, but for something else entirely.

She was trying to be polite about it, not letting on how hard it was hitting. And oh God, didn’t that make it worse. Everything they said had been cordial, joking at Bruce’s expense, at their own expense. But with the new knowledge… it was at hers. They weren’t jokes, they were digs. They were attacks. They were him putting her ‘in her place’; out of the family. Tim took in a shuttering breath and collapsed on the couch, his head in his hands.

He would have so much to apologize for. He would have to find her and make sure she knew he didn’t mean his words the way they must have come across. He knew how it felt to not be accepted. He knew how it felt to not feel loved by your parents. He knew how it felt to have your place in the family questioned constantly, to be attacked, to be unwelcome. He wouldn’t wish that on enemies, let alone family.

“Who is she, Father?” Damian demanded.

Bruce met his eyes, guilt swimming in his own. “She’s your half-sister. Her mother and step-father have been raising her in Paris,” Bruce answered calmly.

Damian fought the gasp his lungs demanded against his will. His father was confirming it. He was acknowledging her. But never trusted them with the information. “Were you ever going to tell us?” Damian finally asked with forced coolness

“I was letting the dust settle on introducing Duke before I broached it,” Bruce hedged.

“So you just found out,” Damian asked angrily. That would make sense. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them, him. It was that he didn’t know until recently. Of course that was what happened.

“No.”

Damian gaped at him, his hastily built protective construct shattering with one word. “How long have you known?”

“Since she was born.” Damian gaped at him. He’d known. He’d known since before Damian came to live with them and still never told them. He didn’t trust him. Even after all he’d done, he still didn’t trust him. And now he was letting this unknown, this daughter, even just thinking the word made him wrinkle his nose in disgust, do whatever she wanted. He trusted her but not him.

“You have a daughter, a biological daughter you’ve known about for decades and that you never told us about,” Dick asked again in a daze. He fell into a chair staring at Bruce incredulously. There was no way. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He loved kids. He loved his kids. Why would he send one away? He hadn’t even wanted to do that to Jason.

“So I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know?” Duke asked. He looked around, taking in the stunned, disbelieving, hurt expressions.

“Not just you,” Damian gritted out.

Duke sucked in a breath and pulled out his phone, texting Jason and Cass to let them know what was happening. They were going to want to know as soon as possible too. All of them were going to have questions and issues with this information. And if the conversation went on much longer, they may want to be involved.

“Why was she there last night? What did she want? Surely she wouldn’t have come without a plan,” Damian pressed. Nobody had access to the kind of power and money they had and just walked away. If she was presenting herself and not to them, to the press, there must be a reason, a plot. They needed to find out more about her to figure it out. “How did she get a ticket in the first place?” That might be a place to start. It would give an insight into her accomplices and they could be pressed later for more information.

Bruce sighed and looked back down at his food, pushing the plate away, no longer hungry in the slightest. “I can’t answer how she got her ticket. As to why she was there, she was there to talk about a position for a friend of hers… with Lucius apparently, not me.”

“She was using her name to get her subpar friend a job,” Damian spat in disgust. There had to be more though. With their name, she could get much, much more. This had to be an opening gambit. The job must be placing an operative, loyal to her, within their institution. Next was the stunt with the press. They needed to figure out her next steps.

“No,” Bruce insisted. “She didn’t mention her association. He doesn’t know… well, he does now. He spoke to me after the gala, said he discovered one of our managers is stealing ideas and there was someone he was going to spend the weekend researching but he was excited about hiring him. Luthor is trying to hire him, so if we don’t act fast we’ll lose him. I’m betting that was her friend.”

“You don’t know that,” Damian growled out. “That could be a coincidence.”

“I’ll confirm with Lucius today, but it fits with what I know,” Bruce insisted calmly. “From what her mother has told me over the years, it’s the kind of thing she would do; go well out of her way to help a friend. And her mother let me know she was planning on attending the gala to talk about hiring her friend. I just thought she was going to talk to me.”

“Why didn’t you tell us,” Dick asked breathlessly. He was staring at Bruce with hurt saturating his eyes. He heard nothing after Bruce admitting he’d known about her and never told them. He was aware Bruce had been saying things for the last few minutes but none of it had registered. None of it was what he needed to know.

Bruce sighed and ran his hand over his face. “Nobody knew. Nobody but me and her mother and step-father. It was easier that way.” Easier to pretend was left unsaid. Easier for Bruce to pretend like he hadn’t cut her out of his life, like he didn’t regret it every day. Easier for Bruce to try to forget.

“Not even her?” Duke asked.

“Not even her,” Bruce confirmed with a sigh. He ran his hand over his face.

“Why?” Dick was staring at him in wide eyed confusion. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. He’d been with Bruce for twenty years and never heard a whisper of a biological daughter. But she existed. And he knew. Bruce took a deep breath and Dick scowled. “I swear to God, B, if you say some dumbass excuse like to protect her…”

“She has a happy life. Her mother and step-father love her beyond words. They support her, love her, encourage her. They’re there for her whenever she needs it. They never miss an event. Family dinners every night. She has friends… a good life. She’s safe. She never had to worry about defending herself. She never had to be taught what to do when she got kidnapped. Never had to… doesn’t remember seeing the people around her dead from the latest rogue attack. Not like what she would have here…” he again left the last part of the sentence off. The “with me” was left for everyone to fill in on their own.

“You’re a good father,” Tim assured him weakly, because at this point, with this information…

“I hope so.” Bruce gave him a weak smile. “But when she was born… I had an obligation. I had a responsibility.”

“She was your responsibility!” Dick yelled, his face suddenly contorting in anger and frustration with Bruce.

Bruce looked away stoically, face suddenly a mask devoid of emotion. “She had a better option and I made sure she got it.”

The room was silent for a few moments while his words settled in. The only sound was Dick seething in his seat. “But she doesn’t know you? You never visited. You never interacted with her. Even not telling her who you were to her,” Tim clarified.

Bruce shook his head. “I visited her final project for her degree a few weeks ago under the guise of research for the fabric project. She’s a designer. I was hoping to get her in on the fabric project. I thought it would be a good cover to get her comfortable with the family. But I didn’t talk with her while I was there.” He chuckled slightly at the memory. “I couldn’t even get close. There were too many people talking to her, congratulating her, offering her internships. Her work was beautiful.”

“But you’ve talked with her parents,” Tim checked.

He sighed and waved his hand helplessly. “I spoke with Sabine every so often to check on Marinette, make sure she was okay. I helped pay for her schooling, but even that was disguised as an investment into her parents’ company.”

“So her parents were having you pay for their company, holding the secret over your head,” Damian spat out.

“No!” Bruce growled. He knew Damian was having a hard time with this. Hell, that’s one of the main reasons he waited so long, because he knew Damian wouldn’t react well. Damian would have taken it as an attack on his position in the family. And after the way he treated Tim and Dick when he first found out about them… They could protect themselves against his attacks. She wouldn’t have been able to. He didn’t know how far Damian would actually go and he didn’t want Damian to have to find out either. He had been waiting until Damian was more settled, more secure in the family and their unconditional love for him before he reached out to her. But he wasn’t going to let him disparage Sabine and Tom. They’d been nothing but understanding.

“They only let me put in the amount for tuition. They wouldn’t allow me to give any more than that and Marinette got a scholarship for her university so she didn’t need any assistance. I tried to keep giving them money for her to at least have spending money but they refused. They stopped accepting the transfers. They only relented when I said it would look suspicious. So they’ve been creating a trust for her with it.”

Damian grumbled and looked away. Whatever their game was, they were certainly good at it.

Bruce dropped his head into his hands. “Nobody was supposed to know about her until I was sure it was safe,” Bruce grumbled into his hands. “Until I’d had a chance to talk to everyone about it.”

“Well now everyone knows, so maybe now is a good time to start trying to make that connection,” Dick growled.

“If she’ll let us,” Tim added. He remembered the look in her eyes when he talked about his… their family.

“It’s never too late to start trying to bond,” Dick insisted. His eyes were bordering on wild. They could bring this back, right? The family had come back from worse. They’d faced steeper hills. Hell, Damian tried to kill them when he first came. Jason had also tried to kill them all more than once when he came back. She couldn’t be that bad. They just had to make the first move. “We just have to let her know we want to.”

Tim shook his head and looked down, not at all convinced it really was as easy as that. Tim was awkward on a good day. He could make friends but usually they made the first move. He was pretty certain she wouldn’t make the first move in this instance. Damian wouldn’t accept her, period. Dick would crowd her. Jason would… whatever Jason did, probably disappear. She wasn’t a Robin so he probably wouldn’t try to kill her. Cass would try, but her success depended on Marinette understanding what Cass wasn’t saying. And Bruce… Bruce was never good at understanding emotions or sympathizing. Honestly, their best hope was Duke.

Duke breathed out a deep sigh and looked away. This family was not easy to get along with or find your place with. And bonding with each other? He managed because he fought next to them. They bonded in the field, in their suits. He wasn’t sure if they realized that about themselves. If they interacted outside the suits it was because of the bond they formed inside them. She wouldn’t have that opportunity and without it… The prognosis was not good.

“What are you going to do, B?” Tim asked tentatively. “Because whatever your plans were, now she knows and she’s dealing with it on her own. She… You need to talk to her.”

Bruce sucked in a breath and massaged his temples. “I know.”

“And you need to apologize,” Dick added firmly.

Bruce nodded. “I know.”

“No, you don’t,” Dick growled. “You have no idea what has to be going through her head right now.” He grabbed his bag and stalked out of the manor, slamming the door as he left.

“And you need to decide what we’re going to tell the public,” Tim added. “We need to put a statement out soon.”

“I know,” Bruce agreed. His voice this time was more detached. That was something he would have to decide, but that wasn’t the priority right now and not something he wanted to do without her input.

He needed to come up with a new plan and quickly. This was nothing like the one he had come up with. He was supposed to have more time. He was supposed to be able to ease into this. He was supposed to be able to feel things out before deciding a path. He was supposed to control the environment and how his family found out.

But now he was thrown into it, they all were, and he had no idea how to proceed. He didn’t know her well enough to anticipate how she would react to the situation or to him. He didn’t know her well enough yet to know the best way to approach her. He needed to come up with a game plan. He sighed heavily. He had to get into the office, not show anything out of the ordinary. And once he was behind his office door, he could talk to Sabine. She would know what to do.

Chapter 5

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#maribat #bio!dad bruce #bio dad bruce wayne #roynette #Even the Losers #mbdbwm2021 #prompt - bonding

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damnlance · 3 years

Note

Klance angsty prompt 6 please 👀

Klangst Prompt #6

6. “You’ve never hurt me. Ever”

Summary: Lately, Lance has been stressed beyond the point of breaking… The end of the war was 3 years ago and yet, it’s not enough time to pass for Lance to feel better. Not even close. Everyone has always called him a hero. And since the day they landed back on earth, everyone has gone so far to ask for photos and autographs and all that. These days Lance is sick of it.

Or; the pressures of being the ‘savior of earth’ has been building up inside of Lance, causing him to erupt on any and everyone.

Good thing he has his amazing boyfriend.

-there’s a slow start, but I PROMISE it’s klance so just keep reading!

-also galra (kitten) Keith ?? I love him

It all started with a fangirl just a few weeks ago.

Lance decided to walk to his favorite coffee shop one chilly afternoon. He woke up really late and was immediately craving something sweet yet bitter. And since he lives with most of his family, running out of coffee five days after buying a brand new pack of it is very common, especially when no one wants to buy more for whatever reason.

So there Lance was, walking down the street. Hands tucked into his blue lion hoodie (thanks to all the merch the fans of voltron have made over the years), making his way to the closest coffee shop near his home. And then he hears the high pitched squeal of a girl at least 10 feet away from him. Then 9 feet.. then 6.. then 4 because she’s literally running at him with the speed of a hundred cheetahs chasing a gazelle until she’s right there, face to face with Lance.

“Oh my god!!” She yelled, jumping up and down like some 5 year old girl getting a puppy. She was about 5’7, short brown hair and huge blue eyes that almost resembled Lance’s. She wore this giant faux fur coat and beanie to match, and her phone was IN LANCE’S FACE.

She was all over him and it was attracting others to stare their way. Lance tried to calm her down by smiling and using a little of his charm but it was just making the girl fangirl even more. So he took a picture with her to be on his way before the coffee shop got too busy. But she wouldn’t back off. Apparently she wasn’t satisfied with the picture, something about how her eyes were closed? Or how blurry it came out? Lance couldn't remember, he just wanted his coffee.

The girl kept hounding him and following him, demanding that he retake the picture with her. Lance let her down easy, saying how he needed to be someplace important and that he was running late. The girl kept pushing him. Following his every move, right on his heels. Begging, pleading with him to take more pictures because she ‘needed them,’ whatever that meant. Lance tried his hardest to be nice and polite because as a former paladin of voltron and as one of seven someone’s who have saved the entire universe, his image is everything. Without him or his former paladins, there would probably be no earth. So he stopped in his tracks and took a better picture with the girl.

He felt good to see her happy because of something that he had done. Plus he looked really good in that picture, who knew the earth’s natural lighting at 1pm could make his skin look so smooth? Once he gave his approval of the better pic, he was on his way again, hoping that the line to the coffee shop wasn’t even longer now. As he started to fast walk down the busy sidewalk, something yanked him back by the neck and he came crashing down. Literally. He fell right back on his ass and when he looked up, this same crazy girl was looming over him like a mad woman. With his blue hand-knit wool scarf dangling from her grabby hands. The anger that had been simmering in Lance’s gut was at a full blown boil and he was just about ready to explode. So.. he kinda did..

Long and embarrassing story short, Lance yelled at her. He snatched his blue scarf out of her hands so fast, it scared her, and as he rubbed his most likely bruised tailbone, he got in her face and began blaming her for the world's most horrible fan interaction. He was so angry, that he balled his fists, stomped his foot and had veins protruding out of his neck and forehead. He called her names and most likely spit in her face, but he didn’t care. And when he was done, he took a step back and examined the girl in front of him. She was folded in on herself, holding her arms close to her body as her bottom lip quivered and fat, giant tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked so.. mortified. And actually.. scared of him. Like if Lance were to say anything or move a muscle, she’d flinch.

Seconds later, Lance’s face softened into something regretful and he went out to reach for her, to apologize. But, like he knew she would, she flinched. And then hurried away like he was a mad man. All the while crying and clutching her phone to her chest. Lance felt absolutely demolished inside. He tried to go after her but his feet were glued to the cement of the sidewalk. He didn’t even want his coffee anymore.

Thankfully, there were no viral videos or photos or posts about the incident. Lance ended up tracking the girl down a few days later and showered her with all the love he could muster, even taking as many pics as she wanted and liking them on Instagram when she tagged him. But.. something inside him still felt so horrible about the incident. For a moment, Lance had realized that he genuinely hurt that girl for no real reason. He just wanted some coffee but is coffee more important than the people who are thankful and want to show their gratitude for him for everything he did with voltron? If the roles were reversed and he stayed on earth, he would be bending over backwards to let all the paladins know just how thankful he was to live another day on their planet. That girl probably had family, friends, maybe a spouse and kids, and in the midst of that horrible battle 3 years ago, she most likely thought that one of those days would be her last with them.

It broke Lance’s heart thinking about it. He really hurt her. Sure, he made it right and she forgave him, but in that single moment, he actually hurt someone enough to make them cry, to make them run away from him. It was a terrible feeling. It wasn’t Lance. He never wanted that to happen again.

And at the same time.. he.. kinda never wanted to be the savior of earth. Not really.. he just wanted to feel like he had a place in the universe, and to know that he played an important role. That he mattered.

Guess he really matters now..

He sends a long text to Keith with shaky hands.

Message delivered..

The second he walked through the door, his phone rang. It was a three-way call with Hunk and Pidge. Lance pressed the green button to answer and placed the phone to his ear. Immediately, Hunk starts going on and on about how much he misses Lance and when the next time they’ll see each other will be. Lance smiled at his best friend’s inability to ever take a breath between sentences and replied with a warm ‘I miss you too, buddy.’ They got to catching up as Lance ordered his garlic knots and sat down at a private booth near the back of the place. He didn’t want to draw any attention to himself, especially when he got the call from his best friends.

Hunk tells him all the great things that’s been happening at the Garrison and even on the Atlas. He tells him how his restaurant is doing and how his family is doing and how Shay is doing. Pidge catches him up on things with her family, some new inventions she’s been working on, and how being the youngest teacher at the Garrison is going. Lance listens and gives his two cents on everything his friends tell him and honestly, he couldn’t be more happy for them. The way they were able to just get their lives together 3 years after the war is.. incredible. It made him think about everything he’s done since the war ended. Which wasn’t much.. he took over his family’s farm and brought it back to life, he helps out Colleen, Pidge’s mom, with medicine and finding cures to strange space illnesses with plants she has him grow on his farm, and his family’s market wouldn’t be as popular or swarming with business if he didn’t work there. Sad but true. And that’s really it. He hasn’t done much else. Nothing life changing or breathtaking like his friends.

But Hunk and Pidge don’t need to know that. So he simply replies with: “Oh, ya know.. same old, same old,” and hopes it works enough to keep the conversation flowing and follow up questions at bay. It does.

30 minutes into their conversation and Lance is starting to feel a little.. agitated. With the garlic knots consumed and digesting in his stomach, he sits in the booth, alone, listening to his friends go on and on and on about their perfect jobs and their perfect little lives. He gets lost a few times and at one point has literally no idea what they’re talking about. When he tries to ask what or who or even get the slightest details, Pidge lets out a sigh that Lance can’t help but feel like is out of annoyance. Lance sighs back and continues to stay silent because obviously he’s not getting anywhere. Why even bother putting him on a call that Hunk and Pidge could have just had on their own??

Balling his fist, Lance let out a loud, overdramatic sigh. He didn’t care if his friends heard it or how they took it. He was upset. The conversation between his two friends comes to a halt and then awkward silence. Pidge is the first to speak up with a:

“Something you wanna add, Lance?” The annoyance in her voice is very much there and Lance doesn’t miss it. He scoffs loudly and grits his teeth.

“No.” He says, voice deepening in anger.

“Oh really?” Pidge asks, poking the sleeping bear that lies dormant in lance. “Cause it sure sounds like it to me. Why don’t you stop being such a fucking child and tell us what’s bothering you this time??”

Lance damn near growls.

The line has gone quiet now. Hunk’s unsteady breathing is audible but other than that, silence. Lance digs his nails into the skin of his palms and tries to keep the angry tears in his eyes from falling down his cheeks. With a deep shaky breath, he smiles through the pain.

“You know what, Katie,” Lance spits and it makes Hunk gasp. “Fuck YOU and this stupid, shitty attitude you have all the time!”

“Oh, god..” Hunk winces.

“I don’t know what the actual fuck crawled up your ass,” Lance continues, “but I’m sick of it! I've been sick of it for years! I’m sick of keeping my mouth shut and quite frankly, I’m sick of YOU!”

Lance is standing up out of his seat now. His chest heaves up and down as the angry tears have fallen past his face and down his neck. His voice is two octaves deep from anger and the skin of his palm is bloody from how hard he’s digging his nails into it. The place has gone quiet now and Lance can feel multiple pairs of eyes on him. So much for not drawing any attention to himself.

The line is quiet. Then, the sound of a huff of breath. A small laugh.. And then:

“Wow. Nice one, McClain..” Pidge’s voice is small, but so full of something. “Go screw yourself, you asshole.”

The call ends. Whether Pidge or Hunk ended it, is unclear.

Minutes pass, and Lance is still standing in the same place with the phone to his ear. Tears are running down his face, and his Altean marks are buzzing so loud in his ears. His heart is pounding in his ribcage and ice cold sorrow runs through his veins..

He sends a long text to Keith with shaky hands.

Message delivered...

Now, exactly 3 months since that little incident, Lance sits alone in his home. In his childhood bedroom he can’t seem to rearrange because he’s still holding out hope that one day he’ll turn back time and be his child self and get a redo on his life. But hey, it’s better this way. After the whole dilemma with Pidge, Hunk tried to call Lance to help but ended up getting his feelings hurt. Yep. By Lance. Because Lance is a big jerk and can’t stop hurting everyone around him.

So he hasn’t talked to Pidge or Hunk since then. Mostly out of guilt and shame because those two are supposed to be his bestest friends and he hurt them. Nothing he could say or do could make up for his selfish mind and stupid mouth. Lance had this whole plan to go to Shiro about it, to get his advice so Lance could make it all better.

But Pidge being Pidge.. texted the whole thing in their group chat and.. well.. everyone saw it. Shiro, Hunk, Matt, even Keith possibly! It got so bad that Lance’s phone kept going off with alerts from everyone asking what happened and what he said. Curtis tried calling him and left a few messages. Shiro left him a long voicemail. And of course the word traveled so fast that it reached New Altea and Coran got involved. Which caused Romelle to be involved, too. She gossiped to Acxa, who told her girlfriend, who happens to be Lance’s sister, Veronica. Veronica blabbed to Rachel, who blabbed to Marco, who blabbed to Luis.. who blabbed to Lance’s dad.. WHO BLABBED TO LANCE’S MOM. And boy did she have some interesting words for him in the SEVEN, LONG voicemails asking exactly ‘what happened’and ‘why The Holt siblings were so angry with him.’

Everything escalated so fast. Lance can’t even remember what he said. Or why he said it. Since the war ended, it’s been so hard on him. Sure, it’s been hard on everyone, but for Lance it’s been different. Everyone looks up to him for some reason and expects him to do so good and be the hero they all think he is, when in reality? He was just a leg…

Exactly what did he gain from being a paladin of voltron anyway?? Get banged up and bruised almost everyday he was out there? Have people on his case, constantly reminding him how unimportant he was to the team? Pointing out all of his flaws and mistakes and focusing on those when there’s a million other good things he’s done that towers over all the bad shit?? Sure, he returned home to his family who he literally missed and cried for every single day, but he lost the love of his life in the process.

To put it all out there, Lance didn’t really gain anything. He got to travel through space, which was his dream since he was a little kid, and then space chewed him up and spit him out as some fake hero with PTSD and other trauma that will haunt him for the rest of his pathetic life.

So.. these past 3 months.

Lance has been sitting up in his childhood room.

Wishing he could use the power of Altea or something to turn back time.

And be his younger self.

His innocent self.

His happier self.

Back when he wasn’t so fucked up and had dreams and goals.

Back when everyone was proud of him.

Back to when he didn’t know who Allura was or that she even existed. Back to when Voltron didn’t exist either and everything was fucking fine.

Staring up at his ceiling, Lance counts the glow in the dark stars that he’s had up there since he was six years old. Somehow they’re still glowing and Lance is thankful for that because at 3 in the morning when the world is fast asleep and everything is pitch black, he could use the light.

It comforts him. Reminds him of a simpler, more happier time in his life.

Something sharp digs through Lance’s chest as he stares at those fake neon stars, and it hurts really bad. His breathing begins to quicken, matching the beat of his heart, and a lump finds its way up his throat. Tears pool in the rim of his eyes and spill down the corners, streaming down the sides of his face.

And they don’t stop. The stars get blurrier as Lance’s breathing gets heavier. His body begins to tremble with every hiccup of a sob that pours out of him and he’s crying so hard that his brain throbs in his head.

He curls in on himself in his bed and wraps his arms around his torso, crying uncontrollably into his space themed pillow. His Altean marks begin to buzz and glow and he can’t bring himself to care because all he wants to do is disappear.

Disappear from this game called life.

He types a text to Keith with teary eyes and a quivering bottom lip.

Message.. deleted…

As 3 in the morning turns to 4, a pod lands in the grass just a couple yards away from Lance’s farm. Boot covered feet step out of said pod and touch the wet grass waiting for them. It’s still dark out and the only light visible are the fireflies that buzz around a pair of cowboy booted feet. Those booted feet begin to walk, carrying a tall, broad, raven haired stranger up a hill to Lance’s home. The frogs and crickets seem to grow louder as the stranger in black cowboy boots makes their way to the front porch and pulls back the creaky screen door to a cold, locked doorknob. A set of keys are pulled out and a specific blue key is pushed inside the lock, turning and unlocking the door. The stranger walks in and is instantly met.. with..

Crying??

“H-Hello??” The stranger calls out. “Lance?”

The crying stops.

It’s dead quiet..

The door shuts on its own and the echo around the house is eery.

Light footsteps descend the stairs and before they know it, the stranger is being tackled to the ground in a bear hug.

“Ah-! Lance!?” They yell as the duffel bag from their hand falls to the ground.

“Keith!!” Lance yells out, voice rasped from endless crying.

Keith can immediately hear it and wraps his arms around Lance so tight, holding him close. His eyes glow yellow, something that usually happens out of fear, anger, or protectiveness, and his lips protrude to make way for his double set of fangs that are ready to bite any and everyone.

“Lance!” Keith tries to sit up but is pinned to the ground with all of Lance’s dead body weight. “Lance, honey, are you hurt? What’s wrong??”

A hand through curly brown locks and Lance’s crying dies down. He snuggles his face into Keith’s neck and hiccups through a response. Something too incoherent for Keith to make out, but he feels it has something to do with why he was told to go home ASAP.

A few weeks ago, Keith was contacted by Acxa via video chat. They talked and caught up for a few minutes before Acxa told Keith the real reason for her call. She explained that Veronica was having a tough time reaching out to Lance and that he might be in some kind of trouble. Not knowing the full extent of the story, Acxa only told Keith what she heard from Veronica and others. Fearing the worst, Keith packed up his shit and set a course for Earth as fast as he could.

Unfortunately, there were some setbacks on his way over where he had to make a few stops to tend to aliens in need because after all, that’s still his job as a blade member, but when that got finished, Keith hightailed it over. His Galra instincts wouldn't allow him to stay away for much longer anyway and having accepted his galra side a long time ago, it would have been best for everyone to let him go home.

Keith now lays in Lance’s bed, every inch of Lance’s body wrapped up around him like a snake. Keith strokes Lance’s hair soothingly and holds him close to his chest, right over his beating heart. A deep, soothing purr emits itself from Keith’s body and calms Lance’s nerves right down to the bone. Keith knows how much Lance adoreshis Galran features and at this point, Keith would do absolutely anything for Lance to feel better.

They talked about everything that happened and are now in the cuddle stage. Lance has his eyes shut, listening to Keith purr just for him. Long limbs wrapped around every inch of his boyfriend while Keith’s long nails scratch at his scalp, life is so good.

Life is so good with Keith around.

“So,” Keith says, voice as calm as ever. “What exactly did Pidge say?”

“Oh,” Lance answers, his voice quiet as a mouse. “You didn’t see the messages in the group chat?”

“No.” Keith shrugs, laying his cheek against Lance’s forehead. “Been kinda busy.. And I actually don’t understand how a group chat works.”

That rises a chuckle out of Lance as he sits up a bit to reach for his phone on the bedside dresser.

“Idiot,” he whispers with a small smile on his face and it makes Keith light up, his purring becoming a bit louder.

Lance lays back on Keith’s chest as he scrolls through the messages on his phone. When he finds the message from Pidge, Lance clears his scratchy throat and sniffs.

“From Pidgeotto,” he starts, looking at Pidge’s name in their ✨Paladudes✨ group chat. “Just an FYI lance is a.. a total fucking jackass and I am no longer friends with him..”

Keith immediately frowns at that.

Lance continues. “He can suck my big toe for all I care. I’m done with him. Have fun being a lonely loser @LanceyPants.”

“What the fuck?” Keith says, eyes glowing yellow in the dark room. “Why would she say that!?”

Lance shakes his head, tears forming in his eyes again. “Because she was right. I am a jackass..”

“Lance, no!” Keith sits up, bringing Lance with him. They sit side by side as Lance holds himself and looks down at his space blanket. He shrugs once and sniffs.

“Keith, stop,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Look, I said some very hurtful things to her and she lashed out in a perfectly normal way..”

“Normal!?” Keith scoffs, grabbing Lance’s phone and rereading the message again. “Jackass? Loser?? Come on, Lance, she’s completely bullying you and you know it!”

Lance whips around with an angry expression on his face “Because I deserve it!”

The room grows quiet. Keith takes a deep breath and reaches over to grab Lance’s shoulders.

“Calm.” He says, taking a deep breath for Lance to mimic. Lance takes a deep breath with him and lets it out. Keith begins to purr again and it calms Lance even more.

“I.. Sorry..”

Keith nods. He reaches up to cup Lance’s cheek and rubs his thumb across Lance’s tear stained eye.

“You know I would never hurt anyone on purpose..” Lance sniffs. “That’s not who I am. I’m just.. I’m tired of being this symbol of everything strong and good and brave.”

“Mhm,” Keith rubs Lance’s back, leaning in closer to him to nuzzle his forehead. Lance nuzzles back and Keith’s purrs.

“I keep.. I keep hurting everyone I care about..” Lance whispers in a voice so low and fragile, it nearly shatters Keith’s heart.

“That’s not true.” Keith pulls back a little to look into Lance’s teary blue eyes. “Lance, you are the most incredible, selfless, honest person I’ve ever known. You are strong and good and brave even if you don’t mean to be. Or want to be.”

Lance pulls away and stares at his hands. Keith keeps his eyes focused on Lance.

“I know you think you hurt that fangirl from a few months ago.” Keith continues. “Or Pidge. Or Hunk. Or your parents or friend or family or whoever, but you could never hurt anyone.”

“Yeah, right,” Lance shakes his head. “I already did. I hurt everyone.”

“And even if that’s true,” Keith grabs Lance’s hands in his own, “which it’s not, you’re not doing it on purpose. You have a right to your own feelings! And you have a right to speak your mind.”

“And what if that hurts people??” Lance looks up and meets teary eyes to indigo ones. “What if I accidentally hurt my mama or my sisters or brothers, or nieces and nephews because I can’t be who they want me to be, who they think I am!?”

“Lance,” Keith shakes his head.

“What if I hurt you???” Lance’s eyes go wide. He looks Keith up and down and exhales a panicked breath. “God, Keith.. wh-what if I hurt you??”

“Oh, Lancey,” Keith sighs that lovey-dovey sigh where his eyes go all big and black like a cat’s, and the purr in his chest gets louder. “You’ve never hurt me. Ever.”

Lance stares into Keith’s eyes like they’re his lifeline.

“B-but.. but what if-?”

“No more what if’s!” Keith cuts Lance off by covering his mouth with his hand. “Listen to me, Lance. Are you listening??”

Lance nods repeatedly.

“Good,” Keith smiles, all crooked and cute and beautiful. “The only person you ever need to worry about hurting is yourself.”

And there it is. The one thing Lance has been dying to hear without knowing he’d been dying to hear it. It’s like a breath of fresh air, or cool rain on a hot and sweaty day. The permission he needed but didn’t really need. He has a right to care about himself and put himself first but whenever he tries, the guilt eats him alive. Why should he care about himself when he has to care more about others???

No. That’s not the case. It’s never been the case.

“You’ve gotta stop doing this to yourself,” Keith finishes, stroking the endless sea of tears that are falling from Lance’s eyes. He strokes Lance’s glowing Altean marks and leans forward to kiss one softly. Lance trembles slightly, closing his eyes to bask in the moment.

“I’m sure Pidge has gotten over it by now,” Keith reassures. “She just has too much pride to make the first more and apologize. You know how she is.”

“Y-Yeah,” Lance hiccups, nodding.

“And Hunk?” Keith scoffs. “I bet your mailbox is full of letters from him, explaining how sorry he is and hoping you’re doing alright. You know if he can’t reach you from your phone, he has other ways.”

That makes Lance smile.

“There’s probably cookies on the way right now.” He looks into Keith’s eyes, exhaling a small laugh.

“Oh, yeah,” Keith agrees, laughing that angelic laugh and showing off his perfect pearly fangs. Lance’s heart skips a fucking beat.

“And your fangirl?” Keith’s purring stops. “Well, she never should have gotten all up in your space that’s for sure. You had every right to punch her.”

“Keith!” Lance squeaks, face contorting into shock and confusion. “I-I didn’t punch her!”

“Really?” Confusion etches itself all over Keith’s features and he puts a finger to his chin. “I could have sworn I read that in your text.”

“No way, man!” Lance defends, waving his arms around. “Why would I ever in my life-!” He stops mid sentence to see the shit-eating grin plastered on Keith’s face.

“Just kiddin, lil lady,” Keith says in his best southern accent, smiling big and wide.

Lance bursts out into a fit of laughter, hitting Keith’s chest and arms and back. Keith shields himself and laughs, grabbing Lance’s arms and bringing him down onto the mattress. They fall back with Keith looming over Lance, his long raven hair surrounding their faces.

Lance stares up into those beautiful, indigo eyes and sniffs, unable to look away. He reaches up and cups Keith’s face, rubbing his thumb over Keith’s Galran stripe.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Keith asks in his softest voice, eyes roaming from Lance’s teary blue eyes to his luscious lips.

“Yes,” Lance nods, not even bothering to blink because if he does, he’ll miss Keith’s everything.

“Don’t let anyone get you down, my sweetheart.” Keith whispers, leaning in closer. “Ever.”

Lance nods.

“And if they do,” Keith’s face turns serious, indigo eyes going dark. “I’ll bite their throats out and hand them to you on a silver platter.”

“Keith,” Lance exhales, going red in the face and ears. “Holy shit, you can’t just say things l-like that.”

Keith’s hard demeanor falls as he giggles and leans in close. Before they close the gap between their lips, Lance whispers, “And hey. I thought pet names were my thing?”

And Keith kisses him to shut him up.

They kiss like they haven’t seen each other in years and it’s the greatest Lance has ever felt. Keith kisses like he’s starving for it, craving it so much more than air and it’s hot and powerful and so, so damn good.

Lance wraps his arms and legs around Keith’s body and kisses him back with fervor. He allows Keith to make him feel better, and kisses his pain away. Keith pulls away slowly, licking into Lance’s mouth before he does so. Lance lets out a small groan and smiles before he opens his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispers, tucking some hair behind Keith’s ear.

“I love you, more,” Keith whispers back, settling himself between Lance’s legs. “Feeling any better?”

“A little,” Lance looks away, sniffling a little. His eyes focus back to Keith’s and a small smile appears on his kiss swollen lips. “But I know a great way you can make me feel all the way better.”

“Oh, yeah,” Keith smirks, burying his face into Lance neck to start kissing slowly. “And what’s that?”

Lance giggles like a little kid, running his hands up and down Keith’s sides. When Keith pulls back, he trails his kisses up the side of Lance’s face and stops at his Altean mark.

“Make love to me,” Lance whispers, rubbing his nose against Keith’s. “Touch me all over and hold me until the sun comes up and just.. love me. Please..”

Keith’s face softens into something full of love and adoration. He moves forward to peck Lance’s lips, then his chin, and then his other Altean mark.

“Anything you want, my sweet..” he kisses Lance’s cheek. “Beautiful..” he kisses Lance’s jaw. “Amazing.. wonderful..”

“Alright, enough!” Lance laughs, slapping Keith in the back. His cheeks are on fire as he closes his eyes when Keith starts nibbling on his neck with his fangs. A chill runs down Lance’s spine and tingles to his toes, making them curl.

Keith sits up one last time and stares at Lance like he’s the world.

“I’ll take good care of you, baby.” He says with the utmost truth in his sultry voice. “I promise. We’re in this together.”

“Yeah,” Lance nods, letting his tears fall down his face and glowing Altean marks. “Together.”

And as Keith kisses Lance so lovingly, Lance can’t help but be glad that he can’t turn back time to be his younger self. Because with Keith around, he feels all the happiness in the whole world just like he did when he was young.

-END-

(send me a klangst prompt)

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beauvibaby · 3 years

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tough decisions — j.oleksiak

a/n: finally another pcos fic, this is based around my symptoms with it, hopefully it’s relatable to most of you!!

warnings: pcos, anxiety, surgery and mentions of covid

“Hey, babe, I should be there in ten.” Jamie answered cheerfully, assuming you were calling to see how far out he was. “I’m sorry, J.” You mumbled, hiding back a groan at the pain tightening in your lower stomach. “I just don’t feel good tonight, could we reschedule?” You asked, letting out a small wince as you leaned against the counter. “Of course, are you ok? You sound hurt.” The concern in his voice only made you feel worse, you managed to hum in response, “oh.” He mumbled into the phone, clearly picking up your message.

You two had been dating for a little over six months, and now that he thought of it, he couldn’t recall a single time when you were on your period and miserable like this. “Did you want me to come over? I can bring you dinner?” He offered, waiting hopefully for your response, “actually that would be great.” You sighed, wanting nothing more than to take a hot shower and hope the cramps got better once you ate. “I’ll unlock the door for you, I’m going to take a shower.” You told him, adding a soft goodbye and an I love you, he repeated the sentiment, a frown etched onto his face as he stopped to get dinner.

You had just slipped on some loose fitting clothes when you heard Jamie walk in the front door of your apartment, “Y/N?” He called out, smiling when you rounded the corner in a shirt of his that you had stolen “accidentally”. He held a bouquet of flowers in front of him along with a takeout bag from your favorite restaurant, “hi pretty girl.” He murmured when you pouted at him, “I love you.” You sighed, burying your face in his chest, “I love you too.” He chuckled lightly, kissing the top of your head. “Wanna eat something? It’ll make you feel better.” He offered, getting a huff in response, he took it as a yes and walked with you wrapped up in his arms to the table. “It hurts.” You explained with a hiss as you sat down in the chair, reaching for your food, he knew it took a lot for you to admit you were in pain, “is it always this bad?” He asked with furrowed brows, taking a bite of his food as you nibbled on yours, suddenly feeling nauseous and worried eating would make it worse. “When I get it, yeah.” You told him, going on to explain the issues you struggled with, the missed cycles, heavy cycles, cramps, all of it. If you could tell him you love him, you can tell him this.

He nodded as you spoke, absorbing the information you spit out, “m’sorry baby.” He sighed, not liking having to watch you like this. You shrugged, finally forcing some of your food down, some relief coming over you as you had something in your stomach. He didn’t push you any further as he saw the look in your eyes, the way you got quiet, he cleaned up the table, leaving you with your plate as you continued to take bites here and there. “I’m going to go change.” He kissed the top of your head before walking down the hall to your room where he knew he had a pair of sweatpants stashed away.

Well he was in there, he quickly googled what you had told him, pcos was on repeat in his mind so he wouldn’t forget it as he typed it into his phone, he read as much as he could, being sure not to be gone suspiciously long.

He got the gist of it, irregularities, heavier cramps, bleeding, mood swings, particularly sad ones.

Infertility. He pushed that one to the back of his mind, he wanted kids with you and while it was early to say that, he knew you two would figure it out when the time came.

When Jamie came out you were nearly half asleep at the kitchen table, your eyes were heavy and when you looked at him he could see the blankness in them. “You can go home, Jamie, I’m probably just going to go lay down.” You sighed, standing up and clearing your spot. “No, I wanna stay with you.” He answered instantly, giving you a soft smile as spun to face him. “Really?” You couldn’t help but grin, catching him off guard, “of course.” He rolled his eyes with a smile, out stretching his arms for you. “Good, sometimes I’m scared to be alone when it hurts so much.” You whispered up to him, pecking his lips when he leaned down to you. “You know you can call me whenever, even if I’m on a roadie. I’d call you back as soon as I saw it.” He explained to you as you pulled him along towards your bedroom, you nodded as a cramp started up.

“Come here.” He demanded gently, flopping down on the bed and pulling you with him, he adjusted you so you were laying on top of him. He lightly began massaging your lower back, feeling you relax into him. “That feels good.” You hummed, blindly running a hand through his hair, knowing he loved when you did that. He smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“J?” You asked after a while, he’d stopped rubbing your back once you didn’t feel the pain anymore, “yeah?” He shifted slightly, careful not to move you too much. He turned his head to meet your eyes where you were resting on his shoulder. “I left out one thing about it.” You sighed, shuffling yourself to be sitting up more, your boyfriend nodded, although he already knew what you were going to say, he wanted to let you say it. He rested his hand in your lap for you to play with. “Go ahead baby.” He assured you, when you met his soft caring eyes you couldn’t help but get emotional. “It’s super common for pcos to cause infertility and I know we’re not there yet but you deserve to know now, and if–“ you stopped to breathe and the tears started flowing. He rushed to sit up with you, “there’s no ifs, I’m here for the long haul, ok?” He assured you, cupping your face to keep you looking at him. “I already knew that baby, I looked it up while you were eating.” He added, frowning when you cried harder. “You looked it up?” You sniffled, “that’s so sweet!” You groaned, hugging him tightly. He sighed into your hair, “I think you need some sleep.” He laughed, feeling you nod against him.

“Goodnight baby.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead as he laid down with you, relishing in the small smile on your lips as you finally felt at ease for the night.

***

Time had passed, and you both fell into a routine, eventually moving in together once you hit the one year mark. And that was already some time ago.

But over the last few months you both had noticed a change in your symptoms and decided to schedule an appointment with your doctor.

***

Jamie got out of his truck the second he got your text that said you were coming out, due to covid protocols put in place, he was unable to come in with you for your appointment, which made you even more on edge than you thought it would. You figured you’d done it plenty of times before, but knowing that he couldn’t come inside was terrifying.

He watched the doors of the medical center with concern as he rubbed the back of his neck, when he saw you walk out, eyes darting to find him as you shoved your mask into your purse, tears already pricking the corner of your eyes. He stepped forward, taking his weight off the side of his truck as you spotted him, “hey, hey, Y/N.” Jamie mumbled as you wrapped your arms around him in a shaky hug. He felt his heart clench as you cried into his shirt, “baby, talk to me.” He spoke gently, pushing you back enough to meet your eyes. “Surgery.” You squeaked out, you both knew it was a possible outcome, having done the watch and wait method for over a year. He listened intently as you recited nearly everything word for word that the doctor had said.

***

That was three months ago, a simple surgery that plenty of people have and it goes smoothly, turned into a three month process, between the pre op, and the scheduling, and the ultrasounds.

But now, now it was finally time for you to go in, and you were terrified and calm all at once. You weren’t scared for the anesthesia, or for the actual removal of the cysts, you were worried that something would go wrong and they’d have to remove your entire ovary, granted that would still leave you with one, but that didn’t make it any less disheartening.

The doctors had come and made their rounds, each one going over everything with you, over the statistics and the possible complications, only furthering your anxiety. When your gynecologist came in, dressed in her scrubs and ready to have you wheeled off to the operating room, she could see the way you were panicking and squeezing Jamie’s hand tightly. “I know she’s going to be put to sleep, but is there something she can have to take the edge off?” Jamie asked as you looked over with a pleading face. “Yes, of course.” She came over and rested a hand on your shoulder, “you’re going to do great.” She assured you, giving Jamie a reassuring smile as well. The second she left the room you burst into tears, “no baby.” He gave you a soft smile, pulling his mask down to kiss your forehead, “it’s going to be ok, no matter what happens. You’re so tough.” He wiped under your eyes, looking over as the anesthesiologist came in, along with a nurse, “I’m going to give you something to take the edge off, you should feel it pretty quickly alright?” He explained, waiting until you agreed to connect it to your IV.

Jamie watched as you took a couple of deep breaths before looking at him with a much calmer face, he held in a chuckle, “you feeling it baby?” He asked you, giving you one last hand squeeze, you nodded lazily. “Yeah.” You answered, already feeling sleepy, he couldn’t help but smile at how girlish it was making you act, “alright, I love you.” He reminded you with one more kiss to the forehead as they popped the brakes off the bed, “I love you.” You repeated as you stared up at the ceiling, he could tell you had a kind of blank face under your mask. He was just glad to see you not freaking out, as he felt the anxiety transfer to him as they rolled you away, leaving him in the empty room to wait for you.

It felt like an eternity to him, as he knew the surgery was only supposed to take thirty or so minutes, but he also knew they wouldn’t tell him anything until you were already waking up in recovery.

That was nearly three hours later, and he literally jumped to his feet when the doctor came in. She assured him everything went as good as she expected, it was just more difficult to get too, nothing went wrong and you were coming out any moment. He thanked her repeatedly as he felt his heart rate settle, after staring at a wall for so long, he turned to Google and that only worsened his anxiety on why it was taking so long.

When they finally brought you in, you still hadn’t seen the doctor because you had been so out of it, so you instantly looked at him with wide eyes, more awake now. “You did good, baby, don’t worry.” He assured you, standing beside the bed once they locked it in place, the nurse smiled as she charted everything on the computer beside you. “Are you Jamie?” She asked with a giggle, making your face heat up under your mask, “yes.” He answered, not tearing his eyes off you as he could see the puffiness in them from your breakdown earlier. He laced his hand with yours, rubbing it reassuringly as you sighed in relief. “She was asking for you before she could even keep her eyes open.” The nurse told him, earning a soft chuckle from his mouth. “Sounds like her.” He hummed in agreement, tuning into the nurses words as she started telling you what you needed to do before they would let you go, both of them surprised when you did them instantly, the doctor signing off on your release as you seemed more than fit to go home in the care of Jamie.

He was more than attentive to your every need, almost to the point where you got annoyed, but you knew he meant well so you let him do whatever he thought you needed.

You were extremely grateful to have him here with you, knowing that just because you’d gotten it fixed this one time, doesn’t mean it won’t come back. He didn’t let you think like that for long as he brought you back to the present with a gentle kiss to your temple as you leaned on his chest. “S’proud of you.” He mumbled, even though you didn’t do anything, he knew it took a lot for you to make the decision to do this. You didn’t have to answer as you curled further into him, a silent thank you for everything.

taglist: @boqvistsbabe @tortito @2manytabsopen @heybarzy @barzysreputation @yzas-stuff @iwantahockeyhimbo

#Jamie Oleksiak #Jamie Oleksiak imagine #Jamie Oleksiak fic #imagine #imagines #big rig #nhl

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baseballbitch116 · 3 years

Text

Dixons Next Door - Chapter 4

Introduction: Anna was a small town girl from Atlanta when she became the guardian of her two younger siblings. She was determined to keep them from the same abuse that she endured from her family, so she moved into a small beaten up house just outside the city in 2009. The new neighbors next door - the Dixon brothers - were definitely trouble. She wanted to escape her past, not repeat her parents history with these redneck brothers. Matters only escalate when the news is talking about the possibility of some virus getting out and infecting people… Are Merle and Daryl just as bad as her past? How is she going to keep her brother and sister safe from this virus getting out? What did Anna get herself into?

Setting: Pre-apocalypse

Word Count: 6896

Series Warnings: Offensive language, mentions/suggestion of physical abuse, alcohol abuse, drug abuse, sexual themes, violence & death

Chapter Warnings: Alcohol consumption, drug use, offensive language, assault, violence, sensitive themes - potential trigger warning

A/N: I got a little carried away and made this an extra long chapter, but it’s a good one! There are some sensitive topics in it so this is a trigger warning - it’s nothing too bad but some people may not want to read it. 18+ You’ve been warned.

Previous Chapter

Masterlist | Fandoms | Submit A Request

I had been cleaning out the pool for the kids while they ate lunch the next time that I was interrupted by Merle. He came over with a beer and hand and stood nearby me, watching silently. I gave him a look but he made no comment, he just sipped on his beer. I sighed and continued skimming the bugs and leaves out of the pool. “Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?” I ask without looking back at him. He chuckles.

“Why ya cleanin it? Just gonna get dirty again?” He asks, ignoring your question. You roll your eyes and smack the skimmer on the ground to get the debris off of it.

“Why shower - just gonna get dirty again.” I remark sarcastically.

“Exactly.” Merle agrees, and I look up in momentary shock before catching the sarcastic smirk on his face. “Ew,” I mutter, tossing the skimmer to the side and throwing the chlorine in the pool.

“So what bar ya work at?” He asks, glancing into the pool for a moment before looking back at you. You want to lie, but there’s literally only two bars in this small town, so it’s not like it matters much.

“Happy Hour Tavern.” I respond, wiping my hands off on my shorts and crossing my arms. “Surprised I haven’t seen ya there yet.” Referring to the beer in his hand at two in the afternoon.

He smirks. “Ya wanna see me there?” He suggests, and I roll my eyes.

“Didn’t say that.”

“Don’t ya worry, sugar. I’ll stop by.” He assures me, and I know he probably will.

“Great,” I mutter, and he chuckles.

“Where ya kids at?” He asks.

“Inside eating.”

“Wanna make me somethin to eat, sugarlips?” He asks flirtatiously. I roll my eyes again and huff.

“My name is Anna, and no, I don’t really have the money to be feeding the neighborhood.” I respond.

“Ain’t the neighborhood, doll. Just a friend.” He winks.

“Oh, so we’re friends?” I ask, shifting my weight.

“Yeah sure. Ya seem to be cozying up to my brother and all, ‘course we’re friends.” He responds sarcastically. The grin is gone from his face and he seems more serious now.

“What?” I ask, baffled by what he means by ‘cozying up to his brother.’

“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart. I saw ya the other day. Got him doing shit for ya, too. Impressive.” He rolls his eyes and takes a large gulp of his beer. Suddenly, the mood shifts, and I feel uncomfortable. Is he angry at me for asking Daryl for help? He is so hard to read, everything was just fine - what happened?

“I needed help lifting a heavy ass box. He was there. Doesn’t mean I’m ‘cozying up to anyone.’” I respond sternly. I don’t like being accused of using people. Merle chuckles.

“Relax, darlin, I ain’t jealous.” He taunts, lifting a hand to shield his eyes and looking up at the sky. “Issa good huntin day, bet he’s goin out there soon. I’ll see ya around, sugarlips.” Merle says as he begins walking away from me, leaving me confused and startled. What the hell just happened?

I began getting texts from my father that same day. I wasn’t entirely surprised, but I knew he wouldn’t go to the cops.

1:04 - Bring back my fuckin kids

1:15 - U ungrateful bitch after all i done 4 u

2:06 - Ima have every1 lookin 4 u

2:10 - U best not let me find u

3:34 - Ima tell the pigs u kidnapped em

4:08 - Just wait til i find u

My brother even texted me a few times, too.

12:30 - Pa’s lookin 4 u. He’s mad

1:10 - U took them? Ur not they momma, u kidnapped em

2:30 - U best bring em back or u’ll regret it Anna

The texts continued on and off throughout the day but I ignored them. My prejudice, abusive family would not get the best of me. He was probably drunk and went to find us to pick a fight and finally noticed we were gone. I couldn’t help but worry about if he ever did manage to find us. We were only a half hour away, it wouldn’t be too hard. It was only a matter of how much he was determined to do so. He’s not a smart man, I doubt he could track us down very easily. Plus, everyone who knew him, hated him. No one who knew us would help him - they would know the kids were safer with me. I’d rather be poor than abused.

Eventually I left my phone on silent and tried to keep my thoughts occupied. I didn’t tell the kids, of course. The kids had been playing in their room for most of the day, having fun with the large box that my bed frame had come in, using it as some sort of rocket or something. So I let them be inside and sat on the front steps to think in peace. I looked up at the sky and willed myself not to cry. They did not deserve my tears. They didn’t even deserve a moment’s thought. I forced myself not to think about all that they had put me through in my childhood. The nights I spent crying myself to sleep on my mattress on the floor. The bruises and scars I hid at school. The lies I told to keep myself from being taken away - only so I could protect my siblings.

My eyes burned as I fought back the tears and I hid my face in my hands on my lap.

“C’mon, Anna. It’s over now.” I mutter to myself, trying to believe my own words. Anger boiled over inside of me at the thought of what my father might do if he found us and took the kids back. I would not let him. Even if it killed me - he would not ruin their lives like he did mine.

A crash of thunder made me jump, bringing me back to the present. I looked up just in time to see Merle approaching from the woods, resheathing a knife on his hip. I figured he was hunting, and that gave me an idea.

“Hey, Merle!” I call out, quickly wiping my face and jumping up to head over to him. He looks pleasantly surprised and stopped in his tracks, smirking as I approached him. “I have a question.”

“Whatcha want, sugar?” He drawls, wiping his hand on a rag from his pocket. I notice a bit of blood and then the bag over his shoulder, making me wince. I didn’t wanna know.

“I wanna get a gun. But I don’t know the first thing about them, and I kinda hoped you did?” I inform him, glancing behind me to make sure the kids hadn’t come out. He chuckles quietly and looks me up and down.

“Whatcha want with a gun?” He asks. I resist getting defensive, sure that he thinks a woman can’t handle one.

“To protect myself. Family problems, let’s leave it at that.” I inform him with a look. “Do you think you could help me?” I plead. I didn’t wanna go into town and get scammed into buying a crappy, overpriced gun. Merle looks at me for a long moment, looking up at the darkening sky before shrugging.

“Come with me.” He responds, nodding toward his house. I look at it then back to him, giving him a sharp look. “I’m serious, ya want me help or not?” He demands. I look back toward my house for a moment before sighing.

“I can’t be long.” I tell him, and he smirks, heading toward his porch. I hesitantly follow behind him, dreading entering his place. Considering the trash and overgrown grass outside, I had a feeling the inside was much worse. I stepped inside the house cautiously, keeping my eye on Merle as I did so. He seemed to be the only one here, which relieved me. If any of those men from the other night were, I would have left. Merle tosses the bag from his shoulder onto an old wooden table and heads down the hall toward a bedroom, leaving me alone. The floor is dirty, there’s an old, stained armed chair in front of a box TV, and there’s stuff scattered everywhere. The place smells a little weird too, but I resist complaining. Merle returns a moment later with a case in hand. “Here,” Merle opens the case and reveals a gun, holding it out to me. It’s a handgun, I know that much. I look up at him and he gives me an impatient look, so I hesitantly grab the gun. It’s heavier than it looks, and I make sure to keep my finger off the trigger. “Ya ever shot one?” He asks, smirking at me.

“Once or twice.” I mumble, having flashbacks to the one time my father tried teaching me how to shoot bottles in the backyard. It wasn’t a fond memory at all…

“Ya can have it, but it’ll cost ya.” He winks.

“How much?” I ask, and he chuckles.

“Ion want ya money,” He drawls, and I immediately frown, thinking I know what he is implying.

“I’m not doing that either,” I scowl, going to hand the gun back to him. He doesn’t take it, chuckling some more.

“Whatcha want a gun for anyway?” He asks. I didn’t want to get into it, but maybe this would be a way around having to do something for him for it. I let out a sigh and looked at the weapon in my hand for a long moment.

“My father,” I start, not meeting his eye. “He’s uh, well he’s a piece of shit basically. I took the kids from him in the middle of the night and got this place, never told anyone where we were going. If he comes around… Well, I’m gonna need this.” I finally look up and meet his eye, exhaling deeply. He looks at me for a long moment, his face expressionless. It’s quiet and I am surprised he doesn’t make any rude or sarcastic comments. He shrugs, placing the case down on the old table.

“Keep it.” He tells me, and I raise my brows at him.

“Really?” I clarify, confused why he changed his mind.

“Ya need it more than I do. Got plenty round here.” He mutters, waving his arm up in no general direction. “I know all about piece of shit fathers.” He continues, giving me a solemn look. “My pops was. You was right, yer gonna need that. So take it, before I change my mind.” He drawls, heading over to their fridge and grabbing a bottle of beer, kicking it shut behind him. I don’t argue, despite being shocked and confused.

“Thank you, Merle.” I give him a sincere smile for the first time, and turn the gun over in my hands to ensure the safety is on.

“Takes 9MM. It’s loaded.” He informs me, plopping into the beaten up chair by the TV and opening his beer, taking a large gulp. I nod slowly and shift my weight, feeling awkward holding the gun but trying not to let him know.

“Okay,” I respond, turning to head out the door as he turns the TV on. “Thanks again.” I holler before I head out the door into the humid air. The sky has gotten very dark with storm clouds and the wind picked up, so I jog across the lawn back to my house and tuck the gun into the back of my shorts, hiding it under my shirt before I walk inside. I don’t need the kids seeing this.

“Anna! Look what we did!” Colton calls out from the hallway with a big grin on his face. I smile back at him and walk down the hall to their room, letting out a dramatic gasp when I see the box colored on with a bunch of random colors. “It’s our rocket!” He exclaims excitedly, rejoining his sister inside the big box.

“Wow! It looks so good guys!” I exclaim, grinning as they go back to their playing. I watch them for a moment before remembering the gun and walking into my own room, placing the gun on the top shelf in the closet. This will have to do until I have more furniture and somewhere safe to keep it.

The texts kept coming throughout the rest of the night.

6:05 - ware tf r my kids

6:43 - dont make me hunt u down girl

7:16 - uv always been a cunt this is just like u

8:11 - wat r u gonna do when u get nocked up by some prick u dont have money 4 all dem kids

The string of insults and threats lasted most of the night, the only reason I kept looking at them was to make sure that they hadn’t found us somehow, or had any ideas. I would need a head start if they did. I’m not sure if I would be able to shoot my brother, but I know I could shoot my dad. He deserved it. After all he did to me, all he put us through. Even my dead beat mother didn’t deserve him. He was half the reason she’s as bad as she is. Apparently, my mother hadn’t started using drugs until after I was born. My father had escalated when he had his first daughter, and his true colors began to shine through. My mom used in order to live with herself, the guilt, his abuse. She even made sure to get clean each time she learned she was pregnant, but she always relapsed. She was a strong woman - I had to give her that. If nothing else, she was strong. But still a horrible mother. She should have taken us with her when she left.

But now it was my responsibility. I had to do what she couldn’t. I couldn’t help but think about my parents, my horrible family - as I stood in the doorway, watching them sleep. I may not be able to change what happened to me, but I would do anything it took to prevent it from happening to Bailey and Colton. If it comes down to it, I will kill my own father to ensure he never lays another hand on them.

Watching them sleep peacefully, side by side in their own brand new bed with clean sheets and a safe roof over their head - that made it all worth it.

Jessie and Beau came over at nine with beers and I set up a fire in the front yard. I had found this old firepit someone was throwing away on the side of the road the other night and I took it of course. I was excited for some relaxing adult time before my shift tonight. I hated my job, but I made good money there so far.

“What time you work tonight?” Jessie asks as she pops open a bottle of beer and hands it to me with a grin on her face.

“Eleven to three. At least it’ll go by fast.” I respond, taking a gulp. The alcohol burns as it goes down my throat and I let out a sigh, leaning back into the stairs. I hadn’t gotten around to getting chairs for the yard yet - an unnecessary expense I couldn’t afford just yet. Jessie sat beside me, a lemonade in hand instead of beer, given that she was pregnant, and Beau sat on the hood of his truck, rolling a joint. I always enjoyed nights like this - quiet, relaxing, worry free. Jessie had been the best friend I’d ever had, I’m glad we’re still so close.

“That man ever come back?” She asks, referring to a customer from a few nights ago. He had gotten too drunk and handsy, trying to get me to give him my number. He even waited until the bar closed for me and the manager had to call the cops to get him to leave so I could go home. That was the latest reason I hated my job that I’d only had for a few weeks.

“No. Hopefully he never comes back, I don’t wanna have to use what Merle gave me earlier on him.” I mutter, glancing behind me to make sure the kids hadn’t woken up.

“The neighbor?” Beau asks. I nod.

“What did he give you? Are yous like, talking now?” Jessie asks, leaning on her knees and giving me a worried look.

“No, it’s nothing like that. I wanted to look into getting… a gun, for protection. From Dad.” I explain in a quieter tone. “I figured someone like him would know a place, and he actually ended up giving me a handgun.” I continue, watching Jessie’s disapproving look and wide eyes. “I’ll be safe. I really need it. If Dad finds out where we are…” I trail off, taking a large sip of my beer and letting a huff out.

“Why’d he just give you a gun for free?” Beau asks, looking up from where he was rolling the joint on the hood.

“I dunno. At first he said it was gonna cost me, but then when I mentioned it was because of Dad, he let me just have it. Said he knew all about asshole fathers.” I shrugged. “Either way, works for me.”

“Just don’t let him use that against you. Who knows what he might try to pull, he reminds me of Mack.” Jessie rolls her eyes when she mentions my older brother, grimacing. She hates me as much as I do. He had tried to get with her a million times and it made him resentful, yelling and cursing at her. Which then resulted in Beau beating the shit out of him - which was a sight for sore eyes.

“Yeah, he’s a bit better than him though. From what I’ve seen, at least.” I shrug, taking another swig of my beer. “Dad’s been texting me most of the day, he texted me earlier too. The bullshit you’d expect - pretending to care I took the kids, threatening me.” I explain, handing my phone to Jessie to see the string of unanswered texts.

“I hate them,” She grumbles as she scrolls through the texts. “They won’t find you, don’t worry. They’re too stupid to figure it out.” I chuckle at her comment.

“Yeah, you’re right about that.” I giggle. Beau stands up and offers me the blunt, which I accept and take a long hit from. As I am doing so, I hear a man start laughing and sure enough, Merle and Daryl are standing at the bottom of their porch. I exhale the large puff of smoke and hand the blunt back to Beau, leaning on my knees and resisting the urge to cough.

“Damn girl, who knew ya could have a little fun!” Merle exclaims, walking across the lawn toward us. Daryl and I make eye contact for a short moment before he rolls his eyes and leans against the beat up railing, placing his crossbow on the porch stairs, seemingly waiting for his brother. I roll my eyes with a smirk at Merle’s comment. Ever since earlier, I’ve decided to cut him a little slack. If I was interpreting right, we had more in common than I thought - at least, regarding families.

“Yeah, sometimes.” I respond, offering my beer bottle to him, earning a surprised look from Jessie. I was trying to be nice to Merle to repay him for the gun, so he wouldn’t come collecting in another way. It was the least I could do for a free handgun and clip. Merle looks shocked for a short moment but smirks and takes the bottle from my hand, taking a large swig.

“Yous her family?” Merle asks, looking at Jessie. She hesitates for a moment before shaking her head.

“Friends.” She responds, readjusting her feet uncomfortably. I stand up and suddenly I’m aware of just how close Merle was to me. I am almost touching him as he leans against my railing, my bottle in his large hands, a smirk plastered across his face. He looks fairly attractive in the fire light and his seemingly clean-ish clothes. He’s wearing black cargo pants and a white T-shirt under a jacket, and I take notice of the knife holstered on his hip. “Going hunting?” I ask, taking a step away from him toward the fire and tossing another log in.

“Mhm,” He responds, taking another sip of my beer. “Wanna come with, sweetheart? Can show ya the ways.” He suggests flirtatiously.

“I actually know how to,” I smirk, stepping closer to him and grabbing the beer from his hand, taking a large sip while looking into his eyes. The alcohol and hit were starting to get to me - I was a bit of a lightweight nowadays, since I’ve lost weight and had less time to do this kind of stuff. Merle bites his bottom lip and holds the intense eye contact with me, taking the beer back when I hand it to him and I can feel his eyes on me as I retake my seat beside Jessie.

“Yer loss.” He shrugs, pretending to be indifferent.

“C’mon man!” Daryl shouts from their side of the lawn impatiently. I wish that he would come join us too - I wanna get to know him better.

“Ugh I’m comin! Get yer panties outta a bunch!” He shouts over his shoulder. Merle hands the beer back to me after one last gulp and heads off to rejoin Daryl, walking away into the dark woods.

“What was that all about?” Jessie demands when they are out of earsight. I shrug and set the beer down, not wanting to get anymore intoxicated, given that I still have work later.

“I dunno, gotta be nice. I kinda owe him.” I mumble, kicking at dirt. Truth be told, I found those brothers interesting. Mysterious and dangerous, but alluring. Yes, they were trouble, but I always ended up attracting trouble anyway.

“You better be careful.” Jessie warns me, and I nod.

The night went on peacefully and we all enjoyed talking over the fire and relaxing with the kids asleep. I left for work and Jessie stayed at my place while Beau went out with his friends after dropping me off. He was gonna pick me up after work too, since he was gonna be in the same general area.

My shift was going fine until about one, when I recognized a familiar face and my whole night went sour. The creepy man from the other night was back, and he had his eyes on me. He was with another man at a table instead of the bar, but he was very obviously watching me. I informed the manager on duty but it wasn’t the same man from the other night, so he didn’t know the extent of how creepy the man was. He only came up to the bar once, having his buddy order drinks while he watched me. I remained calm and didn’t even glance at him, handing the drinks to his friend and accepting the two dollar tip without a word.

It took about a half an hour to finish cleaning up after everyone was out of the bar and I was dreading heading outside. I had a feeling that the man would be waiting for me again, but the manager didn’t want me wasting hours and had to stay behind to finish up, so I had to go out alone. I hung up my apron at the door and sighed as I locked up behind myself, leaving the manager alone in the building to finish recounting the drawers. I had already stuffed my tip money into my purse and had my keys tucked between my fingers as I looked around cautiously for a sign of anyone. There were still people out, despite being a bit past three in the morning. Beau hadn’t answered my texts in the last half hour and Jessie was asleep, so I had to wait. Great. Across the street, I spotted a nice looking motorcycle across the street, but that was the only vehicle besides far down the road.

I started walking toward the street light by the corner to wait for Beau when I heard a male voice call out. “Hey! Bitch!” I grasped my keys tighter in my hand and turned my head, spotting the man and his buddy down the alleyway. They stood up from leaning on the wall and started heading my way, so I started walking faster, but then they started running.

“Help!” I hollered and started running across the street. The adrenaline kicked in in my body as fear took over and I ran as fast as I could down the opposite side of the street. They were close behind me and I tried to hop over a fence, but they caught up and threw me onto the ground before I could get all the way over. “Help! Please!” I screamed as loud as I could, trying to kick the men away from me. The main guy sat on top of my hip and shoved a hand over my mouth, smirking evilly down at me as his buddy started trying to lift me. I kicked and flailed as hard as I could but I couldn’t get away as they drug me across the ground into a back alley.

“Hey!” I heard a different male voice holler and then there was the sound of glass breaking. The main man let go of his hand over my mouth to look behind him and I took that opportunity to scream as loud as my lungs would let me, before the second guy punched me in the face. I swore I saw stars as my face throbbed, the two still pinning me, my head propped against the second guy’s chest where he held a knife to my throat.

“Get off her. Now.” A deep male voice demands. I can’t see with the main guy on top of me but I am grateful for whoever it is coming to my rescue. The men only chuckle evilly but then something happens and the second guy jumps away from me quickly, making me slam my head down on the concrete. I groan and my vision goes blurry with tears as the stinging in my head intensifies. “Help…” I mutter as I fight to stay conscious, my head throbbing. The cold, rocky concrete is painful against my cheek, but not as bad as the weight of the man or the stinging in my head.

I can finally see around the main guy and spot a man a few yards away, aiming something in our direction. It’s hard to see with my blurred vision and the darkness, but it looks like a weird sideways weapon. “Ay, man. Chill out. We was just having some fun, that’s all.” The second guy insists, holding his hands up a little. I try to wiggle away but the man on top of me grabs onto my throat and holds a knife toward me.

“Think I won’t? Get the hell outta here or I’ll kill her right here, right now.” The man growls. I stare at the sharp tip of the knife in my face, fearing this is where my life will end. What will happen to Bailey and Colton without me?

The next moment is a huge blur. One second, there is a knife in my face, and the next, the man falls off of me, screaming in pain on the ground beside me. I jump up off the ground as fast as I can and stumble away from them, running blindly in the direction of where I had seen the shadowy figure of the other man. I stumble and trip in the combination of darkness and the pain throughout my body, reaching out to the brick wall to catch myself from falling but someone else catches me and I start flailing and trying to get away, until I look up.

It’s Merle. He hoists me up from where I was half fallen on the ground onto my feet and puts a hand around my waist to keep me up against him. His face is serious and it’s the first time he hasn’t cracked any jokes to me. I’ve never been more relieved to see someone in my life. I reach up and hold onto his neck, trying to keep my balance. The man continues screaming and cursing and I look back, spotting Daryl holding up a crossbow. “Oh shit! Fuck!” The second man screams, running away and leaving his friend behind with an arrow in his ass. Daryl walks over to him and takes his knife, pressing a foot on the man’s back and yanking the arrow out from his asscheek. I turn and hide my face in Merle’s shirt, disgusted and terrified. The screaming continues and then I hear a second scream and a trash can get knocked over. When I look back again, the other man is laying on the ground toward the back of the alley, an arrow in his leg.

Daryl stalks over to him and rips the arrow from his leg as well, kicking the man in the face before heading back toward the first man. “Ya ever, ever - come back here again… I’ll kill ya.” Daryl growls at the main guy who had been stalking me. Daryl rejoins us and puts a hand on my back hesitantly, looking down at me. I’d never been this close to either of the brothers and yet, somehow, I felt safer now.

“T-thank you.” I mumble into Merle’s chest, holding onto him tight, too afraid to let go. Tears stained into his shirt but I couldn’t bring myself to care - I was shaking and biting back crying.

“C’mon,” Merle mumbles, grasping onto my tight and trying to turn me around. I held onto him tight and let them lead me away, not paying attention. I saw Daryl grab my purse and keys in the corner of my eye and noticed Merle was leading me to a motorcycle. “You take her back, little brother. I’ll meet ya there after I finish up here.” Merle lets go of me and I feel like I’m going to fall over from the pounding in my head, but Daryl grabs onto me before I can fall completely over.

“Damn,” Daryl mutters, grabbing me tight and I notice that we are face to face. He’s got me by my waist and my hands grasp onto his shirt collar. “Sorry…” I mumble, blinking away fresh tears. He doesn’t respond but he helps me onto the back of the motorcycle. “Hold onto this.” He takes my hand and places it on these handlebar things, and I do. I do my best to stay up straight while he attaches my purse and his crossbow onto the back of the motorcycle and then sits in front of me. I whip my head toward the alley when I hear more screaming, but Daryl starts the engine and revs the bike. “Hold onto me. Tight.” Daryl hollers over his shoulder, and I do so without hesitation. I wrap my arms tightly around his waist and lean my head against his shoulder, terrified to fall off. I’ve never been on a motorcycle before - if I had been in a normal state of mind, I would have objected. But at this point, I wanted to get home as fast as possible.

The motorcycle is fast and the wind blows past us. I keep my eyes closed and focus on holding onto Daryl, feeling lightheaded and scared of falling off. It’s a short ride and he has to help me off of the bike. Holding onto his rough hand made me feel anxious and insecure but I had to in order to keep upright. He led me inside his house, and I did not object, as I did not want the kids to see me or for me to wake them up. He leads me over to a beaten up couch and I hesitantly sit down, looking around cautiously. I didn’t know if anyone else was here, but it seemed we were alone. I held onto my own arms tightly and tried to focus on my breathing. “I should uh, check ya out.” Daryl mumbles, crouching down in front of me. He waits for me to respond in some way, so I nod and uncross my arms. He runs a hand up my bare leg and I force myself not to flinch. I’m not afraid of Daryl, but tonight’s events have me shaken up. “Stand up,” He says, offering me his hand to help me get up. He lifts up my shirt a little and I flinch when he touches my back. “Yer pretty scratched up.” He comments, removing his hand from my back. “Should put somethin on that, so it don’t get infected.” He stands up when I sit back down and walks away, presumably to grab something. I hold onto my head and wince in pain where there is a large bump already forming.

Daryl returns with a few items in hand. He gives me a package of peas and shrugs, not meeting my eye. “Don’t have ice packs.” He mumbles, kneeling in front of me. “Turn around.” He tells me, and I move so that he can get to my back, placing the ice on my head. He starts applying something cold to my back and I sit as still as I can, wincing at the pain from where I was drug across the concrete. “Yer shirt’s all torn.” He notes when he pulls it back down. “Lemme see yer head.” I remove the ice and he gently runs his fingers through my hair, eventually finding the lump and I jump in pain, tearing up. “Sorry,” He mutters. “How do you feel? Ya might have a concussion.” He says, and I groan.

“I can’t afford to have a concussion.” I mumble and lean back into the sofa, holding the ice against my head once more. Daryl places a gentle hand on my cheek, below my eye, where I was punched. I look into his eyes as he gently rubs his rough thumb over what is surely a black eye. “M’sorry this happened to ya.” He mutters, looking away.

“Thank you for saving me.” I respond quietly.

“Wish I’d been there sooner.” He grumbles, standing up and removing his vest, tossing it onto the seat. He is wearing a black button down shirt and black jeans, his hair is matted against his forehead - but he looks very attractive. I look down at my bare knees that are now scratched up and feel my eyes burning again.

“What were you doing there, anyway?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Merle wanted a drink. Said ya worked there, wanted to bother ya I’m sure.” I let out a small chuckle and he continues. “We were leavin to head back, but we heard ya yellin.” I nod and look down again, trying not to think about it. I should be used to this sort of thing by now, given what I went through as a child.

Before either of us can say anything more, the door opens and Merle steps in, wiping his hands off on a rag. I notice the faint red marks on his knuckles and wonder what he had been doing, but try not to think of that either. Whatever he did, I didn’t care. Those men deserved it.

“She good?” Merle asks his brother, looking over at me huddled on their sofa. Daryl nods and explains my injuries briefly to Merle, who huffs. “Lucky we were there, sugar.” He comments. I don’t respond, hugging myself and shivering a little. Daryl notices but Merle heads to the bathroom, probably to clean up. Daryl walks away but returns shortly with a shirt and sweatpants. “Here. Ya can change in my room.” He mutters, handing the clothes to me. I am shocked but I accept and stand up slowly, following him back to his room. He shuts the door behind himself and I stand there for a moment, surprised to be in his room. He’s a lot sweeter than he likes to come off, it seems. It’s a very standard room. Pretty messy, no decorations, basic sheets on the bed, old paint. He clearly doesn’t care much for the room, it seems like he probably only uses it to sleep. It’s not “homey.” I remove my now ruined shirt and skirt and throw the large T-shirt on and tie the sweatpants on tight so they will fit me. The shirt is baggy and I notice it smells like Daryl. I hadn’t known what he smelled like before today but now I recognize it. It kinda smells like the outdoors, like firewood or something. It’s a nice scent, though, and I find it comforting.

I open the door with my old clothes in hand and spot Daryl waiting down the hall, leant up against the wall. Merle comes out of the bathroom at the same time and we make awkward eye contact. “Look like a Darylina.” He comments with a chuckle, walking past me toward the kitchen. Daryl looks at me for a long moment, until I meet his eye, and then he drops his gaze to the floor. I slowly approach him and give him a forced, appreciative smile. “Thank you.” I tell him gratefully. He has been so kind to me tonight. Before today, I hadn’t barely spoken to him before and he was always standoffish and seemed to avoid talking to me. It was a weird change, but welcomed. If only the circumstances it occurred under were different…

“Want me to throw em away?” He asks, referring to my clothes in hand. I shrug and hand them to him. He tosses them into a trash can and Merle walks over to the chair by the TV, popping open and beer and kicking his feet up. He seemed so nonchalant about the whole situation, it was weird. “Oh shit,” I mutter, realizing Beau is probably worried, waiting for me. “Do you have my phone?” I ask Daryl.

“That’s what yer worried bout?” Merle speaks up.

“No, I had been waiting for my ride. He’s probably worried.” I explain, looking to Daryl, hoping he had grabbed it. Silently, he pulls my phone from his pocket and hands it to me. “Thank you.” I unlock it and find a million missed calls from both Beau and Jessie. He must have woken her up when I never showed up. “Shit.” I grumble. I hated worrying them, after all they do for me.

“Yer boyfriend?” Merle asks, gulping down some of his beer.

“No, my friend’s boyfriend.” I respond as I text both of them in a group message that I was okay and that I would explain.

“Why would yer friend’s man be pickin ya up at three in the mornin?” Merle asks with a wink.

“Ew, no. I’m not like that. He’s a good friend, she’s watching the kids for me at my house right now. I gotta go let them know I’m okay…” I trail off, then remember I’m in Daryl’s clothes. “Uh, I can go change and bring these back-” I start, but he shakes his head.

“Keep em.” He insists, and I feel bad, but don’t fight back. “Ya might have a concussion, so ya should have someone check up on ya when ya sleep tonight, and get it checked.” He explains.

“Doctor Daryl.” Merle jokes sarcastically, and his brother shoots him an evil eye.

“Thank you guys for helping me. I don’t know how I can repay you…” I trail off, refusing to think about the course of the night again.

“Don’t worry bout it, darlin.” Merle smirks.

“Couldn’t just leave ya there.” Daryl mutters awkwardly, shuffling his feet.

“Well, still. Thank you.” I repeat before heading toward the door. Daryl follows behind me, handing me my purse and keys, and I wave before walking out and heading back to my house slowly, careful not to trip. I look back and notice he is watching me and I feel my cheeks heat up, fumbling to get my key out and open my door. I notice Beau’s truck is here and when I open the door, the two of them are sitting on the sofa, waiting for me.

Jessie and Beau were furious when I told them what happened and I ended up crying on her shoulder, letting the emotions from the night settle in. Beau threatened to go back out looking for them but I told him what I suspected Merle did and he didn’t. Jessie helped me get cleaned up and settled into bed. She slept next to me in my bed that night and woke me up every two hours, in case I had a concussion. Beau slept on the couch and I had never felt more appreciative for anyone more than I did for them and Daryl in that very moment...

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storiesforallfandoms · 3 years

Text

just hold me ~ yungblud

word count: 2206

request?: yes!

“Could you write a fluffy yungblud fic? Like maybe the reader has been going through a tough mental health time, and he helps? 🖤”

description: after a week that is mentally trying, all she wants is for her boyfriend to hold her

pairing: yungblud x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

You know those weeks that just absolutely kick your ass? The ones that absolutely nothing is going right and it feels like nothing will ever go right?

Yeah, that was my week.

It started off by realizing that one of my assignments that I thought I had so much time to do was due that day, and I wasn’t even close to being finished. I tried to give my professor some bullshit reason to get an extension but she wouldn’t hear of it, and because I even tried to get an extension she told me she wouldn’t even take it late and marked the assignment as a zero. Then I got my schedule for work and found that they were starting to take shifts away from me. So many, in fact, that I’d be lucky if I was able to make rent and bills. Besides all of that, school was just kicking my ass in general. I was starting to fall behind in my classes but I was feeling so down about everything lately that I felt as though I couldn’t sit still to do any of my schoolwork.

I found myself hitting my breaking point after a particularly rough day at work. Customers were being more rude than usual and I had been run off my feet the entire day. I was clocking out for the day when my manager pulled me aside to talk to me.

“A customer complained about you,” she said, trying to keep her voice soft as she spoke. I knew my manager liked me enough, but she had this way of talking that always made her sound like she was angry.

“What?” I said. “When? For what?”

“Shortly before you clocked out. They were demanding to see the manager, so Julie came and got me and brought me to their table. They said you were being very rude to them and refused to serve them, and that you made Julie do it instead.”

I could not believe this.

I knew exactly what table my manager was talking about of course. It was a table of four - a man, a woman, and two teenaged looking kids. They were supposed to be my last table of the day before I was cut. I had only been there for maybe ten minutes before they started demanding a new server instead of me. They were asking me questions that I wasn’t too sure of about the food on the menu, and when I told them I could ask the kitchen so I could give them a proper answer, the man freaked at me and called me all sorts of awful names. He told me I was incompetent and he didn’t understand why the restaurant would hire someone who didn’t even know the “simplest of answers to simple questions”.

His poor kids looked so awkward over it. His wife basically ignored the whole situation and continued to look at her menu.

I had tried to remain as cool as I could but I could feel tears starting to well up in my eyes. I asked again if he wanted me to ask the kitchen about the questions he had, and he responded, “No, I want you to get me a server who can actually do their job.”

I got Julie, who had been working at the restaurant for roughly two years. I explained the situation to her and she told me I could get ready to clock out if I wanted to.

I guess between doing exactly what I was told by that rude table and finally getting the clock out, he had complained about me to Julie and to my manager and made up some stupid story to get me in trouble.

“Oh my God,” I sighed. “I swear to you, that is not the truth at all.”

“I know it’s not,” she assured me. “When Julie came to get me she explained the whole situation. Even if she didn’t, I’d know they were lying. You’re too nice and too kind to be rude to even an asshole table like them.” She sighed and gave me a sympathetic look. “But that gentleman was so furious that he demanded some kind of actions be taken. I told him nothing could be done besides maybe a note being put on your professional record.”

I didn’t understand what she was telling me at first, but when it dawned on me my heart fell to my stomach.

“No, no you can’t,” I said, trying to keep back the tears that starting to run down my face. “I wasn’t even rude to them, you can’t write me up for something I didn’t do.”

“And I’ll make a note of that in the write up,” she told me. “But for now it’s all I can do. You had a customer complain about you, it’s our company policy that we give employees write ups when we feel it’s the right thing to do.”

So she thinks it’s the right thing to to permanently stain your professional record, and to push you one step closer to being fired.

Before anything else could be said, I raced out of the doors into the parking lot. I covered my mouth to stifle my sobs until I got to my car. Once I was there, I placed my head against the steering wheel and began to sob.

I was there for at least 20 minutes because I didn’t trust myself to drive yet. I could barley calm myself down, but eventually I just wanted to leave. I didn’t want to risk seeing the asshole and his family leaving the restaurant, and frankly, I just didn’t want to be there anymore.

I started driving towards my apartment, but as my sobbing and shaking began again, I realized I didn’t want to be alone then. I came to a red light and quickly shot my boyfriend, Dom, a text asking him if it was alright if I went to his place instead.

His response came almost immediately. “Of course it’s alright baby! You don’t have to ask!”

I arrived shortly after and let myself in with the key he had given me. I threw my work stuff onto the floor, knowing I would feel guilty about it once I had completely calmed down. I made my way to Dom’s room where I knew he would be. As usual when he wasn’t recording or touring, he was sat on his bed watching Netflix. He turned to greet me with a smile, only for his smile to drop when he saw my face.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked, starting to get up from the bed.

I shook my head and held a hand out, stopping him from getting up. As he laid back down, I took off the hoodie I had been wearing and my work jeans, which were now basically stuck to me with sweat, leaving me in just my t-shirt and my underwear. I climbed onto Dom’s bed and rested my head on his chest.

“Just hold me,” I said. “Please.”

He wrapped his arms around me and held me close. I began to sob yet again, thinking over all the bad that had happened to me this week. I felt so tired, both mentally and physically, and I just wished there was a way to take a break from it all.

Dom ran his hands up and down my body, trying to soothe me into some form of calm. Eventually, my exhaustion got the best of me and I fell asleep in Dom’s arms.

~~~~~~

Some time later, I woke up alone under the covers of Dom’s bed. I rolled over to look for my phone to check the time, only to find that it was nowhere to be found. It was dark outside, which meant it was still nighttime, and yet Dom wasn’t asleep next to me.

I was still in my t-shirt and underwear from when I had arrived to Dom’s, so the day before, unfortunately, wasn’t a dream.

I heard some sounds coming from the bathroom and got up to see if that’s where Dom had gone. Sure enough, I found my boyfriend knelt next to the bathtub, filling it with water so hot that I could see the steam coming from it.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

He seemed startled when I spoke, and turned to look at me. “Oh no, I wanted to wake you when I had the bath ready for you.”

“Well, I’m glad I caught you, because that water looks way too hot,” I teased and reached around him to turn down the hot water and turn up the cold instead. “Why are you running me a bath at like...I don’t know, kinda late at night? And where’s my phone?”

“I have it with mine,” he responded. “Which is in a hidden spot, because you need to take a break from your phone.”

I couldn’t argue with him there. “What’s up with the bath then?”

“You always say that a hot bath helps you to relax after a hard day,” Dom explained. “And obviously today was a hard day, so I’m running you this bath and I have that gold bath bomb you like so much.”

“When did you get that? I haven’t left any bath bombs here in a while.”

“I bought it in case of emergencies.”

I smiled at Dom and sat on the toilet seat lid to watch as he finished filling the bathtub. He had me test the water before pulling me to a stand and helping to take off my clothes. Even though it wasn’t meant to be in a sexual manner, there was something extremely intimate about Dom pulling my shirt over my head and my panties down my legs.

I got into the water and sighed as my body sank down till the only thing not underwater was my neck. Dom got the gold bath bomb from under the sink and gave me the honors of dropping it into the water as that was my favorite part of bath bombs.

“Are you joining me?” I asked.

He smiled cheekily and began to undress. “That was my original plan, but I decided to wait and see if you wanted me to join.”

I sat forward, giving him room to slip into the tub behind me. Once he had settled himself, I leaned back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me and began kissing my neck and shoulders.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked as his lips continued to trail over whatever bare skin he could reach.

I sighed. “Not really, but I guess the only way to work past it is to talk about it.”

I told him everything; about school, about work, about the asshole customer that fucked me over. He listened for however long I talked without interrupting. Once it was clear that I had finished talking, he spoke.

“That guy is a fuckin wanker,” he said. “I can’t believe people like that exist. You were just trying to do your job and he fucked you over like that.”

“It happens,” I said. “Hasn’t happened to me before today, but all my co-workers have stories of assholes who will complain to the manager for the littlest of things. We had someone complain once because their food didn’t look like it did in the picture on the menu and they wanted it for free. That’s usually all people want - free food.”

“I can’t believe your manager is going along with that,” he said. “Even if she makes a note that you did nothing wrong, that’s still looking bad on you.”

“I think they want to fire me,” I admitted. “That’s the only reason they would be giving me less shifts. They want to slowly get rid of me before they straight up fire me.”

“I don’t think they’ll do that, babe.”

“I think they will. I’ve probably done one too many things wrong and now it’s my time to get the boot. It happens so often that whenever someone gets a few less shifts a week we panic.”

Dom squeezed me a moment before kissing me behind my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Well, if they want to fire you then we’ll look for a new job. You don’t have to stay there and take shit from assholes and let your managers treat you like dirt to keep the assholes happy. There’s hundreds of restaurants you could work at instead.”

For some reason, this thought hadn’t occurred to me.

“I’d like that,” I said. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay? I’m starting to relax, I don’t want to get worked up again.”

“Okay, baby.”

We were silent for a moment, just the sounds of the water shifting around us filling the room. I leaned my head back enough that I could look up at Dom. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked.

“For...for being you.”

He smiled at me and kissed my head. “Thank you for being you, too.”

I smiled and settled myself against him again, allowing myself to finally relax for the first time all week.

#yungblud #yungblud imagine #yungblud x reader #dom harrison #dom harrison imagine #dom harrison x reader #dominic harrison #dominic harrison x reader #dominic harrison imagine #imagine #request #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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milstrim · 3 years

Text

Home Is in My Arms

Tony Stark had had a daughter.

Her name had been Penelope.

She had had superpowers.

And he hadn't seen her in four years.

The ten year-old had last been seen on March thirty-first, 2012. The day of the Chitauri invasion. Tony had seen her that morning, and he guessed he could at least be grateful that their last interaction hadn't been like his own with his parents. Instead of a fight that was never resolved, the two had giggled on the couch of the newly furnished tower, him and Pepper with glasses of wine and Penny with her mint milkshake. Pepper had side-eyed them exasperatedly, as though their laughs and jokes had been the worst ruckus anyone had ever made.

And then Coulson. And then Steve. And then Natasha and Bruce and a God he had learned about in history when he was younger. And then Loki and the Helicarrier and explosions that had left Tony's head ringing--but nothing had hurt more than the loss of his friend.

Everything had gone by so quickly, so desperately, there had been no time to do anything about anything except gear up and go. The biggest reassurance he had given himself was that his homework had caused Pepper and Penny to leave the city for a couple of days while the girl was on Spring Break. It meant they were safe from everything was about to happen, and that he didn't have to worry past New York.

And they had won. The Avengers had been formed under desperate circumstances. They had saved the world.

And Penny had been gone.

Pepper had left on the plane, but Penny had managed to convince her godmother that she should stay at her friend's house for a sleepover. The aliens hadn't even been able to make it past the perimeter and into Queens, but the hectic of it had been enough. Or maybe she had run off to help. Even at ten she was braver than he was. Better. And equipped with superpowers from a field trip's rogue spider that made her stronger than even Captain America.

But it hadn't been enough.

No body was ever recovered. No trace of her was ever found. No footage or DNA or witnesses. There was nothing. Nothing for him to even try and grasp onto what had happened to her. How she had died. The best anyone could do was assume that a Chitauri weapon had vaporized her and to try to grieve from there.

And by God did he try.

After the Mandarin and almost losing Pepper, he'd put in more effort than he ever had. He visited the grave where no body was buried, leaving flowers and trinkets and books he knew she would have loved. He talked. To people who had known her like he had. Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and even Natasha.

The two had been so close when the woman had spied on him. Closer than he had been, still trying to change and learn to be a father better than his own after Afghanistan. He'd been dying and hadn't focused on anything but himself. About what he wanted to do before he was gone, instead of what would happen to his family afterwards.

So Tony tried. He tried a lot, but trying didn't always end in success. No, sometimes it ended in helicarriers made for HYDRA to control. Or a robot meant to protect only trying to destroy. Or in the fracturing of the Avengers, with Natasha and Steve on the run while the others sat in a max security prison that he spent every living moment trying to get them out of.

Except for now. Or maybe now too. Tony didn't know why Natasha had texted him. Only that she had betrayed him and texted only a couple of weeks later with a location out in Birmingham, England and nothing else but the message 'Get here quick.'

And he had. With nothing but a quick word to Pepper to keep Ross off of his aching back for a day, he'd stepped onto his plane and arrived in just over six hours. From there the billionaire had stepped into a waiting car and zoomed towards the address the spy had sent him, his heart racing just as fast as the vehicle's as he curved through city traffic.

Tony's thoughts strayed to Steve and Barnes and what had happened the last time he'd zoomed off to help his teammate. He swallowed down on his stuttering fear, reassured partly by the guantlet-watch sat snugly on his wrist and partly because he knew Natasha. Well, he knew her better than he ever had Steve anyway. Him and Natasha had fought, and there'd always been room for disagreements and anger, but at the end of the day they knew each other. And they were family.

The mechanic pulled up outside the run-down apartment complex, giving it a onceover before parking, pulling a baseball cap on low, and stepping out.

There was a drizzle, light and cold for the summer, even in England. He frowned, but only pulled his hood up with a shiver and stepped through the rusted metal gate, allowing him access to the first floor of apartments and a set of spindly stairs that he hoped didn't lead to any kind of locked door. He didn't exactly have a key, and Tony would prefer to not draw any attention to himself while here.

The man didn't need anymore grief from Ross. Not while he was desperate to pin something on Tony, and meeting with a violator of the Accords wouldn't exactly do much for his public image.

Biting on a sigh, Tony headed up the stairs towards the apartment number that Natasha had sent him. Thankfully, there was no locked door in his way, and the only person in the hallway that the stairs had led him to seemed to be much too out of it to pay him any mind. Quicker than he really would have liked, Tony was outside Apartment 9B, the number rusted and close to falling off of its hinges. Sucking in a breath, he knocked.

It only took a few seconds for the door to click! and then crack open just enough for him to catch familiar blue eyes and cropped platinum hair interrupted by a second lock's chain.

Natasha let out a short breath of relief, unlocking the door fully and opening the door just enough that he could slip inside. He glanced around the apartment once as she locked the door back up, surprised to see it was basically exactly what he had expected. It was small and old, orderly but not quite well-kempt, with evidence of past fights staining and fracturing the walls.

"Nice place," he commented. "Very runaway."

"Very last minute," Natasha responded. "It's not as easy as you think it is to get an apartment when everyone's trying to arrest you."

"You seem to slip away no matter what. By the way, how did you get away from Ross last week? I've got to know your trick on that, because I could use some pointers."

Natasha stopped beside him, a small smile tugging at her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest. Despite his forcefully loose and nonchalant posture, Tony felt himself freeze up looking at the Avenger. Her expression, no matter what it was, had always been hard for Tony to discern when she was practically the perfect spy. But now, this smile--it was sad and joyful and regretfully guilty.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice dropping to something softer. Rarely sincere.

Natasha glanced away from him to stare at a door for a moment before glancing back at him. Her lips twitched and her eyes threatened tears in a way that he hadn't thought she would express to him.

She swallowed. "Penny's alive. And I found her."

Tony--

Tony didn't react. Not for nearly a minute. Instead he stared, his entire body stilling--even his damaged heart--before he seemed to come back to life all at once like a broken wound-up toy.

The man stumbled back a step, falling into the nearest gray wall. One lonely breath coming in in a strangled gasp as he willed for something--anything--to make sense.

"She's alive?"

Natasha nodded.

"How?" he demanded. "How--in England? From New York? There's no way anybody could've just taken her while I was--"

The man cut himself off, dragging in another wheeze that rattled through his entire chest. His legs began to collapse under him, but his friend caught him, managing to maneuver him onto the floor slowly. Tony leaned against the wall as Natasha sat beside him, her head propped up against the wall beside him.

Neither said anything. Not for a few minutes at least at Tony's shaking and gasping ebbed. Not until he could force out images and nightmares of Penny his mind had tortured him with for years. He locked them in a box and dropped it in an ocean of useless thoughts, because his daughter was alive. Because she wasn't dead and none of it--a painful death full of fear and confusion while Tony was only blocks away that he had been tortured by for years--had ever happened.

Natasha spoke up when he'd finally managed to take in eight consistent breaths.

"I was raised in the Red Room," she started. "I was taken from my family and tortured for years. I tried to make a family there, and I did. For a little bit at least. But that family was taken too, replaced by the only world I had ever known. One based on pain and dictated structure. A cruel trick to play on a child, but it was normal for the Red Room. What wasn't normal was me not only succeeding more than they had ever dreamed, but succeeding past them. Escaping and deserting. Killing Dreykov was the last step of my defection to SHIELD. It was revenge and justice all at once. The others would be freed and I could clear out my ledger in a life I chose."

She swallowed, taking a moment.

"I failed. I failed and I didn't know." Natasha turned from staring ahead at the wall to stare at Tony. Suffering blue met broken brown, tired and guilty reflecting. In a whisper, she said, "Dreykov lived. He lived until a week ago. And the Red Room, and every Widow in it, lived under him."

Tony was touched to be trusted this much. To be trusted with even a sliver of what his friend had gone through in such a time of suspicion and betrayal. But he was scared. He was terrified, because Natasha never shared just to share. Everything she said had a point, a reason, a direction.

He tore his eyes away, shoving a hand over them and letting his head drop onto his knees. Unwillingly, he croaked, "No... Nat, please don't tell me--"

"Penny's a Widow."

Tony bit his lip, chewing on his cheek so harshly there was the tang of blood in his mouth. He took a moment, letting his head fall against the cracked and stained cement wall. Penny was alive. And she had been trained--no. Natasha's descriptions, however few and miniscule they had been, could not be described as simply training. Penny had been tortured. For four years. And what had he done but grieve and give up? If only he'd known. If only he'd found out sooner.

Natasha continued.

"The Red Room..." She took a breath and licked her lips. "After I escaped, they changed their whole system. Their method. How they hid and how they trained and--and how they controlled the women."

Something about the way Natasha said the last part sent a cold feeling down his throat.

"What did they do to her?" he croaked.

"They um...well, for lack of my understanding of it, they mind controlled her."

"They--Nat what? How would they even--"

"They controlled the brain’s neuropathways through external manipulation," came a new voice, their accent thick. Tony whipped his head around to stare at a woman he had never seen before. Like Natasha, she wore a regular hoodie and sweatpants but still looked as though she could take his life in less than a minute. There was an intensity about her, from her stance to her tied back hair to her ghostly blue eyes that stared at him suspiciously. "It was based off of blueprints for the Winter Soldier. Me and Natasha were part of the mission to retrieve them when we were young."

Despite the insanity of every new piece of information shot his way, he managed to piece it together in his head quickly enough that he opened his mouth to respond with a snapped remark, but Natasha managed to speak before he did.

"What are you doing out here? You're supposed to be looking after Penny."

"I was, but then I heard how badly you were explaining everything and I came to help." Natasha glared. "Relax. I finished braiding her hair and now she's pretending to be asleep so she can listen to everyone talking."

The last part was said with a pointed look down the narrow apartment hall, but everything after Natasha had said "Penny" didn't seem to make sense anymore.

"She's here?" he asked, already scrambling to his feet. He glanced between Natasha and the woman desperately. "Penny's here right now?"

"We found her yesterday," Natasha answered cautiously. "Me and Yelena just started to free the Widows deployed around the world. We managed to give her the antidote during a shootout in Estonia. After that a friend of mine managed to get us here."

"A shoot--is she okay?"

"Just a couple of burns," Yelena said. "She may be enhanced, but she still has plenty to learn. She could still kick your ass, though."

"Thank you. Truly," Tony said, a bite of sarcasm to his voice, before turning back to Natasha, his desperation bubbling. "Which room?"

"Tony, I don't think you need to just go bursting in there. Let me--"

Tony stopped listening, every word his friend was saying dying out on his ears as he spotted a brunette and wide brown eyes poking around the corner over Natasha's shoulder. He felt his breath catch in his throat as their eyes clicked.

Penny had grown. She'd sprouted almost an entire foot from the short ten year old she had been, awkward and gangly limbs that the girl had always seemed to struggle with were replaced by obvious muscle and carefully controlled movement as she stepped out from behind the wall, their stare still holding. Despite the sharper angle of her chin and jaw, she still held baby fat in her cheeks that dwindled the look of her down by a couple of years, not helped at all by the familiar roundness of her deeply brown eyes.

He swallowed. His voice broke.

"Penny?"

—-

“Penny?"

It had been years since Penny had seen her dad. Since she'd heard him. Anything about her father not privy to missions had been carefully shielded away from the teenager for years. Sometimes on the few missions she had been sent on she would catch news clippings and pictures on TV channels before she had to move on or that terrible voice in her mind would force her to ignore him. But, despite the scarcity of which she was allowed to know about her father, she had always thought about him.

Penny had swam in her memories whenever she could. Whenever she needed. She'd think about the games she and her dad had used to play. About lessons he'd taught her and days they'd spent together. About hugs and braided hair and kisses to her head. The memories had felt faint and washed away underneath everything, but she'd clung to them like a lifeline.

That being said, she hadn't expected Dad's voice to sound like that. For him to look like this. He was always so put together in her mind--so strong--even when he was messy from the lab or tired from a long day of work, always accompanied by fond child-like adoration. But now he didn't look it.

There were bruises on his face, faint but still noticeably purple. His hair wasn't as dark or thick as she remembered, growing back just a little higher on his hairline, and more lines grabbed and pulled at his face. But that wasn't what ruined her memory of strength and warmth, people aged after all, that was just reality. It was the expression on his face and glossing over his eyes. It was the way he'd said her name, so unsure and weary.

Penny, finally, looked away from Dad, instead glancing over at Yelena and trying not to look like she was too desperate for help. Yelena stared back, raising her brows and gesturing to Tony with a slight nod of her head, as if telling her to not be a coward. But Penny didn't know how to do that. Not now.

Thankfully, Natasha took over.

"I'm going to go get us some dinner. Yelena?"

Okay, so not the kind of help she'd been looking for.

Yelena gave Penny one last glance, nodded, and then followed the Avenger out of the door.

The door clicked shut and then it was just father and daughter.

"Penny," he tried again.

She hid a flinch at how small and tired his voice was, how broken he felt standing only feet from her. She hid her shock and her fear and apprehension exactly how she'd been taught, schooling her features into something easy and bored. She let her shoulders drop and her posture loosen, but the hardest part was hardening her stare. That had always been the biggest complaint of her handlers. Her senses had been sharp but her expression always so readable by her eyes.

"Hi, Dad," she said, her voice cool and casual on default. The words felt terrible leaving her lips, so she crossed her arms in an attempt to feel more stable. "It's been a while."

He chuckled, short and sad. "Yeah. You could say that."

And then there was silence. It trickled in, slow, awkward, and tense between them. Penny tried not to let it get to her, but she couldn't deny that she wasn't tired and disappointed. When Yelena had smashed the antidote beside her, it was the first time the teenager had seen clearly in a long time, and her first thought had been of her Dad. There had been worries about if he missed her and if he'd been okay, but a fear had stabbed at her so strongly that she was still thinking about it.

Would he still love her? After all she'd done? She had hurt people. She had killed people. Not in defense. Not in good reason. But in fear and control.

"I, uh..." Penny blinked at her dad's voice, beating away her thoughts and instead focusing back on the bruised and stuttering man in front of her. "Sorry. I would've thought of something better to say if I'd known I was going to see you again. Maybe some presents too. Do you still like those peanut butter cookies?"

"The ones we used to make?" she asked. "With the Hershey Kisses?"

"Those are the ones."

She shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't had them since I was with you."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess you wouldn't have..." he trailed off, glancing down for a moment. She stared at him, watching his expression carefully as he loosened and looked back up at her. "Well, we can't make them again? At home?"

"Sure. Sounds fun."

Penny couldn't stand how dull her voice sounds, like she couldn't care less about something that really made her want to cry in happiness. But...she didn't know what else to do. What to say. The Red Room had made sure she always knew what to do and what to say, but that had been for politicians and businessmen and people she was supposed to trick. She didn't want to trick her dad. She just--she wanted to--

Dad stepped closer, brows furrowed and mouth pulled down in a deep and concerned frown. She kept a wary eye on him as he approached, trying to force down feelings of apprehension and fear that she had become familiar with whenever anybody was in her space. But he stopped about a foot short, his reached out hand halting just away from her face as he whispered, "Oh, piccolina. It's okay." His voice broke. "It's okay. I'm gonna make sure it is... I promise."

And finally she broke.

And it hurt. It really, really hurt.

Penny leaned her cheek into his open hand as hot beads of tears caught on her eyelashes, allowing for Dad to cup his other hand around the back of her head and tentatively pull her in. It took the teenager a moment to adjust, so wired on the need to fight and never let her guard down, but then she just--crumpled.

Like a switch had been flicked, Penny buried her nose into his neck and wrapped her arms around him in a tight squeeze, swallowing down tears. Dad pulled her in tighter, his nose pressed into her tightly braided crown.

And then he sobbed.

It was a strangled, inhuman kind of sound that rumbled from his chest to escape the back of his throat. He cleared his throat, as if embarrassed, but Penny wasn't an idiot. She could still hear his heart thumping and feel a tear slip from his chin onto the back of her neck. It all shocked her, but the sound found itself ringing in her ears painfully more than anything.

She flinched in his hug.

"Oh, Penny. I'm so sorry," he apologized, his voice sore with tears. "So, so sorry."

"For what?" she asked. "Not finding me? You wouldn't have been able to, Dad, even being you. Draykov made sure of it."

"I don't care. I should've done something! I should've--I should've--"

"Dad." He fell silent as she pulled away from him, crossing her arms back over her chest as she came back to her training. Dad stared at her, his dark copper eyes as guilty as she felt. "Please, just... Don't be sorry. Because I'm sorry, and if you're sorry then we're both sorry and we can't both be sorry it's--"

"What on Earth do you have to be sorry for?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Penny--"

"I'm not ten anymore, Dad. I don't think I'm even a kid anymore... I've--I've done too much harm. I have a lot to be sorry for."

Dad stared at her, a familiar sadness in his eyes. He chewed his cheek, brows furrowed in thought, and she was brought back to a time when she would watch him solve problems in the lab, or try to answer one of her inane questions that she never seemed to be able to stop asking.

"Let me ask you something," he started. "Do you think I'm a bad person? That I'm at fault for losing you?"

"No," she answered immediately, because her dad had always tried, no matter what. She'd known he wasn't perfect, and that a lot of people hated him for the mistakes he'd made, but she'd always known how much he really cared. How much he really cared and tried for the world. For the Avengers. For her.

"Well, then what makes you a bad person? What makes you not a kid anymore?"

Penny could only stare. She could only answer, "I've hurt people."

"I know. And I have too. But you don't think I'm a bad person, so you're not a bad person either. And what about Nat? Or your new very scary friend?"

"I forgot how much I hated arguing with you," she deadpanned.

"'Trying' to argue with me," he corrected, a smile pulling at his face. Surprisingly, she managed to smile back. Even more surprisingly, it didn't feel fake. Sure, it was small and tired, but Penny couldn't remember the last time she'd actually smiled. "See? Everything's going to be okay."

"How do you know?" she asked. "I'm a violator of the Accords. If it ever gets out that I was part of the Red Room--what I did for the Red Room--almost nothing could keep me out of prison. You'll have to explain how you found me and it would make you a violator--"

"I'll handle it," Dad said. "I always handle it. And just because you don't feel like a kid doesn't mean you aren't one. There are protections for you. And we found protections for Nat. Wanda too, if she would've taken them." He muttered the last part under his breath, the words emotionless but regret and guilt clear in his eyes. He cleared his throat and looked back at her with a raised brow. "And how do you know about the Accords? Do they have a current events class in the Red Room?"

"We do actually have to keep up with some events for missions. But, no. I've been reading old newspapers. Did you know you were on the front page for almost two weeks in June?"

"No. Nobody reads the paper anymore. Unless you're a dinosaur anyway."

"Uncle Rhodey likes the paper," she said with that still small but still real smile. "For the crossword puzzles."

"Yeah. Like I said: Dinosaur." With that, the jokes seemed to slide away as he took on a more serious tone. "But I'll handle it. I've already been trying to handle the Accords. You'll be safe, and free, at home, Penny. I promise."

"I can really come home?"

Dad paused. "Did you think you wouldn't?"

Penny shrugged. "I don't know. I wanted to. I want to. But I just... I didn't know how safe it would be, and I know how to live by myself. How to avoid suspicion. I was...I was prepared for other options."

"If you were planning on running, why did you meet with me?"

"I don't know," she said. But truthfully, there had been a hole in her heart. A knot in her stomach. She'd just--she'd needed to see her dad. To apologize and let him know she was okay. She'd missed her family for so long, she had to imagine they'd missed her too. In fact, Penny had wanted nothing more to know they'd missed her. That those years in the Red Room wondering where her family was hadn't been because they didn't care.

Realistically, Penny knew Dad had missed her. Had loved her enough to grieve and look for her, but being there for so long--so terribly long--had been enough for seeds of doubt to sprout and root itself in her mind. But the teenager didn't tell her dad that. That would make him upset, and Penny was tired of being upset. Instead, she said, "Just missed you. Wanted to know that you're okay."

"Well, now you're gonna know every day," he said. "And you're going to know that Pepper is okay. And Rhodey and Happy. And you're never going to miss us again."

"Never?"

"Nope. Well, maybe when you go to school. But we can homeschool if you would prefer that. Would you?"

"Oh, uh, I don't--"

"Yeah, never mind. You don't have to know right now," he said with a wave. Then he smiled at her again, that genuine smile that squinted his eyes and pulled at his wrinkled laugh lines. "Right now, why don't we just go home?"

"Yeah," she said. And suddenly no other thought occupied her mind. Home was all she could think of. Of tall New York skyscrapers and the bustling city. Or maybe they'd go back to Malibu, even if his house was gone. Either way she'd see her uncle again. And Pepper. And Happy, who were all family to her. Family she hadn't seen in so long. "Let's go home."

Dad smiled, his eyes misty. Penny smiled back, taking his hand and leaning against him in another hug. He readily accepted, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a light kiss to the crown of her head.

The best part: Nothing about him whispered danger. Or discomfort or uneasiness. There was just...comfort.

Just home.

It was the best feeling in the entire world.

—-

“Should we tell Uncle Rhodey we're on the way?"

"Nah. He loves surprises."

"He hates surprises."

"Exactly!"

Penny laughed. And the sound, the feeling, was just like home.

#peter parker #tony stark #female peter parker #irondad #irondad and spiderson #iron man fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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bitch-im-your-biggest-nightmare · 3 years

Text

Happily Ever After [Corpse x Reader]

Warnings: Angst, neglect, argument Summary: corpse and the Reader get into an argument cause he’s been neglecting her for awhile. He overworks himself and when he has days off he’s always with his friends and so she tells him about it, he says some hurtful things to her during the argument. The reader takes his words to heart and she begins to distance herself from him and she stops doing the little things that he loved about her. Whenever he tries to hang out she always rejects him or she’s hanging out with her friends. He then talks to her about it, he wants to know what caused her change of heart. When he finds out it was really his fault, he tries to fix it. Request: @xxasteriaxx A/N: This is gonna be a sad one with maybe a happy ending- who knows? My stories are coming out slower now and I am sorry about that! Now that it's Friday, I will try my best to get more stories out during the weekend. Online school has pretty stressful and my sleep schedule has been whack. Tag list: Tag list: @save-the-sky @alilshit @whatifwedo @hughugh20 @fleurmoon @bi-andready-tocry @itsminniekat @yoongi-holland @loraleiix @hacker-ghost @fanworrior @marvelous-musicals @annshit @unknown-and-invisible @letsloveimagines @babyhoneystvles

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Y/N didn’t know what went wrong in the relationship. Was it her? Why was she being.. neglected by Corpse? Did she do something wrong? Corpse was always overworking himself with editing his videos, recording, and streaming. And when he has time off, he doesn’t care to spend to time with Y/N. He’s always with his friends in a discord call, playing Among Us, or doing anything else with them. She started to think.. Did he not love her anymore?

Y/N whipped up Corpse a grilled cheese sandwich. She knew she should cook- it was her hobby and her talent. She also knew that Corpse loved when she made this. She came to the conclusion that he was just stressed and maybe needed some love and food. So she went out of her way to make this meal amazing. It was crispy and looked aesthetically pleasing and delicious. She was very proud of it and was excited to show Corpse.

She picked the plate up and walked over to Corpses office. She slowly opened the door, wincing at the loud creaking sound. Corpse seemed to be playing Among Us with his friends but wasn’t streaming. She walked over and set the plate down then wrapped her arms around him, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Corpse moved his head away a little and squirmed, “Thanks Y/N” Corpse said, focusing on his screen.

“Can we cuddle after you’re done playing?” Y/N asked. It’s been a while since they have, the bed began to feel oddly cold without Corpses arms around her. She missed it very much, she really wanted to have a nice warm cuddle session with him.

“Mhm.” Corpse replied dismissively, which made Y/N frown. She give him another kiss and muttered ‘I love you’. She didn’t leave, instead she closed the office door and sat down next to him on the ground. He looked at her curiously, “Aren’t you going to leave?” he asked.

Y/N frowned, “I wanna spend time with you. I won’t bather you, I promise.”

Corpse sighed, then got back to playing the game. After a little bit, he finally decided to eat the sandwich. It made Y/N happy to see him eat, she knows he hasn’t eaten in a while. She stayed in that exact spot the whole time he played. When he got off, she stood up and was excited to cuddle with him. She has been waiting for this moment her entire life. She went to hug him and he stood up but- he just.. pushed past her. Y/N frowned, following him out of the office. “Cospsie!” Y/N said, “Aren’t we gonna cuddle?”

“Oh.. don’t have time. I’m going out for a little bit.” Corpse said, putting his sneakers on and looking for his hoodie. But it wasn’t where he last had it, did he misplace it? lose it? And then he knew, he looked at his girlfriend to see him wearing the hoodie he was looking for. “Can I have my hoodie back?” he asked.

“But it’s comfy!” Y/N smiled, snuggling into it. She loved wearing Corpses clothes- especially his hoodies. And the hoodie she was wearing was her favorite. The deep smell of cologne soothed her to sleep and the warmth was amazing. She thought Corpse loved when she wore his clothes, they were always oversized on her and that's what he loved- but she guessed she was wrong.

“I don’t care can I please have it back?” Corpse asked, beginning to get a little frustrated.

Y/N was a little caught off guard, but she took the warm hoodie off and handed it to Corpse, muttering a small ‘sorry’ as she handed it to him. She watched him put it on and just leave without saying a word. Y/N was let down, she was really looking forward to cuddling with him.. guess she’ll have to wait. Y/N went to the couch and laid down, grabbing a big that laid across the top to snuggle up in. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep either, she didn’t even realize how tired she was.

After a couple of hours, when the sun wa setting over skyline and slipping beneath tall standing skyscrapers, Corpse returned home. He was exhausted, he went out to the park and the mall to get a whole lot of things. He dropped the bags on on the island of the kitchen, and walked out into the living room. He saw Y/N cuddled up and frowned. He loved her very much, but she's been getting in the way of his work lately and has been being very clingy. Corpse went over and gave her a kiss on the temple before walking back to their room to sleep.

~Timeskip~

After a couple of days Y/N began to feel frustrated at how she was being neglected. She missed the warm hugs and kisses she got from Corpse, she getting tired of giving morning kisses with reply. She started believe that love lies, she felt her mind saying Corpse was in love with someone else. That would explain why he liked to go out a lot now. But no, you know from his friends snaps and tweets that hes just with his friends- right? Maybe he fell in love with Sykkuno or Dave or something.. Y/N wouldn’t be surprised.

She looked through Corpses phone and computer, finding nothing but work, recordings, discords, games, and all that other stuff so he couldn’t be cheating. Y/N decided to ask Corpse why he was neglecting her. Neglect was what she feared... She was already in a abuse relationship where she was neglected and cheated on. Corpse was the only guy that told her ‘I love you’ and really meant it. It was a while until Y/N was confident enough to even begin a serious relationship which every guy she tried pushed EXCEPT Corpse. She was not ready to lose the prize she won with Corpse, she was not going to lose him because he’s too selfish and dumb to put just a few seconds of his time to her.

She missed the kisses... She missed him.Y/N walked into the living room to see Corpse sitting on the couch. He was texting with someone Twitter, she didn’t know because she couldn’t see the name. “Hey.. Corpse?”

Corpse looked up, “Yeah?” he said.

“Uhm... why have you been.. y’know, neglecting me lately? It’s been a while and I really want to spend time with you.” Y/N said, walking over to sit next to him on the couch.

Corpse sighed, “Can I not have some time alone? You’re being clingy.”

Y/N frowned, clingy. “Of course you can have time alone! I just wanna spend time with you. Is that a bad thing?”

“Well, you’re always on my case!” Corpse raised his voice, catching Y/N off guard. “You’re always asking for attention and pushing yourself into my personal space! You always say ‘I love you’ every single fucking minute, I get it! Ok?! Just stop being so fucking demanding!”

Y/N moved back a little, she was surprised by being screamed at by Corpse- it never happened. She was hurt. Was Corpse right about all of those things? Was she an attention seeker? Was her ‘I love you’s too much? Was she demanding? She sniffed, standing up and walking away to go to their bedroom.

“Don’t be so dramatic Y/N!” Corpse yelled to her. He had angry built up in his system. He had so much work and so much to do, he couldn’t have Y/N bothering her. And he wanted to have a good social life- he needed friends. Couldn’t Y/N see that?!

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

Just like what Corpse wanted, Y/N didn’t bother him anymore. The morning kisses and snuggles were gone. She stopped planting kisses on his cheek and his lips in the morning, night, and throughout the day. She stopped wearing his clothes and hoodies, leaving all the warmth for coziness to Corpse. And she also stopped saying I love you, which she missed so much. She missed all of it, but it was what Corpse wanted and that was all that mattered.

But she also realized that Corpse began to want her attention- but she needed to give him space. He wanted space, that's what he said- so she was going to give it to him! She wasn’t going to bother him during streams, only to give him food and/or a drink. Y/N hung out with her friends more often, giving Corpse as much space as he can possibly can have.

Corpse just got done streaming and was looking for Y/N. His fans were going crazy on uncomfortable questions today. Apparently they have realized the lack of the Y/N and the lack of Corpse talking about how great she was- they thought something happened like they broke up or she died or something. Corpse was too bothered by Y/N neglecting him to focus on what he was doing, so he ended early. He searched the house but couldn’t find Y/N, so he called her.

“Y/N? Where are you?” Corpse asked once she picked up after three rings.

“I’m with Kariya, Eris, and Morgan right now.” Y/N replied, “Aren’t you supposed to be streaming?”

“Mhm but I ended it early. When are you gonna get home?” Corpse asked. He internally sighed, wishing Y/N was here to spend time with him. He was worried- not that she was gone but because she hasn’t been wearing his clothes. None of his hoodies or shirts were gone. And he knew for a fact that she loved wearing his rose hoodie and his flanel out in public.

“Dunno. Probably an hour.” Y/N said, “I gotta go now, Kariya just got her nails done.”

“Oh.. ok bye. Lo-” He was cut off by the call ending. He frowned, was she ignoring him? Why? Did he do something wrong? Did she not love him anymore? He knew he was stressed but he’s not anymore. He decided to scroll through reddit and find some unsettling stories he could maybe read for his channel. He checked his email and saw many good stories that were worth reading for his channel. But soon, he got bored and sat back in his chair and let his mind wander off into the forest of his mind. He hoped for his mind to play in sunlit grass and smell the heather growing but no.. they just ended up wandering down into the undergrowth and crevasses, breathing in the cold musty scent of dirt and moss. He just thought of Y/N.. did he mess up the only relationship he was able to carry? He felt like a river going down into a raging waterfall. There was a stream of sadness that touched his skin like an icicle against his neck. He needed to see what was wrong with Y/N, he needed to know what he did wrong.

The minutes felt like hours and the hours felt like years. It was dark- very dark when Y/N returned home. When Y/N got home, Corpse perked up at the sound of the front door opening and the familiar pattern of Y/Ns footsteps. Corpse stood up and left his office, greeting Y/N by pulling her into a hug. “I missed you.”

“Mhm” Y/N hummed, hugging him for a second before walking to their bedroom. Corpse frowned, following her in. He watched as she took her sneakers off- but looked away as she changed her clothes. He sat on the bed ans sat down next to him.

“Y/N?” Corpse said, watching her face “Why have you been.. like... ignoring me?” Y/N looked at him, but said nothing. “You stopped giving me kisses, stopped wearing my clothes, and most importantly you stopped saying I love you. Whats going on?”

Y/N looked puzzled, looking at Corpse like he was delusional. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” then she got under the blankets and faced her back on Corpse, turning the lamp on her bedside table off.

Corpse frowned yet again, his face twisting into confusion. “What? What do you mean?” he asked, but got no answer, “Y/N? What do you mean?” He asked again to no prevail. “Y/N?” He asked, but this time waited a couple seconds. Then he sighed and gave up, getting under the covers and closing his eyes. Lets just say... he couldn’t sleep that night.

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

Another day, another day with no cuddles, kisses, or cuteness. Corpse was getting tired, sad, and frustrated. That sentence never left his mind, “Isn’t this what you wanted?” What did she mean? What did Corpse do?

While Y/N was out Corpse decided to turn to his friends for help. Maybe they knew how to deal with it, they were always so nice and helpful. He hit Sykkuno up, saying

Corpse: Hey I need relationship advice...

Sykkuno answered rather quickly, making Corpse feel kinda special.

Sykkuno: Oh no what did you do?

Corpse: That's the thing idk

Sykkuno: Is Y/N acting strangely?

Corpse: Yeah shes been ignoring me

Corpse: Do you think she doesn’t love anymore?

Sykkuno: Y/N? Not loving Corpse? never heard of it.

Sykkuno: You probably said something that bothered her tbh

Corpse stared at his screen, then it hit him. All the shit he’s said to her... It all came back to him like an avalanche.

Corpse gasped, realizing all the things he said. He felt so much guilt, he did this to Y/N, this is why she hated him now. She had make things better between them, he had to fix things. But how? He didn’t even care to reply to Sykkuno as he googled ways to make a girl happy.

“Be physically and emotionally present.”

“Send her cute and meaningful texts.”

“Give her loving gifts.”

“Give her unexpected embraces.”

“Sit next to her.”

All of them were great, but didn’t help his case that much. He needed something cute and.. something Y/N will like. He sighed, sitting back in his chair and looking at his ceiling. He decided to try all of these and see which one will help. First, he texted her. Hopefully, she’ll reply.

Corpse🥀: Hey. I just wanna let you know how much I love you and cherish our time together. Every morning of mine gets brighter everytime I see you next to me. I don’t know what I would do without you here with me. <3

He watched the three dots bounce on his screen, but then disappear. He sighed in frustration. That didn’t work. Guess he needed to try plan B, give her an unexpected embrace. Yes, that should work! Right? Y/N loves when Corpse gives her embraces and hugs. It should be the key, right? He just had to wait.

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

After what seemed like days, Y/N finally returned home. She was out with her friends again- just how she always is. He waited for her to settle down and relax. She changed into a cute sweater that gave her sweater paws- something Corpse adored about her. She relaxed and sighed, winding down before Corpse came up and gave her a nice warm embrace, engulfing her in his arms.

“Corpse-” Y/N gasped, moving her legs up a little, “I’m tired.”

Corpse was not giving up just now, no siree. He picked her up and brought her to the bed. “Then we will cuddle.” He said simply, setting her softly on the bed and wrapping her in a soft crochet blanket. He then in bed next to her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling Y/N into a big hug. Y/N didn’t respond, just letting it happen.

Y/N got a peaceful sleep throughout the night. Its the best sleep she actually got in a while- her sleep schedule has been whack. Maybe it was because the lack of giving affection to Corpse- but she wanted to keep him happy. But when Corpse wrapped his arms around her, she felt at home.

Y/N squirmed out of Corpses arms and walked to take a shower. She wanted to go out with her friends again today. They were planning to go to the mall and stop by at that new sushi place. It was going to be a fun day, it was gonna be exciting. After the shower Y/N dried herself and wrapped a towel around her. She looked in the shared closet she had with Corpse and that nice rose hoodie caught her eye. She went to reach for it, but pulled it back. She can’t wear that! Corpse doesn’t want her to. So she just went with a knitted yellowish brown sweater and dark brown pants. But then she felt the familiar the wetness in her pants. Period blood. Fuck. She quickly changed her underwear and ran to the bathroom, putting a pad on and pulling her thankfully unstained pants up. It was getting colder as Autumn neared so she put a cute scarf on and put her hair in a bun, finished her look off with brown healed boots and makeup. Then she left a note to Corpse saying

“I'm out with my friends again. Got my period so not really in the mood for anything but i'm fighting it :)”

Then Y/N left, leaving Corpse alone to sleep peacefully.

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

When Corpse woke up that morning, he was saddened by the lack of Y/N next to him. He sighed, she must’ve went out again. Corpse decided that he would try one more thing. Just one. And he hoped this idea would work.

He drove to the park him and Y/N went to on their first date. They are both the laid back but romantic style people so this park was perfect. He already had a nice blanket with him and brought that rose hoodie that Y/N loved. There was this area cut off from the park that lead to a small opening in the woods. The opening showed a lake that had the sun setting in the distance. Corpse thought this would be the perfect place for him to apologize to Y/N. He can only hope she actually comes along..

He set everything up at the spit and decided to explore the area a little. It was still morning, he wanted her here at sunset. He walked around a little bit, following the trail that led a small playground. It had 2 swings, a slide, monkey bars, and a little house on the top. There were also benches and a set of rules that no one really listened to. There was a family there- it looked like a party. Grandma and grandpa, mother and father, kids, and what looked like cousins and aunts and uncles. Corpses anxiety and nervousness spiked, he looked sketchy. He had all black on with black nails and these weird silver rings on. He went and sat down on one of the benches and went on his phone, trying to direct his attention to whats going on there. He was asked to join an Among Us lobby, but he declined and said he had something planned.

After a long time of scrolling through his phone, cloud watching, and eavesdropping on peoples conversations, a women came up to him. She looked nice and asked “Hello, would you mind if you leave? You’re upsetting the kids here.”

Corpse sat up, he knew he would bother someone.. damnit. “Ah.. yeah yeah sorry for causing any disturbance.” he stood up and waved to the women, walking away and down the trail as casually as he can. The probably thought he was planning to kidnap one of the kids while no one was looking, but how could he? They have hidden cameras in the weirdest places here.

Corpse headed back to the spot, heading closer to the lake, picking a stone up and throwing it into the lake, making a small ‘droop’ sound as it hit the water. He began to throw many stones into the lake, waiting for 5pm to hit so they could watch the sunset at 6pm. Hopefully.

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

5:40 came around and Corpse decided to text Y/N. He walked over the closest bench and texted her.

Corpse🥀: Meet me at the [insert park name] right now. Im sitting on a bench near the lake area.

Y/N💕: Ok?

Corpse sat back and waited, watching the clouds slowly drift by. He picked out pictures in the sky, one of them was a silhouette of two lovers kissing.. and the other was 2 lovers fading away. It just made him sad and uneasy, he was scared that Y/N wouldn’t wanna be with him anymore. He was scared that she would laugh at him and say that she found another guy that satisfied her so much more. He expected that that guy was big, tall, and muscular and was always up for sex and flavors, some guy who gave her everything she wanted, something he couldn’t.

But he smiled when he saw Y/N walk down the trail. He stood up, waving to her. She noticed him and walked over to him. “Hey Corpse. You wanted to see me here?”

“Uh yeah... follow me.” Corpse said, realizing her sounded very sketchy. he began to walk, relieved when he heard Y/Ns footsteps behind his. He led her to the spot, the sun was still up but was getting tired, just about ready to soak into the lake and let the moon guard the night.

Y/N looked around, the scene was beautiful. Flowers bloomed from crisp green grass and the lake flowed lighty. “Wow.. its beautiful here.” She made her way over and sat down on the soft blanket.

Corpse smiled and sat next to her, grabbing the hoodie he had and handing it to Y/N. She studied it for a second before taking it, smiling and holding it close to her chest.

“I.. just wanna apologize for neglecting you that. I was being an asshole.. and I.. I'm sorry for being so rude. Truth is, I miss your kisses, hugs, the way you wear my clothes, and the i love yous. I just want my girlfriend back.” Corpse sighed, not daring to look at her. “If you wanna break up and go off with another guy, I understand. I wouldn’t blame you.. who wants to hang out with Corpse Husband anyways?”

Y/N leaned forward, looking Corpse in the eyes, “Maybe Corpse Wife wants to hang out with Corpse Husband.” she smiled when Corpse looked up at her. “I’m sorry for ignoring you. I thought you would be better off without me annoying you.”

Corpse hesitated, “I..” he dropped his head, “Stress fucking sucks, doesn’t it? So many people noticed your absence and are asking! Im just so- sorry.”

“Don’t worry, I forgive you. I love you more than anyone in the world, Corpse. You’re my big ol’ edge king and I love you for it.” Y/N lifted his head to give him a kiss on the lips.

It turned passionate and pleasant, it was a kiss full of love. It was like hot air blew around them, heating them up just the right ways. It was a kiss that was long overdue, a kiss that they both missed so so much.. and it was finally happening.

When they pulled away Corpse was smiling so happily and brightly. He hugged Y/N tightly and said “I love you so much Y/N.. I just love you more than life.”

Y/N smiled, melting into the sweet embrace. “I love you too Corpsie, I love you so much.”

Heh, talk about living happily ever after...

~The End~

#corpse husband #corpse x reader #relationship problems #neglect #angst #fluff #fanfiction #oneshot #request #happy ending

646 notes · View notes

cherienymphe · 4 years

Text

She’s Mine (Peter Parker x Reader)

Finally, here is the sequel and final part to She’s With Me

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers}

WARNINGS: NON-CON/DUB-DON, VOYEURISM (?), biker!Peter Parker

summary: you face the aftermath of your daring decision

You were awake for a while, enjoying the silence of the quiet house before eventually opening your eyes. In all the cheesy movies you’d seen, the morning after was usually filled with confusion. The character, male or female, always took a moment to gather their bearings, an entire minute passing before the memories came rushing back. Not you.

You remembered everything.

Peter’s side of the bed was empty, cold even when you slowly slid your hand to the rumpled sheets. The memories of what you did assaulted your mind, and you found yourself clenching at the memory of Peter’s hands on you. Per habit, you glanced around for your phone only to realize that in your haste last night, you hadn’t brought it.

With a sigh, you slid from the bed, taking the sheet with you as you wrapped it around yourself. You glanced around Peter’s room, chuckling at the superhero poster on the back of his door. The rest of the house was just as quiet when you exited, and you looked around with a frown.

“Peter?”

Only silence met you, and part of you wondered if he’d gone to see Tony. You recalled him saying that the plan might not work, that Tony might think him a traitor and decide to deal with him. Your heart clenched at the thought. Yes, Peter had all but forced you into sleeping with him, but it was hard to hate the brown-eyed boy, and despite the turn of events that you had not been all too eager to consent to, you didn’t want to see him hurt.

You decided that you would take the time to go by the house. You needed to get your phone and…well, basically anything you could quickly fit into your car. You wouldn’t be returning home again, that much was clear. Having gone to bed during the early hours of the morning, you’d slept a good chunk of the day away, and Steve nor Bucky should be at your house.

As you got dressed, you wondered if Sam was okay. You wondered if he was free, and if he was…was he home. The quick drive to your house was nerve-wracking, and you were slow as you neared it. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding when you saw that the yard was empty of any motorcycles. You were quick to park and run inside.

Your phone was exactly where you’d left it on your bed. The screen lit up as you scrolled through the endless notifications. Missed call after missed call and text message after text message bombarded you. Most were from Steve. Your heart both swelled and dropped as you read the most recent message that had been sent this morning. It was from Sam.

What have you done?

You bitterly smiled at the message, relieved to know that he was okay. With a sad smile, you grabbed your backpack and a duffle bag, yanking clothes out of your drawers before tossing them inside. You were swift as you did so, acknowledging that you had no time to linger. Since Sam was okay, it was highly likely that they were out looking for you and could be back at any moment.

There was no way Sam would ever let you leave, and Steve would be all too eager to trap you as well. The thought of the blond made you shudder, and you quickened your pace. You struggled to drag both bags down the stairs with you, a curse on your lips that you quickly swallowed when you entered the living room.

You stared in shock as Bucky stood at the door, jaw clenched and blue eyes cold. Your mouth parted, wondering why you hadn’t heard the familiar roar of his bike. You tightened your hold on your bags, and a bout of guilt tore through you as you noticed the dark circles underneath his eyes. You swallowed.

“Bucky…”

Your voice was quiet and unsteady. You didn’t know what to say…

“What did you do?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Is Sam alright?” you questioned, ignoring his own question.

His nostrils flared, and it was then that you noticed the phone in his hand.

“What the hell did you do?” he spat.

“Bucky, please… Is Sam okay?”

He angrily eyed you before huffing a sigh.

“Yeah…yeah he’s alright…”

Tears kissed your eyes as you nodded.

“Good…that’s-that’s good,” you whispered.

Bucky took a step towards you, face softening now as he eyed you, this time worriedly.

“Y/N…what did you do?” he whispered, fear coating his tone. “They just…they just let him go, unharmed and just like that.”

You shook your head, frowning.

“How…how did you even get here? I didn’t hear you-.”

“I was already here. I watched you pull up and walk in. Sam asked me to watch over the house in case you came back. They’re out there looking for you!”

You flinched, and for a brief moment, he looked apologetic, but it was gone as quick as it appeared. He heaved another sigh, reaching for you, but you stumbled back, frantically shaking your head.

“I have to go, Bucky-.”

“Absolutely not! I’ve already texted them…” your eyes widened “…they’re on their way.”

“No! Bucky-no! I have to go. You guys can’t keep me here,” you told him.

He crossed his arms over his chest, face stony.

“Watch us.”

“You’ll just make things worse,” you cried, and he frowned at that. “You have to let me go. Th-they’re gonna come for me if you keep me here…”

You barely whispered that last part, and his frown deepened as he worked to understand what you meant. He scoffed a laugh, but it lacked humor.

“What? You’re under their protection now or something?”

You opened your mouth to answer him, a yes right there on your tongue, but it wouldn’t come out. Your heart thudded in your chest, and you caught the way Bucky’s face fell just before you looked away. The silence that followed was thick, and he eventually scoffed in disbelief.

Shock registered on his features when your eyes met his, but that shock quickly bled to understanding then disgust…and finally fury. His eyes hardened, nostrils flaring as his jaw ticked. He stared you down.

“Who?”

You briefly glanced away.

“Peter,” you defeatedly whispered.

It was quite a sight to see Bucky visibly retrain himself from losing control. You noticed the way his lip curled over his teeth and the way his hands clenched into fists. He trembled as he looked away, and his eyes were cold when they met yours again.

“Is that where you were last night?”

“Bucky…please…”

“What do you think Sam is going to do, how he is going to feel, when he finds out you gave yourself- fucking sold yourself to one of them to save his life? Huh?” he demanded.

You shrugged.

“Sam is safe,” you said, as if that excused what you did.

Bucky’s shoulders sagged, all of the anger seeming to leave him as he released a tired sigh. He rested his hand on your neck, eyes tortured as he gazed at you.

“We…we would’ve gotten him back, doll,” he quietly said.

“Would you?”

He hesitated.

“Yes…eventually,” he admitted.

You shook your head, eyes tearful.

“See! Steve can pretend all he wants, but he had no plan. None! None of you knew what to do. I could see it-I could see that you all were scared…and worried…and so I…”

You trailed off with a shrug, eyes wide as you fought to make him understand. You heard the familiar rumble of motorcycles coming down the street, and your heart threatened to jump out of your throat. You glanced at the door and then back to him, eyes pleading.

“Bucky, I’m begging you. You have to let me out of here now,” you told him.

Not only would keeping you here just stir up more trouble that you’d literally sacrificed yourself to fix, but deep down, you knew why you were really afraid. Sam would be furious with you, but only because he’d be worried. You were his sister, and you’d done the unthinkable to save him. He’d be beyond pissed…but he’d get over it.

Steve would not.

The thought of the blond finding out what you did made you want to throw up, but it’s not like you could tell Bucky that. It’s not like you could tell them what their friend was really like. If you were being honest with yourself, part of you had done what you did to get away from him, and it was looking like it was all for naught.

Bucky at least looked conflicted, but you could see in his eyes that he was not going to do what you asked. In a panic, you dropped your bags and ran towards the kitchen, aiming for the back door. Bucky was faster. His arms wrapped around you and he restrained you with ease. Your feet pushed against the wall, making him stumble on his own feet.

“Y/N, stop-!”

He turned you around, and you shoved yourself away from him with a frustrated scream just as the door opened. You both were huffing, glaring at each other, and this was the sight that your brother and Steve were met with.

“Jesus!”

You were wrapped in familiar arms, and reluctantly, you returned the gesture. Realizing that you wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, you allowed yourself a moment to breathe him in, basking in the fact that he was alive and well. Sam did the same before eventually pulling away, looking at you with a frown.

“Where the hell were you? What did you do?” he demanded.

You swallowed, unsure of how to tell him.

“You wanna tell them sweetheart, or should I?” Bucky wondered.

You stepped away from Sam, worriedly eyeing him as he looked between you and Bucky. Your eyes briefly met Steve’s who was standing in his usual spot by the window with his arms folded over his chest. There was a myriad of emotions in his eyes, some of which you refused to name, and you watched them narrow just before you looked away.

“Tell us what?” Steve demanded.

“We have a bit of a situation,” Bucky started.

“What kind of situation?” Sam questioned him, but you could feel his heavy gaze on you.

“The kind where Tony and his crew will probably be driving through here in less than an hour,” Bucky replied.

Your eyes met Sam’s.

“Why?” he demanded.

This was directed at you.

“I’m under their protection now,” you quietly told him.

Confusion filled his features, and you noticed Steve straighten up behind him, having heard you.

“What the hell are you talking about? Why?”

It was then that he glanced down, noticing the packed bags. His eyes met yours again, and you could see that he was putting the pieces together but was having a hard time understanding just what he was piecing together.

“Parker gave her an ultimatum she couldn’t exactly refuse,” Bucky chimed in, sarcasm strong.

Sam turned away from you, shoulders heaving, and that’s how you knew just how angry he was. He wouldn’t even look at you. You watched as he ran his hand down his face, the other placed on his hip as he mulled over what you’d done.

Against your better judgement, your eyes met Steve’s again. He looked equal parts stricken and murderous, and you couldn’t help the smug feeling that enveloped you. He took a step away from the window, and you merely raised your chin, eyes sparkling with triumph. You raised an eyebrow at him and watched as his hands clenched into fists.

“So…is that what you were doing this morning? While we were trying to figure out how to get Sam back you were-.”

“Actually doing something to get him back? Yes,” you harshly interrupted, not appreciating Steve’s tone.

“I can’t believe this,” Sam mumbled, looking at you now.

He looked stunned and disgusted and angry and hurt all at once.

“Sam, I have to go,” you whispered.

“Like hell,” Steve said, nearing you.

“You are not in charge of me! You never have been, and now you never will be,” you spat.

“Steve’s right,” Sam cut in.

“He’s not! None of you are! Do you understand what you’re doing?”

“You’re not leaving this house,” Sam told you.

You looked to Bucky, but he was no help.

“Let them come here,” Steve said, and you glared at him.

You knew that by “them” he meant Peter. Before you could say anything to that, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. Opting to keep your mouth shut before you said anything you regretted, you simply walked upstairs to answer it.

“How did you get my number?”

You closed your door behind you.

“Your boss,” Peter answered, voice clipped, making your eyes widen. “Now, where are you?”

“I came by the house to get some things, and I didn’t know Bucky was going to be watching it.”

It was silent on the other end, and you could just imagine Peter rolling his eyes.

“They’re not letting me leave,” you told him.

You heard him say something on the other end, but it wasn’t directed at you. Your grip on your phone tightened when you suddenly heard the roar of motorcycles in the background.

“Peter, they want you all to come here. Steve wants you to come here. Don’t,” you said.

“You’re not one of them anymore. You’re with us now, me, and I’m coming to get you.”

“Peter-!”

You were cut off by your door swinging open. Your eyes connected with Steve’s, and you quickly hung up. You glared at him as he stood in the doorway, blocking your exit.

“What?”

His already taught face pinched even further, eyes narrowing as he stepped inside.

“What? What? That’s all you have to say?”

“Is there something else I’m supposed to say?”

He huffed before letting out a humorless chuckle.

“If you were anyone else, you’d be labeled a traitor-.”

“For saving Sam? Seriously?” you demanded.

“For going to them for help! We take care of our own, and you went outside the crew. You sought help from the enemy,” he spat.

“Admit it, Steve. You had no idea what to do or where to even begin! Sam is here right now because of me,” you threw at him.

His tongue poked at the inside of his cheek as he looked down his nose at you, fire in his eyes.

“Yes…because you opened your legs for Parker,” he hissed. “That is what you did, correct?”

You didn’t answer him, finding no need to. He took a step towards you.

“Was he good?”

Again, you didn’t respond, simply crossing your arms over your chest.

“He’d been sniffing around you for weeks, trying to get in your pants, but I never thought you’d be stupid enough to fall for it.”

You finally looked up at him.

“Stupid? Well, my stupidity is the reason Sam is unharmed,” you scoffed. “I did more laying on my back for an hour than you did in an entire day.”

His nostrils flared, and you just knew that he was itching to put his hands on you. You went to move past him, but he caught your arm in an iron grip, pulling you close. He trailed his eyes over you.

“When Parker gets here, I’m going to put a knife through him for touching what doesn’t belong to him,” he whispered.

You jerked yourself out of his hold.

“He didn’t touch without permission. Maybe you could learn a thing or two from him,” you quietly said.

You turned away from him without a backwards glance.

Your heart sank when you eventually heard the roar of motorcycles approaching from down the street. You looked up with wide eyes from your place on the couch, nerves on end as you eyed the window. You clenched your jaw as Steve and Sam opened the door, leaving you alone with Bucky.

You glared at him as you stood, arms crossed over your chest as you paced. Your heart sped up when the familiar sound came closer, eventually right outside of the door. Nothing happened for a moment, and then it was silent. Bucky’s back was to you as you paced, blocking the kitchen, and you eyed him.

You noticed a familiar black weapon strapped to his hip, and you bit your lip. You knew that Bucky never put the safety on. Sam was always complaining about it. You had never used a gun a day in your life, but that didn’t stop you from swiftly snatching it from him. He turned to you with wide eyes as you pointed it at his face.

“I just don’t want anymore fighting. I just want to leave…”

“Y/N,” he warned.

“I did what I had to do to save Sam’s life. I made a deal with Peter and he in turn made one with Tony. It goes beyond just fucking him, you know,” you told him.

He sighed, disappointment in his eyes at your actions.

“I have a bargain to uphold, and if you all prevent me from doing that, things are going to get messy, and you know it.”

He didn’t reply.

“Why are you all being so stubborn about this?”

“Because you’re family! You’re one of us and now you’re suddenly not and that’s not okay,” he spat.

You swallowed.

“I’m sorry. I really am, but we can’t afford for things to become any worse than they already are. Now, I am going to grab my bags right there, and I am going to walk out of that backdoor and go into the front yard and get into my car. I will drive away, and you will let me.”

He glared at you, but stepped aside nonetheless. You kept your aim as you did what you said you would. You both knew that you wouldn’t actually shoot him…at least not in the face, but your uncharacteristic behavior gave Bucky pause. It made him doubt just a bit.

You turned to face him in the open doorway, slowly setting the gun down on the floor before turning and leaving. You ran around the house, eyes widening at the bikes in the yard. You took in familiar red hair and dark eyes and finally the head of brown hair that you’d been so used to seeing. Your eyes caught his from where you were standing beside the house, and you ran towards him as he opened your car door.

“Y/N!”

You ignored Sam but glanced up to see that Bucky had joined them outside now. Sam ran towards you, but Steve was faster. Nat stepped in his way, staring him down as he slowed, glaring down his nose at her. You threw your things into your car, glancing up in time to see Steve cut his eyes to Peter. Peter’s face was unreadable, dark eyes boring into Steve’s as you sat in the driver’s seat.

“Don’t give me a reason to finally punch those perfect teeth, Rogers,” you heard Nat say.

He clenched his jaw, hands placed on his hips as he reluctantly took a step back. Peter leaned down as you shoved your key into the ignition, hands shaking.

“Did he touch you?” he quietly asked.

You shook your head.

“N-no. Not really,” you answered, avoiding his eyes.

He didn’t respond, just blew out a deep breath before reaching in and playing with your hair. You hesitantly glanced up at him, and he briefly glanced at Steve, the corner of his pink lips slowly curving upwards into a small smirk.

“I know he thinks I’m going to kiss you. Hell, you probably do too,” he said, looking at you again, thumb brushing along your jaw. “…but I don’t need to prove to him that you’re mine. You just are.”

He pulled away and shut your door, walking towards his bike. You eyed him for a bit before finally starting your car. With one last apologetic look thrown Sam’s way, you pulled out of the yard.

Naturally, you beat Peter to his house, and you sat in your car as you waited for him to pull in, hands still clenching the wheel. You turned your head as he parked beside you, unmoving. Somehow, you couldn’t get your body to do so. Reality was finally setting in, and you found it hard to breathe.

Sam was okay, but everyone knew the truth. They knew that you’d given yourself to Peter to make it so. They were furious with you, and despite the fact that Steve’s anger mostly came from his jealousy and possessiveness, he had indeed been right. In a sense, you were a traitor. It didn’t matter that what you did saved Sam’s life, you had still gone to the enemy for help.

You were crying when Peter opened your door, reaching for your hands and slowly prying them off of the wheel. He helped you out, and you stood on shaky legs. He steadied you, dark eyes studying you as you blinked away tears.

“You should’ve waited for me to go with you,” he murmured.

“I didn’t think anyone would be home. I thought I’d get in and out,” you quietly replied.

He sighed.

“What did Steve say to you?”

You shook your head, looking away.

“Nothing…that’s worth mentioning,” you mumbled, sliding from in between him and your car.

He stopped you by grabbing your wrist, and you looked over your shoulder at him. There was a frown on his boyish features.

“You worried about him?”

You hesitated.

“A little…yeah. He threatened to hurt you…”

Peter let out a small laugh.

“He can try,” he said with a smile.

You gave him a reproachful look.

“Parker…”

“Wilson.”

“I’m serious. Steve…he’s been after me for years. He won’t just get over it,” you told him.

Peter just threw his arm over your shoulders as he steered you towards the house.

“Let me deal with that. We have more important things to talk about.”

“Like?” you wondered.

You hesitantly sat down on the couch as he shut the door. You were a bit unsure of how to behave around him now, how to behave in this new setting that was now yours as well. You’d slept here last night…naked. Peter saw you naked, he’d been inside of you. It was strange to think about. You looked up at him as he neared you, eyes serious.

“Mr. Stark wants to meet you tonight.”

Your eyes widened, but you shouldn’t have been shocked. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

“…oh.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“…and…because you’re with me now, there is a bit of an initiation. We all have to go through one,” he continued.

“I see.”

That was to be expected.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Normally, Mr. Stark decides, but since he’s grooming me to take over, and since this is an interesting circumstance with you being the sister of an enemy and all… He’s leaving it up to me.”

You waited for him to continue. You watched him as he eyed you, dark eyes running over your frame, thoughtful.

“…I haven’t quite decided yet though. Although, I do have something in mind…”

You mumbled a quiet ‘oh’ and looked down. You felt awkward, and you shouldn’t have. You’d known Peter for years, and you two were never friends but it was never awkward between you. You didn’t know why that changed just because you had sex with him. Maybe it was the circumstances surrounding it… Why you’d done and what it had caused.

“Sam’s not angry with you. He’s angry with himself.”

You lifted your gaze to him, finding him still watching you.

“He’s angry that he got caught…that you felt you had to do what you did to save him when he should be the one saving you, protecting you,” he elaborated, sitting beside you. “He thinks he’s failed you.”

You leaned back into the couch, heart clenching.

“He’s protected me all my life, I couldn’t just not do something. If I had left it to Steve…”

You trailed off, scoffing at the thought of the blond.

“You know…this might sound insane, but there’s a really small part of me that thinks Steve wouldn’t have tried his best to get Sam back. They’ve been friends forever, practically like brothers, but I was really scared he’d just leave him because if Sam wasn’t here, then he’d have easy access to me. Nothing would stop him from…”

Your words died in your throat with a sigh.

“I slept with you not just to get Sam back, but to get away from Steve once and for all,” you whispered.

You looked at Peter.

“Even though I basically hopped out of one frying pan and into another, when you kissed me last night…I felt like a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.”

Peter reached out to brush his fingers over your collarbone as he faced you, brown eyes darkening.

“I’m not going to pretend like I made you that offer for your brother or even to save you from Steve…at least not in the sense that you’d think,” he quietly started.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

“I wanted you away from Steve because I wanted you all for myself.”

This was not shocking to you. It might have been a week ago, but you were learning that Peter was not at all who you thought he was. He was in Tony’s gang for a reason. Nat had told you that, and although you never doubted her, you didn’t understand the full weight of her advice then.

“Growing up, you were always Sam Wilson’s sister. Untouchable, and God did I want to touch you,” he brushed his lips against yours. “So, when you came to me, sad and hysterical and soaking wet, like some pathetic little puppy, I did what I could and said what I could to get my hands on you.”

He firmly pressed his mouth against yours, and you closed your eyes. He groaned against your lips as he pushed you back. You hesitantly placed your hands on his shoulders, parting your legs and allowing him to rest in between them.

“I really wanted you to be here when I got back today,” he whispered. “I wanted to get my hands on you again.”

Your only reply was a soft moan when his hands slid into the sweatpants that you’d borrowed from his bedroom floor.

“…but we have to get you ready for tonight,” he sighed, head falling against your shoulder.

“Peter, it’s hours away,” you said.

He lifted his head.

“I have to prepare you. Mr. Stark is a hard man to please, and just because you’re with me, that won’t guarantee him to like you.”

He helped you up and his words worried you. It must have been evident on your face because he ran his hands along your arms. He smirked at you.

“Don’t worry. I know him like the back of my hand,” he said pulling you along. “Do as I say, and you’ll be fine.”

He told you not to worry, but you couldn’t help it. In a matter of hours, you’d be face to face with Tony Stark himself, preparing to go through an initiation whose details were unknown to you. Peter said it was up to him to decide what it would be, and although that should’ve eased your worries bit, it didn’t.

Peter helped you off of his bike, and you stood on unsteady legs. The low kitten heels you had on felt strange on your feet, recalling that the last time you’d worn heels of any kind had been at prom. Peter let out a light laugh at your visible uneasiness.

“You good?” he asked with a grin.

You gave a shaky nod.

“Yeah,” you breathed.

Like most nights, the air was cool, and you shivered a bit. Peter had gotten you a dress to wear. It was white and light and flowy with a sweetheart neckline and thick straps that kept sliding down your shoulders no matter how much you adjusted it. It kissed the tops of your knees as you smoothed your hand over it.

“You look great,” he murmured in your ear as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“I feel silly,” you confessed.

“Well don’t. You look good enough to eat,” he whispered, lips brushing along your ear.

You placed your hand on his, hoping it would bring you some comfort. You stared up at the house before you with unease. Tony Stark was the richest man in town, and in a small town like this, that meant more than you could imagine. His house was no mansion, but it definitely made your former modest two-story house look laughable in comparison.

The yard was littered with bikes, and even though Peter had told you that everyone in the club would be in attendance for your initiation, you realized that you had never known just how many people were in Tony’s crew. You assumed that Peter had made a decision regarding what it would be. He’d bought you a dress after all, but he had yet to share it with you.

You didn’t even have time to admire the interior, because the man himself was there as soon as you walked inside.

“…and this must be the bold little birdie who’s been stirring up trouble on my side of the road.”

Tony Stark’s dark eyes connected with yours, and despite the urge to look away, you remembered what Peter had said. You held his gaze, and he smirked at you. His hand wrapped around yours as he neared and brushed his lips along the skin there. His eyes met Peter’s when he pulled away, and his smirk grew.

“Mr. Stark,” you greeted.

He chuckled, looking at you again.

“Please, call me Tony. Between you and the kid, you’re going to make me feel like I have one foot in the grave.”

You chuckled with him, surprised to find that he didn’t seem as intimidating as you thought he would. His face gradually grew serious, and he folded his hands in front of him as he studied you.

“As you can probably guess, I have my reservations about you, Y/N,” he started.

You swallowed, and Peter rubbed circles into your back.

“You’re the sister of my enemy, and you know how the saying goes…blood is thicker than water and all that jazz…”

You nodded.

“I understand your fears, Tony, but…I’m here because of my love for Sam,” you told him. “I did what I did to protect him, and I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that.”

He took a step towards you.

“I should hope not. I would hate to have to use your brother to keep you in line…”

You frowned.

“…and I would hate to have to use you against him.”

Your heart skipped a beat, a possibility that you had never considered before being thrown in your face. Tony stared you down for a moment before he eventually grinned.

“Let’s hope that tonight you can prove you fully belong to Peter, and the crew in general by extension, so that it won’t have to come to that,” he said with a light laugh

He turned and walked down a hall.

“Come along,” he called.

Peter’s hand never left you once as you both followed Tony. You felt like you were a dead woman walking, and although Peter’s presence should’ve been comforting, not knowing what tonight entailed put you on edge. You blinked when Peter’s hand slid lower to the small of your back, just above the swell of your butt.

Tony slowed when he neared a set of double doors, and you felt like you were going to be sick when he opened them. There couldn’t have been more than 30 people standing in the room, but it felt like hundreds. You were the only one dressed up while everyone else wore their jackets and t-shirts, Peter included. You whispered this to him.

“You’re the guest of honor,” he simply said with a genuine smile.

Your eyes landed on some familiar faces as Peter led you to the center of the room. A long oval table was before you, almost the entire length of the room with about two dozen chairs surrounding it. You absentmindedly wondered if this was where they held meetings. Peter slowed as Tony made his way to the head of the table, and you looked to your left, nervously eyeing it. You looked to Peter, feeling his gaze on you.

His dark eyes were hooded, reminding you of last night when he’d cornered you in his house. You suddenly felt very hot, and he stepped closer, chest brushing against yours.

“Get on the table,” he whispered.

Your eyes widened, stomach churning as suspicions started to arise.

“…what?”

You glanced over at movement in the corner of your eye, watching as Tony pulled out the chair at the head of the table. His eyes briefly met yours, and he threw you a smirk. Peter’s hands were on your face, turning you to face him.

“I told you this was a special case…”

“Peter-.”

“Most people join with a clean slate, but not you. You were the enemy before you even walked in here-.”

“So what? I have to be made an example out of?” you demanded, lips trembling and eyes misty.

Your voices were hushed, and you could feel Tony’s eyes on you. You could feel a lot of eyes on you, just waiting for you to prove them right. Peter’s hands trailed down to your throat, thumbs tracing your skin as he looked down his nose at you.

“You’re mine. I know it, and you know it…” before you knew it, he’d reached down and deposited you on the table, stepping in between your legs “…and now they will too.”

He pressed his lips against yours, and you made a noise of protest. One hand was on the back of your neck while the other pressed into your waist, pushing you down. You winced when your back harshly met the wood, hands pressing against his chest.

His hands never stayed in one place for too long, and when the memories of last night came to you, your body reacted. You trembled beneath him, a few tears spilling over as you registered what was about to happen in front of these people.

“They’re not here, right now. It’s just you and me,” he whispered, trying to reassure you.

You shook your head.

“Peter, I can’t do this. We can do something else,” you said, pushing against him.

With a huff, he grabbed your wrists and slammed them against the table. You gasped in pain, and his tongue found yours when he kissed you again. You struggled against him, but his chest and hips pinned you down. From above your head, you heard Tony sit down, and soon the sound of more people sitting down reached your ears.

Peter kept his mouth on yours, swallowing your cries as he moved both of your wrists to one hand. The other reached in between you as he pushed his thighs underneath your own. You closed your eyes and turned your head away when the sound of tearing fabric filled the room. You couldn’t open them, if you did, you’d see the many faces staring back at you. Your struggle was anew when you heard the sound of his belt clanking.

“Come on, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear. “Moan for me like you did last night…”

He pushed himself into you, and your breath caught in your throat. He set a sharp pace, hips slamming into yours as he fucked you against the hardwood. Your shoe slipped off of your feet, and it clanged against the table. The other soon followed.

You felt air on your breast, and you hadn’t realized that Peter had reached up to pull the top of your dress down. His teeth grazed over the sensitive flesh, and you couldn’t stop yourself from clenching around him. His lips moved to your collarbone and then your neck, and he let out a low chuckle.

Your head was thrown back as he thrust into you, the table shaking from the force of it. You only realized that he’d let go of your hands when both of his dug into the skin of your thighs, hard enough to bruise. Your own hands gripped his shoulders, now unsure if you wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

He wrapped his lips around a hardened bud, and you arched your chest towards him. Your eyelashes fluttered, vision blurry, but you could make out the upside-down shape of Tony Stark, watching you. Peter clearly wanted all of your attention because his hand found your hair and jerked your face back to him.

He forced his lips against yours, groaning into your mouth. His other hand pressed into the table beside your head, holding himself over you as he curved his hips into yours over and over again. You forgot all about the other 20 odd people or so, sitting around the table, watching. Like last night, you couldn’t swallow down your moans, no matter how hard you tried.

Your stomach tightened, and your legs started to tremble. Your arm was thrown over his neck, the other pushing against the table, trying to get closer to him for several reasons.

“Half the men in here want to be me, right now,” he murmured against your lips. “Show them that you’re mine…”

He snapped his hips against yours, hard, and you yelped into his mouth.

“Say my name like you did last night…”

You bit your lip, determined to swallow it down. His heavy breathing sounded in your ear.

“Come on, Y/N,” he dragged it out with a soft chuckle. “I’ve already got you squirming for me. I’ll get what I want eventually.”

“I fucking hate you, Parker,” you groaned.

“That’s nice,” he dismissed. “You’re like a kitten, you know? You put up a fight, and its cute, but you start purring the minute I get my hands on you.”

He reached down and brushed his thumb over you, making you jerk beneath him. He did it again and again, picking up the pace of his thrusts, and your breath hitched. Your vision grew hazy, chest and stomach tightening as stars burst behind your eyes. You mumbled his name over and over again, drawing it out in a low moan as your back hit the table again.

He had yet to halt his movements, fucking you through your climax as he maneuvered one of your legs to rest on his shoulder. He kissed you.

“When this is over, everyone will look at the sister of the infamous Sam Wilson and know that she’s mine.”

tags: @sherrybaby14 @xoxabs88xox @darkficreposter @mcudarklibrary @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @readermia @jtargaryen18 @notyourtypicalrose @nickyl316h @opheliadawnwalker3 @readermia @captainchrisstan @coconutqueen21

#dark!peter parker #Dark!Peter #Dark Fic #dark!steve rogers #dark!peter x reader #peter parker #marvel fanfiction #biker!peter parker

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ravennm84 · 4 years

Text

The Laptop

So, I read a prompt from @charming-mage about Lila’s laptop being damaged and her mother finds out that Lila’s been lying to her and the school. I thought it was a cute idea and the girl would have no way of trying to turn things onto Marinette, so I went with it. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!!

It was a silly little accident that ended up exposing everything. Lila had accidentally spilt coffee on her laptop and caused it to short out. Her mother, being terrible with technology, had taken it to a repair shop to see if it could be saved.

Greta Rossi had taken her lunch break and gone to the repair shop to check on the state of the laptop. The woman behind the counter, Evelyn, gave her head a shake, saying there was too much corrosion and the damage to the motherboard. “Best I can tell, you didn’t unplug it, take out the battery, or tilt it to let the liquid drain out away from the main components. That was pretty much a death sentence to this thing.”

Greta groaned at that. It would be expensive to buy her daughter a new laptop, but it was necessary so she could do her homework and communicate with her friends when akuma attacks were so bad that the school shut down. “Were you able to save anything?” She asked the woman.

“Some things,” she nodded, handing Greta a flashdrive. “Mostly your photos, some saved documents, I also noticed that you were emailing your daughter’s school when the laptop was damaged. I was able to save that conversation for you.”

Her hand froze as she stared at the woman. “Are you sure? I only ask because that wasn’t my laptop, that was my daughter’s laptop.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened slightly before nodding. “It was the first thing I was able to recover since it was mid-correspondence. I assumed it was your laptop since the emails were addressed to you and were signed by you. If that’s not the case… I think you should probably read those emails and talk to your daughter’s principal as soon as possible.”

A little uncertain of what the woman just told her, Greta called the Embassy to tell them she would be taking the rest of the day off. Going home, she plugged in the flashdrive and started looking over the emails that Evelyn had mentioned. Sure enough, they were between Principal Damocles and supposedly signed by her. The first emails were dated the day Lila had told her the school was closed due to akuma attacks, only the email said that she was pulling Lila out of school to go on a diplomatic trip to Achu.

A little taken aback, Greta looked up the akuma incidents to see just how bad things were. She normally wasn’t permitted to look up these kinds of things at work, nor did she ever have the time since she had to make sure the Ambassador’s days were scheduled down to the minute and all the paperwork was ready to be signed. But now that she had a moment to look, she could see videos of Ladybug and Chat Noir defeating every akuma… and two of the akumas had been her own daughter! This meant that Lila had been lying to her for months!

The next email was from the day of the Scarlet Moth incident, she remembered her co-workers talking about it. That email to Damocles said that her number had changed and gave a new number, which just happened to be Lila’s number.

Another email requesting doctors notes for Lila’s numerous injuries and disabilities: tinnitus, a sprained wrist, a dislocated kneecap, and tonsolatius. Lila had responded with photocopied doctors’ notes that even Greta could tell were fake, and the principal had responded with gratitude for the prompt response.

Some of the more recent emails spoke about Lila being pushed down the stairs by another student and how a family heirloom had been stolen by the same student! Only to be followed by another email requesting another doctor’s note referencing a disease Lila claimed to have that makes her lie uncontrollably. Was the principal a total idiot?

The most recent email, the one Lila had been working on when the laptop was destroyed, stopped mid-sentence as Greta Rossi told Damocles that she and Lila would be going on another extended diplomatic trip to London, as she would be working personally with the Queen of England. If Greta hadn’t been furious at her daughter before, she sure was now.

Still, part of her wanted to have some faith in her daughter, so she would set up a test when Lila got home. Which, coincidentally, wouldn’t be long as she had spent a good few hours reading over the emails and she had finally looked into akuma reports that had occurred since they had moved to Paris.

Lila came home about half an hour later, texting on her phone with a cruel smile, but abruptly stopped when she saw her mother. “Mama, you’re home early. Is it because of the akuma attacks?”

“No, mia bella. I was just given the afternoon off, so I decided to spend it with you. How was school?”

Watching her daughter carefully, she saw her change in posture and expression as she began to do the same fake crying she did when she was 6 years old. “Oh Mama, it was terrible. The school got attacked by another akuma and Chat Noir was just so reckless, his Cataclysm destroyed half of the school. It got closed down until repairs can be completed again.”

“Mia Bella! You weren’t hurt, were you?” Greta asked, faking shock and worry. She suspected that Lila had completed the email on her tablet or a computer at school and sent it to Damocles. Now, her daughter was trying to make an excuse as to why she was staying home. But Greta wasn’t about to be fooled again. Oh no, she had given her daughter a chance and now she was going to make her pay. “That’s it, I can’t allow you to keep attending such a dangerous place.”

Lila stopped mid-sob to look at her mother in surprise. “W-what are you saying?”

“Lila, from what you’ve told me about Hawkmoth, the akuma’s, and those terrible vigilanties; I can’t force you to stay in such a dangerous place due to my job. Go to your room and pack, I’ll call your Zio e Zia in Italia and ask if they can take you in while I finish my assignment here in Paris.” Greta continued to watch her daughter as she spoke, her expression becoming more and more panicked and upset as she spoke. Lila had never liked staying with her uncle and aunt because they lived on a farm that was far from everything, had no internet or cell service, and Greta’s brother was of the mindset that if you didn’t work on the farm, you didn’t eat.

“Bu-but Mama, you can’t just send me away like this! What about school-”

“You just told me that the school was shut down again due to the attacks, and after all the other times the school has been closed, I doubt if you’ll be able to graduate with the other schools or even be accepted into lycee at this point. At least if I send you back to Italia, you’ll be safe and be able to go to school without worrying about being attacked.” Reaching forward, Greta took Lila’s hands firmly between her own. “Please understand, mia bella, I am your mother and I love you more than anything. Even if you’re upset with me, I must do what is best for you and your future.”

Lila didn’t bother hiding her scowl as she tried to tug her hands from her mother’s grip. Then the girl really looked at her mother’s face and realized something was wrong. “Mama?”

Greta returned her scowl. “I am very disappointed in you, young lady. I was giving you a chance to come clean and tell me the truth.” Lila’s eyes blew wide open and was about to say something, but was cut off. “I saw those emails between myself and M. Damocles on your computer. Funny thing, I don’t remember writing them. I also don’t recall changing my contact number, going on a diplomatic trip to Achu, or telling him about a bunch of injuries, disabilities, and diseases that you don’t have. I also don’t remember my bosses assigning me to go on another diplomatic trip to London to work with the Queen of England, seeing as I’m not an ambassador.”

“Wait, Mama! I swear, I can explain-”

“You’ve already said enough! You and I are going to the school right now to speak with M. Damocles. You are going to tell him everything that you’ve been lying about and I’m going to have a talk with him about your supposed fall down the stairs since I’m pretty sure you lied about that as well since I was never notified and you were never taken to the hospital.”

“No, Mama! Please-”

“Be quiet! If you dare try to fight me on this or say one more lie, you will be on a plane back to Italia tonight and spend the rest of your school career with your Zio e Zia, understand?

Pouting the entire time. Lila went back to the school with her mother and was forced to confess to everything she had lied about. M. Damocles also ended up looking at the CCTV footage, something that Greta thought he should have done in the first place, and showed that her daughter had not been pushed down the stairs and had planted the not-family-heirloom in the other student’s locker. Greta demanded that he tell Lila’s class exactly what her daughter had done and that he apologize to Mlle. Dupain-Cheng for getting her expelled. She also demanded the student’s information so she could speak with the girl’s parents and force Lila to apologize. Damocles, still thinking that Greta was an ambassador, told her about the bakery and promised that he would alert the class to Lila’s misdeeds before the two Rossis were out the door.

Greta thought the Dupain-Chengs were wonderful people, offering them pastries as soon as they were upstairs and listened intently to her when she described the things that her daughter had been lying about. When she asked Marinette for her side of the story, Greta got even angrier at Lila. Threatening, bullying, and framing that poor girl when all Marinette had done was tell Lila to stop lying to her friends. Not only had she been lying to the school and her classmates, but all of Paris, if she were to go by the posts on the Ladyblog that Marinette showed her. She had never been more disappointed in her daughter.

Once they got home, Greta forced Lila into her room and confiscated her phone and tablet. “I thought it was bad when you were lying to the school and playing truant, but now I find out that you are being a bully, and tempting a terrorist to attack you! How foolish are you?”

“Why are you believing that goodie-two-shoes ove-”

“I believe her because there is literally video evidence of you setting her up and trying to get her expelled! After what you’ve done, you’ll probably get expelled!”

“What!? But I didn’t do-”

“You bullied a student, committed months of truancy, forged signatures on doctors’ notes, and changed my contact information so the school couldn’t contact me. Any one of those are grounds for expulsion!” Greta shook her head in disgust when she saw the shock on her daughter’s face. Lila actually believed that she wouldn’t be punished for all the things she had done. Well, that was not something that she was going to allow, and she didn’t trust the principal or Lila’s teacher to do the right thing by her daughter anymore. “You know what, pack your bags right now. I’m calling my brother and putting you on a plane tonight. It’s clear that you need to learn some responsibility, and I highly doubt that you’re going to do that here.”

Lila tried to argue with her, but no amount of begging, pleading, or threats was going to change her mind. Lila was on a plane back to Italy within a few hours and Greta would be spending the next month cleaning up the mess her daughter had made in Paris. She was fortunate that she was able to keep her job. Luckily for her, her boss was a big fan of the Dupain-Cheng Boulangerie and she had told him when she had brought in a big box of the pastries. That smoothed things over a bit, although she was no longer permitted to bring her daughter on assignments anymore. Greta considered that a small price to pay to keep her job, and maybe her daughter would learn that her actions have lasting consequences.

Taglist:

@2confused-2doanything @7-sage-7 @aadnrsstar @abrx2002 @bayball @caffeinetheory @cheshire5210 @chocolateherringtacofan @city-of-all-tunas @classycollectorreviewworld @corabeth11 @darkened-flame @delightfulcookiesrecipespizza @fandom-trapped-03 @ghostmaster @iamblinkmarvelarmy @interobanginyourmom @izang @jesussavedevenme @kazedancer @kitten12113 @lady-phoenix-of-tardis @lilypotter2018 @lunataravler @maskedpainter @nerd-nowandforever @ola-is-dead @pandacatxd @plushbookworm @plz-excuse-my-inner-ravenclaw @raiderofthelostbooks @ramos123 @rowanrouge @seesea22 @seraphichana @tazer6787 @that-girl-sakea @thecrazyfantrollshasmoved @the-smallest-kittenz @tishwinchesterannabethjackson @t1dwarrior-of-earth @ulmban @with-forward-motion @wonderbat91939 @zoiechance

#lila salt #ml prompt #lila gets exposed #lila karma #mlbjustice

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drabbles-mc · 3 years

Text

Whatever It Takes

Juice Ortiz x Reader

Shoutout to @bishopslosawife for this idea! I am...passionate about Juan Carlos Ortiz: What if a up-and-coming MC from another state stops in town for a night to discuss business but when they don't get want they want they take something/someone important to a SONs member as a leverage against the guys? I could see Juice going all overprotective of his s/o. 😍

Warnings: blood, language, murder, kidnapping, angst

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Honestly I would kill a man for Juice and I believe that he would do the same for me haha. Enjoy! xo

Taglist?? I realize that I don’t write a whole lot for SOA and when I do it’s always been Juice lol. That being said! If you’re interested in getting tagged in any future SOA or Juice fics please let me know!

The doors to the chapel flew open and a stream of very angry-looking men came storming out. You sat back at the bar, trying to make yourself as small as possible as most of them left the clubhouse. Once the Sons started filing out, you could see that none of them were looking overly excited about whatever had gone down during church either. Clay, Jax, and Tig were still in the chapel and you caught brief glimpses of their faces as they shut the doors once again, making it so it was just the three of them.

“Hey,” Juice appeared in front of you, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead, “it’s late, what are you still doing here?”

You smiled and shrugged, “Waiting for you. Didn’t think it was going to take so long.”

“Yea, it was a fuckin’ shitshow in there.”

“I figured. Those guys didn’t look happy.”

He chuckled, but you could see the exhaustion on his face, “They weren’t.”

You cupped his face, thumb tracing along his cheekbone for a moment, “Ready to go home?”

He nodded, leaning into your touch, “Absolutely.”

You hopped down off the barstool and pulled him with you towards the door of the clubhouse. He trailed behind you, and you let out a small yelp followed by a laugh when you felt him playfully smack your ass as you walked through the doors.

“Juan Carlos,” you feigned offence as you turned around, placing your hands on his chest, “there’s a time and a place for that.”

He laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist, “What’s wrong with here and now?”

You smiled, shaking your head as you leaned in and kissed him. His arms wrapped tighter around you, keeping you pressed flush up against him. Your hands slid up from his chest, fingers trailing lightly and quickly over his mohawk until they came to rest on the back of his neck. You could’ve stood there like that with him forever if it was possible.

He pulled his lips away from yours to catch his breath, but you could see a playful smile starting to spread across his face as he rested his forehead against yours, “I love you.”

You smiled, humming in approval, “I love you too. We gonna make it home tonight or are we crashing in your dorm?”

He laughed, nudging you towards his bike, “We’ll make it home, c’mon we can even take the bike. I’ll bring you back for your car in the morning.”

As the two of you made your way over, you heard someone call out for Juice from the opposite side of the parking lot. You both turned around, and you felt Juice’s body tense up a little bit as he stood directly in front of you, completely blocking you from whoever was talking to him.

“This ain’t over, you know,” the young man walked up to Juice, blowing out a billow of smoke as he spoke, “Better let your Pres know that.”

“Pretty sure you’re the one who should be letting him know,” Juice’s tone was even, but he kept one hand behind him, rested on your hip, “He’s still in church. Go talk to someone who actually has some sway.”

The man laughed, dropping what little was left of his cigarette on the ground between his feet and Juice’s, “Don’t say we didn’t warn you,” he looked over Juice’s shoulder and shot you a smile that was too much to be sincere, “You two have a good night.”

After the man walked off, getting onto his own bike and leaving the compound, you and Juice both let out sighs of relief. His body was still rigid as he turned back to face you, trying to search your expression to see if you were alright. You knew that things got dicey with the club—you’d had to clean Juice up on more than one occasion because of it, but it was different when you were experiencing the tension first-hand.

“You alright?” he gently cupped your face in both of his hands.

You nodded, “Yea. That was just…weird.”

“I know,” he sighed, “I’m sorry, baby, I just feel like I should probably go talk to Clay and them. You okay to drive home and I’ll meet you there in a little bit?”

“Yea, of course,” you kissed him softly on the lips, “I’ll text you when I get home. I love you.”

He smiled, “I love you too.”

He waited until you were off the lot before heading inside to talk to Jax and Clay about the brief little interaction he’d had out in the parking lot. More likely than not it was all talk, but there was never a guarantee of that.

You pulled into the gas station, mentally kicking yourself for putting off getting gas for so long. You wanted to be home but you wouldn’t have made it with what little was left in the tank. You went inside and prepaid, coming back out to the pump. You looked around as you filled your car, and everything seemed quiet.

You turned to put the nozzle back on the pump when you felt an arm wrap around your neck, a gloved hand coming to rest tightly over your mouth. Your entire body froze, and you wouldn’t have been able to try to fight or run if someone tried to pay you. The person pushed you up against your car, speaking to you in a low, harsh whisper.

“When I take my hand away, you’re not gonna scream. You’re going to get into this car and you’re going to do exactly what I tell you to, got it?”

You nodded, eyes wide with fear. When he took his hand away, though, something came over you and you let out a blood-chilling scream. The last thing you remembered was the man cursing and your head being slammed hard against the side of your car. Everything went black after that.

Juice was heading back out to his bike after talking with Jax and Clay. He hadn’t gotten any messages from you, which was a little worrying but it wouldn’t have been the first time you forgot. He dialed your number and called, figuring that if you were home and just forgot you’d pick up and the first words out of your mouth would be, “I forgot again, I’m sorry! I love you,” the way that they always were.

But there was no answer

He tried two more times and it was more of the same. Even if you had fallen asleep right away when you got home, the second or third call would’ve woken you up. He turned to head back inside when he saw Jax walking out of the clubhouse. He flagged him down.

“What’s up, brother?” Jax could see the worry on Juice’s face.

“It’s Y/N. I haven’t heard from her since she left. Tried calling and she didn’t pick up. You mind just riding with me out to her place to make sure she’s all good? It’s probably nothing but it’s not sitting right with me.”

He nodded as he clipped his helmet on, “Yea, sure thing.”

The two of them rode out to your house, and came to an empty driveway and no lights on inside. The knot in Juice’s stomach was growing as he parked his bike and hopped off of it. He yanked off his helmet, running his hand over his head as he turned back to Jax with worry all over his face.

“This isn’t right, Jax. She was coming straight home. Something must’ve happened to her.”

“Alright. Let’s think for a second here before we get too crazy.”

“What if it was that guy?” he saw the confusion on Jax’s face and elaborated, “Adam, or Aaron, or whatever the fuck his name was. The one who came up to us in the parking lot.”

He shook his head, “No way. Those guys are too green to be doing shit like that.”

“You sure about that? Gave you and Clay a run for your money during church tonight.”

The comment stung Jax’s ego a bit, but he had to admit that Juice raised a somewhat valid point. He sighed, “Alright. Call the guys, get ‘em all back to church. Let’s find this asshole and get your girl back.”

Juice immediately started calling everyone. Luckily it hadn’t been very long and everyone was more than willing to turn back around and head back to the clubhouse. Juice looked at your house as he dialed number after number, the darkness in the windows sending shots of fear up and down his spine.

Once everyone was back at the chapel, they started strategizing. They were trying to figure out where the most logical places would be for the men to have taken you, what they were going to ask for to secure your safe return. Throughout the whole thing, Juice’s eyes were glued to his phone, hoping to see your name light up the small screen of his phone.

“We can’t cave to all of their demands, though,” Clay said with a strong sense of finality.

Juice turned to look at the man sitting at the head of the table, “We’ll do whatever we fucking have to, to get her home.”

It wasn’t like him to speak that way to anyone, let alone Clay. The man shook his head, “Juice, I know that this is hitting you close to home but—”

“But nothing!” he stood up, “Not getting her back isn’t an option, Clay,” tears stung at his eyes but his anger was still apparent.

Before the argument could continue any farther, Juice’s phone buzzed on the surface of the table. His eyes went wide as he picked it up, seeing your name on the screen. He held his breath as he brought it up to his ear, “Hello?”

“Go glad you picked up, Juan Carlos,” the man chuckled.

“What the fuck did you do to—”

“She’s fine…for now. But I’m going to need you and the president of your club to agree to some things if you want to make sure she stays that way.”

“Prove it,” he snapped.

“Prove what?”

“Prove that she’s alright. How do I know that you didn’t already do something to her?”

The man chuckled but he complied. Juice heard your pained tone coming through from the other end of the line, “Juan?! Juan what the fuck is going on?”

He felt a sob locked in his throat, “Y/N, baby, we’re coming to get you, alright? You’re gonna be fine I promise.”

Neither of you got the chance to say anything more before you heard the man’s voice on the other end of the line again. “There’s your proof. Your president knows what needs to happen if you’re going to see her again. You have two hours to meet our terms or you’re never going to see your girlfriend ever again.”

“I swear to god if you fucking hurt her—” he didn’t get to finish the sentence before the man hung up on him. He shook his head, slamming his fist against the table, “Fuck!”

He stormed out of the chapel and came flying back in a minute later, laptop tucked under his arm. He sat down heavily in his chair before opening the computer and pulling up numerous windows. The guys looked on in silence, knowing that they had nothing to offer him at this point.

Jax looked over his shoulder, “What’re you doing?”

“Getting a trace on her phone’s GPS.”

“She doesn’t use the burners?”

Juice shook his head, like it was the most obvious answer in the world, “No, she doesn’t have to because she’s not a fucking criminal,” he sighed as his fingers flew across the keyboard, “I’m willing to bet that these guys were too stupid to think about that, though.”

The couple of minutes of silence while the computer programs tracked her phone seemed to stretch on for an eternity. They all looked back and forth among themselves, hoping they were going to get the answers that they wanted. After what felt like hours, they were rewarded with a quick beeping sound.

Juice immediately started rattling off the address to the entire room. He was already walking towards the chapel doors as the rest of them tried to piece together where exactly they were going.

“Abandoned warehouses out off the main drag behind the old logging place,” Juice said as he continued to leave.

They nodded, impressed that he knew it off the top of his head like that. His brain was working overtime, though. Anything to keep you safe. The guys followed him, grabbing their guns as they went. They had no idea what they were walking into but they were going to be prepared.

Juice didn’t bother waiting for the rest of the club. He was fully prepared to go into this entire situation alone despite the fact that he knew he wouldn’t have to. He sped out of the lot, forcing the rest of them to play catchup. His mind was reeling and all he knew was that he couldn’t lose you. you were the one thing that he got right and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you. No matter what it took, you were getting home safely.

He rolled into the lot, followed shortly by the rest of the MC. They all got off their bikes, getting their weapons ready. There were a few buildings to choose from, and Juice was looking to see if any of them had any signs of life in them.

“Middle one, top window,” Opie broke the silence, nodding towards the building he was talking about.

Juice looked, and he was a mixture of relieved and anxious when he saw that Opie was right. At least it meant that you were there. He just hoped that they weren’t too late.

“Hey,” Jax’s voice was quiet, but firm, “you shouldn’t be the first one in on this.”

“Fuck that,” he shook his head, refusing to be benched for this.

“You’re angry. Angry makes you stupid and stupid gets you killed. You can’t be lead on this.”

Juice stood toe-to-toe with the VP, “You can’t fucking stop me.”

He wasn’t yelling, but he didn’t need to raise his voice. His tone and the look in his eyes communicated everything. Jax sighed, nodding in defeat. If the roles were reversed, he knew he would be doing the same thing. Juice pushed past him and went towards the building, a few of the guys trailing close behind while a few more waited back in case anyone tried to leave.

They were silent as they entered the building, straining their ears to pick up on any noise. There was a mild clamoring coming from up the stairs. Juice turned to see Jax and Opie behind him, nodding for him to continue onward, that they had his back. With as little noise as possible they made their way up the stairs.

The door at the top was slightly ajar, light streaming through the crack. They could hear the laughter of the men who had you, but they couldn’t hear you. Juice’s heart was pounding inside his chest. He glanced back, using his fingers to count down before kicking the door completely open and storming in with Jax and Opie right on his heels.

The sight of you bound to a chair and gagged was enough to make Juice see red for a few moments. Tears were streaming down your face and he could see the fear in your eyes, the cut on your forehead caked in dried blood.

They all had guns pointed at each other, but your kidnappers were outnumbered two to three. And judging by the look in Juice’s eyes, he had enough rage in him for a few people.

Still, your captors forged onward like they were going to win this, “We told you this wasn’t over.”

Juice scoffed, cocking his gun, “You don’t let her go, the bullshit you have going on with Clay is going to be the least of your fucking problems. Believe me.” He could see you shaking your head, trying to urge him to stop and not make the situation worse, but he was too angry, “Let her go. She has nothing to do with this shit."

The man pressed his gun against your temple and you cried against the gag in your mouth, shutting your eyes tight. He laughed, “I’d lower that gun now if I were you.”

He shook his head, “You think you’re going to best the three of us?”

“You willing to bet her life on the fact that we won’t?”

The seconds of silence that followed felt never-ending. You still had your eyes shut tight, unable to force yourself to open them and take in the scene in front of you. If it ended badly, you didn’t want the last thing you saw to be something horrid.

The man pushed the gun harder against your temple and you winced as he spoke, “What’s it gonna be, then?”

There was another brief moment of silence but it was short-lived as the sound of gunshots filled the room. You cried, trying to make yourself as small as possible in the chair that you were in. You still couldn’t force yourself to open your eyes, knowing that the warm substance that just splattered across your face was blood and you didn’t want to know who it belonged to.

You felt someone pull at the gag in your mouth, and quickly cutting through the binds around your arms and legs. There was a hand softly put to your cheek, and the only thing that got you to open your eyes was the sound of Juice’s voice saying your name.

He was crouched in front of you, hand resting gently on your cheek as he waited for you to say or do something to indicate whether or not you were hurt. You couldn’t force any words out, so instead you leaned forward into him, head burying in the crook of his neck as you sobbed. He wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tight to him.

He cradled the back of your head in his hand, “It’s okay, you’re okay.” He turned back to Jax and Opie, “Go let the guys know what went down,” he paused, waiting for Jax to meet his eyes, “And tell Clay that he solves this shit tonight or I fucking will.”

You heard the sounds of their footsteps retreating out of the room. Juice pulled back from you so he could get a better look at you. You saw that you had smeared blood all over his neck and shirt. He saw the way your eyes went wide at the sight of it and instantly tilted your chin up so you were forced to look him in the eyes.

“Don’t even worry about that, alright?” his voice was soft, tears in his eyes as he looked at you, “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

You shook your head, finally making yourself speak, “No, nothing aside from my head.”

He let out a sigh of relief, “Thank god. I’m so sorry, Y/N. You never should have gotten caught up in this shit.”

“What’s gonna happen with…” your voice trailed off as you looked around the room, the carnage made your stomach turn.

Juice shook his head, “Don’t worry about that. It’ll all be taken care of,” he kissed you softly on the lips, “Let’s get you home and cleaned up. You able to ride?”

You nodded, “Yea, yea I’ll be okay.”

He scooped you up and carried you down the stairs of the warehouse. You clung tightly to him, you gripped his shirt harder than necessary, just needing the sensation of knowing that he was really there holding you. You buried your face against him, tears leaking out of your eyes and onto his neck and shirt. You heard the murmuring of the rest of the club as the two of you walked out of the warehouse, but you didn’t have the mental wherewithal to lift your head to look at or talk to any of them. In reality, you hardly heard what Juice was saying to them as he carried you over to his bike.

He gently placed his helmet onto your head and buckled it for you. He traced his thumb along your cheekbone, eyes filled with tears and love, and you wondered how he could still look at you like that when you had blood splattered across your face.

“I love you,” his voice was hardly a whisper.

“I love you too,” you practically melted into his touch.

He hopped on the bike in front of you and started to pull away. You wrapped your arms around his waist and settled against his back, shutting your eyes as you did. The only things you wanted to concentrate were the sound of his bike, the feeling of his body heat seeping from his back into your chest, and the thought of taking a shower and lying down in bed with him once you both got home. You let out a shaky breath as you squeezed your arms around him tighter for a moment, more thankful than ever that it was something that you were able to do.

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #juice ortiz #juice ortiz x reader #juice ortiz x you #juice ortiz imagine #juan carlos ortiz #soa #soa imagine #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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